Nj
 
 L I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVER.5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 IS48 
 
 V. I
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/stepmother01jame
 
 THE 
 
 STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, Esq., 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 RICHELfBlT," "THK SMUGGLER," "THE CONVICT," &C. &C. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER, AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1848.
 
 ^^3 
 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHEE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In a certain county of England, which cannot 
 V exactly be called a midland county, because at 
 ^ one point it comes within a few miles of the sea, 
 y there is a village, with a somewhat detailed de- 
 scription of which I must trouble the reader ; as 
 ^ in this village and its immediate neighbourhood 
 T took place the principal incidents of the story 
 ^^^bout to be told. The scene is narrow, certainly, 
 but very important things are often enacted in a 
 very confined space ; and though amongst the per- 
 sonages to be introduced appear neither kings nor 
 statesmen, yet there are as strong passions stirred 
 and as deep interest afiected in private life, as in 
 «j the movements of parties or governments. 
 
 . VOL. I. B 
 
 4
 
 Z THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 The villag-e, then, is situated upon the slope of 
 a hill, extending from the top to the bottom. A 
 few houses, indeed, are scattered along the valley, 
 by the side of a river, swarming with fine trout ; 
 and there, too, in a pleasant and sheltered situa- 
 tion, stands the church, with the clergyman's 
 house, a low-roofed but neat and comfortable 
 residence, at the distance of about a hundred yards 
 from the gate of the churchyard. 
 
 Half way up the hill is a white house, with 
 a brass knocker on a mahogany door, and the 
 traveller as he passes by, if he be not shut up in 
 a close carriage, may see, through the left-hand 
 window, ranges of bottles and gallipots upon 
 numerous shelves, and a lad, with an apron be- 
 fore him, pounding in a mortar, or pouring- 
 liquids from one bottle into another. Written in 
 letters so large that those who run may read, is 
 inscribed upon a brass plate, " Mr. IS'ethersole, 
 surgeon, &;c. ;" and very often, before the door, is 
 seen standing a neat one-horse chaise, with a very 
 respectable, plump, and well-conditioned horse 
 figuring in the harness. 
 
 At the top of the hill, and at a short distance 
 from the [actual village, is a large red-brick 
 dwelling-house, raised upon a bank formed by 
 the cutting of the high road, along the side of 
 which runs the wall of an extensive and well-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. O 
 
 stocked garden. The mansion has every appear- 
 ance of comfort and opulence, the windows are 
 numerous and large, the spaces between wide, 
 the chimneys many — indicating at least twenty 
 rooms possessing the advantage of a fire-place — 
 and the state of repair in which the whole is kept 
 is exact and perfect. A high brick wall, with, 
 broken glass bottles upon the top — very unplea- 
 sant for the hands of urchins possessed with the 
 spirit of appropriating other people's apples — 
 encircles the premises, containing, perhaps, a 
 couple of acres ; and in this wall are three diffe- 
 rent entrances to the grounds : one a small door, 
 reached by a flight of steps up the bank ; another 
 at the north side, presenting two large gates and 
 a gravelled road; and the third on the side 
 directly opposite to the small door above the bank, 
 and communicating with a path, through some 
 pleasant fields and lanes at the back of the vil- 
 lage, which leads down to the church and the 
 rectory. I may add, to render the picture 
 complete, that the garden wall and entrance 
 on the north side is sheltered by a fine grove of 
 tall trees from the bleak air of a wide common 
 beyond. 
 
 On the other side of the valley, and of the river, 
 is another hill, higher, though less abrupt, than 
 that on which the village stands. The thick 
 B 2
 
 't THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 trees of a park, which lies on that side, hide the 
 face of the ground from the lower part of the 
 village ; but the windows of the mansion which I 
 have just described, looking over these giants of 
 the forest, give a view of the interior of the park 
 and of a fine old grey building, known in that part 
 of the country as " The Hall." 
 
 At the time at which the events I am about to 
 relate took place the Hall was not in the very 
 best state of repair, though by no means dilapi- 
 dated. The old stones were rather green and 
 mossy ; a part of the copings might be seen here 
 and there suffering from the ravages of time ; the 
 doors and windows had not been painted for 
 more than thirty years; and the latter, though 
 perfectly sound, were seldom cleaned. It was a 
 large, rambling, irregular edifice, with a vast 
 door and porch in the old style ; many curious, 
 ancient halls within ; and having, without beauty, 
 a grand and imposing air, from the gravity of its 
 colouring and from its extent. 
 
 The park, however, and all that it contained — 
 its long winding walks, the lawn before the 
 house, the broad gravel terrace at the back, the 
 gamekeeper's cottage, the kitchen garden, the 
 very wilderness — regular in its irregularity — 
 were kept with the utmost neatness and pro- 
 priety. The secret of this difference between the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 5 
 
 appearance of the house and the grounds, was 
 simply this : the proprietor was a nobleman of 
 somewhat singular character, immersed in the 
 politics of the day, passing the greater part ofw 
 his time in London, and rarely spending more 
 than six weeks in the course of each year at his 
 house in the country. He was reputed to be 
 avaricious, and was certainly haughty. That he 
 was stern and reserved he made sufficiently ap- 
 parent during his short residences in that neigh- 
 bourhood, never associating with any of the gen- 
 tlemen around, seldom exchanging a word with 
 any one, and when forced to do so upon business, 
 making his communications as laconic as might 
 be. He was, also, it must be remarked, without 
 wife, or child, and never brought any party down 
 with him from London to the hall. A cook, a 
 valet de chambre, a butler, and a footman, together 
 with a personage who performed the offices of 
 both coachman and groom with the occasional 
 variation of a three-cornered hat and a round 
 one, were the only people who accompanied him ; 
 and the old housekeeper, with a coeval house- 
 maid, and a girl from the village hired while he 
 was there and discharged when he was gone, 
 were found sufficient to do the work of the house 
 during his stay. 
 
 Thus it will be seen why the dwelling, though
 
 b THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 not suffered to go to decay, was not kept in 
 a high state of repair. The dining-room, the 
 library, and his own bed-room were the only 
 chambers of which he saw much ; and the old 
 housekeeper declared that there was many a 
 room in the house which his lordship had not set 
 his foot in for thirty years. He did not, indeed, 
 take much greater heed of the arrangements of 
 the park, though he used apparently to find 
 some pleasure in rambling through the wood- 
 walks with his hands behind his back, and his 
 eyes bent upon the ground ; but it is much to be 
 doubted whether he would have discovered any 
 little marks of negligence which might have 
 taken place during his absence, had they been 
 apparent. There was a person, however, who 
 took a pride in the neatness and propriety of 
 everything about him ; and this was the park- 
 keeper, a blunt straightforward Englishman, clean 
 and regular in all his habits, doing his duty faith- 
 fully and exactly, whether looked after or not, 
 and having no great reverence for any mortal 
 man, so long as he thought he was pleasing God, 
 and satisfying his own conscience. 
 
 The poor old housekeeper, who was frightened 
 out of her life at her lord, seldom ventured to 
 point out that this or that required repair, and 
 did so, when absolutely necessarv, in so low a
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 7 
 
 voice tliat she was often interrupted by a cry of 
 " Speak out, woman ;" but tlie park-keeper went 
 boldly up to his master whenever anything was 
 wanted, told his story plainly, and generally got 
 what he required. In the management and ar- 
 rangement of the park, and all that it contained, 
 he took great delight, and often did he say to 
 himself, " If my lord does not choose to live at 
 it, that is his fault ; I will keep it fit for him." 
 
 The noble owner of the property, however, 
 never rewarded him with any praise of his ex- 
 ertions, or any observation upon their success, for, 
 in truth, he never remarked them; coming down, 
 as he called it, for relaxation, and yet bringing 
 all the thoughts and cares of London down with 
 him into the country, so that his mind had no 
 more opportunity of resting upon the things that 
 surrounded him than if he had still been in the 
 capital. 
 
 Now, doubtless, the reader may imagine that 
 because we have introduced this noble lord before 
 any one else to his notice, and have spoken of 
 himself and his dwelling somewhat at large, we 
 intend to make him one of the principal cha- 
 racters in the story, and introduce him frequently 
 upon the stage ; but such is not at all the case. 
 You have seen him, dear reader, and you will 
 never see him again. You may, indeed, hear his
 
 8. THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 name mentioned, but lie will never more appear 
 upon the stage. 
 
 The large red house, which, as we have seen 
 was pitched upon the top of the opposite hill, was 
 possessed by a gentleman as different in every 
 respect from the owner of the Hall as it is pos- 
 sible to conceive ; and we must go some way 
 back to trace his history before the actual com- 
 mencement of the tale ; for this chapter must be 
 taken as a sort of proem or introduction to what 
 is to follow, in which I wish to gather together 
 all that might be cumbersome or difl&cult in after 
 details. The gentleman of whom I now speak 
 was the son of a lawyer, who had risen to emi- 
 nence in his profession, and obtained a seat upon 
 the bench. The judge had not died very wealthy, 
 however, and his eldest son followed his father's 
 course, till he was elevated to the office of one of 
 the Barons of the Exchequer; but the second 
 and youngest, whose history we are about to hear, 
 after having pursued a course of liberal education 
 till he was about eighteen, was then placed in the 
 house of a great merchant, and in due time be- 
 came a partner in the firm. He was well to do 
 when his father died, and the sum which he then 
 shared with his brother made some addition to a 
 fortune already considerable. He was a quiet, 
 unobtrusive, and somewhat timid man, but clear-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 9 
 
 sighted in most cases, and possessed of a fund of 
 strong good sense, which would have been very 
 serviceable to himself and others, had he not 
 been withal, if not indolent, at all events very- 
 fond of peace and tranquillity. He had a great 
 aversion to strong emotions of any kind, loved 
 the ordinary course of business, was as great an 
 enemy to adventurous speculation as the oldest 
 partner in the house, and a great deal more so 
 than the youngest. He did, however, make one 
 bold speculation ; and it proved a successful one 
 — he married, and, having chosen well, had every 
 reason to be satisfied. His wife had everything 
 but one to recommend her : she was very hand- 
 some, she was a lady by birth, and, what is of far 
 more importance, by nature; she had accom- 
 plishments enough to make time pass pleasantly, 
 and to bear her full^ part in interesting and enter- 
 taining others ; and she had a kind and affec- 
 tionate heart, as well as a strong sense of all the 
 duties of life. This was everything that he 
 wanted, and though her fortune was very small, 
 he paid no attention to that point. Though a 
 very good-looking man, Mr. Charlton was 
 nearly forty when he committed this act, and his 
 days passed in uninterrupted tranquillity for 
 about ten years, with wealth increasing, a happy 
 home, a cheerful and amiable companion, and
 
 10 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 one fair daughter, " whom he loved passing 
 well." 
 
 But his felicity was to have a turn, and in one 
 week he lost his brother, for whom he had always 
 entertained a deep affection, and his wife, to 
 whom he was bound by all the strongest bonds 
 of the heart. The Baron of the Exchequer had 
 never married, always declaring that he had 
 no time; and consequently his wealth, which 
 was considerable, devolved to his brother. But 
 the disaster which Mr. Charlton had sustained 
 affected him deeply ; and, though he lingered on 
 for about a year and a half in London, he was 
 seized with a great distaste for business, and 
 began to talk of retiring upon the ample means 
 he possessed. Perhaps this design might have 
 passed away had not the younger partners of the 
 house overruled the elder, and entered into a 
 speculation which seemed to the more prudent 
 members of the firm extremely hazardous, and 
 which proved somewhat detrimental, though to 
 no very great extent. It acted, however, in de- 
 ciding both the gentlemen who had opposed the 
 scheme to retire, which they consequently did, 
 and Mr. Charlton, after having sought through 
 various parts of the country for a house to suit 
 him, pitched his tent upon the tojD of the hill 
 which, with its dependent village, I have already 
 described.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 11 
 
 He carried with him, into the country, his 
 daughter, all his old servants, many of his old 
 habits, his powdered hair, and his pigtail, though 
 a renowned minister had nearly banished powder 
 from society some years before, and royalty itself 
 had set its face against all manner of queues. 
 
 His daughter was by this time about ten years 
 of age, and had already received such an edu- 
 cation from her mother as to ensure good foun- 
 dation for whatever afterwards might be done to 
 improve her mind. She had by inheritance her 
 mother's heart and warm affections ; and for two 
 years after her arrival in the country, her ^father 
 devoted himself entirely to cultivate her under- 
 standing, and give her right and just views of 
 everything on which she might be called to ex- 
 ercise her judgment. I have already said that 
 he was a man of strong good sense, and that 
 quality went so far as to teach him his own pre- 
 vailing fault, though not to correct it. Men of 
 clear minds but of no great decision of character 
 are generally given to analyze scrupulously their 
 own feelings and motives — to examine, as with 
 a microscope their own characters as objects 
 which they can pause on and contemplate with- 
 out fear or trouble. The result of their research 
 may be right or wrong, according to their powers 
 of intellect ; but the investigation is still going
 
 12 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 on, and has but this inconvenience, that from all 
 which they discover in themselves, they are apt 
 to judge of the conduct and motives of others. 
 The bolder and firmer analyzer of the characters 
 of those who surround him, escapes, perhaps, 
 that error, but is likely to fall into the still 
 greater one of not knowing himself. 
 
 Mr. Charlton, however, was of the former class ; 
 and in turning his mind inward, like the eyes of 
 the sages of Laputa, he saw and acknowledged 
 that he had too strong an inclnation to do many 
 things which hisjudgment condemned, in order to 
 save himself trouble and annoyance, and he strove 
 diHgently to impress his daughter's mind, to judge 
 rightly at first, and to adhere to her decision when 
 once it was formed. He did not fear to render 
 her obstinate or headstrong by such lessons, for 
 her character was naturally gentle and yielding, 
 like that of her mother; and he also guarded it with 
 all care, by showing the necessity of using every 
 power of the mind to insure that the course we 
 choose be the right one. Thus were formed 
 within the bosom of Louisa Charlton certain 
 principles of action which proved her safeguard at 
 an after period, and the good sense of her father 
 turned his very faults to her advantage. 
 
 Although the education of his child, the arrange- 
 ment of his dwelling, the improvement of his
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 13 
 
 grounds, and the various amusements of country 
 life, afforded Mr. Charlton some occupation, and 
 at first filled up his time to his satisfaction, yet, 
 after the first little bustle of the change was over, 
 he began to feel lonely and listless. Two great 
 wants were felt in his course of life, business and 
 society. He had no companion — he had no con- 
 stant employment. In London he had felt that 
 every object which he saw around him recalled 
 the memory of her he had lost ; and though it 
 was not forgetfulness he sought, it was to escape 
 having painful remembrances continually forced 
 upon him. 
 
 Now, however, he would often have given 
 much to have recalled his hasty decision, for 
 though grief subsided gradually, as it does 
 somewhat too rapidly, indeed, with those who 
 may be termed easy-minded people, he felt the 
 want of the companionship to which he had been 
 accustomed, and the employment which had be- 
 come natural to him, more and more every hour. 
 He might often be seen walking up and down the 
 longest gravel walk in the garden, with his hands 
 crossed behind him, and his eyes bent sadly upon 
 the ground. Then he would roam out into the 
 country, or take a quiet canter upon his round, 
 short-legged horse, or drive out with his daughter 
 to see some object of interest in the neighbour-
 
 14 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 hood ; but still at his return lie would fall again 
 into listlessness. 
 
 The village afforded no society except that of 
 the clergyman of the parish, the surgeon, and the 
 lawyer. The former was an amiable, learned, and 
 thoughtful man, doing all his duties well and 
 zealously ; but, having long been accustomed to 
 live almost totally without society himself, he had 
 lost the taste for it, and spent his time either with 
 his books, in the cottages of his inferior parish- 
 ioners, or in dispensing justice, healing quarrels, 
 and deciding differences, in his capacity as a 
 magistrate. Thus, although he was always very 
 happy to see Mr. Charlton, every now and then 
 returned his visits, dined with him once or twice, 
 and showing a strong prepossession in favour of 
 his daughter, he did little to supply the place 
 of all that the worthy gentleman had lost or 
 given up. 
 
 The surgeon was still less serviceable in this 
 respect ; he was a busy little man, clever in his 
 profession, active, bustling, round, fat, and gene- 
 rally dressed in knee breeches and black silk 
 stockings. He was always cheerful, especially 
 when he could rub his hands, and say to a brother 
 practitioner in the neighbourhood, "A pretty 
 sprinkling of fever about Mr. Stubbs ;" but he 
 was too busy, too small in mind, and too full of
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 15 
 
 rhubarb, magnesia, jalap, and calomel, to be any 
 companion for a man of high intellect and wide 
 information such as Mr. Charlton. He did, in- 
 deed, occasionally dissipate half an hour by bring- 
 ing him the news of the neighbourhood, and 
 sometimes more effectually interested him by 
 introducing to his notice a case of distress, to which 
 the heart and the purse of the worthy gentleman 
 were always equally open. 
 
 The lawyer afforded still less sources of amuse- 
 ment or interest : he was a shrewd, clever, calcu- 
 lating, very silent man; each word that he uttered, 
 and they were very few, was well weighed and 
 pondered, although he had the reputation of 
 occasionally helping his neighbours into disputes, 
 from which it required his own assistance to 
 deliver them ; but, nevertheless, whatever he did 
 in this way was well considered, and he seemed 
 on all occasions to ask himself, before a sentence 
 was suffered to pass his lips, whether it was 
 actionable. With him Mr. Charlton was often 
 obliged to act in matters of business, but 
 •their intercourse went no farther, though the 
 lawyer was always profoundly civil to his wealthy 
 neighbour. 
 
 Though there were several other persons, in 
 various ranks of life, living at the distance of a 
 few miles, some of whom I may have occasion to
 
 16 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 introduce to the reader at an after period, these 
 three formed the only society which the village of 
 Mallington afforded, and the very retired and 
 quiet situation, which had been its great attraction 
 in the eyes of Mr. Charlton at first, now proved 
 a source of discomfort to him. 
 
 It is not improbable, indeed, that, under these 
 circumstances, he might, sooner or later, have 
 returned to London, and, indeed, he was begin- 
 ning to argue himself into a belief that the 
 masters which he procured for his daughter from 
 a large town, about seven miles distant, were not 
 so good as could be desired, when an event 
 occurred which changed the whole course of his 
 ideas, and fixed him on the spot where he was. 
 But I must not introduce an important character 
 at the end of the chapter, and the one who is now 
 about to appear well deserves a clear stage and 
 no favour.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 17 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 In walking* up the village of Mallington, from tlie 
 rectory towards the mansion which was called 
 Mallington House, we forgot to notice the linen- 
 draper's shop, kept by two maiden sisters, some- 
 what past their prime, but very respectable women 
 in their way. They were, it is true, rather apt to 
 inquire into and report the affairs of their neigh- 
 bours ; but this must not be attributed to them as 
 any great sin, for, to say truth, the village afforded 
 so few sources of amusement that, as they neither 
 fished, shot, nor hunted, they had very little else 
 to do during, at least, three quarters of their time. 
 The Misses Martin, then, employed a portion of 
 each day in settling the business of every one in 
 the place, and as their tongues were somewhat 
 feared, and they had the reputation of being 
 wealthy, they were courted by their neighbours, 
 invited to take tea at the surgeon's, and held a 
 hand at cards with the solicitor. They were, how- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 ever, thrifty people, notwithstanding the elevated 
 position they held in the society of the place, 
 served in their own shop, and let the first floor and 
 part of the second, when any one seeking a pure 
 and salubrious air came down to find it at Mal- 
 lington. 
 
 One afternoon, then, about two o'clock, in the 
 spring of the third year which Mr. Charlton spent 
 in the country, a post-chaise drove into the village, 
 and stopped at the little public-house — for it could 
 not be called an inn — named the Bagpipes, which 
 had been established from time immemorial at the 
 end of the street nearest the rectory. 
 
 The Misses Martin went to the door of their 
 shop and looked out ; but they could discover 
 nothing but that a lady in mourning and a boy of 
 about thirteen got out of the vehicle, and entered 
 the place of public entertainment. After they had 
 paused for a minute to see what more, they 
 returned into the shady retreat formed by cloths 
 and printed calicoes, and were busily engaged in 
 wondering who the strangers could be, when the 
 lady and the boy walked with a slow and saun- 
 tering pace up the street, looking at the houses on 
 each side of the way as they came. 
 
 " Lor, Mathilda !" cried the eldest Miss Martin, 
 as she saw them pass, " perhaps they are looking 
 for lodgings. Tell Sally to put up the bill."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 19 
 
 The youngest sister hastened to obey, and then 
 passed out between two pieces of muslin to see the 
 further proceedings of the visitors. 
 
 " I declare they have gone into Dixon's," she 
 cried ; " the creature keeps her bill up always ; 
 but I am sure they will never be contented with 
 that nasty place." 
 
 " If they are," said Miss Martin, in the true 
 philosophical spirit of a certain fox who once had 
 to do with the fruit of the vine, " they would not 
 suit us, that 's clear." 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour, however, the 
 strangers came down the hill again, looking about 
 them as be fore, and, much to the satisfaction of 
 the two ladies in the shop, they walked in as soon 
 as they perceived the bill. Inquiries were made 
 — the rooms to be let were looked at ; no haggling 
 about the price took place, but some additional 
 conveniences were required, and, especially, a 
 fourth room for a servant. All was promised by 
 the Misses Martin that the lady demanded, and 
 the next day she and her son were safely installed 
 in the apartments over the shop, with a private 
 door quite to themselves. A prim and tidy girl was 
 hired to wait upon them till the lady's own servant 
 could come down from London ; and several 
 costly articles of dress, with a handsome dressing- 
 case, fitted up with silver, a writing desk to corre- 
 c 2
 
 20 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 spond, and numerous applications to know where 
 certain luxuries and conveniences were to be 
 procured, showing habits of expense, if not afflu- 
 ence, convinced the Misses Martin that they had 
 obtained as their tenants a very respectable family 
 indeed. 
 
 The lady herself did not look more than two 
 or three and thirty, although she was dressed in 
 the unbecoming garb of widowhood — not, indeed, 
 in deep weeds, for her fine flaxen hair was shown, 
 but in such garments as many a woman feels 
 inclined to wear long after the customs of the 
 country require her to bear about the external 
 signs of her bereavement. She was a very pretty 
 woman, moreover, with bright blue eyes, fine 
 teeth, a good complexion, soft clear skin, a chin 
 somewhat too prominent perhaps, a beautiful hand 
 and arm, and as smart a foot and ankle as ever 
 was seen. She was tall, and though not absolutely 
 graceful — for real grace depends as much upon 
 the mind as upon the body — yet she was well 
 formed, plump, but not stout, with a very charm- 
 ing fall of the neck and shoulders, and a waist of 
 a mere span. Her son was, as we have said, 
 about twelve or thirteen years of age, with his 
 mother's complexion and features; tall, strong, 
 and active, but with something unpleasant in the 
 expression of his face, which it wp,s difficult to
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 21 
 
 account for. His forehead was, indeed, rather 
 low, the back of the head large, and there was a 
 wild rash expression about the eyes and mouth, 
 which made the elder Miss Martin somewhat 
 apprehensive for her tables and chairs. In every 
 other respect he was a handsome, good-looking 
 boy: and no sooner was he in the house than oat 
 again down to the stream, over the hill and 
 through the lanes, leaving his mother to arrange 
 their rooms to her own taste, and take the trouble 
 of unpacking the numerous trunks and port- 
 manteaux which had been crowded upon the 
 chaise. 
 
 Though the lady herself seemed a little thought- 
 ful as she proceeded with this task, Miss Mathilda 
 Martin, who gave her every assistance in her 
 power — to see what was contained in the packages 
 — remarked that she could occasionally laugh with 
 a gay and merry laugh, as if she had once been 
 possessed with what is called, in vulgar parlance, 
 the spirit of fun, and as if, moreover, that spirit 
 had not yet entirely gone out of her. She acquired 
 also, even earlier than her sister, various pieces of 
 information of which she was desirous, and 
 amongst them, the name that was engraved upon 
 the boxes, which, as they had been carried up under 
 the lady's own eye, she had not previously been able 
 to discover. There it stared her in the face, every
 
 22 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 trunk that was opened, "The Hon. Mrs. Latimer !" 
 and with this grand intelligence she hurried down 
 to inform her sister, as soon as she had satisfied 
 her curiosity in other respects. 
 
 Now, had Mrs. Latimer lodged at Dixon's, and 
 had the good mistress of the house ventured to 
 attach Honourable to her name, the two Misses 
 Martin would instantly have pronounced the lady 
 an impostor, and asked, with a triumphant sneer, 
 whether lords' daughters ever travelled without 
 a single servant in yellow post-chaises, and had 
 but one maid, who was left in London? But 
 Mrs. Latimer was their own lodger; and that 
 made a wonderful difference. She was for the 
 time a part and parcel of themselves ; and their 
 importance, the very importance of their lodging, 
 was vastly increased by the Hon, Mrs. Latimer 
 lodging there. They looked forward into futu- 
 rity ; they thought of speaking, for many years, 
 to all persons viewing the rooms of their last 
 lodger, " the Hon. Mrs. Latimer ;" they even 
 saw a likelihood of mentioning her to their ac- 
 quaintances, in more familiar conversation, as 
 their friend " the Hon. Mrs. Latimer, who had 
 been spending a few weeks with them." 
 
 The self-same night they told it to Mr. Ne- 
 thersole and to their neighbours, right and left ; 
 and when, on the day but one after, the lady her-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 23 
 
 self appeared at church, everybody was prepared 
 to opeu the door of his pew to give her admis- 
 sion ; and all declared that she was a very beau- 
 tiful creature, and looked " quite the lady." She 
 was ushered, however, by the clerk into the rec- 
 tor's pew, which, as he had no wife, and his sister 
 was absent, generally stood vacant. Her demean- 
 our was composed and decorous ; she looked 
 little around her, except once, when a man in the 
 gallery began to play upon a hautboy, beginning 
 with a dismal squeak, to lead the congregation in 
 singing ; and, to do them justice, they followed 
 him exactly in the same tone. She then turned 
 round with an expression of surprise, but speedily 
 fixed her eyes upon her book with a grave look, 
 and joined the rest, though with more music in 
 her tones than the other members of the choir. 
 Her son did not, indeed, preserve the same decent 
 solemnity, but laughed aloud ; and, to say truth, 
 through the whole service, displayed a sort of in- 
 different, careless inattention, which would have 
 shocked the good clergyman not a little, but that 
 luckily, both in the pulpit and the reading desk, 
 his back was turned upon his own'pew. The next 
 seats, however, were those of Mr. Charlton and 
 his daughter ; and the worthy gentleman re- 
 marked his young neighbour's want of decorum 
 with displeasure ; but as he walked up the hill
 
 24 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 after church, he perceived, well satisfied, that the 
 fair widow, who was just before him, spoke seri- 
 ously and evidently in a monitory tone to her son, 
 who, for his part, held down his head and said 
 nothing. 
 
 About a week after this occurrence, in writing 
 to a friend in London, Mr. Charlton added in a 
 postscript the following words : — " We have had 
 an addition lately to the society of our little vil- 
 lage, which, indeed, it much needed: a widow 
 lady, who styles herself, or whom the people 
 where she lodges style, the Honourable Mrs. 
 Latimer. I have fallen into a sort of acquain- 
 tance with her ; but, before I enter into anything 
 like what people in general call friendship, I 
 would fain know who she is, and something more 
 of her history. See if you can find out, in case 
 you cannot tell me yourself." 
 
 An answer to the letter came in the course of a few 
 days, and on this head the writer afforded full infor- 
 mation. Mrs. Latimer, he said, if it was the same 
 person he meant, was a young widow, formerly 
 the wife of the Honourable Captain Latimer, who 
 had been a gay reckless young fellow, and had 
 terminated a career of thoughtless folly and ex- 
 travagance, by shooting himself, one morning in 
 his dressing-room about two years before. 
 
 " She is but poorly provided for, I believe,"
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 25 
 
 continued the writer, " for liis family disapproved 
 of the match, as she was the daughter of a sing- 
 ing master ; and though she has always conduct- 
 ed herself with perfect propriety, they do nothing 
 for her, so that she only has the interest of a 
 younger brother's fortune, sadly shattered as he 
 left it. Frederic Harvey, who has seen her, says 
 she is a monstrous fine woman." 
 
 All these particulars roused Mr. Charlton's 
 best feelings in her behalf He pitied her deeply 
 for the shock and distress which her husband's 
 rash conduct must have inflicted ; he felt sym- 
 pathy for her, and indignation at her husband's 
 family for the harshness with which they had 
 treated a person who, placed in difiicult circum- 
 stances, had always acted with perfect propriety ; 
 and he compassionated a lady who, probably 
 accustomed to affluence, and even luxury, had 
 been so suddenly reduced to very limited circum- 
 stances ; and he admired her for the equanimity 
 and right feeling with which she bore the reverse, 
 and adapted her style of living to her means. 
 
 A passing bow or an occasional word was all 
 that had yet taken place between Mr. Charlton 
 and Mrs. Latimer, but he now walked down to 
 call upon her, with the determination of showing 
 her every attention in his power. The lady re- 
 ceived him with grave politeness, thanked him
 
 26 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 for his civility, and easily smoothed down the first 
 roughnesses of new acquaintance. She talked well 
 and sensibly ujDon various subjects ; never re- 
 ferred in the most remote degree to her own state 
 and station, but spoke a good deal of Miss Charl- 
 ton, and praised her beauty and grace of demean- 
 our with discrimination and delicacy. 
 
 Mr. Charlton went away even better pleased 
 with what he had seen than with what he had 
 heard, felt convinced that the society of such 
 a person would be of great advantage to his 
 daughter, and, after some hesitation, determined 
 to ask her to dinner, taking care to invite some 
 of the distant neighbours, who had wives and 
 daughters, to meet the fair widow at his house. 
 To her he bore the important request in person, 
 and prefaced it by some apology in regard to 
 having no lady of the house to receive her. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer smiled somewhat sadly, replying, 
 " Oh, my dear sir, when people come to our time 
 of life, and have seen many sorrows, though they 
 may have lost many bright things with youth, yet 
 they have gained freedom from those restraints 
 which youth is wisely, though unwillingly, forced 
 to impose upon itself." 
 
 " Our time of life, my dear madam !" said Mr. 
 Charlton, shaking his head, " you must not class 
 yourself with the good old people yet."
 
 THE STEP- MOTHER. 27 
 
 " Oh ! I am older than I look," replied the 
 lady, " and look, I am afraid, younger than I 
 could wish. But to speak to your invitation, my 
 dear sir. I really seldom go out. Indeed, I 
 have not been anywhere since — since — for a long 
 time, I mean." 
 
 " Nay, I will take no denial," rejoined Mr. 
 Charlton, kindly ; " and your young gentleman 
 must come up, and amuse himself as well as he 
 can." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Mrs. Latimer, 
 thoughtfully ; " but really — yet, for the boy's 
 sake, I must get rid of such feelings of reluc- 
 tance." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear madam," replied Mr. 
 Charlton ; " you have duties which must be per- 
 formed, and it is far better not to suffer feelings, 
 however natural — however laudable — to interfere 
 with their execution at the commencement. I 
 shall count upon you, then, and will now take 
 my leave." 
 
 The day of the dinner arrived. After some of 
 the more distant guests had made their appear- 
 ance, Mrs. Latimer was announced. She was 
 dressed more plainly than usual ; her widow's 
 cap was brought further over her face ; her hair 
 was less shown. She was grave, too, and seemed 
 a little agitated ; but if such was the case, Mr.
 
 28 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Charlton's kindness and good breeding soon put 
 her at her ease, and everybody showed her atten- 
 tion and civility, for her worthy host had commu- 
 nicated to those in the room what he had heard 
 regarding the propriety of her conduct, and the 
 sad circumstances in which she was placed. Be- 
 fore dinner, and after dinner, she showed great 
 fondness for Miss Charlton ; talked with her, 
 smiled upon her, and admired in her to her father 
 all those things which Mr. Charlton himself most 
 admired in his child. 
 
 In the course of the evening there was some 
 music ; several of the young ladies were requested 
 to sing; and one of them, after having done 
 so, inquired if Mrs. Latimer would not favour 
 them in the same way. She answered that she 
 never sang anything but sacred music now ; but 
 she was prevailed upon to try a song from some 
 favourite oratorio of the day, and nothing could 
 be more beautiful than the manner in which she 
 executed the task. It was chaste, high-toned, and 
 sweet, without any effort or exuberant ornament, 
 and every one listened, rapt and delighted till it 
 was done, when a murmur of applause sj)read 
 through the room. 
 
 From that day Mrs. Latimer became a great 
 favourite in the neighbourhood, and several in- 
 vitations to dinner immediately followed, but she
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 29 
 
 had chosen her course by this time, and replied, 
 without conceahnent, that her means were too 
 limited to admit of her going out far for society. 
 In one or two instances, a kindly — though, per- 
 haps, considering the shortness of the acquain- 
 tance, not a very delicate — spirit prompted the 
 inviters to send their own carriages for her ; and 
 in these cases she accepted. She also went out 
 to several other dinner parties to which Miss 
 Charlton was invited, taking a place in Mr. 
 Charlton's carriage; but her principal intimacy 
 was at Mallington House, and circumstances 
 soon arose to make her almost a daily visitor 
 there, as I shall proceed to explain.
 
 30 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It very often happened, during tlie montli or two 
 whicli followed, that Mr. Charlton, sometimes 
 accompanied by his daughter, sometimes alone, 
 dropped in for half an hour in the morning to 
 see how Mrs. Latimer and her son were going 
 on ; and on more than one occasion the conver- 
 sation turned upon the education of children, in 
 regard to which the lady seemed to have thought 
 deeply, though, to say the truth, her own offspring 
 did not afford a favourable specimen of her prac- 
 tice. That circumstance, however, was easily and 
 naturally explained by her one morning, when 
 the boy was absent, " I have a hard task before 
 me, my dear sir," she said, speaking of this sub- 
 ject." Poor Alfred has been so terribly neglected, 
 and so sadly spoiled, that the efforts to restrain 
 him, and make him apply, are almost too much for 
 me. I long foresaw what would be the result, 
 and foresaw it with fear and trembling ; but the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 31 
 
 will of those wlio had the best right to speak was, 
 of course, obeyed, and between contending duties 
 I yielded to that which appeared paramount. I 
 did not, indeed, think," she added in a low tone, 
 " that I should be left alone to struggle with the 
 faults encouraged by indulgence I could not coun- 
 teract." 
 
 " Do you not think, my dear madam," asked 
 Mr. Charlton, " that the best plan would be to 
 send him to school ?" 
 
 Mrs. Latimer shook her head with a rueful 
 smile. " I cannot afford it," she said, in a low 
 tone, and then added, a moment or two after, as 
 her words had thrown her worthy visitor into a 
 train of thought, " No, I must be contented to do 
 what I can myself, and for the rest must trust to 
 masters, when I can hear of any good ones." 
 
 " There are some very fair masters in the 
 neighbourhood," replied Mr. Charlton. " With 
 the exception of music, which he does not want, 
 you will find all that you require. The music- 
 master, indeed, is a very indifferent teacher, and 
 I have, on more than one occasion, thought of 
 going back to London again, in order to give 
 Louisa better instruction." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer turned a shade paler, but the 
 next moment she exclaimed, " Oh ! Mr. Charlton, 
 I have thought of something that will indeed be
 
 32 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 delightful. You must let me be your daughter's 
 music-mistress. It will at once be a great plea- 
 sure to me, and it will afford me the only means 
 I ever shall have of showing you how deeply 
 grateful I am for all the kindness you have 
 evinced towards me." 
 
 Mr. Charlton hesitated and was embarrassed, 
 said he could not think of Mrs. Latimer taking 
 such trouble, and made a number of other apolo- 
 gies ; but the lady persisted in her plan, and, as 
 she had no piano at her lodging, it was agreed 
 that she should come up every fine morning, to 
 ffive Louisa Charlton some instruction. Louisa 
 herself was delighted, and every day Mrs. Latimer 
 became a greater favourite both with father and 
 daughter. She was often a companion at their 
 breakfast table ; often stayed to dinner. Her son 
 was frequently at Mallington House, and though 
 by no means much approved of by Mr. Charlton, 
 was tolerated for Mrs. Latimer's sake. She was 
 the greatest resource to the worthy gentleman 
 that could be imagined — his companion, his friend ; 
 and he was very well inclined that matters should 
 go on in the same way to the close of his days, 
 but Mrs. Latimer did not intend that it should 
 be so. 
 
 When she had been about nine months in the 
 place, Mr. Charlton observed, with real concern,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 33 
 
 that she grew graver and more thoughtful than 
 ever ; that she seldom smiled, and when she did 
 so it was faintly, and not from the heart. He 
 inquired of himself what could be the matter, for 
 some time before he inquired of any one else. 
 But at length, one day, when he had, during a 
 morning call upon her, remarked that she was 
 more serious than ever, he asked her maid, who 
 opened the door to give him exit — a calm, staid, 
 shrewd-looking woman — if Mrs. Latimer were ill, 
 observing that she looked out of spirits. 
 
 " Really, sir, I do not know what is the 
 matter," said the abigail. " I see clearly enough 
 that my mistress is fretting about something, but 
 I cannot tell you what it is. She has had sorrow 
 enough, poor thing, for one so good and so beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " Pray were you with her when her husband 
 died, Mrs. Windsor ?" asked Mr. Charlton. 
 
 " Ay, that I was, sir," answered the maid, " and 
 a terrible day, too. He was a wild, rash, violent 
 man, and treated her ill enough. But still he 
 was her husband, sir ; and although as to loving 
 him very much, that was not possible, yet the 
 shock nearly killed her." 
 
 " Well, pray, Mrs. Windsor," rejoined Mr. 
 Charlton, feeling that it would not be proper to 
 push his inquiries any farther in that quarter, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " if you find out tliat T can be of any service to 
 Mrs. Latimer, let me know. You may be per- 
 fectly sure I should be delighted to render it." 
 
 The maid promised to do so ; but nothing 
 resulted from this conversation for some time, 
 and Mrs. Latimer still continued grave and sad. 
 At times, indeed, when walking on the common 
 with Mr. Charlton, or sitting with him alone, a 
 burst of happier feeling would take place. She 
 would give way to some playful sally ; appeal to 
 him upon some light matter of taste ; discuss the 
 subject with him eagerly; perhaps oppose his 
 opinions at first, but, in the end, yielded invari- 
 ably, and then would turn her fine blue eyes 
 upon him, and exclaim, " We women are not 
 capable of arguing, my dear friend, and I believe 
 we had better never attempt it." Then, the 
 moment after, she Vv^ould fall into sad thought 
 again, and at times her eyes would fill with 
 tears. 
 
 At length one morning a note arrived from 
 her, at the hour at which she usually appeared, 
 excusing herself for not coming, on account of 
 matters of business which would occu23y her all 
 day. A second day she excused herself, a third 
 she had a cold ; and Mr. Charlton went down in 
 person to inquire after her. At a little distance 
 from her door he met her son Alfred, and, stop-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. S5 
 
 ping to shake hands with the boy, naturally 
 expressed a hope that Mrs. Latimer was not 
 seriously indisposed. 
 
 " Oh ! mamma is well enough," replied Alfred 
 Latimer. " She is only moping. She has been 
 moping these three or four days ; but you must 
 not tell her I said so, for she forbade me." 
 
 Mr. Charlton went on and rang at her door, 
 nor was he refused admittance. He found her 
 seated reading, and, thinking it better to begin 
 upon the subject that he had at heart at once, he 
 said, " My dear lady, I have remarked that you 
 have been much out of spirits of late. Now you 
 must not think me intrusive ; but, feeling the 
 very sincere regard for you that I do, I may be 
 permitted to say that, as you have no one here 
 with whom to consult, if you require advice or 
 assistance in any way, I should feel it a slight if 
 you did not apply to me." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer coloured, and seemed a good deal 
 agitated ; but, after a moment's pause, she pressed 
 Mr. Charlton's hand in her own, saying empha- 
 tically, " Thank you ! thank you ! best and kind- 
 est of men. But, alas ! I fear that you can give 
 me no assistance, and that your advice in this 
 instance would but confirm the resolution which 
 I have already taken, with bitter regret. Oh ! 
 had I had your advice and support long, long 
 d2
 
 36 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 ago, bow many sorrows might have been saved 
 
 me 
 
 " Well, but take them now," said Mr. Charl- 
 ton, " and first tell me, my dear madam, what 
 this determination is ?" 
 
 " I will," replied Mrs. Latimer, " but you must 
 hear a word or two of preface. Married very 
 young, partly at my father's persuasion, partly 
 from the giddy thoughtlessness of youth, to a 
 man of whom I shall only say that even then I 
 should not have chosen him, had I had oppor- 
 tunity of selection, or time for thought, I endea- 
 voured to do my duty well — indeed I did, Mr. 
 Charlton ; nay, more, I tried to make my duty 
 pleasure. The rest I must pass in silence — the 
 memory of the dead is sacred ; but I have known 
 little peace in life till I came down here. In this 
 quiet place, and with your kind and beneficial 
 society, I have enjoyed my first happy moments 
 since girlhood ; but, alas ! now I must leave it." 
 
 Mr. Charlton started, as if she had struck him, 
 so completely was the possibility of such an event 
 absent from his thoughts. " But why, Mrs. Lati- 
 mer ? Why V he exclaimed. 
 
 " Because," she replied, " and you will own the 
 reason to be a good one — my means are not equal 
 to living even in the moderate way in which I 
 live here. I have shaped my expenditure by my
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 37 
 
 income ; but a sudden claim upon a part of the 
 small property my husband left, having started 
 up, even that poor income is diminished." 
 
 " Nay, but let me look into the claim on your 
 behalf," said Mr. Charlton ; " it may not be fair 
 — it may not be just." 
 
 " Yes, it is," replied the lady, " I have been 
 forced to become a better woman of business than 
 you give me credit for being. I went into all the 
 details at once about a month ago ; I found that 
 it was indubitable — though the lawyers said I 
 might contest the validity of the documents — that 
 the money had been received, and therefore I 
 ordered it to be paid immediately. It is already 
 done ; my income is reduced by so much ; and I 
 have only to wait till I can receive a sufficient 
 sum to pay a few little bills here, and then, I 
 fear — I must — yes, indeed, I must leave you," and 
 Mrs. Latimer burst into tears. 
 
 Mr. Charlton soothed her kindly and tenderly, 
 and when she was somewhat more composed he 
 said, " Indeed, this shocks and grieves me deeply ; 
 and if you would but consider me really in the 
 light which you have often said you do — namely 
 that of a friend, a sincere true friend — and make 
 use of my purse as if it were your own, till this 
 little storm be passed — " 
 
 " Mr. Charlton !" exclaimed Mrs. Latimer,
 
 38 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 drawing herself back, as if greatly surprised, 
 " Impossible ! But no," she added the next mo- 
 ment, " I know you meant it kindly, graciously, 
 nobly, as you do everything. But that is quite 
 impossible. A woman cannot receive money but 
 from a father, or a husband — nay, say not a word 
 more on that score, or I shall think you do not 
 respect me. As to the money, I care not for it. 
 There are countries where I can live at a cheaper 
 rate than here, and I am ready, willing, to live 
 on bread and water — jay, to work for that bread, 
 should need be ; but to part with the only people 
 who have been really kind to me — to quit the 
 only spot where I have known tranquillity — is 
 bitter indeed," and Mrs. Latimer wept again. 
 
 What Mr. Charlton might have replied at that 
 moment, had he not been interrupted, who can 
 tell ? but just as he was about to answer, Alfred 
 Latimer burst into the room, laughing at some- 
 thing he had seen or done in the village. The 
 boy was surprised to see his mother in tears, and 
 turned a look quickly, and almost fiercely, upon 
 Mr. Charlton, as if he had been doing something 
 to grieve her. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer, however, held out her fair hand 
 to her friend, saying, " Forgive me for thus giving 
 way, and say no more upon the subject at present.
 
 THE STEP-MOtHER. 39 
 
 . We will talk about it more hereafter, when I am 
 calmer." 
 
 " Well, then, my dear lady," replied Mr. Charl- 
 ton, " I shall take it for granted that you will 
 not rashly act in this matter till we have spoken 
 further." 
 
 " I will take your advice in all things," an- 
 swered the lady ; " where should I go for counsel 
 if not to you, my best — I may, indeed, say — my 
 only friend ?" 
 
 When Mr. Charlton returned to his own house 
 he found his mind much more perturbed than 
 was ordinary with him, or at all agreeable. That 
 Mrs. Latimer might quit Mallington had never 
 entered his imagination. She had never hinted 
 such an intention ; she had seemed so happy, so 
 contented with the place, that he had taken it for 
 granted everything would go on just as it had 
 gone on for an indefinite time, and the idea of 
 losing her society, and being again reduced to the 
 state of listless apathy in which he had been when 
 she arrived, seemed to him a second widowhood. 
 Yet what could he do to prevent such a result ? 
 She had reasonable grounds for her resolution ; 
 she was evidently resolved to receive no pecuniary 
 assistance ; and, though he might think her a 
 little too scrupulous with so sincere a friend as 
 himself, he honoured her scruples too much to
 
 40 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 strive to shake tliem. The term second widow- 
 hood, which he had employed in his own thoughts, 
 ran in his mind. He began to fancy that he 
 should find his time still burdensome to him 
 through life, unless he married again ; and the 
 expression which Mrs. Latimer had herself used, 
 saying, that a woman could only receive money 
 from a father or a husband, was one of the first 
 things that made him ask himself, if he did 
 marry, who could he so well and wisely wed as 
 herself? 
 
 At first he wished that he were ten years 
 younger, their ages, then, he thought, might not 
 have been so out of proportion. As it was, 
 people would only say that he had been caught 
 by the eye, and laugh at the old gentleman for 
 marrying the fair young widow. Yet, after all, 
 he recollected that he was not so very aged as 
 grief and want of occupation, and the dark views 
 they had engendered, made hirri fancy. He was 
 barely fifty-four ; Mrs. Latimer might be thirty- 
 five, or thirty-six, for she had told hini that she 
 looked younger than she really was. There was 
 a difference, certainly, of fifteen or sixteen years, 
 but what of that ? There was many a more 
 disproportionate match every day ; and, let the 
 world say what it would, he was conscious that 
 it was not for beauty, or any ephemeral advantage,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 41 
 
 that he chose her, but merely for the sake of 
 an amiable and pleasant companion, who had 
 soothed his melancholy, and whose high qualities 
 he knew. 
 
 Thus Mr. Charlton went on, diminishing some 
 objections in his own eyes, and boldly meeting 
 others with a flat negative, till dinner time ; and 
 yet he was by no means satisfied, and still less 
 decided. He thought of his former wife — of her 
 he had loved with the fondest affection — who had 
 been the sunshine of his home, the light of his 
 steps, the pride, as well as the darling, of his 
 heart ; and when he looked into his own bosom 
 he found nothing like the same feelings there 
 towards Mrs. Latimer that he had experienced 
 towards her. True, it was not to be expected — 
 true, perhaps, it was better not. This ought to 
 be a marriage of reason, whereas the other had 
 been a marriage of love. But then, again, he 
 thought of his daughter ; and why or wherefore 
 he could not tell, his heart misgave him. It was 
 but a prejudice, he fancied. One heard so much 
 of step-mothers, and perhaps they might occa- 
 sionally act ill, but there must be exceptions — 
 indeed, he had known them himself, and Mrs. 
 Latimer already showed for Louisa almost the 
 affection of a mother. 
 
 Yet he was not satisfied ; and at dinner he was
 
 42 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 thoughtful, absent, almost fretful. Towards nine 
 in the evening, as he was trying to turn his mind 
 to other thoughts, with the prudent resolution of 
 sleeping over the matter, and just when Louisa 
 had retired to bed, one of his old servants an- 
 nounced to him that Mrs. Windsor, Mrs. Lati- 
 mer's maid, desired to see him. 
 
 *' Show her in, show her in !" cried Mr. Charl- 
 ton, in some agitation ; and when the abigail 
 appeared he exclaimed, " Good-evening, Mrs. 
 Windsor, I hope your lady is not ill !" 
 
 " No, sir," replied the maid ; and then waiting 
 till the door was closed, she added, " but you told 
 me, sir, to inform you if I found out what made 
 my mistress so grave and sad, and as I discovered 
 to-night I thought I would come up and tell you, 
 esjDecially as you are somewhat concerned, sir." 
 
 " Indeed 1" exclaimed Mr. Charlton, in some 
 surprise ; " how is that, Mrs. Windsor V 
 
 " Why, sir," answered his companion, pausing 
 and thinking for a moment, with a grave and 
 embarrassed look, " it is an unpleasant thing to 
 tell, but yet, as I was saying, I think it is but 
 right that you should know, for I am sure you, 
 who are quite the master of the place, as I may 
 say, will soon put a stop to it." 
 
 " If it be anything unpleasant to your mis- 
 tress, and I have power to do so," replied Mr.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 48 
 
 Charlton, " I certainly will ; but what is it, Mrs. 
 Windsor?" 
 
 " Why, sir, it is just this," the maid proceeded, 
 after another hesitating pause — " those two old 
 cats at whose house we lodge, the Miss Martins, 
 ax*e the greatest gossips and scandal-makers in the 
 world, and they can't even keep their tongues off 
 Mrs. Latimer, who never had a word said against 
 her in her life." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Mr. Charlton, with a tremu- 
 lous emotion of the lip, " and pray what can they 
 find to say against her now ?" 
 
 " Truly, they must needs talk about your 
 coming so often to see her, sir," rejoined Mrs. 
 Windsor, as if with an effort, " and about her 
 coming up here to Miss Charlton, sir — that's 
 what they say ; and I have found out that three 
 or four days ago that old tabby, the eldest one, 
 had the face to go up to my lady and speak to 
 her about it, and to say it was not respectable." 
 
 " She did, did she !" exclaimed Mr. Charlton, 
 his cheek growing very hot, " well, my good lady, 
 I will soon settle that business !" 
 
 "They are cunning old creatures," continued 
 the maid, with a scornful smile, " for they never 
 said a word till they thought Mrs. Latimer was 
 going to leave them, and then they chose to begin. 
 However, sir, I thought it right to let you know,
 
 44 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 for I never like any one to be spoken ill of behind 
 his back, and to have things put upon him that 
 he never dreamt of — especially a gentleman so 
 kind and good to every one as you are." 
 
 " You did very right, Mrs. Windsor," replied 
 Mr. Charlton. " there 's a guinea for you. Do not 
 say anything to Mrs. Latimer about your having 
 seen me. I suppose she did not know you were 
 coming here ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, sir," said the maid, " she had told 
 me to take a note to Miss Charlton, which I have 
 given to your man ; but she did not know that I 
 was going to speak with you, and for Heaven's 
 sake, don't tell her, sir. She would be so angry." 
 
 " No, no, make yourself easy, Mrs. Windsor," 
 replied Mr. Charlton, " I will not betray you ; but 
 I will find means to put a stop to their idle gossip, 
 depend upon it, and now good-night. I shall call 
 down before luncheon to-morrow." 
 
 Thus they parted, and Mr. Charlton walked up 
 and down the room for at least half an hour. A 
 new and powerful motive was given to him for 
 doing as he wished to do ; nay, it was better than 
 a motive — it was an excuse. Mrs. Latimer's 
 reputation was affected by his friendship for her : 
 there was no means of remedying that evil but 
 one, and Mr. Charlton from that moment deter- 
 mined to put it in her power at least to do so.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 45 
 
 He was somewhat anxious and nervous upon the 
 subject, indeed. She might take a different view 
 of the matter — she might look upon the difference 
 of age as an insurmountable bar. She might 
 like him very well as a friend, but not think of 
 him as a husband. Yet, when he had retired to 
 rest, and thought over a thousand little traits 
 which he had perceived, he began to hope that he 
 was not altogether so indifferent to her. That 
 she had a great regard for him was evident ; that 
 to abandon his society was painful to her she had 
 acknowledged ; and he remembered more than 
 once having caught her eyes fixed upon his face 
 with an expression of interest. He was conscious 
 that he was a good-looking man of his age, and 
 now he began to wish that he had not continued 
 to wear powder and a pigtail. That, however, 
 could not now be helped, for he would not venture 
 upon the ridicule of cutting off the latter encum- 
 brance upon the eve of a declaration, and, thinking 
 that a sleepless night would not improve his 
 personal appearance, he turned upon his side and 
 courted the drowsy god. As usual, in such cases, 
 the god was somewhat slow to come, and Mr. 
 Charlton was up early the next morning refresh- 
 ing himself with a walk in the garden. At break- 
 fast his daughter sat opposite to him, and enter- 
 tained him with her young conversation ; but every
 
 46 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 time his eyes turned upon her his heart smote him. 
 However, his resolution was taken, and about 
 eleven away he went to execute it. 
 
 He found the fair widow looking, he thought, 
 more fascinating than ever, and, luckily for his 
 purpose, alone. Her eyes beamed when she saw 
 him; and she held out her soft delicate hand 
 with a smile so enchanting that Mr. Charlton 
 began to feel emotions of tenderness which carried 
 him on wonderfully after a while, though they 
 interrupted him a little at first. 
 
 " You seem busy, my dear Mrs. Latimer," he 
 said, looking at her writing-desk, which was open 
 before her, and at the table covered with papers. 
 " I hope I do not disturb you ; but even if I do I 
 must still intrude a little, for I have one or two 
 things to say." 
 
 " I was only putting my desk into order for a 
 journey," said Mrs. Latimer, with the smile 
 passing away, and giving place to a look of 
 sadness ; " for I see, my excellent friend, it must 
 come to that." 
 
 "Nay, I think not," replied Mr. Charlton, 
 seating himself beside her on the little hard-stuffed 
 rose-wood sofa of the lodging. " I think not," he 
 repeated, " unless, indeed, you be very resolute to 
 go. There is such a thing, my dear lady, as a 
 choice of evils in this world, and I am going to
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 47 
 
 put such an alternative before you. You have 
 expressed great unwillingness to go from Mailing- 
 ton, and I believe you to be quite sincere, for 
 where one is loved and esteemed, there one 
 generally finds some sort of pleasure. You have, 
 also, been kind enough to say that the loss of my 
 daughter's and my own society had no slight part 
 in causing your unwillingness." 
 
 " A part, my kind friend, so great, that the 
 alternative you propose would be a very painful 
 one indeed if I did not choose it to avoid such 
 grief. For yourself, I can only say that you have 
 acted towards me a part that has ever made me 
 look upon you as an elder brother." 
 
 "Well, my dear madam," said Mr. Charlton, 
 " I tell you the alternative is but one of two evils: 
 it is for you to judge which is the greater. I wish 
 you, then to stay at Mallington — to change your 
 present residence, and to come to mine." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer looked all amazement ; but Mr. 
 Charlton proceeded with more calmness than he 
 had himself expected — "This, my sweet friend, can 
 but be done at the expense of a great sacrifice. 
 To render it right — to render it possible, I may 
 say — you must consent to give your hand to a man 
 much older than yourself, and to make him happy 
 at the expense, perhaps, of some regrets." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer pressed her hand upon her heart
 
 48 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 as if its beating were too much for her ; and then, 
 bending down her head, she hid her eyes in her 
 handkerchief and wept. 
 
 "Nay, nay," said Mr. Charlton, taking her 
 hand somewhat alarmed, " I did not intend to 
 grieve you." 
 
 " Grieve me ! grieve me ! " cried Mrs. Latimer, 
 raising her beautiful eyes swimming with tears, 
 but with a smile upon her lips. " Oh ! my 
 noble and generous friend, you know not what I 
 feel ;" and she placed her other hand in his also. 
 " But I cannot suffer you," she said, after a start. 
 " No ! I cannot suffer you to make such a sacri- 
 fice yourself. You know that I am poor ; but 
 you do not know how poor, my good friend. 
 Debts I have none, but at this moment I have 
 less than one hundred per annum. You can, you 
 ought to look for a wife far better endowed than 
 I am. Still in the prime of life, with large for- 
 tune, and everything to make a woman happy 
 you have every right to expect — " 
 
 " Hush, hush, hush !" said Mr. Charlton, in- 
 terrupting her, " I will not hear another word 
 upon such subjects. If you can feel that you will 
 be happy with me, if you will be a mother to my 
 daughter and a companion to myself, the journey 
 from Mallington is at an end." 
 
 " For ever!" said Mrs. Latimer, leaning her
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 49 
 
 head upon liis shoulder, " Oh !" she murmured 
 in a soft tone, " Oh ! that I had known you 
 earher in life, as I said the other day, what misery 
 it woiihl have saved me. But how rarely is it 
 that one meets in early years the only person who 
 can make one happy." 
 
 We have, however, intruded somewhat too far 
 upon scenes that are generally private, and we 
 must therefore leave Mrs. Latimer and Mr. 
 Charlton alone to settle all ahout the marriage 
 without our 2)i*esence. We have not been the 
 only ones, however, dear readers, who overheard 
 that tender conversation. Ah, no ! Miss Mathilda 
 Martin, having first ascertained that Mrs. Wind- 
 sor had gone out as soon as she had let Mr. 
 Charlton in, was upon the stairs close to the door 
 — 'SO close, indeed, that sometimes her ear, some- 
 times her eye very nearly touched the keyhole. 
 So it was, however, that after a certain time Miss 
 Mathilda descended to the shop, with a cheek 
 highly coloured, and an eye full of excitement. 
 *' Oh ! yes, indeed," she said to her sister, " it is 
 just so ! quite as we thought. Don't say a word, 
 Winifred. I heard it with my own ears. He is 
 now going to forget all decency and to keep her 
 up at his own house. I heard him, I can assure 
 you. He said these very words, ' I wish you 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 to stay at Mallington — to change your present 
 residence, and come to mine.' " 
 
 " And what did she say ?" cried Miss Martin, 
 eagerly. " Will she go ?" 
 
 " Oh, to be sure !" replied Mathilda ; " no 
 doubt of it. There were plenty of ' dear friends' 
 and * sweet friends' going, I can assure you. Ah ! 
 the nasty old man, how I hate him !" 
 
 " She's the worst of the two," answered her 
 sister ; " a trumpery minx, with her high airs. 
 Why, she has never once asked us to take a cup 
 of tea ; as if we were dirt. I should not wonder 
 if she were no widow at all, but just some cast off, 
 with her boy.'* 
 
 Mrs. Latimer was evidently lost in the opinion 
 of the two Misses Martin ; and after having thus 
 discussed the mistress they proceeded to assail the 
 maid. Of her they said what was true enough, 
 that she was an artful jade ; for though they had 
 not exactly hit upon Mrs. Latimer's real faults, 
 she being, perhaps, the last person on earth to be 
 misled by any man, young or old, yet their closer 
 observation of good Mrs. Windsor had given 
 them a good insight into her character. As they 
 were in progress, however, they were suddenly 
 interrupted by the entrance of good Dr. Western, 
 the rector, who, after ordering a few articles of
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 51 
 
 clothing for some of his poor, went on to ask if 
 Mrs. Latimer was at home. 
 
 " Oh dear, yes, sir," said Miss Martin, " she 
 has got Mr. Charlton with her, as usual, sir." 
 
 " She is soon going to quit, however," added 
 Mathilda, " and I cannot say I am sorry." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the clergyman, with con- 
 siderable surprise, " may I ask why ? Mrs. Lati- 
 mer is a very respectable person, though not rich, 
 and I trust that you have too much good sense 
 and good feeling. Miss Martin, to value any one 
 merely as they may be wealthy." 
 
 " Ay, but is she so respectable, doctor ?" asked 
 Miss Martin, with a significant look. 
 
 " I have the best assurance that she is so," 
 replied Dr. Western. " I will add something 
 more, my good lady. Knowing the propensity 
 of all small places to deal uncharitably with the 
 characters of strangers, and having last week 
 heard something that did not please me of reports 
 set about respecting this lady, I took the trouble 
 of writing for information, and find, as I sup- 
 posed, that those reports are without foundation, 
 and that she is in every respect what she seems ; 
 in a word, one who has acted through life with 
 perfect propriety, even though placed in very 
 painful and difficult situations. I trust, therefore, 
 E 2
 
 52 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 that we shall hear no more of this, for it is neither 
 christian nor generous." 
 
 Dr. Western, who had purposely given the 
 Misses Martin an opportunity of drawing this 
 reproof upon their own heads, then proceeded to 
 pay his intended visit to Mrs. Latimer ; and it was 
 remarked by the ladies of the shop that he and 
 Mr. Charlton walked out, and proceeded down 
 the street together. 
 
 A vague rumour, in the course of the subse- 
 quent week, spread through the village that Mrs, 
 Latimer was not long to be Mrs. Latimer. Louisa 
 Charlton or Mr. Charlton were always with her ; 
 the carriages of neighbouring gentry were fre- 
 quently at her door ; sempstresses and dress- 
 makers were busily employed ; and the Misses 
 Martin, beginning to find that they had made a 
 very great mistake, were her most humble ser- 
 vants, fawning egregiously on even Mrs. Wind- 
 sor, and declaring that " Dear Mrs. Latimer was 
 certainly one of the sweetest creatures that ever 
 was seen." 
 
 Dear Mrs. Latimer, however, did not forget 
 them ; she was perfectly civil, indeed ; but she 
 bided her time. 
 
 At length, one Saturday night an elderly gen- 
 tleman, who was reported to be an army agent, 
 came down to Mallington, spent the evening with
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 53 
 
 Mrs. Latimer and Mr. Charlton, and took a bed 
 at the house of the latter. The next day the lady- 
 appeared at church divested of her weeds ; and 
 on the Tuesday following, at an early hour, the 
 widower and the widow stood together before the 
 altar, to be made man and wife. The army agent, 
 who had been a friend of her former husband, 
 acted as father upon the present occasion ; a small 
 party of the country neighbours were witnesses to 
 the ceremony. Louisa Charlton and Alfred Lati- 
 mer were invited to spend a few days with a 
 friend who lived about seven miles from Mailing- 
 ton, and Mr. Charlton and his fair bride set out 
 upon a tour into Warwickshire.
 
 54 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Christopher Columbus was a great discoverer, 
 as the reader is undoubtedly aware ; but he never 
 made half the discoveries that Mr. Charlton did 
 within one year from the time that Mrs. Latimer 
 gave him her hand at the altar. Not that she 
 behaved ill to him ; for, on the contrary, she 
 redoubled her affectionate manner ; exerted her- 
 self to be more enchanting than ever ; soothed, 
 flattered, fondled him. But Mr. Charlton had now 
 nearer means of observation, and he was naturally 
 a clear-sighted man. He was as fond of her as 
 ever — be would not bave lost her society for the 
 world ; but he was neither old enough nor young 
 enough to be blind to all the little traits of cha- 
 racter which presented themselves in his fair wife ; 
 and all these traits tended to show that Mrs. 
 Charlton was one of those ladies who never act 
 without an object. She calculated her game with 
 the most precise and definite computation, and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 55 
 
 worked boldly towards the result which she wished 
 to arrive at by the means she thought most likely 
 to attain it. From her earliest years she had 
 been taught to consider her own interests in the 
 first place, and had willingly seconded her father 
 in ensnaring the son of a noble family into a con- 
 nexion which all his friends disapproved. His 
 first object was to seduce her, but though not 
 without strong passions, they were not of that 
 character which were likely to make her fall a 
 sacrifice to the designs of any man. She could 
 hate heartily, but love was not one of her weak- 
 nesses ; and thus she skilfully led him on to make 
 her his wife as the only means of possessing her. 
 His fortune, never very great, she aided to impair, 
 for she had tastes and habits as expensive as his 
 own ; and as he was of a viplent and irritable 
 disposition, and she had no object in soothing 
 him, the coldness with which she listened to the 
 details of his difficulties, and the little care she 
 displayed in extricating him from them, often 
 drove him into fits of passion, which produced 
 scenes that caused all but very close observers to 
 pity the sweet creature his wife very much. She 
 had an admirable art, too, of always putting him 
 in the wrong, and as she was certainly ill-treated — 
 for he was known more than once to strike her — 
 and as she resisted, without any effort, many an
 
 56 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 attempt to seduce lier from the right path, made 
 by that husband's dissolute associates, the world 
 in general gave her credit for forbearance only 
 equal to her virtue. Thus had passed her younger 
 days, till, at length, in a fit of rage and despair, 
 Captain Latimer lost the use of his reason, and 
 raised his hand against his own life. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer had then, as we have seen, set 
 up the interesting young widow, and had visited 
 various parts of England in that capacity before 
 she touched upon Mallington. At the latter 
 place, she only proposed at first to look about 
 her for a month ; and finding there a clergyman 
 apparently well to do, and a single man, her first 
 thought was that, perhaps, in course of time, she 
 might become Mrs. Western. Perceiving very 
 soon, however, that Dr. Western was not very 
 accessible, and learning that the large house at 
 the top of the hill belonged to a widower of great 
 wealth, she determined to change her plan, inas- 
 much as a campaign against the heart of Mr. 
 Charlton seemed open to more easy tactics, and 
 because the object to be gained was greater. 
 Afiluence and ease, carriages, horses, servants, 
 were things that Mrs. Latimer liked very much, 
 and it was well worth a little study and art to 
 obtain such advantages. The disposition of Mr. 
 Charlton was easily read — Mrs. Latimer shaped
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 57 
 
 her conduct accordingly ; her maid, Mrs. Wind- 
 sor, without any full explanation being necessary 
 between mistress and servant, seconded her skil- 
 fully, and the result has been already seen by the 
 reader. 
 
 It is an invariable rule, however, which often 
 tends to bring down retribution on the head of 
 deceivers, that we undervalue the good sense of 
 people whom we have once taken in. Never 
 cheat any one, dear reader ; for depend upon it 
 you will think him a fool ever after, till perchance 
 he cheats you in return. Now, Mrs. Latimer, or, 
 as we must henceforth call her, Mrs. Charlton ^ 
 did undervalue the good sense of her second hus- 
 band. She only recollected the result, that she 
 had deceived him into thinking her all he wished, 
 and she forgot the art she had displayed in mak- 
 ing him think so. She forgot, also, that she was 
 now placed before his eyes in the microscope of 
 matrimony, and she did not exactly guard all 
 her sayings and doings with that scrupulous care 
 which would have been necessary to keep up the 
 illusion. One great object was gained — she was 
 his wife — and she thought she might have a little 
 repose. She had another great object, it is true : 
 to induce him to leave her at his death a large 
 share of his fortune ; but she trusted to habit and 
 natural tenderness, and her own skill in pleas-
 
 58 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 ing, to obtain that very satisfactory result. Mr. 
 Charlton had, indeed, settled upon her, previous 
 to their marriage, an annual sum sufficient for her 
 maintenance as his widow, in case of his decease, 
 but Mrs. Latimer had, on various accounts, not 
 exacted as large a jointure as, perhaps, she might 
 have obtained had she, to use an angler's term, 
 " played her fish" after she had hooked him. But 
 two causes prevented her doing so : in the first 
 place, the character she had assumed, and which 
 it was necessary to keep up, was repugnant to 
 such a course ; and in the next, she was naturally 
 of an impatient disposition, and eager to enjoy the 
 fair prospect before her. Thus, though she deli- 
 cately hinted to her friend the army agent that 
 some settlement might be necessary, yet she left 
 the matter entirely in his hands ; and he, for his 
 part, thought the proposal of Mr. Charlton on 
 that score very liberal. 
 
 After a bridal tour of somewhat more than a 
 month, Mr. and Mrs. Charlton returned to Mal- 
 lington House ; and the lady's taste for expense 
 and display began to show itself. Her husband, 
 however, did not object ; he could well afford it, 
 and, indeed, had somewhat reproached himself 
 in days gone by with living too far within 
 his income, solely from not knowing how to 
 spend it reasonably. His former wife had no
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 59 
 
 such habits indeed, and the contrast struck him 
 not altogether pleasantly ; but he said nothing, 
 and only insured that his expenses should be 
 kept within due bounds. Then Mrs. Charlton 
 thought it right to see the trade of the village 
 improved by the establishment of a rival shop, in 
 opposition to the Misses Martin. Encourage- 
 ment was given to a speculative tradesman of the 
 neighbouring town to break in upon the mono- 
 poly so long enjoyed by those ladies, and as he 
 had all Mrs. Charlton's custom, and her strongest 
 recommendation, besides smart new articles, 
 which had never been seen in Mallington before, 
 the old shop was soon neglected, the dull-coloured 
 prints and muslins hung unpurchased in the win- 
 dows, and the Misses Martin, growing every 
 day sourer and more sour, rued the hour when 
 they had put up the bill of lodgings which had 
 caught the widow's eye, and mentally gave her 
 over to ruin and condemnation. 
 
 Neither of this did Mr. Charlton wholly 
 approve, but his fair wife took care to conceal 
 the animus of this proceeding from his eyes, and 
 he was, therefore, obliged to content himself with 
 her notions of free trade and anti-monopoly. 
 One thing, however, did annoy him ; he had for- 
 gotten that, in marrying the widow, he ran a 
 great risk of marrying her son too, and Alfred
 
 60 THE STEP-MOTHER, 
 
 Latimer soon gave him cause to repent of having 
 done so. He proved a wild, capricious, rash, 
 unfeeling boy, and it became evident, very 
 speedily, that his spoiling had not been entirely 
 on his father's part. He was very ignorant, very 
 arrogant ; and with none of those principles 
 which, implanted in very early youth, prove 
 sooner or later the correctors of follies ' and the 
 tamers of passions, he seemed to have no idea of 
 anything but indulgence and amusement. 
 
 After having given way for about six months, 
 Mr. Charlton, moved by a sense of duty to the 
 boy himself, shook off his desire of ease and 
 tranquillity, and represented to his wife the ab- 
 solute necessity of sending him to school. He 
 proposed Eton, and offered to provide liberally for 
 his expenses there, saying, that of course he 
 looked upon her son nearly in the light of his 
 own. But Mrs. Charlton was in despair at the 
 idea; she showed in feeling terms that he had 
 been so long brought up at home, that the change 
 to a public school would be more severe and 
 trying to him than to other lads ; and all that 
 her husband could obtain by his most reasonable 
 arguments was, that he should be sent to a private 
 school some fifteen miles off, where she might be 
 at hand herself to watch over him. 
 
 Not long after this Mrs. Charlton hinted to
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 61 
 
 her husband that it might be better if their dear 
 Louisa were sent to a finishing school in London. 
 She suggested that it would give a polish to her 
 manners, a tone, a style to her appearance and 
 demeanour that never could be acquired in coun- 
 try society ; that all the accomplishments which 
 she possessed wanted the perfecting touch of the 
 first masters, and that it was good for all young 
 people to see a little of the world before they had 
 to play an active part in it. 
 
 ]Mr. Charlton heard her to an end with perfect 
 composure, but then replied gravely, but not un- 
 kindly, " No, my dear. She never sets her foot 
 in a school." 
 
 He said no more at first, and Mrs. Charlton 
 was , inchned to argue the point ; but he stopped 
 her abruptly, adding, " Her mother never \Yas at 
 a school ; she had a great abhorrence of them. I 
 promised her that Louisa never should be sent to 
 one, and that promise I will keep." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton burst into tears, and Mr. Charlton 
 quitted the room. 
 
 She found that she had injured herself, how- 
 ever ; and hastened to retrieve her false move by 
 renewed kindness to her step-daughter, towards 
 whom, to say sooth, she had somewhat cooled 
 since her marriage ; but she did not love Louisa 
 the more for being the subject of her first dispute
 
 62 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 with her husband. In manner she was sweet 
 and gentle to Louisa Charlton, always calling 
 her either my love, or my dear Louisa; but 
 there were many small traits which showed to 
 Louisa herself, and, what was of still greater 
 importance, to Mr. Charlton also, that there was 
 little sincere affection. Often in a kindly tone, 
 and with numerous professions of regard and as- 
 surances that she did it for the child's own good, 
 she would reprove Louisa for one little act°or 
 another, and lecture her upon her conduct and 
 demeanour. She affected to think that it was 
 her duty to do so, and therefore did it before her 
 husband; but Mr. Charlton was very keen- 
 sighted in regard to his child, and the first ques- 
 tion which he asked himself was, whether the 
 censure was j ust, before he inquired whether his 
 new wife was only actuated by a sense of duty or 
 by some other motive. He generally found 
 reason to think that Louisa was in the right ; for 
 though she made no defence, yet she had an ad- 
 vocate in her father's heart, and a judge in his 
 sense of justice which did her right, contrary to 
 Mrs. Charlton's expectations. That lady, indeed, 
 only strove to produce an unfavourable impres- 
 sion on her husband of his daughter's conduct 
 and character ; but she was not at all aware that 
 Mr. Charlton was silently, and, in his own mind,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 63 
 
 trying them both, and generally giving judg- 
 ment against her. She did not at all understand 
 at first, and, indeed, never fully understood, the 
 exact nature of his love of quiet and his abhor- 
 rence of discussions. She often thought that she 
 had gained her .point, and produced the result 
 she intended, because he said nothing. She fan- 
 cied he did not see and comprehend, because he 
 did not oppose or reprove; but, in truth, Mr. 
 Charlton was always analyzing and forming his 
 estimate by the accumulation of facts which he 
 observed. Thus, on one or two occasions when 
 his quietness had induced Mrs. Charlton to go on 
 to a point where he felt it his duty to oppose de- 
 cidedly what he thought wrong, and some little 
 dispute took place in consequence, Mrs. Charlton 
 believed that it would all be soon forgotten ; but 
 she deceived herself. It was a new page written 
 in her history — a fresh line in the portrait which 
 her husband was constantly drawing in his own 
 mind. 
 
 Sometimes, too, in spite of all her skill and 
 self-command, the strong and violent passions 
 which were in her bosom would burst forth with 
 a vindictive fire, which startled and alarmed her 
 husband. Thus, one day, about a year after 
 their marriage, her son was brought in by the 
 head gardener (who had often complained of the
 
 64 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 destruction he committed in the garden) for a 
 more impardonahle offence. The man appeared 
 in the hall, where the young gentleman's mother 
 was then standing, holding him firmly by the 
 collar, notwithstanding his kicking, struggling, 
 and biting ; and he at once informed the lady that 
 Master Alfred had that moment destroyed the 
 whole melon beds, and broken the glasses of the 
 frames, in revenge for having been prevented 
 from knocking off the blossoms of a fruit-tree 
 with a switch. The man spoke calmly and re- 
 spectfully ; but the boy, furious with passion, ac- 
 cused him of striking and maltreating him, and 
 soon made his mother a participator in his anger. 
 The idea of her son dragged in by the collar by 
 a simple gardener, was enough to excite her in- 
 dignation ; and ordering the man to quit his hold 
 immediately, without making any answer to his 
 complaint, she took her son by the hand, and, 
 with raised colour and flashing eyes, sought Mr. 
 Charlton in the library. Trying to subdue her 
 voice to some degree of calmness, she demanded 
 that Blackmore, the gardener, should be imme- 
 diately dismissed, for daring to strike poor Alfred 
 for some of his little follies in the garden ; and 
 she proceeded to make out as aggravated a case 
 against the man as possible. 
 
 Mr. Charlton heard her calmly, but with his
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 65 
 
 eye resting more firmly on lier flushed clieek 
 than was pleasant to her, and then called the boy 
 to him, saying, " Come hither, Alfred, and tell 
 me how all this has happened. But, before you 
 speak, remember I must have the exact trutli, 
 which, I am sorry to say, you do not always 
 give. Now, what occurred between you and 
 Blackmore?" 
 
 The boy went on, detailed the circumstances 
 according to his own version, admitted with ap- 
 parent frankness that he had been switching the 
 blossoms on the wall, but declared that the man 
 had taken the stick from him, and struck him 
 with it, and that it was in running away from 
 him that he had jumped upon the melon beds 
 and broken the frames. The story was not well 
 arranged, for a very short investigation would 
 have shown that three frames had been destroyed, 
 with all the wanton fury of passion ; but Mr. 
 Charlton made no investigation, and remained 
 silent for a minute after the boy's tale, broken by 
 tears of rage, had come to an end. 
 
 '* Well, my dear," cried Mrs. Charlton, impa- 
 tiently, " have I not a right to demand that he 
 be discharged immediately ?" 
 
 " No, Emily ;" replied Mr. Charlton ; " he 
 cannot be discharged." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " And pray why not. Mr. Charlton V asked 
 his wife. 
 
 *' Because, my dear," was the answer, '' Alfred 
 has told a most gross and shameful falsehood. 
 1 was standing at that window at the time, and 
 saw the whole affair. If you will follow my ad- 
 vice, you will send Alfred back to school this very 
 day, as a 23unishment for the lie he has told, and 
 the bad spirit he has displayed. As to discharg- 
 ing Blackmore, for simply doing his duty, that is 
 out of the question." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton made no answer, but it was a 
 terrible struggle between prudence and passion. 
 She burst into tears, however, and, taking her 
 son by the hand, quitted the room. There was 
 another line drawn in her picture ; and a darker 
 one still was to come. Blackmore remained for 
 about two months more in the service of his old 
 master, and then gave warning. Mr. Charlton 
 asked no explanation, and the man offered none ; 
 but the former was well aware that the place had 
 been made too uncomfortable for the man to re- 
 main in it. 
 
 Although Louisa Charlton had not sufficient 
 knowledge of the human heart to analyze and 
 examine as her father did, yet she felt the cha- 
 racter of her step-mother, if I may use the term. 
 She knew that she was not loved by her, and that
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 67 
 
 her tenderest tones and sweetest terms were not 
 real. She avoided her as much as possible, then, 
 and Mrs. Charlton was very glad of it ; for she 
 was somewhat too apparently anxious to be free 
 from Louisa's society. If she were going out to 
 drive or to walk she always contrived to believe 
 that " the dear child" was busy about something 
 — that she had this to study, or that to do. But 
 Mr. Charlton, in his quiet way, soon put a moral 
 restraint upon her in these respects. When such 
 excuses for not taking his daughter were made, 
 he remained at home, saying he would wait till 
 she had done and then walk with her. This was 
 a course which his fair wife did not at all approve 
 of, as by that means the daughter became her 
 husband's companion, not herself; and when she 
 found that it was systematically pursued, she altered 
 her conduct, not without some apprehension of 
 having made another false move. 
 
 Louisa was always gentle, and kind, and affec- 
 tionate, and treated her father's wife with perfect 
 respect ; but even that Mrs. Charlton did not like, 
 for she would fain have discovered something 
 substantial to find fault with. As the sweet girl 
 grew up, however, and displayed promises of 
 great beauty, Mrs. Charlton thought of a change 
 of plans ; and in her own mind laid out a scheme 
 for uniting Louisa to her son — thus securing 
 F 2
 
 68 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 possession of the whole of Mr. Charlton's wealth. 
 The great obstacle, indeed, was the boy's own 
 disposition, of which she well knew neither father 
 nor daughter approved ; and from that moment 
 she strove eagerly with the lad — not to make him 
 amend, but rather conceal his faults. Advice, ex- 
 hortations, reproaches, were all employed in vain, 
 and her own indulgence tended to frustrate her 
 object. Each day as he advanced in life, Alfred 
 Latimer showed himself more headstrong and 
 wild, and a taste for low society began to display 
 itself when at home ; for the quiet cheerfulness of 
 Mr. Charlton, and even the gayer gentleness of 
 Louisa, were not at all to his taste. Towards the 
 latter, indeed, he showed some affection of a par- 
 ticular kind ; but even after they had become 
 the young man and the young woman it never 
 assumed the character of love. It was, in a de- 
 gree that of a brother for a sister, by which name 
 he always called her, in spite of all Mrs. Charlton 
 could say ; but it was less strong, less elevated. 
 At times he would be angry and sullen with her 
 for days together ; at others would forget her 
 entirely in his own pursuits; at others would tease 
 and give her pain. But whenever he was in 
 trouble or distress, he would fly to her, even in 
 preference to his mother; and often, by her advice, 
 assistance, or intercession, she would extricate him
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 69 
 
 from the difficulties that his own faults and follies 
 had brought upon him. Louisa approved neither 
 his character nor his conduct; she disliked his 
 society ; she shrank from his conversation, except 
 when he sought her for counsel or aid ; and the 
 more she saw of him, the more unworthy she 
 thought him, till she learned at length to regard 
 him with something like fear, though it was more 
 fear for himself, and for the follies and evils he 
 might commit, than for the annoyance he might 
 bring uj^on her. 
 
 I have said above that Mrs. Charlton was not 
 pleased at his giving Louisa the name of sister; 
 and the reason was, that she wished to bring Mr. 
 Charlton and Louisa herself to look upon him in 
 a very different light. She strove for this object 
 steadily, shutting her eyes to all the many motives 
 which could make her husband reject such a son- 
 in-law. She endeavoured to persuade him that 
 all Alfred's faults would pass away in time, that 
 they were but errors of youth, and over-indul- 
 gence ; and she attempted to rouse pride in favour 
 of the alliance she had in view, by casually speak- 
 ing, at different times, of the probability — which 
 she represented as great — of her son succeeding 
 to the title and estates of his cousin, whom she 
 declared to be a sickly and feeble youth, not likely 
 to see maturity.
 
 70 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Mr. Charlton had by this time gained deep in- 
 sights, and he heard her without any marked 
 reply, waiting to discover her object; for lie now 
 knew that she always had one. At length one 
 evening, when Louisa had gone to bed, and she 
 and her husband were sitting alone, Mrs. Charl- 
 ton, as he seemed in a cheerful and yielding 
 humour, ventured to say, " I know not what you 
 feel, my dear ; but if I could see my poor boy 
 united to a woman who would guide him aright ; 
 and, by occupying all his affections, give him those 
 high objects which I am sure are all that is want- 
 ing to correct his errors, I should think the great 
 end of life attained." 
 
 " I fear such a one would be difficult to find, 
 Emily," replied Mr. Charlton; " and for her sake, 
 poor thing, if ever he is destined to meet with such 
 a one, it would be better to let his passions be 
 broken by the hard struggle of the world, or tamed 
 by their own excess." 
 
 " Such a one is our dear Louisa," said Mrs. 
 Charlton, in a hesitating tone. 
 
 " She is certainly one to make any man happy," 
 replied her father, gravely, " but she is out of the 
 question, and her like is not easily found." 
 
 " But why is she out of the question ?" asked 
 Mrs. Charlton, a little irritated. " Suppose they 
 loved each other ?"
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 71 
 
 " That cannot be supposed," said Mr. Charlton. 
 " They are brother and sister, indeed, and may- 
 love each other as such, but my curse would fol- 
 low any other tie between them." 
 
 He spoke in a tone that the lady had never 
 heard him use before, and, as he did so, he rose 
 as if to put an end to the conversation. 
 
 The next morning her husband was up some- 
 what earlier than usual, and went down into the 
 village before breakfast. He had not been long 
 gone, however, before one of the lawyer's clerks 
 came up to ask for a memorandum book which 
 Mr. Charlton had left in his library. The servant 
 could not find it, and applied to his mistress, who 
 was now making breakfast. At first she told 
 Louisa to go and look, but the moment after a 
 sudden thought seemed to strike her, and she 
 exclaimed " No ; I know where it is. I will go.'* 
 
 She did, and found the book ; but before she 
 gave it to the man, who was waiting, she unclasped 
 it, and looked at the first page as if to see that it 
 was the right one. Her eye instantly lighted upon 
 the words " Mem. for Will : — If, contrary to my 
 express commands, Louisa should by any chance 
 marry A. L., everything to go to next heir." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton restrained herself with pain while 
 she handed the book to the man, but the moment 
 he was gone she gave way to a burst of inde-
 
 72 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 scribable rage. Her pretty features assumed the 
 expression of a demon ; and, in her wrath, she 
 threw off the table, and broke to pieces, an ink- 
 stand which she knew her husband valued great- 
 ly ; — it had belonged to his first wife. When she 
 returned to the breakfast-room she was still under 
 the influence of the same feelings : she scolded the 
 servants, she spoke angrily to Louisa, she? fell into 
 fits of sombre thought; but the moment Mr. 
 Charlton's step sounded in the hall she was 
 changed as if by enchantment. Her sweet smile 
 came back like sunshine returning to a stormy 
 sky, and she was all grace and gentleness when 
 he seated himself at the breakfast-table. 
 
 She saw that her object was hopeless from that 
 moment, however ; and all that remained was to 
 secure herself as large a share of Mr. Charlton's 
 property as possible. For that purpose she re- 
 doubled all her efforts ; and the next three or four 
 years passed in very skilful, but very ineffectual, 
 manoeuvres. Mr. Charlton's eyes were open, and 
 he was not to be deceived any more. He well 
 knew that to secure peace and tranquillity, and to 
 induce his wife to behave with tenderness to his 
 child, it was necessary to appear blind to every- 
 thing but any unkindness towards her; and he 
 did appear so. Mrs. Charlton soon found that to 
 show harshness or even coldness to Louisa was to
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 73 
 
 injure herself; and therefore, before her husband, 
 she was as gentle as a lamb, though often, at other 
 moments, she ventured upon an insmuation or a 
 taunt which wounded deeply a heart very suscep- 
 tible of, and accustomed to, kindness. Louisa 
 complained not, for she knew that to do so would 
 be to embitter the life of her father : but neither 
 in this was Mr. Charlton blinded; for he often 
 remarked, when he joined his wife and daughter, 
 that the latter was very grave, and he attributed 
 a mood not natural to her to its right cause. 
 
 To escape from conversation that was painful to 
 her, and from thoughts that were painful also, 
 Louisa Charlton often would walk down to the 
 rectory, where good Dr. Western, and a widowed 
 sister, of nearly his own age, who now lived with 
 him, offered her society, if not cheerful, serene — 
 and if not amusing, instructive. She joined in all 
 their works of charity towards the poor of the 
 neighbourhood, and contributed with a liberal 
 hand to relieve many a case of urgent and un- 
 merited distress ; for she was nearly eighteen 
 years of age, and her father took care that an 
 allowance, proportioned to the fortune she was to 
 inherit, should be placed at her own disposal. 
 Mrs. Charlton was always glad to see her go; 
 and generally, when a reason was thus afforded 
 for not taking her with them, hurried Mr. Charlton
 
 74 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 to distant visits, or to parties of pleasure, which did 
 not always agree very well with his somewhat 
 failing health. He was now above sixty years of 
 age, and his original strong constitution and re- 
 gular habits might have seemed to promise a green 
 old age; but there was something preyed upon 
 him. Perhaps it was regret, not unmingled with 
 self-reproach; and if so, it was natural that the 
 restraint he put upon his own feelings, to pre- 
 vent their ever appearing in the eyes of either 
 his wife or daughter, should aggravate the suffer- 
 ings inflicted by a consciousness of having acted 
 weakly. 
 
 Alfred Latimer was now frequently absent ; for 
 Mrs. Charlton had found it necessary, for the suc- 
 cess of her own plans, to prevent the follies and 
 vices, which were becoming more conspicuous as 
 he grew towards manhood, from being obtruded 
 upon the eyes of her husband ; and he had been 
 placed under the care of a clergyman at some dis- 
 tance to prepare him for college. But his stay 
 there did not tend, in any great degree, to improve 
 his disposition ; for the tutor was an indolent man, 
 with whom he might study if he pleased, or remain 
 idle if he liked, and, as the reader may well sup- 
 pose, he showed strongly his affection for "the 
 mother of vice." 
 
 Louisa had commenced her nineteenth year, and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 75 
 
 her birth-day had been celebrated with affectionate 
 joy by Mr. Charlton, when, the morning after, as 
 he was rising from his chair, he fell back insen- 
 sible. The surgeon, Mr. Nethersole, was sent for 
 in haste, and, by copious bleeding, relieved him 
 for the time ; but he remained ill for some months, 
 and never fully recovered his health. 
 
 Alfred Latimer was at Mallington at the time, 
 and remained there while his step-father was ob- 
 liged to keep his room, wandering about the 
 country, no one knew whither — coming home late 
 at night — and making constant demands upon his 
 mother's purse. One day, however, Edmonds, 
 the park-keeper of Lord Mallington, appeared at 
 Mallington House, and demanded to speak with 
 Mrs. Charlton. He was shown into her presence' 
 and, in his usual bluff and straight-forward man- 
 ner, proceeded to inform her that her son had 
 been seen, on the preceding night, in the preserves 
 of the earl. 
 
 " He had two other young fellows with him, 
 madam," he continued, " and I dare say the young 
 gentleman only did it for a spree ; but there were 
 guns fired, and pheasants killed, that is certain. 
 Now, I thought it best to come and tell you, 
 madam ; for these fellows he was with are not fit 
 company for him, and will get him into mischief: 
 and, as he has been always very civil to our people
 
 76 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER, 
 
 when he has called in at the cottage, I thought it 
 a pity to see him go on so." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton was really shocked and alarmed, 
 for she had previously entertained no idea of the 
 length to which her son's taste for low society had 
 been carried. She thanked the man sincerely, 
 then, for his warning ; and in order to break 
 through such dangerous connections, as' well as to 
 remove him before Mr. Charlton was well enough 
 to come down and resume his usual habits, she 
 acted with more firmness than usual where Alfred 
 was concerned, and sent him back to his tutor's 
 with the most serious admonition she had ever be- 
 stowed upon him in her life. He might perhaps 
 have resisted, for he seldom showed any great re- 
 verence for his mother's authority; but the fact of 
 having been discovered by the game-keepers 
 frightened him, and he obeyed. 
 
 At the end of about a month after his departure, 
 Mr. Charlton had sufficiently recovered to go out 
 and walk about the village and the neighbourhood, 
 as he had been accustomed to do, and his daugh- 
 ter Louisa was now his constant companion ; for 
 Mrs. Charlton, who had got into habits of great 
 self-indulgence, had by this time grown marvel- 
 lously stout and heavy, and loved exercise in her 
 carriage better than on foot. His conversation was 
 now generally serious, and sometimes sad ; and he
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 77 
 
 often referred to the probability of his death taking- 
 place at no very distant period. 
 
 *' I speak thus, my dear Louisa," he said one 
 day, " because I would have you prepare your 
 mind for such an event, as mine is prepared. I 
 know how terribly the loss of one we love comes 
 upon those who have never looked forward to it ; 
 and, after such a fit of apoplexy as I have had, 
 one always lives with a drawn sword hung over 
 one, which may fall at any moment." 
 
 Louisa wiped some drops from her eyes ; but 
 only replied, " There is one favour I have to ask, 
 my dear father, which is this : — whenever you are 
 ill again, do not let me be kept out of your room. 
 You know that I will be quiet and not disturb 
 you ; and the anxiety and pain of being absent 
 from you, and not knowing really and truly how 
 you are, is too terrible," — aild poor Louisa wept. 
 
 " Were you kept out when I was ill lately ?" 
 asked Mr. Charlton, gravely. 
 
 " Yes, my dear father," replied Louisa, " several 
 times. I was told, when I came, that you did not 
 wish to be disturbed ; that you would rather not 
 see me then : — as if I would have disturbed you ; 
 when I would sit by your bedside for hours with- 
 out noise or movement, if they would let me. I 
 can bear anything but to be kept from you." 
 
 " You shall not, my sweet child !" said Mr.
 
 78 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Charlton. " I thought there was something of 
 the kind, from not seeing you so often as I wished. 
 But I understand it all, and it shall not occur 
 again." 
 
 Whether the attempt might or not have been 
 made to exclude the child once more from the 
 bed-side of her sick father I cannot say, for it 
 was never put to the proof. Mr. Charlton went 
 on, apparently regaining health and strength, for 
 some months. The winter and the spring passed 
 away without any event ; Mrs. Charlton was all 
 kindness and tenderness to her husband; and 
 Louisa was giving way to the full hope of seeing 
 his dark presentiments remain long unrealised. 
 About the month of June news reached the village, 
 that the Earl of Mallington had been taken very 
 ill in London, and three days after came the in- 
 telligence that he was dead. But what horrified 
 the attorney in the first instance, and also puzzled 
 both the servants on the estate and the gossips of 
 the place was, that he had died without a will, so 
 that all his estates would go to the next male heir. 
 Who was the next male heir then became the 
 question ; but the only house in Mallington which 
 possessed a peerage was Mr. Charlton's. The 
 solicitor begged leave to borrow it for a day ; even 
 Dr. Western looked into it ; and Mr. Charlton 
 himself examined it with some curiosity, to know
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 79 
 
 wlio was to be their new neiglibour. It afforded 
 little satisfaction, however ; for it there appeared, 
 that the late lord had no brothers or uncles living, 
 and in tracing back the ancestry the lawyer de- 
 clared, that the nearest male heir was the Rev. 
 Mr. Wilmot, a gentleman born about sixty years 
 before, who was particularly marked as having no 
 issue. " And yet," he added, " it would bear a 
 question between him and the heirs of his uncle, 
 Thomas Wilmot of the Grange, if he had any." 
 
 He seemed to derive satisfaction from this view 
 of the case, but more especially from the probabi- 
 lity of there being great difficulty in settling the 
 claims to the personal property, as the late lord 
 had made no will. 
 
 Whether Mr. Charlton had or had not made a 
 will, or whether he intended to alter one he had 
 made, or to make a new one, this fact seemed to 
 occupy much of his thoughts ; and, during three 
 days, he visited the solicitor's office every morn- 
 ing. It was remarked that he grew more grave 
 about this time ; and, as if to dissipate unpleasant 
 imaginations, he made several little excursions, 
 sometimes for a day, sometimes for two or three. 
 Thus passed June, July, and part of August ; but 
 towards the close of the latter month, Mrs. Charl- 
 ton ventured to have a few friends to dinner. 
 The ladies had not long left the table, when a loud
 
 80 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 ringing of the dining-room bell startled the ser- 
 vants in the hall. When the butler ran in, and 
 the footman followed, they found one gentleman 
 supporting Mr. Charlton in his chair, while Dr. 
 Western untied his neckcloth. Mr. Nethersole 
 was instantly sent for, and came with all despatch ; 
 but Mr. Charlton was quite insensible : and when 
 the surgeon attempted to open a vein, no blood 
 followed the lancet. He was a bold and skilful 
 man, however, and he instantly cut the artery of 
 the temple. Some relief appeared to be afforded, 
 and the sick man was removed to bed. The vi- 
 sitors, with the exception of Dr. Western, with- 
 drew ; and he waited for the office which he saw 
 he might soon be called upon to perform — to con- 
 sole a daughter for the loss of her father. The 
 moment was nearer than he thought ; for in about 
 an hour after Mr. Charlton had been removed to 
 his own chamber, Mr. Nethersole came forth lead- 
 ing; Louisa in tears to the drawings-room. Dr. 
 Western questioned him with his eyes ; the sur- 
 geon gravely nodded his head, and returned to 
 Mrs. Charlton, who had remained in the chamber 
 of death. 
 
 The solemn quiet of a great change fell upon 
 the whole house. About eleven Dr. Western 
 took leave of his fair young companion, and she 
 retired to weep in her own chamber. Mrs. Charl-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 81 
 
 ton had already disappeared; and the servants, 
 with the exception of one watcher, soon after went 
 to bed. All was still — all was dark; but about 
 three o'clock a faint light was seen in the library, 
 by the man who drove the mail-cart from the 
 neighbouring town. 
 
 The usual proceedings on such an occurrence 
 were gone through with due solemnity ; and the 
 lawyer having given notice to Mrs. Charlton, on 
 the day subsequent to Mr. Charlton's death, that 
 he possessed a signed and attested copy of her late 
 husband's will, by which Dr. Western was appoint- 
 ed one of the executors, that lady instantly sent to 
 the worthy clergyman, begging that he would take 
 the whole arrangements on himself, as she was 
 totally unfit for the task. She requested him also 
 to take possession of her husband's keys, and 
 especially those of the library, in which he kept all 
 his principal papers. Dr. Western did as she de- 
 sired ; and in due time the will, in the hands of 
 the attorney, was opened, by which it was found 
 that Mr. Charlton had raised the income previously 
 secured to Mrs. Charlton to one thousand per an- 
 num ; and then, after a few legacies to his old ser- 
 vants, and marks of kindness to his friends, had 
 left the whole of his property, with the reversion 
 of the principal sum from which his widow received 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 her annuity, to his daughter, making it an absolute 
 condition, however, that she should not marry 
 Alfred Latimer. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton declared herself perfectly satis- 
 fied; and, having left the room with her step- 
 daughter, the two executors, of whom the late 
 partner of Mr. Charlton was one, together with 
 the attorney and one of his clerks, proceeded to 
 examine the papers of the deceased. In the strong 
 box, amongst the first things that they found was 
 the duplicate of the will ; but what was their sur- 
 prise when, on opening it, a jDaper headed " Co- 
 dicil" dropped out. By it Mr. Charlton confirmed 
 his former will ; but premising, that heiresses of 
 considerable property were too often the dupes of 
 sharpers, he went on to make it a condition, that 
 his daughter should obtain the consent of Mrs. 
 Charlton to her marriage, whenever that event 
 took place ; and that if she proceeded to contract 
 matrimony without the said consent, he revoked 
 all bequests in her favour, and transferred the 
 whole of his estate to his widow. The codicil was 
 not witnessed, but it was dated and signed; and 
 the lawyer, after examining it attentively, and 
 comparing it with some memorandum books in 
 Mr. Charlton's own handwriting, pronounced it 
 good in law. 
 
 Here ends that introductory history which it
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 83 
 
 was necessary to relate for the better understand- 
 ing of what is to follow ; and henceforth I shall 
 content myself with the depiction of scenes rather 
 than pursue a continuous narrative. 
 
 o 2
 
 84 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 A YEAR passed, or very nearly a year, when, 
 on one bright summer evening, about seven 
 o'clock, the only coach that passed through Mal- 
 lington appeared as usual at the top of the hill. 
 There seemed no particular load upon the vehicle ; 
 two countrymen, going from some village not far 
 off, being the only tenants of the roof, the inside 
 being vacant, and one gentleman seated by the 
 coachman on the box. The luggage was as scanty 
 as the passengers were few ; and the tarpauling, 
 stretched over one or two scattered trunks and 
 hampers, looked like the skin of an Alderney cow, 
 so picturesquely irregular was the substratum it 
 covered. The coachman, as may be easily con- 
 ceived, was not very well pleased with his cargo, 
 and looked for but a scanty supply of shillings 
 and sixpences as his share of the spoil. Nor had 
 the demeanour of his companion on the box by 
 any means tended to lighten his spirits, or make
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 85 
 
 him better pleased with his situation. He had 
 found him in that position, whenhe himself assumed 
 the ribands at the half-way house from London, 
 some five or six and twenty miles off, and from 
 that moment till their arrival at the top of Mal- 
 lington hill, not more than ten words had passed 
 between them, and those uttered by the passenger 
 were mere monosyllables. 
 
 When the guard had jDut on the skid, however, 
 at the top of Mallington hill, the coachman was 
 astounded, as he turned round his head and raised 
 his left hand with a slight shake of the reins, to 
 hear his companion's voice pronouncing a whole 
 uninterrupted sentence. 
 
 " Pray, what village is this, coachman?" he 
 said, gazing down the hill, apparently well 
 pleased. 
 
 " This is Mallington, sir," the coachman an- 
 swered ; and then he felt a strong inclination to 
 punish his co-occupant of the box for his long ta- 
 citurnity, by relapsing into silence ; but his natural 
 loquacity required vent, and he proceeded to in- 
 form the stranger, that the great house on the 
 right was old Mr. Charlton's as was. 
 
 " Has he changed his name ?" demanded the 
 other. 
 
 " Oh dear ! no, sir," replied the coachman. 
 " He 's got no name at all now, for he 's dead. A
 
 86 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 very good gentleman he was, too, and wore a pig- 
 tail." 
 
 *' And who does the house belong to now ?" de- 
 manded the stranger. 
 
 " Why, to his daughter," replied the Jehu, 
 " some say; some say to her step-mother, the 
 widow. Howsoever, the young lady is a great 
 heiress, that 's clear ; and has as much as six or 
 seven thousand a year of her own." 
 
 Were loquacity communicated by the same 
 means as hydrophobia, one might have supposed 
 that the coachman had bitten his companion, for 
 he now asked all manner of questions as they 
 went down the hill ; inquired the name of the 
 occupant of every house that they passed at all 
 bigger than a pigsty, and willingly instigated the 
 gentleman of the road to give him all the little 
 anecdotes and detailed descriptions he could fur- 
 nish of the dwellers in Mallington and its neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 As they reached the bottom of the hill, and 
 could just see the sign of the Bagpipes, which, 
 as the reader knows, stood a little back from the 
 highway, the coachman informed his companion 
 that they stopped there twenty minutes to tea; for 
 those were days when there was such a thing 
 occasionally as leisure in life, even on the highway, 
 and people did not think that the only object in
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 87 
 
 travelling was to be propelled at the greatest pos- 
 sible speed that human nature can 'endure from 
 one point of the earth's surface to the other. Men 
 were allowed to eat and drink upon the road, to 
 look about them, and sometimes to think. I re- 
 cord it only as a fact in history, for soon it will be 
 forgotten. To the astonishment, and somewhat 
 to the consternation of the coachman, for he had 
 himself nearly twenty miles to go, the stranger 
 replied that he was booked for Mallington, and 
 should alight at the Bagpipes ; and the worthy 
 lord of the reins turned himself a little on his seat, 
 to mark better than he had hitherto marked the 
 appearance of the person who was to get down at 
 Mallington ; for the dropping of a visitor in that 
 village was an event that rarely, if ever, happened, 
 except in one of two cases: namely, when the de- 
 scendants — I think I may use that word — were of 
 the class bumpkin, or when they were inhabitants 
 of the town or neighbourhood well known to the 
 driver of the old heavy Blue. 
 
 Nothing could be more accurate than the young 
 gentleman's whole appearance. He was dressed in 
 black, with a narrow band of crape round his hat, 
 which showed, asthe coachman internally observed, 
 that he was in mourning for somebody. Then he 
 had a black handkerchief — not a stock — round his 
 neck, which proved he was not a clergyman, for
 
 88 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 clerp^ymen did not wear black handkerchiefs in 
 those days ; and then he had black gloves, fitting 
 neatly to his hand, which proved he was not an un- 
 dertaker, for the gloves of undertakers are always 
 too long in the fingers ; and then, again, he had a 
 very good hat, glossy in spite of dust and journey, 
 and very well polished boots, which went very far 
 to prove that he was a gentleman. He was not 
 what would be generally called a very handsome 
 man, for colouring, which is what first strikes the 
 eye, was wanting. His countenance had not the 
 slightest resemblance to any face that ever was 
 painted on a sign-post. His complexion was dark, 
 with hair, eyes, and whiskers nearly black, and 
 the eyebrows strongly marked. His forehead was 
 both wide and high, rising straight from the brow, 
 and surrounded by wavy curls ; his nose was 
 straight, v/ith a somewhat wide nostril, and his 
 mouth was beautifully cut, though somewhat stern, 
 while the chin was rather j prominent, but well 
 rounded. Though he could not be called exactly 
 pale, yet he had little colour; but his lips were red 
 and healthy, and his eye clear and bright. In 
 height he might be a little above five feet ten, 
 broad in the chest and shoulders, thin in the flank, 
 and long in the limbs, and in age, perhaps, six or 
 seven and twenty. 
 
 All these particulars were gathered by the rapid
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 89 
 
 eye of the coacliman before lie pulled up at the 
 door of the inn ; and he had concluded, from his 
 survey, that " the gentleman was quite a gentle- 
 man notwithstanding;" when the object of his ex- 
 amination got down from the box, and confirmed 
 the judgment internally pronounced upon him by 
 giving coachman and guard each half-a-crown, 
 when the usual fee for " an outside" was rarely 
 eighteenpence. 
 
 " Those two portmanteaus," he said, pointing 
 to the roof, as he stood before the inn- door ; and 
 with great alacrity they were handed off, and 
 with greater alacrity received by the porter of the 
 house as indications of a visitor. He put them 
 down, however, and in a quiet common-place way 
 looked at all the five sides that were visible, as if 
 it were a matter of course to ascertain the gentle- 
 man's address; but there was no ticket to be seen, 
 nor brass-plate either, and remarking that the 
 proprietor of the portmanteaus remained looking 
 about him, the porter stepped up to him and 
 touched his own hair — hat he had not — saying, 
 " Any more luggage, sir ?" 
 
 " An umbrella in the inside," replied the 
 stranger ; and after having turned the portman- 
 teaus on their other ends, for the convenience of 
 carrying them, and of looking for the name ; and 
 having taken them into the passage disappointed,
 
 90 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 the porter came forth again, and searched the 
 coach for the umbrella. He found one with an 
 ivory handle ; and to his great satisfaction, for he 
 was just going to give up the inquiry in despair, 
 he found two capital letters engraved upon the 
 ivory. Those capital letters were E. M. ; and 
 although, of course, there was no possible conca- 
 tenation of vowels and consonants within the voca- 
 bulary of proper and christian names By which 
 those initials might not have been followed — so 
 that the field of conjecture was somewhat large — 
 yet, as I have said, the porter was delighted to 
 have discovered even so much, as he well knew 
 that his importance in the village would be in- 
 creased in proportion. Before making this im- 
 portant discovery, he had not ventured to intrude 
 upon his mistress, who was taking tea in her own 
 parlour ; but he now put his head into the room, 
 saying, " Gentleman, ma'am — going to stop — had 
 his boxes down — looking about him — quite a gen- 
 tleman — E. M. on his umbrella !" 
 
 As a spider in the corner of its cunning net, 
 whenever it feels by the vibration of the fine fila- 
 ments that a fly is struggling in the toils, rushes 
 forth like lightning to secure the prey, so rushed 
 forth Mrs. Pluckrose, the widowed mistress of the 
 Bagpipes, to seize upon the traveller at the first 
 indication of her porter. The thoughts of the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 91 
 
 Misses Martin, of Mrs. Dixon, of Mr. Crump, 
 and of half a dozen other lodging housekeepers, 
 came flashing before her imagination, and she saw, 
 in fancy, the traveller ravished from her at her 
 very door, if she did not make haste. The moment 
 she beheld the young gentleman in black, she con- 
 ceived a high esteem for him, and a desire to cul- 
 tivate his acquaintance. But there he stood, all 
 unconscious of the tender agitation he wsls pro- 
 ducing, looking up the street towards poor Mr. 
 Charlton's house, or down towards the park of the 
 late Earl of Mallington, or along the river towards 
 the church and the rectory. Mrs. Pluckrose got 
 on a line with him and made a courtsey ; but he 
 took not the slightest notice of her, for his eyes 
 had just turned to the other side, and she might 
 have been an elephant for aught, he knew. She 
 was a little abashed, but just at that moment she 
 beheld the figure of Mr. Crump coming across, 
 with a sauntering air, as if to see whether the 
 coach had brought anything for him. She knew 
 that no time was to be lost, and moving round 
 directly in front, where it was impossible not to 
 see her, for she was of no inconsiderable width, 
 she dropped another courtsey, saying, " If you are 
 going to stay in Mallington, sir, I hope I shall 
 have the honour of entertaining you." 
 
 The gentleman looked at her and nodded his
 
 92 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 head good-humouredly, replying, " I shall stay 
 a few days, madam, and shall remain at the inn, 
 if it is yours." 
 
 There was a little compliment implied in the 
 latter part of this answer, and though it was more 
 in the manner than in the w^ords, and Mrs. Pluck- 
 rose was an Englishwoman, yet she took it, and 
 dropped another courtsey. 
 
 " We have two nice rooms, sir," she said, " one 
 looking down the river, the other up the village; 
 and I am sure we can make you quite comfort- 
 able." 
 
 " I doubt it not in the least, madam," replied 
 the stranger, " I am very easily made comfortable ; 
 but that which would tend to do so most at the 
 present moment would be some dinner." 
 
 " It shall be ready in one minute, sir," answered 
 Mrs. Pluckrose ; and then, seeing Mr. Crump 
 rapidly approaching, she added, in terror lest her 
 triumph should be snatched from her hands, " Will 
 you not walk in, sir, and look at the rooms ?" 
 
 Before the stranger could reply, inexorable Mr. 
 Crump was upon him with a card in his hand. 
 " Allow me to hand you that, sir," said Mr. 
 Crump, " in case you should need lodgings." 
 
 " No ; I shall not need any," replied the gentle- 
 man, after having looked at the card, and at the 
 same time holding it out to Mr. Crump again.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 93 
 
 " Pray keep it, sir," rejoined Mr. Crump, " one 
 can never tell." 
 
 " 'Pon my life, this is too bad !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Pliickrose. 
 
 But the stranger settled the matter for her, 
 replying, " I would rather not keep it, sir. I do 
 not want lodgings, and am not fond of dirty pieces 
 of pasteboard." 
 
 Mrs. Pluckrose tittered in an ecstasy of delight, 
 the porter grinned ; but Mr. Crump, with an air 
 of offended dignity, replied, " Oh! no offence, sir, 
 I hope. I only meant — " 
 
 " There, that will do, my good man," answered 
 the young gentleman ; " I am not offended. Good 
 evening. Now, madam, I will see the rooms," 
 and, following the triumphant Mrs. Pluckrose, he 
 walked into the inn.
 
 94 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 The stranger was shown to liis rooms; they were 
 clean, tidy, and comfortable : the little bed-room, 
 with its white boards and white dimity, looking up 
 the village street, towards the top of the hill, and 
 catching a glance of the green fields at the back of 
 Mallington, over the tops of some low houses ; and 
 the sitting-room looking down upon the calm pic- 
 turesque stream, beyond which appeared the park 
 with its thick trees, and the several habitations of 
 gardeners and gamekeeper dotting the edge of 
 the woodland. The stranger gazed forth with 
 much pleasure ; he seemed to take great delight 
 in the beauties of nature, for his eyes wandered 
 up the stream and down the stream, and over the 
 large rounds of oak and elm with an expression of 
 satisfaction which had something almost melan- 
 choly in its very intensity. 
 
 At length Mrs. Pluckrose, who stood behind 
 him, heard him exclaim, " How refreshing!" and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 95 
 
 she immediately concluded that he was some gen- 
 tleman from the City. He was too good-looking, 
 and too well-dressed, she thought, for a mer- 
 chant's clerk; but most likely he was a young 
 merchant who had overworked himself in his 
 counting-house, and had come down to Mailing- 
 ton for a little fresh air. 
 
 When she had settled that point, she spoke to 
 him of his dinner, asking much in the terms of 
 the schoolboy jest, " Will you have it now, sir?" 
 She did not add, indeed, " or wait till you can get 
 it," whatever she or the stranger might think. 
 
 " Why, my good lady," replied her guest, " I 
 thought that by this time it was well nigh cooked ; 
 but it does not matter. I dare say you have some 
 cold meat in the house." 
 
 " As beautiful a sirloin, sir, as ever you put a 
 knife into," answered Mrs. Pluckrose. 
 
 " Well, that will do excellently," replied the 
 stranger; and putting his hand upon the land- 
 lady's arm he added, with a gayer look than he 
 had yet borne, " Now I will answer all your ques- 
 tions before they are asked. I will not take any 
 vegetables with it. I will not wait till you just 
 get a potato hot. I do not take any pickles; nor 
 any tart ; nor any cheese. I am, in short, my 
 good lady, anxious to get out to take a walk this 
 beautiful evening in this beautiful country; and
 
 96 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 therefore would dine as soon as possible. More- 
 over, I like the place and the rooms so well, that 
 I shall certainly remain for a week, so that there 
 will be plenty of time for cook to show herself 
 skilful." 
 
 Mrs. Pluckrose accordingly left him very well 
 satisfied, ordered the cold beef up to the gentle- 
 man at once ; and going into the room where the 
 coachman was taking his tea, declared that he 
 had brought her a very nice gay gentleman in- 
 deed. 
 
 " Gay !" cried the coachman ; " why, he did 
 not speak a word all along the road till he got to 
 the top of the hill." 
 
 " More 's the pity. Master Giles," replied the 
 widow, " for he talks very well when he does set 
 about it, I can tell you. He 's quite a gentle- 
 man, too. Let 's look at your bill, Giles, there 's 
 a good creature." 
 
 The coachman put his hand into his breast 
 pocket, and drew forth a greasy pocket-book, in 
 the heart of which was his way-bill ; but Mrs. 
 Pluckrose scrutinised it in vain for the stranger's 
 name ; and, while she was in the act, the maid 
 who performed the part of waiter came running 
 in for a bottle of sherry. 
 
 If the guest drank it all, it must have been out 
 of tumblers, for he had not time to pour out
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 97 
 
 eleven wine-glassfuls before lie walked along the 
 passage to the door. 
 
 " I hope the beef was tender, sir," said Mrs. 
 Pluckrose, putting out her head. 
 
 " As a maiden's sigh," replied her guest, with 
 a smile, and out he went. 
 
 Soon disappearing from the sight of Mrs. Pluck- 
 rose, the stranger pursued his way, at an easy 
 pace, up the neat broad elm-shaded road, and 
 looked up for an instant at the pretty little vil- 
 lage church, about which there were some good 
 old bits of Norman doors and buttresses, and then 
 turned an inquiring eye upon the rectory. 
 
 " Yes," he said, after pausing for a moment, 
 " it must be so. There is no other house near. 
 At all events I will see ;" and opening the neat 
 gate, he walked along the carriage-road bordered 
 with evergreens, up to the porch covered with 
 ivy and China roses, and rang the bell. 
 
 An old white-headed man-servant appeared 
 without making him wait, and the stranger in- 
 quired, — " Am I wrong in supposing this the 
 rectory ?" 
 
 " No, sir," replied the man ; " it is the 
 rectory." 
 
 " Then is Dr. Western at home ?" demanded 
 the stranger. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the servant ; " but — " 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " He is at dinner, perhaps?" said the visitor. 
 
 "Oh dear! no, sir," was the answer, with a 
 smile ; " he has dined these three hours ; he is 
 at tea." 
 
 " Well, then, my good friend, " rejoined the 
 stranger, " will yon let him know, with an apo- 
 logy for interrupting him by so late a visit, that I 
 wish much for a few moments' conversation with 
 him ?" 
 
 " Will you step into this room, sir ?" said the 
 man ; and he ushered the visitor into the doctor's 
 library. 
 
 The clergyman finished the cup of tea which 
 had been poured out for him, and then, leaving 
 his sister with a young lady who was passing the 
 evening with them, he walked with a slow step to 
 the study, where, opening the door, he regarded 
 the stranger with his calm and thoughtful eyes — 
 not long enough to make the glance unpleasant, 
 but sufficiently long to afford the worthy doctor 
 those physiognomical indications which he was 
 fond of obtaining in regard to every new being of 
 the same species as himself with whom he came 
 in contact. The result was, in this instance, 
 highly satisfactory to him. 
 
 " This is a fine countenance," he said inter- 
 nally, " thoughtful, and yet frank." 
 
 " You wished to see me, sir, I think ?" he pro-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 99 
 
 ceeded aloud ; " pray be seated ;" and he himself 
 took his accustomed arm-chair, leaning back in 
 it, but bending forward his head in an attitude of 
 polite attention. 
 
 " I have the honour, Dr. Western," replied the 
 stranger, " of bringing you this letter from Sir 
 Henry Scarsdale, who was once, I think, a 
 pupil of yours at Oxford. If you will read it, 
 you will see what is my object." 
 
 " Delighted to hear from my young friend," 
 replied the old gentleman, his face lighting up ; 
 " he was always a great favourite of mine, and 
 any friend of his must be always so " 
 
 As he had spoken, he had torn open the letter, 
 and was going on reading it ; but something that 
 he saw therein made him stop suddenly in his 
 speech, and fix his whole attention upon the con- 
 tents. The letter was somewhat long, and the 
 doctor said nothing more till he had got to the 
 end, except such words as " certainly" — " with the 
 greatest pleasure " — " indeed !" but when he had 
 concluded the perusal, he rose, held out his hand 
 to the stranger, and said, — " I am delighted to 
 see you, sir. If you will do me the honour of 
 taking up your abode in my poor house, it will 
 give me great pleasure, and any assistance I can 
 afford is, of course, yours to command in any 
 way." 
 
 h2
 
 100 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " I feel very much obliged to you, my dear 
 sir," replied the guest, " and obliged to Scarsdale 
 for procuring me the pleasure of an introduction 
 to you ; but I think it ^vill be best to retain my 
 quarters at your little inn here, where I have 
 two comfortable rooms enough, and the landlady 
 seems a good woman." 
 
 " Oh, an excellent creature!" replied the clergy- 
 man. " Were you sick, you would find what a 
 kind motherly being she is." 
 
 " Now, my dear sir, I will not detain you 
 longer," said the stranger ; " you are at tea, I 
 know." 
 
 " May I not ask you to join my little party?" 
 said the clergyman ; " there are but my sister, 
 and a very sweet young lady, whom we love 
 almost as a child — the cynosure of neighbouring 
 eyes, indeed — Miss Charlton." 
 
 " What ! the fair lady of the house upon the 
 hill ?" asked the visitor. 
 
 The good doctor answered in the affirmative, 
 adding, — " My ward, though she will soon 
 escape from tutelage." 
 
 The stranger willingly accepted the rector's in- 
 vitation, and Dr. Western rose to show him the 
 way, but paused at the door, and turning with a 
 smile to his new acquaintance, said, — " I had for- 
 gotten to ask the name."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 101 
 
 " Oh ! Edmond Morton," replied the young 
 gentleman ; and the clergyman leading the way, 
 they were soon in the drawing-room, where Mr. 
 Morton was introduced first to Dr. Western's 
 sister, Mrs. Evelyn, and next to Miss Charlton. 
 Louisa had now expanded into the beauty of 
 womanhood, hut yet it was that of young maturity. 
 The flower was no longer in the bud, but it was 
 not full blown. She had inherited not only all 
 her mother's features, but her mother's grace, as 
 well as a fine mind and lovely person; and 
 though her dress was very simple, and still 
 mourning, yet there was that look of dignity 
 about her, that calm repose which may be occa- 
 sionally found in all classes, but which, where- 
 ever found, speaks one character of heart and 
 spirit. The rich waving brown hair fell without 
 art into the forms that sculpture has loved to 
 give it, and in the whole cutting of the features, 
 the eye of Edmond Morton, and he was no mean 
 judge, could discover scarcely one flaw. If there 
 was anything, perhaps it was a want of animation 
 that struck him at first as a defect ; but yet there 
 was a deep light in those soft and somewhat sad 
 eyes, which made him think that the whole face 
 might become full of expression when the bosom 
 was moved by any powerful emotion. However, 
 he had seen many a very lovely girl before that,
 
 102 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 and was not very easily to be captivated. His 
 was too gentlemanly a spirit, also, to examine the 
 person of a lady as he would have criticised a 
 horse ; and thus he was neither so much struck 
 with Louisa's appearance at first as many might 
 have been, nor did he remark all the beauty of 
 her form and face till he had been some time in 
 her company. 
 
 On her part, Louisa paid little attention to his 
 appearance. He was a friend of Dr. Western's, 
 and that was enough to gain her favourable 
 consideration. She thought him a very good- 
 looking young man, also; and, perhaps, drew 
 comparisons between the tone and carriage of 
 the stranger, and those of the good folks of the 
 neighbourhood, rather to the disadvantage of the 
 latter, but it went no further. She thought not 
 of flirting ^with him, or attracting his attention, 
 and, for some time, while he sat talking with 
 Mrs. Evelyn, entering at once, with a peculiar 
 sort of bienseance, into the position of a friend 
 rather than a new acquaintance, Louisa remained 
 silent, or only said a few words to Dr. Western. 
 The good rector, however, was not pleased with 
 her reserve, he was, to say sooth, somewhat 
 proud of his fair ward ; he thought her, in his 
 heart, the loveliest and the best of girls, and his 
 very indignation at Mrs. Charlton, for differing
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 103 
 
 greatly with him on that point, made him anxious 
 to have all the rest of the world upon his side. 
 He was determined, therefore, that he would 
 draw her out; and though Louisa was, indeed, 
 somewhat sad that evening, from various un- 
 pleasant things which had occurred in her own 
 house, yet Dr. Western, who well knew her, soon 
 won her to a gay smile, and then to a laugh. He 
 changed the subject, then, and spoke of his parish 
 and his poor, and dwelt upon one or two of those 
 scenes of distress which every clergyman who does 
 his duty must witness, without being able to alle- 
 viate, or, at least, not much : the dying mother — 
 the reprobate son — the broken-hearted parents — 
 the anguish of remorse ; and as he went on, to 
 Edmond Morton's surprise, that calm and placid 
 countenance, which he had thought inanimate, 
 showed that it could express with intense feeling 
 every different emotion of tlie mind. She forgot 
 herself too, entirely ; conversed eagerly and well 
 on every topic that was brought before her, and 
 poured forth the pure high feelings of a noble and 
 generous heart in sympathy for sorrow or for 
 joy. Towards Morton himself, too, her reserve 
 died away, and finding in him stores of thought 
 and information, such as few possessed around 
 her, joined with a grace and ease of demeanour 
 which can only be gained by long and intimate
 
 104 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 communication with the truly noble and the 
 really high, she gave herself up to a new charm, 
 and almost forgot the passing hours till the 
 change of light warned her that ~day was 
 coming to a close. Then starting up, with a 
 smile, she said, — "I must away, dear Mrs. 
 Evelyn, or I shall be scolded by my mother for 
 wandering so late." 
 
 " Nay, but my song, Louisa — my song !" cried 
 Dr. Western. 
 
 " Oh! it must be for another night," replied Miss 
 Charlton : " See, it is really growing dark." 
 
 " Well, we will walk with you up the village," 
 said the rector, " if Mr. Morton has no objection ; 
 and as we return I will give him a full, true, and 
 particular account of all the villagers whose houses 
 we pass, that he may learn to esteem the inhabi- 
 tants of Mallington properly." 
 
 " Oh ! pray do not," replied Louisa ; " you are 
 so severe upon us, dear friend, that I fear, if you 
 give him your view of our faults and failings, he 
 will run away from the place to-morrow morning." 
 " Nay, I will be just, my dear," answered Dr. 
 Western : and, as soon as Louisa's shawl and bon- 
 net were adjusted, they set out upon their way.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 105 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 The rector of Mailing-ton gave his left arm to 
 Louisa Charlton, and Mr. Morton walked on the 
 other side of that fair lady. A shade had come 
 over her face as they passed close to the church- 
 yard, and as the low cold dwellings of its silent 
 tenants met her sight. It was not exactly the 
 shade of grief, indeed, but of calm serious thought. 
 The conversation of her new acquaintance had 
 been of many things — various, rich, fanciful, 
 amusing ; and, though she did not know or per- 
 ceive it, the deep current that lay beneath the 
 sparkling surface had tended to promote reflec- 
 tion, even while it seemed only to excite the ima- 
 gination. It had, of course, been all of worldly 
 things ; but it had led the mind, by a natural and 
 quiet course, to find the latent relations between 
 those very worldly things and the higher, the 
 more spiritual, with which they all have some 
 mysterious connection.
 
 106 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Dr. Western remarked the shadow, but he took 
 no notice ; and their young' companion saw it also, 
 but remained silent : so that they had reached the 
 end of the village street, and were beginning to 
 walk slowly up the hill, before either of the three 
 spoke. 
 
 " Had we not better go by the field path?" said 
 Louisa Charlton, turning to her guardian ; "it is 
 so much more beautiful, and so much quieter." 
 
 " No, my dear child," answered the old gentle- 
 man ; " that would be hardly fair :" and he smiled 
 as he spoke. 
 
 Louisa looked in his face with an inquiring 
 glance; and Edward Morton went farther, ask- 
 ing, " How do you mean — not fair, my dear sir V 
 
 " Because, I think, it would almost amount to 
 robbery," replied the good doctor, " to deprive the 
 people of my parish of the high delight they will 
 experience in seeing you and Miss Charlton and 
 myself walking up the village together as fami- 
 liarly as if you had been living here for ten 
 years. You cannot imagine, sir, what a source of 
 innocent delight this walk of ours will afibrd to 
 some hundred of people in Mallington ; what an 
 inexhaustible fund of conversation it will supply 
 to persons who have nothing else on earth to talk 
 about ; what a diversion it will effect, as you sol- 
 diers call it, in favour of poor Mrs. Pilkin, who
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 107 
 
 took a Sunday walk the other day with a gay 
 bachelor, whose banns with her fair self I have to 
 publish for the first time on Sunday next — but the 
 people know nothing of that ; and how you, and 
 I, and Louisa, without our own consciousness, or 
 any effort on our part, but merely that of walking 
 up this hill instead of going by the fields, will en- 
 liven every tea-table this night — will afford zest 
 and interest to the cold chicken and slice of ham, — 
 even if we do not make Miss Martin revoke, or 
 Mr. Crump misdeal." 
 
 Both Louisa and Mr. Morton smiled ; and the 
 latter inquired, " Is it really such a gossiping little 
 place ?" 
 
 "Just in proportion to its idleness," answered 
 Dr. Western in a graver tone ; " as, indeed, is 
 always the case. Being a place of no trade, and 
 I might almost say no society, the people, for one- 
 half of their time, have nothing to do but com- 
 ment on their neighbours. The residence of half 
 a dozen respectable families in or near the village 
 would speedily work a great change in these re- 
 spects ; for idleness is the parent of gossip, as well 
 as of most minor vices, and of many great ones 
 also. See, Louisa," he continued, " they are all out 
 at their doors already, as if with a sort of presen- 
 timent they would have something to talk about ; 
 and now, don't you see, there is Mrs. Molineux
 
 108 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 who keeps the pie-shop, has gone in to Mrs. 
 Stubbs, the plumber and glazier's wife, to tell her 
 the fact, that you and I, and the strange gentle- 
 man who came by the coach, are walking up the 
 village together." Then, sinking his voice to a 
 whisper, he added in Miss Charlton's ear, " You 
 are given away already, Louisa ; the whole matter 
 is settled and done in the opinion of the gossips of 
 Mallington." 
 
 Louisa laughed, and coloured a little — ^very little 
 indeed; but just sufficiently to show that she un- 
 derstood what the good rector meant, and felt that 
 it was a thing not quite impossible that she should 
 marry such a man as he who was then walking 
 beside her. 
 
 As they proceeded on their way Dr. Western, 
 according to promise, expounded to Edmund 
 Morton the character, situation, and peculiarities, 
 of the various inhabitants of Mallington whose 
 dwellings they passed ; and he did it very plea- 
 santly, never uncharitably nor bitterly, though 
 often a little satirically. The doctor, the solicitor, 
 the retired naval commander, the old maids and 
 their opponent, the new shopkeeper and his pre- 
 tensions — from a humble and quiet widow woman, 
 of very limited income, who lived in the last house 
 at the bottom of the hill, to the little fat bustling 
 demagogue of a retired London tradesman, who
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 109 
 
 had brought down drab gaiters and democracy, 
 the spirit of opposition to everything, and an utter 
 contempt for the aspirate to the new sphere of 
 Mallington — were all passed in review by the 
 worthy doctor, with so much more detail than 
 Louisa had ever heard him use before, that she 
 could not help thinking that the rector must have 
 some particular desire to give Mr, Morton a full 
 and comprehensive knowledge of his parish and 
 its parishioners. 
 
 As they walked up the hill but slowly, they 
 were passed at a quick pace by Mrs. Charlton's 
 maid, Mistress Windsor, who, still in as great 
 favour with her lady as ever, had been elevated 
 to the rank of housekeeper, and, to use a vulgar 
 expression, had both feathered her nest and tricked 
 out her plumage handsomely during the three or 
 four last years of Mr. Charlton's life. Though not 
 so young as when first she was introduced to the 
 reader and bearing certain traces of it in wrinkle 
 and line, she was still a very active woman, and 
 had lost no portion of her shrewdness. She was 
 as keen as her mistress : even, perhaps, a little 
 keener, and she had always made it a point of 
 showing herself especially respectful towards Miss 
 Charlton, both before and after her master's death. 
 It had been her common observation that nobody 
 could tell what might happen. Now this was not
 
 110 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 a maxim of particular application, but a wide, 
 broad, philosophical axiom, which was the basis 
 of one-half of her conlcusions ; and when Mr. 
 Charlton first fell ill she redoubled her attention 
 to Louisa, saying to herself, " No one can tell 
 what may happen." When Mr. Charlton died, 
 she was still more attentive, repeating " No one 
 can tell what may happen;" and when she heard, 
 the will read, and found that the deceased had left 
 the great bulk of his property, except the an- 
 nuity to his widow, to the young lady, Mrs. 
 Windsor was satisfied with her own conduct ; 
 and, although she did think it strange that Mr. 
 Charlton should have so strictly tied his daughter's 
 hands in regard to her marriage, she still deter- 
 mined to show herself devoted to Louisa, observing 
 once more, " No one can tell what may happen." 
 She had, indeed, taken care at the same time to 
 give no just cause of offence to fair Mrs. Charlton, 
 but was quite as ready at all times to do every- 
 thing she could to forward that lady's views as 
 she had been from the first. Mrs. Charlton, in- 
 deed, saw through her — yes, through and through 
 her, reader. She was not merely diaphanous, but 
 quite transparent to the eyes of Mrs. Charlton ; 
 and yet that worthy lady was not at all inclined 
 to let Mrs. Windsor see that she bore any ill will 
 towards her for courting Louisa, even if she did 
 
 49^
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. Ill 
 
 feel annoyed at it, which I do not pretend to say 
 she did not. Mrs. Charlton and Mrs. Windsor 
 had known each other for many years. Mrs. 
 Windsor had served Mrs. Charlton very well and 
 very faithfully, as has been shown ; and Mrs. 
 Charlton had every inclination to pass over any 
 little faults, but not from gratitude ; for if Mrs. 
 Charlton could have strangled Mrs. Windsor 
 with her own hands, and nothing more said 
 about it, who can tell if she would not have 
 done it? 
 
 As the respectable abigail now passed by Dr. 
 Western and Louisa, she paused, half turned 
 round, and dropped a low courtsey, then resumed 
 her quick pace again, and reached the house some 
 time before them. As soon as she had entered 
 the doors, instead of betaking herself to the house- 
 keeper's room, as she usually did in ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, she inquired of one of the footmen 
 whether her mistress was alone in the drawing- 
 room ; and finding that such was the case, she 
 walked straight up thither, without taking off 
 bonnet or shawl. 
 
 " What is it, Windsor?" demanded the lady, 
 as soon as she appeared, speaking in a querulous 
 tone, and putting a pen with which she had been 
 writing into the inkstand. 
 
 " Why, ma'ain, I tliought I would just tell you
 
 112 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 that Miss Charlton is coming back," replied Mrs. 
 Windsor. 
 
 " Well, I suppose she is," answered her mis- 
 tress, still crossly ; " it is time she should, for it is 
 getting quite dark, I can hardly see to write." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," rejoined the housekeeper; " but 
 there is a gentleman with her as well as Dr. Wes- 
 tern, and I thought you might like to know." 
 
 " A gentleman !" said Mrs. Charlton, with a 
 greater degree of interest ; " what sort of a gentle- 
 man, Windsor?" 
 
 "You can see him, ma'am, from the window," 
 replied Mrs. Windsor: " he 's a fine looking young 
 man, who came down by the coach to-night, I 
 heard, and has put up at the inn ; and he took the 
 two rooms there for a fortnight, and then went to 
 Dr. Western's direct." 
 
 By this time Mrs. Charlton reached a western 
 window which looked down the hill, and was 
 gazing steadfastly upon the group which was 
 slowly walking up. The remaining light fell 
 full upon them, and she could see them pause, 
 and look round over the scene below, with the 
 high old trees of the park on the opposite side of 
 the valley, and the sunset glow in the sky above ; 
 and she remarked that the stranger pointed with 
 his hand, and seemed to make some inquiry, and 
 that when they came forward again Louisa's fair
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 113 
 
 face was raised towards him with a bright warm 
 smile upon her lips. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton smiled too ; but it was not with 
 a very pleasant, though with a pleased expression. 
 It seemed as if she said to herself, " That will do," 
 but yet as if that which was to be done was not 
 very full of human charities. " Go down, Wind- 
 sor," she said, " and tell Edward when Dr. Wes- 
 tern comes to beg him to walk in, for I wish to 
 speak with him — and the young gentleman who 
 is with him, of course. And hark ye, Windsor, I 
 wish you would find out who he is, and all about 
 him ; for, of course, I am very willing to show 
 attention to any one who visits Mallington — and 
 yet, of course, I must be careful of whom I bring 
 into Miss Charlton's company — but, of course, I 
 must wish Mr. Latimer to have some more and 
 some better society than he finds here — and, of 
 course, — but run down Windsor, and tell Edward 
 what I have said, for they are coming near." 
 
 Mrs. Windsor hurried away with a grave face 
 to do as she was bid, but her grave face only 
 lasted to the back of the door, and then she mur- 
 mured to herself" As if I did not know !" 
 
 The footman received his instructions in terms 
 that he was well disciplined to understand, and 
 the next minute the great bell rang. He walked 
 with slow and stately step to the door, and having 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 opened it drew back to let Miss Charlton pass, 
 but as she shook hands with Dr. Western, and 
 wished the stranger good-night, the man stepped 
 forward again and said, " My mistress, sir, told me 
 to say, if you came, that she wished to speak with 
 you for one moment if you would have the kindness 
 to walk up." 
 
 " I will wait for you here, my dear sir," said Mr. 
 Morton; but Louisa, with colour slightly rising 
 in her cheek, — for she did not always know how 
 her fair step-mother would view her proceedings, 
 — interposed, exclaimed. " Oh, no ; pray come in, 
 Mr. Morton ; Mrs. Charlton will be very happy 
 to see you, I am sure." 
 
 " Perhaps" — replied the visitor, but before he 
 could conclude his sentence the rector kindly laid 
 his hand on his arm, saying, " Nay, come in, my 
 young friend ; if Mrs. Charlton has any matter of 
 business to speak of, we can find another room in 
 this house. It is not like my little rectory, and 
 there are plenty of council chambers." 
 
 Edmond Morton could only bow, and follow 
 whither the doctor and Louisa led ; and in a 
 moment after he was formally introduced to Mrs. 
 Charlton. The fair widow was all smiles and 
 graciousness, though, to say sooth, some part of 
 her youthful grace had fled, for she had become 
 rather fuller in her proportions than was alto-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 115 
 
 getlier consistent with exact symmetry. As she 
 was not a very tall woman, the difference of the 
 breadth in relation to the length, as compared 
 with what she had been when she changed from 
 Latimer to Charlton, was not to her advantage — 
 in personal appearance, at least — and yet she was 
 a very pretty woman, tres Men conservee, as our 
 French neighbours term it ; fair, smooth-skinned, 
 delicate-featured, with nothing that could indicate 
 a year more than forty, or anything else than the 
 sweetest possible disposition, the most placable 
 and considerate mind. She was delighted to see 
 Dr. Western ; she was charmed to receive Mr. 
 Morton ; she was tenderly affectionate to dear 
 Louisa. She was the pink of step-mothers, and 
 the pleasantest of friends. All that she had to 
 say to the rector was, that she had for the time 
 given up her intention of going to Cheltenham, 
 in consequence of letters that she had received 
 that morning ; and although Dr. Western had 
 never heard of her purpose, he expressed himself 
 very well satisfied that she had abandoned it, 
 saying, that he was not fond of Cheltenham, 
 especially in what is termed the season ; he 
 thought it a bad place for young men, and a 
 worse place for young women. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton smiled sweetly, and accused 
 him of being too severe in his notions; and 
 I 2
 
 116 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 then, turning to Mr. Morton, she inquired if 
 he did not admire their quiet little rustic vil- 
 lage, so beautifully situated amongst its woods 
 and fields. 
 
 " I have really seen very little of it as yet, 
 madam," replied the young gentleman, " having 
 been here but a few hours ; but as I am a great 
 lover of the beauties of nature, I have no doubt 
 that I shall find enough to admire." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton was delighted that he was a 
 lover of the beauties of nature ; and declared 
 that they would show him plenty of the sweetest 
 scenery in the world, and appealed to Dr. 
 Western whether they would not. She must 
 positively, she said, make a party to take him to 
 the waterfall up the glen, and insisted that he 
 should not venture to visit it without her pre- 
 sence ; and she ended by asking the rector, and 
 his friend, and Mrs. Evelyn, to dinner the next 
 day at an early hour, that they might take a 
 walk before tea. 
 
 " Hang it !" thought the worthy clergyman, 
 " the widow is looking for a third husband al- 
 ready." But he did her great injustice. Mrs. 
 Charlton was no longer Mrs. Latimer, and 
 though she always had her objects, they were 
 very different from what they had been, and 
 from what Dr. Western imagined. For himself
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 117 
 
 he accepted her invitation, but declined for Mrs. 
 Evelyn, who never went out to dinner, as Mrs. 
 Charlton well knew ; and Mr. Morton promising 
 to accompany him, the two gentlemen took their 
 leave just as the lady asked Louisa to ring for 
 lights. 
 
 " Well, my dear sir, what do you think of my 
 fair neighbour?" asked the clergyman, when 
 they were fairly out of the house ; " having seen 
 her yourself, you will need no explanation." 
 
 " I think not," replied Edmond Morton, drily. 
 " May I ask, my dear sir, if she is really that 
 sweet girl's mother ? " 
 
 " You see signs of a different race, eh?" said 
 Dr. Western, with a smile. " Very different, 
 indeed, I can assure you. I never saw Louisa's 
 mother; but from what I have heard, she was 
 very like her daughter, both in person and mind. 
 I need not tell you that Mrs. Charlton is not. 
 Nevertheless, she is a very good and respectable 
 woman." 
 
 " A very artificial one, I should think," replied 
 Edmond Morton. " Should I be wrong, my 
 dear doctor, if I said a very artful one?" 
 
 " Nay, nay," cried the rector, " that is a some- 
 what harsh term. She seems worldly, it must be 
 confessed, and so far, I believe, you have judged 
 right, though how you have formed your opinion
 
 118 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 in SO short a time, I cannot tell. It took me 
 longer to form mine." 
 
 *' I have been all my life accustomed to observe 
 small traits," replied his companion, " and have 
 seldom found their indications fallacious. I 
 know, indeed, that they may be so used, that the 
 habit of remarking them begets in us a particular 
 sort of vanity in our own penetration, which 
 makes us unwilling to admit that we are deceived 
 when we really are so. Therefore, I never allow 
 myself to act from the impressions first received, 
 till they are confirmed by further observation. 
 Yet I think I cannot be mistaken in my estimate 
 of either of the ladies we have just left." 
 
 " And what of Louisa, then ? " asked Dr. 
 Western. 
 
 " Hardly fair, my dear sir," rejoined his com- 
 panion. *' She is wonderfully beautiful when she 
 is animated; but I should think that she was a 
 flower that required very tender usage, and that 
 she has not had it always." 
 
 " Yet she is of a firm and high mind," an- 
 swered the clergyman, eagerly ; " I know not 
 any one in whom such gentleness is blended with 
 such a strong sense of what is right." 
 
 " I am sure it is," replied Morton ; " in truth, 
 my dear doctor, hers is a neighbourhood of which 
 one may well be afraid."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. US 
 
 " You know she is an heiress, and her fortune 
 very large," said Dr. Western, in a peculiar 
 tone. 
 
 " I have heard so this evening," replied the 
 young gentleman ; " but I once heard a v^ery 
 noble and amiable friend declare that if it rained 
 heiresses he would go out with an umbrella, and 
 I have always been very much of his way of 
 thinking." The rector laughed, but Mr. Morton, 
 changing the subject, reminded him that he was 
 to give him a sight of some papers; and they 
 both quickened their pace towards the rectory.
 
 120 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 The Misses Martin had discovered all about it ; 
 the Misses Martin had settled it all in their 
 own minds — they were mighty minds for settling- 
 other people's affairs ; but when Mrs. Windsor, 
 on the following morning, walked into their 
 shop, as she called it, " promiscuously," to buy a 
 piece of narrow tape — thinking that if there were 
 in all Mallington any person or persons who 
 could gather the whole particulars of Mr. Mor- 
 ton's history, the Misses Martin must be the 
 people — they proved obdurately silent, notwith- 
 standing every hint and question she could 
 devise. Had she asked no questions, had she 
 given no hints of a wish to discover more of Mr. 
 Morton, the Misses Martin might very possibly, 
 from a desire to hear what that gentleman had 
 been doing at Mallington House, have proved 
 communicative themselves ; but as soon as the 
 two ladies perceived that Mrs. Windsor was on
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 121 
 
 the search for information, they resolved not 
 to 2:ive it, for there was war between Mrs. 
 Charlton and the Misses Martin — civil war it 
 might indeed be called, for it was more real 
 than apparent, and conducted with all polite- 
 ness. Mrs. Charlton had triumphed over the 
 Misses Martin — she had married the rich widower 
 — she had surrounded herself with wealth and 
 splendour — she had been raised into the first 
 position in the society of the neighbourhood, in 
 spite of all the Misses Martins inuendos and 
 slanders — and she had set up a rival in a shop. 
 These were things not to be forgotten by the 
 Misses Martin, and, as I have said, they remained 
 obdurately silent, although they had settled the 
 whole affairs of Mr. Edmond Morton an hour or 
 more before Mrs. Windsor appeared. 
 
 But Mrs. Windsor was a skilful general, and, 
 by a well-conceived manoeuvre, she turned their 
 flank. There was a neighbour of the Misses 
 Martin just three doors off; he was a bookseller 
 and stationer, well to do in the world — an elderly 
 bachelor, a very respectable man. He differed 
 from the Church of England in several of his 
 religious notions, and occasionally preached his 
 own doctrines himself to a select congregation ; 
 but, nevertheless, he was just the sort of man to 
 be very high in the esteem of the Misses Martin,
 
 122 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 who, though they belonged to the Church of 
 England, had no objection to marry any one — 
 only nobody asked them. Mr. Sowerby was 
 fond of news, and Mrs. Windsor, remembering 
 well that the Misses Martin were in the habit, one 
 or the other, of running into Mr. Sowerby's shop 
 eight-and-forty times each day — that is to say, 
 once every quarter of an hour while it was open 
 — conceived that ere the period of her visit they 
 must, by an inevitable necessity, have told that 
 gentleman all that they had gathered of Mr. 
 Morton. The moment, therefore, that the tape 
 was bought and paid for, she turned her steps to 
 Mr. Sowerby's, and asked for some note paper. 
 The worthy master of the shop was delighted to 
 see her, and began at once by telling her that it 
 was a pleasant day, but warm — very warm. As 
 Mrs. Windsor had discovered this interesting fact 
 before, she assented without any long considera- 
 tion, and then went on to say that the night 
 before had been very warm likewise, to which 
 Mr. Sowerby agreed; but then Mrs. Windsor 
 proceeded to relate how warm she had found it 
 as she walked up from the bottom of the hill, 
 and ended, — " I declare I thought I should have 
 dropped just as I was passing Miss Charlton and 
 the young gentleman she brought up with her 
 from the rectory."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 123 
 
 " Well now," cried Mr. Sowerby, " that is 
 just what I wanted to speak to you about, Mrs. 
 Windsor. It is very odd you should mention it, 
 isn't it ? Let me shut the door ; " and, stretching 
 over the counter, he pushed it to. 
 
 " Well," he said, in continuation, " I saw Miss 
 Charlton, and the young gentleman, and Dr. 
 Western, go up the village together, for I was 
 standing at my door, and I wondered who he 
 could be — the young man I mean ; but when I 
 found out who he is and all about him, I said to 
 myself, says I, — ' that is no bird for Miss Charl- 
 ton's money, for if Mrs. Windsor should chance 
 to look in, I'll just give her a hint — it is but 
 kind and neighbourly.' " 
 
 " I 'm very much obliged indeed, Mr. Sowerby," 
 replied the housekeeper. " I did not much like 
 the look of him myself; but then I could not say 
 anything to my mistress, because I had got nothing 
 to go upon." 
 
 " Well, then, I '11 tell you all about it," said Mr. 
 Sowerby. " He 's no more than an artist, take 
 my word for it, Mrs. Windsor ; and, you know my 
 word is good for a thousand pounds at any time : 
 an artist, going about the country sketching." 
 
 " But how did you find it out?" asked Mrs. 
 Windsor. " I know you are a shrewd one, Mr. 
 Sowerby ; not easy to take you in."
 
 124 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Mr. Sowerby laughed and shook his head, with 
 a look as wise as that of the Athenian fowl, say- 
 ing, " No, no ; but I '11 tell you all about it. Last 
 night, when the boy brought in my beer for supper 
 from the Bagpipes, I asked him what was the 
 name of the gentleman who had come by the 
 coacli. He could not tell a word about it, only 
 that Boots said there was E. M. marked upon his 
 umbrella. Well, I could make nothing of that ; 
 but I told the boy to find out and let me know, 
 and I gave him a penny for himself, Mrs. Wind- 
 sor ; so this morning — for gold is the key to every- 
 thing, Mrs. Windsor, gold is the key to every- 
 thing — he brought me word that the gentleman's 
 name is Edmond Morton, for a letter had come 
 for him by post. Well, that was something gained; 
 but I could get no farther, till just about an hour 
 ago, in comes Mathilda Martin, and you know how 
 she talks. Well, she did run on enough to deafen 
 one : but she told me that their girl, going across 
 the park to carry a gown-piece that the old house- 
 keeper at the hall had bought yesterday, saw this 
 Mr. Morton in the park as early as seven o'clock 
 this morning; and that when she came back, 
 about half an hour after, she chanced upon him 
 again sitting under a tree, with a large book on 
 his knee, drawing away as hard as he could draw, 
 taking a picture, in fact, of the old place."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 125 
 
 " But many a gentleman draws now a days," 
 answered the housekeeper. " Our young lady 
 draws quite beautiful; you would almost think 
 they were real houses and trees." 
 
 " Well, you shall hear, you shall hear, Mrs. 
 Windsor," continued the stationer. " As soon as 
 I heard what Mathilda Martin told me, says I,' Oh, 
 ho ! Edward Morton ! I think I have heard that 
 name before ;' and, reaching up there to the shelf 
 just behind you, Mrs. Windsor, I took down that 
 long book — no, not that one — the one with the 
 blue back, gilt and lettered — and there I saw — 
 just look into the title—' Sketches in England 
 and Wales, by Thomas Morton, R.A.' Well, you 
 know what a giddy thing Mathilda Martin is; and 
 she immediately fancied that this young man must 
 be the very Thomas Morton, R.A., and that the 
 boy must have made a mistake about the first 
 name. ' But,' says I, * look at the date. Miss 
 Mathilda;' and there it stood, sure enough, twenty 
 years ago. Now this young man can't be more 
 than five and twenty I should think ; and it is not 
 likely he should publish sketches in England and 
 Wales when he was five years old, unless he were 
 a phenomenon. ' No, no. Miss Martin,' I says, 
 ' he is that old Morton's son. He had a son, I 
 know, and his name was Edward, I am very
 
 126 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " You are quite riglit, Mr. Sowerby," replied 
 Mrs. Windsor, " and I will tell Mrs. Charlton all 
 about it, and liow you found it out, for I think it 
 is very clever;" and after a little more gossip Mrs. 
 Windsor left the shop with a well-pleased smile, 
 saying to herself, " This will be quite the thing, I 
 fancy." 
 
 As soon as she reached Mallington House she 
 sought her mistress, who was in her dressing- 
 room, and reported progress. Mrs. Charlton 
 smiled likewise, and drew in her eyes a little ; but 
 the next moment she looked grave, and said, " It 
 must be all nonsense, Windsor ; I do not believe 
 a word of it. Pray tell the people that I think it 
 is all nonsense." 
 
 " I will, ma'am," replied Mrs. Windsor, and 
 was going : but her mistress called her back, and 
 added, " Make further inquiries, Windsor, but 
 more quietly — you understand. — I wish to hear 
 about it, but without seeming to know." 
 
 a Very well, ma'am," replied Mrs. Windsor ; 
 and she fulfilled her lady's orders with due dis- 
 cretion, discovering further confirmation of Mr. 
 Sowerby's views. But, to the surprise of all Mal- 
 lington, the more strong became the presumption 
 that Mr. Morton was an artist, the more marked 
 became Mrs. Charlton's attentions towards him ; 
 and Dr. Western observed, with some wonder,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 127 
 
 that both that evening, during dinner and after- 
 wards, and on an excursion planned by the lady- 
 next day, Mrs. Charlton threw Louisa almost 
 entirely upon Mr. Morton, while she endeav- 
 oured to monopolise the rector to herself, so 
 that he mentally inquired, " Hang it ! the good 
 lady can't want to marry me, surely?" But 
 Mrs. Windsor knew her mistress better, and 
 watched the game that was playing with some 
 interest. 
 
 Mr. Morton did not understand it at all, but 
 found it, as far as it went, not at all unpleasant. 
 With a lovely girl upon his arm, in that very 
 sweet stage of acquaintanceship when first impres- 
 sions of esteem are warming into intimacy, where 
 each with the other is, like an intelligent traveller, 
 wandering through a fresh country, and discover- 
 ing new beauties at every step, where conversation 
 is neither oppressed by deep feelings, nor re- 
 strained by strangeness, but all the doors of 
 thought are open, and the heart itself every now 
 and then peeps out to see the sunny world with- 
 out — it is a pleasant thing, a very pleasant thing 
 indeed, to walk through fair scenes with a fair 
 being like Louisa Charlton, and to listen to a sweet 
 musical voice, and to read a world of fairy tales in 
 bright young eyes, all the brighter for friendly
 
 128 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 words and kind companionship. Very pleasant 
 indeed ! — But, perhaps, the reader may ask if it is 
 not somewhat dangerous too ? I can but answer, 
 " That is as it may be."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 129 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 If? the early morning of a summer's day, with the 
 dew still upon the grass, and the light wind des- 
 tined to die away like youthful graces in the sun's 
 meridian light, Edmond Morton walked out of the 
 little inn at which he had taken up his abode, and 
 bent his steps over the bridge to the fine old park 
 which I have noticed in the commencement of this 
 work. 
 
 The maids of the inn were just up, and busy, in 
 manifold curl-papers and unwashed faces, setting 
 rooms to rights ; and even the Boots himself, the 
 most matutinal of all bipeds except chanticleer, 
 was not by any means sufficiently awakened to be 
 as brisk and active as at all ordinary hours he 
 showed himself. Mrs. Pluckrose was still sound 
 asleep ; and walking out with clothes that had 
 been brushed, and boots that had been blacked, 
 the night before, Mr. Morton gave no trouble to, 
 and attracted little attention from, any one. On 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 the old stone bridge, of three irregular arches, he 
 paused and gazed for a minute or two into th 
 stream, on the bosom of which numerous dab- 
 chicks and water-hens were swimming about, un- 
 doubtedly thinking that no man with a gun would 
 feel inclined to annoy them so early in the morn- 
 ing. They might have found themselves mis- 
 taken ; but certainly in regard to Edmond Mor- 
 ton they were in the right, for he did not feel dis- 
 posed to do them any harm, and they appeared to 
 understand it well; for, as he looked over the 
 parapet upon the water, though they turned up 
 towards him the shrewd inquiring eye, they did 
 not hurry off to their sedgy lurking-places as they 
 would have done at a later hour, nor dive down in 
 eager haste to escape the anticipated shot. He 
 was not bloodily disposed, indeed ; and yet there 
 was a stout old trout who, having escaped many 
 perils, and grown to aldermanic bulk, now lay 
 head against stream, at the tail of a pleasant ripple, 
 which did move a little in his bosom the tiger that 
 is more or less in the hearts of all men. He 
 thought it would be a pleasant thing, on a fine 
 May morning, to bring that fellow to the landing- 
 place; but neither rod nor line had he with him 
 at the moment, and, even if he had, it was getting 
 somewhat late in the year to trifle with trouts, so
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 131 
 
 that the tyrant of the stream would have been 
 safe. 
 
 Now, Heaven only knows what connection there 
 was between the sight of that trout and so dif- 
 ferent a being as Louisa Charlton. The mind 
 rarely jumps, though it runs up many a ladder 
 with surprising swiftness ; and there are general 
 links or, to pursue the metaphor, steps of asso- 
 ciation between each thought that presents itself 
 and another. Certain it is, however, whether it 
 was that he thought it would be agreeable to 
 withdraw that fair girl from all that surrounded 
 her, and carry her away with him, as he had 
 proposed to do with the trout, or whether angling 
 for a pretty wife was a sport he found pleasure 
 in, or whether anything else in the wide expanse 
 of possibility linked the two together, — certain it 
 is, that the next thought that presented itself to 
 his imagination was Louisa Charlton. It served 
 him all across the bridge and up to the park 
 gates, which lay at the end of a short avenue, of 
 not more than two hundred yards in length. 
 But there, just as he was about to pull the 
 cucumber-shaped handle of an old bell that hung 
 beside the wrought-iron trellis-work, he paused 
 and looked at the windows of the lodge, saying 
 to himself, " It is needless to rouse the good old 
 dame before her hour." 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 The dimity curtains were closely drawn across 
 the lattice, and taking that indication in good 
 part, he walked back to the bridge again, and 
 gazed once more into the stream. The trout was 
 still there, just where he had left it ; but Morton 
 did not see it at all, for he had now got something 
 else to think of, and he went on with Louisa Charl- 
 ton very pleasantly, as if he were taking a sunny 
 walk with her through the fairy land of fancy. 
 
 In about ten minutes he turned round his head 
 towards the gates, and saw the old dame who 
 kept the lodge open the casement and hook it 
 back — her summer morning's first task, — and 
 sauntering gently on, he now rang the bell. 
 
 " Oh ! is it you, sir ?" said the good lady, who 
 had seen him there more than once before, 
 putting out her head ; "I will come in a minute ;" 
 and after she had fastened her gown she came to 
 the gates and unlocked them, with a courtsey, 
 saying, as she did so, — " The other gate up the 
 stream is always open — ay, and must be, too, 
 for some one broke the lock off — a mischievous 
 young rogue he must have been — and ever since 
 my lord's death the bailiff says he has no orders." 
 
 " And pray who is your lord now, my good 
 lady?" asked Mr. Morton. 
 
 " Ay, sir, that is hard to say," answered Dame 
 Wither ton ; " an old gentleman, I have heard tell,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 133 
 
 of the name of Wilmot — a parson, it seems, and 
 very fond of money." 
 
 " He ong'lit to spend some here to put the house 
 in better order," answered Morton. " It is truly 
 a pity to see so fine a place as this might be, if 
 well kept up, falling into decay." 
 
 " Ay, that it is, indeed," answered the old 
 woman with a sigh. " I remember it quite a 
 different thing ; but even Edmonds, the park- 
 keeper, is falling out of heart. He can't get the 
 work-people paid, and is obliged to discharge 
 them, poor man ; though it breaks his heart to 
 see the gravel walks getting weedy, and the trees 
 all straggling, and the people stealing the game. 
 But he cannot pay men himself — that is impos- 
 sible. It is bad enough for him, with a family, to 
 live here without his own wages ; and work night 
 and day for people that don't say ' Thank you.' " 
 
 " Quite enough, indeed, and too much, I should 
 suppose," replied Mr. Morton ; " but 1 suppose 
 this Edmonds is fond of the place." 
 
 " Ay, that he is," answered Dame Witherton.. 
 " it is all his delight, sir — his hobby, as Dr. Wes- 
 tern calls it. Why, I remember him — Lord bless 
 you, sir ! — a little curly-headed boy, born in that 
 very cottage where he now lives, for his father, 
 poor Tim Edmonds, was park-keeper before 
 him."
 
 134 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 "And where does lie live, my good dame?" 
 asked the visitor at Mallington. 
 
 " Bless you, sir! — why, don't you know?" ex- 
 claimed the lady of the lodge. " Why, you have 
 seen that pretty house just hidden from the hall 
 by the tall trees in front. That 's where John 
 Edmonds lives." 
 
 " I will walk up and see him," answered Mor- 
 ton. " I want to have a ramble all over the park 
 from one end to the other." 
 
 " Then he is just the man to show it you," re- 
 joined the old lady, " for there is not a rabbit has 
 a burrow in the place but he knows all the ins and 
 outs of it." 
 
 Fully relying upon the accuracy of her state- 
 ments, Edmond Morton walked on to find out the 
 house of the park-keeper, which he was not long 
 in accomplishing, for, to say the truth, he had not 
 dealt fairly with the good old woman, having 
 clearly understood before the conversation began, 
 which was the dwelling of John Edmonds ; but, 
 having a sort of cynical belief that there is nothing 
 so pleasant to "withered eld" as to tell a story its 
 own way, he had let her go on, without giving a 
 hint of the stores of information he possessed. 
 
 Thither, however, he now bent his steps, and at 
 the end of about a quarter of an hour, perceived 
 the lodge amongst the trees. Everything was
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 135 
 
 neat about it ; and the evidences of man's careful 
 spirit gave tlie place a cheerful look, though it 
 was actually somewhat decayed, and one of the 
 chimneys had a strong inclination to fall. The 
 door had no bell, but as Morton had a very great 
 disinclination to intrude upon any one, high or 
 low, he knocked before he entered. A voice said 
 " Come in," and accordingly Mr. Morton did as 
 he was bid. 
 
 The interior presented a scene somewhat diffi- 
 cult to describe ; for it had so many relations with 
 antecedents, to the feelings of those who bore a 
 part in it, that all its interest lay in things that 
 were gone. Abstracted from those, it was but 
 the house of an English peasant, at meal time — 
 one not ill to do, either. At a round oaken table, 
 in the midst of a low-roofed thick- raftered cham- 
 ber, which had five pots of flowers in each small- 
 paned casement, were seated John Edmonds, his 
 wife, a son of about ten years old, and a daughter 
 of somewhat less than double that term. There 
 had been three children between the two; but the 
 sicknesses of childhood had reduced them to that 
 number ; and those that were lost had stored me- 
 mory with regrets which rendered those that re- 
 mained doubly dear to the park-keeper and his 
 wife. 
 
 Edmonds himself was still a hale, well-looking,
 
 136 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 stout man of fifty, long-limbed and active, clothed 
 in a green coat, somewhat the worse for wear, with 
 yellow buttons adorned with a rusty fox, corduroy 
 breeches, and leathern gaiters up to his knees. A 
 checked handkerchief was round his neck, quite 
 clean, like the collar of his shirt, but with a hole 
 in the corner. There were other holes not shown; 
 but the time had been, not long ago, when he would 
 not have worn a handkerchief with a hole in it 
 on any account. His wife was a plainly but very 
 neatly dressed woman, about three years younger 
 than himself, with considerable traces still remain- 
 ing of beauty, worn away by daily toil and con- 
 stant exposure to sun and wind. The boy was a 
 stout, rosy urchin, very like his father, with a merry 
 round face, black eyes, and curly hair. The daugh- 
 ter was one of those sweet flowers sometimes seen 
 in cottage windows, which instantly make one 
 think that they ought to have some better shelter 
 against the wintry wind and burning sun. Her 
 features were fine and delicate; her hair beautiful, 
 and shining like new spun silk ; her eyes full of 
 tender and confiding light; her complexion warm 
 yet soft ; and her form full both of youthful grace 
 and womanly contour. Small hands, small feet, 
 small lips, all were as symmetrical as if the blood 
 of whole races of patricians had flowed in her 
 veins. Her dress was very plain, and even coarse.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 137 
 
 but neat and clean. The time had been when it 
 had been a matter of fatherly vanity or love, to 
 deck that fair form in garments more becoming ; 
 but that time had passed, and Lucy Edmonds did 
 not give them a sigh. Her father did, however. 
 
 The fare before them was plain but good, and 
 though it had once been better, none of them 
 cared much about that ; but two or three of the 
 lozenges in the casement had been broken, and 
 were filled up with paper neatly cut and pasted 
 in, and that was a sad eye-sore to the park-keeper. 
 In other days he would have paid the replacing of 
 the missing panes from his own pocket, if his lord 
 had not done it ; but now he could not afford the 
 expense, and he felt the want of neatness bitterly. 
 At that moment he felt it more than ever, when 
 he beheld a stranger, and he had recourse to a 
 little artifice to hide it as much as possible. 
 
 No sooner did he perceive who it was that en- 
 tered than, rising, he gave the young gentleman 
 " Good -morning," and taking a bundle from a 
 chair, which he placed for his visitor with its back 
 to the lattice, he laid the bundle on the window 
 sill, and returned to his seat. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Edmonds," said Morton, 
 in reply to the park-keeper's salutation. " I beg 
 your pardon for breaking in upon you at this hour, 
 but I am fond of an early walk, and — "
 
 138 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " Don't mention it, sir," said Edmonds, inter- 
 rupting him, but not rudely ; " very happy to see 
 you. Is there anything I can do for you, sir ? I 
 have seen you taking your walk before now, and 
 looking about. I am always glad to see any one 
 that takes notice of the park ; it was a mighty 
 pretty place once, but it is getting a little out of 
 order now, for want of hands." 
 
 " Why, I wish, with your permission, to walk 
 all over it," answered Morton, " and should feel 
 very much obliged if you would accompany me. 
 I do not know whether you are aware that there 
 is some talk of the place being sold, and a friend 
 of mine is thinking of buying it." 
 
 This was evidently news to poor Edmonds; and 
 though, for a moment, a good many visions of a 
 nice family purchasing the hall, and of the park 
 being put into good order again, and of all the 
 gravel walks being in trim array, and of the lady's 
 walk being rolled out twice a week, and of him- 
 self being retained as heiad park-keeper, came 
 before his eyes ; yet he did not feel altogether so 
 comfortable as he ought to have been, for there 
 is more of the spirit of clanship in all faithful 
 servants than we know of, and there was some- 
 ^^ thing in the idea of Mallington Hall being sold out 
 of the family of Mallington that grated harshly 
 upon his mind.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 139 
 
 " I did not know that it could be sold, sir," he 
 answered ; " but! have seen so many things I never 
 thought to see, that this does not surprise me. 
 However, sir, I am quite ready to walk with you 
 this moment." 
 
 " No, no, finish your breakfast, Mr. Edmonds," 
 replied Morton ; " do not let me disturb you. I 
 am in no hurry," and entering into conversation 
 first with one and then with another, in a kindly 
 tone ; frank, but not too familiar, cheerful, but not 
 jocular, the young gentleman was soon upon good 
 terms with the whole family. 
 
 In about ^ve minutes Edmonds and his visitor 
 were upon their feet, and walking out into the 
 park. Up one alley and down another the young 
 gentleman was led, round the walks, across the 
 leas and lawns, through the wilderness, to the 
 obelisk on the hill behind the house. 
 
 Much to the satisfaction of the park-keeper, 
 Mr. Morton observed everything with the eye of 
 taste, admired the natural beauties of the place, 
 and again and again expressed his regret at seeing 
 it running wild. At first his companion was well 
 pleased to hear his lamentations over the neglect; 
 but as Morton repeated them several times, he 
 felt as if there were some covert reproach to him- 
 self in his words, and he replied, " Well, sir, it is a 
 pity, surely — a very great pity; but I cannot help
 
 140 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 it. In my lord's time I had seven pair of hands 
 under me in this park, besides the three game- 
 keepers who lived outside, and who used to do a 
 turn now and then in the spring and summer; but 
 now there is not a soul to help me, and I myself 
 have no call to do anything, for I am no man's 
 servant now ; only I can't bear to see it all going 
 to ruin, so wherever it seems most needed I work 
 away. But I can't keejD things right altogether 
 anyhow, all by myself." 
 
 " That is quite impossible," said the young gen- 
 tleman ; " but yet it is a terrible pity, indeed, to 
 see so much jiains and labour, and so much good 
 taste, as have been employed upon the place alto- 
 gether thrown away and lost for want of attention. 
 Why, whoever buys the property, if it go on at 
 this rate, will have to spend many hundreds of 
 pounds to put it right again." 
 
 " That he will, sir," answered Edmonds. " Be- 
 fore six months be over it will be quite a wilder- 
 ness; for I must look out for something to do 
 myself. Here, my lord has been dead a good bit 
 more than a year, and I have had but one month's 
 wages from that time. I cannot go on so, sir. 
 All my earnings are going fast enough, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " Well !" exclaimed Morton, as if in a sudden 
 fit of enthusiasm, " I declare I will not see it fall
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 141 
 
 into such a state. I will tell you what, Edmonds 
 — I will lend a hand." 
 
 " You, sir !" cried the park-keeper, looking at 
 him with a smile. " Lord bless you ! you could 
 do little enough. Not that I mean to say you are 
 not a strong man, very ; for you are just the sort 
 of made person who would get through a good 
 deal, but you have never been used to such sort of 
 work, I '11 warrant." 
 
 The young gentleman laughed merrily. " 'No, 
 no; you mistake me, Edmonds," he said. " I am 
 not going to take your place over your head. I 
 should have said, I will lend the money, not lend 
 a hand. Then, if my friend does not buy the 
 place, why I suppose I must have it myself — 
 that 's all." 
 
 " Ay, sir; I thought there was something of 
 that," replied Edmonds, shrewdly. " Gentlemen 
 do not come down to look at places for other 
 people, unless they be auctioneers, and such like. 
 Well, I am glad, if it must go, that a gentleman 
 should have it, who seems to like it and value it, 
 and cares about such things." 
 
 *' But remember, Edmonds," said the young 
 gentleman, putting his finger on his lips, " not 
 a word about this to a living soul, unless it be 
 good Dr. Western — not to your wife or daughter, 
 even ; for the matter is not yet quite settled. But
 
 142 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 now to business, Edmonds," and he took out a 
 pocket-book. " You must get four or five hands 
 — not more ; for the matter may go off' yet, and 
 then, you know, I should be a loser." 
 
 " Five good hands, at twelve shillings a week, 
 sir, will make a strange change in no time," an- 
 swered the park-keeper, " and we have many a 
 poor fellow about here that is now out of work 
 since my lord died." 
 
 " Ay, the loss of one wealthy man in a place 
 like this is a misfortune, indeed," said Morton. 
 " Then there are your own wages, Edmonds ?" 
 
 " Why, I used to have seventy pounds a year, 
 and the house and garden, sir," observed the park- 
 keeper ; " but now — " 
 
 " Well, call it one pound ten a week," rejoined 
 Morton; " that will make four pounds ten. There 
 are twenty pounds, which will pay all for the next 
 month ; and if I should be away when it is done, 
 speak to Dr. Western. He will settle with you. 
 But remember ! — not a word to any one else." 
 
 " No, no, sir ; I will be as mum as a mouse," 
 replied the park-keeper ; " but what am I to say, 
 if people ask me?" 
 
 " Oh ! merely that you have your orders and 
 your money, and that is all you care about," re- 
 plied Morton. 
 
 " But now I should like to see the house, if we
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 143 
 
 can manage it without letting the folks know 
 what it is for." 
 
 " Oh, dear! yes, sir," said the park-keeper, 
 " that is easily done," and leading the way down, 
 he had soon introduced his companion to the old 
 housekeeper, and the three walked over almost 
 every room of the Hall together. 
 
 Here and there Mr. Morton stopped and exa- 
 mined everything closely. He looked at the old 
 pictures of the Mallington family. He gazed round 
 the deserted drawing-room with feelings which 
 every one must have known when standing where 
 gay multitudes of happy hearts, long cold, have 
 once tasted the bright hours of life ; but he paused 
 long in the library ; took down several books and 
 examined them, seeming especially interested in 
 a manuscript volume, which bore upon its back 
 " History of the Mallington Family." 
 
 While he was thus employed, the housekeeper 
 and Edmonds stood at the window and looked out. 
 Some of their observations caught the gentleman's 
 ear and he suddenly turned round, when, through 
 the casement, he perceived a young man in a 
 shooting-jacket crossing the park at a couple of 
 hundred yards' distance. He was a tall, powerful, 
 handsome youth, and Mr. Morton inquired, " Who 
 is that?" 
 
 " Why, that is Mr. Alfred Latimer, sir," an-
 
 144 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 swered the park-keeper, " the son of Mrs. Charl- 
 ton on the hill. It 's a pity he goes on so, for I 
 do not think he is so bad at heart after all ; and 
 he has always been very kind and civil to me ever 
 since I looked over his shooting a pheasant or 
 two when he was a boy." 
 
 "Ah! he is a bad one," said the old house- 
 keeper ; " you always took his part, Edmonds, 
 but he is a bad one, and you'll find that out some 
 day. — Would you like to look at the kitchens, 
 sir?" 
 
 " No, I thank you," replied Morton. " Now, 
 Mr. Edmonds. I will go ;" and walking out with 
 his guide he took leave of him, adding, ere they 
 parted, " I could wish the house taken better care 
 of. They seem to have been cutting off the leaden 
 pipes at the corners." 
 
 " Ay, that was done by a pack of blackguards 
 last winter," answered Edmonds. 
 
 " They will commit further depredations if they 
 be not checked," replied Morton. " I wish we 
 could have the place better protected, for I am 
 likely to have it just as it stands ; but we will 
 think of that hereafter. — Good-day."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 145 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Instead of turning his steps to his own house, 
 Edmonds, the head park-keeper, who had in former 
 days not only acted in that capacity but as head 
 gamekeeper also, and had, moreover, superin- 
 tended the arrangement of the gardens — for he 
 was a sort of Gilpin in low life — stood upon the 
 terrace before the house for some minutes, as if he 
 were enjoying the beauties of the prospect. The 
 housekeeper, too, remained at the door without 
 closing it, looking after Mr. Morton as he walked 
 away. 
 
 " That 's a gentleman, whoever he is, Edmonds," 
 she said at length, after having passed about two 
 minutes in contemplation. 
 
 Edmonds started and turned round; but he 
 agreed heartily in her commendation saying, " Yes, 
 that he is, indeed, Mrs. Chalke ; we seldom see 
 such a one in these parts." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " I wonder who he is," rejoined the old lady; 
 "do you know, Edmonds?" 
 
 " No, that I don't," answered the park-keeper. 
 " Now, I think of it, I did not even recollect to ask 
 his name. But Dr. Western knows, Mrs. Chalke ; 
 for he talked a good deal about the rector, and 
 said he was an excellent man." 
 
 " And so he is," replied the good old lady ; 
 " but," — and the old lady went on to communicate 
 to Edmonds all her fears and apprehensions re- 
 garding her stay at Mallington Hall with none 
 but one housemaid, whom she was obliged to keep 
 herself. " I declare," she said, " that whatever 
 comes of it, I won't stay another winter here in 
 this way. I am sure I was well nigh frightened 
 out of my life last winter : and if the people who 
 cut off the pipes, and tried to find a way in at the 
 back-door, had known that there was such a quan- 
 tity of plate in the house, they would have broken 
 in to a certainty — that they would." 
 
 " Well, before the long nights come," said Ed- 
 monds, " I will think what can be done ; and, if 
 we can't manage better, I will come up here and 
 sleep myself. But I must go away now, Mrs. 
 Chalke; for I want to speak with Blackmore 
 about the garden. Something must be done to 
 get it in order, that 's clear. Why, it 's quite a 
 wilderness."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 147 
 
 " Ay, that it is," answered Mrs. Chalke. " But 
 who is to pay for doing it, Edmonds ?" 
 
 " Why, I don't know," answered Edmonds ; 
 " but I dare say some one will, if it 's done. Who- 
 ever the place comes to ought. — Good-day, Mrs. 
 Chalke ;" and he walked away. 
 
 Taking his way through the park towards the 
 gate which, as the old lady at the lodge had said 
 always stood open, he went leisurely on, meditat- 
 ing with no little satisfaction upon the events of 
 the morning. He had by this time become recon- 
 ciled to the idea of Mallington Park going out of 
 the family, and visions of a thousand pleasant 
 changes, under the auspices of Mr. Morton, pre- 
 sented themselves to his imagination by the way. 
 When he was about two-thirds through the park, 
 he caught a glimpse of the very man he was think- 
 ing of seated at the foot of a tree, employed with 
 his paper and pencil in sketching the bridge. 
 
 "He takes a mighty delight in the place, surely," 
 said the park-keeper to himself; " I should like 
 to be able to draw in that way ; it would be 
 so nice to have the house all hung with pictures of 
 the park. — Why, there 's Mr. Latimer coming up 
 to him. I hope he won't be saucy ; for he 's just 
 as likely to say an uncivil thing as a civil one. 
 No, he seems to be polite enough ; he 's talking to 
 him about his drawing, I dare say. Ay, there 
 L 2
 
 148 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 now, lie's looking at it," — and a moment after 
 Morton rose, put the sketch-book in his pocket, 
 and walked away with Alfred Latimer at an easy 
 and sauntering pace. 
 
 In the mean while the park-keeper pursued his 
 way, passed through the gate, and following the 
 road which ran from the bridge along the stream 
 under the park wall, reached, at the distance of 
 about a quarter of a mile, a small cottage, built 
 upon the bank of the river, with a little garden 
 round it, occupying the whole space between the 
 highway and the water. It was neatly and beau- 
 tifully kept ; for Blackmore, the gardener, after 
 quitting the service of Mr. Charlton many years 
 before, under circumstances which the reader may 
 recollect, had soon found another place; but at 
 the end of two years had fallen from a tree and 
 broken his thigh, which threw him for many 
 months out of employment. He had then, nearly 
 crippled by the accident, devoted himself to the 
 cultivation of this little piece of ground, and made 
 a scanty livelihood by selling the produce at Mal- 
 lington. Another great misfortune had befallen 
 him. His son had proved wild, intractable, and 
 idle ; and the abilities which had once made his 
 father's heart glad had, by inducing an over- 
 weening self-conceit, proved a bane instead of a 
 blessing. At almost any hour of the day, from
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 149 
 
 sunrise to sunset, Black more was to be met with 
 in his garden, and there Edmonds now found him 
 labouring away, in Iiis ordinary working dress, 
 with a sad and thoughtful countenance. 
 
 " Well, Blackmore," said the park-keeper, after 
 the usual country salutations, " I think I have got 
 some good news for you." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Blackmore, looking up. " I 
 shall be very glad to hear them, Mr. Edmonds ; 
 for I have got some bad news for you, and for 
 every one else in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " Ay ! what is that?" demanded Edmonds. " I 
 was in hopes it was going to turn out a lucky 
 day." 
 
 " There 's but little luck for me, anyhow," an- 
 swered Blackmore ; " but my news is that Master 
 Alfred has come back again." 
 
 " Pooh! is that all?" exclaimed the park-keeper. 
 " You are too harsh with that lad, Blackmore : 
 his mother has spoilt him, that 's all. He will 
 soon sow his wild oats, and turn out better than 
 you think." 
 
 " He 's a bad-hearted young villain !" answered 
 Blackmore, sternly. " He was bad as a boy, is bad 
 as a youth, and will be bad as a man. There's no 
 good in him, Mr. Edmonds , he 's as vain as he 's 
 vicious, and that 's what makes him like to asso- 
 ciate with people below himself. It is because he
 
 150 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 wishes to be flattered and made a miracle of, and 
 be cock of the walk, that makes him keep com- 
 pany with such folks as my son and Billy Maltby, 
 and others like them. I can forgive and forget all 
 that he did when he was a boy, and all that his 
 mother did too; but I can't forgive his having 
 corrupted my lad John, and made a drunken idle 
 vagabond of him." 
 
 " Well, perhaps he will behave better now," 
 said Edmonds. " He has been away for five 
 months, and may have improved." 
 
 " Improved !" said Blackmore, in a sullen tone, 
 " he '11 never improve. What was the first thing 
 he did when he came back? why, instead of going 
 to his mother's house like any other gentleman, 
 he went down to the Clove Tree, and there he sat 
 drinking and playing dice till two o'clock this 
 morning; so my good woman tells me. Poor 
 thing ; he 's helped to break her heart, however ; 
 for our boy would never have gone on so if it had 
 not been for him : and there he sat winning 
 money from one or two, but losing it preciously to 
 Bill Maltby, and I dare say not very fairly either. 
 Then he went back to the inn to sleep, but Mrs. 
 Pluckrose had had the house shut up, and would 
 not have her people let him in ; so he was forced 
 to go home, I suppose : though, they say, he swore 
 at his mother like a graceless young villain, and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 151 
 
 damned her I know not liow many times before 
 the whole of the raff of the Clove Tree ; because, 
 he said, she had grown stingy, and would not give 
 enough to keep him like a gentleman, or pay his 
 debts." 
 
 " That's bad, that's very bad!" said Edmonds. 
 " However, Blackmore, there's no use of talking 
 about him ; I shall give him a lecture when I see 
 him, and he always listens quietly enough to what 
 I say. — What I have to tell you is, that I have 
 got orders at last from some one — I don't know 
 who, but as the money came with them that 's all 
 I have to care for — to put the park in order, and 
 I dare say the garden is meant too. Now, as poor 
 old Wilkinson, our head man, died of his cough 
 last winter, I don't see why you shouldn't come 
 up, and see to getting the garden to rights, 
 with any help you can have. Then, being on 
 the spot, you know, you will have a chance of the 
 place." 
 
 Blackmore held out his hand to him with a glad 
 smile, exclaiming, " Now that 's kind of you, Mr. 
 Edmonds, that's very kind of you; it 's just like 
 you ; and I '11 be very glad of the job, whether it 
 goes on or not : for nothing is doing so well as it 
 used to do, and that boy will be the ruin of me, as 
 well as break my heart — that he has done well 
 nigh already. Oh ! Mr. Edmonds, if any one had
 
 152 T^E STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 told me of him that I was so proud of, because he 
 could do anything almost that he turned his hand 
 to, that he would one day be an idle worthless 
 vagabond, I would have little believed it." 
 
 " We should never try to make our children 
 gentlemen, Blackmore," said the park-keeper. 
 " It 's a great mistake : it 's only grafting a twig 
 on a stock that won't bear it. If there 's anything 
 really above the mark in them, it will come out 
 without our help." 
 
 " Ah ! it was all that Alfred Latimer," said the 
 poor gardener ; " he ruined him. I remember 
 well enough when he and I had the quarrel about 
 the melon beds up at Mallington House, and I 
 took him in by the arm ; and his mother took his 
 part, though the good old gentleman took mine, 
 and found him out in all his lies. He said he 
 would be revenged some day ; and revenged he 
 has been indeed. "But here comes John and Bill 
 Maltby. I shan't say much to him, for if I do I 
 may say more than I intend ;" and once more 
 shaking the park-keeper by the hand, he walked 
 into the house. 
 
 " I '11 say something to the young scamp, how- 
 ever," said Edmonds to himself, as the gardener 
 retreated ; and waiting calmly at the little wicket 
 of the garden, he watched John Blackmore and 
 his companion sauntering leisurely up with a grave
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 153 
 
 fixed look that neither of them seemed particularly 
 to like. 
 
 The first was a young man of about nineteen, 
 with an air of dirty vulgar finery about him which 
 was anything but prepossessing. 
 
 The other was of a very different aspect. He 
 was, perhaps, two or three and twenty years of 
 age, strongly built though spare, broad in the 
 shoulders, thin in the flanks, long in the limbs. 
 His head was small and round as a ball, his hair 
 cut short, but the portion which was wanting on 
 the cranium was made up by the superabundance 
 upon the cheek and under the chin. His features 
 were small and generally well cut. His air was free 
 and bold ; and there was a look of indifferent impu- 
 dence about his whole aspect, which was only con- 
 tradicted by the sharp and inquisitive glance of 
 the eye, that seemed to mark everything it fell 
 upon as if with a consciousness of danger. His 
 dress was plainer than that of his companion, but 
 yet fresher and of a more suitable character, con- 
 sisting of a round jacket of dark cloth, a light 
 coloured waistcoat, a pair of grey trousers, very 
 white stockings, and shoes cut low in the quarter, 
 like those generally worn by sailors. 
 
 Edmonds, as I have said, eyed them sternly as 
 they came forward, and his fixed gaze was not 
 pleasant to either party ; but the younger of the
 
 154 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 two felt it most, and he looked down upon the 
 ground, while the other returned the stare un- 
 abashed, though he whispered a word to his com- 
 panion with a smile curling his lip, as if in con- 
 tempt of the good park-keeper. 
 
 The latter, however, was not a man to be checked 
 by either looks or speeches, and his eye never 
 winked after it had once settled upon John Black- 
 more and his companion; and when they came 
 near he said at once, " Well, John, the same 
 courses I find. What will come of it, think you ?" 
 
 ''What should come of it, Mr. Edmonds?" 
 asked the youth. 
 
 " Dishonesty, beggary, wickedness, and the 
 gallows, I should think," replied Edmonds. — 
 " Here you are emptying your poor father's 
 pockets, and breaking his heart, and wasting your 
 time ; losing your character, if ever you had any ; 
 and ruining yourself, body and soul, with a pack 
 of scamps and vagabonds, who first make a fool 
 of you, and then laugh at you." 
 
 " What is that, master keeper, you said about 
 scamps and vagabonds ?" demanded Billy Maltby, 
 walking a step or two closer to Edmonds, with a 
 look of cold daring. 
 
 " I said," replied the keeper, without moving an 
 inch, " that he keeps company with nothing but 
 such."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 155 
 
 " Then you mean me amongst the rest," said 
 Maltby, in the same tone. 
 
 " At the head of them," replied Edmonds. 
 
 " Then take that for your pains ! " exclaimed 
 the other, aiming an overhand blow at his head. 
 
 But if he was strong and scientific in the noble 
 science of the ring, the park-keeper was stronger 
 and no less skilful ; and, instantly parrying the 
 blow with his left hand, he returned it with the 
 right, striking his opponent so hard on the eye, 
 that the surrounding bone seemed to crack under 
 the stroke, and in an instant he was lying on his 
 back on the road. He was up in a second, how- 
 ever, and springing at his opponent with fury, was 
 knocked down again before he could plant a blow. 
 Old Blackmore rushed out of his house at the 
 sound of contention; a stout fellow, who had been 
 one of the under-keepers, ran up from a cottage 
 hard by ; and Maltby, with a furious oath, pulled 
 ofi* his coat, called for a ring, and challenged Ed- 
 monds to fight it out on the spot. 
 
 The park-keeper hesitated for an instant, for 
 the bull-dog spirit of John Bull was strong within 
 him; but, after a brief consideration, he said, " No, 
 I won't — I'm a father of a family, my lad, and 
 have given over such tricks; but I'll tell you what 
 I will do. If ever you are saucy to me again, or 
 if ever I find you lurking about the park or the
 
 156 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 covers, I will give you such a hiding as will save 
 some one a deal of trouble; so take care of your- 
 self, that 's all ; for you 've had a taste, and only 
 a taste ; but you shall have as much as you can 
 carry the next time. Come along with me, Wil- 
 son, I 've something to say to you," and he walked 
 away with the under-keeper, turning a deaf ear 
 to the taunts and insults which Billy Maltby 
 judged it expedient to pour upon him.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 I MUST now beg the reader to step back with me 
 to the spot where Mr. Edmond Morton sat under 
 a tree, sketching the bridge. There he remained 
 intent, till, turning his eyes a little to the right, in 
 the direction where the keeper's house lay in its 
 little glen, hidden by the trees, he beheld Alfred 
 Latimer coming, with a quick and hurried pace, 
 towards the spot where he had placed himself. 
 
 Now, like many other men who have an over- 
 weening opinion of their own merits, Alfred Lati- 
 mer was shy of people at all in his own station of 
 life. His class is a very common one, where pride 
 and vanity are mingled together in such portions 
 as to exacerbate each other, and where the opinion 
 of our own merits is not of that calm and com- 
 fortable sort which renders us perfectly sure that 
 every man of sense will esteem and appreciate us 
 as we do ourselves ; but, on the contrary, is of the 
 irritable and suspicious kind, which leads us to
 
 158 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 fear that our qualities will not be so readily re- 
 cognised as we think they ought to be. He would 
 not have thought of speaking to Mr. Morton first 
 for the world ; that gentleman's dress and appear- 
 ance, and the high-bred air about him would have 
 been an impassable barrier against such a pro- 
 ceeding. But Morton himself had his own views 
 and purposes ; and as he saw the widow's son 
 walking on with a shy glance towards him, he 
 first beckoned to him; and, as Alfred Latimer did 
 not choose to see the sign, he raised his voice and 
 called, taking care not to rise. 
 
 " May I speak with you for a moment?" he said ; 
 and the young gentleman, with a quick but un- 
 willing step, approached. 
 
 " Pray, can you tell me," continued Morton, 
 pointing with his pencil to a spot in the distance, 
 where, following the course of the valley, the eye 
 rested on a tower which seemed that of a church, 
 and then to his sketch, where the same object was 
 represented in a few bold light strokes. " Pray, 
 can you tell me what is the name of that place?" 
 
 " That is called Steeple Melford," replied the 
 young man, set at once at ease by the familiarity 
 of the stranger. 
 
 " Is it a town or a village?" asked Morton, 
 going on. 
 
 " Oh! nothing but a little village," replied Lati-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 159 
 
 mer, looking at his progress. " How quick you 
 draw." 
 
 "Habit, habit!" answered Morton; "but I 
 think that will do," and he rose. 
 
 " Why, you do not call that finished, do you?" 
 demanded the young gentleman ; " you will never 
 be able to make anything out of that." 
 
 " Oh! yes," replied Morton, " as you will see, if 
 you call upon me in a day or two at the inn. This 
 is all I want ; and so now I will go back again. 
 You reside here, I think." 
 
 As he spoke he took a step forward, and Alfred 
 Latimer followed him, while replying, " Yes, I 
 generally do. My mother has a house at the top 
 of the hill there, and when we are good friends I 
 live with her — when we are not I go away." 
 
 " Why, you never quarrel with your mother, do 
 you?" said Morton, in a good-humoured tone. 
 
 " No, we don't exactly quarrel," answered Al- 
 fred Latimer; " but sometimes she does not choose 
 to give me money enough, and then I go away, 
 and that is sure to bring her round." 
 
 " But, perhaps, she cannot afford to give it to 
 you," said Morton. 
 
 " That is what she says," replied the other, " but 
 it is all an excuse. Why, the old man left her 
 very well off, and the guardians allow my sister 
 Louisa twelve hundred a year, and the whole of
 
 160 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 that, except two hundred that she keeps for her 
 dress, goes to my mother for the house, so that 
 she could let me have more if she liked, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Perhaps not," rejoined Morton, thoughtfully. 
 " We young men do not always calculate very 
 accurately what our parents can afford. I know 
 your mother ; and her establishment is expen- 
 sive." 
 
 " Ay, why does she keep up such a one?" said 
 Alfred Latimer. " It is upon that and her dress 
 that the money goes. But she won't be without 
 anything that she has a mind to have, and yet 
 grumbles when I want a few pounds. Here, she 
 has had two or three dinner-parties this last week, 
 and pic-nics, and all sort of things, they tell me, 
 and yet when I wrote to her to send me fifty 
 pounds, she vowed she had not got as much in the 
 world, and sent me ten." 
 
 " But in that case why don't you apply to some 
 other relation or friend?" inquired his companion. 
 " If the money is absolutely necessary to you to 
 pay a bill, or anything of that kind, I dare say 
 you could easily borrow it." 
 
 "Necessary enough, by Jove!" cried young 
 Latimer, " for a fellow in London to whom I owe 
 a small sum threatens to arrest me, so I was 
 obliged to make myself scarce; and, as to borrow-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 161 
 
 ing the money, I know no one who has got it to 
 lend. Louisa would let me have it soon enough 
 if she had it; but she sent me all her last quarter's, 
 except ten pounds, six weeks ago, and she will 
 not have any more till the 29th of September, for 
 those old screws, her guardians, are as hard as 
 flint. None of my friends have a sous to bless 
 themselves with, and my relations — a set of proud 
 blackguards — take no notice of me because my 
 father chose to marry my mother against their 
 consent — devil fly away with them ! " 
 
 " You would find it a good plan, Mr. Latimer," 
 said Morton, " to make friends amongst people 
 who can give you assistance in whatever way you 
 may want it ; and there are many sorts of assist- 
 ance much more important and valuable than 
 such a trifle as forty or fifty pounds." 
 
 " Ah ! I understand what you mean," answered 
 Latimer, " to make acquaintance with fashionable 
 people ; but they are all so d — d stupid. They 
 are as cold and dull as lead, and up to no fun ; 
 and I doubt much whether they would think forty 
 or fifty pounds such a trifle as you fancy, for they 
 are stingy enough, I can tell you." 
 
 " I have not found them so," replied Morton, 
 " and for my own part I am always willing to lend 
 a friend what he wants, as far as my means go, 
 and so," he continued, pulling open the iron gate 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 of the park, and going out first, " if your mother 
 cannot let you have the fifty pounds you want, I 
 will ; for she has been very kind and courteous to 
 me since I have been here ; and I should like to 
 make her any return, by assisting her son.'* 
 
 " Upon my life, you are an excellent fellow !" 
 cried Alfred Latimer, who had not the slightest 
 hesitation in regard to borrowing money wherever 
 he could get it. " I will pay you as soon as I can ; 
 for I have my own annuity, and in the mean time 
 I will give you my I O U." 
 
 Morton smiled, but made no reply, for his 
 young companion's words showed that he was not 
 altogether unaccustomed to the trade of borrowing, 
 and confirmed him in the belief which he had 
 entertained from the first, that the money he was 
 about to lend would never be repaid; and yet, strange 
 to say, he was even, perhaps, the more willing to 
 lend it on that account. " If I can obtain a hold 
 upon this youth," he thought, '^ and by the loss of 
 a few pounds, lent him from time to time, render 
 him in some degree bound to me by necessity, if 
 not by gratitude, I may, perhaps, disentangle 
 him from his low and vicious companions, and 
 gradually lead him at all events into a better way 
 of life, if not into higher and nobler thoughts. It ' 
 is worth the while." 
 
 Who was he thinking of when he indulged in
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 163 
 
 these meditations ? I suspect, dear reader, that 
 once more Louisa Charlton had something- to do 
 with the matter. 
 
 However that might be, he walked on, talking 
 with his young companion, over the bridge into 
 the little inn, and up to his own rooms, where, 
 taking the I U which the other offered, he gave 
 him ten five pound notes, much to Latimer's 
 satisfaction. The borrower was quite ready to 
 leave the lender the moment he had got the 
 money ; but Morton detained him for nearly an 
 hour, showing him a portfolio of drawings, and 
 engaging him to talk of various subjects, which, 
 as his heart was opened by what he internally 
 called "his piece of marvellous good luck," he 
 was willing enough to do. On most points he 
 displayed very gross ignorance ; for though he 
 had acquired a certain knowledge of Latin and 
 Greek, a smattering of French, and a few other 
 accomplishments, all the more valuable part of 
 education was wanting. Nevertheless, Morton 
 gained one object which he had in view ; he 
 obtained, even by his short conference, a great, 
 even an extraordinary influence over Alfred Lati- 
 mer's mind. There was something in his con- 
 versation which entertained and amused the young- 
 man, and yet, whether he woukl or not, command- 
 ed his respect. It was light and cheerful, easy 
 M 2
 
 164 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 and flowing, but not too familiar ; and at the 
 same time, there flowed through it an under-cur- 
 rent of strong good sense and high-toned feeling, 
 which never obtruded, but, always apparent, had 
 its efi'ect with gentle and persuasive influence, 
 and sent the youth away thoughtful and inquiring. 
 He felt, for the first time perhaps, that there were 
 other things in life than those he had lived for, 
 and things also that were worth seeking; but, 
 alas ! the education from infancy to manhood, if 
 education it could be called, had been given ; the 
 tree had received its bent, and it was never to be 
 changed again, though it might be blown about 
 by any strong blast that passed over it.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 There was a large dinner party at Mallington 
 House, and the drawing-room was in the usual 
 state in which drawing-rooms are when all the 
 expected company have arrived, and yet dinner 
 has not been announced. It is a period of long 
 pauses, and of gentlemen slowly crossing the room 
 to say three words to ladies at the other side ; and 
 of sundry other inventions for making Time run 
 lightly when he is heavy afoot, and of contrivances 
 for not seeming stupid when one is anything but 
 vivacious. It is a period when conversation, 
 properly so called, is impossible. One may talk, 
 one may speak treason, make love, or offer mar- 
 riage, or any other of those things which people 
 generally do in private places ; but it is impossible 
 to converse when one is in expectation of being 
 interrupted the next minute. There was in the 
 room a great variety of the human animal ; Mrs. 
 Charlton, now certainly growing the " stout lady,"
 
 166 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 but still not ungraceful ; Louisa Charlton, looking 
 as lovely as one of those gleams of happiness which 
 sometimes come across a monotonous existence, 
 like a sudden burst of sunshine on a chill hill-side, 
 could render her fair face ; a fox-hunting country- 
 baronet, a portly man, as fat in his ideas as in his 
 person ; his wife, a very fine lady indeed, and all 
 the finer because she had not always been a fine 
 lady ; their daughter, who was what people 
 usually call a sweet interesting girl — I can de- 
 scribe her no better, for although this book is 
 written for posterity, and it is very probable that 
 posterity (if society improves) may not define a 
 sweet interesting girl exactly as we should at 
 present, yet will there not be dictionaries of the 
 dead tongue of the nineteenth century ? Besides 
 these persons, there were in the room a country 
 gentleman who hunted foxes during the autumn 
 and spring, and found the rest of the year very 
 heavy; his two sons, who trod in their father's 
 horse's steps, and both of whom intended some 
 day to marry Miss Charlton. There was, more- 
 over, a widow lady of mature years, with her 
 niece, Dr. Western, Mr. Morton, and Alfred 
 Latimer. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton had evidently not calculated 
 upon her son's appearance when she invited the 
 rest of the company, for the persons present, in-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 167 
 
 eluding herself, formed the ominous number of 
 thirteen. Indeed, the movements of the worthy- 
 youth were not always easy to calculate upon ; 
 and it seemed as if he sometimes did violence to 
 his own tastes and propensities, for the especial 
 purpose of preventing people from knowing what 
 he would do next. Now, for the last two years, 
 nothing had been sufficient to prevail upon him to 
 be present at anything like a formal dinner party 
 in Mallington House. It was an annoyance to 
 him ; it was a restraint. His character, half shy, 
 half haughty, scorned and hated the ceremonies 
 and courtesies of life; but on this occasion, as 
 soon as his mother informed him that such a 
 meeting was to take place, he announced his inten- 
 tion of being present, and was one of the first in the 
 room. As soon as the guests began to arrive he 
 seated himself by Louisa, and talked to her for 
 some time in a low tone. Mrs. Charlton watched 
 them as much as circumstances would allow, and 
 she saw her fair step-daughter colour deeply at 
 something he said, and the moment after perceived 
 a warm smile come upon Louisa's beautiful lip. 
 The next instant the fox-hunter and his two sons 
 were ushered in ; and the graceful mistress of the 
 mansion advanced a step or two to meet the thin 
 wind-cutting elderly man (who came forward 
 with no slight idea of his own importance), and to
 
 168 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 welcome his two family jewels. As she passed, she 
 heard Louisa say, in a low voice, " For pity's sake, 
 Alfred, defend me from either or both of them. 
 I think they are the two most unpleasant young 
 men in the whole county." 
 
 " What wretches they must be, then !" exclaim- 
 ed Alfred Latimer, laughing aloud ; " but I will 
 defend you, Louisa," and the moment the elder of 
 the youths approached to pay his respects to Miss 
 Charlton, her step-brother addressed him in a 
 jeering tone, but not without a touch of pride in 
 his manner, saying, " So, Mr. Middleton, you 
 broke your fine horse's back, last March, I hear." 
 
 " He broke his own back and nearly my 
 neck," replied the young gentleman, somewhat 
 nettled. 
 
 " Ay, but it was all your own fault," answered 
 Alfred Latimer ; " if you had not pulled him in 
 w^hen you found yourself at the top of the bank he 
 would have gone down as easy as if he had been 
 treading on a Turkey carpet ; but he was resolved 
 to go, and you were afraid to let him, and so be- 
 tween you he was killed and you half killed." 
 
 Louisa Charlton felt somewhat painfully that it 
 is at times a dangerous thing to trust one's de- 
 fence to a person on whom we cannot depend; 
 and she could not refrain from saying a few kind 
 and courteous words to medicate the wounds
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 169 
 
 which she had been unwillingly art and part in 
 inflicting on his own particular vanity. 
 
 "Well, Louisa, you are an odd girl !" said Alfred 
 Latimer, as the guest moved away ; " you declare 
 you wish to be rid of him, and when I send him 
 away you say all in your power to make him 
 stay. — But here comes the other brother, Edward, 
 and there comes Mr. Morton in at the door. On 
 my life, I have a great mind to deliver ^o\i over 
 to Ned Middleton, and exclude the favourite." 
 
 Louisa Charlton was silent, but by no efibrt that 
 she could command was she able to prevent the 
 warm blood from once more mounting into her 
 cheek at his words, any more than the peach or 
 the nectarine can command its sunny side not to 
 blush under the sun's rays. 
 
 Morton and Edward Middleton advanced al- 
 most together, and Louisa observed that Mrs. 
 Charlton whispered a few words to the former, 
 which were merely, " Will you have the kindness, 
 when we go to dinner, to take Louisa V He bowed 
 his head, with a well-pleased smile ; and as the 
 young and inexperienced but clear-minded girl, 
 by a mere casual glance, withdrawn as soon as 
 given, marked his carriage as he crossed the room 
 towards her, she could not help comparing his 
 whole appearance and demeanour with those 
 around, and distinguishing the gentleman, that
 
 170 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 rare and excellent thing — the gentleman by feel- 
 ing and by habit, by nature as well as education, 
 by heart as well as by position — from those who 
 conventionally took the title, but did not possess 
 the character. 
 
 Alfred Latimer kept his seat by the side of 
 Louisa Charlton till Morton advanced and shook 
 hands with her in silence, while Mr. Edward 
 Middleton was saying something he thought very 
 fine ; then rising, and leaving his place vacant, he 
 drew the young fox-hunter aside, and inquired 
 after his black pointer bitch, adding, with a laugh, 
 " You had better let me have her, for you do not 
 know how to hunt her." 
 
 While he communicated this pleasant sentiment 
 to his acquaintance, Morton took the chair he had 
 left vacant, and, while he said a few words upon 
 indifferent subjects, Louisa gazed in his face ear- 
 nestly for a moment, as if there was something of 
 more importance on which she would fain have 
 spoken. She answered somewhat at random too ; 
 and Morton with easy self-possession, which is 
 only acquired by much mingling in the world, 
 took advantage of the first of those little bustles 
 which do enliven occasionally the dull ten minutesy 
 to give her the opportunity of saying anything she 
 might think fit. 
 
 " You seem as if you had a tale to tell, Miss
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 171 
 
 Charlton," he said, as Dr. Western and several 
 others moved away to look at some fine drawmgs 
 to which Mrs. Charlton called their attention. 
 
 " No, indeed," answered Louisa, with a warm 
 smile ; " but I have heard a tale which would be 
 very gratifying- to ,me if I had not a warning to 
 give. Mr. Latimer, who is my half brother, you 
 know — at least, Mrs. Charlton's son — has told me 
 your great kindness to him this morning; but, 
 but Mr. Morton — I do not really know how to 
 explain myself." 
 
 Morton gazed into her beautiful eyes for a 
 moment with a smile, till he saw the colour in her 
 cheek begin to grow a little deeper, and then he 
 said, " Will you let me help you. Miss Charl- 
 ton?" 
 
 " I am afraid you cannot," replied Louisa ; 
 " and yet I think it but right to say that which — 
 which " 
 
 "Well, let me try," rejoined Morton; "you 
 know not yet how much of the seer I am ; or, in 
 other words, how much insight one honest heart 
 has into another, and how quickly a man of the 
 world perceives the circumstances of those with 
 whom he mingles. You would warn me, then, 
 my dear Miss Charlton, that the money will never 
 be repaid." 
 
 " No, no," said Louisa, " not exactly that, for
 
 172 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 that I could insure myself ; but I merely wished 
 to hint, that Alfred might trespass upon your 
 kindness too far, and inconsiderately borrow more 
 than he could ever repay. He is already much 
 in debt, I am sorry to find ; and I feared that you 
 
 might be a loser, perhaps, of more than " 
 
 Once more she paused; and Morton finished 
 the sentence for her, saying, " More than I can 
 afford. — You will think me a strange personage, 
 Miss Charlton, when I tell you, that I lent this 
 money with tlie full knowledge, or at least belief, 
 that it would never be repaid ; and I should be 
 quite ready to lend a much larger sum, with the 
 same conviction, for the same object." 
 
 " Nay, why should you do that?" exclaimed 
 Louisa Charlton. 
 
 The servant almost at the same instant an- 
 nounced that dinner was on the table ; and Mor- 
 ton merely replied in a low voice, " Do you not 
 think I would do much more to save from perdi- 
 tion a person nearly connected with one I love?" 
 Louisa's hand trembled as she took the arm 
 which Morton offered, and her steps tottered as 
 he led her towards the door. All the three Misters 
 Middleton looked surprised and offended at the 
 young stranger taking such bold possession of the 
 heiress; and the father asked his eldest son, 
 " Who the devil is that fellow V
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 173 
 
 *' Some painter, they say," replied the heir-ap- 
 parent, with a shrug of the shouklers; and he 
 walked forward to give his arm to the baronet's 
 daughter, the sweet interesting girl, while his 
 father advanced to escort the baronet's wife. 
 
 Poor Louisa Charlton! — At the first step of the 
 stairs her head whirled, and her thoughts were all 
 in confusion ; at the second, her heart beat so 
 vehemently she thought she must have dropped ; 
 at the third she asked herself if her ears had not 
 deceived her ; at the fourth, though she was quite 
 certain Morton had spoken those words, she felt 
 sure that she had mistaken their import ; at the 
 fifth, she recollected that Alfred Latimer was 
 nearly connected with many persons whom she 
 did not know, and that Edmond Morton might 
 very likely love one of them ; at the sixth, she had 
 quite settled the matter to her own satisfaction ; 
 and though she did not believe one word of the 
 hypothesis she had set up, and did believe that 
 Morton loved her a little, and would have been 
 very sorry to have believed that he loved any one 
 else more, yet, as it suited her purpose to fancy 
 that she had mistaken him, she persuaded herself 
 that it was so. How continually we lie to our own 
 heart. Here below, each individual has some eight 
 or ten millions of persons to deal with, more or less 
 directly; and, by the best statistical tables of lying,
 
 174 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 it maj^ be calculated, that at least one-half of those 
 eight or ten millions are trying to cheat him to 
 the best of their ability ; but the aggregate amount 
 of lying practised on him by all the men whom he 
 knows or has to do with, is very inferior to that 
 which he practises on himself. 
 
 By this art Louisa Charlton made herself quite 
 comfortable for the time, and the last steps down 
 stairs were passed calmly and quietly. She had 
 even recovered herself so far ere they reached the 
 dining-room door as to say, " You are very kind ; 
 but I fear Alfred is more deeply plunged in debts 
 and difficulties than you think." 
 
 " Perhaps they may be made the means," an- 
 swered Morton, " of rescuing him from worse 
 evils. I will try to explain how during dinner, 
 if I have an opportunity." 
 
 The meal passed over as such things usually do. 
 The appearance of the crops was discussed. Some 
 of the cases at quarter-sessions were talked of. 
 There had been an earthquake about that time 
 11 the West Indies, and a pig had been born in 
 a neighbouring parish with two heads. Both 
 proved very serviceable on the present occasion ; 
 but while the pig was upon the carpet, Morton 
 found the moment he was looking for, and ex- 
 plained to Louisa Charlton his views and his plans 
 in regard to Alfred Latimer. He showed her that
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 175 
 
 the love of low society had taken possession of 
 Mrs. Charlton's son ; and he went on to express 
 a hope that if he could obtain some influence over 
 his mind, he might either lead him without dis- 
 cussion, or persuade him by reason, to seek the 
 company of men in his own station. He was 
 compelled to be very brief; but everything was 
 clear and definite, just and reasonable ; with a 
 sufficient portion of enthusiasm, subdued and stu- 
 diously kept out of sight, to excite admiration and 
 regard in his fair hearer, and with sufficient ten- 
 derness of tone and manner to make her heart 
 beat a very little, but not to agitate her enough to 
 be at all unpleasant. 
 
 The private tone in which Mr. Morton and Miss 
 Charlton had been speaking during dinner, had 
 not escaped observation, and some of the younger 
 gentlemen at the table, who would have preferred 
 enjoying the same degree of intimacy themselves, 
 w^ere rather inclined to be impertinent to the sup- 
 posed painter. The baronet himself, and the elder 
 Mr. Middleton, treated him coldly and proudly — > 
 condescended to address a few words to him, in- 
 deed, but affected to confine them entirely to the 
 subject of the arts. Morton was exceedingly 
 amused, and humoured them to the top of their 
 bent; for he had heard the report of his supposed 
 profession, and had done his best to encourage it.
 
 176 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Good Dr. Western, however, was destined to 
 fspoil his sport, with the gentlemen present at 
 least ; for the worthy rector could not make up 
 his mind to say or imply what was untrue, even 
 for a jest; and when Sir Simon Upplestone 
 asked him directly who and what Mr. Morton 
 was, adding, " People say, doctor, that he is merely 
 a poor artist. Now you know, doctor — " the rec- 
 tor interrupted him, for fear he should say some- 
 thing more disagreeable still, replying, " He is a 
 gentleman, sir, in every respect, by birth, educa- 
 tion, and fortune ; though he certainly deserves 
 the name of an artist, as far as drawing better 
 than many who make it their profession, can en- 
 title him to that distinction." 
 
 Morton caught the sense of the doctor's reply, 
 if not the exact words, and was vexed with him ; 
 and the evening, as he expected, passed very dully 
 from that moment.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 177 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Louisa Charlton slept little during the niglit 
 after the dinner party of which we have just 
 spoken. While conversation was going on around 
 her, and lights dazzled her eyes, and the siren 
 songs of her step-mother who had not yet lost one 
 note of her sweet voice, rang in her ears, and 
 Morton was by her side, the delusion which she 
 practised on herself lasted with sufficient power 
 to prevent her from examining closely the realities 
 which she hesitated to contemplate. Let it not be 
 supposed that she fully believed that which she 
 thought fit to fancy for the time. Oh, no ! As I 
 have before said, she knew at the bottom of her 
 heart that it was not so ; but do we not sit in the 
 box of a theatre, and see men whom we have 
 often beheld, in homely apparel, now tricked out 
 in gold and velvet, enacting kings and princes, 
 with scenes around them representing forests and 
 palaces, tented fields, and royal courts; and though 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 we know the men and women to be very humble 
 folks, often denied, by the senseless usages of the 
 proud cold world, the very respect which genius 
 of any kind should always command, and though 
 we are well aware that the glittering pageantry 
 in which they move is but thin lath and painted 
 pasteboard, yet we find no difficulty in shutting 
 out the undoubted truth from our own considera- 
 tion, and see and hear and know nothing but what 
 we are inclined to believe — till we have left the 
 theatre, and reflect calmly over all that we have 
 beheld. Thus Louisa Charlton would not know 
 what she knew— would not believe what she actu- 
 ally believed — would not (contrary to all her usual 
 habits) look the truth in the face. But as soon 
 as she was alone and in silence, and the curtain of 
 darkness drawn around, the communing with her 
 own heart began. First, what was it that Ed- 
 mond Morton really meant ? She could no longer 
 deceive herself — she was loved ! It was not alone 
 the few words he had spoken before dinner, but 
 many others — not so plain, but plain enough — 
 which he had spoken before. It was not alone 
 words either, but looks, and tone, and manner. 
 She could not doubt it — she did not doubt it; and, 
 turning her face to her pillow with a glowing 
 cheek, she asked herself if she did not love in re- 
 turn ? Oh ! what a tumult then was felt in her
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 179 
 
 young breast ; how confused and wild seemed all 
 her thouo-hts ! Mind would not answer what the 
 heart spoke clearly enough ; and for many minutes 
 she dared not admit, even to herself, how deeply, 
 how wholly, how warmly she returned the affec- 
 tion of one whom she had not known a month. 
 The truth, however, made itself heard at length ; 
 but then she blamed herself that it was so. There 
 seemed something to her eyes rash, imprudent, 
 almost wrong, in yielding to such sensations ; for 
 she knew not that they are not dependent upon will 
 but are gifts — ay, bright and excellent gifts from 
 God who made us — to be regulated, not to be 
 resisted — to guide us to happiness, if wisely ex- 
 ercised. The truth, however, on this score also 
 made itself felt ere long, and when she thought of 
 him she loved — of how different he was from every 
 one she had previously seen — how high, yet gentle 
 in his bearing — how noble and generous in his 
 words and thoughts — how graceful in person and 
 in manner — how perfect in all the qualities which 
 win attachment and insure respect — she almost 
 ceased to blame herself for loving, and loving 
 hastily. 
 
 But then came the thought that he had never 
 
 yet plainly spoken his attachment to her ; he had 
 
 but implied that he loved — he had not said it — 
 
 and, for an instant, wild fears took possession of 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 her. She had heard that men can trifle with 
 woman's affection. She remembered the boy and 
 the butterfly, and the very idea of all she felt being 
 repaid by, perhaps, desertion and ingratitude was 
 terrible. But then, when she remembered Ed- 
 mond Morton's words on many occasions, when 
 she thought of little traits which she had marked, 
 and which speak the heart more than professions 
 or set speeches, she was angry at herself for 
 doubting him. Imagination — fertile in ways of 
 tormenting, as well as in ways of blessing — filled 
 her mind with a thousand other agitating thoughts, 
 and kept her waking till the shrill drawing-room 
 clock struck three. She did not hear the next 
 hour, but, some time after, she started up as if in 
 fear, and saw the morning light streaming through 
 the shutters. 
 
 Looking at her watch she found it half-past 
 five, and rising, with a mind still troubled with the 
 thought that even yet Edmond Morton had not 
 justified her in feeling as she felt towards him, 
 she dressed herself without ringing for her maid, 
 resolved to walk down in the fresh early morning, 
 and take breakfast with Dr. Western and Mrs. 
 Evelyn. She thought that their society might 
 calm her ; not that she proposed for one moment 
 to make them sharers of the thoughts that agitated 
 her bosom ; but there is something in the conver-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 181 
 
 sation of the good and wise which, like those 
 excellent remedies physicians talk of that heal 
 wounds by giving- tone and vigour to the whole 
 constitution, soothe and medicate even the an- 
 xieties and sorrows which are not exposed to the 
 eye. The morning was bright, though there were 
 passing clouds. Her head ached a little with a 
 restless night, and she thought of the fresh air 
 and the cool shade of the tall trees with eager 
 longing ; but she was obliged to wait for a time 
 till some of the household were up, for she was 
 dressed before half-past six. At length the sound 
 of moving tables from below, and feet upon the 
 stairs, told her that the housemaids at least were 
 stirring, and, as her own habits were early, her 
 maid soon after appeared. She was not surprised 
 to find her young mistress up, and prepared to go 
 out, for it had happened often before from other 
 causes; and leaving word that she was gone down 
 to Dr. Western's, Louisa issued forth, and walked 
 quietly through the lanes and fields, pausing every 
 now^ and then, with her cottage bonnet in her 
 hand, to enjoy the morning breeze, and the pros- 
 pect that opened here and there through the trees 
 to the river and Mallington Park. But ever and 
 anon, together with the sensation of enjoyment, 
 came a certain undefined feeling of apprehension. 
 Perhaps, it ought rather to be called anxiety; for
 
 182 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 it was not that she feared anything, but rather 
 that she suddenly remembered, whenever she 
 paused to taste the cahn and unmingled pleasures 
 which had been the brightness of her youth, that 
 she loved ; and that though she believed, though 
 she was sure, that she was loved in return, yet the 
 words had not been spoken that fully justified her 
 in loving ; and gradually she fell into a deeper fit 
 of meditation, which led her to prolong her walk 
 along the bank of the stream, knowing that Mrs. 
 Evelyn would not be down before eight. 
 
 At length, as she came close upon the edge of 
 the stream, choosing the green border of turf that 
 separated it from the road, she saw a little fisher- 
 man, some nine or ten years old, casting his line 
 into the water. The boy turned his warm face at 
 her step, and recognising the son of Edmonds, the 
 park-keeper, she gave him a smile and a nod, 
 and was walking on. The boy, however, put his 
 hand to his hat, half swinging round to bow to 
 the young lady, when missing his footing, after a 
 momentary struggle to save himself, he fell head- 
 long into the stream. On the impulse of the 
 moment, without pausing to consider how deep 
 the river might be in that part, Louisa darted 
 forward with a scream for help, and plunged in. 
 She knew, indeed, that it was shallow above, but 
 a mill-stream joined the little river a few yards
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 183 
 
 higher up, and in a moment she felt the water 
 circle over her head. Giddy and confused, with the 
 green light flashing in her eyes, and the water 
 rushing in her ears, she was rising again to the 
 surface, when suddenly she felt a strong arm cast 
 round her waist, and ere she well knew what had 
 hapi3ened, was laid gently upon the grass. 
 
 " Oh, Louisa ! Oh, my beloved girl !" cried the 
 voice of Edmond Morton. 
 
 " The boy ! the boy ! the poor boy !" exclaimed 
 Louisa, raising herself on her knees ; and without 
 further entreaty Morton plunged into the river 
 again. But young Edmonds was in little danger 
 comparatively. He knew something though not 
 much of swimming, and he held fast by his fishing 
 rod, showing both skill and presence of mind in 
 so employing it as to keep his head above the 
 water. With two strokes Morton reached him, 
 and, catching him under the shoulder, soon landed 
 him in safety. The boy shook himself like a wet 
 dog, and seemed in no degree the worse; but 
 Louisa was pale as death, more, indeed, with fear 
 than anything else. To her Morton turned then, 
 and, supporting her tenderly on his arm, he led 
 her gently towards the rectory ; but as they went 
 he whispered words which were better calculated 
 to restore the quick beating of Louisa's heart than 
 any of all the excellent inventions of the Humane 
 Society.
 
 184 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Her heart beat —oh, how it beat as he led her 
 on ! She could not answer a word, for if faintness 
 and dizziness had not taken from her the power of 
 speech, the overwhelming sensations which his 
 words called forth would have left her voiceless. 
 They were all joyful, it is true ; but yet, while they 
 made her very very happy, they showed her how 
 much she had doubted, how much she had dreaded 
 — they showed her, more than all, how much she 
 loved. Even that was enough to agitate and 
 overpower her, and for several minutes she seemed 
 as it were in a dream. The drowning boy, the 
 plunge into the stream, the waters closing over 
 her head, the sudden and unexpected rescue, the 
 words of earnest and passionate love, — all seemed 
 parts of some wild strange vision : and twice she 
 turned faintly round, and gazed in Morton's face 
 as if to assure herself that it was all true indeed. 
 The languid fall of her eyelids, the feebleness
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 185 
 
 of her step as he supported her onward, — all made 
 her companion conclude that she was scarcely- 
 able to proceed; and as they came to a spot where 
 a rustic bench had been placed upon the bank of 
 the stream, between two tall elms, he led her to it, 
 and, kneeling at her feet, held her hand in his, 
 gazing up into her face with looks of tenderness 
 and apprehension. 
 
 " Speak to me, my Louisa," he said, " but one 
 word to tell me you are better ! Oh ! you do not 
 know what it is, Louisa, to see the being you most 
 love on earth nearly perish before your eyes! 
 You know not how one longs to hear the dear 
 voice again ! You cannot tell, you cannot com- 
 prehend, what are my feelings towards you this 
 moment, just saved from death." 
 
 " Not now, Morton, not now," answered Louisa 
 at length. " I do comprehend, I do know, but do 
 not agitate me now." 
 
 " I will not," he said, pressing his lips upon her 
 hand, " I will not utter another word of love. I 
 have been wrong — I have been unkind. I should 
 have chosen a fitter season; but it burst forth 
 without my will. I will be so selfish no more." 
 
 " Selfish !" exclaimed Louisa, the tears rising in 
 her eyes. " You selfish ! Oh, no, you are all that 
 is generous and kind." 
 
 She said no more, but Morton was content, as 
 well he might be, for he knew her who spoke, and
 
 186 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 was aware that those words could not be lio;ht 
 ones. He might be anxious, indeed, to hear more 
 — to tell the tale of love fully, and to win the 
 kind reply — but he really felt what he had said, 
 that it was ungenerous to add anything to her 
 emotions at such a moment ; and, turning from 
 the tojoic of his love, he sought, tenderly and 
 wisely, to soothe and calm her ; and knowing 
 well where the great source of all mental strength, 
 the only fountain of true tranquillity and confi- 
 dence, is to be found, he said, " For how much 
 have we to thank God, Louisa, that one who was 
 able to save you should be wandering accidentally 
 by the river at this early hour. How much com- 
 fort, how much joy do those lose who attribute — 
 I may say madly — every event of life to accident 
 or some blind necessity !" 
 
 " They do, indeed," said Louisa ; '^ and that you 
 should be the person, too," she added, thought- 
 fully, but she did not end the sentence, feeling that 
 she was approaching that upon which she feared 
 to touch. Not, indeed, that her heart at all 
 wavered ; not that she was doubtful. She loved 
 with the first full confiding affection of woman's 
 nature; she loved the only man whom she 
 had ever met, who seemed in her eyes worthy 
 of her love; and she had no hesitation in 
 the present, no dread for the future. But 
 yet there was a something that made her
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 187 
 
 shrink from the avowal of all she felt. Were I 
 writing for women alone, it would be unnecessary 
 to add a syllable, for all have felt, or will feel, as 
 she felt ; but these are sensations little understood 
 by men. We seldom, very seldom, know the 
 emotions too powerful for speech, for contempla- 
 tion, almost for endurance; and more seldom still, 
 when we do experience them, are they with us 
 those of joy. Rarely, too — oh, how rarely ! 
 especially when the early and [Hght timidity of 
 youth is past, and we are capable of feeling the 
 deeper and stronger passions of the heart — rarely 
 have we any of that reluctant dread of owning 
 even to ourselves the sensations that master us. 
 But women— all women worthy of the name — have 
 been affected as Louisa Charlton was at that 
 moment ; all women have hesitated to unveil their 
 heart even to him who possessed it most entirely 
 — ay, more to him, perhaps, than to any other. 
 
 Morton pressed her not to say more, and after 
 some few words to while away a moment of repose, 
 he asked, " Can you go on now, Louisa ; or shall I 
 run to Dr. Western's and bring some conveyance 
 for you ? I fear to let you sit here longer, wet 
 and agitated as you are." 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" she answered ; " do not leave 
 me. I shall be better in a moment." 
 
 But even as she spoke they were joined by a
 
 188 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 third person, a perfect stranger to both ; but one 
 who seemed not inclined to be long a stranger in 
 any society into which he might be thrown. He 
 was a slim man of about five or six and thirty, 
 with a profusion of dark hair and whisker, curled 
 in the most exquisite manner, a sweet and simper- 
 ing countenance, and a complexion peculiarly 
 delicate and clear : in short, a pretty, a very pretty 
 man. He wore a blue coat, rather pale in the hue, 
 with gilt buttons, a yellow waistcoat, and a blue 
 satin handkerchief round his neck, spotted with 
 amber flowers. The rest of his dress was in the 
 same fine taste. His air was perfectly jaunty and 
 self-satisfied, and as he walked along the bank of 
 the river, before he perceived Louisa and her lover, 
 he rose upon the tips of his toes, as if his elevated 
 opinion of himself required some external demon- 
 stration. 
 
 As soon as he cast his eyes upon the young 
 lady, however, and perceived, from the very evi- 
 dent signs displayed by her dripping garments 
 and dishevelled hair, that some accident had hap- 
 pened, he approached with a hurried step, exclaim- 
 ing, " Goodness, ma'am ! you must have tumbled 
 into the water !— you are not drowned, I hope ! — 
 what a mercy! But your complexion will be 
 spoilt if you sit in the sun all wet. I dare say you 
 are faint, too : let me recommend you some of the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 189 
 
 unparalleled Droitwicli smelling salts ;" and re- 
 gardless of some impatience in Morton's look, and 
 some surprise and reluctance in Louisa's, he 
 brought forth from his pocket first a corked and 
 sealed bottle, then a small steel cork-screw, and 
 having opened the precious vial, held it to her 
 nose till she gently removed it, saying that she 
 was better. 
 
 " Pray hold it yourself, ma'am," he cried ; "I 
 know I am clumsy : it will revive you in a moment, 
 I am quite sure it will !" and, not to seem ungrate- 
 ful, Louisa took it at his request. 
 
 But no sooner had she done so than his hand 
 dived into his pocket again, and forth he brought 
 another bottle, longer, thinner, and wrapped up 
 in paper covered over with talismanic signs. 
 
 " Let me call your attention to this article, 
 ma'am," he said, " and yours too, sir. This is 
 Mrs. Grimsditch's vegetable anti-corrugent dew 
 of jonquille, a sovereign preservative against 
 wrinkles, sun-burning, freckles, moles, discolora- 
 tions, heat-spots, scars, or any other of the great 
 enemies of beauty. It softens, refreshes, nourishes, 
 polishes, and blanches the skin, gives an agreeable 
 coolness to the complexion, against which the sun 
 of India itself cannot contend, and " 
 
 " The lady does not require it, sir," said Mor- 
 ton, somewhat sharply ; " and, at all events, this
 
 190 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 is not a moment in which she can attend to its 
 virtues.'* 
 
 " Nay, sir, no offence, I hope," said their unde- 
 sired companion. " As to not requiring it, every- 
 one requires it ; the young and beautiful to pre- 
 serve their loveliness, and others who are some- 
 what faded to restore the charms they have lost." 
 
 Morton felt inclined to knock him down ; but 
 he remembered the barber of Bagdad, and took 
 patience while the other went on. 
 
 " I did but wish to offer my poor services, sir, 
 either to the lady or yourself; and seeing you both 
 in a " 
 
 "The only service, sir, you can render us," said 
 the young gentleman, interrupting him, " is to run 
 as fast as you can along that path, past the church, 
 on to the rectory ; and to beg Dr. Western to send 
 his carriage, saying that this lady, his ward, has 
 met with a little accident, and " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; you will alarm them !" cried 
 Louisa. 
 
 But the stranger, without attending to her, set 
 off good-humouredly at full speed towards the 
 rectory ; and Louisa turned to Morton with the 
 first smile that had brightened her face that morn- 
 ing, saying, " Let us go ; I can go now, and that 
 strange man will frighten our good friends." 
 
 " He seems an impertinent puppy," answered
 
 TFIE STEP-MOTHER. 191 
 
 Morton," tlioug'h a good-humoured one. But are 
 you really able to walk, dearest Louisa ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied, " he has done me good, 
 do you know ; for he has made me laugh, when I 
 felt more inclined to cry." 
 
 " To cry !" said her lover, drawing her arm 
 through his, as she rose to proceed. 
 
 There was both surprise and sadness in his tone ; 
 and, fearful that she had grieved him, Louisa an- 
 swered, " Yes, Morton, to weep. But do you not 
 know that we women as often weep when we are 
 happy as when we are sorrowful? and I am very 
 happy ; happy in all that has occurred ; happy in 
 my deliverance, and that you effected it." 
 
 The warm blood glowed in her cheek as she 
 spoke, and the last words were uttered w4th down- 
 cast eyes, and in a low tone. They were some- 
 what similar to those she had before spoken ; but 
 the repetition of them was very pleasant to her 
 lover's ear. 
 
 " It was indeed most fortunate, my Louisa," 
 he said, as they walked slowly on, " that I was 
 passing at the time ; and yet it was a mere acci- 
 dent, brought about by repentance for a fault I 
 committed last night." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Louisa, with a look of sur- 
 prise, " I saw no fault." 
 
 " And yet I was guilty of a great one towards
 
 192 HE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 you, dearest girl," replied her lover. " The thought 
 of it broke my rest, and made me rise at day- 
 break, and go out to wander about till I could 
 repair it. I felt that I was wrong, Louisa, to 
 speak words of love at such a moment as I did 
 last night, when I could tell nothing, explain no- 
 thing, and you could make no reply. I feared 
 that I might have agitated, perhaps pained you ; 
 and that, whether my hopes were false or true, I 
 might have disturbed your repose. You know all 
 now ; and of one thing be sure, my Louisa, that I 
 would never have ventured to seek your love, if 
 by station and fortune I were not in a position to 
 justify me in so doing." 
 
 " And do you imagine, Morton," asked Louisa, 
 with a look almost reproachful, " that station or 
 fortune would make any difference in my regard? 
 It is true I am not a romantic person, and I know 
 that competence is necessary to happiness ; but 
 where it is to be found on one side it is sufficient. 
 My dear father taught me to value other things 
 than wealth or rank, and I have not forgotten his 
 lessons." 
 
 " I am sure you have not, my Louisa," replied 
 her lover, " and of you I entertained no doubt ; 
 but there are friends and guardians to be thought 
 of too, dear girl, and they judge alone by the 
 customs and conventionalities of society. The
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 193 
 
 poor artist, which the good people here, it seems, 
 give me out to be, would be naturally, perhaps 
 not improperly, rejected as the suitor to the 
 wealthy heiress ; while the man of fortune, to 
 whom her riches are no object, would be accepted 
 by the wise men who have her happiness in trust, 
 though the one might be worthy of her, the other 
 not." 
 
 " It seems to me very strange and very wrong- 
 that it should be so," replied Louisa, thoughtfully; 
 " for to the one her fortune might be beneficial, 
 enabling him to pursue a high and bright career, 
 to cultivate his abilities, and to advance the very 
 arts which are a glory and a benefit to his country; 
 while in the hands of the other it would be but of 
 little service to himself or his fellow-creatures." 
 
 " It is as well in our case," answered Morton, 
 " that, as objections might be raised against your 
 desire by those who would think they were acting 
 conscientiously in opposing your marriage with a 
 poor man, no valid obstacle of that kind does 
 exist ; and I tell you that such is the case at once, 
 dear girl, not because it would make any differ- 
 ence in your eyes whether I were the poor artist 
 or not, but because I think it may set your mind 
 at ease in regard to the opposition of others." 
 
 *' I must not take credit to myself," answered 
 Louisa Charlton, " for having thought you the 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 poor artist, Morton ; for tliougli I did so for a few 
 days, I was soon convinced that report was false, 
 and yet, I think, Mrs. Charlton believes so still." 
 
 " Do not undeceive her, my Louisa," exclaimed 
 Morton, eagerly ; " I have my own views on that 
 point, and have encouraged the idea. Pray, do 
 not contradict it to any one. You shall hear, 
 whenever we have a moment or two for private 
 conversation, every particular of my fate and 
 history ; for from her I love I can have no con- 
 cealment. But we have not time now ; for here 
 comes the good rector's carriage at full speed. In 
 the mean time, Louisa, know me as nothing but 
 as report gives me out, and let me see what will 
 be the end of the game that is playing ; for you 
 as well as I must perceive, that the conduct of 
 some persons very near you is not altogether 
 natural." 
 
 He had no time to say more, for at that moment 
 the carriage of the worthy rector pulled up beside 
 them, and the doctor himself got out in eager 
 haste, followed by the stranger of the smelling 
 bottle and cosmetic. 
 
 " Why, what is this, my dear child ?" exclaimed 
 the worthy clergyman. " What is this, Mr. Mor- 
 ton ? Both wet ; but I see how it is, I understand 
 it all." 
 
 " Not all, I think, my dear sir," replied the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 195 
 
 young' gentleman ; and he proceeded to give their 
 friend a brief account of all that had occurred. 
 
 " Ah, Louisa, Louisa !" cried the good rector, 
 shaking his finger at her, " impulse, impulse ! 
 you women always act from impulse, and peril 
 your ownselves without a chance of assisting 
 others. But what has become of the poor boy ? 
 He might be drowned while Morton was assisting 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, no !" replied Louisa's lover ; " he re- 
 mained struggling gallantly, and seemed to have 
 some idea of swimming ; but his fishing-rod was 
 his best friend, keeping his head above water till 
 I could return, and draw him out. He is the son 
 of Edmonds, the park-keeper, I think; and as 
 soon as he was on dry land set to work to wind 
 ujD his line as if nothing had happened." 
 
 They were by this time so near the rectory that 
 Louisa would not get into the carriage, but walked 
 on still leaning on her lover's arm, and accom- 
 panied by Dr. Western ; while the man in the 
 blue satin handkerchief coolly mounted the box of 
 the carriage and rode back, apparently making 
 himself quite at home. 
 
 o '1
 
 196 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 When Louisa Charlton went out in the early 
 morning from Mallington House, she believed that 
 no one in the house was up but the servants. 
 Such was not the case, however ; for Alfred La- 
 timer was already in the library, with an aching- 
 head and irritated heart. On the preceding evening- 
 he had left his mother's house, very soon after 
 dinner, to seek his old haunts, and to lose a con- 
 siderable portion of the money he had received 
 from Morton in the morning at play ; and now he 
 sat, with his cheek resting on his hand, in sullen 
 silence, ready to quarrel with any one that might 
 present himself. The door of the library was 
 partly open, and he saw Louisa come down and 
 go out. At first he thought of following her, and 
 rose to do so ; but the moment after he sat down 
 again, saying to himself, " No, I won't. I '11 stay, 
 and bring my mother to reason." 
 
 What he called reason is not worth while to
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 197 
 
 inquire into ; for every man has a lexicon of his 
 own, very different in its definitions from John- 
 son's dictionary. He then rose and walked about 
 the room for a few minutes ; and then, seeing a 
 book upon the table, he thought that it might be 
 better to amuse himself with any other person's 
 ideas than his own. There had just about that 
 time appeared in England a translation of Schil- 
 ler's " Bobbers ;" not a very good one, but still 
 conveying some of the great author's spirit and 
 wild vigour ; and that book was the one on which 
 Alfred Latimer now laid his hand. It was an 
 accident that decided his fate ; and how often does 
 this happen in the course of life ? Let any man 
 look back, and narrowly examine the history of 
 his own mind and heart, and he will be almost 
 sure to find that some small and seemingly pitiful 
 circumstance — some event, of which he took little 
 notice at the time — has been the key that unlocked 
 one out of the thousand doors of fate, and gave 
 him exit upon the road that he was to pursue for 
 ever. 
 
 He read at first with inattention, almost with 
 disgust ; then with interest ; then with eager sym- 
 pathy : and every dark and fiery picture imprinted 
 itself upon his heart and brain. The wild, the 
 stirring eloquence of the poet seemed to address 
 itself directly to him ; every moral influence was
 
 198 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 lost, every exciting vision treasured up. He 
 longed for a wild and free existence — for deeds of 
 adventure and intense passion. Virtue, honour, 
 respectability, -what were they to him ? Names ! 
 cold, tame, unmeaning names ! He took no reso- 
 lution, he formed no scheme, indeed ; but the im- 
 pression was given to cast off all restraint, to follow 
 out the passions of his own heart, only more boldly, 
 more rashly. There was a higher, a more intense 
 tone yielded to his character, but nothing was 
 changed. He had hitherto been led ; his aspira- 
 tion was now to lead- — but it was in the same 
 course. He had hitherto been wilful in his own 
 conduct ; he was now eager to work his will on 
 others — but the end and object was unchanged. 
 He had sought excitement in all that he had done; 
 he sought excitement still, but of a more intense 
 and vehement character. He sat with that book 
 in his hand far longer than he had ever been 
 known to read before, and he only laid it down 
 when the clock struck nine ; and he rose saying 
 to himself, " It is time for her to rise. She shall 
 find that I will not be trifled with any more ;" and 
 ringing the bell sharply, he told the servant, who 
 appeared at its loud summons, to send his mother's 
 maid up to her room with a message to the pur- 
 pose that he wished to speak with her imme- 
 diately. The man retired to obey his orders ; but
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 199 
 
 nearly Lalf an hour elapsed without any one 
 aj^pearing, and Alfred Latimer's impatient spirit 
 wrought turbulently within him at the delay. At 
 length, working himself up into a fit of passion, 
 lie hurried out of the library, and was mounting 
 the stairs, when he met the maid coming down to 
 give him notice, that Mrs. Charlton awaited him 
 in her dressing-room. 
 
 " In Heaven's name ! what is the matter, Alfred?" 
 demanded Mrs. Charlton, as soon as he entered. 
 " Something must have gone wrong, or I am sure 
 you would not have disturbed me at such an early 
 hour " 
 
 " As nearly ten o'clock ?" asked Alfred Latimer. 
 " Well, you are quite right : something has gone 
 wrong, everything has gone wrong, and I must 
 have it put right. You know I asked you for fifty 
 pounds yesterday " 
 
 " And I told you, my dear boy, that I had not got 
 it to give," answered Mrs. Charlton, in a soothing 
 tone. 
 
 " You have plenty of money to give parties 
 with, and fine wines, and all sorts of things from 
 London ; and to keep horses, and carriages, and 
 servants enough, to do nothing," replied her dutiful 
 and affectionate child. 
 
 " Alfred, Alfred !" cried his mother, " I never 
 thought I should hear my son, for whom I have
 
 200 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 sacrificed so much, speak such words. You know 
 quite well the horses and carriages are Louisa's, 
 not mine. Almost all the servants are hers : and 
 does my own son grudge me the comforts of my 
 home, and even the respectable appearance which 
 I am obliged to keep up?" and Mrs. Charlton 
 wiped away a tear. 
 
 " This is all very good, mother," replied Alfred; 
 " but necessity has no law, and money must be 
 found ; for money I must have." 
 
 " If I could have found it," said Mrs. Charlton, 
 " you should have had it. Do you think, if 1 could 
 have procured it, I would have put off my journey 
 to London ? But every farthing I had, except just 
 enough for the expenses of the house, I was obliged 
 to pay, because those people, the Marsons, chose 
 to fail, and force me to pay the horrid bill I had 
 there — four hundred pounds at one blow ! Only 
 wait till Louisa is of age, or till I have carried out 
 what I have in view with regard to her, and you 
 shall have as much as you can desire." 
 
 " I cannot wait, and will not wait," replied 
 Alfred Latimer, fiercely. " I have bills to pay as 
 well as you, and they must be paid, too. Why 
 should you not sell, or pawn, some of all your 
 smart jewels ? They would soon raise the money ; 
 and you are a widow now, and don't want them." 
 
 Now Mrs. Charlton was fond of jewels, and had
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 201 
 
 accumulated no inconsiderable store ; but still she 
 thought that if the sum required was but fifty 
 pounds, she could part with some for her dear 
 boy's sake. 
 
 *' You are unkind, Alfred," she said; " but to 
 show you that I would do anything I can to help 
 you, I will raise the fifty pounds upon some of the 
 trinkets poor Mr. Charlton gave me." 
 
 " Fifty pounds !" cried her son. " That would 
 have done yesterday, but it will not do to-day. I 
 have many bills to pay that cannot be put off. 
 One man threatens to arrest me, and another has 
 actually taken out a writ. Now I will be free of 
 all this without further delay. I will have my 
 debts paid ; I will have something over to start 
 upon ; and then " 
 
 " But what is the amount ?" demanded the lady, 
 in consternation. 
 
 " A thousand pounds will do, I think," replied 
 Alfred Latimer, coolly. 
 
 " A thousand pounds !" exclaimed Mrs. Charl- 
 ton, and throwing herself back in her chair, she 
 added, in an altered tone, — " You cannot have it, 
 Alfred." 
 
 " Indeed !" he said, with his eyes flashing fire. 
 
 " No !" she replied, decidedly. " I have told 
 you — and so it must be. You cannot have it; 
 and if you think to frighten me into supplying
 
 202 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 your extravagance and folly at this rate, you are 
 mistaken. I wish you had not disturbed me out 
 of my sleep to hear such nonsense ; " and Mrs. 
 Charlton yawned. 
 
 There was some reality in her demeanour, and a 
 good deal that was assumed ; for she thought that 
 he had taken a peremptory tone merely to alarm 
 her, which could only be met by a cool one ; but 
 she was not quite prepared for what was to follow. 
 His manner, too, altered ; he set his teeth close, 
 as if afraid of giving way too far to the strong 
 passion within him, and approaching his mother's 
 chair, he said in a low bitter tone, — " So you will 
 not sell your diamonds for the relief of your 
 son?" 
 
 " Not one," answered Mrs. Charlton. 
 
 " Well, then, you will never see him again," 
 said the young man. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Mrs. Charlton, " you know 
 better;" but without another word he turned to 
 the door, and went out, closing it quietly behind 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton was somewhat alarmed ; for, 
 though she had often seen fits of violent passion 
 in Alfred Latimer, she had never beheld any 
 effort to repress the expression of his rage. If 
 he had cursed and sworn, she could have felt 
 quite easy ; if he had banged the dressing-room
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 203 
 
 door as lie retired, it would Lave been a relief. 
 But tlie stern low tone, the shut teeth, the quiet 
 exit, had something- awful in them ; and after 
 pausing- for a few minutes in consideration, she 
 rose and rang her bell. Before the maid could 
 appear, she heard a horse's feet over the gravel, 
 and, looking out, saw her son riding away from 
 the house on a horse that was always kept for 
 him at Mallington ; and when her abigail entered, 
 Mrs. Charlton merely said, — " Do my hair." 
 
 In the meanwhile Alfred Latimer rode on 
 down the village, and approached the road that 
 ran along by the bank of the stream ; but as he 
 was in the act of turning his horse's head as if 
 to follow that path, he suddenly pulled up, 
 thought for a moment, and then, crossing the 
 bridge, approached the park gates. There he 
 dismounted, tied his beast to the iron bars, and 
 walked with a rapid step in the direction of the 
 park-keeper's house.
 
 204 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 There was a shady grove in Mallington Park, 
 where the trees were tall and thin in the stem, 
 having been suffered to run up close together; 
 and, as ambition appears even to extend to vege- 
 table life, wherever such is the case, each seems 
 to struggle to overtoj) the other, and get a greater 
 portion of the sunshine than is its due. There 
 was no underwood, except here and there a bush 
 of holly, in which occasionally a stout old cock 
 pheasant would take up his abode, and the wind 
 sighed at liberty through the bolls of the beeches. 
 Many a winding path, too, had been cut through 
 the grove, wandering in and out amongst the 
 trees, and leaving sufficient space for two persons 
 to walk abreast, but not more ; and occasionally 
 a sudden peep of the distant country had been 
 afforded by taking down a tree, which was lost 
 again in a moment as one passed on. 
 
 In this grove, about the hour of eleven, or a 
 little after, on the day of which I have just been
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 205 
 
 speaking, two persons were walking on slowly 
 together along the paths in earnest conversation. 
 Hither and thither they went from one walk to 
 another, but never issued beyond the cover of the 
 trees. They went hand in hand, too, and one 
 spoke eagerly and rapidly, while the other replied 
 little, but by sighs. They were Alfred Latimer 
 and Lucy, the fair young daughter of the park- 
 keeper, Edmonds — a dangerous companionship 
 for her. He seemed pressing her vehemently to 
 some step which she was unwilling to take, and 
 ever and anon she raised her eyes, full of tears, 
 to his, and answered, — " 'No, Alfred ; no, I can- 
 not. Oh, do not ask me, Mr. Latimer. It 
 would break my father's heart, if I were to leave 
 him without telling him where I am going." 
 
 " And you will break mine if you refuse, 
 Lucy," replied Alfred Latimer ; " you can write 
 to him to-morrow, and tell him you are with me, 
 and that we are going to be married as soon as 
 ever we can be," 
 
 But Lucy shook her head mournfully, saying, 
 " He will not believe that." 
 
 " And you doubt it, too, Lucy ! " cried Alfred 
 Latimer, vehemently ; " you think I would break 
 my oath ! You do not love me, Lucy, that is very 
 clear. Nay, do not cry now ; you will make 
 your eyes red, and every one will see."
 
 206 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Lucy Edmonds wiped the tears away, and 
 replied in a low voice, " You know I love you 
 — you know it too well, or you would not ask me 
 to do what is wrong." 
 
 " But it is not wrong," answered Alfred Lati- 
 mer ; " I tell you that I have had a quarrel with 
 my mother, so that I cannot stay any longer 
 here, or we would be married at once ; and yet 
 you refuse to go and marry me as soon as it can 
 be done." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Lucy ; " I only refuse to go 
 with you without my father's knowledge. You 
 know, Alfred, it would be very wicked, and I 
 should never be happy after." 
 
 " And so you will really make me unhappy 
 for ever, Lucy?" asked the young gentleman; 
 for you will never see me more, after I have once 
 gone away. Come, Lucy, come — go back quietly 
 to the house, get some few things ready, and 
 meet me in two hours at the other side of the 
 park ;" and bending down his head, he kissed her. 
 
 " I cannot — I cannot," answered Lucy Ed- 
 monds, weeping. " Without my father's leave I 
 cannot come." 
 
 Alfred Latimer's cheek was somewhat red ; 
 and even to her he could not repress the quick 
 and angry flash of his eye at anything like oppo- 
 sition. But before he could utter many words,
 
 TPIE STEP-MOTHER. 207 
 
 issuing suddenly from one of the side paths, 
 Lucy's father himself stood before them. The 
 good man's brow was stern and dark, and his lip 
 quivering with many mingled emotions. 
 
 " Let go my daughter's hand, sir," said Ed- 
 monds, after gazing at him for an instant ; " and 
 never you set your foot in this park again." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried Alfred Latimer, with a sneer. 
 *'. Methinks I shall require to be warned off by 
 some better authority than Master Edmonds, 
 formerly Lord Mallington's park-keeper ; if you 
 come to that, what business have you in this park 
 yourself?" 
 
 " I have business enough, and authority enough 
 for my purpose," replied Edmonds, taking his 
 daughter's hand, and drawing her to him, " and 
 that you will find, sir. I knew you to be bad 
 enough long ago, but I did not think you were 
 so base as to seek to ruin this poor girl." 
 
 The young gentleman gazed at him for an 
 instant with a fierce look, and then turned his 
 eyes to Lucy, who stood by her father, with her 
 limbs shaking, and her face drowned in tears. 
 That sight seemed to move him, and he said, — 
 " I did not seek to ruin her. It is not true. I 
 intended to marry her — ay,. immediately." 
 
 " False! false!" cried Edmonds. " You told 
 her you would marry^ her, I don't doubt, but
 
 208 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 when you had once got her in your power it 
 would have been a different tale." 
 
 " No, it would not," replied Alfred Latimer ; 
 '* I would have married her, and I will." 
 
 " No, that you shall not," replied Edmonds, 
 sternly. " You are no husband for my daughter, 
 sir ; keep in your own station — marry in your 
 own station. So shall she, please God. I would 
 a e:reat deal rather see her the wife of an honest 
 labourer than the wife of a dishonest gentleman. 
 I don't mean to say you are so — that I know 
 nothing about; but I do know that you would 
 not make her happy, and so you should not have 
 her, even if all your fine speeches were true. 
 Come along, Lucy — come with me ; " and, draw- 
 ing her away, he turned his steps towards his 
 own house. 
 
 At a quick pace Edmonds hurried on in silence. 
 He noticed not, he did not seem to perceive that 
 the trembling limbs of his daughter could hardly 
 bear her on, and that he dragged her along with 
 him, rather than supported her, as she hung upon 
 his arm. But when they came to a little clump 
 of trees behind the garden at the back of the house 
 he suddenly stopped, and turning to Lucy, he said, 
 " I will not tell your mother, my child, for it would 
 make her wretched." 
 
 " Oh, father ! I did not intend to do any wrong,"
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 209 
 
 replied Lucy Edmonds, witli the tears streaming- 
 down her face ; " I woukl not have gone with him. 
 Indeed, I would not." 
 
 " I know it Lucy, love," replied her father, 
 throwing his arms round her, and pressing her to 
 his breast. " I heard a good deal as I came up the 
 walk, Lucy, and I know that though you have 
 been a silly girl to listen to him at all, yet it was 
 not in your heart to do any wrong — the more 
 base he for wishing to make you. But there is 
 one thing, Lucy," he continued, " you must pro- 
 mise me upon your word, — you must promise me 
 never willingly to see or speak with this young 
 man any more." 
 
 " Oh, father !" replied LucyjEdmonds, " he loves 
 me — indeed, indeed he does. And I — I " — 
 
 " You think you love him," answered her father; 
 " perhaps you really do, and if so I am very sorry 
 for it, Lucy, for his marriage with you is not even 
 to be thought of. I would not give you to him, 
 my girl, if he were the richest and the highest man 
 in the land." 
 
 " But perhaps you may change, father," said 
 Lucy — " perhaps he may change." 
 
 " When he does I may, and then I will tell 
 you," answered Edmonds ; " but in the mean time 
 I must have your promise, — Lucy, you would not 
 surely disobey me?" 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " Oh no, father, no," replied Lucy Edmonds ; 
 *' I will do as you bid me in all things, and I pro- 
 mise you that I will not see or speak with him 
 without your knowledge and consent — but yet I 
 am sure he loves me." 
 
 Edmonds shook his head with a sad and pain- 
 ful smile. " So thinks every woman," replied he, 
 " of the man that ruins her. If she does not, she 
 is worse than he is. But come, my child, keep 
 your promise, and that promise will keep you safe. 
 Wipe your eyes, or go and walk in the garden for 
 a while. Your mother has had one sad fright this 
 morning, and there is no need she should have too 
 many at once, Lucy." 
 
 " Oh ! what has happened ? " cried Lucy, drying 
 her own tears, and looking eagerly in her father's 
 face. 
 
 " Why, your brother fell into the river, and 
 would have been drowned if Mr. Morton, the 
 gentleman who came up to the cottage the other 
 day, had not plunged in and got him out," replied 
 Edmonds, and then added, in a somewhat bitter 
 tone, " Ay, he is a' gentleman, indeed ; but this 
 young fellow — " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, but Lucy 
 Edmonds cast down her eyes, with a cheek glow- 
 ing like fire. It was her own heart accused her, 
 and she asked herself " Have I been listening to
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 211 
 
 tales of love, without my parents' knowledge, from 
 the lips of one whom they disapprove, while 
 sorrow and care have come so near their dwell- 
 ing?" and as she thus thought she raised her 
 eyes to her father's face again, saying aloud, — " I 
 will go to my mother at once. I am very sorry 
 that I was wrong, and I will tell her, too, all that 
 has happened, but not now, father. I will tell her 
 to-niglit or to-morrow. Indeed, it will be better, 
 for then she can always tell me what I ought to 
 do." 
 
 "That's a good girl," replied her father; "act 
 this way always, Lucy, and you will be in no 
 danger. To-day you have been in more than you 
 know of;" and, taking her hand, he led her on to 
 the house. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 For at least five minutes after the park-keeper 
 and his daughter had left him, Alfred Latimer re- 
 mained standing in the grove, giving way to the 
 vehemence of his passion, muttering vain curses, 
 and rash and angry threats, against the man who 
 had interfered only to save his own child. " I 
 will have her," he said at length ; " I will have her 
 in spite of him ; and I will have revenge, too — 
 curse me, if I won't ;" and stamping on the 
 ground, and shaking his fist, he walked slowly 
 away towards the lodge. His eyes were bent 
 down, and, in bitter meditation, he saw little or 
 nothing that passed around him. When he 
 reached the gates, he opened them, and went out 
 without noticing that two men were standing at 
 the corner of the park wall ; and, unfastening his 
 horse, he had got his foot in the stirrup when one 
 of the two watchers ran forward and laid his hand 
 upon his shoulder, saying "Alfred Latimer, 
 Esquire, I believe ? "
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 213 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the young gentleman, turn- 
 ing first red and then pale. " Who the devil are 
 
 you?" 
 
 " Only an officer of the sheriff of Middlesex, 
 sir," replied the man, " with a writ against you, 
 backed by the sheriff of the county, for a trifle 
 you owe to Mr. Jones, of Piccadilly. Don't doubt 
 but your mother will soon settle the matter." 
 - Alfred Latimer gazed at him with a look of 
 hesitation for a moment, but gradually his face 
 assumed a more determined and a fiercer aspect, 
 and he replied " 'No ; I will not beg of my own 
 mother. I 'd rather go to gaol." 
 
 "Oh, sir, I've got nice apartments; cjuite at 
 your service, sir," replied the officer. "Airy 
 situation, sir, looking upon the river. Do you 
 travel by coach, sir, or would you like to have a 
 shay?" 
 
 " I travel on horseback," cried Alfred Latimer, 
 springing into the saddle, and striking his horse 
 with the spurs. The bailiff made a snatch at the 
 rein, but missed it, and the horse dashed on, hit- 
 ting him on the shoulder with its chest and 
 knocking him back upon the road. 
 
 " Stop him ! stop him ! " shouted the officer to 
 his follower ; but long ere the other man came up, 
 the young gentleman was far upon the road. 
 
 " I shall be followed," thought the young man,
 
 214 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 • 
 
 who, unaccustomed to sucli proceedings, saw in 
 imagination the sheriff's officers pursuing him, 
 like a hunted hare, with a whole troop of mounted 
 constables to back them. " I shall be followed ! 
 I will take to Wenlock Wood. Then let them 
 catch me if they can." Thus thinking, he spurred 
 forward, till passing the cottage of Blackmore, 
 the gardener, and the mill beyond, he came to the 
 end of the park wall on that side, and turned up 
 a narrow sandy path, which ran over the hill be- 
 tween Mallington Park and some corn-fields. It 
 soon led into a green lane, and along this he 
 spurred at a rapid pace, till the banks opened out, 
 and gave him egress upon a wild and desolate 
 looking common, with a thick wood about half a 
 mile to the right. 
 
 At the mouth of the lane, Alfred Latimer pulled 
 up his horse for a moment and listened ; but he 
 still thought he heard the sound of horses' feet, 
 and, spurring on again across the common — often 
 obliged to turn to avoid this great mass of bushes, 
 or that rock or large clump of trees — he reached 
 the edge of Wenlock Wood. He had soon passed 
 the outer belt of planting, where the trees were 
 younger but closer together, and reached a wilder 
 part of the wood, where tall immemorial oaks, 
 with young saplings scattered between, rose far 
 apart from each other, some still green and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 215 
 
 flourishing', some in various states of decay. The 
 ground from which they sprung was rugged and 
 uneven, in some places covered with high fern, in 
 some rounded with masses of thick brushwood. 
 Here appeared a deep pit, with the little shining- 
 pond in the bottom; here rose a tall rock or a high 
 bank, bearing ashes and beeches on the top; and 
 ever and anon a piece of green sward appeared in 
 the midst, affording free footing for the horse. To 
 look upon it, it seemed at first sight an inex- 
 tricable maze, through which no chance traveller 
 could find his way, but to the eyes of Alfred 
 Latimer the whole scene was familiar, for thither 
 had he often resorted from the days of his boyhood, 
 exploring its recesses with dog and gun. 
 
 Cutting as straight across as the various 
 obstacles would permit towards the highest bank 
 which the scene displayed, he skirted it along to 
 a spot where a number of old oaks had congre- 
 gated themselves under the bank, concealing its 
 ruo-o^ed face from the view. The trees above 
 stretched forth their branches to those below, 
 and several clumps of a younger growth stood 
 forward before the rest, making the mass appear 
 one close and impenetrable thicket; for though 
 the wood sometimes came forward in bold pro- 
 minence, sometimes retreated, leaving a deep 
 glen or glade between the two nearest points, yet
 
 216 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 still at the bottom appeared a thick woody screen 
 hiding the crag. To Alfred Latimer, however, 
 the place was, as I have said, familiar, and he 
 rode alons: for about a third of a mile without 
 pause or examination. 
 
 In the end, he drew his rein just at the mouth 
 or entrance of one of the glades I have men- 
 tioned, gazing round on every side. Then, dis- 
 mounting, he took the beast's bridle on his arm, 
 and led him down amongst the trees, apparently 
 at the very closest and thickest part ; but just at 
 the end a little path was to be discovered on the 
 right, so small that the entrance was not easily 
 discernible amonscst the tang-led brambles and 
 thorns, which in that place rose high up the bolls 
 of the trees. Alfred Latimer, however, knew the 
 precise spot, by an old holly which stood forward, 
 as if to protect and conceal the mouth of the 
 path ; and, leading his horse round, he pulled him 
 unwillingly into the little road. The path soon 
 led to a more open space behind the screen of 
 oaks; and the young gentleman proceeded be- 
 tween the trees and the high craggy bank till he 
 reached the mouth of a deep cavern — whether the 
 work of nature or of art, who can now say? 
 Many such are to be found in various parts of 
 England, some well known to the geologist and 
 the wanderer in search of the picturesque ; others
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 217 
 
 unrecorded by tourist and traveller, and only- 
 familiar to the midniglit assassin of game, and 
 the still more free speculator in the property of 
 others. 
 
 Without fear or hesitation, however, Alfred 
 Latimer led his horse in, who fancying it, appa- 
 rently, a newly-invented kind of stable, followed 
 very willingly under the rocky arch ; and still 
 holding the bridle over his arm, the young gen- 
 tleman seated himself upon a large stone, saying 
 aloud, with a laugh, " Now let them catch me 
 if they can, the scoundrels." 
 
 He then turned his ear to listen, but no sound 
 was heard exce]3t the whispering of the wind 
 through the trees; and satisfied that he had 
 deceived his pursuers, if there were any, he pro- 
 posed to remain an hour or two where he was, 
 and then, making his way to a village about 
 three miles distant, to pursue his course towards 
 London, where he thought he would sell his 
 horse, and with the money thus provided, and 
 what remained of the sum he had borrowed from 
 Mr. Morton, embark for the continent. It was a 
 joyous scheme to his rash mind ; visions of wild 
 adventure crowded upon him ; dreams of pleasure, 
 not very pure or high, presented themselves to 
 his mind's eye, and there seemed but one draw- 
 back to the plan. Had Lucy Edmonds been
 
 218 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 with him it would have been complete ; for he 
 loved her with as much love as he was capable 
 of. It was all corporeal indeed ; it was her 
 beauty, her grace, that he thought of; but 
 still it was, in some sort, love, for out of a thou- 
 sand as fair he would have chosen her as his 
 companion. We must not pause to picture all 
 the sensations that he felt as he sat there and 
 thought of her. The eager desire to possess her, 
 in spite of all considerations, and all obstacles ; 
 the wild schemes that suggested themselves to 
 his mind; or the fierce and angry yearning for 
 vengeance upon her father. For that father's 
 feelings or duties he had no thought, no consider- 
 ation. It was enough that he had stepped in to 
 thwart and disappoint him — to snatch the pro- 
 mised joy from his hand. That alone was an 
 offence not to be forgiven by his proud and vehe- 
 ment spirit; but when he recollected the stern 
 and bitter words the park-keeper had used, his 
 heart felt all on fire with impotent rage, and 
 again he clenched his hand and stamped his foot 
 upon the ground, till his horse started back, and 
 nearly pulled the bridle from his arm. 
 
 The young man caught it fast, however, and 
 angrily struck the poor beast a blow in the face 
 with his fist, exclaiming, — " Will you, too ?" 
 
 As he did so he thought he heard a rustle in
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 219 
 
 the further part of the cavern, and turning round, 
 he gazed into the depth with some trepidation. 
 He knew that it was of considerable extent, for 
 he had explored it more than once, and, what 
 with a turn, about thirty feet from the mouth, it 
 miglit run into the cliff some fifty or sixty yards. 
 But the darkness of the interior was so profound 
 at that time of day that he could see nothing. 
 The next instant, however, a voice from within 
 exclaimed, — " You seem mightily put out, Master 
 Latimer. What is the matter ? " 
 
 The voice was followed by the sound of steps, 
 but it was not till the person who had spoken 
 had come forward, that Alfred Latimer could see 
 anything through the darkness. He then per- 
 ceived advancing towards him a short square 
 figure, which gradually assumed the appearance 
 of a man dressed in a sailor's jacket and trousers, 
 with a striped shirt, and no waistcoat. A black 
 handkerchief was twisted lightly round the neck, 
 and the bushy dark whiskers extending under the 
 chin, and almost covering the throat, at first gave 
 him the appearance of having another handker- 
 chief bound round his jaws. His head was 
 covered with strong curling dark hair, and his 
 face was bronzed with exposure to sun and wind. 
 
 At first the young gentleman did not recognise 
 the personage who seemed so familiar with his
 
 220 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 own name ; but, after a moment's consideration, 
 he exclaimed, — " Ah ! is that you, Jack Wil- 
 liams ? Why, it is so long since you have been 
 here, and the place is so dark, I do not know 
 you. You have not shown yourself since that 
 night when we shot the pheasants in the park, 
 and were obliged to run for it." 
 
 " That would not have made me run far," an- 
 swered Williams ; " but I had other matters on 
 hand. Mister Latimer, What's in the wind now, 
 sir, that you are hiding here ? Tell me if you 
 like — don't tell me if you don't like. Only if you 
 want help, here 's your man." 
 
 " Why, I have had a quarrel with my good 
 mother, Jack," replied Alfred Latimer. " She 
 keeps me shorter of money than ever ; and I 
 have determined to leave her, and seek my for- 
 tune where I can." 
 
 " I hope you have brought some stock in trade 
 with you," answered the other; " for fortune can't 
 be bought and sold without fortune, as I have 
 found out lono^ ao^o." 
 
 " No, indeed," answered the young gentleman, 
 who was restrained by certain doubts as to his old 
 acquaintance's habits, from acknowledging that 
 he had money about him. " I have got nothing 
 but a few shillings and my horse ; but that I in- 
 tend to sell as soon as I can."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 221 
 
 " All — well — you are not up to tilings yet, I 
 see," replied Williams. " I wojy^ld not have come 
 out of such a house as that, if I had been you, 
 without bringing away enough to live for a year 
 or two, at least. But what are you hiding for ? — 
 are you afraid she will send after you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Latipaer, who saw that the tale 
 of his adventure with the bailiifs would confirm 
 the representation he had made of the state of his 
 purse. " She would not even give me enough to 
 keep me out of prison, and just as I was at the 
 park gates a fellow came up, and tapped me on 
 the shoulder. But I jumped on my horse and 
 rode over him." 
 
 *' Well done ! well done !" cried Williams, slap- 
 ping him on the shoulder ; " on my life, you will 
 turn out a capital fellow. Just at the park gates, 
 eh ? I suppose you had been up to bid good-by 
 to the pretty little girl there. Why the devil did 
 you not bring her with you ? A man is always 
 the better for having a woman with him ; but I 
 suppose it was want of money, Master Alfred. If 
 that 's the case, speak out. You were kind to me 
 once, and one good turn deserves another. So, as 
 I 've got a little prize-money here ; if a ten pound 
 note will help you, it's quite at your service, sir ; 
 and we can send a message to pretty Lucy to join 
 you where you like."
 
 22^ 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Alfred Latimer had imagined that his pursuit 
 of Lucy Edmondfi had been concealed from all 
 eyes till that morning, and at first he was by no 
 means pleased to find that it was known and 
 commented upon by others ; but as thought hur- 
 ried him rapidly on, the idea suggested itself to 
 his mind that he might make the services of such 
 men as the one who now spoke to him of use in 
 attaining the objects that floated before his imagi- 
 nation. He formed no distinct scheme, it is true, 
 but dim and obscure fancies of carrying off the 
 poor girl from her home came across his brain. 
 He knew she loved him, and believed that she 
 would easily forgive some little force, which might 
 spare her the struggle between duty and affection. 
 He left the plan, then, to be arranged at an after 
 period, and replied, "No, no, Williams — you are 
 a good fellow ;" and he grasped his hand ; " but I 
 will not take your little money from you, I will 
 sell my horse, which is worth fifty pounds any- 
 where, and I think I can get some more from a 
 friend. But it was not want of money stopped 
 Lucy and me. It was that — as the devil would 
 have it — up came her father just as we were 
 talking about it ; and he found out all, and took 
 her away. He has made her promise, I dare say 
 by this time, not to go."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 223 
 
 " Sucli promises are soon broken," answered 
 Jack Williams, with a laugh. 
 
 " Ay, so they are," said Alfred Latimer ; " but 
 I have a scheme in my head, if I can get some 
 good fellows who don't stand upon trifles to help 
 me. When I have got together a little money so 
 as to be sure that she.. and I will have enough to 
 go where we like, I will tell you more of it. — But 
 how did you know anything of this affair? I 
 thought I had kept it very close." 
 
 " ^y, ay," rejoined Williams, smiling, " but I 
 have been hereabouts for a fortnight ; and there 
 have been more eyes in Mallington Park than 
 Edmonds thinks of. But what is your plan, sir? 
 I am no bad hand at scheming, and you are a 
 young one." 
 
 " Why, I have not yet quite made up my 
 mind," replied Alfred Latimer; -'Lucy is willing 
 enough to go, and would have been far away with 
 me by this time if her father had not come up ; 
 but now he will preach to her, and forbid her to 
 see me any more, though I offered him to marry 
 her at once." 
 
 " Why, the man must be a fool," exclaimed 
 Williams in great surprise. 
 
 " Ay — but he threw in my teeth that I was 
 fonder of bold, wild fellows," answered the young 
 gentleman, " than of a set of puling coxcombs,
 
 224 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 sucli as one meets in society, and a great deal 
 more of such cant. IN'ow, I dare say Lucy will be 
 watched and looked after, and persuaded not to 
 come out to see me." 
 
 *' Oh ! we will soon manage that, sir," said 
 Jack Williams, " if he won't let her come, why, I 
 would go and take her. If you mean to marry 
 her, the fool of a father should be forced to what 
 is ffood for her and him too." 
 
 " Hark ! " said Latimer, in a low voice. "There 
 are steps coming near ! " 
 
 " I dare say," answered the other, " it is Bill 
 Maltby ; I expect him soon, and if it be any one 
 else, I will break his head. But you get farther 
 back into the shade — you can take your horse 
 into the turning." 
 
 " I know, I know," answered Alfred Latimer ; 
 and retreating towards the back of the cavern, he 
 stopped where he judged that neither he nor his 
 horse could be seen. 
 
 There, for the first time, a question suggested 
 itself somewhat difficult to solve, but not very 
 pleasant to leave in doubt. What was Jack Wil- 
 liams's motive for lying concealed in Wenlock 
 Wood ? He had been in former days anything 
 but famous either for good conduct or timidity in 
 the commission of evil. One of the most notorious 
 poachers in the country, though the son of a re-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 225 
 
 spectable farmer, he had filled the whole neigli- 
 boiirhood with his exploits, and had only escaped 
 punishment by mingled boldness and skill. Once, 
 indeed, he had been detected in the act and taken, 
 after desperate resistance ; but he was at that time 
 a mere lad, and his father's entreaties to the owner 
 of the game had saved the son from the con- 
 sequences of his offence, though only on the con- 
 dition that he should be sent to sea. To sea he 
 accordingly went, and returned, after a short time, 
 with his moral health, at least, not at all improved 
 by his marine excursion. All these things, and 
 many more not very creditable to his friend, 
 Alfred Latimer remembered ; but he had no time 
 to carry his speculation far before the steps he had 
 heard sounded close to the cave, and another 
 figure darkened the mouth. 
 
 VOL. r.
 
 226 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 As Alfred Latimer stood in the shadow of the 
 cave, he could see without being seen ; and he 
 very soon perceived that the visitor was no other 
 than his dissolute companion Bill Maltby. An 
 unusual degree of eagerness appeared in Maltby*^ 
 manner as he first met "Williams, but their voices 
 soon dropped almost to a whisper. Knowing both 
 parties well, Latimer did not think it necessary to 
 use much ceremony in joining them, and with the 
 foot of his horse announcing his approach, he 
 advanced to the spot where they were standing ; 
 catching a few words which Williams uttered in 
 a louder tone. 
 
 " No, no," the man said, " he is not up to that 
 yet. He will be one day, when he learns a little 
 better." 
 
 By this time the young gentleman was close to 
 them ; and Williams turning round, as if he had 
 previously forgotten his proximity, and had been
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 227 
 
 talking- of some one else, proceeded, " Ah, Mr. 
 Latimer ! — You see I have got a companion. Bill. 
 But I think he is frightened about nothing ;" and 
 he proceeded to relate to the other the story of 
 Alfred Latimer's adventure with the bailiffs. 
 
 " Pooh !" said Maltby ; " I saw the two fellows 
 drinking at the Bagpipes, and waiting for the 
 coach to return to London. You can go back 
 quite well now, if you like, Latimer, for the old 
 Blue always passes at eleven, and it is well nigh 
 one now." 
 
 " He is not going back at all just yet," an- 
 swered Williams, speaking for his young com- 
 panion ; " but you can go on in safety, if you like, 
 sir ; for you hear what Bill says." 
 
 " I am sure they followed me part of the way," 
 said Latimer ; " and I saw some people riding on 
 the common." 
 
 Bill Maltby laughed. " So did I," he said. 
 " I saw Squire Middleton, and his two sons, and 
 the keeper, on their ponies. But I saw the two 
 fellows who came down last night drinking a glass 
 of brandy and water in the coffee-room of the 
 Bagpipes, and one of them told me they were 
 waiting for the coach. So you can go now quite 
 well, Mr. Latimer ; there 's no risk in the world." 
 
 It needed no great penetration on the part of 
 Alfred Latimer to see that his two companions 
 q2
 
 228 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 wished to get rid of him : a very unpleasant per- 
 ception it is, which is ahiiost sure to touch upon 
 some tender point : but vanity does not always re- 
 sent the injury in the same manner. Sometimes she 
 takes herself off in silent indignation ; sometimes 
 she stays out of pure perverseness. In the case 
 of Alfred Latimer she had very nearly persuaded 
 him to remain where he was ; for the young gen- 
 tleman very well understood that they were about 
 something which they thought, to use Jack Wil- 
 liams's expression, " he was not up to," and his 
 vanity was equally mortified at being found one 
 too many, and at being judged unequal to any 
 undertaking. 
 
 Nevertheless, several motives induced him to 
 beat his retreat; they were two to one, and not 
 persons to be lightly quarrelled with : he proposed 
 also to employ them afterwards, and it was not 
 worth while to have any disagreement with 
 them then; the town, too, towards which his 
 steps were bent was at a considerable distance, 
 and he wished to reach London as early as 
 possible on the following day. Deciding upon 
 his course, then, he led his horse out of the cave, 
 and walked on, with the bridle over his arm, 
 between the old trees and the high cliffy bank. 
 The man Williams accompanied him, giving 
 Bill Maltby a sign to stay behind ; and when they
 
 THE STEP-MOTHEn. 229 
 
 had got a sufficient distance to be out of earshot, 
 he said, in a civil and kindly tone, '' Well, Mr. 
 Latimer, ^vhen you have settled your business, 
 and like to go on with that little affair of pretty 
 Lucy Edmonds, you have nothing to do but to 
 come and let me know. I did not speak of it be- 
 fore Bill Maltby there, for there 's no use in telling 
 him anything about it now ; but you see, as it 's 
 very likely that I shan't be just where I am now 
 when you come back, you must ask Bill where I 
 am, for he '11 know." 
 
 Thus saying he held out his hand, and without 
 any consideration of all with which that hand 
 might be stained, and probably the spots upon it 
 were not few, Alfred Latimer took it, receiving 
 the contagion of a foul mental disease, mortal to 
 the better life of the heart. 
 
 He then rodie on upon his way, and Jack Wil- 
 liams returned to his companion in the cave ; 
 whose first question was, ]," What have you done 
 the young cove out of. Jack?" 
 
 " I 've done him out of nothing," answered the 
 other in a grave tone ; for he was one of those 
 men who, though carried as it were by an irresis- 
 tible impulse to one bad act after another, yet feel 
 throughout the whole the gloom and sadness of 
 crime upon them — who have not that levity of 
 spirit which gives a temporary sunshine to some
 
 230 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 of the wicked, but who, with a cold and stern 
 determination, follow the way they have laid out 
 for themselves, with the shadow of their fate always 
 upon them. " I have done him out of nothing. 
 Bill," he said ; " first, because I did not want, and 
 next, because he has devilish little to be done 
 out of." 
 
 " Why didn't you want ?" asked Bill Maltby ; 
 " he had money enough last night, and it 's no 
 bad joke to clean out such a gull as that." 
 
 " He 's not such a gull as you think," answered 
 Williams. " There 's a good deal of determined 
 devil in him, I can tell you, as you '11 find out one 
 day. Then, as to money, he said he had got very 
 little. But if he had had the Mint in his breeches- 
 pocket I wouldn't have put my hand in; first, 
 because he 's always been civil and kind to me, 
 and, next, because he 's one of us in some sort 
 already, and will be more so before long." 
 
 " Ay, ay, so you think," said Bill Maltby ; " but 
 you'll find yourself twisted there. His mother 
 will give him money enough when she finds he 's 
 resolute with her, and then he '11 see us all at the 
 devil." 
 
 Williams looked at him with a grim smile. 
 " You are mistaken. Bill," he said. " There are 
 some roads on which, if you take but two or three 
 steps, you never can go back again, do what you
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 231 
 
 will, and ours is one. This lad has already got 
 his feet upon it, and there 's no going back for 
 him. — But let us talk about this other job. When 
 did you say the fellow would pass by ?" 
 
 " Why, I told him to meet me over at Sturton 
 at three," answered his companion, " and that I 
 would get him a good sale for his stuff ; so he *11 
 pass here about two. Now you see. Jack, we must 
 settle what 's to be done ; for I suppose you won't 
 like to finish him exactly ?" 
 
 " No," said Williams, thoughtfully ; " no, not 
 unless he shows fight. Then, when one's blood is 
 up, no one can tell what may happen. But what 
 of that ? I don't see what difference that makes. 
 The law says it 's all the same whether you relieve 
 a fellow of the superfluous and let him go, or cut 
 his pipe, and stop his whistling. One 's hanged 
 for it all the same, if one 's found out." 
 
 " Ay, but I '11 tell you what difference it makes 
 in this matter," said Bill Maltby. " You see, if 
 you intended to do the thing cut and out, I 
 must stay with you, and lend a hand; but if 
 you do not, I had better go on to Sturton, and 
 speak to the fellows there about taking some of 
 his stuff. Then I can meet him, and be quite civil 
 to him." 
 
 " Ay, ay. Bill, take care of yourself," replied 
 Jack Williams. " There — don't look cross at me —
 
 232 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 I think you are quite right. There is no use of 
 putting two heads into a noose, when one will do. 
 What has he got about him?" 
 
 " A cool hundred, I should think," replied Billy 
 Maltby. " I saw him flash a five pound note of 
 the Huntingdon bank ; so I just gave him a hint, 
 as a friend, that he had better get them changed, 
 for that there was a talk of that money-shop 
 going. He answered, he had sold for a hundred 
 at Huntingdon and Kimbolton three or four days 
 ago, and then he had heard nothing against the 
 bank. He thanked me, however, for my advice ; 
 and said, he would get all he had changed before 
 he went further." 
 
 " He seems to be no fool, then," said Williams, 
 in a thoughtful tone. 
 
 *' Yes, he is — and no, he is not," answered Billy 
 Maltby. " He seems quite a ninny in some things, 
 and shrewd enough in others." 
 
 " A sort of man to remember the cut of one's 
 jib well — eh ?" asked Jack Williams ; " and to 
 swear to it stoutly afterwards, I dare say ?" 
 
 Maltby nodded his head, and his companion 
 mused for several minutes. His next words showed 
 upon what his thoughts had turned ; for at length 
 he said abruptly, " No, I won't do for him ! It 's 
 not come to that yet, Bill : but I '11 take care he 
 sha'n't see me. You go on to Sturton, and leave
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 233 
 
 the rest to me.— You are quite sure of the way he 
 will come?" 
 
 " Quite ; unless the devil puts his foot in it," 
 answered Bill Maltby ; " for I told him of the red 
 post, and of the three roads, and that if he went 
 either to the riaht or to the left he would lose 
 himself. So he said he would take care ; that he 
 was fond of a country walk, but did not want to 
 be one of the babes in the wood." 
 
 The scoundrel laughed gaily at his own conceit ; 
 some further conversation took place, and at 
 length the younger man took his departure for 
 the little town, humming a slang song, as 
 carelessly as if the dark weight of crime 
 rested not on his heart — no thought of punish- 
 ment here or hereafter troubled the enjoyment 
 of the hour. 
 
 His companion displayed a different aspect; 
 for, going a little further into the cave, he seated 
 himself, crossed his long sinew^y arms upon his 
 broad chest, and with his eyes bent upon the 
 ground, and his brow gathered into a frown, re- 
 mained in gloomy thought for the next half hour. 
 What was it that troubled him ? Was it remorse, 
 or apprehension ? Did conscience speak ? or did 
 he look forward to the dark result, even in this 
 world, of the deeds in which he was engaged 1 
 Did he calculate nicely the chances of the losing
 
 234 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 game lie was playing 1 Did he think how seldom 
 any evil act remains unj^unished — how rarely one 
 foul deed does not lead to deeds still fouler — how 
 impossible it is for any man to say " This shall be 
 the last ! " No, there might be regret, but as yet 
 no remorse. He knew not well why, he cared 
 not to inquire, but the sun seemed to have gone 
 out for him, and all was grey. He remembered 
 how, when he was a little boy, and had sported in 
 the neighbouring fields and woods, all nature had 
 had charms for him. The singing of the birds 
 had been sweet music, the breath of the fresh air 
 the finest of perfumes, a new flower or a piece of 
 painted glass a treasure, and everything to a 
 healthy frame and an uncorrupted mind had been 
 full of beauty and delight. But the light had 
 passed away, and he could no more admire or 
 enjoy. In the fierce burst of animal passion, in 
 the keen excitement of strife, of revelry, or of play, 
 were to be found the feverish pleasures which 
 formed all that was left to him. He knew not 
 how it was or why, but he felt that it was so with 
 regret ; for memory told him, that in the past he 
 had left behind jewels that the present had 
 nothing to equal, and which the future could never 
 restore — the jewels of the heart. 
 
 He pondered not much upon such things it is 
 true, but still that cloud hung above him, shadow-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 235 
 
 ing all his thoughts. He turned his mind to the 
 adventure before him ; he laid out his plan ; he 
 determined on his conduct — not with any con- 
 secutive train of ideas, but pursuing a devious and 
 uncertain course, his mind returned to the object 
 in view, and then darted off to something new 
 again. Yet over the whole was the cloud and the 
 shadow, and all was gloomy and stern. 
 
 At length, rising quietly, he said, "It is time to 
 be jogging, the fellow can't be long first; "and 
 going into the recesses of the cave he put a brace 
 of pistols into his pocket, a powder flask, a small 
 bar of iron like a marlin spike, and wrapped up a 
 pair of thick boots in a bundle with some clothes. 
 Then taking a heavy stick formed of a sapling 
 oak, with the rounded root at the end, he thrust 
 it through the tie of the handkerchief, which con- 
 tained his goods and chattels, laid it on his 
 shoulder, and walked out of the cave. 
 
 With a slow step, and looking round him on 
 every side, he advanced, forcing his way through 
 the trees, till he reached the side of a small path, 
 which ran from Mallington to Sturton. There 
 was a horse-road on the other side of the wood, 
 and a cart-road by the bank of the river, but this 
 was one of those short cuts worn by the habitual 
 feet which had passed from time immemorial — 
 every day some one, but rarely more than one or
 
 236 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 two, SO that the grass had time to grow and 
 flourish ; and very often, especially in the spring 
 time, the brambles would shoot across and strive 
 to interrujot the way, as if to reclaim it to wild 
 nature. There the man examined every corner 
 of the brushwood, and every tree. It was evident 
 that he w^as seeking for a hiding-place, but it was 
 with difficulty he found one which suited his pur- 
 pose. At length, he pitched upon a| spot where, 
 underneath a tall oak, had grown up some high 
 Ijushes, flanking the path. Behind them was a 
 nook, which concealed him from any one coming 
 from Mallington, while to the right it was free 
 from aH»i«4?stacles which might have impeded the 
 use of his arm, except a small branch shooting out 
 from one of the hawthorns, which he cut away with 
 his knife. He then took up his position, sitting on 
 the ground with his head leaning easily against 
 the trunk of the tall tree. To have seen him, any 
 one might have supposed that there was a heart 
 at ease, so quiet and unconcerned was the attitude 
 into which his limbs had fallen. But was it so, 
 indeed ? Oh, no ! Even when conscience is alto- 
 gether silent, evil carries its own punishment 
 about with it. The doubt— the apprehension— 
 the agitation of thought that precedes the act — 
 the burning excitement when it is committed — 
 the pallid satiety of the intervals— the parched
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 237 
 
 aridity of the lieart till a new crime supplies a 
 fresh draught of the same fiery stream which but 
 regenerates the thirst it is intended to assuage, — 
 all, all are the slow commencement of that hell to 
 which the wicked go down more slowly though 
 more surely than they think. He lay and listened 
 for the coming foot-falls, and moodily he pondered 
 over the past and the present. Yet he though* 
 not to forbear. Why should he forbear? he asked 
 himself. His lot was drawn, his fate sealed, his 
 road chosen. There was no returning. Never- 
 theless, when a thrush sitting on the tree above 
 his head began to pour forth its afternoon song, 
 there was something in the sound that seemed to 
 touch him. It was like the voice ofan angel in 
 pity calling to him to forbear ; and, whatever were 
 his thoughts, he murmured, " I will not hit him 
 hard." 
 
 The bird continued to sing for a moment or two, 
 and as if to divert his mind from its appeal, he 
 looked around, while the fresh air breathed upon 
 his cheek, and the light and shade of the green 
 leaves danced before his eyes. " This is a beauti- 
 ful place," he thought ; " one could lie here all 
 day." The very idea was a pleasant and refresh- 
 ing thing, like a fountain to the wanderer in the 
 desert ; but he would not rest upon it either ; and 
 he carelessly plucked a flower that grew near,
 
 238 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 looking into the blue petals, and gazing, though 
 without thought of its wonders, upon the mar- 
 vellous economy within. " How beautiful these 
 wild flowers are," he said to himself again. " My 
 poor sister Mary, that used to love them so, was 
 like one of them — poor thing ! — Pooly ! I am a 
 fool," and he cast the flower away. 
 
 Heaven only knows had he gone on, and 
 listened to the voice which strove to make itself 
 heard, what might have been the result. But the 
 hour of mercy had passed by ; he had turned three 
 times from the appeal that might have saved him ; 
 and almost as the flower fell from his hand, the 
 bird ceased its song, and took wing from the 
 branch above. A footstep was coming near ; and 
 rising up he looked through the branches upon 
 the path. There was a gaily-dressed man — he 
 whom we have described as coming upon Morton 
 and Louisa Charlton as they sat by the stream — 
 walking slowly forward with a sauntering and 
 self-conceited air. 
 
 Williams grasped the thick stick he had brought 
 with him, the bundle had been cast down long 
 before. He set his teeth, compressed his lips, 
 and hardly breathed. His heart beat, though he 
 would have stilled its beatings ; his temples 
 throbbed, though in moments of greater danger 
 his bosom had been calm, his brain cool. It was not
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 239 
 
 fear, it was not doubt that was upon him — it was 
 the troubled expectation of crime. 
 
 Two or three more steps and the wayfarer was 
 close to [him ; he passed the tall tree and the 
 low bushes, and then a thundering blow upon 
 the head dashed down his hat upon his brow, 
 and laid him on the ground. The bludgeon was 
 raised again to strike him as he lay, but he was 
 silent and motionless — so still that his very tran- 
 quillity seemed to plead for mercy. 
 
 " I hit him harder than I intended," said his 
 assailant, running round the bushes, and gazing 
 upon his victim. Then, bending down his head, 
 he listened. " He breathes ! He is but stunned;" 
 and quickly putting his hands into the traveller's 
 pockets, he drew out a heavy purse crammed 
 well nigh full of gold ; there was a pocket-book 
 also, with some bank-notes in it, but that he 
 threw down again, and, satisfied with his prize, 
 gazed round him for a moment. 
 
 All was still ; and he heard the chirping of the 
 grasshopper. 
 
 Then darting back behind the bushes, he 
 snatched up his bundle ; but before he went, re- 
 turned to take another look at what he had done. 
 He bent down his head again, but now he could 
 hear no breath ; and with a quick step he hurried 
 away up the path for a couple of hundred yards
 
 240 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 then turned into the wood again, and, pursuing 
 a circuitous course, came out upon the common 
 at the back of Mallington Park, some two miles 
 from the scene of his crime, and quite on the 
 other side. At this time, indeed, it appeared as 
 if he were rather going to, than coming from the 
 spot where the deed had been committed; but 
 there was close by a small country road leading 
 down, under the park wall, to Mallington, and 
 scarcely had his feet entered upon it when he be- 
 held two labouring men walking on before him. 
 
 His first impulse was to quit it again, but a 
 second thought made him quicken his pace and 
 come up with them. He knew neither, but one 
 gave him good-day as he went, and entering into 
 conversation, he proceeded in their company till 
 they reached the bank of the river. There the 
 course of his two companions led them to the 
 right, while his went to the left, for he had 
 already told them that he was going to Malling- 
 ton, and, leaving them, he walked stoutly on till 
 they were out of sight ; then seating himself on 
 the bank, he took off his shoes and stockings and 
 washed his feet in the river, looked round to 
 ensure that he was not observed, and taking the 
 thick boots out of his bundle, put a stone in each 
 of the light sailor's pumps, and cast them into 
 the water.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 We must now return for a while, dear reader, to 
 notice what took place in the wood where Wil- 
 liams had left his victim. The man lay quite 
 still, with his head partly turned on one side, and 
 his hat beaten down till it reached his eyebrows. 
 The back of the hat, indeed, was quite knocked 
 in, for there the blow had fallen. His eyes were 
 closed, too, when his assailant walked away, and 
 his hand remained extended, with a little memo- 
 randum-book fallen from it on the grass. But as 
 soon as the retreating footsteps become somewhat 
 faint, the eyelids were slightly raised, then fully 
 lifted, and he gazed down the path which tlie 
 robber had taken. Williams was still in sight, 
 but was lost the moment after behind the trees ; 
 and the traveller lifted his head and listened. 
 Then raising himself slowly on his arm, he sat 
 up, and put his hand to his brow, pushing off his 
 
 VOL, I. R
 
 242 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 « 
 
 hat. A stream of blood from the back of his 
 head, where one of the knotted points of the stick 
 had cut the skin, followed and trickled down his 
 neck, while his eyes rolled somewhat dizzily, and 
 he leaned his cheek upon his hand. He uttered 
 not a word, however, for several minutes, but 
 once or twice put his left hand up to the spot 
 where he had received the blow. He then rose, 
 but he soon sat down again, with a faint look ; 
 and, after a little, crawling- to the spot where his 
 pocket-book lay, he took it up, and looked over 
 the contents. None of the notes had been taken, 
 and he murmured, — " Thank God, it is no worse ! 
 He has got all the guineas, though — the villain ! 
 — but I must get back home somehow, and have 
 my head looked to. It 's a bad knock, but I 
 think the skull is safe. I wish I could have got 
 a good look at him. It was not that young 
 fellow, Maltby, as he called himself — that 's clear 
 enough. I wonder if I can walk now;" and, 
 rising once more, he kept his feet better, and 
 looked about him. 
 
 Gradually, as he recovered from the first eflPects 
 of the blow, and his ideas became more clear and 
 collected, he began to feel a stronger desire to 
 punish his assailant, and to think of the means of 
 doing so. Though a fop of the lower school, and 
 as vain as a nightingale, Mr. Tobias Gibbs was by
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 243 
 
 no means a coward ; and if Williams had met him 
 face to face, although the latter was by far the 
 stronger man of the two, a severe contest would 
 certainly have taken place ere Mr. Gibbs parted 
 with the money of his employers ; for that respect- 
 able gentleman was the country traveller for a 
 large and wealthy .wholesale perfumery house in 
 London. Nevertheless, as he knew not by whom 
 he had been attacked, nor how many confederates 
 might be near, he hesitated a little as to his pro- 
 ceedings, and was deliberating upon the next step, 
 when an approaching footfall, and the sound of a 
 light air of the day whistled clear and merrily, 
 made him turn round and look the other way. A 
 moment after a man, whom he had seen the even- 
 ing before at Mallington selling fruit, 'appeared 
 through the trees, walking quietly homeward. 
 He had an honest face, that incomparable gift of 
 nature ; but not being of the most observant cha- 
 racter in the world, and being engaged with the 
 thoughts of carrots, turnips, greengages, et cetera, 
 lie was passing by Mr. Gibbs with no other remark 
 than " Good afternoon, sir!" not taking the slightest 
 notice of that gentleman's broken head, crushed 
 hat, or fallen memorandum-book. 
 
 " Stay a moment, my good fellow," said the 
 traveller, feeling himself re-assured by his aspect ; 
 " I wish you would help me a little, or at least let 
 r2
 
 244 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 me walk home to Mallington with yon, for I have 
 been knocked down." 
 
 " Lawk-a-mercy, sir, so you have!" cried the 
 man, looking at his head : " Why, who the deuce 
 did you iind to quarrel with in Wenlock Wood ?" 
 
 " Nobody !" replied Mr. Tobias Gibbs. " Nor 
 did any one quarrel with me." 
 
 " They must ha' been poachers, then ?" said the 
 peasant. 
 
 Mr. Gibbs contented himself with replying, 
 " Worse, my good friend, a great deal worse ; for 
 he has first broken my head, and then taken my 
 purse." 
 
 " Whew !" whistled the countryman, looking 
 around. " How many of them were there ?" 
 
 " Only one that I saw," answered the traveller ; 
 and he went on to relate how he had received a 
 blow upon the head from behind ; how he had 
 fallen, sick and half stunned, but had clearly felt 
 his pockets rifled, and had revived enough to know 
 that the man went into the bushes again, came 
 back and looked at him, and then walked away. 
 
 " What sort of a fellow was he ?" asked his new 
 friend. " I know most all the people about these 
 parts." 
 
 " I can hardly tell," answered Mr. Gibbs ; " for 
 I only got sight of him just as he was going 
 through the trees yonder, and then only saw his
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 245 
 
 head and shoulders. He seemed a tall stout man, 
 though." 
 
 " Well, the best thing for you, master," said the 
 peasant, " is to take hold of my arm, and toddle 
 back to Mallington, to have your head looked to. 
 It 's a bad knock as ever I see." 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing," answered Mr. Tobias 
 Gibbs. " A few dressings of Grimsditch's famous 
 vulnerary salve will set that to rights in two days. 
 But the matter now is, to find out some traces of 
 the man who did it. He may have dropped some- 
 thing, forgotten something, — for such fellows are 
 always in a twitter, they say, — and, at all events, 
 we shall find his foot-marks somewhere." 
 
 " That 's true, upon my say so !" answered the 
 countryman. " Ay, the fellow must have lodged 
 in there till you came up," he continued, pointing 
 to the bushes where Williams had concealed him- 
 self; " don't you see, he's cut a stick out of that 
 thorn." 
 
 But, on entering the sort of den afforded by the 
 trees, they found the branch which had been de- 
 tached by the robber to give room for his arm to 
 strike. The ground on which he had been reclin- 
 ing still bore the impress of his person ; but no 
 other trace was to be found. On coming out again, 
 however, close to where the traveller had fallen, 
 was seen a footmark in the sandy part of the path.
 
 246 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 showing the print of a light and neatly formed 
 shoe, without a heel, while Mr. Gibbs's boot had 
 left another impression easily to be distinguished 
 from the first. They looked around in vain for 
 other marks ; till, following the path a little farther, 
 they found in the sand at the side a fresh print, 
 turned towards the spot from whence the blow had 
 been aimed. 
 
 " Ay, he came this way, across from those trees 
 and the bank," said the countryman. " I should 
 not wonder if he had been harbouring all night in 
 Gammer Mudge's hole." 
 
 " What's that?" demanded Mr. Gibbs, in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Why, a great hole of a place in the bank," 
 said his companion ; " a sort of cave, like, where 
 they say one Gammer Mudge, a witch of those 
 times, lived till she was ninety-nine year old, and 
 then the devil came to fetch her." 
 
 " It was high time," replied the traveller. — 
 " But there is another mark." 
 
 " Ay, and here 's a horse's feet, too," said the 
 countryman. *' There has been more of them than 
 one. Stay a bit, I '11 cut two good stout sticks ;" 
 and, fixing upon some sapling oaks, he furnished 
 himself and his companion with the only weapons 
 that could be provided. 
 
 They then traced the steps both of a man and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 247 
 
 horse back through the trees to the mouth of the 
 cave, which they approached with extreme caution. 
 The aspect of the place did not at all prepossess 
 Mr. Gibbs with any favourable idea of its tenants; 
 and it was some time before either he or his com- 
 panion liked to venture in. At length, however, 
 they mustered resolution sufficient to advance a 
 few steps into the cave ; but their search proved 
 no further availing than by discovering the ashes 
 of an extinguished fire, by the side of which were 
 lying the bones of a fowl of some kind and a 
 broken porter bottle. 
 
 "Ay," said the peasant when he saw these 
 vestiges of a feast ; " they are some of those 
 damned gipsies." 
 
 The poor gipsies are sure, in all country neigh- 
 bourhoods, to come in for their share of suspicion ; 
 and a name has hanged many a poor dog that was 
 as innocent as ever lived. " I dare say the fellow 
 was a gipsy," said Mr. Gibbs, " for he had black 
 hair, that I saw." 
 
 " Ay, and I have been thinking," said his com- 
 panion who did not want shrewdness, " that he 
 must have known you w^as a-coming, for he had 
 been lying there in the bushes for a good while — 
 that 's clear enough — and then, what could he cut 
 away that branch for, unless it were to have a fair 
 whack at your head ? for you see, master, he did
 
 248 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 nothing but cut it off out of the way, and throw it 
 down." 
 
 " That 's true ! that 's very true ! " exclaimed the 
 traveller, " I did not think of that." 
 
 " Did any one know as you were going along 
 here?" asked the countryman. 
 
 " Yes, one young gentleman who called himself 
 Maltby," replied Mr. Gibbs. 
 
 "Ay! as bad a lad as any in the place," an- 
 swered the countryman ; " I '11 tell you about him 
 as we go along — but, after all, it could not be he 
 who did it himself, for I saw him an hour or more 
 ago walking about in Sturton, and seeming as if 
 he were looking for some one." 
 
 " I promised to meet him there at three," said 
 the traveller. " No, it could not be he — that is 
 clear. But I shan't go on now, however. — We 've 
 found out all we can, I think, and had better get 
 back to Mallington. So this Maltby is a bad 
 fellow?" 
 
 " He is a bad 'un," answered the countryman ; 
 and they turned their steps along the path home- 
 ward.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 249 
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 There was a snug little tea and card party at 
 Mallington ; one of those parties whicli used con- 
 stantly to take place amongst small communities 
 like that of the place we speak of between twenty 
 and thirty years ago, where the limited sphere of 
 the society produced that fusion of ranks and 
 classes which many people wish to see farther 
 extended. If the surgeon and the lawyer had re- 
 fused to meet the shopkeeper and the farmer they 
 would have lived almost alone ; they could not 
 have enjoyed their rubber. If the shopkeeper and 
 the farmer had excluded the lawyer's clerk or the 
 surgeon's assistant they could have made up but 
 one card-table. The necessities of the case some- 
 times carried the condescension further, and when 
 the Earl of Mallington was down at the hall, the 
 fashionable appearance of his gentleman, and the 
 superior knowledge of great life displayed by that 
 personage, as well as certain little considerations
 
 250 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 of his influence with his lord, caused him oc- 
 casionally to receive a note of invitation, which he 
 sometimes treated with contempt, sometimes con- 
 descended to accept. Then, again, the great ex- 
 pense of Mallington House, and the power of 
 Mrs. Windsor within its walls, rendered her favour 
 worth courting; and Mr. Brown ventured to 
 solicit the honour of her company to one of his 
 soirees. The Misses Martin and several others 
 turned up their noses at the housekeeper, and 
 wondered that Mr. Brown could do such a thing ; 
 but it was soon found that Mr. Brown's shop 
 gained by the proceeding, and Mr. Green and 
 Miss White and Mrs. Yellowly, together with 
 Messieurs and Mesdames East, West, Xorth, and 
 South, followed his example. 
 
 It might be a curious question whether this 
 usion of classes produced any remarkable im- 
 provement, indeed, in the Mallington society. 
 They all met, and they all played at cards, and 
 they all drank tea and ate cakes and bread and 
 butter, it is true; but they all tore one another to 
 pieces with their tongues, if not with their teeth ; 
 and, as in most other societies, the grand, though 
 secret object of meeting seemed to be for every 
 pair to say some ill-natured thing to each other 
 of a third, whose back was turned. Persiflage— 
 the gross vulgarity of the great and smart— was,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 251 
 
 indeed, wanting ; for they had no idea of what is 
 called mincing matters. They did not covertly 
 laugh at their neighbours, and say cutting things 
 with the sweetest look imaginable : no, but they 
 abused each other to their heart's content ; some- 
 times — nay, generally — in secret, but occasionally, 
 when the blood was up, and the tricks and honours 
 were against them, with all the open licence of 
 the card table ; for many an odd trick turns up 
 there, reader, besides that which is formed of four 
 pieces of painted paste-board. 
 
 It is true that their abuse was not always con- 
 fined to each other, but was occasionally scattered 
 about with a liberal hand upon their superiors in 
 station or wealth. Thus, when the name of Mrs. 
 Charlton was mentioned, though she was always 
 called a dear sweet creature, quite a lady, and a 
 great number of many other pleasant names in 
 the presence and within the cognizance of Mrs. 
 Windsor, one whispered to another that she was 
 going on at a fine rate ; that she would soon get 
 through all she had, and more, too ; that she was 
 dreadfully in debt, and that she would not easily 
 get another old gentleman to marry her and pay 
 her bills for her. During the life of the Earl of 
 Mallington, he had come in for his share; but it 
 was in a different way, for his position and his 
 habits removed him so far from the good people
 
 252 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 of the town that they regarded him with a kind of 
 awe. People will finger very awful things, how- 
 ever, and the great idol of Juggernaut itself would 
 not escape scratching if its worshippers could get 
 at it. 
 
 The person of all the neighbourhood, however, 
 who was most curiously treated by the small 
 tongues of the place was Dr. Western. During 
 the first two years of his incumbency, he had 
 been railed at in the bitterest manner ; he was a 
 purse-proud haughty priest, a pharisee, a wolf 
 in sheep's clothing, everything that is bad ; but a 
 strange change had gradually crept over the 
 opinions of the place, and nobody now said a 
 word against Dr. Western, for in spite of human 
 nature, and the assistance given to it by the devil 
 in resisting all good influences, real excellence 
 and the true practice of Christian virtues will 
 have their effect. Dr. Western knew his flock 
 well, was quite aware of their faults and their 
 failings, laughed at their follies when they were 
 small, reproved and grieved for them when they 
 were great, but was never harsh in his condem- 
 nation, or bitter in his satire. He was always 
 ready to aid, to direct, to reclaim, to give hope 
 and consolation, to receive repentance and to 
 encourage a return to right ; he was always per- 
 forming himself that which he preached to others,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 253 
 
 and his private fortune, as well as his position 
 as a magistrate, gave him the opportunity of 
 doing much good, as well as correcting much 
 evil. 
 
 To return from this long digression, however, 
 there was a snug little tea and card party at 
 Mallington, and the conversation of the worthies 
 assembled had received a zest and a fillip from 
 -various events which had taken place that morn- 
 ing. What a happy and fortunate thing it is for 
 certain classes of society that there are vices and 
 wickedness, accidents, misfortunes, and sorrows, 
 in this good world that we inhabit ! What would 
 Mr. Tomkins, and Miss Jenkins, and Mrs. Wat- 
 kins, and a great number of other people do, if it 
 were not for that column in the newspapers 
 which used in former days to be headed " Acci- 
 dents and Offences ? " They would be obliged to 
 remain absolutely silent for one half of their 
 lives ; their very thoughts, too, would be still ; 
 they would have nothing to talk about or think 
 about; they would lose the two greatest enjoy- 
 ments of human life — commiseration and horror ; 
 they could never shudder at the thought of 
 the man who had had his throat cut on the 
 common, and then go comfortably to bed, after 
 seeing that the door was bolted ; they could 
 never blush at Mrs. B having ran away
 
 254 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 with Mr. A , and stroke their chin in the con- 
 sciousness of not having eloped with anybody. So 
 it is, however, that about a third of the world — I 
 am very moderate in my calculations — pasture 
 their vanity and their selfishness in the wide field of 
 other men's turpitude and misfortune. What a day, 
 then, had it been for Mallington which presented 
 them with the three startling and exciting occur- 
 rences of Miss Charlton having fallen into the 
 river, and been drawn out by Mr. Morton ; 
 of Alfred Latimer having been tapped on the 
 shoulder by a bailiff", having knocked him down, 
 and galloped away; and more than all, of an 
 assault and highway robbery having been com- 
 mitted in Wenlock Wood, with the deposition of 
 the injured man, and the examination of witnesses 
 before Dr. Western. If they had imported a 
 pipe of port, and drank it all that night, they 
 could not have been more excited or more 
 gratified. 
 
 "Were you present, Mr. Wheeler?" asked 
 Miss Mathilda Martin, to a thin man opposite to 
 her, who officiated as clerk of the parish. " La, 
 how I should liked to have been there." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, it was a very interesting scene," 
 said Mr. Wheeler, in a solemn nasal tone. " A 
 very interesting scene, indeed ! Why, we hav'nt 
 had a murder or a highway robbery in this
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 255 
 
 neighbourhood for more than thirty years. The 
 last was when the pedlar was murdered." 
 
 " Oh, nobody cares about that now," said Miss 
 Martin ; " but do tell us all about this business 
 Wheeler. AVas the man much hurt?" 
 
 " I can tell you more than he can, Miss 
 Martin," said Mr. Nethersole, the surgeon, 
 turning round from the other table, '^ for I 
 .dressed the gentleman's head. It was a bad 
 contused wound on the back part of the cranium, 
 with an aperture in length about an inch, 
 through which the skull was discernible. There 
 was no fracture, however, nor any depression of 
 the bone, and though some concussion of the cere- 
 bellum "— 
 
 " Why, bless my heart, Mr. Nethersole ! " said 
 Mrs. Gibbins, who was his partner at cards. 
 " Why, I declare you have trumped my ace — I 
 wish you would mind what you are about. I de- 
 clare you never play up to one, whatever one leads." 
 
 " My dear madam, I am very sorry," said the 
 surgeon. " I thought" — 
 
 " But who was examined, Mr. Wheeler," said 
 Miss Mathilda. 
 
 " Oh ! a good many people, ma'am," replied the 
 clerk. " First, the deponent deposed that having 
 made an appointment with young Maltby, to 
 meet at Sturton " —
 
 256 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " Ay, then it was young Maltby that did it," 
 said Miss Martin, — "that's clear enough. Don't 
 we all know young Maltby ? " 
 
 " No, he couldn't have done it," said Mr. 
 Wheeler ; " for it was proved by Garbet, that 
 Maltby was in Sturton at the time waiting for this 
 very Mr. Gibbs. The man who was most sus- 
 pected was Jack Williams. I dare say you recol- 
 lect Jack Williams, Miss Martin?" 
 
 " To be sure I do," replied the lady. " The 
 nasty vermin owed me four and ninepence for 
 neck-handkerchiefs when he went away." 
 
 ** Well, he has come back again sure enough 
 now," answered Mr. Wheeler ; " for I saw him, with 
 my own eyes, brought up before Dr. Western upon 
 suspicion, because he had just come into the town, 
 and changed a five pound note." 
 
 " Well, but they let him off, I heard say," ex- 
 claimed an old lady, with a voice even shriller 
 than Miss Martin's. " I do think that was very 
 foolish of the doctor, anyhow. He might have 
 commanded him for further examination, as they 
 say in the newspaper ; and that would have kept 
 him out of harm's way." 
 
 " The doctor knows what he 's about, Mrs. 
 Green," said Mr. Wheeler, with additional solem- 
 nity, for the clerk always looked upon himself as 
 part and parcel of the parson ; and, in calling the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 257 
 
 rector foolish, lie felt that Mrs. Green assailed his 
 own wisdom. " Don't you suppose, madam," he 
 continued, " that you can tell Dr. Western what 
 he ought to do. Why, what did he do ? He set 
 Jack Williams up, and made Mr. Gibbs look at 
 him. jNTow, Mr. Gibbs is a very respectable man, 
 Mrs. Green. So, after he had looked at Jack 
 before and behind, he said he 'd rather not swear, 
 though the back of the head was somewhat like. 
 But the doctor didn't give it up for all that ; for 
 he made Garbet describe all the foot-marks they 
 had found close by where it was done, and he 
 swore that it was the print of a neat-made shoe, 
 without a heel. Then Jack Williams had on a 
 pair of thick boots, with nails all round ; and two 
 men, who had walked with him part of the road, 
 came forward and swore, that he had overtaken 
 them coming quite a different way. So what 
 could the doctor do ?" 
 
 *' I 'd have committed him for misprision," said 
 Miss Martin. " Didn't he get out of the jail at 
 Sturton ? There 's always a way of catching these 
 fellows if one has a mind ; but the doctor 's getting- 
 old, and is too kind to them by half." 
 
 This observation would have drawn an angry 
 reply upon her head ; but Mrs. Green at that 
 moment judiciously remarked, " Three by cards, 
 and two by honours, Mr. Wheeler;" and this 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 being a matter of much greater importance, the 
 clerk asked to see the last trick. 
 
 The conversation was then directed to another 
 branch of " the adventures of a day," by Miss 
 Mathilda Martin observing, " Well, it is funny, 
 that Miss Louisa should have fallen into the water 
 the very same day." 
 
 Now, though it is very probable that not a single 
 person in the room could have pointed out the 
 funny connection which Miss Martin, junior, per- 
 ceived between the accident which had occurred 
 to Miss Charlton and the robbery in Wenlock 
 Wood, yet they all followed the cry, and every 
 one had their observation upon the wonderful 
 fact of Mr. Morton having been the person to 
 help the young lady out of the water. 
 
 " Ay, I see what will come of it clear enough," 
 said Miss Mathilda, with a titter. 
 
 " It 's a great shame if it does," rejoined her 
 elder sister. " Here 's a fellow who comes down, 
 without any one knowing him, and puts up at such 
 an inn as the Bagpipes, and spends no money in 
 the place. I 'm sure he 's never changed half-a- 
 crown with us. It would not surprise me at all 
 if he were of the same gang with you know who. 
 They always have some smart-looking person 
 amongst them. I 'm sure what Mrs. Charlton's 
 about I can't think."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 259 
 
 " She 's minding her own affairs, Miss Martin," 
 said Mrs. Windsor, over her shoulder, with a 
 significant smile. 
 
 " Well, I hope she is," answered Miss Martin, 
 tossing her head ; " but every one doesn't think 
 she 's minding them very well : and I hope, if so 
 be as such is the case, nobody will be hurt by it 
 but herself, ma'am." 
 
 " You won't. Miss Martin," said Mrs. Windsor, 
 sharply ; and, exasperated by this little altercation, 
 they fell upon the cards, and played away most 
 bitterly. 
 
 However, when the game was over, Mr. Brown, 
 the proprietor of the new shop which Mrs. Charl- 
 ton had aided to establish, drew Mrs. Windsor 
 aside, and held a whispering conference with her 
 for two or three minutes. No one heard the 
 whole of what was said ; but Mathilda Martin, 
 who sidled up as near to them as she could, and 
 leaned sentimentally over the back of her chair, 
 caught a few words to the following effect : "Well, 
 I should take it as a great favour, Mrs. Windsor, 
 if it were only a part. It 's upwards of five hundred 
 pounds now." 
 
 " Well, I '11 do my best," replied Mrs. Windsor. 
 " But it 's of no use, I can tell you, until quarter- 
 day :" and then, perceiving the near approximation 
 to Miss Mathilda's ear, she walked away. 
 s 2
 
 260 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Up two pair of stairs, in a small house upon the 
 Kentish side of the river Thames, to which dwell- 
 ing you entered by a door between an old iron- 
 shop and a rag-warehouse, there was a front 
 room, with bars over the windows. The passage 
 by which the foot of the stairs was reached was 
 long and narrow ; and, besides the outer door, was 
 an inner sort of wicket, which was kept always 
 locked. A step or two further in than the wicket 
 was the door of a small room on the left hand side, 
 usually containing a turn up bedstead — an old 
 man, shaved once a fortnight — a young woman, 
 washed not much oftener — and three small child- 
 ren, who generally went without ablution. All the 
 accessories were sallow, the passage was of no 
 colour but that of dirt, and the fragments of a 
 piece of oilcloth which had once carpeted it only 
 served to make the visitor stumble. The staircase 
 was very narrow, like the passage, and there
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 261 
 
 was a coating of some thick black matter upon 
 the rail of the banisters which had probably 
 been left there by the pressure of many miserable 
 hands. 
 
 The room I have mentioned was of a tolerable 
 size, and it had the rags of a carpet over the 
 floor. There were'also five chairs, each in a crip- 
 pled state, more or less, with shattered backs and 
 'arms, but sound enough in the legs, and a large 
 old square sofa, covered with chintz, unwashed 
 since the flood, and wanting one castor. 
 
 The chamber at the time I speak of was only 
 tenanted by two persons ; the one occupying a 
 chair, with his arm leaning upon the mahogany, 
 and his whole figure cast back in a sort of reck- 
 less daring attitude, as if he felt himself perfectly 
 at ease where he was. The expression of the 
 other's features was very different ; it was anxious, 
 thoughtful, annoyed, and yet displaying an effort 
 to cast off" the load of care. He leaned back on 
 the sofa, with his head somewhat bent forward, 
 his brow slightly contracted, and his eyes looking 
 at the face of his companion from under the droop- 
 ing lids with a steady and thoughtful glance. 
 The whole of the upper part of the face was firm 
 and determined ; but about the lips there was a 
 weaker expression, not exactly timid, but hesitat- 
 ing and uncertain ; and yet, if one considered his
 
 262 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 countenance with the eye of a Lavater, the strongly- 
 marked jawbone and prominent chin spoke daring 
 courage. 
 
 The other was short — very short — but remark- 
 ably broad set ; his chest was deep and wide, his 
 arms long, and his flanks thin ; his brow was high 
 and wide, but the back of the head, though some- 
 what concealed by a quantity of thin light hair, 
 that floated in graceful waves all over it, was as 
 round as a ball, somewhat protuberant above and 
 behind the ears, and large where the base w^as 
 joined by the thick neck. His features were 
 square cut, the eye soft and somewhat sleepy, the 
 upper lip short and beautifully chiseled, but the 
 lower too full. The complexion was pale, as if 
 with that sort of sickness which proceeds from 
 intemperance of some kind, blanching the cheek 
 and hollowing the eye without diminishing the 
 corporeal powers, at least in its earliest stages. 
 
 The hue of health was upon the cheek of the 
 other, and there was also a great difference in the 
 expression of their two faces. His who sat upon 
 the sofa seemed to speak a quick, impatient, 
 haughty disposition, somewhat tamed for the time 
 by misfortune or disappointment. It was easily 
 read in all its aspects — except, perhaps, when a 
 darker shade came over it ; a look of almost de- 
 moniacal fierceness, which gave one the im-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 263 
 
 pression of blacker things being within than at 
 first we were willing to imagine. 
 
 The expression of the other's countenance was 
 of reckless, heedless carelessness. There seemed 
 no struggle between good and evil ; no hesitation, 
 regret, or care. It was full of perfect self aban- 
 donment, and yet there was every now and then a 
 look of keen cunning and sarcastic scorn poured 
 out of the pale blue eyes, like a ray of light find- 
 ing its way into a dark room from some unknown 
 source. 
 
 Between the two stood a bowl of strong brandy 
 punch, to which each helped himself from time to 
 time, without filling the glass full, or drinking it off 
 hastily ; but sipping the contents quietly and 
 leisurely, while they conversed. It was evident 
 that they had not met to drink, but drank merely 
 because they had met. 
 
 The one tenant of the spunging-house — he who 
 sat upon the sofa — the reader need hardly be told 
 was Alfred Latimer ; and the other, who sat near 
 him, was a prisoner whom he had found there 
 when the clear-sighted officials of the sheriff 
 pounced upon him and bore him off, and to whose 
 conversation he had been indebted for several 
 cheerful hours, which might otherwise have been 
 passed drearily enough. But he was indebted to 
 him for nothing else ; for, sad to say, the conversa-
 
 264 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 tion of the debtor's prison, call it by what name 
 you will — Fleet, King's Bench, Whitecross-street, 
 or spunging-house — is full of nought but con- 
 tamination and evil. Dark and sad — dark and 
 sad is that companionship found there; and during 
 the ten days that Alfred Latimer had spent within 
 those walls, one after another, as they had come 
 and gone, the passing tenants of the prison liad 
 each taught him some lesson of fraud — had each 
 habituated his thoughts to the contemplation of 
 some new vice. But the man who was now 
 beside him had been his constant monitor, had 
 first made him acquainted with the ways of the 
 place, and had afterwards informed him of a 
 thousand horrible antecedents, which are con- 
 stantly befalling the men who end in the prison at 
 last. He himself was an epitome of all the faults, 
 follies, and vices — nay, I would say crimes — which 
 can be committed in society without actual punish- 
 ment ; and he had arrived at that state where evil 
 "becomes man's good," and he boasts of the 
 wickedness he has done. The younger brother of 
 a man of station and wealth, he had set out in life 
 in an honourable profession, with powerful friends, 
 and sufficient fortune, but the latter had been 
 soon spent, and the former soon alienated. One 
 vice followed another, and with a combination of 
 headstrong violence and shrewd cunning, he had
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 265 
 
 avenged himself upon the connexions who had 
 abandoned him, both by using their names to pro- 
 cure the means of his own gratification, and by 
 rendering their relationship with him a disgrace 
 to themselves. Through many a long afternoon 
 he had amused his young companion with tales 
 of what he had done in former years ; of the duels 
 he had fought, and the honest men he had slain 
 to shield himself from the consequences of other 
 deeds ; ay, and of the tricks and devices he had 
 used to make the shot take effect, and to anticipate 
 the fire of his adversary. It was all true, too true, 
 and yet he boasted of it ! Then he spoke of those 
 whom he had swindled, and of all the cunning 
 arts he had used to cheat and rob without calling 
 on his head the arm of the law ; and many a wild 
 adventure and narrow escape was told between, 
 which, seasoned with wit and eloquence, for he 
 possessed both, and gilt with jest and sophistry, 
 for he spared neither, were full of interest to his 
 hearer. 
 
 The effect upon the mind of Alfred Latimer was 
 what might be expected. It was not to incline 
 him to follow exactly the same course ; for the 
 difference between the two characters marked out 
 a separate path for each ; but it was to sweep 
 away every vestige of principle. He went into 
 that foul place, reckless, vehement, full of fiery
 
 266 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 passions and dangerous weaknesses, but with 
 some hesitations and some doubts. In ten days 
 his doubts and hesitations were gone ; virtue was 
 his scorn, honour was a name, and pleasure of one 
 kind or another was the only good. 
 
 He had been telling his companion his cir- 
 cumstances and situation ; and, oh ! how merrily 
 the other laughed to hear that he had suffered 
 himself to be refused money by a wealthy 
 mother. 
 
 " Why, what would you have done ? " de- 
 manded Alfred Latimer, somewhat ashamed of 
 his ignorance in the eyes of his companion. 
 
 " Done ! " exclaimed Captain Tankerville. 
 " There were twenty things to be done. Just 
 write a cheque in her name for the money she 
 ought to have given you ; or, if you did not like 
 that, supply yourself from the plate chest. We 
 should always make our relations do what they 
 ought to do — it is a duty we owe them. Or, if you 
 did not like to do that, why not come up to town, 
 and order three or four thousand pounds' worth 
 of things in her name — have them sent home to 
 your lodging, and transfer them to a fence or 
 a pawnbroker ? I could tell you a dozen ways of 
 making fathers and mothers, and brothers and 
 uncles perform the duties of relationship;" and 
 again he laughed merrily.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 267 
 
 While it was still ringing upon his lip the door 
 opened, and the master of the house put in his 
 head, saying, — " Mr. Latimer, here is a gentle- 
 man wishes to see you;" and, looking towards 
 the door, the young man beheld Mr. Morton 
 coming forward from the top of the stairs.
 
 268 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Morton looked round with an expression of 
 countenance not altogether easy to describe. 
 There was pain in it and surprise ; but as his 
 eyes rather wandered round the miserable room 
 he was entering, than turned with any feeling of 
 commiseration towards its tenants it was easy to 
 perceive that his feelings were more general than 
 particular ; and, in truth, he v/as at that moment 
 asking himself — " Does the law of England 
 really and truly consign unhappy wretches who 
 have contracted debts, which — often by the result 
 of accident or misfortune — they cannot pay, to 
 such an abode as this, to be preyed upon by a set 
 of harpies who wring from them all that they 
 have left? The old punishment — if ever there 
 was such a one — of throwing a man into a pit 
 full of serpents was better than this." 
 
 Whatever were his reflections, Alfred Latimer 
 started up to receive him with a very different air 
 and manner from those which he usually bore.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 269 
 
 Both vice and virtue have their self-confidence ; 
 each man, if he be not of a very weak and ner- 
 vous temperament, acquires a particular sort of 
 courage, in whatever path he chooses to pursue, 
 by the time he has reached a certain point ; and 
 the young prisoner had by this time become 
 sufficiently familiarized with his situation to feel 
 not in the least ashamed of it. The most dexter- 
 ous of pickpockets is self; but he follows a very 
 different course from other gentlemen of his pro- 
 fession, and under his guidance we take our 
 faults and follies out of our own pocket without 
 at all perceiving the theft, and put them into 
 other people's; and by this pleasant assistance 
 Alfred Latimer had already laid upon his 
 mother's shoulders the whole blame of his having 
 found his way into a spunging-house — nay, 
 more, of all the consequences that were to flow 
 thence to himself and others. He knew not, he 
 had no notion what he might hereafter do in the 
 way of wickedness ; but it was already predeter- 
 mined in his own mind, that whatever it was, it 
 would be Mrs. Charlton's fault, from having 
 exposed him to the contamination of such society. 
 " Why the devil did she not pay the money?" 
 he asked himself; " and then she would have 
 saved me all this." 
 
 " Ah, Morton," he said, " this is very kind of
 
 270 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 you, to come to see me ; for I suppose you are 
 not grabbed yourself ; and so that must be your 
 motive." 
 
 " That alone," replied the young gentleman. 
 " I wish to have a few minutes conversation with 
 you, however, when you are at leisure." 
 
 " Oh ! by-and-by will do," said Mr. Latimer ; 
 " come sit down, and take some punch." 
 
 " No, I thank you," answered Morton ; " I 
 never drink punch. But, by your good leave, I 
 should be glad to speak with you soon, as my time 
 is very short." 
 
 " Well, you can speak now," replied Alfred 
 Latimer. " This is only my friend. Captain 
 Tankerville. — Captain Tankerville, my friend, Mr. 
 Morton." 
 
 Captain Tankerville rose and bowed with a cold 
 air ; for it is wonderful how soon men, much ac- 
 customed to the world, contrive to sej)arate the 
 classes of mankind one from the other, — the wheat 
 from the chaff, — and appropriate to themselves 
 that which may serve their purposes, and none 
 other. In an instant Captain Tankerville per- 
 ceived that Morton was a man neither to be gulled 
 nor to be led — neither to be his dupe nor his com- 
 panion. It was not worth while either to be civil 
 or to be rude, however ; and, after having received 
 a slight inclination of the head in return for his
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 271 
 
 bow, Alfred's fellow- captive sat down again, re- 
 solved not to quit the field without necessity. 
 
 Morton cut the matter very short, saying-, 
 " What I have to communicate, Latimer, must be 
 in private ; for it refers not only to your own affairs, 
 which you might not care about entering upon 
 before this gentleman, but to those of others, who 
 might not judge such a course expedient. Can 
 we not go into another room ?" 
 
 "Oh dear, no!" said Captain Tankerville, rising 
 at this strong hint. " If I am in the way I will 
 beat my retreat. Good-evening for the present, 
 Latimer ;" and he walked towards the door. The 
 young gentleman accompanied him so far, saying 
 something about his conference not being long, 
 and then returned to Morton. 
 
 " Well, what news from Mallington, Morton ?" 
 asked he, ladling himself out a little of the punch 
 that remained. " I suppose my good mother has 
 heard of this affair, though I did not tell her. I 'd 
 have died upon prison-allowance rather than have 
 written one word to her." 
 
 " There you are very wrong," replied Morton, 
 in a grave tone. " Whatever may be Mrs. Charl- 
 ton's faults, want of affection for you is not amongst 
 them ; and it is at her request that I came to town 
 last night." 
 
 " But has she sent the money ?" demanded her
 
 272 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 excellent son. *' What the devil is the use of 
 sending yoii, unless she has sent the money." 
 
 " That she could not do," replied Morton, feel- 
 ing his cheek begin to get a little warm at the 
 perfect heartlessness which the youth displayed. 
 " Mrs. Charlton, in her tenderness for you, and in 
 the distress of mind which your situation occa- 
 sioned, was induced to lay before me the state of 
 her affairs in a manner which has proved to me, 
 and would prove to you, the utter impossibility of 
 her paying your debts. She has not the money ! 
 She has only her jointure, and — nay, do not inter- 
 rupt me till I have done — and that I am sorry to 
 say has been encumbered very considerably in 
 consequence of her having kept up since Mr. 
 Charlton's death the same establishment which 
 existed during his life. Your debts, it seems, 
 amount to nearly a thousand pounds, and it would 
 require the sacrifice of several years* income for 
 her to pay those and her own also." 
 
 Alfred Latimer leaned his head upon his hand, 
 evidently not liking at all the idea of being lefi a 
 prisoner for years. All his dreams of pleasure 
 and adventure when he should have ree-ained his 
 liberty were put to flight ; and after having re- 
 mained for some moments in silence, he said, 
 " Well, then, I suppose I must go into the Bench 
 and get the rules."
 
 THE STEP-MOTIIEPv. 273 
 
 Morton purposel}' made no reply ; and tlie next 
 instant his young- companion looked up laughing, 
 as if a new thought had struck him, exclaiming, 
 "Morton, I have a better plan than that. You get 
 your marriage over with Louisa as soon as possible, 
 and then lend me the money out of her fortune.'* 
 
 " My marriage with Miss Charlton ! " said 
 Morton, gravely, and in a tone of surprise, for he 
 had entertained no idea that Alfred Latimer had 
 so completely settled the matter for him in his 
 own mind. " My dear sir, you are speaking of a 
 matter as determined which is very far from be- 
 ing so. Doubtless Miss Charlton is worthy of the 
 affection of persons much higher in station and 
 fortune than myself ; but" — 
 
 "Pooh — pooh, nonsense, Morton," replied 
 Alfred Latimer. " Do you suppose I have not got 
 my eyes? You are in love with Louisa, and 
 Louisa with you, and my mother has made up her 
 mind that you shall marry her ; but," he added, 
 after thinking for a moment, " I should not 
 wonder if she made you pay for it. You know 
 Louisa when she is of age can marry any one she 
 likes, with my mother's consent: but if that con- 
 sent be not given, and she does marry, the whole 
 property goes to my respectable parent, and I 
 don't know her if she does not make whoever 
 does gain her consent come down pretty roundly." 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER, 
 
 This was a ray of light to Edmoiid Morton, 
 which served to illuminate at once every dark 
 point in Mrs. Charlton's conduct towards him. 
 Art seldom veils itself so completely as to pass 
 altogether undetected, unless the passions or 
 foibles of those on whom it is practised lend it 
 very vigorous aid. Such had not been the case 
 with Morton, for though no man is without some 
 touch of vanity, his was not of that degree or kind 
 which could make him believe that Mrs. Charlton 
 had been so completely fascinated with his good 
 mien or high qualities as to make him her own 
 frequent guest, and her step-daughter's constant 
 companion, without some secret motive. Never- 
 theless, to set up her husband's child for sale to 
 the best bidder, was something almost too gross 
 and shameless to be believed. 
 
 " Come, come Morton," said his companion, 
 after indulging him in a reverie for a few minutes, 
 " whatever you may have expected with Louisa, it 
 would be well worth your while to give my mother 
 a good sum — ay, even as much as half her fortune 
 — and the old lady cannot well ask more, I should 
 think. You would then get four thousand a year 
 at least, and a very beautiful girl into the bargain 
 — ay, and the best girl in all the world too." 
 
 Morton listened to him to the end, and then 
 replied, "I think, Latimer, you mistake your
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 275 
 
 mother's views, and I am quite sure that you mis- 
 take me altogether. You will find that, whatever 
 may be my feelings,,! am not one to make a 
 matter of merchandise of Miss Charlton's hand ; 
 that you may depend upon. But to return to 
 other matters. There is an easier, a more honour- 
 able way of relieving you from the difficulties that 
 press upon you, and of delivering you speedily 
 from this place. I informed your mother that I 
 thought I could arrange the matter, and during 
 this morning I have ascertained the fact." 
 
 " Ay ! " said his companion ; " how is that ? " 
 
 *' The money can be borrowed," replied Morton, 
 " on the property which is settled upon you. My 
 solicitor has a client who will advance it." 
 
 "Ay, at ten per cent., I suppose," said the youth; 
 " and eat up the whole income with interest." 
 
 " No, not so," answered Morton, '-at four per 
 cent. I would not meddle with any usurous 
 transaction, and I have told him to have ready 
 twelve hundred pounds, in case you like to take 
 advantage of the proposal. Then, with all debts 
 paid, you will have somewhat more than two 
 hundred pounds to go on upon, and I trust that 
 with the somewhat severe warning you have re- 
 ceived, you will see the necessity of limiting your 
 expenses by your income." 
 
 " Whatever I do, you are a capital fellow^ 
 T 2
 
 276 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Morton," replied Alfred Latimer, " and have set 
 the matter risht for me a devil of a deal better 
 than Tankerville would have done. He would 
 have had me set these creditors at defiance, take 
 the rules, and live jollily upon what I have got." 
 
 " Perhaps he might wish to help you to spend 
 it," observed Morton. 
 
 " Take care what you say of him," exclaimed 
 Alfred Latimer, laughing ; " he is a fire-eating 
 fellow, and has shot several men upon lighter 
 words than those." 
 
 " So I have heard," answered Morton, calmly ; 
 " but I am not very much afraid of such things, 
 and gentlemen before they fight always take care 
 that the persons whom they so honour are those 
 who are justified in requiring it." His tone and 
 look were perfectly composed, but proud — almost 
 haughty,; and Alfred Latimer was a good deal 
 struck with an air which he had never before 
 seen his companion assume. " Were it not so," 
 continued Morton, " every blackleg and sharper 
 would carry all questions at the pistol's muzzle. 
 But what do you say to my suggestion ? Does it 
 meet your views ?" 
 
 " Oh, of course it does," replied Latimer, " and 
 the sooner I am out of this cursed place the 
 better. I declare the room stinks of broken 
 mahogany."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 277 
 
 " Rum-puncli and cigars," added Morton, with 
 a faint smile. " However, you cannot quit it to- 
 night. To-morrow we must get you bail; and 
 then I will leave you to settle the rest with my 
 solicitor, for I have business that calls me back 
 to MaUington." 
 
 " What, have you not done sketching?" said 
 Alfred Latimer, with a gay laugh ; " but I shall 
 join you there as soon as all is arranged, for I 
 have some sketches to take, too, of objects as 
 pretty, to my eyes at least." 
 
 Morton was silent, for the words of Alfred 
 Latimer might have several senses ; but he could 
 hardly venture to take them in one honourable 
 to the speaker. " God grant," he said at length, 
 somewhat abruptly, " that some honourable 
 attachment may bring and fix you there. It 
 w^ould be the very best thing for you. However, 
 I will direct my solicitor to find you bail, and 
 will be with you about twelve to take you to his 
 office. So good-day to you, Latimer." 
 
 They shook hands, and Morton departed, leav- 
 ing Alfred Latimer in a deep fit of thought. 
 What was his mind revolving so earnestly ? Did 
 he feel grateful for the kindness he received? 
 Was he touched by the interest taken in his fate ? 
 Was he busy with good resolutions for the 
 future ? Alas ! no. His first question to himself
 
 278 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 was, — " Who the devil can this fellow be ? He 
 speaks as if he were the Prince of Wales. A 
 poor painter! — pooh! I should not wonder if 
 he were the son of some rich East Indian, who 
 has smothered a Begum, and brought over her 
 money chests. It is a capital country that India. 
 One can do very nearly what one likes there, and 
 knock about the black fellows at pleasure. I 
 should like to set up Sultan somewhere, and have 
 a seraglio ; " and laughing at his own thoughts, 
 he went down to the room below, and called up 
 Tankerville to spend the rest of the night.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 279 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 In a street not far from the inns of court, 
 though not exactly within their solemn precincts 
 — a little more airy and cheerful than those dark 
 recesses of the law, but still smelling strong of 
 red tape and blue bags — are numerous houses 
 inhabited by solicitors, whose doors, like those of 
 a place to which in some respects they bear a 
 considerable resemblance (inasmuch as those who 
 once get into them have a difficulty in getting 
 out again, and are pretty well tormented while 
 they are in) stand ever open to receive the poor 
 sinners whom fate or folly lead to enter. One of 
 the best and cleanest houses in this street, was 
 number forty-three, but yet the passage by which 
 one entered would have puzzled CEdipus if the 
 Sphynx had asked when it was washed ; and in 
 the midst, just beyond a large door-mat, which 
 appeared to have been placed there to prevent 
 people from carrying any of the dirt away with
 
 280 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 them, there was — nay, there is, for it is im- 
 possible it can have been removed — a large 
 black stain of ink which must have been spilt 
 nearly at the same time as the blood of David 
 Rizzio on the floor of sad Holyrood, that store- 
 house of tragedies. At about ten o'clock on the 
 morning- succeeding the day of Morton's visit to 
 Alfred Latimer, a gentleman mounted on a 
 handsome bay horse, stopped at the door of 
 number forty-three, and instantly a groom rode 
 up to take his rein. 
 
 Dismounting slowly, he entered the passage, 
 and walked on to a room at the end ; and 
 opening the said door he found himself in the 
 presence of eight or nine clerks, shut up in boxes 
 or pens. He was not the least abashed, however, 
 and when the head common-law clerk advanced 
 from the stall, with a sweet smile, the gentleman 
 only inquired whether Mr. Quatterly had yet 
 arrived ? 
 
 The clerk assured him that Mr. Quatterly had 
 been there for an hour ; and, without more ado, 
 Mr. Morton, for he it was, walked up the stairs, 
 and opened a door on the first floor to the left. 
 Within was another door covered with green 
 baize, impervious to wind and sound, and it also 
 opened under the young gentleman's hand, dis- 
 closing a comfortable room within, ornamented
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 281 
 
 with a large table, covered over with innumer- 
 able packets of papers, all tied up and labelled ; 
 a large book-case, filled with books, in brown 
 calf, all looking so like each other that they 
 might have been taken for one family ; and an 
 elderly gentleman, besides sundry chairs and a 
 lamp, the flame of which, like that on Vesta's 
 altar, was kept ever burning by certain virgins, 
 who lived in the penetralia of the temple. The 
 elderly gentleman at the table, Mr. Quatterly, 
 or, as his letters generally bore his style and title, 
 Timothy Quatterly, Esquire, had passed his 
 meridian by several years, being now fifty-eight, 
 if not fifty-nine. To see him sitting one would 
 have said he was six foot high ; to see him stand- 
 ing one soon perceived that he was not more 
 than five foot seven. The upper part was large, 
 round, and bulky ; the lower part minute enough 
 to- make an almost ludicrous contrast with the 
 rest. Nature, in fact, having been called in a 
 hurry from South America, had brought the 
 superstructure of an unfinished Patagonian with 
 her, and lighting down in Lapland had clapped 
 it on to the legs of a dwarf. This disproportion, 
 as we shall soon have to show, affected both mind 
 and body ; but first, let us look at his face, 
 reader. See how round, and smooth, and almost 
 soft it seems, with its rosy cheeks and its little
 
 282 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 nose. Gibbon himself, notwithstanding Madame 
 da DefFand's terrible mistake, had never such a 
 pair of cheeks as that; and then those merry- 
 little twinkling black eyes, with something both 
 of high manly sagacity in them and of childlike 
 fun, how they peep out from under the thin eye- 
 brows. You see he is as bald, too, as a haddock, 
 except just over the ears, and in the fat back of 
 his neck, where the gray hair flows away in a 
 pigtail. He is a stout man, too — rather too 
 stout, inclined to be a little corpulent, yet active. 
 Then his clothing is somewhat peculiar : a black 
 coat powdered on the collar, a neckerchief as white 
 as snow, a white waistcoat without a speck, 
 though somewhat yellowish from London wash- 
 ing ; but those drab knee-breeches, and those 
 grey worsted stockings! — surely that is not in 
 keeping, Mr. Quatterly. But perhaps he may 
 consider his legs unworthy of their trunk, and 
 treat them accordingly ; or is it that from their 
 littleness he regards them more tenderly, and wraps 
 them in all that is warmest. That is probably 
 the right solution of the enigma ; and I declare 
 the man has got a pair of silver buckles in his 
 small shoes. 
 
 Such was, such is Timothy Quatterly, Esq., in 
 outward appearance, and in mind there are pecu- 
 liarities also. That large head contains a vast
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 283 
 
 quantity of law, and a good deal of mirth — gay, 
 simple, almost infantine fun. There is shrewd 
 good sense, too, within. He is not a man to be 
 taken in — to be cheated, bamboozled, done ; and 
 yet he is as good-humoured a creature as any upon 
 earth, ay, and benevolent too, notwithstanding his 
 being a lawyer. -In fact, he is a lusus naturce: for 
 what with erudition, law, merriment, good-nature, 
 kindness of heart, keenness of mind, activity, 
 shoulders, and legs, there is quite enough of him 
 to make two men, and very tolerable men too. 
 
 But he was somewhat wayward in his whims ; 
 and though he could occasionally show that he 
 was possessed of wit that would have shamed 
 many a practised compounder of smart sayings, 
 yet he was fond of a pun — barbarously fond of a 
 pun ; and, let it be remarked, that we use the word 
 barbarously discreetly, and with due reverence; 
 for though no barbarians that have ever yet been 
 heard of were known to love that peculiar sort of 
 tea-and-toast witticism, called a pun, being always 
 very sedate and serious people, and much more 
 reasonable than civilised nations, yet they have a 
 spice of cruelty in them, and so had Mr. Quatterly ; 
 for no sooner did he discover that any pompous 
 and magniloquent man, who fancied his grave say- 
 ings were worthy of profound attention, hated a 
 "run, especially uttered by another man, than he
 
 284 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 set upon him, and, with an overpowering torrent 
 of the abhorred jest, overwhelmed his stories, 
 broke through his arguments, swamped his con- 
 clusions, and turned all his eloquence to farce ; — 
 there was no resisting him, for resistance only in- 
 creased his cruelty and his fluency. With other 
 persons he was more moderate ; and in conversa- 
 tion with any one who did not rouse the spirit of 
 perversity within him, but smiled at even a stale 
 jest or far-fetched illustration, he would be tender- 
 hearted, and content himself with shadowing forth 
 his meaning, when he did not choose to speak it 
 plainly, with many a nursery rhyme, or school-boy 
 joke, always brought in quaintly, and sometimes 
 in its very simplicity judiciously. Thus, there 
 seemed two parts in his mind as well as in his 
 body ; one full of power, activity, and vigour — 
 erudite, keen, perspicuous, and resolute ; the other 
 playful, gay, malicious, and full of fun, but, like 
 his little legs, carrying all the rest lightly over 
 various slippery and uneven paths. 
 
 Such was the gentleman in whose presence Mr. 
 Morton now appeared ; and, when the latter en- 
 tered the room, Mr. Quatterly was looking steadily 
 at the shagreen case of a pair of spectacles which 
 lay upon the table before him. 
 
 " Ah ! good morning, sir ; good morning," he 
 said, as soon as he beheld Morton, at the same
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 285 
 
 time rising and putting a chair for liim, though, 
 as he moved about with a light step, he seemed so 
 top-heavy that it was hardly possible not to think 
 every moment he would toddle over. " Be seated, 
 my dear sir, be seated. What news from his Ma- 
 jesty's country seat in Surrey? You saw your 
 lost mutton, I suppose, last night. Pray, did you 
 find him shorn to your hand, as, according to all 
 rules — and those of the King's Bench especially 
 — he ought to be, though the fleece of those who 
 get in there one would think were hardly worth 
 plucking." 
 
 " There are always persons quite ready, my dear 
 sir," replied Morton, with a smile, " to gather up 
 the gleanings which more legitimate husbandmen 
 have let fall." 
 
 " A cut at the lawyers ! " cried Mr. Quatterly, 
 " that's unkind ; that's unfair. ^ Nemo repentefuit 
 turpissimusJ It takes five years to make an 
 attorney, hey 1 I know what you mean. But, 
 pray do not call us all husbandmen. I have 
 nothing of the husband in me, though I think I 
 know some one who has ; — ha ! ha ! ha ! — ha ! ha ! 
 ha!— ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 There was a merriment, a joviality in his laugh 
 that was not to be resisted ; and Morton joined in 
 somewhat more quietly, adding, as soon as the 
 cachinnation of the lawyer w^ould allow of his
 
 286 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 being heard — " But, my good friend, have you 
 got the deed prepared as far as possible ? for 
 I would fain have it settled at once." 
 
 " Settled!" said the solicitor; " he is thinking 
 of the settlements already. How these young 
 men's wits do get inflamed with matrimony as 
 soon as the spark is blown into a blaze — that 's 
 not a pun, mind you — it 's a fine light of imagina- 
 tion beautifully expressed ; for though you may 
 be a spark, and a gay spark too, yet you have 
 not shown yourself easily fanned into the neces- 
 sary state of combustion." 
 
 " But an answer — an answer, my dear sir," 
 said Morton. " Is this deed ready, as far as may 
 be ? for I wish to carry the young man out of the 
 temptations of London as soon as may be." 
 
 " Pooh ! leave him alone, and he '11 come home, 
 and most likely bring a fat tail behind him," 
 answered the lawyer, having recourse to one of 
 his favourite illustrations. " The temptations of 
 London ! Did ever one hear a sane man talk of 
 such things ? I never found any temptation in 
 London. All mine have been in the country. 
 By the way, I hope you have thought of me 
 this year. I must have a pop at the birds, 
 and you, or your late father, have always pro- 
 vided me." 
 
 " Oh, yes!" replied Morton, " you shall have
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 287 
 
 enough. Come down to me at Mallington, and 
 I Trill give you enough to do." 
 
 " To draw the settlement, hey ?" cried Mr.Quat- 
 terly, with a new burst of laughter ; " but from 
 what I hear, you have already bagged the best of 
 the game there before the season, you poacher. 
 But I '11 come, and if I leave you a single cock 
 pheasant my name's not Quatterly. Can draw 
 the settlements after dinner, fall asleep over them, 
 send them up to Bell, get an opinion that nobod}^ 
 on earth can read, and leave a whole generation of 
 law-suits for the benefit of my clerks and their 
 children. Must take care of the poor boys in 
 the office, you know. But come, I see you are 
 impatient. Now to business. What does the 
 young fellow say? That is the first question. 
 I have known young dogs so fond of that kennel, 
 that nothing would get them out of it, and there 
 is no use of drawing deeds unless one is sure they 
 will be signed." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, I told you I was sure," 
 replied Morton, in a tone of vexation ; " he will 
 sign it willingly — he was transported at the very 
 idea." 
 
 " 'No, no, no — not transported yet!" cried Mr. 
 Quatterly; "soon may be ! for aught you or I know. 
 He 's on the high road, it would seem ; and tak- 
 ing the high road is one step to transportation, if
 
 288 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 not to the gallows. He 's in a spunging-liouse, I 
 think you said. No fear of his not being well 
 cleaned out, then, and fit for white-washing. 
 Had lie got any one with him ? — a poor parson, 
 who had spent too much in gin-and-water, and 
 seven children, or anything of that sort ; or a 
 maiden lady of nine-and-thirty, who had been 
 ruined by lawyers and sal volatile ? Those are the 
 sort of companions that make a man transported 
 to get out." 
 
 " No, indeed," answered Morton, ; " he had 
 with him one Captain Tankerville, a very danger- 
 ous person, I believe." 
 
 " Oh, the villain!" cried Mr. Quatterly ; " if 
 he 's in, it is, indeed, high time to get the other 
 out. If he carried in with him a single virtue, or 
 a half-crown piece, that fellow will pick his pocket 
 of it. But to set your mind at ease, I sat up last 
 night for half an hour, and drew up a little me- 
 morandum, as good as a deed, which one of the 
 clerks is just now writing out. It will be done 
 before twelve, and you can pack him up in a 
 hamper as soon as it is signed, and send him off 
 to Mallington by the night coach, taking care to 
 put him in head foremost, and write upon the 
 other side, ' Keep this side up ! ' it is his only 
 chance of having his brain turned right again." 
 
 " But, my good friend, we must contrive to get
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 289 
 
 bail for him before I can bring him here," said 
 Morton. 
 
 " Why, bail him yourself, or bring him in the 
 sheriff's custody," said Mr. Quatterly. " My 
 name will make them all compliance ; but, I 
 forgot — your mystery — your mystery ! — and, me- 
 thinks, you forgpt too. If you come with him 
 here, you will have your name shouted from 
 clerk to clerk to split the welkin. That will never 
 do. Let me see;" and turning to a book with 
 two brass clasps, he read : — " Mr. Tvvistleton at 
 eleven — Johnny Dunmow at three — Sir Arthur 
 M'More at half-past. Well, I can go to him at 
 half-past eleven, for Twistleton only wants to 
 borrow fifteen thousand pounds on a mortgage in 
 the moon. That 's a property easily conveyed, 
 and then I can go to the lad myself. You can 
 meet me there, for he might prove refractory 
 about leaving me to settle with the creditors, and 
 then, as in the ring, it is as well to have a 
 backer." 
 
 " But he cannot get out without the creditors 
 being paid, or having security," replied Morton. 
 
 " Oh ! people get out wonderfully," answered 
 Mr. Quatterly ; " and as to security, there is 
 nothing so safe as a hackney-coach and a ten 
 pound note, but one sometimes breaks down, and 
 the others turn out forged. However, it is as well 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 not to bail him at all, for then he must either 
 "both sign and pay, or remain where he is, but 
 you will never get your money, I can tell you, for 
 his mother has the property for life." 
 
 " The loss will not be great," replied Morton, 
 *' and I shall be well satisfied if we succeed in 
 rescuing him." 
 
 " And winning the fair lady," added Mr. Quat- 
 terly. "Well, Tommy Tucker turned a Turk 
 for twopence ; and, after all, it 's a much more 
 sensible thing to turn tomfool for a pretty girl, 
 though, doubtless, the said Thomas Tucker, who 
 turned Turk as aforesaid, looked to have a rever- 
 sionary interest in certain Circassians of which 
 his convertor was seized and possessed, as well as 
 the mere consideration of twopence of lawful 
 money of Great Britain, anything hereinbefore 
 contained to the contrary notwithstanding, and 
 so good-bye till a quarter to twelve."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 291 
 
 ' CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Alfred Latimer and his clear new-found friend, 
 Captain Tankerville, sat at their breakfast at 
 about eleven o'clock, and the table was covered 
 in a way that the drawing-room of the spunging- 
 house seldom saw. What a curious sensation 
 that very collocation " drawing-room — of a 
 spunging-house" gives. Perhaps nothing on 
 earth brings forth the painful points in any 
 painful subject more than when some image is 
 accidentally combined with it to which we have 
 been accustomed to attach ideas of pleasure. 
 The drawing-room of a spunging-house! The 
 drawing-room of a prison ! The place where we 
 have been accustomed to spend pleasant hours, to 
 enjoy our allotted portion of relaxation with 
 those most dear to us, the name of that j^lace 
 connected with a prison ! — with suffering and 
 sorrow, and want and captivity ! What a con- 
 trast in that strange combination ! However, 
 u 2
 
 292 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 there tliey sat ; the money which Latimer had got 
 for his horse was not yet gone ; and with the true 
 spirit of his class of men, he thouglit that as 
 he was soon to be free and have somewhat more 
 than two hundred pounds in his pocket, it mat- 
 tered not how speedily the sum he had was 
 spent. He had therefore invited Captain Tan- 
 kerville to breakfast, and had ordered and paid 
 for all sorts of things — broiled ham and fish, 
 coffee and tea, muffins and rolls, sweatmeats and 
 honey. The Cerberus of the house, at the fii*st 
 mention of his wants and wishes, had divined, 
 from long experience, that the gentleman who 
 had visited his prisoner the night before had come 
 to announce his speedy liberation, and he con- 
 sequently determined to make the most of his 
 time. He got everything that was required, 
 therefore, with great promptitude, and charged 
 him three times the value for all. Never were 
 such dear eggs set down upon a table ; never did 
 York or Westphalia produce such extravagant 
 ham ; never did a fishmonger ask such a price 
 for fish. But it was then, and is in a degree 
 now, a part of the law of England that all its 
 officials should have a privilege of skinning the 
 unfortunate, and trading in the follies of the 
 foolish. It may be a good part of the law, but I 
 do not see the morality thereof quite clearly.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 293 
 
 Alfred Latimer had told his evil counsellor 
 almost all that had taken place between him and 
 Mr. Morton. He had not, indeed, told all, for 
 Louisa's name had never been mentioned. There 
 was something so pure, so sweet, so good in the 
 very idea of the sister of his boyhood that, bad as 
 he was, and hardened as he was growing, he 
 shrunk from the very mention of her existence in 
 the presence of one whom he instinctively felt to 
 be coarse in mind, and gross in habit of thought. 
 
 " So," said Captain Tankerville, with the slight- 
 est possible sneer upon his lip, " this Mr. Morton, it 
 seems, wants to take you back and tie you to your 
 mother's apron string again. If I were you, I 
 wouldn't go ; I 'd stop here in London as soon as 
 I had got the money, if it were only just to show 
 them that they couldn't make a baby or a fool of 
 me any more." 
 
 " So I should," answered Alfred Latimer, 
 laughing, " but I have other things that draw me 
 to Mallington besides my mother's apron string. 
 I 've got some business to do there, Captain ; but 
 as soon as that is done I shall come back again." 
 
 " Well, I wish to Heaven !" said Captain Tan- 
 kerville, " that while you are getting this money 
 you would get fifty pounds for me. I can pay you 
 in three months, but in the mean time it 's a great 
 bore to be kept in for thirty pounds all that time."
 
 294 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " Oil ! I '11 lend you the fifty pounds," replied 
 Alfred Latimer, " for there will be more than 
 two hundred after paying all my debts, which I 
 am to have to start me again." 
 
 " You are a devilish good fellow, Latimer," said 
 his companion, "and I 'm very much obliged to 
 you; so much obliged, indeed, that I '11 just give 
 you a hint which you may take or not as you like. 
 Here you are to get twelve hundred pounds. It 
 is nobody's giving to you, but raised upon your 
 own property ; and so it is your own, therefore 
 you may do what you like with it. Now, Timson, 
 the officer, tells me that all the detainers against 
 you do not amount to two hundred pounds, and 
 if I were you I 'd just pay them off, put the other 
 thousand in my pocket, take a start for the con- 
 tinent, and let the rest of the scoundrels who 
 have bills against me whistle for the money. 
 Beyond doubt they have cheated you out of two- 
 thirds of the amount, and I 'd see them all 
 
 before I paid them." 
 
 " Oh ! they have cheated me enough, I know," 
 said Alfred Latimer, " and what you propose isn't 
 a bad plan. I could easily run down from Mal- 
 lington to Southampton," he continued musing, 
 *' and get over to Havre." 
 
 *' To be sure you could," answered Captain 
 Tankcrville. " I did it once myself three or four
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 295 
 
 years ago. Instead of going over to Calais, where 
 I tliouglit they would be on the look out for me, 
 I went round to Southampton and got clear off. 
 The fact was I had been called out by Green, of 
 the Dragoons. He was a devilish good shot, I 
 knew, and so was I. Now I, being the man called 
 out, had by right the first fire ; but my fool of a 
 second gave that up, as they are getting into the 
 habit of doing, and agreed that we should fire 
 together. Both Green and I looked out sharply 
 for the word ; and I am sure enough that we 
 should both have gone head over heels together, 
 but somehow or another I fired just half a second 
 first, before the word was well out of Fitzherbert's 
 mouth. I suppose I was a little nervous" — and 
 he laughed with a low, unpleasant, meaning laugh. 
 " However, they swore that I had fired before my 
 time, and as Green was as dead as a door-nail it 
 was expedient that I should take myself off as fast 
 as possible. The two seconds, however, kept their 
 own counsel, thanks to the law, which makes the 
 seconds principals if the matter is brought in 
 murder, so the affair was hushed up, but the two 
 fools would never speak to me afterwards, just as 
 if I were o-oino; to stand still and be shot throu2:li 
 
 DO o 
 
 the head. Green would not have gone a bit the 
 less for that, so it was just as well to take care of 
 myself."
 
 296 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 What might have been Alfred Latimer's reply- 
 to this very candid communication cannot be told ; 
 for just as the other brought it to a conclusion, 
 the Cerberus came up announcing Mr. Quatterly; 
 and the young gentleman had only time to ask 
 " Who the devil 's he ? " when the large head and 
 shoulders of the worthy solicitor appeared, with 
 the little legs walking busily underneath them. 
 He looked at Captain Tankerville with a sardonic 
 grin, his small black eyes sparkling unpleasantly, 
 and the corners of his capacious mouth turning 
 down. 
 
 *' Ah, captain ! " he said, "you here? You've 
 changed your lodging I see — you're right, you're 
 right — ' To fresh fields and pastures new.' " 
 
 *' Of course I did not come here willingly, sir," 
 replied Captain Tankerville, " but I shall soon be 
 out, that's one comfort." 
 
 " 'No, no, no," said Mr. Quatterly, " it may be 
 a come forth, but not a comfort, surely" — and he 
 laughed at his abominable pun — " but stay where 
 you are, stay where you are. The Surrey side is 
 best. Better air, even in King's-bench-walk than 
 Horsemonger-lane, captain." 
 
 " Sir, do you intend to insult me ? " asked the 
 other, with his brow darkening ; " if so I shall 
 know " — 
 
 " No, no, not at all," replied Mr. Quatterly,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 297 
 
 "not at all, captain. I'm a great coward;! never 
 fight — I 'm too big to fight; I never fought but 
 once, and that was with my fists. Didn't mean 
 anything unpleasant, but you know the place 
 where one last sees a man naturally recurs to one's 
 mind when next we meet him. You know my 
 way, and how I rattle on, and you should only 
 laugh at it— 'The little dog laughed,' you know, 
 ' to see such sport, though the dish ran away with 
 the spoon.' But this is Mr. Latimer, I suppose. 
 Sir, my business is with you." 
 
 " Well, then, Latimer, I will not interrupt your 
 business with this person," said Captain Tanker- 
 ville, with a very savage air ; and he walked out 
 of the room, finding the presence of Mr. Quatterly 
 by no means a relaxation. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " cried the good solicitor, sitting 
 down. '* Ha! ha ! ha ! Well, Mr. Latimer, adversity 
 does make us acquainted with strange bed-fellows. 
 But to business, sir. I wait upon you at the 
 desire of a client of mine, Edward Wilmot, Esq., 
 and another client of mine, Mr. Morton. The 
 one has a sum of money to lend, the other has 
 requested that it may be lent to you. He has ex- 
 plained the nature of the security ; and as the deed 
 cannot be properly drawn up for some time, I have 
 brought a little memorandum of agreement which 
 will serve the purpose in the interim, being un-
 
 298 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 willing to keep you in such a ])lace, and amongst 
 such a set of scamps a moment longer than is 
 necessary. I thought I should find Mr. Morton 
 here." 
 
 Mr. Latimer at once commenced inquiries 
 directed to find out how Mr. Quatterly intended 
 to pay the money ; but that gentleman informed 
 him that it would be requisite to pay all the de- 
 taining creditors in the first place, and then to 
 discharge the bills of all the others, a list of which 
 had been obtained from Mrs. Charlton, to whom 
 they had all at various times applied concerning 
 her son's debts. " That done," he said, " I will 
 hand over the balance to you." 
 
 Alfred Latimer, however, demurred to the pay- 
 ment of his debts by rny other hands than his 
 own, saying, " You do not think I should like to 
 be arrested again, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh de'ar, no ! " replied Mr. Quatterly ; •' not 
 at all, not at all. Can have no objection to your 
 paying them yourself; but you know, my dear sir, 
 the detainers must be discharged, or you cannot 
 get out." 
 
 "Yes, I know that," answered the young man; 
 " but it would look as if I could not be trusted, if 
 I were to have any one else pay the rest of the 
 people but myself." 
 
 " Very true — so it would, so it would," said the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 299 
 
 solicitor, wlio perfectly saw through the whole 
 manoeuvre, and suspected who had prompted it. 
 " Well, we will pay the detaining creditors first, 
 and then leave you to settle with the others. But 
 the sheriff's office must first be searched, and we 
 may as well have that done while we are waiting 
 for Morton. I wjll go and send the man below 
 to do it," and he walked out, and closed the door 
 behind him. 
 
 " Be so good," he said, as soon as he got into 
 the den below, and had closed that door too, " to 
 send round as fast as possible to all those persons 
 named in that list, and tell them, with my compli- 
 ments, to lodge detainers against Alfred Latimer, 
 Esq., for the amount of their bills before one 
 o'clock, or they won't be paid. Then, at half-past 
 one search the office, and come up and report. 
 Don't go to the people yourself, that would not 
 be regular. Send some one you can trust. Do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, Mr. Quatterly," replied the man, 
 winking his left eye, " I twig," and the solicitor 
 returned to the young gentleman above, and en- 
 tered into pleasant conversation with him. 
 
 " Airy here ! " he said, looking out of the 
 window ; " airy, Mr. Latimer ; and, doubtless, 
 good society." 
 
 "Why, you do not seem to think the only
 
 300 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 society I have got very pleasant," replied the 
 other, " if one may judge by the way you spoke to 
 Captain Tankerville." 
 
 " No offence meant, I can assure you, sir," re- 
 plied the lawyer ; " he has been twice accused of 
 swindling, it is true, and once of forgery — all 
 through a mistake, no doubt — all through a mis- 
 take ; but, nevertheless, character is a very funny 
 thing. It is very like a certain gentleman men- 
 tioned in history, and named Humpty Dumpty, 
 about whom there is this legend : — 
 
 * Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, 
 Humpty Dumpty got a great fall ; 
 All the king's horses and all the king's men 
 Cannot set Humpty Dumpty where he was again.' 
 
 And SO it is with a man's reputation, Mr. Latimer. 
 It takes a great many horses and a great many 
 men to set up a character once fallen ; friable 
 materials, sir, — friable materials — easily cracked, 
 and not easily mended." 
 
 Mr. Quatterly meant well, very well ; and had 
 Alfred Latimer been, as he supposed, a young- 
 man standing on the brink of evil, his observations 
 would have been as well directed as they were 
 meant ; but there is a particular point of moral 
 degradation where the sight of the dark gulf into 
 which vice plunges man is more dangerous than 
 serviceable, and that is when they are in it.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 301 
 
 Such was the state of Alfred Latimer. He 
 knew more of his own conduct than the man 
 who spoke, and his only reflection was, " Well, 
 then, there is no use of trying*. I 'm in for it, 
 and must go on." 
 
 While these thoughts were passing through 
 his mind, Mr. Morton was ushered in. After a 
 few minutes had passed, the solicitor seemed to 
 grow somewhat impatient, and inquired if Mr. 
 Latimer knew the amount of debts already 
 appearing against him in the sheriff"s office ? 
 
 The young gentleman answered boldly, " about 
 two hundred pounds." 
 
 Mr. Quatterly replied, " Oh ! if that is all, I 
 have money enough at my banker's to give 
 cheques for the amount ; if it had been much 
 more I must have gone home to get it. But this 
 fellow is so long that I do not know what to 
 do ; I shall be too late for my next appointment." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better go to your appoint- 
 ment, my good sir," answered Morton, " and re- 
 turn with the amount." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I had," said Mr. Quatterly ; 
 *' and I shall certainly return with a mount if I 
 have to climb these dreadful stairs again. It will 
 be better, too," he continued, looking at Morton, 
 *' because Mr. Latimer wishes to pay all the 
 other bills himself."
 
 302 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " Indeed !" said Morton, gravely. "I thought 
 you intended to return to Mallington at once, 
 Latimer?" 
 
 *' And so I do," replied the young gentleman, 
 sharply ; " but I intend to stay a day in town 
 first. There is no objection to that, I suppose." 
 
 " I have no right to object, though I am sorry 
 for it," answered Morton, gravely. 
 
 '* A letter, sir," said a dirty-faced, sallow- 
 gowned maid, putting a note into Mr. Latimer's 
 hands ; " eightpence, if you please." Those were 
 days when penny postage had not been invented, 
 and Alfred Latimer, paying the postage without 
 further inquiry, except how the letter came to be 
 so late, which was explained by the fact of its 
 having gone to his former lodging, looked at the 
 back as if the handwriting was strange to him. 
 
 Mr. Quatterly at the same time took his de- 
 parture, saying he would soon be back, and 
 Morton walked to the window to leave his com- 
 panion to read the epistle he had j ust received at 
 his ease. The contents, whatever they were, 
 seemed to produce a strange change in Alfred 
 Latimer, for, after having vented an oath, and 
 the exclamation, "That she shan't, by — !" he 
 began to walk up and down the room in a state 
 of great agitation. 
 
 " I say, Morton," he continued, after a pause.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 303 
 
 " that d — d coach does not start till nine, I think. 
 Would you mind joining me in a chaise 
 down ? " 
 
 " I cannot wait till to-morrow," replied his 
 companion, " otherwise I should be very happy." 
 
 " Ay, but I have changed my mind," said 
 Alfred Latimer,; " I shall go down to-day as soon 
 as this fellow returns. What a time he is ! Do 
 you mind starting at once ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Morton, a little embarrassed. 
 " I must, indeed, go home for an hour, but I will 
 rejoin you in that time, with a chaise, if you like." 
 
 " Well, do, do, there 's a good fellow," cried 
 Alfred Latimer. *' You can go and get ready at 
 once, if that 's all." 
 
 Morton smiled almost sadly, for he could con- 
 ceive no very good motive which could have 
 operated so sudden a change in a man of Alfred 
 Latimer's disposition ; but, agreeing to his pro- 
 posal, he took his departure, and left him alone. 
 The moment he was gone the young gentleman 
 hurried to his dirty bed-chamber, gathered to- 
 gether the few clothes he had with him, and 
 placed them in a portmanteau, which he had 
 brought from the lodgings where he had been 
 arrested. 
 
 At the end of that time there was a knock at 
 the street door, and the voice of the sheriffs-officer
 
 304 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 was heard speaking to his man as they entered 
 together, almost immediately succeeded by another 
 knock and the tones of Mr. Quatterly. The 
 sherifF's-officer and the solicitor then walked up 
 stairs together, and Mr. Latimer was called out of 
 his bed-room. 
 
 Now the officer was a very different personage 
 from his man — a very tall, thin, neat personage, 
 in a blue satin cravat, tied tight, and his voice was 
 sweet and complacent. " Happy to hear it 's all 
 arranged, Mr. Latimer," he said. " I have been 
 down to search the office, and find a few little 
 matters lodged this morning . Let me see, I '11 
 just run them up;" and, sitting down, he soon 
 made out an account, amounting to nine hundred 
 and seventy pounds, which, with costs, charges, 
 &:c. swelled the whole to about one thousand and 
 nine. 
 
 Alfred Latimer gazed with astonishment. — 
 " Why, Tankerville told me, Mr. Quincy," he 
 said, " that there was but two hundred." 
 
 " Ay, sir, that was the day before yesterday," 
 replied the officer. " These have come in since ;" 
 and he ran his finger down a long list at the bottom 
 of a paper he held in his hand. 
 
 " It does not matter, you know, my dear Mr. 
 Latimer," observed Mr. Quatterly, putting on a 
 pair of tortoise-shell spectacles. " As they were
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 306 
 
 all to be paid, it is better to get it all over at once ; 
 save you trouble, you know, and be sooner done. 
 There are few men who ever, like the man in the 
 moon, come down too soon to iind their way to 
 Norwich; and you'll have more time to amuse 
 yourself if you do stay in London till to-morrow.'* 
 " I am going down at once, sir," said Alfred 
 Latimer, in a sullen tone; " Mr. Morton is to 
 bring a chaise directly." 
 
 " Ay, a sensible man, Mr. Morton," rejoined 
 Mr. Quatterly ; " a very sensible, excellent man, 
 indeed. Few like him, sir; few like him. — But 
 now, Mr. Quincy, to business." 
 
 And that business was soon settled. The bills 
 were paid in full by Mr. Quatterly ; the costs in 
 part, for he thought fit to dock some excessive 
 charges; and the sheriff's officer knew his cha- 
 racter too well to make aught but faint resistance 
 in his own case, and contented himself with Mr. 
 Quatterly's engagement to pay the rest of the 
 amount, if it could be legally enforced, in the case 
 of others. 
 
 When all this was settled, the worthy solicitor 
 turned to Mr. Latimer, saying, " And now, sir, 
 there 's the chaise, I hear : Morton is the most 
 punctual man on earth — always to the tick of the 
 clock. And now, Mr. Latimer, after the little 
 expenses of the agreement, &:c., there is a sum due 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 to you of one hundred and — let me see — call it one 
 hundred and ninety pounds. We can settle any 
 other little matter afterwards, will you have it in 
 money or a cheque ?" 
 
 " All in money," answered Alfred Latimer ; 
 and Mr. Quatterly's pocket-book instantly dis- 
 gorged the amount. Morton was in the room a 
 moment after ; and though there was a little anger 
 in Alfred Latimer's heart at being frustrated in his 
 hopes of receiving the larger sum, yet he was even 
 more eager than ever to return to Mallington 
 without a moment's delay, and, as soon as it was 
 announced that he was free, he descended the 
 stairs, and sprang into the chaise, without giving 
 one thought or one word to Captain Tankerville. 
 Such are the friendships of the bad. The other 
 saw him depart from the window ; and, clenching 
 his fist, with a fearful oath, he exclaimed, " The 
 blackguard has bilked me ; but, curse me ! if I 
 don't do for him some day."
 
 THE STEP -MOT HER. 307 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The conversation of Morton, as they rolled along, 
 did Alfred Latimer more good than that of Mr. 
 Quatterly had done. Although, as we have hitherto 
 seen him, he had shown himself somewhat grave — 
 for there had been many thoughts and feelings of 
 deep interest in his heart and mind — yet he was 
 by no means constitutionally a sad or sombre man. 
 He was one of great powers of imagination ; but 
 those powers were disposed quite as often to exer- 
 cise themselves on gay as on serious subjects. He 
 was not the creature of impulse or of the moment; 
 but his mind dealt with things as he found them, 
 subjecting all to the influence of itself, but still not 
 putting forth its strength to throw a snow-ball as 
 it would have heaved a rock. There was ever, 
 indeed, in his gayest of moods, somewhat of thought 
 which showed that the stream ran deep beneath 
 the ripple, and in his most serious moments some- 
 X 2
 
 308 THE STEP-MOTIIEI?, 
 
 what of fancy, which evinced that the present cares 
 had brighter aspirations beyond them. 
 
 In the present instance, indeed, though from 
 much that had passed he had received a grave, 
 nay a sad impression, yet he strove to be cheerful, 
 and to force his thoughts from painful realities 
 and very dark anticipations, to the less stern and 
 gloomy objects which the passing scene presented. 
 And what a city is London for every suggestion that 
 the mind of man can desire— whether for bright 
 and cheerful, or for shadowy and desponding — with 
 its life and activity, its eagerness and its intense 
 worldliness ; its fierce passions, and its light ab- 
 surdities; its marvellous selfishness, and its still 
 more surprising benevolence ! There never was 
 anything — nay, not in Greece or Rome, nor even 
 in those wide deserted eastern plains that once 
 were the nest of cities thronged with life — any- 
 thing so wonderful as that great capital, in the 
 strangeness of its contrasts ; and yet, by what fine 
 and beautiful gradations, by what a magical soften- 
 ing of semi-tints, the strong lights and the dark 
 shades blend into each other ! 
 
 For three or four miles the journey of the tra- 
 vellers lay through the metropolis ; first through 
 that portion called the City, where the eternal 
 roll of wheels, and the everlasting movement of 
 interminable crowds deafened the ear and dazzled
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 309 
 
 the eye ; and yet never did the result of that 
 extraordinary combination of habit and of reason, 
 of law and of will, of good feeling and of self- 
 interest, which forms the great constraining bond 
 of society, appear more conspicuous in order and 
 propriety. There might be things to shock the 
 eye or to offend the ear — there might be incon- 
 veniences, quarrels, impediments ; but still the 
 human tide flowed on in cheerfulness and regu- 
 larity, still one made way for another, still the 
 savage in man's heart was overruled by the silent 
 inert power of the multitude, and the selfish eager- 
 ness of the few gave way to the sense of the many. 
 After that the chaise rolled on through what 
 is termed the more fashionable part of the town, 
 and the very desertion of the streets at that period 
 of the year sliowed that the travellers had entered 
 a quarter where another spirit reigned. Long 
 rows of houses with closed shutters — squares 
 with scarcely an inhabitant remaining in tlieni 
 (but some old servant left to keep the mansion in 
 order) presented themselves as they went on. 
 But even here were gradations marking the 
 narrow limits of fashion. First came the streets 
 of shops, not nearly so gay or so thronged as in a 
 more propitious time of the year ; the equipages 
 thundering no more along the pavement, the 
 footway uncrowded, and many of the master
 
 310 THE STEP-MOTHEU. 
 
 tradesmen themselves absent on some of those 
 expeditions to the sea side, which have made 
 foreigners believe that the English citizen, like 
 the anchovy, will not keep without pickling : 
 then the abodes of the higher classes, utterly- 
 vacant, or if not so, with blinds drawn down, and 
 every sign of absence, in the pitiful vanity of 
 being afraid of doing what others do not do, 
 then the mixed atmosphere, where the little ape 
 the great — affecting their follies without being 
 able to imitate their better qualities, and striving 
 to follow them in magnificence, without having 
 the means of equalling them in expense. 
 
 On all and each of these scenes Morton had 
 something to remark, and though his companion 
 was silent and morose, he persevered in trying to 
 lead him to reason and to think, believing that 
 exercise of mind is one of the best remedies for 
 mental maladies, as exercise of the limbs is for 
 those of the body. Nor was he altogether un- 
 successful ; for after having remained sullen for 
 some time, Alfred Latimer began to converse ; 
 and if not very reasonably, yet the effect was so 
 far good that it weaned him from the angry 
 feelings which he had been indulging in regard 
 to the disappointment he had experienced. His 
 conversation, it is true, was restrained ; for 
 Morton and he had few subjects in common, and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 311 
 
 he was also unwilling to let the other behold any 
 part of what was passing in the deeper chamber 
 of the heart. He felt as if he were playing a 
 game with a skilful adversary, and must not let 
 him see his cards — that sad, that fatal mistake, 
 which all who are carried away by their passions 
 make, of reg^arding the most friendly hand that 
 would arrest the horses that are running away 
 with them to destruction, as that of an enemy. 
 
 " It is strange," said Morton, as they rolled 
 through the crowded streets of the city, " and 
 yet beautiful as strange, that if one could trace 
 each of the multitude that is passing by us, 
 and examine his fate and history, we should find, 
 as a general result, that the cheerful and happy 
 face, the light and easy heart, is the property of 
 one who has his passions and his conduct under 
 due control." 
 
 " I do not know that at all," answered Latimer, 
 " we find plenty of very good people who are very 
 miserable." 
 
 " Not long, and not often," answered Morton ; 
 " of course I mean in the aggregate. It is un- 
 doubtedly true that sorrows and misfortunes do 
 affect the best, and from that very fact one author' 
 of great talent, but no very strong religious feel- 
 ings — I mean Voltaire — has drawn an inference 
 of a future state where there shall be compensa-
 
 312 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 tion for such suffering ; yet, when griefs and an- 
 xieties do fall upon tlie good, how much more 
 easily do they bear them, with how much more 
 resignation and calmness than the wicked." 
 
 " I do not see why that should be," answered 
 Alfred Latimer ; " if I were a good man, and I 
 never pretend to anything of the kind, I should 
 only be the more angry and indignant at being 
 punished for no offence." 
 
 '' That is not the usual course of human nature, 
 Latimer," replied Morton. " We always bear 
 chastisement which we have deserved more im- 
 patiently than that which we have not." 
 
 " But I do not see that you have any cause to 
 judge from all these people's faces that the good 
 are a bit happier than the bad," rejoined his com- 
 panion ; " look at that fellow there, coming along 
 with such a dark, eager look, as if he would cut 
 everybody's throat that stopped him. 'Now, from 
 Lis dress and his manner, and from the low bow 
 which that shopkeeper is making him, I would 
 bet any money he is some rich merchant or man 
 upon change, with his pockets full of gold, and 
 everything on earth that he can desire." 
 
 " Not improbable," replied Morton ; " he looks 
 very much the sort of man you have described." 
 
 " Well, then, I am sure he does not look 
 happy," rejoined Alfred Latimer.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 313 
 
 " Most likely lie is the reverse," said Morton, 
 with a smile ; " but that is quite consistent with 
 what I said. It was, that those who are the hap- 
 piest — ay, and who generally look the happiest 
 too — are those who have their passions under due 
 control. Now, a man may have everything on 
 earth he can- desire, as you say, and yet be ren- 
 dered miserable by not having his passions under 
 due control. For aught we know, that very mer- 
 chant or banker, or whatever he is, may have 
 the passion for wealth upon him to such an 
 extent as to be as much or more a vice than 
 the love of women or the dice-box is to others. I 
 spoke of all passions, not of one or two ; and 
 one of the great mistakes which the world in 
 general makes is to select a certain class of vices 
 from the many, as the objects of reprobation and 
 punishment. We are full of conventionalities, 
 which render us more tolerant to some classes of 
 evil — ay, even to greater or more heinous crimes 
 — than others. Some are even the objects of 
 praise and approbation ; and many, very many 
 vices, as society is constituted, are the sure roads 
 to worldly prosperity — but, mark, I do not say to 
 happiness ; that is a very different thing. What 
 is a greater vice than the greed of gold — not the 
 honest desire of independence, not the honourable 
 effort to rise by genius, industry, and persever-
 
 314 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 ance? I look upon that man who devotes his whole 
 soul to the accumulation of wealth, who stints and 
 wears down the inferior drudges who aid him in 
 its acquisition that he may have the greater share, 
 who refuses to open his hand or his heart to 
 misery and want, or only undraws his purse for 
 the world's applause — even if he commit no fraud, 
 no deceit, to gain his ends — I look upon that 
 man, I say, as more vicious than the mere 
 libertine." 
 
 Alfred Latimer relapsed into silence. His 
 companion's reasoning did not convince him ; for 
 he had never formed to himself any other idea of 
 happiness than the satisfaction of his wishes, nor 
 could he form any conception of it. He had 
 found, indeed, that even where he had had the 
 power of attaining that which he believed to be 
 all he wanted, it had not produced content. 
 Morton's words served, at least, to show him that 
 there were other sorts of happiness than any he 
 had dreamed of, and he mused over the sugges- 
 tion, assailed by thoughts to which he would not 
 give admission. 
 
 At length, however, the observations of the 
 solicitor came back to his memory, and he drew 
 from them a long train of reasonings in his own 
 mind, all tending to confirm him in the course he 
 was determined to pursue. " It is never any use,"
 
 THE STEP-MOTE ER. 315 
 
 he said suddenly, "for any man who has once 
 taken a way for himself different from what the 
 world call right, to seek to change it ; for, as that 
 Mr. What's-his-name remarked, no man can ever 
 get himself into good repute again ; and even 
 were that possible, he would himself always have 
 a hankering after the things in which he had 
 indulged himself, which would get the better of 
 him sooner or later." 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! " exclaimed Morton, laughing ; 
 " if that were the case I am afraid half of our 
 young men in England would only go on from 
 bad to worse all their lives. Few in the unbridled 
 days of youth do not commit many errors. Many, 
 very many, even in more mature years fall before 
 some overpowering temptation; but God forbid that 
 either the one or the other should shut us out from 
 all return. It is only against the man who wilfully 
 and deliberately chooses the wrong course as that 
 which he is determined to follow that the door 
 can be said to be closed. For every other there 
 is always an opportunity of retreading his steps — 
 of abandoning evil, and seeking right. He may 
 have to struggle against habit as well as passion, 
 that is true. It is a natural consequence of his 
 faults, and, if he thinks rightly, a well-deserved 
 punishment. Then, as to what was said by Mr. 
 Quatterly, I think you must have mistaken him.
 
 316 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 He could only allude to persons who, by some 
 base and dishonourable action, had deprived them- 
 selves forever of the esteem of honest men." 
 
 Alfred Latimer fell into thought again. He 
 asked himself, perhaps, if he were in that posi- 
 tion, and he might feel that if he had not all the 
 symptoms of the disease, he had at least caught 
 the infection. The reflection was not pleasant to 
 him; but yet he indulged it till it became too 
 oppressive to bear, and then casting it off he 
 roused himself to converse on anything else. 
 
 Thus passed the time till night began to fall. 
 The sunset was magnificent, and they had full 
 opportunity of observing it, ^for they were just 
 then crossing a wild elevated common, where 
 frequent, sudden, and precipitous falls of the 
 ground, at the distance of only a few yards from 
 the high road, showed them a wide extended 
 scene to westward, with long lines of blue shadow 
 and bright light crossing the country, and the 
 glowing sky of evening beyond. All in that quar- 
 ter was clear, with the exception of some dark 
 films drawn across the burning horizon ; but to 
 the south large rounded clouds were rising, heavy 
 and leaden, as if a thunder-storm were at hand. 
 Yet ere the travellers had crossed the common, 
 and before the sun had completely sunk, the 
 sharp defined edges had softened off, and the
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 317 
 
 clouds rapidly advancing, spread half over the 
 sky. About two miles farther on there was a 
 change of horses, and by this time it was dark, 
 with a few drops of rain beginning to fall. The 
 post-boys were long in bringing out the horses, 
 and Alfred Latimer was all impatience to get on ; 
 so that when Morton proposed to have lights, 
 saying that the man would hardly be able to see, 
 the young gentleman'replied, " Oh, d — n it, no ; 
 do not let us wait for that. It is but ten miles to 
 Mallington, and he ought to know his way in the 
 dark." 
 
 On they went, then, with the rain falling fast, 
 the sky quite covered with clouds, the sun down, 
 and the moon far below the horizon. It was as 
 dark as pitch, not a ray of light served to guide 
 them, and the very road was hardly to be distin- 
 guished from the grass beside it, the drenching 
 torrent having changed its colour from a light 
 yellow to a dark brown. The storm pelted 
 against the windows, and rattled upon the top of 
 the chaise, and large drops of water found their 
 way in through the crevices. Still the postillion 
 rode on in his jacket, either following the invari- 
 able custom of his fellows, never to put on a great- 
 coat till they are wet through, or fearing to leave 
 his horses, one of which was somewhat unman- 
 ageable, in order to get at it. At length, going
 
 318 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 on at a furious rate for little more than an hour, 
 they reached Mallington Common, and there, 
 apparently thinking that as they had nearly 
 arrived at the end of their journey, it might be 
 as well to protect himself from the storm, the 
 driver stopped and got down. 
 
 Instantly Alfred Latimer thrust his head out 
 of the window, demanding, " What the devil are 
 you stopping for now ? You are just at Malling- 
 ton. Go on to the inn." 
 
 " I '11 only just get my great-coat, sir," replied 
 the driver, and at the same moment he advanced 
 towards the splinter-bar. 
 
 The young gentleman swore a loud oath, and 
 whether the horses heard it and did not approve 
 of it, or took it for an intimation to go on, they 
 started off at once, broke from a trot into a 
 canter, and from a canter to a gallop. 
 
 Morton sat calmly in the back of the carriage 
 without moving hand or foot ; but Alfred Latimer 
 exclaimed aloud, " Confusion and the devil ! they 
 will break our necks down the hill, or have us 
 
 into the river. By they are off the road ! 
 
 They will be into the gravel-pit. I will jump 
 out." 
 
 But before he could execute his purpose, or 
 Morton could beseech him to desist, the chaise 
 received a violent jerk, then plunged forward.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 319 
 
 leaning- to one side, as the near fore-wheel went 
 over a bank, then rolled over and over with a 
 terrible crash, and at length fell on its side, and 
 lay with sonietliing striking hard against the 
 front panels, like the feet of a horse in agony.
 
 320 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " Latimer!" said Morton, raising himself partly 
 in the carriage, with great pain, for he was se- 
 verely bruised. But Alfred Latimer made no 
 reply ; and, putting his arm through the broken 
 window, his companion opened the door of the 
 carriage and got out. The darkness was pro- 
 found, the rain falling in torrents, and it was 
 impossible to see anything but the dark outline 
 of a steep bank, down which the chaise had 
 rolled, the vehicle itself, nearly broken to pieces, 
 and the two horses, one lying perfectly still, the 
 other still kicking in the traces, but more and 
 more faintly every moment. A sound, however, 
 was heard above, as of some one running, and 
 Morton raised his voice and shouted aloud. At 
 first he was not heard, but he called again, and 
 then the post-boy answered from the bank above, 
 exclaiming, "Good heaven ! where are you, sir?" 
 " Here, at the bottom of the bank," answered
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 321 
 
 Morton ; " Mr. Latimer is much hurt. Run as 
 fast as possible to MalHngton House, bring* down 
 several of the men, and a large chair or board, 
 and lights. Lose not a moment; but bid them 
 not alarm Mrs, Charlton till we ascertain the 
 truth. Be quick, be quick !" 
 
 The man r^n oiF again, knowing that he could 
 render no assistance, even to his horses, without 
 the means of seeing where they were ; and Morton 
 remained by the side of the vehicle. He himself 
 felt that though severely bruised, he was not 
 seriously injured, and tying a^ handkerchief round 
 his hand, which had been cut by the glass, he 
 leaned over the chaise, and tried to discover how 
 Latimer was lying. A moment after he heard a 
 step, and then a voice exclaiming, " Did not some 
 one halloo out just now ? Who 's there ?" 
 
 " We have been overturned into the pit," an- 
 swered Morton. " Is there any place nearer than 
 Mallington where we can get help, my friend ? 
 for Mr. Latimer here is much hurt, if not dead." 
 
 "The devil he is!" cried the man, who had 
 now come near, and seemed, as far as the dark- 
 ness would allow Morton to judge, to be a stout- 
 built short man ; " that 's a bad job indeed. But 
 we '11 get help very soon from Widow Brown's 
 cottage ; 't is but a stone's throw. I '11 be back 
 directly." 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " Bring a light," said Morton, ''if you can get 
 a lantern." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir," answered the man, and away he 
 ran. In five minutes, or not much more, the 
 gentleman who remained by the chaise saw a 
 dim spark like a will-o'-the-wisp, moving at a 
 little distance, and then heard voices. Then, 
 coming on through the rain, with their figures 
 becoming more distinctly visible by the light of 
 a horn lantern which one of them carried, he 
 perceived two men and a woman. They did not, 
 indeed, seem of a very prepossessing apj)earance, 
 by the yellow glare that fell upon their coun- 
 tenances when they approached ; but, with good 
 forethought, one of the men had brought a large 
 rug, in which to move the gentleman who had 
 been most injured. 
 
 The first thing to be done, however, was to 
 ascertain his exact condition; and, taking the 
 lantern, Morton held it into the chaise, and 
 by its light discovered Alfred Latimer lying 
 just where he had fallen, with a good deal of 
 blood about his face. His hand was still round 
 one of the holders in the inside of the vehicle, 
 and his companion could perceive that the fingers 
 seemed every now and then to tighten and then 
 relax their grasp. 
 
 While he was making these observations, one
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 323 
 
 of the men said in a low voice to the other, 
 " Tliat horse that 's under is as dead as a stone, 
 and this has broke his fore leer riGrht throu2:h." 
 
 " Here, d — n the horses ! lend me a hand to 
 make this rug into a sort of hammock, to carry- 
 Mr. Latimer up to the cottage," said the other 
 man. " Is Ire living or dead, sir ? " he continued, 
 addressing Morton. 
 
 ** He is living," answered Morton, "and I trust 
 only stunned. Cut that strap which keeps the 
 door from going further back, and then, if one 
 goes to the top and another kneels on the side, we 
 can lift him out without shaking him much." 
 
 The men obeyed him readily, while the woman 
 — a tall, gaunt, hard-featured dame of sixty-five 
 — held the lantern ; and Morton bending down 
 into the chaise, lifted him gradually, while the 
 man who was lying flat on the side of the vehicle, 
 supported part of the weight, and the other at 
 the top guarded his head with his hands. He 
 was thus speedily drawn out of the broken 
 chaise, and seated by the side, with Morton 
 supporting his head upon his arm. He groaned 
 twice or thrice while this was taking place, and 
 it was now evident that he still breathed without 
 much oppression. 
 
 " Now, sir, let us carry him to the cottage, 
 and lay him flat down on a bed," said the short 
 Y 2
 
 324 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 sailor-like man, who formed one of the party ; 
 " that 's the best thing for him till the doctor can 
 be fetched." 
 
 " It would be better to carry him home at 
 once," replied Morton ; " Mallington House 
 cannot be far, if I judge rightly where we are." 
 
 " It 's more nor a mile, and that a good un," 
 said the woman. 
 
 " Besides, the cottage is just in the way," 
 rejoined the man ; " he can be moved after the 
 doctor comes, if he thinks it safe." 
 
 "If the house be as far as that, the cottage 
 will be best," replied Morton ; " but I thought 
 this pit was close to Mallington." 
 
 "You 're thinking of what we call the first pit," 
 replied the other man ; " this is the third." 
 
 Alfred Latimer was then placed in the rug, 
 which by this time had been gathered together 
 with twine at the two ends, and the woman going 
 before with the lantern, the two men carried him 
 forward on a little path, which was scarcely trace- 
 able along the bottom of the gravel pit. The 
 party then issued out upon the common, but they 
 had not reached the higher ground when two or 
 three lights were seen coming a little to the right, 
 and a horse's feet were heard upon the road. 
 
 " Here are the people from Mallington House," 
 said Morton.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 325 
 
 "Ay, and that's the doctor's horse," rejoined 
 the woman ; " I 'd know his trot among a thou- 
 sand — I '11 give him a call ;" and raising her voice 
 to an unearthly shriek, she shouted " Hie ! doctor, 
 doctor ! Dr. Nethersole ! " 
 
 The horse's feet were checked in an instant, 
 and as they, paused they soon saw the worthy 
 surgeon leading his horse carefully across towards 
 the spot where he perceived their light. 
 
 " Goodness, gracious, sir ! this is a sad affair," 
 said Mr. Nethersole, as soon as he saw Morton. 
 " You seem to be much hurt yourself. But how 
 is Mr. Latimer? Is he dead?" he continued, 
 gazing anxiously at the burden carried by the 
 two men. 
 
 "No," answered Morton; "he is not dead. 
 That, at least is certain, but he is quite insensible. 
 These good people say there is a cottage near, 
 where he can be taken. Will it be better to go 
 thither or to proceed to Mallington House ? " 
 
 " Oh ! to the cottage on every account," said 
 Mr. Nethersole. " No time is to be lost ; and 
 besides, Mrs. Charlton, who is luckily out at din- 
 ner with the Markhams, would be dreadfully 
 shocked if she arrived just as her son was being 
 brought in in such a state." 
 
 According to Mr. Nethersole's desire, the men 
 proceeded at once to the cottage, which lay in a
 
 326 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 little nook of the common, not a hundred yards 
 further on ; and the young gentleman having been 
 laid on a bed in the back room of the lower story, 
 the surgeon proceeded to examine him, while the 
 room became gradually crowded with servants 
 and other people from Mallington. Morton stood 
 near while the surgeon pursued his investigation, 
 and gave him every aid in his power while he felt 
 the head, traced the position and line of the limbs, 
 and ascertained that no fracture had taken place ; 
 but Morton could not, even while thus occupied, 
 avoid hearing the remarks of several of the in- 
 habitants of Mallington who had come up with 
 the servants of the house, in regard to the general 
 character of Mother Brown, as she was called, her 
 son, and their associates, which were not very 
 much in their favour. 
 
 Mr. Nethersole, after due perquisitions and a 
 little touch of medical mystery, declared that no 
 bones were broken, but that, though the skull 
 was not fractured, yet he feared concussion of the 
 brain had taken place, for which bleeding would 
 be immediately necessary, and, after that, perfect 
 quiet. It was quite out of the question, therefore, 
 he said, to remove the young gentleman to Mall- 
 ington, as, if done in the first instance, venesection 
 might come too late, and if attempted afterwards, 
 fever might be superinduced. After this oration,
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 327 
 
 he ordered the young gentleman to be undressed, 
 and placed in the bed where he lay. He then 
 bled him somewhat largely, and the effect was 
 certainly such as he could have desired, for, as the 
 blood flowed, Alfred Latimer drew two or three 
 deep sighs, opened his eyes, and looked about 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Nethersole placed his finger on his lip, 
 saying " Not a word, my dear sir. Lie perfectly 
 still ; take no notice of anything ; open not your 
 mouth, or I will not answer for the consequences. 
 Let the room be cleared, and open that window. 
 Now one of the servants must stay with the 
 young gentleman till I can return. I will sit up 
 with him myself to watch the symptoms as they 
 appear ; but he must not be left while I am 
 necessarily absent for an hour or an hour and a 
 half. Here, Wilkinson, you are the very man. 
 Sit by Mr. Latimer till I return ; do not let him 
 speak or move till I come back ; and you, Widow 
 Brown, keep the house quite quiet. No gossiping, 
 no talking, no drinking and squabbling, re- 
 member. I know you all, you know ; and I will 
 have my orders obeyed." 
 
 Widow or Mother Brown promised compliance 
 in a very humble tone; for Mr. Nethersole, or 
 "the doctor," as he was called, was a very im- 
 portant personage with her class. After having
 
 328 THE STEP- MOTHER. 
 
 given these directions, and seen the room dis- 
 encumbered of the crowd, the surgeon again sat 
 down by the sick man's side, felt his pulse, nodded 
 with a well-satislied look, and then rose, saying, in 
 an oracular tone, "The circulation greatly re- 
 lieved. I will be back soon, my dear sir, and 
 bring something to compose you. Now, Mr. 
 Morton, if you like we had better walk back to 
 Mallington ; I think you will need a little atten- 
 tion yourself, and the fewer persons round Mr. 
 Latimer the better." 
 
 " Very well," replied Mi\ Morton ; and, bend- 
 ing down, he added, " Good-by, for the present, 
 Latimer ; I will see you early to-morrow." 
 
 " Why, what the devil is edl this about, Mor- 
 ton ? " asked Alfred Latimer ; " I have broke my 
 head somehow." 
 
 But Mr. Nethersole instantly interfered, hold- 
 ing up his finger with a grave look, and saying, 
 *' Not a word, not a word, as you value your life. 
 Come, Mr. Morton, come ;" and, walking out 
 with the young gentleman, they issued forth upon 
 the common. 
 
 Morton's first question w^as in regard to Mr. 
 Nethersole's real opinion of Alfred Latimer's 
 situation ; but who ever got a direct answer from 
 a medical man ? However he made out from the 
 cloud of pros and cons in which the surgeon en-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 329 
 
 veloped his opinion, that he did not see any very- 
 dangerous symptoms at that time, but that the 
 young gentleman having decidedly received a 
 slight concussion of the brain might at any 
 moment during the next three or four days be- 
 come suddenly worse. Mr. Nethersole would 
 then have fain ascertained exactly how the ac- 
 cident had occurred, remembering duly that he 
 had an account to render to all the old ladies of 
 Mallington. But Morton, in the first place, 
 thought fit to satisfy himself as to what was the 
 state of afiairs at Mallington House, inquiring 
 whether Mr. Nethersole could tell at what hour 
 Mrs. Charlton would return, and whether there 
 was any chance of the news being carried to her 
 where she was dining ? " 
 
 " No," answered the surgeon, promptly ; " the 
 man you sent acted with great discretion I find : 
 for, on hearing that Mrs. Charlton was out, — 
 What a sweet creature she is ! don't you think so, 
 Mr. Morton ? — he made two men servants come 
 down with him to me without going in at all, lest 
 Miss Charlton should by some means hear of the 
 event, and be frightened out of her life." 
 
 " Then Miss Charlton did not go with Mrs. 
 Charlton ?" asked Morton. 
 
 " No, my dear sir, she declined," answered the 
 surgeon. " You know the young gentleman there
 
 330 THE STEP-MOTHEB. 
 
 has been rather particular in his attentions, and 
 people do say that he is not very agreeable to the 
 young lady. Ha, ha, ha ! — you understand." 
 
 " Perfectly," replied Morton, drily ; " but I 
 think it might be as well if I were to go in, as we 
 pass Mallington House, and give Miss Charlton 
 the first news of Mr. Latimer's situation myself. 
 She can afterwards break it to his mother in a 
 more gentle manner than any man could do." 
 
 The surgeon agreed fully that such a plan was 
 a very proper one ; and perhaps he had some faint 
 notion, that the young gentleman might wish to 
 have five minutes of Miss Charlton's company 
 alone, and that she might not object to grant it. 
 Whatever was Morton's view, tliey walked straight 
 up to the gates of Mallington House ; and there, 
 while Mr. Nethersole was urging his young com- 
 panion to come down to him as soon as his con- 
 ference with Miss Charlton was over, and have 
 his own injuries examined, all their plans were 
 disarranged by the rush up of Mrs. Charlton's 
 carriage, and by her instant recognition of the 
 two gentlemen, as the butler came forth with a 
 light to open the outer-gates in answer to their 
 summons.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 331 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Morton ! is that you ?" cried Mrs. 
 Charlton, letting down the carriage window: 
 " Come in ; pray, come in." 
 
 The carriage dashed on up to the house ; and, 
 though the distance from the gate to the door was 
 not more than twenty or thirty yards, the lady 
 had descended from her vehicle, tripped into the 
 house, and walked up stairs, before Morton and 
 Mr. jS^ethersole arrived. The latter gentleman 
 understanding that, in the changed circumstances 
 of the case, he would not be one too many, think- 
 ing, too, that if Mrs. Charlton were by any chance 
 to faint at the tidings of her son's situation his 
 assistance might be necessary, and, like the Barber 
 of Bagdad, having his lancet ready, and his ban- 
 dages in his pocket, he judged that he might as 
 well walk in with the young gentleman, and take 
 his share of things to come. 
 
 Morton advanced first with a grave air, and
 
 332 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 asked the butler if he had said anything to his 
 mistress regarding the accident. 
 
 " ISo, sir," replied the man. " She asked why 
 I came out to open the gates ; and I only replied, 
 because Wilkinson was out. I thought you could 
 tell her better than I could, sir." 
 
 It was a task, however, that Morton could 
 gladly have dispensed with; for he was neither 
 fond of inflicting nor of witnessing pain: but 
 nevertheless, fortifying his mind for the under- 
 taking, he proceeded slowly up the stairs, and 
 entered the drawing-room, the door of which Mrs. 
 Charlton had left open behind her. The lady was 
 standing in a graceful attitude, with her hand 
 leaning on a table, while a sweet and courteous 
 smile illumined her countenance, and welcomed 
 Mr. Morton before he appeared. Louisa, who had 
 exchanged a few words with her step-mother, was 
 seated on a sofa, with a book before her, and her 
 lovely face, too, was raised towards the door, with 
 a look of well-pleased expectation — ay, and some- 
 thing more than expectation ; for there was a light 
 in her deep eyes, that let one see beyond them to 
 her heart far more than she intended — the light of 
 Love, beaming from two as sweet lamps as ever 
 he kindled ! The moment, however, that Morton 
 appeared, with the blood still upon his face and 
 his hand tied up, her cheek turned deadly pale.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 333 
 
 She spoke not a word, but she rose at once, and 
 then feeling her knees tremble caught the arm of 
 the sofa for support. She knew how she loved 
 him then, if she had never fully known it before. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton, on her part, uttered a pretty- 
 little scream, and exclaimed, "Good Heaven! 
 Mr. Morton, what has happened? You have 
 met with some accident ! You are hurt !" 
 
 "Very little, my dear madam," replied the 
 young gentleman ; " indeed, scarcely at all. My 
 face has been scratched with some broken glass, 
 and my hand cut ; but we have every reason to 
 be most thankful that the accident was not worse, 
 for it might well have proved fatal to myself and 
 my companion, instead of inflicting a few wounds 
 and bruises, which will be well in a few days." 
 
 The sound of his voice, and the firm tone in 
 which he spoke, comforted Louisa a good deal ; 
 but still she felt very faint, and she sat down 
 again, not at all sure how long she could stand. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Charlton was alarmed too, for she 
 was very quick in the combination of her ideas ; 
 and there were three distinct facts before her, 
 from which she drew a deduction very near the 
 truth. There was Mr. Morton hurt ; he acknow- 
 ledged having a companion in misadventure ; and 
 that companion was not now with him. If that 
 gentleman had nothing of very great importance
 
 334 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 to commimicate, he would not have thus pre- 
 sented himself at Mallington House, she thought, 
 till he had washed his face and hands. If her sou 
 had heen able, he would have come with him. 
 Her son was unable, and that was the important 
 fact Morton came to communicate. All this 
 passed through her mind in a moment, and she 
 felt very much alarmed ; but Mrs. Charlton was 
 not a woman to faint. It was a thing that she never 
 did; and this was certainly not an occasion on 
 which she would have commenced the practice. 
 She was very fond of her son, it is true, and she 
 had spoiled and indulged him very greatly in 
 youth. But it was not for his sake she had done 
 so, it was for her own. She loved him as her 
 right hand, or her right eye, because he was a part 
 of herself; and, perhaps, she would sooner have 
 lost her right hand or her right eye than him, if 
 she could have done so without any pain or 
 danger. Limb against son, she would not have 
 hesitated, I think ; but if suffering — personal suf- 
 fering, or risk — were thrown into the scale with 
 mutilation, I'm afraid Alfred Latimer would have 
 had but a poor chance. 
 
 " Speak, my dear sir ! — speak, Mr. Morton," 
 she said, " you have more to tell — Alfred was 
 with you, is it not so? Alfred is hurt?— tell me 
 the truth, my dear friend. I can bear it."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 335 
 
 The last were nearly the same words which she 
 had used when the servant ran in to inform her 
 that her first husband had destroyed himself; and 
 she did bear it with wonderful philosophy. 
 
 Morton answered in a manner to remove 
 anxiety as far as possible without deviating from 
 truth. 
 
 " He is much better, my dear Mrs. Charlton," 
 he said ; " he was apparently a good deal hurt at 
 first, but he recovered wonderfully as soon as Mr. 
 Nethersole bled him. There are no bones broken, 
 happily, though he was for a time stunned by the 
 fall." 
 
 "Thank God!" cried Mrs. Charlton; and 
 Louisa echoed her words with truer devotion. 
 
 The surgeon advanced to play his part ; for, 
 during the short dialogue which had taken place 
 Morton had purposely put himself forward, fear- 
 ing that Mr. Nethersole might so overload his 
 account with medical terms that the two ladies 
 might be left in ignorance of whether Alfred 
 Latimer were dead or alive. That worthy gen- 
 tleman now proceeded to justify his caution by 
 explaining to Mrs. Charlton, in the darkest 
 possible manner, the situation of her son ; and 
 what he had at first apprehended, as well as what 
 was now to be guarded against. For aught that 
 the mother could gather from this communication
 
 336 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 Alfred might have been a marmalade ; but Mor- 
 ton stepped in to her help, saying, " I see you do 
 not exactly understand Mr. Nethersole. It is 
 merely that Latimer has now quite recovered both 
 his speech and his senses ; and though our good 
 friend thinks it would be imprudent to remove 
 him from the cottage to which he was at first 
 taken, yet there was no great chance of any 
 danger resulting from the accident. Is it not so, 
 Mr. Nethersole?" 
 
 " Precisely, sir," replied the surgeon ; and Mrs. 
 Charlton, sinking into a chair, gazed in Morton's 
 face, thinking what she ought to do next. 
 
 " I should very much like to go to him," she 
 said, after a moment's pause ; " but the carriage 
 has gone away, I fear, and " 
 
 " It rains dreadfully," said Mr. IS'ethersole, 
 finishing Mrs. Charlton's sentence nearly as she 
 would have finished it herself. " Do not think 
 of it, my dear madam, I will stay with him all 
 night. I propose to return immediately." 
 
 " I do not see any necessity for your going," 
 added Morton, " for he is so much better that I 
 doubt not a few hours will remove all chance of 
 danger, and Mr. Nethersole particularly recom- 
 mends quiet. One of your servants — Wilkinson, 
 I think, is his name — is with your son." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Morton — thank you," said
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 337 
 
 Mrs. Charlton ; " you are very kind to me, in 
 every respect — kinder than any one of my own 
 relations, I am sure ; and how I can ever be 
 grateful enough I cannot tell. But pray let me 
 hear how this accident has happened." 
 
 " I beg pardon for interfering," said Mr. 
 Nethersole; with a smile, " but I must really here 
 exert my authority as a disciple of Galen. Mr. 
 jMorton is hurt, Mrs. Charlton ; we none of us 
 know how much — for he has given himself up 
 entirely to Mr. Latimer, and has taken no care 
 of himself whatever." 
 
 Louisa who, as the reader has remarked, had 
 not spoken a word, raised her eyes to Morton's 
 face with a look of tenderness mingled with fear, 
 as if imploring him, for her sake, to attend to his 
 own safety ; but Mr. Nethersole went on, — " He 
 is wet through, too, so that it is high time that he 
 should change his dress, and allow me to inquire 
 into the injuries he has received. Wounds and 
 bruises, apparently slight at first, are often the 
 most dangerous if not attended to. Before he 
 gives any account of w^hat has taken place, then, 
 I say authoritatively, let him go home." 
 
 " Home !" exclaimed Mrs. Charlton, in a fit 
 of enthusiasm, " can Mr. Morton have any home 
 in Mallington but this house, after all that he 
 has done for its inmates ? I will take no re- 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 338 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 fusal, Mr. Morton ; ring the bell, Louisa, my 
 love." 
 
 Louisa rang without an instant's delay ; and 
 as Morton was excusing himself on account of 
 having no change of dress there, saying that his 
 portmanteau had been left with the chaise on the 
 common, she joined her all-persuading voice, 
 exclaiming, " Oh ! do Mr. Morton. Clothes can 
 be soon got from the inn." 
 
 " Well, I must obey," answered Morton, with 
 a smile, and as the butler entered, Mrs. Charlton 
 exclaimed, " Tell Windsor to have the yellow 
 room got ready for Mr. Morton directly." 
 
 " And send down to the inn for what Mr. 
 Morton wants," added Louisa, for the first time 
 giving any orders in her own house. 
 
 "I think your portmanteau is here, sir," said 
 the butler ; " I told the gardener to bring every- 
 thing out of the chaise, for Widow Brown and 
 her people are not to be trusted where they can 
 pilfer." 
 
 " You are a wise and prudent man," said 
 Mr. Nethersole ; " they are, indeed, not the most 
 honest set in the world ; but have Mr. Morton's 
 things taken up, and while the room is getting 
 ready, I can examine how far he is hurt." 
 
 "I am really not hurt at all," replied Morton^ 
 addressing Louisa, more than the last speaker.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 339 
 
 " I am an old soldier, accustomed to knocks and 
 bruises, and not made of very fragile materials 
 originally. But if it must be so, I submit ; and 
 if I find you up when I return, my dear madam, 
 I will tell you how all this unfortunate affair 
 took place." 
 
 " IJp ! " 'cried Mrs. Charlton ; " why, it is only 
 a quarter to ten yet. The truth is, those Mark- 
 hams are such bores, and one hears so little of 
 anything but dogs and horses, partridges, phea- 
 sants, and foxes, that I always order the carriage 
 a quarter before nine, and in such a night as 
 this one could not keep the servants out." 
 
 While Morton and Mr. Nethersole were gone, 
 Mrs. Charlton questioned the butler as to what 
 he knew of the accident, and obtained the general 
 facts, as far as the man knew them. The chaise 
 had been overturned into the gravel-pit, he said, 
 both the horses killed, and the carriage broken 
 all to pieces, having fallen down a bank full fifty 
 feet high. This, indeed, was an exaggeration, 
 but it served with the rest of the story to make 
 poor Louisa's heart feel cold, and her cheek 
 to turn deadly pale. Mrs. Charlton went on 
 questioning him, however, for nearly a quarter 
 of an hour, not at all minding, perhaps not 
 comprehending, the mental torture which her 
 step-daughter was enduring ; and at the end of 
 z 2
 
 340 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 that time Morton returned with the blood washed 
 from his face, and his fine hair waving over his 
 forehead, brought a little more forward than 
 ordinary, to hide a wound uj)on his temple, 
 which Mr. Nethersole had just covered with 
 black plaster. 
 
 That gentleman accompanied his new patient ; 
 but after a few words of assurance to Mrs. 
 Charlton and Louisa that Mr. Morton was not 
 severely hurt, and giving a warning to him that 
 he had better keep himself as quiet as possible 
 for the next two days, for fear of producing 
 feverish symptoms, he retired to visit his own 
 house for a few minutes, and then once more 
 cross the common in the midst of the drenching 
 rain, to sit up through the night with Alfred 
 Latimer. Truly the life of a country apothecary 
 is a hard one. 
 
 Leaving Mr. JSTethersole, however, to pursue 
 his way, we must sit down with Mrs. Charlton, 
 Mr. Morton, and Louisa, in the comfortable draw- 
 ing-room at Mallington. The reader can very 
 well divine how Morton explained what had 
 occurred without our entering into the details of 
 what he said. He was not, indeed, one of those 
 men who love to be the hero of their own story, 
 nor would he on the present occasion linger, with 
 painful minuteness, over every point of horror and
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 341 
 
 dismay ; for he well knew that poor Louisa had 
 already suffered more on his account than he ever 
 "wished to inflict upon her : but he told the tale 
 briefly ; stated how the man had imprudently got 
 down, and left his horses — how they had run 
 away — and how, in a few seconds, the chaise was 
 dragged' over into the pit. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton was greatly touched at his account 
 of her son's condition, now that she found she 
 should not have to go out over the common to 
 nurse him; and she was in high good humour 
 with Mr. Morton, expressing her gratitude again 
 and again for all he had done. 
 
 But Mrs. Charlton gave proof of her gratitude 
 in the way which Morton could have most desired; 
 for, after talking with him for half an hour, she 
 rose suddenly, as if recollecting that he had had 
 no refreshment, and, blaming herself for her neg- 
 ligence, declared she would go and order some 
 supper to be instantly prepared. Now, she could 
 quite as well have ordered it where she sat : and, 
 therefore, it is but fair to suppose that she con- 
 sidered the feelings of the two lovers, which she 
 knew them right well to be ; and giving a hint 
 that she had two or three little things to do, she 
 retired, bidding Louisa let her know, in her own 
 room, when supper was announced. 
 
 A faint smile came across Louisa's lip at conduct
 
 342 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 which she did not very well understand. But she 
 had soon to turn her thoughts to other and sweeter 
 things; for Morton immediately came over, sat 
 down on the sofa beside her, and, taking her hand 
 in his, pressed his lips upon it. 
 
 " You have been grieved and agitated, dear 
 Louisa," he said : " but I trust that good rather 
 than evil may result to Latimer from this accident ; 
 and I, you see, am unhurt." 
 
 " I can scarcely think it possible even yet, 
 Edmond," she replied. " When I think on that 
 awful fall it makes my heart still beat," and she 
 closed her eyes for a moment, with a shudder. 
 Morton gazed at her as she sat with the long 
 black lashes resting on the soft pale cheek, for 
 she had not yet recovered her colour ; but when 
 she opened her eyes again, and they met that 
 warm yet tender gaze, the rose came brightly 
 back. 
 
 " Nay, nay, Morton," she said, " do not look at 
 me so. There, you are smiling at my fears ; but 
 you cannot tell what a woman's feelings are in 
 such cases. I dare say if we were accustomed to 
 go through dangers as you are, we should treat 
 them lightly too ; but we are always left at home, 
 with nothing to do but to ponder over the perils 
 of those we love," and she bent down her head for 
 a moment, while a tear sparkled upon her eyelids.
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 343 
 
 It did not roll far down her cheek, for her lover's 
 lips brushed it away ; and he soothed her tenderly 
 with assurance that he never did, and never would, 
 expose himself to unnecessary danger. 
 
 " And yet," she answered, " I shall never see 
 you leave me without, I dare say, conjuring up all 
 sort's of perils. But tell me, Edmond ; what is 
 the real state of poor Alfred, — and have you con- 
 trived to disentangle him from those difficulties 
 into which he had plunged himself?" 
 
 " I have, my beloved !" replied Morton. " He 
 is now freed from all embarrassments if he will 
 keep himself so. I fear that will never be the 
 case, however ; for he has been brought up in 
 habits of extravagance in which he has no right 
 to indulge. But I should propose to you one 
 thing, dear girl, which I know will be agreeable 
 to you. The income he had at first is so much 
 diminished that, with his habits, it will never be 
 sufficient. I can supply him for the present as 
 far as he needs it, but it is always a humiliating- 
 thing to be under obligations to one who is nearly 
 a stranger ; and I think, when Louisa will consent 
 to be my wife, it may be as well for her, as her 
 own act, not only to make some addition to Mrs. 
 Charlton's income, but also to settle such a sum 
 upon him as will put him beyond all ordinary 
 temptation to incur fresh debts. You may well
 
 344 THE STEP-MOTflER. 
 
 do it in your quality of sister ; and perhaps it 
 might rouse any better feelings within him to 
 merit your kindness." 
 
 " You are always generous and thoughtful, 
 Edmond," replied Louisa Charlton ; " and it shall 
 be just as you please. I can only say that you 
 go before my wishes, though, perhaps, I might 
 not have ventured to ask you to make such a 
 sacrifice." 
 
 "I wish to make none, dear girl," replied 
 Morton ; "this should be done before you are my 
 wife, that it may be all your own act. Otherwise 
 it will lose part of its effect upon him. It 
 will be enough for me to cancel the bond he has 
 given for the money I have furnished, and that 
 shall be done, Louisa, on our wedding-day. I 
 need not tell Louisa Charlton that whatever she 
 may choose to do with any part of her fortune 
 before our marriage, it will be well pleasing to 
 the man she has chosen." 
 
 " I wish my poor father could have heard you, 
 Edmond; it would have removed many of his 
 anxieties on my account," was Louisa's reply, and 
 she leaned her head upon her lover's shoulder, 
 while the tears again filled her eyes. 
 
 " Of one thing I have always been satisfied," 
 said Morton, "that wealth ought ever to be 
 looked upon, not as a benefit conferred upon our-
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 345 
 
 selves for our own gratification, but a precious 
 trust confided to us for its due administration to 
 others. In whatever hands it accumulates, to 
 whomsoever it descends, it is but as a stream 
 collected into a great reservoir to fertilize and 
 refresh all that is around it. If, by what I pro- 
 pose, you can reclaim this young man, the em- 
 ployment of your fortune will be noble and good ; 
 and even should the experiment altogether fail, 
 you will have the satisfaction of knowing that 
 you have done your part. Then, as to Mrs. 
 Charlton, the income she possesses is not suffi- 
 cient, and of course will be less when you are no 
 longer with her." 
 
 " It is very strange," said Louisa thoughtfully, 
 " I mean my father's will. There are some parts 
 of it I do not at all understand. He seemed to 
 love her very much, and yet he leaves her with an 
 insufficient income. I do not think he altogether 
 relied upon her judgment, or her — her — her af- 
 fection for me ; and yet he" — 
 
 She paused, and Morton added, "He leaves 
 you dependent in some degree upon her caprice, 
 you would say, my Louisa. We shall see how 
 she attempts to exercise the authority she has 
 received. Of one thing, however, I am sure, 
 that the law would read that part of the will 
 somewhat differently from what she supposes,
 
 346 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 perhaps set it aside altogether. At all events, dear 
 Louisa, I have your promise, rich or poor, you 
 are mine. Is it not so, my beloved ?" 
 
 " Oh, Edmond !" said Louisa, " you know that 
 I could only wish to possess wealth to place it in 
 the hands of one who would use it as you would. 
 But could you really — nay, I will not ask the 
 question, Edmond — I know you would take her 
 you love, rich or poor ; but what ought she to do ? 
 ought she to consent?" 
 
 " I will give her no choice," answered Morton, 
 pressing her to his heart. " She has given her 
 promise — she has made no condition. She is 
 fast bound, and cannot escape." 
 
 " I do not wish it, Edmond, I do not wish it," 
 repeated Louisa, earnestly. " I should hardly 
 have fortitude to cast away such happiness, even 
 for your sake."
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 347 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 After Morton and Mr. Nethersole had left 
 Mother Brown's cottage, Alfred Latimer lay for 
 several minutes gazing up towards the ceiling of 
 the back room in which he had been placed, 
 where a good deal more lath was apparent than 
 plaster, and that portion of the latter which 
 remained was principally supported by long 
 filaments of horse-hair, which not unfrequently 
 suffered a large mass of mortar to hang waving 
 about in the wind. A small deal table, notched 
 at the edges like a school-boy's desk, and with 
 " Tom Brown " cut in large capitals in two or 
 three places, stood in the middle of the chamber, 
 and on it, in a battered tin candlestick, was a 
 solitary tallow candle, with the top of the wick 
 spreading out into sooty fungi, and the grease 
 weltering down the sides. A tattered old chintz 
 curtain half concealed the window; but where 
 the sash appeared it showed many a piece of glass
 
 348 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 wantmg, in one spot pasted up witli brown paper, 
 while in others the gaping aperture was stuffed 
 up with dirty rags. To these interesting objects 
 the young gentleman turned his eyes, after he had 
 studied the canopy over his head for a consider- 
 able time, and then he exclaimed, " D — n it ! 
 This is very strange. Why I feel all knocked 
 about ; and where the devil I am, I can't tell. 
 Surely that is Wilkinson. Why, w^hat is all 
 this ? Where am I ? How came I here ? " 
 
 It was very evident that, as not uncommonly 
 happens in such cases, the blow he had received 
 on the head had obliterated all memory of the 
 events immediately preceding. It is generally 
 judged expedient to touch upon the subject of 
 his state, as little as possible with a patient so 
 circumstanced ; but Wilkinson had not studied 
 the matter very deeply, and he consequently set 
 to work, and told him all that had happened. 
 The tale seemed to awaken Alfred Latimer's 
 remembrance; and when he heard that he was 
 in Mother Brown's cottage, he instantly showed 
 that his recollection w^as quite unim23aired, by 
 saying in a low voice, " Where are my clothes, 
 Wilkinson ? Put them here on the bed, and do 
 not let the people get at them, for there is a good 
 sum of money in one of the pockets. Don't lose 
 sight of them for a minute, Wilkinson; for it
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 349 
 
 would be a devil of an affair if they were to 
 take that." 
 
 " Don't you think it would be better to send 
 it to mistress to keep for you, sir?" asked the 
 servant. 
 
 " No, curse it ! she would keep it with a 
 vengeance," answered her dutiful and respectful 
 son. " I should get it back as soon from them 
 as I should from her." 
 
 "Then, why not give it to Mr. Nethersole, 
 to take care of for you till you are well," replied 
 the man. 
 
 "Well, perhaps I may," rejoined Latimer; 
 "that's no bad thought — but the doctor is gone, 
 isn't he 1 " 
 
 Wilkinson made him understand that Mr. 
 Nethersole would soon be back; and then warned 
 Mr. Latimer that he ought not to speak, but to 
 remain quiet. Alfred Latimer, however, was not 
 a man to restrain himself in anything ; and he 
 continued to ask questions, and to swear at his 
 companion if he answered briefly or remonstrated, 
 till the servant's patience becoming near its end, 
 he replied, " Indeed, Mr. Latimer, I must obey 
 the doctor's orders, and as you will not keep 
 silent, I will go into the other room, but I will 
 take care no one comes in without me."
 
 350 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 " Go to the devil, if you like," replied Alfred 
 Latimer ; " but snuff the candle first." 
 
 The man did as he was directed, and left the 
 room. About half an hour after this Mr. 
 Nethersole returned, and having heard from the 
 servant in the outer room, that Mr. Latimer was 
 very unmanageable ; he replied, " Oh ! I will 
 keep him quiet. I shall stay here till morning ; 
 so you can either remain or go home for an hour 
 or two, as you like; only be back by five o'clock ; 
 for I have a case I must see." 
 
 " Well, then, sir, I would rather go home for a 
 bit," answered Wilkinson, " I was up early this 
 morning, and I should like a few hours' sleep." 
 
 " I wonder where my lad 's to sleep," said 
 Widow Brown, in a sullen tone. " That 's his 
 bed, in where the younker is lying ; and half the 
 things spoiled with blood." 
 
 " Oh, never you mind. Mother Brown," an- 
 swered Mr. Netliersole, who knew his party well, 
 *' you '11 be paid more than you spend ; and as to 
 Tom's sleeping, it is not the first time he has sat 
 up o 'nights, I fancy, and won't be the last. 
 You 've slept in worse places than this chair, Tom, 
 havn't you ? and the shooting season being begun, 
 you must be in practice, or I mistake. You 
 forget who you 're talking to. Goody." 
 
 " Well, doctor," said Mother Brown, with a
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 351 
 
 grin, " if he have got a partridge or pheasant now 
 and then, you 've had your share on 'em ; and 
 better stuff nor ever come out o' your shop, 
 too." 
 
 " I know I have had a little present now and 
 then. Mother Brown," replied Mr. Nethersole ; 
 " and I never ask where anything comes from but 
 humbug, and that I always send back again. So 
 don't whine to me about where Tom is to sleep." 
 
 With this warning, the surgeon walked into 
 the other room ; and then shutting the door, he 
 held up his finger again to Mr. Latimer not to 
 speak, sat down by his bed-side, and felt his pulse. 
 " A little fever," he said, as if speaking to himself. 
 " I am afraid there has been some excitement 
 here. In your case, Mr. Latimer, Harpocrates is 
 as good as Hippocrates, and better ; but we must 
 make them go hand in hand — Silence, my dear 
 sir ! silence ! if you please. I am going to sit by 
 your bed-side all night ; and if you want anything, 
 just hold up your finger. I shall divine what you 
 want, and give it to you." 
 
 " You '11 be devilish clever, then," said Alfred 
 Latimer aloud, *' for I want something now " — 
 
 " Not a word ! " said Mr. Nethersole, stopping 
 both his ears ; ^' I will not listen to a word," and 
 approaching the table, he pulled a phial out of his 
 pocket, poured about a third of it out into a little
 
 352 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 cup, and presented it to the patient, saying, "drink 
 that. Then turn round on your right side and try to 
 get to sleep. That will compose you wonderfully." 
 
 " Why I 'm quite composed already," answered 
 the other. 
 
 " You won't be soon, if you go on so," answered 
 Mr. Nethersole, drily, " for in two hours you '11 
 be in a burning fever if you talk at all ; in two 
 days you will be lying composed enough ; and in 
 less than two weeks you will go out of that door 
 with your feet foremost." 
 
 This speech had the desired effect. Alfred 
 Latimer did not at all like the prospect so un- 
 ceremoniously presented to him, and he lay down 
 as he was bid and kept silence, while Mr. Nether- 
 sole seated himself in the chair by his side, and 
 taking a medical book out of his pocket began to 
 read. Nine times did Mr. Nethersole snuff the 
 candle ; and then, as there was no use of snuffing 
 it any longer, he went into the next room and got 
 another. Mother Brown had gone to bed ; her 
 son was snoring in a chair ; and when he returned 
 the worthy surgeon found that Alfred Latimer was 
 breathing hard too. The example he judged a 
 good one, and bending down his head upon his 
 arms he was soon in that strange mysterious state, 
 wherein the distinction between the life of the 
 body and the life of the soul, is more plain than
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 353 
 
 in any of the other phenomena of our mar- 
 vellous existence. 
 
 He had gone on for some hours, and Alfred 
 Latimer was still in a sound and comfortable 
 sleep, when the worthy surgeon was suddenly 
 awakened by the opening of the door. He looked 
 up, and saw the widow's son beckoning to him. 
 
 " Here 's your boy, doctor, wants you quick," 
 said the man, in a low tone. 
 
 " The deuce he does," murmured the surgeon ; 
 " that Mrs. Tilson come before her time ! — she 
 always does — I never saw anything like it." 
 
 It was, indeed, as he supposed ; and after a 
 brief conference with the boy at the door, he re- 
 turned and looked at his patient, and then at his 
 watch. The former was still enjoying tranquil 
 repose, and the latter pointed to a quarter past 
 four. 
 
 " Wilkinson must be back in three-quarters of 
 an hour at the farthest," said Mr. Nethersole, 
 " and Mrs. Tilson can't wait, that 's certain. No 
 great harm can happen ; for he 's doing quite well. 
 Here, Tom," he continued, putting his head into 
 the next room, and speaking in a low voice to 
 Mother Brown's son ; " When Wilkinson returns 
 tell him to give his young master one half of that 
 draught ; and to send to me, at Mrs. Tilson's, at 
 Shedbury, if anything goes wrong," and going out 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 354 THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 he mounted the horse the boy had brought, and 
 rode away. 
 
 The moment he had gone Tom Brown set the 
 bottle down upon the table, and put his forefinger 
 to his forehead. He was a dull looking man ; but 
 yet there was a keen cunning light stole out of 
 his somewhat oblique eyes when he thus set him- 
 self to consider, which had something dangerous 
 and sinister in it. 
 
 " Three-quarters of an hour," he said, meditat- 
 ing, '* that's well nigh an hour, may like. How- 
 somdever, I won't do nothing alone. I'll take 
 advice and have help ; for he might get up right 
 by chance, and one would have to put him out o 
 pain. Nobody would know it — One knock's as 
 good as another, and he 's in such a smash 
 't wouldn't be seen. He said he 'd a lot o' money 
 — I heard un ; but he didn't say how much, so 
 w^ho can tell. We might take a bit, and leave 
 some upon account. Mother could hold the 
 candle %hile I took the money, and Jack stood by 
 wi' the poker ready to stop noise." 
 
 It was a perilous moment for Alfred Latimer ; 
 and the man walking to the foot of the stairs 
 called his mother ; but in so low a voice that she 
 did not hear. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said some one in deep 
 masculine tones. " He 's not dying, is he ? "
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 355 
 
 " Pooh, no ! " cried Tom Brown. '^Notliinglike 
 it at present. I want you, Jack Williams, and 
 mother, too. Go and give her a shake in t' other 
 room." 
 
 Jack Williams, without reply, went and woke 
 Mother Brown, w^ho hurried on some rags of 
 clothes, and descended to the room where Wil- 
 liams and her son were already in conference. 
 As she went down she stumbled over an iron pot 
 which had been carelessly put at the foot of the 
 stairs ; and the pot, on being disturbed at that 
 hour of the night, uttered a loud complaint. 
 Alfred Latimer started, turned round, and gazed 
 about him. The door between his room and the 
 next had been left partly ajar, and he heard the 
 sound of voices speaking. They w^ere subdued ; 
 but yet many, nay, most of the words, were dis- 
 tinct to an ear quickened by a slight degree of 
 feverish excitement, and he heard the tongue of 
 Mother Brown, as she was called, going pretty 
 sharply. 
 
 " It's no use taking the flimsies," she said; 
 " they 'd be knowed and traced directly, and we 
 should all get nabbed. But I don't see there 
 can be any harm in seeing wdiatj yellow boys may 
 be in his pockets. It would be spoony enough 
 to let them go, when he 'd know nothing about 
 it. He was always a careless hand, I 've heard ;
 
 356 THE STEP-MOTHEK. 
 
 and he might ha' dropped 'em while they were 
 lugging him out of the chay, or arterwards, or 
 any how." 
 
 " I 'd take the flimsies, too," said her well- 
 educated son. " If we couldn't flash them our- 
 selves, we could get some one to do it. So I 'd 
 take all — make a sweep out, and I know what" — 
 
 " Well, what do you know?" said a voice 
 which Alfred Latimer instantly recognised as that 
 of Jack Williams. 
 
 " Why, I should not like to do anything to 
 him sleeping," answered Tom Brown ; " but it 
 would not be a bad job if he woke, and got a 
 quiet knock o' the head — a little would do it now, 
 and no one the wiser." 
 
 " And I know what, too," resumed Jack Wil- 
 liams aloud — " that none of you shall take a 
 penny of his, or lay a finger on him. Why, 
 confound you all, he 's one of our own friends, 
 and we should act like gentlemen to one another. 
 He '11 make as fine a fellow as ever lived one of 
 these days, if a set of puling fools do not get hold 
 of him, and preach the spirit out of him. But I 
 don't think there's much chance of that. The 
 lad 's young, and has not had much experience, 
 yet he is sharp enough, and I have seen signs of 
 a bold strong heart in him, and a determined 
 spirit. I '11 have no tricks, Tom Brown ; so, look
 
 THE STEP-MOTHER. 357 
 
 you, Mr. Latimer is under my protection, and let 
 people take a penny from him if they dare." 
 
 The conversation did not only fall upon Alfred 
 Latimer's ear, but sunk into his heart. The 
 boldness with which Williams stood forward in 
 his defence touched one of the few better points 
 about him ; and the language that he used was 
 immediately put in strong opposition to that 
 whicli Quatterly had employed. The latter had 
 shown that in the higher ranks of life, a reputa- 
 tion once even stained could never be rendered 
 wholly pure ; the former proved that good feeling* 
 of a particular kind can be mingled with crimes 
 and faults of a very deep dye. He fancied that 
 the door was closed upon him in one course, and 
 that it was open in another ; and that low-toned 
 conversation was more injurious to every good 
 princi])le than the most potent arguments could 
 have proved, if addressed to himself directly. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 London : 
 Printed by Stewart and Murart, 
 Old Bailey.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 ilillllllllilll 
 
 3 0112 049064188