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 ANNE SHERWOOD: 
 
 OB, THE 
 
 SOCIAL INSTITUTIONS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 
 " II faut 6ter les masques des choses, aussi bien que des personnes!" 
 
 Montaigne. 
 " Per me si va nella citti dolente : 
 Per me si va nell' eterno dolore : 
 Per me si va tra la perduta gente." — Dante. 
 
 " Our soul is exceedingly filled with the scorning of those that are at 
 ease, and with the contempt of the proud."— Ps. cxxiii., Bible Version. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1857.
 
 LOUDON : 
 
 SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STRELT, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN.
 
 8S3 
 v. 2 
 
 TO 
 
 MES. BEECHES STOWE. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Though personally unknown to you, 
 and consequently deprived of the opportunity of re- 
 questing your consent to this dedication, I am induced 
 to believe, by the spirit which breathes through your 
 own admirable writings, that the cause of the oppressed 
 will always find a responsive echo in your heart ; and 
 that every attempt to expose a wrong, or to suggest a 
 remedy for that wrong, will enlist your sympathies. 
 I feel honoured by dedicating the following volumes 
 ^ to the benefactress of the black slave. 
 
 I am, Madam, 
 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 BERKELEY-AIKIK
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Many novels of a romantic character have 
 been written, purporting to portray the 
 governess life ; many of them good and ex- 
 cellent in design, yet more good and excel- 
 lent in execution. The theme has enlisted 
 the sympathy, and employed the pen of gifted 
 men, and scarcely less gifted women, until a 
 subject in itself sufficiently homely and un- 
 inviting, has been invested with a poetic 
 garb, concealing too frequently its own 
 sordid under-garments. 
 
 The graceful and pleasant books alluded 
 to, are very charming fancy pieces, in which 
 the distressed anS persecuted governess 
 heroine goes through unheard-of trials, 
 meets with incredible injustice, sometimes 
 treads on the verge of mental — if not phy- 
 sical — martyrdom, but emerges from the fire 
 of unmerited affliction, in every instance,
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 like gold — refined, in proportion to the heat 
 of the furnace in which she has been mar- 
 tyrising. 
 
 It is said that when General Canrobert 
 viewed the fatal but glorious charge, when 
 
 " Into the valley of death rode the six hundred !" 
 
 he exclaimed with the enthusiasm of bravery, 
 yet with the critical acumen of a practised 
 soldier, "C'est magnifique ! mais ce n'est pas 
 la guerre !" So are we sometimes constrained 
 to say, when one of these immaculate heroines 
 comes forth from the house of bondage " an 
 angel still," as she has been an angel all 
 through her trials, and meets with the due 
 'reward of virtue (an immense rise in the 
 social scale, a marriage uniting love and in- 
 terest, or a colossal fortune from an old 
 Indian uncle, before supposed dead) — " C'est 
 magnifique ! mais ce n'est pas la vie" No, 
 no, it is not life ! The governess who has 
 passed through the usual ordeal in the social 
 'institutions of aristocratic England — unless, 
 indeed, she have borne with her to the 
 Lroverness life, high, exalted principles of reli- 
 gion and honour — is more likely to become 
 hardened than purified ; more likely to be- 
 come morose and ill-tempered than a saint-
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 like, patient martyr ; in many instances, alas ! 
 more likely to become cunning and deceitful 
 than to continue faithful and upright. " My 
 behaviour have I learnt from my entertain- 
 ment." In the present generation the 
 mothers of England are strangely blind to 
 their own interests, and to those of their 
 children, strangely blind to the fact that they 
 are daily arming their slaves against them- 
 selves ! 
 
 In the following volumes an attempt has 
 been made (how successfully must be left to 
 the impartial reader to decide) to delineate 
 neither fictitious scenes nor fictitious cha- 
 racters, but individuals, groups, and tableaux 
 from real existence. For this purpose ma- 
 terials for the work have been carefully col- 
 lected during ten years ; evidence has been 
 gathered from sources above suspicion, in 
 addition to that obtained by personal 
 observation. 
 
 Anne Sherwood may be regarded as the 
 united testimony of some ninety or a hundred 
 professional gentlewomen representing their 
 class. Not one solitary record of the gover- 
 ness life herein related has been even coloured 
 with the pencil of exaggeration ; bare facts 
 have been stated, and in many instances
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 circumstances have been suppressed which 
 were either unfit for the public eye, or of so 
 highly improbable an appearance, that, if 
 related, they would not have met with 
 credence. 
 
 Though anxious to draw exclusively from 
 real life, the author of Anne Sherwood has 
 been, for obvious reasons, careful to avoid 
 whatever might prove painful to individuals, 
 and has consequently altered dates, localities, 
 and, in many instances, the social position of 
 the characters. 
 
 Obliged by the taste of the age to adopt 
 the form of the novel, instead of the graver 
 style, in which one of the most crying evils of 
 our land might perhaps with more propriety 
 have been discussed, the author must entreat 
 the reader's indulgence for the probable de- 
 fects of narrative, &c. None of those defects 
 have arisen from wilful carelessness ; and 
 whatever the eye of the critic may find to 
 condemn (much it will certainly discover), it 
 is confidently hoped that the public at large, 
 taken in the extended sense, almost always 
 a generous public, will at least sympathise 
 with an attempt to expose and ameliorate 
 the condition of the White Slaves of England. 
 " Courage to speak the truth, though it be
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 out of favour and fashion ; to stand by the 
 right when it is not the winning side ; to 
 give the wrong its true name, no matter 
 w^hat my Lord may think or my Lady will 
 say — that ip Aie courage most wanted in 
 these days !" 
 
 Chelsea, 1857.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 The latest news in Merton (a village not far 
 
 from L , in Yorkshire) was, that the 
 
 Vicar was dead. There was nothing strange 
 in the news, for the Vicar was an old man, 
 and had long been an ailing one ; yet it 
 created an extraordinary sensation. He had 
 spent all his life in the village ; from youth 
 to age had walked among his people in 
 single-minded integrity and unostentatious 
 holiness. He had been poor — literally poor, 
 — but of his scant means, oft and again he 
 had imparted help to his yet poorer flock ; 
 and when he was constrained to say, " Silver 
 and gold have I none," his large-hearted 
 charity found other issues for its copious 
 streams. Mr. Sherwood had been, in truth, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the father of his flock, and had fallen with 
 his armour on, having expired at the altar, 
 immediately after the administration of the 
 Eucharist. Never, perhaps, had a more 
 solemn scene been witnessed than that of 
 the white-haired pastor, who had struggled 
 bravely with sickness and suffering, finally 
 laying down his life at the foot of the very 
 altar at which he had ministered; and his 
 people felt it as they should. To them his 
 death was more a triumphant translation 
 than aught else, and for himself gain im- 
 measurable, though to others a desolating 
 bereavement. 
 
 Mr. Sherwood had left two daughters — 
 motherless, friendless, and portionless. Per- 
 haps, had not the good old man been caught 
 so suddenly from earth to heaven, the 
 possible destitution of his children would 
 have pressed on his spirit ; but he had been 
 spared that pang, and was at rest. 
 
 It was evening — sunset on an autumn 
 evening. All was mournful and deatldike 
 without, as the wind swept the sered leaves 
 from the trees, making sport of their lost 
 glories ! Yet more mournful was the scene 
 within, where the Vicar's daughters sat on 
 the ground, bowed down with sorrow, beside
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 3 
 
 the cold, sad relics of mortality. They sat 
 with their arms folded round each other, the 
 face of the younger hidden in her sister's 
 neck, while the elder bent over her with an 
 air of protection almost maternal. Their 
 low, stifled sobs alone broke the silence of 
 the room. So far they had only felt and 
 seen their bereavement ; care for the future 
 had not once intruded on the sacredness of 
 their sorrow. There they sat — poor, deso- 
 late girls ! — with no other light than the 
 chilling moonbeams stealing into the cham- 
 ber of death, till the solemn midnight hour 
 sounded from the old church tower, and then 
 Annie Sherwood rose, and led her young 
 sister away. 
 
 "Let us stay! we are best here!" said 
 Ellen. "Oh, that I had died for him, or 
 with him ! Father, father ! my precious 
 father !" exclaimed she, with a fresh burst of 
 agonised grief. 
 
 " You would have left me alone then, 
 Ellen ! — alone to struggle with life !" 
 
 " Oh, no !" said Ellen, fondly ; " I spoke 
 foolishly. But what is there to live for, 
 Annie? What have we to do in this 
 world?" 
 
 " Much," said Annie ; "much more than 
 
 b 2
 
 4 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 you think of, Ellen ! We have a work to 
 perform in the shadowy future that you little 
 dream of now ! Come, Ellen, you will 
 witli me?" 
 
 There was a degree of volition in Annie 
 Sherwood's voice — something unexplained, 
 but powerful, which made her younger sister 
 instinctively yield her will, and follow where 
 she directed. Both sisters bent down reve- 
 rently over the marble-cold face of their 
 saintly father, and left it wet with tears ; 
 but when Annie led her sister away, her step 
 was firmer and more composed than that of 
 Ellen. As they walked together, hand in 
 hand, the sisters formed a strange contrast. 
 Ellen was tall, slight, and graceful ; but her 
 delicate complexion, her long, bright, fair 
 hair and blue eyes — blue as the violets, — 
 showed no mental power, no character, but 
 gentleness and affection. Annie Sherwood 
 was all but short — dark, and with very little 
 pretension to beauty, — perhaps, had not one 
 correct feature, unless it were the large grey 
 eye, that lit up sometimes with a world of 
 meaning, *and the broad clear brow, in which 
 the intellectual faculty was unusually deve- 
 loped. Common observers would have passed 
 Annie Shenvood by unnoticed, as the last
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. O 
 
 woman in the world formed for admiration ; 
 but when she spoke, she had — whether con- 
 sciously or not — the art of riveting atten- 
 tion, and that exclusively. Every one thought 
 Ellen beautiful, and she was so ; no one con- 
 sidered Annie even pretty, but yet none 
 who had conversed with her, ever forgot her. 
 Ellen was not exactly clever, but intelligent 
 and accomplished, as far as her limited oppor- 
 tunities had gone ; that is, she played the 
 piano tolerably well, and with taste ; sang 
 sweetly, drew landscapes, and knew some 
 French, and a little less Italian. Annie 
 knew none of these things. She had had 
 the same advantages as Ellen, but had learnt 
 nothing of music, had no voice, less ear, 
 could not draw a straight line, and knew no 
 modern language but her own. Still, Annie 
 knew a great deal in her way. She was a 
 good Greek and Latin scholar ; she had laid 
 up a strange mass of heterogeneous know- 
 ledge ; had read every book that came in her 
 way, and hunted up those that were out of 
 her way. Her poor father, himself a man 
 of taste and acquirements, had possessed a 
 curious, though not very valuable collection 
 of old books, and had felt more secret pride 
 and pleasure in seeing his Annie hoarding up
 
 6 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 treasures of knowledge "in lier own odd 
 way," as lie called it, than in watching the 
 progress of her fairer sister, in what might 
 be considered more feminine accomplish- 
 ments. Yet he loved his children equally; 
 some even thought that the gentle Ellen had 
 the larger share in his heart ; for Annie was 
 hasty, and naturally inclined to resentment ; 
 but she was noble and generous, and he was 
 proud of her, poor, simple man ! and when 
 his mind's eye looked forward, he saw Annie 
 the firm supporter of her more yielding 
 and timid sister — her example in all that was 
 good and high-minded. 
 
 The funeral was over. The man of God 
 was laid to rest in the churchyard of his 
 beloved village, beneath a dark, shadowy 
 tree, and the orphan girls had turned away 
 from the new-made grave, with feelings of 
 almost utter desolation. On re-entering 
 their lonely home, Annie involuntarily ex- 
 claimed, as her eye rested on the scene 
 endeared to her by the tenderest recollec- 
 tions, " It will be indeed a trial to leave it." 
 
 " To leave it !" ejaculated Ellen : " why 
 should we ?" 
 
 " Why?" repeated Annie, who well knew 
 that forethought formed no part of her
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 7 
 
 sister's character. " My poor, dear Ellen, is 
 it possible that you have forgotten what 
 must be ! that we must yield our places to 
 the new Vicar and his family ? Don't you 
 know, dear child, that they will perhaps 
 soon arrive ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know all about it," said 
 Ellen; "but you know Mr. Everard is not 
 at all a rich man : he has, besides, a small 
 family ; so he and his wife might be glad to 
 let us two rooms, and then " 
 
 " Very likely indeed," said Annie. 
 
 " And then you know, Annie," said 
 Ellen, " as they say Mrs. Everard is so 
 amiable, and has such sweet children, we 
 should gain valuable friends, perhaps " 
 
 "All you say is very true," interrupted 
 Annie ; "a delightful plan, if it could only 
 be accomplished ! But what are we to live 
 on, Ellen?" 
 
 " So little would suffice us," said Ellen. 
 
 " Very true ; but if that little be wanting ! 
 if we have nothing ?" 
 
 " I suppose we must see about selling the 
 books, and the furniture, and the " 
 
 " I think we must summon the auctioneer 
 on Monday," said Annie. 
 
 " So soon !" exclaimed Ellen.
 
 8 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Anne, gently ; " what- 
 ever has to be done, should be done promptly. 
 It would not do to inconvenience Mrs. Eve- 
 rard, by allowing her to find us unprepared 
 on her arrival. Of course it is a trial even 
 to part from the inanimate objects so long 
 familiarized by association — the very chairs 
 in which our precious father has sat, the 
 books he has read ! But, alas ! it must be, 
 Ellen — it must be !" 
 
 " Sell a part," suggested Ellen. 
 
 " Do you know about how much the whole 
 would produce ?" asked Annie. 
 
 " Perhaps a hundred pounds," said Ellen. 
 
 " Probably forty \" 
 
 " But we could live on that a long time — 
 a very long time !" said Ellen. 
 
 " And when the forty was gone, Ellen — 
 what then ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, dejectedly. 
 
 " I know you don't, poor girl ; but I do, 
 Ellen. "We must work for our living." 
 
 " At what?" 
 
 " We must be governesses." 
 
 "Oh, yes, that will be delightful!' 3 said 
 Ellen ; only she added, more sadly, " We 
 must leave Merton, Annie." 
 
 "Of course we must," replied Annie.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 9 
 
 " For myself, I feel I shall be strong to bear 
 whatever may await me in the shape of 
 trial; for you only I tremble, dear Ellen ! ,s 
 
 " Nay, you must not be anxious about 
 me," said the young girl — for Ellen was but 
 eighteen ; Annie had had four more years' 
 experience of life; — "I shall do well, I am 
 sure ; if anything could soften the blow our 
 dear father's loss has given, anything com- 
 pensate for parting with you, Annie, and 
 parting from this dear place, it would be 
 living with sweet children." 
 
 " But you will have others to live with 
 besides children : parents — perhaps grand- 
 fathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts, and 
 cousins, — and will have to study to please 
 them." 
 
 " I shall try very hard to do it, then," 
 said Ellen, " and shall like it very much ; 
 all but leaving you and Merton ! I have 
 but one fear, — that I am not clever enough. 
 Now, you, Annie, who know almost as much 
 as papa, you will, I dare say, get a very good 
 situation — or what shall I call it? rather, 
 what does the world call it ?" 
 
 " By the world I suppose you mean the 
 ladies who engage governesses : if osten- 
 tatious, they call it an appointment, as if
 
 10 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 you were a military officer ; if proud, a situ- 
 ation ; if vulgar parvenus, they will descend 
 to the word place." 
 
 "Dear me ! How do you know all this, 
 Annie ?" 
 
 " Oh, I have made very minute inquiries 
 with regard to governessing," said Annie, 
 " two or three years since, that I might be 
 armed at all points; for I knew it would be 
 our kismet, as Mussulmans say." 
 
 "And you never told me your expectations, 
 Annie !" 
 
 " Told you, poor child ! Why should I ? 
 Would you have me stop the glorious flight 
 of yonder skylark, soaring sunward, with 
 the suggestion that he had better moderate 
 the merry strain he is pouring forth, as he 
 is probably to fall by the sportsman's 
 
 gunr 
 
 P" 
 
 " Is it, then, so dreadful to be a gover- 
 ness ! ,; exclaimed Ellen; "are they all un- 
 happy?" 
 
 " From what I have heard, I believe them 
 to be the most unhappy, ill-treated class in 
 the world !" said Annie, with a heightened 
 colour and a flashing light in her eye, which 
 showed that she felt herself ill-treated by 
 anticipation. " Bertha Somerton has writ-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 11 
 
 ten me pages on the subject, though she 
 is the most meek-spirited, uncomplaining 
 creature living. In the three years she has 
 been out, you don't know the strange things 
 she has met with — the daily, hourly humi- 
 liations that " 
 
 Here Annie stopped short, for Ellen 
 looked positively frightened at the prospect 
 before her, and she repented her own impe- 
 tuosity. 
 
 " But if it is so dreadful, dear Annie, why 
 should we try it ? Why not attempt some 
 humbler occupation, in which we should be 
 less exposed to trial and insult ?" 
 
 " Why, Ellen ! because it is our kismet, 
 as I told you before. We were born daugh- 
 ters of a scholar and a gentleman ; the 
 world would never forgive us should we 
 descend in life — they will ascribe our course 
 to vulgarity, if not to more perverted prin- 
 ciples. We must suffer, to retain the world's 
 good opinion. Ellen, dear, you have much 
 to learn." 
 
 " I know I have," said Ellen, sighing j 
 " but I hope you will find Bertha's account 
 exaggerated : perhaps we shall be led by 
 a kind Providence to those who will act 
 towards us as Christians should. Of one
 
 12 ANNE SIIEltWOOD. 
 
 thing I am quite sure, your talents must 
 command appreciation and respect.' 3 
 
 "My talents!" exclaimed Annie; "my 
 talents, Ellen ! Yes, they will be appreciated, 
 as your pretty face will be ! You will see 
 what both will produce. As I said before, 
 dear one, I feel as if I could meet anything, 
 like 
 
 1 The erring great ami dimly wise.' 
 
 I can say, * Here's a heart for every fate ;' 
 but for you, darling — for you, who are so 
 young, so delicate, timid, and inexperienced 
 — for you I have a thousand tremblino- 
 fears." 
 
 " But I have been thinking," said Ellen, 
 musingly, — " I have been thinking how we 
 are ever to set about this business. What is 
 the first thing to be done ? We have so 
 few friends !" 
 
 " Few, indeed," said Annie. " None but 
 our rustic neighbours ; but it is better to be 
 independent. We must repair to London 
 the moment the sale is over, whatever it 
 may cost us, Ellen, to leave our long-loved 
 home, and our father's grave, — indeed, all 
 that is dear to us in life ; the sooner the 
 bitter cup is drained the better, the sooner
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 13 
 
 the bitterness will be passed. Cheer up, 
 clear Ellen," continued the elder sister, 
 bending fondly over and kissing her ; " per- 
 haps our prospects are brighter than I have 
 anticipated." 
 
 " Yes, very likely we shall be happier than 
 you think, Annie," replied Ellen, who was 
 easily comforted ; " and, after all, it is not 
 wise to meet misfortunes half-way. Per- 
 haps Bertha has been singularly unfortunate. 
 I remember reading a tale once, in which 
 the heroine was a governess, and she " 
 
 " Married a duke, of course ; well, we shall 
 see. But now, Ellen, help me to sort these 
 books, and make a list of them." 
 
 The sisters then busied themselves in 
 arranging their father's modest library. 
 While thus occupied, poor Ellen's tears 
 flowed incessantly, but gently. Annie, too, 
 wept; but she dashed away the drops as 
 they gathered in her eyes, with a sort of 
 stern stoicism, and resolutely continued her 
 work. Annie Sherwood was formed with 
 a strong, sinewy mind, but it was rather 
 warped by the prejudices natural to one 
 whose only acquaintance with the world 
 was drawn from books ; her feelings corre- 
 sponded with the strength of her intellect,
 
 14 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 but were liable to misdirection. Her love 
 for Ellen was something approaching ado- 
 ration — it was tender and protecting. She 
 had never known what is called romantic 
 passion, had never been ever so slightly 
 tinged with love, and all the affections and 
 feelings, which in a heart like hers would 
 have been poured out as an offering to an 
 idol (had she ever known one capable of in- 
 spiring her with a real passion), had been 
 naturally centred in her lovely sister. But 
 Annie wanted to know more of life, to know 
 more of, and to distrust, her own strong will 
 and masculine energies. Ellen — the gentle, 
 yielding, loving Ellen, had the heart of a 
 seraph, and looked up to her sister, as 
 something more than mortal ; nor had it 
 ever occurred to her to contrast her own 
 beauty with that sister's plainness. Never 
 were sisters more united, heart and soul, but 
 in one respect the elder was less happy than 
 the other ; she was a learned and skilful 
 theologian, knew the Fathers well, and all 
 the orthodox divines ; she could have 
 silenced a sceptic : Ellen knew nothing of 
 the Fathers or theologians — would have 
 stammered and become confused in an 
 argument, but she was deeply religious.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 15 
 
 The girls worked on in almost silence, 
 unless now and then Ellen asked a question 
 of her sister, with regard to the new and 
 untried world on which they were about to 
 enter. Neither of them had ever left York- 
 shire in their lives, nor had they ever been in 
 any of the large towns of that county ; but 
 Ellen took it for granted that Annie must 
 know everything, and be able to answer 
 satisfactorily whatever questions she might 
 propose.
 
 16 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The auctioneer was an active man of busi- 
 ness ; the preparations for the sale w r ere soon 
 made, and the hitherto neat and picturesque 
 Vicarage in tw T o or three days presented as 
 great a scene of desolation and change as an 
 auctioneer's clerk could effect. About ten 
 in the morning, the few respectable inhabi- 
 tants (consisting principally of farmers, with 
 a sprinkling of retired tradesmen) had as- 
 sembled in the front of the house, on the 
 small patch of grass by courtesy called a 
 lawn, for the rooms were considered too 
 small for the sale. The modest articles of 
 furniture w r ere brought out one by one, ex- 
 amined, and passed judgment on by the 
 bystanders.. The auctioneer read the con- 
 ditions of sale, and, after a dry preparatory 
 cough, proceeded to business. The sale went 
 on pretty briskly, but it was observed that 
 nearly all the lots were knocked down to one 
 person, who, often bidding beyond the worth 
 of his purchases, seemed determined to dis-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 17 
 
 tance all competitors. He had already 
 secured the complete furniture of the Vicar's 
 little study, that of the parlour in which the 
 sisters usually sat, and many other things, 
 as well as all the books. Every one looked 
 on with surprise, firstly because Mr. Turner 
 was a young farmer just beginning life, with 
 fair prospects indeed, but not such as to 
 warrant any unnecessary expenditure ; then, 
 nearly all he had bought would be useless to 
 him. What was he to do w T ith a great stuffed 
 easy- chair, fit for an invalid ? What could 
 he possibly want with a lady's work-table ? 
 Beyond all, what use could he make of a 
 host of old Greek and Latin books ? for, 
 though educated to a certain extent, the 
 3'oung man was innocent of all classic attain- 
 ment. He overheard some remarks passed 
 on him ; beyond all, he observed the satirical 
 glances of his neighbours, but he took no 
 notice of those glances, and went on bidding, 
 only growing a little redder than nature had 
 made him. Charles Turner was what is 
 called in the world a fine young man, tall 
 and well proportioned. His features were 
 tolerably regular, his countenance honest and 
 animated, but the sun had burnt a deep red 
 into his cheeks — deep as the colour of the 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 peony ; and though he was very abstemious, 
 and fought hard against the ruddy glow, it 
 was all in vain, nothing w T ould make him a 
 shade paler. He had an excellent heart, 
 good sense, and though rustic, was not 
 vulgar. Then he had a dash of romance in 
 his composition, which wonderfully softens 
 down even the rustic, and was, besides, only 
 nve-and-twenty, and very much in love. 
 The world could never have suspected 
 Charles Turner of aspiring to one of the 
 Vicar's daughters, but it was even so. The 
 Sherwoods never kept themselves aloof from 
 their neighbours, even from those who in 
 point of education and refinement might 
 have been considered their inferiors ; and the 
 result w r as, that having been admitted to 
 occasional intercourse with the Vicar's little 
 circle, the young farmer had unconsciously 
 lost his heart. At first he had loved hope- 
 lessly, and in something like aw T e of a woman 
 whom he felt to be immeasurably his superior; 
 then he had not unreasonably argued that 
 the devotedness of his attachment might 
 well weigh against his seeming presumption; 
 finally, hope arose in his bosom, shadowy at 
 first, but still it was hope, and that hope had 
 grown into a palpable reality, and he was
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 19 
 
 actually making preparations for his unwooed 
 bride in his modest dwelling. When the 
 day's proceedings had quite closed, and while 
 Annie and Ellen were sitting in the disman- 
 tled study, they received a visit from Mr. 
 Turner. They were neither surprised nor 
 offended, conjecturing that he had come with 
 some good-natured offer of service; their 
 greeting was consequently unusually cordial, 
 and Mr. Turner, growing a few shades deeper 
 coloured, sat down on one of his own pur- 
 chases, but only just on the edge, and as if 
 he were on the point momentarily of slip- 
 ping off, w T hile he played nervously with his 
 hat, and wondered if he ever could summon 
 courage to speak out ! There was an 
 embarrassed silence. At length Annie, the 
 boldest of the party, broke it. " It was very 
 kind in you to come and see us, Mr. Turner." 
 
 Mr. Turner still twisted the rim of his hat, 
 much to its detriment, but made no other 
 reply. " You were a large purchaser, to-day," 
 continued Annie ; " I scarcely know why, but 
 it is a sort of satisfaction to me to feel that 
 nearly all the things will be kept together. 5 ' 
 
 Still the visitor spoke not. Annie made 
 several efforts to introduce some subject which 
 would set him at his ease, but it w r as ineffec- 
 
 c 2
 
 20 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 tual. At last she began to fear that her poor 
 father had been indebted to him in some way, 
 and that the debt had escaped his memory. 
 " I fear, Mr. Turner," said Annie, when she 
 had fairly arrived at that disagreeable con- 
 clusion, " I fear that you have something to 
 say that you hesitate to communicate r" 
 
 " Yes, yes, Miss Annie, that — that is it !" 
 stammered Mr. Turner. " I — I — that is to 
 say — can I speak to } r ou alone, Miss Annie ?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Annie. " Ellen dear, 
 leave us." 
 
 Ellen left the room immediatelv, but on 
 her exit, the young farmer w r as once more 
 struck dumb. Again there was a long 
 pause — again it was broken by Annie. 
 " I see from your hesitation, Mr. Turner, 
 that you fear to distress me by what you 
 have to say. I partly guess its nature. 
 If my dear father was indebted to you, as I 
 strongly suspect, Ellen and I will gladly 
 discharge whatever it may be." 
 
 These words had a magical effect on 
 Charles Turner ; he started from his chair, 
 looked as proudly indignant as if he had 
 been lord of the manor, and immediately 
 found powers of articulation. " No, Mi>s 
 Sherwood !" he exclaimed, " I had no
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 21 
 
 claims on your father, and if I had, how 
 can you think I would choose this moment 
 to press those claims on his orphan 
 daughters ?" 
 
 "Pray forgive me, Mr. Turner," said 
 Annie ; " misfortune is naturally timid and 
 fearful, meeting difficulties half way ; hut I 
 assure you I have heen led into this mistake 
 by your seeming reluctance to enter on the 
 subject, when I understood you had some- 
 thing of importance to communicate." 
 
 " Yes, I have something of importance 
 to say," said Mr. Turner, who had almost 
 recovered his self-possession ; " but I do not 
 well know how to begin. I am grieved to 
 see you and your sister leave Merton, after 
 having been born in it, and known it as 
 your home for so many years." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Annie, sighing, " it 
 is grievous to part with Merton, and all its 
 dear remembrances ; but I do think that 
 now we see the clear necessity of our 
 leaving, we are prepared to bear the trial 
 with becoming fortitude and resignation." 
 
 " But why should you leave, Miss Annie ?" 
 said Mr. Turner, drawing his chair a little 
 closer to her. 
 
 " We have not the means of living here,"
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 - - 
 
 said Annie, " and must not think of it. To 
 remain independent, a life of courageous 
 exertion is before us, and we prefer 
 entering on it immediately, to putting off 
 the evil day, and lingering in these dear 
 scenes in useless idleness." 
 
 " Miss Annie !" said the young man, then 
 paused, and looked at her very earnestly, as 
 if to note how far he might venture to pro- 
 ceed : but he seemed to gather encourage- 
 ment from her countenance, and continued, 
 " I have been thinking of a plan, by which 
 you might both remain at Merton." 
 
 "Have you?" said Annie; "you are 
 very, very good.'' 
 
 "But will you consent?' 1 he asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I should, you may be sure, consent to 
 whatever would fulfil so dear a wish," said 
 Annie, little suspecting what would follow ; 
 " but alas ! I cannot hope for anything so 
 happy, Mr. Turner." 
 
 " You must have thought it very strange 
 to see me buy so much of your furniture ; 
 did you not, Miss Sherwood?" 
 
 " Yes, very strange," said Annie. 
 
 " And you could not guess the reason 
 why ?"
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 23 
 
 " No, indeed I could not." 
 
 " It was — it was," said the young man, 
 " that you might have around you what you 
 had been accustomed to — things which I 
 knew you would like better than newer, 
 finer furniture." 
 
 " But I cannot see," began Annie. 
 
 " Well, I will have them removed in a few 
 days to the farm," said Mr. Turner. "Every- 
 thing shall be stood as nearly as possible as 
 it has been here ; the papering of the rooms 
 is the same, and what I cannot do, Miss 
 Ellen's taste and yours will." 
 
 " Ellen !" exclaimed Annie, growing alter- 
 nately red and pale. " What can you 
 mean r 
 
 " I mean, that I hope you never will be 
 separated," said the young lover ; " that you 
 will both come to the home which awaits 
 you ! It is humble, but " 
 
 " Mr. Turner 1" exclaimed Annie, " do — 
 do I understand you rightly ? Do you wish 
 to marry Ellen?" 
 
 " Ellen ! I never dreamt of her!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Turner; "but I " 
 
 "What can you mean, then?" 
 
 "I mean, Miss Sherwood, that I have 
 loved you long and well — presumptuously,
 
 24 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 you may think, still I have loved you, and 
 if " 
 
 " You cannot mean this ! M cried Annie, 
 retreating a few paces. 
 
 " Why not, Miss Sherwood ?" 
 
 " Because — because," stammered Annie 
 Sherwood ; but she could proceed no further. 
 
 " Do you despise me, or my calling ?" 
 
 " Neither," said Annie, t( but " 
 
 " You will think of it, then," he exclaimed; 
 "you will not make a hasty decision ; you 
 will learn to love me a little — perhaps only 
 a little ; but I shall be satisfied with even 
 that. I know I am unworthy of you ; but 
 you will one day be mine ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! no ! no ! never — never ! I 
 cannot !" 
 
 " Never, Miss Sherwood !" cried the young 
 man, changing colour. 
 
 " No, never ! Mr. Turner," repeated 
 Annie. " What could have made you con- 
 ceive such a thing ?" 
 
 " Love 1" replied he, " love ! — such love 
 as you may never know again, however 
 much it may offend you now. It is your 
 pride refuses me, Annie Sherwood — your 
 pride, and not your heart. Mark me, you 
 are going forth into the world j its pleasures
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 25 
 
 and flatteries may please you for a while, and 
 teach you to think you have done well to 
 trample on a heart like mine ; but Annie, 
 Annie Sherwood ! the time will come when 
 you will regret the humble love you now 
 reject!" He turned and left the room. 
 Annie gazed after him from the window, 
 with mingled feelings of interest and curio- 
 sity. Hitherto she had considered Charles 
 Turner a mere rustic, rather softened by 
 education ; she now saw him in a new light, 
 a man of strong feeling, of noble pride and 
 energy ; one who, under different auspices, 
 might have proved a man with whose 
 destinies she need not have blushed to unite 
 her own. She regretted that her refusal 
 had not been more gently conveyed; she 
 felt for her disinterested lover, sympathized 
 with him as far as she could, but thought 
 not for one moment of changing her mind. 
 Busy cares of a very different nature ensued, 
 and Annie dismissed her first offer of mar- 
 riage from her mind much more readily and 
 much sooner than most young ladies similarly 
 circumstanced. The rejected swain spent a 
 few hours in the depths of a wood, in whose 
 shades he yielded alternately to fits of resent- 
 ment and despondency. The next few days
 
 2G ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 he shut himself up in complete solitude, and 
 neglected all his concerns ; but the ensuing 
 market-day he knew the price of wheat and 
 barley, like a sensible man as he was, and 
 found hay fallen. On the evening of the same 
 day, he remembered that in the burst of his 
 resentment at Annie's proud rejection, he had 
 ungenerously forgotten her position, and that 
 of Ellen, and had neglected to make them any 
 offers of neighbourly service. He resolved, 
 therefore, on once more calling on the sisters, 
 though far more with the idea of making up 
 for his omission than of renewing his suit. He 
 therefore presented himself at the Vicarage, 
 but to his great disappointment, found that 
 the Sherwoods had set off for London the 
 previous day. He had, however, the satis- 
 faction of receiving a very kind letter which 
 Annie had left for him, softening her proud 
 rejection, expressing such warm gratitude 
 for his disinterested affection, and breathing 
 such gentle wishes for his happiness and 
 welfare, that his feelings were much soothed, 
 and if his regret was not overcome, it wafl 
 at least deprived of its worst bitterness. 
 But Annie's letter contained no clue to 
 her destination; she merely said that she 
 and Ellen were going to London, and that
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 27 
 
 was very vague information. Still, the 
 young man could not help cherishing a 
 lingering hope that, in some happy hour, he 
 and Annie Sherwood would meet again. 
 Perhaps meet when she had tried and been 
 tried by the world, when she would have 
 found its falsehood and vanity, and yearn for 
 some really faithful heart on which to rest, 
 some unselfish affection on which to repose, 
 after having vainly sought for happiness 
 among the more refined, but less honest, 
 of the greater world. While thus musing 
 and consoling himself, Charles Turner ex- 
 amined his sheep, and found them in a very 
 flourishing condition.
 
 28 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Poor Annie felt wearied, but she was too full 
 of energy to yield to lassitude, and deter- 
 mined that what had to be done should be 
 done at once. She therefore set off imme- 
 diately to see Bertha Somerton, that she 
 might learn from her what steps ought to 
 be taken to procure " appointments/' " en- 
 gagements," or " places," for her sister and 
 self. 
 
 Considering her country education, she 
 was very little impressed by the princely 
 dwellings which met her gaze in the fashion- 
 able Belgravia. Her mind was too familiar 
 with descriptions of Eastern magnificence to 
 be dazzled by the cold splendours before her, 
 and she passed on, more intent on business 
 than observation, till she reached No. — 
 E Place, and inquired for Miss Somer- 
 ton. A familiar-mannered footman, who 
 probably measured her by her plain dross, 
 replied, " I don't know whether you can see 
 her. Here, you Charlie," he continued, 
 turning his head over his shoulder to a
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 29 
 
 diminutive page, " run and tell Miss Somer- 
 ton there's a young woman wants to see her;" 
 then to Annie, "you'd better send word 
 what your name is." 
 
 " Say that Miss Sherwood is here," said 
 Annie, addressing herself to the page, who 
 was already half-way up-stairs. 
 
 " A young woman of the name of Sher- 
 wood," repeated the footman. 
 
 Annie waited a few minutes in the hall, 
 when the page returned with a slip of paper, 
 on which was written, in pencil — 
 
 " Don't think me unkind, dear Annie, but 
 though we have not met for so long, I dare not 
 see you now. We are at lessons, and Mrs. 
 Cheshyre is rather particular. I am afraid I 
 shall not be free till Saturday afternoon ; then 
 I shall have a half-holiday, and will not fail 
 to see you ; and yet it seems a long time to 
 
 wait when we But stay, I think we can 
 
 manage the affair ; now I have a charming 
 thought. Could you manage to meet me in 
 
 the E Square Gardens to-morrow, very, 
 
 very early ? Do, if you can. 
 
 " Your affectionate Bertha." 
 
 Annie turned away, sad and disappointed, 
 but she had a habit of commanding her
 
 30 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 feelings, as well as her countenance, and 
 betrayed little of what she thought. She 
 read and re-read the note, reflected on its 
 contents till she arrived at the conclusion 
 that poor Bertha was, indeed, in bondage. 
 Annie did not like the idea of a day spent in 
 inactivity, and, consequently, lost. A Virile 
 thus ruminating, she wandered into humbler 
 districts — one of those streets that grow up 
 in fashionable neighbourhoods, as a connect- 
 ing link between them and surrounding 
 purlieus, like the would-be aristocrats that 
 cling so tenaciously to the skirts of fashion, 
 hoping to be confounded with it. In the 
 street in question were many rather pre- 
 tending-looking houses, but one end termi- 
 nated in a row of mean shops. Annie's 
 attention was attracted to one, in the 
 window of which she saw " The Times lent to 
 read." She went in, and paying the deposit, 
 took the paper home with her. 
 
 " Have you seen Bertha ?" was naturally 
 Ellen's question. 
 
 "No," answered Annie, very reluctantly. 
 
 " I suppose she was out ?" 
 
 Annie was strongly tempted to say " }~es," 
 but happily overcame the temptation, and 
 replied "No, she was engaged."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 31 
 
 "And would not see you?" 
 
 " We must remember her situation, Ellen; 
 she could not see me ; she is not her own 
 mistress." 
 
 " True," said Ellen, sighing ; " and if we 
 should happen to be in the same street, 
 I suppose we shall often have to say 'en- 
 gaged' to one another." 
 
 "We must first find the engagements," 
 said Annie. "Here, I have brought a 
 newspaper full of advertisements; I must 
 sit down and spell them out immediately, as 
 it has to be returned in two hours." 
 
 Annie read through the long columns 
 of advertisements, finding very few from 
 those requiring governesses. "Here is 
 one!" she exclaimed, suddenly, "here is one, 
 dear Ellen, that will exactly do for you, 
 if we can get it. I like the style, it promises 
 well, and it comes between two, in which the 
 most exorbitant demands are made." She 
 then read aloud, "Wanted, in the family 
 of a clergyman, a young lady, to under- 
 take the entire care and education of three 
 little girls, the eldest ten years of age. 
 Music and French required, but the adver- 
 tiser is chiefly desirous to obtain an instruc- 
 tress whose own early education and training
 
 32 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 have been those of decided piety. The 
 governess will be in every respect treated 
 as a member of the family. Salary mode- 
 rate. Address, Alpha, Symonds' Theological 
 Library, T ." 
 
 " Shall I answer it ?" said Annie. " There 
 is nothing for me ; nobody seems to want a 
 boys' governess, and I can neither teach 
 music nor languages." 
 
 "You know much more useful things, 
 Annie." 
 
 " But nothing so ornamental, though," 
 said Annie. " I have a great mind to begin ; 
 for music, it is too late, but I dare say I 
 could master grammar. I was very silly 
 not to learn when I could." 
 
 " You never did a silly thing, I am sure, 
 Annie/' 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I have done many, my dear 
 child ; but shall I write for you to these 
 people?" 
 
 "If you please, dear," said Ellen, faintly, 
 
 Annie looked up ; there were tears in 
 Ellen's eyes ; her own were growing very 
 mist}' ; but the letter must be written. So 
 Annie w r rote to the reverend inquirer, set- 
 ting forth in earnest, intelligent language, 
 ail that was valuable in her dear Ellen, and
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 33 
 
 once more prepared to sally forth, for the 
 purpose of posting her epistle. 
 
 " Let me go this time," said Ellen. 
 
 "Oh no," replied Annie, who could not 
 bear the thought of sending her young sister 
 (whose beauty she perhaps exaggerated) to 
 wander forth alone in the streets of London. 
 
 On the following morning, Annie went to 
 her appointment with Bertha. She found 
 her walking with five children. The greet- 
 ing between the friends was cordial, for they 
 had been intimate from their childhood, till 
 Bertha had left the neighbourhood of Merton 
 to undertake the office of governess in the 
 family of Colonel Cheshyre. 
 
 " Bertha, you are greatly altered !" was 
 Annie's involuntary exclamation on seeing 
 her, for she well remembered that three 
 years previously, Bertha had been a bright, 
 vivacious-looking girl. 
 
 " Am I !" said the governess, faintly 
 smiling. " More serious, perhaps, and a 
 little grey — that's all, I think ; but, Annie, 
 you shall not put me out of conceit with my- 
 self ; I have a young and handsome admirer." 
 
 "Have you ?" said Annie, with interest; "I 
 am glad to hear it, and hope, in your 
 instance, that ' the course of true love' may 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 run smooth, and that your swain may soon 
 induce you to leave " 
 
 " Never !" said Bertha, colouring. 
 
 " Why ?" said Annie. 
 
 u Because, Annie, I had the misfortune to 
 be born a gentleman's daughter, — because I 
 am a woman of education, — and he " 
 
 " Who is he ?" asked Annie, anxiously. 
 
 " Who ?" said the governess, looking 
 down; then, after a pause, adding, "I am 
 ashamed to tell you ; but the ludicrous and 
 humiliating mingle so closely, that w T hile I 
 blush at the remembrance, it produces a sort 
 of sad meriment." 
 
 "Who can it be? 1 ' said Annie; "some 
 bookseller whose shop you frequent, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; if it had been " 
 
 " If it had been ! Well, what then ?" 
 
 " I should have accepted him." 
 
 "You, Bertha!'' 
 
 "Yes, to escape my present life !" 
 
 "Are you, then, so wretched?" 
 
 Bertha's lips quivered, and her ejes filled 
 with tears, as she replied, " I am wrong, 
 perhaps, to say so, very wrong, for I am 
 better off than many similarly situated. 
 Mrs. Cheshyre is amiable, very amiable ; she
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 35 
 
 is particular about the children, anxious they 
 should improve ; you would call her fidgety, 
 but I don't think her wrong; only she 
 is one of a proud family, and often uninten- 
 tionally, for I think she would not be wilfully 
 unkind, hurts one's feelings. She evidently 
 thinks teachers are quite a distinct race, and 
 have no sensibility." 
 
 " But who is your lover, Bertha ?" 
 
 " Who ?" repeated Bertha. 
 
 " Why, it must be some one very terrible ; 
 I see you are ashamed to tell me, so to 
 encourage your confidence, you shall have 
 mine. Yes, mine ! for I, too, have just 
 received a brilliant offer of marriage. You 
 remember Charles Turner, the farmer ?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly well." 
 
 " You know he is what they term com- 
 fortably off, has a well- stocked farm, and 
 cultivates peonies in his cheeks and garden ; 
 well, it was from him." 
 
 " And you have refused him, Annie ?" 
 
 " Of course. I might barter my in- 
 dependence for the heart of a man whose 
 mind and breeding were " 
 
 " And you have refused him ! — refused 
 Charles Turner !" interrupted Bertha. 
 
 " Certainly ; w T as I wrong ?" 
 
 D 2
 
 q 
 
 G ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " Yes ; I think it was madness/' 
 
 " In what sense ?" 
 
 " Yes ; madness, dear Annie," repeated 
 Bertha; "forgive my saying so, to choose 
 a life of dependence and toil, when you 
 might have been the happy wife of an honest 
 man, against whom you can bring no worse 
 reproach than red cheeks." 
 
 "And vulgarity," said Annie. 
 
 " No, pardon me," replied Bertha, " not 
 vulgarity, but, if you will, rusticity. Annie, 
 Annie, your pride, not your heart, refuses 
 him." 
 
 " Strange : that is exactly what he said 
 when he left me," said Annie. " But yet it 
 not quite true, or at least if it were pride, 
 the heart had some share in it. Had he 
 been the most polished man in the world, I 
 should have done the same, unless I loved 
 him. I could not marry merely to be pro- 
 vided for. But would you have accepted 
 him yourself?" 
 
 "Frankly, yes," answered Bertha, "if he 
 had chosen me. But this is foolish talking 
 now." 
 
 "But to return to the starting-point; 
 who is your Leander? You still hesitate : 
 I shall begin to fancy it is the footman !"
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 37 
 
 "You have guessed rightly; the foot- 
 man who opened the door for you yester- 
 day!" 
 
 " What could have induced such imper- 
 tinence ?" exclaimed Annie, indignantly. 
 
 "I do not give it that name," said Bertha, 
 dejectedly. " I think it was all very 
 natural: the man saw me day after day at 
 the table with the nurse, in fact, quite on 
 the footing of an upper servant: he thought 
 me suitable." 
 
 " Why do you stay in such a house, 
 Bertha?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, though I am not 
 yet old," said Bertha, " I have survived my 
 energies, and feel apprehensive of a change 
 bringing with it worse, because unknown 
 evils; but, Annie, earthly life is not im- 
 mortal!" 
 
 " My poor, dear Bertha!" exclaimed Annie. 
 " And you still think the woman who sub- 
 jects you to such insults not wilfully un- 
 kind!" 
 
 " No, indeed she is not," said Bertha; 
 "but she has been taught in that school 
 which confines the privileges of society to 
 elegant doers of nothing; she belongs to the 
 class, in fact, who suppose good breeding
 
 38 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 and honest industry incompatible ! ! She 
 means to he kind, nevertheless, and I am 
 sure she thinks she makes me very happ;. 
 but were I to complain to any one of the 
 thousand and one humiliations each day 
 brings me, she would treat the idea as an 
 emanation of morbid sensibility." 
 
 " Would she not let you come to meet 
 as you proposed?" 
 
 " To speak truly, I did not venture to ask 
 permission when the time came; Mi 
 Cheshyre would have thought it very im- 
 proper, for she has several times refused to 
 let me spend an hour or two, when my da\ 
 labour was over, with a French girl, who 
 
 lives near us in E Place, though she 
 
 frequently sends me to execute commissions 
 for herself quite late in the evening. But 
 come and see me on Saturday, Annie, and 
 you w T ill judge better of my position, and 
 what your ow r n is likely to be." 
 
 Bertha then gave Annie some instructions 
 as to the course she was to pursue, and a va- 
 riety of addresses of different scholastic agents, 
 who found engagements for governor - at 
 a certain per-centage. Poor Annie re- 
 marked, with a simplicity which would 
 have done honour to Ellen herself, that she
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 39 
 
 felt pretty secure, she scarcely knew why, 
 but still she did so, that her sister would 
 obtain the situation for which she had 
 applied. She was considerably mortified on 
 hearing that the advertisement in question 
 might have produced a hundred applications, 
 and hers perchance be overlooked in the 
 number; it had never occurred to Annie 
 that many others might be entertaining 
 equal hopes with herself at the same moment, 
 on the very same subject. Bertha smiled 
 at her clever friend's naivete, and was about 
 to explain some more of the arcana of her 
 profession, when a coarse, vulgar-looking 
 woman burst on them from the other side 
 of the gardens, exclaiming — 
 
 ""Well, Miss Somerton! if this don't beat 
 all! I'm to toil for ever for the young 
 ladies and gentlemen's 'ealth an' comfort, 
 while you're letthi them run wild catchin 
 their death, untyzV their 'ats an' bonnets an' 
 takin' them off, and you tak«V no more no- 
 tice than if they was nobody's children. 
 But no wonder, you're always pickin' up 
 all sorts of acquaintance, instead of keepin' 
 yourself respectable!" 
 
 Bertha made no reply, but looked quite 
 sick and faint. She was good, but feeble in
 
 40 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 many ways, having none of what the world 
 calls spirit. 
 
 "Bertha! Bertha!" exclaimed Annie, 
 " don't give in to that woman's insolence!" 
 
 " What can I do?" said Bertha, dejectedly ; 
 " Mrs. Cheshyre values her highly for her ex- 
 treme care of the children's health and dress. 
 She sends all her directions to me through 
 her, and indeed I have been her subordinate 
 from the first, nor can anything be done to 
 produce a better state of things." 
 
 " Then you should leave," said Annie. 
 
 " Where could I go? I have no one to 
 recommend me to another situation, and if 
 I gave warning, Mrs. Cheshyre would never 
 give me a testimonial!" 
 
 " But still I would leave, if I went to the 
 workhouse!" 
 
 " And my mother! what would become of 
 her?" 
 
 Bertha's mother entirely depended on her 
 for support.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD, 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart that poor Annie 
 Sherwood returned to her sister, and set out 
 with her to call on a scholastic agent, who 
 bore a high-sounding French name, which 
 induced them to expect something very im- 
 posing. On arriving at T Street, they 
 
 found that they must wait some considerable 
 time before being admitted to the presence 
 of the great man. While they remained 
 in an outer room, awaiting his pleasure, 
 seven or eight young, and three or four 
 elderly women passed out, each of whom had 
 probably received the assurance that she 
 would be immediately jplacie ; but as some of 
 them had heard the same story every day 
 for the last four or five months, they were 
 strangely incredulous, and wondered at their 
 companions' ready trust. At length it was 
 Annie's turn to be admitted; she entered, 
 followed by Ellen, who was trembling, at 
 once with hope and fear. 
 
 Mr. de F was a fat little man, sly
 
 42 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 and avid in his looks, with a business-lil: 
 air, which he mistook for dignity and in- 
 telligence. He waved his hand as a sign 
 that the sisters were to be seated, then began 
 the usual questioning, brief, dry, and sys- 
 tematic. Quickly he ran through bis list 
 of interrogatories, and as he received each 
 answer, entered it in a large book. Annie's 
 list of qualifications ran thus — " Age, twenty- 
 four; appearance, lady-like. Short! General 
 education — History, Geography, Arithmetic 
 good, Latin good, Greek good; not out 
 
 before. Salary " " What do you want ?" 
 
 asked the great man. Annie did not know 
 what to ask. "Twenty," said the great 
 man. " You have no accomplishments; I 
 shall put down twenty guineas; I suppose 
 you will not refuse eighteen. I have no 
 doubt of placing you, Madam, in a week or 
 two." 
 
 There was a lie in the man's very smile : 
 he turned with a softer air to Ellen. 
 
 Ellen made out a much more brilliant list 
 of accomplishments than Annie, being able 
 to put in "good Music, good French, rudi- 
 ments of Italian, and Tbll" So the great 
 man paid her a running compliment on her 
 good looks, which brought the blood to her
 
 AKNE SHERWOOD. 43 
 
 cheeks, and triumphantly put her clown at 
 thirty guineas per year, hinting, however, 
 that as she was very young, she had better 
 enter herself at twenty-one years of age. 
 " Oh no!" exclaimed both the girls, who did 
 not yet know enough of life to lie with 
 effrontery. The great man smiled pityingly 
 at their ignorant simplicity, and entered 
 Ellen, without further consulting her, at 
 three years older than her real age. He 
 then asked for references. The candidates 
 had none to give. "Awkward business, 
 never having been out before," muttered the 
 great man, " but you must name some friend." 
 Annie could think of no one to whom she 
 could apply, or to whom she would like to 
 apply, for a reference : at last she fixed on 
 an amiable old maid, who lived not very far 
 from Merton, and whom she felt sure she 
 might take the liberty of naming, without a 
 previous and formal application for per- 
 mission. Miss Brentford's name was accor- 
 dingly entered as a reference ; the great man 
 rang the bell to admit fresh applicants, and 
 nodding his head, as a sign for the Slier- 
 woods to withdraw, assured them again that 
 they would immediately find employment, 
 and then became suddenly immersed in a pile
 
 44 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 of letters before him, and apparently quite 
 unconscious of their presence. 
 
 "How fortunate that we came here," said 
 Ellen, " how very fortunate !" 
 
 " Why, dear?" said Annie, quietly. 
 
 "Why, because Mr. de F promises 
 
 us to be so soon placets." 
 
 "And do you believe him?" 
 
 " Why should we doubt him, Annie ?" 
 
 " Because while his lips made the promise, 
 his countenance told another tale. I be- 
 lieve his face, not his words." 
 
 Ellen sighed, and looked so disappointed 
 that Annie could say no more. The sisters 
 
 next proceeded to Street, in which 
 
 they had been informed that an institution 
 of a benevolent character existed, which 
 undertook to provide governesses with en- 
 gagements, free of all charge ; that of course 
 would be a great advantage, and the insti- 
 tution bore so high a character, that Anne 
 hoped almost as much as Ellen, in crossing 
 the threshold of a house dedicated to bene- 
 volence and philanthropy. • 
 
 The sisters entered a spacious hall, in 
 which stood a page, who directed them to 
 enter their mimes in a large office-lookiuof 
 registry. He then flung open the door of
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 45 
 
 an apartment, and loudly announced " Miss 
 Sherwood; Miss Ellen Sherwood. ,J 
 
 They entered. Seated at a long table, 
 something like that in a mess-room, were 
 twenty-four or five governesses, or rather 
 candidates for the office, bending over some 
 written books ; several more were sitting in 
 a stiff row against the wall. A grave-looking 
 secretary presided at the table, who con- 
 versed amiably with each applicant in suc- 
 cession, and made notes in an open book 
 before him. Annie, who w r as perfectly 
 ignorant of the rules of the establishment, 
 and unwilling to interrupt the secretary, who 
 seemed deeply engaged, ventured to seat 
 herself at the table, and inquire of her next 
 neighbour, a smiling, vivacious -looking girl 
 of seventeen, what the book before her con- 
 tained. 
 
 " The addresses of ladies wanting gover- 
 nesses," she replied, " with a list of their re- 
 quirements. Will you look over me ? Do 
 you want a ' daily ?' I am looking out for 
 one. But there are so many governesses. 
 I think there are thirty-three here to-day : 
 sometimes there are many more. I have 
 been six months on the books. Can you 
 speak German ? It's no use coining here if
 
 46 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 you can't. People don't care at all whether 
 you know history or geography, or anything 
 of that sort, but always begin, ' Can you 
 speak German?' 'Have you been out before?' 
 1 Do you like teaching?' ' 
 
 Thus the young girl ran on, till the 
 grave secretary looked up at the unwonted 
 interruption, and she bent blu shingly over 
 the book. 
 
 The secretary was a mild, benevolent- 
 looking man, but he was only the secretary, 
 and had nothing to do with the regulations 
 of the Society. Annie was looking over 
 her young neighbour's shoulder for some 
 time, but saw nothing very promising in 
 the book. There were several vacancies in 
 schools for teachers, but the " principals ' 
 generally required everything to be taught for 
 nothing ; that is, for board and washing, or 
 for a stipend so shamefully low, that it did 
 not merit the name of salary. Some en- 
 gagements in families, too, were open, but 
 the requirements were so numerous, that they 
 filled Annie with dismay. One in particular 
 struck her eye : " The Countess of D re- 
 quires a governess, who must be capable of 
 instructing her pupils in all the usual 
 branches of education, with music, singing,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 47 
 
 drawing, German, Italian, and French, with- 
 out the assistance of masters.' 3 Several 
 other particulars of the engagement were 
 mentioned, and the notice closed with 
 " salary, 30/. 1" 
 
 " What !" thought Annie, " are all these 
 accomplishments to be bartered for thirty 
 pounds a-year ! What salary can I expect !" 
 
 Just then, the grave secretary dismissed 
 the lady with whom he had been conversing, 
 and looked inquiringly at Annie. 
 
 " Have you been long on the books ?" 
 whispered her talkative neighbour ; " I really 
 don't think I have seen you before." 
 
 " I entered my name as I came in, in the 
 hall," said Annie. 
 
 "Is that all? oh, that wont do at all; 
 there is a great deal more to be done before 
 you are privileged to take addresses. You 
 must — but the secretary is motioning to 
 you : go to him ; he will tell you all about 
 it." 
 
 Annie was almost always self-possessed, 
 as a gentlewoman should be ; and the secre- 
 tary, though he bore a serious, thoughtful 
 countenance, looked kind and encouraging. 
 She began by apologizing for the liberty 
 she had taken in looking over the books
 
 48 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 without having previously fulfilled the con- 
 ditions of entrance. 
 
 " Never mind," said the secretary, " if 
 you have not taken any addresses." 
 
 " I have not taken an}'," said Annie, 
 quickly. 
 
 "Have you seen nothing which suits you ?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Annie; "to speak frankly, 
 I thought the ladies who had made entries 
 of their requirements, had been confusing 
 the teacher's remuneration with the suitable 
 wages of footmen and housemaids." 
 
 The secretary sighed; he seemed to think so 
 too : perhaps he had daughters, governesses. 
 
 " Of course you are aware that this is a 
 benevolent institution," said he ; " perhaps 
 the philanthropic intentions of its supporters 
 are not always seconded by those who apply 
 here for their — " 
 
 " Their servants," said Annie, bitterly. 
 
 " My good young lady," said the secretaiy, 
 in an under tone, " I see you are beginning 
 your profession. Take a word of advice 
 from one tried in the world's ways : do n 
 add a sharper point to life's thorns by always 
 contemplating them ; believe me, they mav 
 be blunted to a certain extent by reason and 
 philosophy.*'
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 49 
 
 He then kindly explained the rules of the 
 institution, which were such as Annie could 
 not comply with, two recommendatory 
 letters being required — one from the family 
 with whom she had last resided. She 
 thought — indeed, felt sure — that she knew 
 no one to whom she could apply, excepting 
 Miss Brentford, and her single testimonial 
 would not be sufficient ; besides, Miss 
 Brentford lived in lodgings, and the secre- 
 tary had expressly told her, and showed 
 her in the printed prospectus, that the 
 referees must be housekeepers. They were 
 not to be relations ; they were not to be in 
 any way connected with scholastic pursuits ; 
 so it was quite useless to apply to an old 
 gentleman who was a distant relation of her 
 mother's — equally hopeless to think of a lady 
 with whom the girls had been at school 
 some years previously. Nothing could be 
 done ; Annie thanked the secretary for the 
 information he had given her, as well as for 
 his good advice, and was withdrawing. 
 
 u You will return when you have procured 
 testimonials ?" said the secretary. 
 
 " Thank you," said Annie ; "I fear it 
 would be useless ; I cannot fulfil the con- 
 ditions; besides, I have no accomplishments." 
 
 VOL. I. e
 
 50 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 As she was leaving the room, the talkative 
 girl whispered — 
 
 " Pray wait for me outside ; I won't be 
 long ; I have something to tell you." 
 
 Annie complied with her request. When 
 she joined them, it was with the familiarity 
 of an old acquaintance. 
 
 "Here," said she, pushing a paper into 
 Annie's hands ; "I heard all that cross old 
 * scaramouch ' said to you, but I was deter- 
 mined that you should have some addresses, 
 so I've copied out three for you." 
 
 " You are very kind, very kind indeed," 
 said Annie, " but I should not like to use 
 them." 
 
 " Oh no, it would not be right," interposed 
 Ellen. 
 
 "Not right! what wrong could there be 
 in it ?" exclaimed their new acquaintance. 
 "Dear me, where did you come from ?" 
 
 " From Yorkshire," said Ellen, inno- 
 cently. 
 
 " So I should think. Well, really, you had 
 better go back there again, for I can tell you 
 plainly, you'll never do any good for your- 
 selves in this world. Now I, that am 
 younger than either of you (I was only 
 seventeen last June), know how to a;o to
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 51 
 
 work. You'll never get engagements — I 
 know you wont." 
 
 " I would rather go without than do any- 
 thing dishonourable/' said Annie. 
 
 " Or wrong," added Ellen ; "we could not 
 expect a blessing on our endeavours if we — " 
 
 A ringing laugh from their companion 
 interrupted the sentence, though they were 
 in the street. Annie began to wish she 
 could shake off her companion. She tried 
 to effect her object several times, but un- 
 successfully. The girl talked on with the 
 greatest volubility — one moment inculcating 
 worldly maxims which assorted ill with her 
 youth and buoyant spirits ; the next, rattling 
 on like a wild child, asking their Christian 
 names, &c. ; then giving them her own 
 family history, that of all her brothers and 
 sisters, uncles, aunts, and cousins, of her 
 friends and acquaintance in general, her 
 flirts and her lovers, her rivals and enemies, 
 the persons on whom she doted, those 
 whom she hated, &c. When at last the 
 flow of words seemed nearly exhausted, she 
 informed her hearers that she was just 
 going to a Mrs. Piscator, a scholastic agent, 
 who was considered one of the best in 
 London, and remarkably successful in placing 
 
 e 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 ■ i i ikj/"»iC I I OD A C?V
 
 52 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 her clients. She advised the sisters to ac- 
 company her, which Annie, observing that 
 the young lady was considerably sobered, 
 agreed to do. The trio proceeded with 
 all haste to G Street, where they en- 
 tered a rather large and dismal house, and 
 were shown into a remarkably dirty room, 
 in which, as is usual, sat a number of care- 
 worn governesses, wdio were waiting to be 
 admitted to Mrs. Piscator's presence. 
 
 A girl of about eighteen, with no manners, 
 and evidently as little education, very 
 tawdrily dressed, and with her hair curled 
 in a crop, was talking very volubly of her 
 "Ma, v Mrs. Piscator, and her large connexion 
 with the aristocracy, the number of ladies 
 who called on her " Ma v in their ow T n car- 
 riages, &c. Then Miss Piscator (who, by 
 the way, had very weak eyes, with a red 
 circle round them) opened a running fire on 
 all the rival agents, and gave various anec- 
 dotes of governesses who had cheated her 
 " Ma," and shown themselves ungrateful for 
 all her kindness; of others, who had stolen 
 the addresses of families " en recherche? to 
 sell them ; winding up everything with her 
 "Ma's" wonderful success. Miss Piscator 
 was an excellent specimen of talkative vul-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 53 
 
 garity; every unfortunate " h" in her de- 
 clamation was " driven from house, from 
 home, from hope, from heaven." 
 
 Ellen turned away with disgust and pity, 
 thinking it quite useless to attempt seeking 
 engagements through such vulgar people. 
 Annie, on the contrary, listened with a smile 
 which Miss Piscator took for admiration, and 
 recommenced her harangue. 
 
 In one corner sat a pale-faced widow, of 
 about six-and-thirty. She had vainly tried to 
 put in a word. At last she contrived to arrest 
 the attention of the loquacious young lady, 
 and falteringly inquired whether there was 
 any prospect of a daily engagement for her? 
 
 " You've been answered already on that 
 subject, Mrs. Stuart," said Miss Piscator, 
 with a toss of the head. " There's none to 
 be 'ad, and I'm sure Ma 'as business enough 
 on 'er 'ands, without undertaking 'opeless 
 concerns. You've been very much to blame 
 — very much indeed — in not taking the ex- 
 cellent situation Ma offered you ; you may 
 never 'ave such another chance I" 
 
 " It was so far from London, Miss Pis- 
 cator," pleaded the widow. 
 
 "Only in Derby, Mrs. Stuart. What 
 'ave you to answer ?"
 
 54 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " I have three young children entirely de- 
 pendent on me for support," said the widow, 
 with emotion ; " if I went into a family, 
 what would become of them?" 
 
 " You could put them out to nurse/' 
 
 " To nurse ! put them out to nurse witli 
 a salary of 30/. a year !" ejaculated the 
 widow, in a tone of the utmost agitation. 
 
 Miss Piscator said something about mis- 
 management, and asked the widow if she had 
 not grown-up sons ? 
 
 " I have two sons, mere youths," she 
 replied. 
 
 "And why can't they take charge of 
 them ?" 
 
 " Take charge of the little ones !" repeated 
 the poor widow ; " the eldest is but seven- 
 teen, and both are writers in a commercial 
 house." 
 
 " Then why can't they 'elp you out of 
 their salary?" 
 
 " One has no salary but his board ; the 
 other, 15/. a year !" 
 
 " Well, it's no use talking, Mrs. Stuart," 
 said the young lady, in the most shrewish 
 voice ; "if you wont 'ave what we can offer, 
 you need not come and trouble Ma any 
 
 more."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 55 
 
 The widow murmured something about 
 her entrance money. 
 
 "Oh, that paltry five shillings ! Return 
 it, indeed ! No ; instead of that, you should 
 give another ten, for all the trouble you've 
 given us." 
 
 The widow looked up despairingly j there 
 was a world of misery in her sunken eye ; 
 her pale cheek told a tale of penury and 
 privation. Reader ! that five shillings was 
 more to her than fifty times the sum might 
 be to you or me ! Her thin lips quivered ; 
 her attenuated, scantily- clad form trembled; 
 but she lowered her rusty crape veil, and, 
 with a depressed head and drooping gait, 
 slowly left the room. She paused an instant 
 in the passage to wipe away her tears, and 
 as she there stood, she was conscious that 
 some one had followed her with gentle, 
 noiseless steps. A hand was laid softly on 
 her arm, and a sw r eet voice whispered, 
 " Don't be offended, pray don't j I would not 
 hurt your feelings for the world; but do 
 take this for your little children." 
 
 The widow felt two coins forced into her 
 hand. She looked in bewildered surprise at 
 the bright yellow sovereigns, then at the 
 giver.
 
 5G ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 "Who are you?" she ejaculated. 
 
 11 A poor governess/' replied Amrie Sher- 
 wood, " but richer than you ; rich enough," 
 she added, " to afford myself this little luxury 
 of helping the orphans." 
 
 " God bless and help you in your own 
 hour of need," said the widow, grasping 
 Annie's hand. " God will reward you, if I 
 cannot," she faltered ; but x\.nnie had already 
 disappeared. 
 
 On her re-entering the waiting-room, 
 Miss Piscator directed the whole of her at- 
 tention to her, and, remarking that Mrs. 
 Stuart was a poor, weak-minded woman, 
 immediately began plying Annie with ques- 
 tions as to her own acquirements, and in- 
 formed her of the regulations of what she 
 was pleased to call her " Ma's institution." 
 
 Annie was informed that she and her 
 sister must begin by paying five shillings 
 each as entrance fee, and giving severally a 
 dozen postage stamps. 
 
 "I have no objections to the latter," said 
 Annie; " but with regard to the entrance lee, 
 I should prefer giving it when the engage- 
 ment is procured, with the usual per cent- 
 
 age." 
 
 " We can't alter our regulations in your
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 57 
 
 favour, Miss Sherwood," said Miss Piscator, 
 with dignity, or something meant for it. 
 
 " Dear Annie, let us give it if it is cus- 
 tomary," whispered Ellen. 
 
 " ]STo," said Annie, firmly, "it is not fair 
 and just." Then turning to Miss Piscator, 
 she added, " I am going to enter my name, 
 and that of my sister, at a number of agen- 
 cies. Should each demand five shillings, the 
 entrance fees would amount to a considerable 
 sum. No, I cannot pay on an uncertainty ; 
 when we have engagements, we shall imme- 
 diately discharge our debts to the provider." 
 
 Miss Piscator said no more. She raised her 
 eyebrows, bit her lips, and finally left the 
 room to consult with her " Ma" on the pro- 
 priety of ejecting the contumacious clients, 
 for Mrs. Piscator was wont to rule as a 
 sovereign in her little court. 
 
 When the young lady had withdrawn, the 
 numerous candidates for engagements began 
 to talk pretty freely among themselves. If 
 any two sets of people resemble each other, 
 it is the boarders of a convent, escaped from 
 the eye of their superior for a brief space, 
 and a number of governesses off' duty ! Some 
 of the ladies discussed the Piscator family, 
 relating various anecdotes of their exactions
 
 58 ANNE SHERWOOD; 
 
 and pretensions ; others talked of the nume- 
 rous agencies, and their comparative demerits, 
 as well as those of " The Union/' as the insti- 
 tution in Street is called. 
 
 Some enlarged on the miseries of governess 
 life ; a few, whose experience had heen more 
 fortunate than that of the others, ventured 
 to assert that all governesses were not 
 wretched — that some were treated with kind- 
 ness and consideration ; but the few who 
 made these remarks, were borne down by the 
 rest of the sisterhood, who appeared to re- 
 gard them as secretly leagued with the op- 
 pressors ; and it was finally carried, by a very 
 large majority, that the life of a governess 
 is the most miserable on earth, after that of 
 a slave in a West Indian sugar plantation. 
 So the moderate ladies were reduced to 
 silence ! 
 
 The greater number of governesses present 
 were daughters of London tradesmen, well 
 educated, and, in many ways, more efficient 
 teachers than the few decayed gentlewomen, 
 daughters of officers and clergymen, who 
 were mingled with them ; but they were 
 usually underbred, and had an air of mauvais 
 ton and f/auclteric. There was a fat, red- 
 faced little woman, with a very deeided look
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 59 
 
 about her pursed-up mouth, who talked in a 
 loud, rough voice, and a vulgar tone, though 
 her grammar was irreproachably correct ; her 
 conversation was entirely confined to the 
 experience of her own life. One lady, in 
 whose family she had resided some time, had 
 dismissed her from the simple fact of her 
 having said one day, " Ma'am, I must have 
 (I really require it to support me) — I must 
 have a glass of Bass's pale ale at eleven 
 every day I" " So she answered," continued 
 the little woman, " that if that was the case, 
 my health must be delicate, and I must 
 leave ; but I have always commanded a good 
 salary, and no doubt I always shall !" The 
 fat lady (who was the daughter of an Italian 
 loareliousemaii) was then summoned to an 
 audience with Mrs. Piscator. 
 
 " That woman will be placee before any- 
 one in this room !" said a surly voice. It 
 came from a crabbed-looking old maid, who 
 had been a governess thirty years. She then 
 relapsed into silence. Her prophecy came 
 true — the fat lady was the first provided for. 
 Impudence and confidence go a long way ! 
 
 Annie Sherwood and her sister were com- 
 pletely disgusted with their sisterhood, and 
 mentally remarked, that if all teachers resem-
 
 60 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 bled the specimens before them, it was not 
 very wonderful that the governess should 
 be generally condemned to the solitude of 
 the school-room ; for who could associate with 
 such companions ? They had yet to learn 
 the fact, that ladies prefer as inmates those 
 who are mere useful machines for the con- 
 veyance of necessary knowledge, and who, 
 having no pretensions to elegance or refine- 
 ment, are less likely to exercise any un- 
 welcome influence in the way of rivalry. 
 Besides, ladies argue, and perhaps they are 
 right, that it is easier to keep down the 
 ambition of a plebeian than to discountenance 
 the assumption of equality, in those who feel 
 themselves worthy of consideration. The 
 plebeians have far less to complain of than 
 the more refined. 
 
 Miss Piscator now entered with a very 
 bland smile, to say that her "Ma" would be 
 glad to see Miss Sherwood and her sister. 
 They were accordingly ushered into the 
 sanctum of the doubly great woman. There 
 was something very maternal and encourag- 
 ing in Mrs. Piscator's countenance, Ellen 
 thought, and she looked up in her lace with 
 her bright eyes and smiled hopefully. There 
 was something very hypocritical in her little
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. CI 
 
 twinkling grey eye, thought Annie, who 
 looked straightforward and piercingly at her, 
 till Mrs. Piscator looked the other way, and 
 turning to Ellen said, sotto voce, " Sit down, 
 love," and began to play with her numerous 
 letters. Mrs. Piscator was a short, stout, 
 red-faced, vulgar woman, with a countenance 
 indicative of cunning, and the grossest sen- 
 suality. She was extravagantly dressed — 
 satin, blonde, and artificial flowers ; she con- 
 sidered herself very imposing. 
 
 For a few moments the searching eye of 
 Annie had discomposed Mrs. Piscator, but 
 she soon recovered, and opened proceedings 
 with a rushing cataract of words, informing 
 her hearers, a priori, of her family history, 
 that of her "Pa," and of her husband. 
 Then came an account of the great and 
 noble families who honoured her with their 
 patronage — of the immense extent of her 
 connexion — of the number of governesses she 
 had placed within the year, &c. — of the great 
 things she meant to do ; and as Mrs. Piscator 
 always said "love," or "dear," or "dearest," 
 every five minutes, Ellen thought her very 
 kind, and Annie thought her more hypo- 
 critical. 
 
 At length she stopped to make inquiries
 
 62 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 of Annie and Ellen, noted down the in- 
 formation they gave her, shaking hands 
 very cordially and affectionately with each, 
 and adding a few more "loves" and "dears," 
 she dismissed them. 
 
 On the whole, Mrs. Piscator did not speak 
 so badly as her daughter, and had she con- 
 tented herself with fewer words, and not 
 over-acted her part, she might have passed 
 for a respectable, well-intentioned woman : 
 as it was, she made so many demonstrations 
 of an impossible degree of disinterestedness, 
 of such entire self-renunciation, such perfect 
 devotion to the interests of her clients, that 
 she clearly showed she thought solely of her 
 own, and only succeeded in imposing on the 
 inexperienced. 
 
 Mrs. Piscator assured the new candidates 
 that they would soon, very soon, find en- 
 gagements under her auspices. 
 
 u I am glad we came," said Ellen, looking 
 quite bright and joyous. 
 
 " Poor child!" ejaculated Annie; "do you 
 know whom you remind me of, Ellen?" 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 " The Vicar of Wakefield's wife, when she 
 tells him, ' between ourselves, we have made 
 an excellent day's work of it !' ' Pretty
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 63 
 
 well,' said the vicar. ' What ! only pretty 
 well !' returned she ; ' I think it is very well.' 
 Oh, Ellen, Ellen ! as the good vicar said, 
 * May we both be the better of it at the end 
 of three months !'"
 
 04 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Many a long, weary walk had those two 
 poor girls. Frequently were they summoned 
 to a distance of several miles twice in one 
 day, and those journeys were usually per- 
 formed on foot, as with daily diminishing 
 means, they were unable to meet the expense 
 of coach hire. Sometimes their hopes were 
 raised by seeming success, which ended in 
 abrupt disappointment. How often they 
 were summoned to Mrs. Piscator's, or Mr. 
 de F 's, to meet parties who never ar- 
 rived, or with whom they found it impossible 
 to come to terms, when they did arrive ! 
 Mrs. Piscator's notes were always thus 
 concluded, "Yours affectionately." Mr. de 
 
 F 's were more business-like. 
 
 A month, a whole month, had slipped away 
 in useless researches and fruitless negotia- 
 tions. Annie's want of accomplishments 
 precluded her finding an engagement, while 
 the youth and beauty of Ellen almost inva- 
 riably stood in her light ; besides, neither of 

 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 65 
 
 them had experience. How many hours 
 were spent in consultation, what were they 
 to do? 
 
 " We must be less particular," said Ellen ; 
 " we must take what we can get." 
 
 "But we have refused nothing," said 
 Annie ; "it is we who are constantly re- 
 fused." 
 
 While they were thus discussing, a letter, 
 in an unknown hand, arrived ; it was not from 
 an agent ; who else could write to those two 
 friendless girls? To their infinite surprise, 
 they found it to be a reply to the application 
 they had made (in answer to the advertise- 
 ment for a governess in a clergyman's family) 
 long before, in fact, so long before that they 
 had forgotten the circumstances. 
 
 Even Annie was delighted, as she bent 
 eagerly over the letter with her sister, and 
 perused its pleasing contents. It was from 
 the Eev. himself: his wife was an in- 
 valid, and had deputed him to write for her. 
 Nothing could be more agreeable and amiable 
 than the tenor of the epistle ; it consisted of 
 three closely-filled sheets, containing not one 
 word to which the most fastidious could 
 object. " What a nice, kind letter ! How 
 glad I am that lie has written," exclaimed 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Ellen ; " this will exactly suit me. I am sure 
 I need not seek further. I like what Mr. 
 Clifton says about helping in the Sunday- 
 school so much, Annie." Then Ellen's ra- 
 diant face fell a little as she added, " But 
 you, dear, what will you do ? How can I 
 bear to leave you alone 1" 
 
 " Oh, I shall do very well," said Annie, 
 gaily ; " if this affair is all it promises to be, 
 you must certainly accept the comfortable 
 home it will give, and if my resources fail 
 before I am provided for, you can help me 
 out of your salary till I, too, am placee. 
 The stipend will most likely be liberal, as 
 they seem rich people ; for I observe Mr. 
 Clifton keeps a carriage, as he says, in the 
 event of your going to them, the servants 
 shall meet you with the carriage at the sta- 
 tion ; though why he should advert to the 
 subject just at the opening of the negotia- 
 tion, I cannot think, unless it be to awe you 
 with their grandeur." 
 
 " No, I dare say it was not for that," said 
 Ellen, " all the rest of his letter is so sensible 
 and pious ; I cannot help thinking well of 
 Mr. Clifton." 
 
 "Well, perhaps you are right," said Annie; 
 " but I must really finish putting your
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 67 
 
 clothes in order, if you are to go to these 
 people." 
 
 The sisters began to work with the ala- 
 crity which renovated hope inspired, and as 
 they worked they talked of their plans and 
 prospects ; and despite her habitual mood, 
 Annie shared her sister's elation at the idea 
 of a happy home in a pleasant vicarage, 
 which would remind her perchance of their 
 own dear home at Merton. At length Annie 
 started up. "I must go and see Bertha, to 
 show her this letter." 
 
 " Do," said Ellen ; " I would go too, only 
 Bertha says it is not the thing for a go- 
 verness to receive two visitors at a time ; 
 she has been reprimanded for it. When you 
 return, Annie, you will tell me what I had 
 better say to Mr. Clifton." 
 
 Annie went out more cheerfully than usual, 
 
 and proceeded at a brisk pace to E Place, 
 
 where she was admitted for the first time to 
 see Bertha. She had not previously the least 
 idea of her friend's locale in the house. The 
 saucy footman (now the object of Annie's 
 detestation), who admitted her, directed her 
 to walk up -stairs till she reached the top of 
 the house, when she could not fail to find 
 the governess's rooms. 
 
 i? 2
 
 68 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Annie accordingly began her ascent, but 
 ere she had reached half-way up the stone 
 staircase, she had to stop for want of breath, 
 and to lean against the wall for rest. At 
 length, however, she reached the summit, 
 and stood before an open door ; she heard 
 Bertha's voice, speaking, as she thought, to 
 another person, and she hesitated for a mo- 
 ment to advance : but she w r as mistaken ; it 
 might have been from want of other com- 
 pany, but Bertha w r as talking to herself. 
 The words that had reached Annie were 
 " Very, very lonely !" And no doubt the 
 poor governess was loneLy in that dingy 
 back room, at the very top of the house, 
 hour after hour, in the dreary evenings, witli 
 no companionship but her own sad thoughts 
 and memories. " Oh, Bertha, this is killing 
 work I" said Annie, sinking into a chair, 
 breathless. 
 
 " What is killing work ?" asked Bertha. 
 " Do you mean the staircase ? Oh I am so 
 sorry you are tired." 
 
 " Tired, no, I am not tired," said Annie ; 
 "I was thinking of you, Bertha. It is 
 killing work to go up and down that stair- 
 
 's 
 
 case." 
 
 "Not to me," said Bertha; "you feel
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. G9 
 
 it, because it is new to you. I have been 
 accustomed to it for years ; besides, I don't 
 try it often, only twice a day, when I take 
 the children for their walks." 
 
 " And the rest of the time ?" 
 
 " I live up here." 
 
 "Always up here? Always alone?" 
 
 " Always up here, but not always alone. 
 I wish it were so ! but as it is, I have not- 
 only the four children, but the nurse with 
 me, till seven o'clock. Then the children 
 go to bed, and the nurse repairs to the 
 housekeeper's room ; the remaining hours I 
 am alone." 
 
 " Do you read much ?" 
 
 " No, I have no time ; I make all the 
 children wear, except their hats and shoes." 
 
 " Shameful," said Annie, colouring with 
 indignation ; " and oh, to think that such a 
 life is before poor Ellen !" 
 
 Bertha sighed, but could say nothing. 
 The poor pale-faced governess ! She had 
 toiled all day with unruly children, been 
 domineered over by the nurse, who had been 
 from the first her superior in authority, 
 and had treated her with all the insolence 
 which a vulgar-minded being, raised above 
 herself, could devise. And now the poor
 
 70 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 girl sat, with weary, throbbing temples, and 
 dimmed eyes, making tunics for the little 
 boys, who were taught by their ignorant 
 guide, to treat her with the most insuffer- 
 able disrespect. We have had our Hood 
 standing forth (and honour be to his noble 
 memory for the deed) as the champion of 
 the oppressed sempstress ; yes, we have had 
 our " Song of the Shirt," echoing through 
 the length and breadth of the land ; shall 
 we have no courageous defenders of the 
 more oppressed, yes, the more ojjrpressed go- 
 verness ? No poet to enlist the sympathies 
 of the benevolent in their cause, nor to 
 awaken the blush of shame on the cheek 
 of their oppressors, " on whose side is 
 power !" 
 
 Poor Bertha Somerton ! hers was a sad, 
 sad life, but she was very meek and uncom- 
 plaining, and always said, with an attempt 
 at a smile, that she was more fortunate than 
 many: perhaps she was; at least she tried to 
 think so. 
 
 Annie unfolded her pocket-book, and read 
 the letter she had received from the clergy- 
 man who seemed desirous of securing the 
 services of Ellen as a governess. Bertha 
 read it slowly after Annie had finished, then
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 71 
 
 shook her head. " You don't like it, Bertha?" 
 said Annie, looking sadly disappointed. 
 
 " No, dear, not quite," said Bertha ; " but 
 don't look so sad about it." 
 
 u I can't help it !" said Annie. " You 
 know I have usually plenty of courage, but 
 I shall droop if this good situation is lost to 
 poor Ellen. What do you dislike in the 
 letter ?" 
 
 " It promises too much," said Bertha. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " Yes ; but that is enough ; depend upon 
 it, whenever you hear that you are to be 
 treated as one of the family, you will find 
 yourself rather worse off than the housemaid. 
 "Whenever you are told of tractable, amiable 
 children, you may be sure that they are as 
 unmanageable as " 
 
 " As the tigers of a menagerie, I suppose," 
 said Annie. " Yes, I can understand all 
 that." 
 
 " And besides," said Bertha, " you will 
 always find you are engaged for a less num- 
 ber of children than you have really to teach. 
 In every way, the description of the coming 
 engagement always reads better in a letter, 
 than it looks in reality." 
 
 Annie returned to her sister, unwilling
 
 72 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 to damp her hopes, yet feeling her own 
 considerably depressed by her extended 
 knowledge of the world. The following 
 morning there came a letter from dear Mrs. 
 Piscator, requesting Annie and Ellen to call 
 on her at eleven that day, as she had met 
 with an engagement exactly suited to Ellen ; 
 a most excellent " appointment, " only one 
 pupil, few requirements, and a salary of 
 seventy guineas ! Unheard-of liberality ! 
 " Oh, this is too good to be true!" exclaimed 
 both the candidates. "Nevertheless, we 
 must go and see about it," said Annie. 
 
 Another of those killing, long w r alks, and 
 the poor girls found themselves, worn and 
 weary, seated in Mrs. Piscator' s waiting- 
 room, where they remained, till two hours 
 later than the time which she had appointed 
 for their reception. Meanwhile they had to 
 listen, or seem to listen, to the oft-repeated 
 and inflated accounts given by Miss Piscator 
 of her " Mas 11 extensive connexion w T ith the 
 nobility, &c. At length the lad} r made her 
 appearance, very elaborately dressed in taw- 
 dry finery. Instead of having been closeted 
 with her clients as she professed, she had 
 evidently only just breakfasted, as some
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 73 
 
 crumbs of buttered toast adhering to her 
 lips and chin plainly testified. Opening 
 her harangue with the usual amount of 
 " loves" and " dears," the lady set forth in 
 bold alto-relievo the service she was about to 
 render her dear young friend, by placing her 
 in such a distinguished family, for Mr. St. 
 John was not only a Member of Parliament, 
 but also of noble, very noble family, being 
 
 the third cousin of the Viscount L , so 
 
 very well known in the sporting world, &c. 
 Her oration finished, Mrs. Piscator handed 
 her clients the address of the St. John 
 family, and dismissed them with as many 
 protestations of sympathy and affection as 
 she could crowd into a limited space of time. 
 The Sherwoods were astonished that no fur- 
 ther reference had been made to the entrance- 
 fee ; but their surprise ceased when they 
 heard the dulcet tones of Mrs. Piscator's 
 voice pursuing them — "Miss Sherwood! 
 Miss Sherwood ! you ve forgotten your en- 
 trance-fee, love ! It's a mere matter of form, 
 you know ; but I must not make a difference 
 in your favour, or my other young friends 
 might feel hurt, love !" 
 
 " You shall have our entrance-fees with
 
 74 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the per-centage when we are provided with 
 engagements, Mrs. Piscator," said Annie, 
 resolutely. 
 
 " Ah, that's very naughty, love ! very 
 naughty indeed !" said Mrs. Piscator, with 
 a slight change of voice. " You really must 
 not take advantage of my indulgent kindness, 
 dear." 
 
 " I cannot afford to j)ay anything on an 
 uncertainty," said Annie, quite decidedly; 
 " but you may rely on my honourably dis- 
 charging your demands the moment the 
 fitting time arrives." 
 
 " But you forget, love," said Mrs. Piscator, 
 " that all this time you are taking the 
 chances which I ought to give to m} r regular 
 young friends !" 
 
 " I wish to do nothing unfair," said Annie, 
 " but on this subject I am quite decided." 
 
 Mrs. Piscator made no reply, but shut the 
 door in a way which denoted that her feel- 
 ings were deeply wounded. How much ex- 
 pression is there in shutting a door ! almost 
 as much as in the curl of a lip, or the dila- 
 ting of an eye ! Yes, the closing of that 
 door had a world of concentrated meaning in 
 it. 
 
 Ellen shook with nervous apprehension,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 75 
 
 and entreated her sister to pay the demand 
 made on tliem. 
 
 " Dear Ellen," exclaimed Annie, " were I 
 to listen to all your suggestions of this nature, 
 do you know what the result would be ?" 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 " Simply this, that at the end of a few 
 weeks we should be quite bankrupts ! Now, 
 Ellen, don't look so distressed ; I don't mean 
 to follow your advice, and no doubt our 
 loaves and bottles of wine will last till we 
 are provided for." 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, "with the blessing of 
 our Father in heaven, they will be like the 
 Widow's cruse ;" and the young creature 
 looked with such an expression of holy trust, 
 that Annie sighed for the same child-like 
 faith. 
 
 When the sisters arrived at Mr. St. John's, 
 
 in Square, they w^ere surprised at the 
 
 magnificence of the mansion. The door was 
 opened by a superior-looking footman in 
 superb livery, and three more were crossing 
 the marble hall, which was elaborately orna- 
 mented and adorned with graceful statues 
 of Venus and Cupid, repeated in various 
 attitudes, but not altogether so well draped 
 as they might have been.
 
 7G ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Annie requested to see Mrs. St. John. 
 The servant appeared embarrassed ; he opened 
 successively a number of doors round the 
 hall, and as he did so, several ladies were 
 seen sitting in each apartment. " I am 
 afraid there is not a vacant room into which 
 I can show you, ladies," said the man, with 
 sucli a perfectly well-bred intonation that 
 the sisters were astonished. They would 
 have been less so, had they known his master, 
 who prided himself on being a man of taste, 
 and having everything and everybody sur- 
 sounding him, to correspond with his reputa- 
 tion for refined elegance. 
 
 " Ah, I perceive there is only one lady in 
 the library, how very fortunate !" said the 
 polished footman. " Will you walk in there, 
 ladies ?" 
 
 "Are all these governesses?" whispered 
 Ellen to Annie. 
 
 " They are, madam," said the man. 
 
 " Then we have no chance !" involuntarily 
 exclaimed Ellen. 
 
 " Pardon me, madam," said the footman, 
 with a bland smile, " if you are the candi- 
 date, you have the best chance of any." As 
 he spoke, he placed a chair for Annie and 
 Ellen, and left them. Both instinctively
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 77 
 
 glanced at their companion . She was young, 
 apparently about two-ancl-twenty, rather in- 
 teresting than pretty, and seemed very timid, 
 in fact, trembling with nervousness. Ellen 
 looked her sympathy, and Annie was about 
 to address her, when the door opened, and 
 Mr. and Mrs. St. John entered. The three 
 girls rose, and remained standing, nor were 
 they requested to be seated. Mr. St. John 
 might have been about fifty, or less ; he was 
 rather stout, very tall, and had a great air 
 of fashion. He was not handsome, but his 
 style was indisputably aristocratic, and his 
 manner imposing. Without either in words 
 or in tone expressing anything rude, there was 
 something in him which spoke a conscious- 
 ness of superior standing, and of the inferior 
 social position of those he was addressing. 
 Mrs. St. John was a gentlewoman, had little 
 style, less beauty, and was several years her 
 husband's senior. She had moreover a par- 
 ticularly suspicious and peevish expression, 
 and looked very scrutinizingly at all three 
 of the young women. She seemed very cross 
 till her eye rested on Annie, with whom she 
 appeared pleased, she best knew why j but 
 perhaps it was that she was, to common 
 observers, the plainest ! Mr. St. John
 
 78 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 glanced approvingly at Miss Jones, ^ap- 
 provingly at Annie; lie had not yet observed 
 Ellen, she stood more in the shade. But 
 Mr. and Mrs. St. John did not content them- 
 selves with looking; their questions were 
 many and searching. Mr. St. John catechised 
 with the clear, cold enunciation of a man 
 of the world ; his wife, on the contrary, 
 with a hurried restlessness of manner pecu- 
 liarly her own. Her first exclamation on 
 entering the room had been, "What, more 
 governesses ! Surely, Fitz, we have seen 
 enough." Mr. St. John had immediately 
 begun to question the applicants, without 
 seeming to notice his wife's remarks. He 
 was soon very busy with Miss Jones, who 
 answered his questions with downcast eyes 
 and a heightened colour. Mr. St. John was 
 pleased ; he seemed forgetful of all present 
 but Miss Jones ; he admired her extremely, 
 but he was too aristocratic to offer a gover- 
 ness a chair. 
 
 Mrs. St. John looked uneasy, " Fitz ! 
 Fitz I" said she, sharply, " I think this young 
 person will suit us exactly, she is the n 
 
 " Excuse me, we differ," toad Mr. St. 
 John, with perfect good humour ; " Miss 
 Sherwood will pardon the remark, but I
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 79 
 
 think height essential in a governess, it 
 commands respect." 
 
 " I did not propose offering myself, I am 
 quite sure it would be useless/' said Annie, 
 with a meaning smile ; " my younger sister 
 is the applicant," and she turned towards 
 Ellen, whose lovely face was now more com- 
 pletely revealed, allowing Mr. St. John to 
 observe her for the first time. " But I 
 think," continued Annie, addressing herself 
 to the lady, "we had better not trespass 
 longer on your time and attention ; my sister 
 is obviously too young." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you are quite right, w r e need 
 not trouble you any further j too young, a 
 great deal too young. Good morning," said 
 Mrs. St. John, hurriedly. 
 
 " Excuse me, my dear," said Mr. St. John, 
 with very marked emphasis, an emphasis 
 which showed that he was lord paramount, 
 and that though his wife might keep up a 
 vexatious warfare, she would never come off 
 conqueror in the strife, " wisdom does not 
 always accompany grey hairs." 
 
 Mrs. St. John coloured a little, and turned 
 away to conceal her vexation. 
 
 " I shall be glad to speak with you in the 
 next room," said Mr. St. John to Ellen ; then
 
 80 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 turning to Miss Jones, " You would have 
 suited us admirably if — if you had known 
 anything- of Spanish." 
 
 The poor girl blushed deeply, but slunk 
 away, as if half glad to be dismissed. 
 
 " But I know nothing of Spanish, either !" 
 said Ellen, shrinking back involuntarily. 
 
 " Don't } r ou?" said Mr. St. John, smiling. 
 " Perhaps you have other accomplishments 
 which may compensate for the absence of 
 that one ; and after all, I do not particularly 
 value it." 
 
 Mr. St. John then led the way into the 
 next room, intending to have a private con- 
 versation with Ellen, but Annie pertina- 
 ciously followed. 
 
 " I should wish, in a transaction of this 
 kind, to speak alone with the person with 
 whom I negotiate," said Mr. St. John, in a 
 tone of hauteur and ill-concealed annoyance. 
 
 " My sister is young and inexperienced," 
 replied Annie, coolly, and meeting the eye 
 of the great man with an unflinching look. 
 " She cannot, nor would she if she could, 
 form any engagement, or negotiate for one, 
 without my presence and sanction." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Mr. St. John, raising his 
 eyebrows : he then began to converse with
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. SI 
 
 Ellen in the most gently-modulated voice, 
 rather describing to her the position she 
 would hold in his family, the agremens of his 
 seat in Lancashire, the delight he took in 
 assisting in his little girl's studies, &c, than 
 questioning her of her acquirements. Ellen 
 listened, or seemed to listen. Annie tried 
 several times to speak, but could not without 
 actually interrupting Mr. St. John. He 
 spoke neither loudly nor volubly, but his 
 well-formed periods flowed so smoothly one 
 into the other, that no pause occurred. 
 
 Mrs. St. John, who had been detained by 
 the arrival of a note, now entered. " I come 
 to remind you, Fitz, that you have an en- 
 gagement at three." 
 
 "Thank you; I was about to ring, and 
 send to remind you that Lady Emmeline 
 expects you to call for her at a quarter past 
 two. I hope the carriage is at the door. 
 Pray be punctual ; you have not more than 
 five minutes in which to prepare." So saying, 
 Mr. St. John rang the bell to give orders, 
 and politely opening the door for his wife, 
 bowed her out. He then told Ellen that 
 her salary would be seventy guineas; in 
 fact, he was not particular — she might say 
 eighty if she liked. He did not wish his 
 
 VOL. 1. G
 
 82 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 daughter to be over-educated ; provided she 
 was musical, spoke French, and knew suffi- 
 cient of Italian to understand the poets, he 
 would be satisfied. At this juncture Mrs. 
 St. John put her head round the door in a 
 bonnet of white satin, blonde and feathers, — 
 " French and Italian, of course, Fitz, but you 
 know we must have German too ; and ask 
 Miss Sherwood if she undertakes to teach 
 thoroughly, Ancient and Modern History, 
 the Celestial and Terrestrial Globes, Arith- 
 metic in its advanced stages, Natural His- 
 tory, Botany, Chemistry, Con ' 
 
 Mrs. St. John spoke as rapidly as she 
 could enunciate — so rapidly, that it was 
 difficult to follow her meaning. It was long 
 ere Mr. St. John succeeded in interrupting 
 the torrent, though he held up both his hands 
 in mock supplication. "Excuse me, my dear," 
 said he, with his accustomed urbanity; "but 
 Lady Emmeline waits : and, besides, I detest 
 all these things too heartily myself, to impose 
 such severe studies on my daughter." He took 
 his wife's hand, and led her courteously to 
 the carriage, she talking to him all the time 
 in earnest, angry tones of expostulation, and 
 once Annie thought she distinguished the 
 word " minx ;" but Mr. St. John was smiling
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 83 
 
 and bowing, as if in reply to the most 
 agreeable compliments. When he returned 
 to the room, it was to request that Ellen 
 would call in a day or two; he then dis- 
 missed her with evident reluctance, though 
 all the time he had kept her standing like 
 a waiting-maid. 
 
 " I wonder," said Ellen, when the sisters 
 had left the house, — " I wonder whether they 
 will grant me the use of a chair if I go there 1" 
 
 " Should you like to go to them?" asked 
 Annie, anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, no ; I don't think I should like it 
 at all," said Ellen. 
 
 " Has Mrs. St. John's cross face frightened 
 you?" 
 
 " No ; but I don't like him, though I could 
 not give any particular reason for my dis- 
 like." 
 
 "But I can," said Annie; "you are be- 
 ginning to read countenances. No; you 
 must not go there." 
 
 " I would much rather go to the Cliftons, 
 with half the salary," said Ellen. 
 
 The girls were both wearied; an omnibus 
 passed invitingly at the moment, and they en- 
 tered it. At the further end sat a middle-aged 
 woman, whom they recognised immediately 
 
 g 2^
 
 84 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 as some one they had seen before. Annie 
 looked at her very earnestly; there was a 
 great deal of shrewdness and determination 
 in her countenance. She, too, looked atten- 
 tively at the sisters. At last she bent 
 forward, and said to Annie, " I saw you at 
 Mrs. Piscator's this morning. You have been 
 to offer at Mr. St. John's j so have I. The 
 place is a good one. Do either of you mean 
 to take it?" 
 
 " No," said Annie ; "it is open for any 
 other person, as far as we are concerned." 
 
 " Eight," said their new acquaintance ; 
 " you are both too young, and one of you 
 too pretty, for that house!" 
 
 "Do you mean to go there?" asked Ellen, 
 innocently. 
 
 " I, my dear ? Yes, if they would have 
 me, but they wont. I am too old, and too 
 ugly. Madame (who has a particular dislike 
 to ornamental pieces of furniture) would 
 have engaged me, but the husband quickly 
 negatived the business, and showed me how 
 to turn the handle of the door. I'll tell you 
 what, — that man wants no governess for his 
 daughter, but some one to flirt with and 
 amuse him; and whoever w r ent there (who 
 had youth or good looks) would be insulted
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 85 
 
 by his impudence on the one hand, and tor- 
 mented by the old wife's jealousy on the 
 other." The lady spoke energetically, and, as 
 she spoke, thrust her umbrella into the side 
 of the unfortunate conductor: — " Piccadilly! 
 why didn't you put me down at Kegent's 
 Circus ?" 
 
 " Put you down directly, Mem; wish I'd 
 done it before!' said the conductor, leaping 
 from his perch like a squirrel. 
 
 " Is every undertaking thus to be over- 
 thrown?" murmured Annie, as they entered 
 their humble dwelling. 
 
 " No," said Ellen (eagerly seizing a letter 
 that lay on the table) ; " here is a letter from 
 Mr. Clifton; I shall do better with the 
 Cliftons at thirty or forty pounds a year, 
 than with the St. Johns at the highest 
 salary." 
 
 Annie and Ellen read the letter together. 
 Mrs. Clifton would be glad to receive Ellen 
 at her earliest convenience; they had heard 
 all that was satisfactory from Miss Brentford, 
 and felt assured that they were securing at 
 once a valuable instructress for their chil- 
 dren, and a friend for themselves. The 
 carriage and man-servant should meet Miss 
 Sherwood at any hour she liked to appoint.
 
 S6 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 The salary (as tlieir income was limited) 
 would be necessarily moderate, — that is, 
 twelve pounds a year, — and their governess 
 paid her own laundress! 
 
 To accept such terms was impossible, and 
 poor Ellen saw her fabric of hope overthrown. 
 She said nothing, but the tears flowed freely 
 down her cheeks. Annie, who was less 
 passive, sat down to write and decline the 
 offer, plainly stating the reason, and ani- 
 madverting, more than prudence warranted, 
 on the inadequacy of the terms proposed, for 
 the amount of labour demanded in return. 
 Annie found relief and consolation in thus 
 boldly expressing her feelings of indignation; 
 she was becoming quite resolute in her 
 assurance that she must expect nothing but 
 injustice and oppression, and seemed to feel 
 that the prophecy with regard to Ishmael 
 would be fulfilled in her case, — " Every 
 man's hand shall be against him," cvc. 
 
 Several days passed without bringing any 
 brighter prospects to the Sherwoods. They 
 were then summoned to wait on several 
 " distinguished ladies" (as the agents called 
 them), who examined their persons with 
 supercilious curiosity, and catechised them 
 with all the arrogant authority of wealth.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 87 
 
 All these negotiations ended in disappoint- 
 ment. Ellen was too pretty ; Annie did not 
 know enough ; and yet her real amount of 
 knowledge would have made those who 
 affected to despise her attainments, blush at 
 their own ignorance. 
 
 Weeks went by, and still the sisters lin- 
 gered on in their humble lodgings, hoping 
 against hope, and daily contriving some 
 further retrenchment to eke out their little 
 remaining store, which, nevertheless, rapidly 
 diminished. In vain Annie searched day 
 after day in the columns of the Times ; she 
 rarely met with any advertisement at all 
 suitable to Ellen or herself, or, if she did, 
 and applied for the engagement, her letter 
 seldom produced a reply. 
 
 On one occasion, however, her hopes were 
 momentarily raised by the reception of a 
 very pleasing note, requesting her to call in 
 
 Street at any hour that would be most 
 
 convenient to herself. " Most wonderful 
 condescension, Annie!" exclaimed Ellen, 
 looking up, as though she had made some 
 strange discovery. " Annie, do you know — 
 I think — that is to say, I'm afraid that this 
 lady will offer you nothing a year!" 
 "What makes you think so?"
 
 83 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " The note is so polite," said Ellen, " so 
 very polite ; and you know that clergyman's 
 was so too, and he offered me 12/. a year !" 
 
 " "We shall see !" said Annie, with a lan- 
 guid smile, for her hopes were not very 
 bright. She found little to reply to Ellen's 
 doubts and fears. Mrs. Weldon was a plain, 
 unostentatious person, the wife of a mer- 
 chant, apparently able and willing to offer a 
 liberal salary. She demanded nothing un- 
 reasonable, unless it were that the governess 
 should spend thirteen hours daily in the 
 charge of her pupils, Mrs. Weldon ingenuously 
 remarking that her own temper w r as pecu- 
 liarly irritable ; consequently the children 
 could not spend any time with her, lest her 
 example should prove injurious to their 
 moral training, and she could not, of course, 
 allow them to be under the care of servants. 
 One more drawback there was to this very 
 eligible appointment — the governess was ex- 
 pected to wasli and dress her Sieves; in fact, 
 to perform all the duties of a bonne. And }-et 
 there was no haughty assumption on the 
 part of Mrs. Weldon — nothing to indicate 
 that she would regard her children's instruc- 
 tress in the light of a menial, though she 
 required her to fulfil a menial's duties.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. S9 
 
 In vain Annie Sherwood opposed argu- 
 ment to the last demand. Mrs. Weldon 
 was not offended at her reluctance to under- 
 take the w T ork of a nurse, but continued to 
 insist on its necessity. Annie's proud spirit 
 revolted at the thought of such imposed 
 menial labour; she rose, and asked leave to 
 have time for consideration. Mrs. Weldon 
 acceded to the latter wish, and further in- 
 formed her that they lived quite alone ; 
 never visited nor received visitors ; and being 
 averse to all sorts of light recreations, were 
 anxious that every member of their family 
 should conform to their rules, confining their 
 attention to religious works. 
 
 Annie had said she would consider, and 
 she had said so with the half-formed resolu- 
 tion of rejecting the engagement ; but when 
 she had really reflected — really compared 
 Mrs.JVVeldon with the other parties who 
 had honoured her with their notice, she de- 
 cided that even with nurserymaid's duties to 
 perform, and the prospect of a life equally 
 fatiguing and monotonous, the engagement 
 in question was infinitely preferable to any 
 other which had as yet offered. She there- 
 fore wrote to Mrs. Weldon, and accepted 
 her terms. Mrs. Weldon wished to secure
 
 90 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Annie's services, knew something of her 
 connexions, and consequently (being rather 
 averse to any avoidable exertion) dispensed 
 with some of the usual formalities. The 
 engagement was concluded. Annie was to 
 enter on her new and untried duties, the 
 moment her sister was provided with a 
 home. A brilliant offer came for Ellen — came 
 just at the moment it was most desired. 
 
 Sir James and Lady Mildred were desirous 
 of procuring a governess for their two 
 younger daughters, sufficiently accomplished 
 to instruct them in French, Italian, and 
 music, and sufficiently young, not to alarm 
 them by any austerity. In fact, she w r as to 
 unite, as far as possible, the character of a 
 playmate and that of an instructress. Ellen 
 answered exactly to the description. Sir 
 James and Lady Mildred were no longer 
 young. Sir James was immersed in Parlia- 
 mentary affairs, and was of a serious cha- 
 racter ; her ladyship was of " no character at 
 all." There was no fear of finding a Mr. 
 and Mrs. St. John in Sir .Tames and Lady 
 Mildred. 
 
 Ellen had been instructed by the agent 
 who negotiated the business to call on him 
 for instructions before presenting herself at
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 91 
 
 the Baronet's. She therefore went to his 
 office, accompanied by Annie. 
 
 The agent strenuously endeavoured to 
 impress on Ellen's mind the importance 
 and aristocratic pretensions of the Mildred 
 family. " It was an honour to serve them 
 in an}' capacity; such families were not to 
 be met with every day, he could tell her." 
 Mr. de F then ran over the list of re- 
 quirements. 
 
 "I am afraid," stammered Ellen, who 
 was frightened rather than charmed with 
 the brilliant description of the Mildred 
 family, — "I am afraid, very much afraid, that 
 
 it is far beyond me 1" but Mr. de F 
 
 showed such evident signs of displeasure 
 that she was reduced to silence, especially 
 after he had resolutely stamped his foot, and 
 declared that she must, and should, call on 
 Lady Mildred. What was a timid girl to 
 that petty tyrant? Ellen withdrew sub- 
 missively, and immediately proceeded to 
 Place, where, as she had been in- 
 structed, she inquired, not for Lady Mildred, 
 but for Mrs. Stokes-Delville, formerly a 
 governess in her ladyship's family, now her 
 confidential employee. 
 
 Mrs. Stokes -Delville entered the drawing-
 
 92 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 room, into which the sisters had been shown, 
 with that sort of half-patronising air so fre- 
 quently seen in those, who from very sub- 
 ordinate positions, have become confidential 
 friends of the great. She was affable and 
 condescending, and after a half-hour's con- 
 versation, left the room to inform Lady 
 Mildred of the result of her examination of 
 the governess candidate. After a short 
 lapse of time, Mrs. Stokes-Delville re-entered, 
 and obsequiously held the door open till a 
 lady followed, who looked old, very mentally 
 and physically weak, and very, very aristo- 
 cratic. Lady Mildred advanced, seated her- 
 self in a chaise-longue, and took a survey of 
 the sisters in perfect silence. Her examination 
 might have lasted about two minutes, cer- 
 tainly not longer. She rose, and murmuring 
 " I am very much prepossessed," slowly 
 left the room as she had entered, followed 
 by Mrs. Stokes-Delville. 
 
 Mrs. Stokes-Delville (there is a pleasure 
 in repeating that name) was absent some 
 time, and then returned to renew the con- 
 versation. She repeated what Lad)* Mildred 
 had said, at least taking her short sentence 
 of approbation, as a text for a lengthened 
 discourse.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 93 
 
 So far the negotiation had proceeded 
 favourably ; a liberal salary was offered, and 
 many advantages loomed in the distance. 
 As she and Ellen were withdrawing, Annie 
 ventured to inquire what holidays Ellen 
 would have ; for she had laid, as she thought, 
 a charming little plan, which would enable 
 them to meet and spend a few weeks to- 
 gether once a year. 
 
 " Holidays I" repeated Mrs. Stokes-Del- 
 ville; "I had the honour of spending 
 twelve years in the family of Lady Mildred, 
 and never thought of asking for holidays ; 
 and when the advantages are so mani- 
 fest, I cannot think what more can be re- 
 quired/' 
 
 "It is painful to break near and dear ties, 
 and to part from those with whom we have 
 been accustomed to the daily and hourly 
 interchange of thought through life," said 
 Annie : " without the consolatory hope of 
 occasionally renewed intercourse, it would 
 be unbearable/' 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Sherwood," said Mrs. 
 Stokes-Delville ; " but, from our previous 
 conversation, I had supposed you stronger- 
 minded ! Surely you w T ould not put these 
 petty considerations, these sentimental pue-
 
 94 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 rilities, in competition with the duty an 
 instructress owes her pupils':" 
 
 "You have been a governess yourself, 
 Mrs. Stokes/' said Annie. 
 
 " Stokes-Delville, if you please, Miss Sher- 
 wood ! Yes, I have had the honour of 
 residing in Sir James Mildred's family for 
 twelve years, and well know the advantage 
 of such a position. I never had any holidays ; 
 I never wanted any; and I was amply re- 
 compensed for the self-denial I exercised by 
 the generosity and condescension of my 
 patrons. Indeed, when I left the house (I 
 am now merely on a visit, for I have retired 
 on funded property), Sir James himself did 
 me the honour to shake hands toith me ; her 
 ladyship presented me with a valuable work- 
 box, inlaid, and beautifully fitted up, and 
 assured me she should always feel the live- 
 liest interest in my welfare. I think that 
 quite enough to reconcile one to a little 
 restraint." 
 
 Annie's face expressed plainly that neither 
 the handsomest workbox ever made, nor 
 shaking hands with a duke, would reconcile 
 her to imprisonment ; but she tried to repress 
 her feelings, and inquired how many hours
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 95 
 
 her sister would be required to devote daily 
 to her pupils. " From seven in the morning 
 till nine in the evening," was the reply. 
 She was about to remark thereon, when 
 Ellen hastily interrupted her, and expressed 
 her willingness to comply with Lady Mil- 
 dred's conditions. 
 
 Mrs. Stokes -Delville then graciously dis- 
 missed the Sherwoods with a bow, practised 
 on the model of Lady Mildred's for many a 
 long year. 
 
 " Ellen !" exclaimed Annie, when the pon- 
 derous hall-door closed behind them, " I can- 
 not bear that you should sell yourself to such 
 bondage ! Let us take the little money we 
 have left, and go to Australia !" 
 
 " We have not enough," said Ellen, de- 
 jectedly; "7/. 10s. is all that remains. I 
 counted it this morning. I must go to Lady 
 Mildred's!' 3 she added, sighing. But Ellen 
 had only her own consent thereto ; the same 
 evenino: a note arrived from Mrs. Stokes- 
 Delville, declining Miss Sherwood's services, 
 as she (Mrs. Stokes-Delville) feared, from 
 
 the morning's conversation, that Miss S 
 
 would not be as devoted to the charming 
 Miss Mildreds as she could wish, who had
 
 96 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 had the honour of instructing their elder 
 sisters twelve years, and who now enjoyed 
 the friendship of their parents. 
 
 The same post brought a letter from Mr. 
 Weldon, regretting (in his wife's name) that 
 they must be deprived of the services of their 
 young Christian friend. They had met 
 with a lady in some respects more suitable, 
 but still regretted, &c. 
 
 Once more, then, the sisters were tlirown 
 on the wide world, to concert new plans, 
 raise fresh hopes (if they could), and recom- 
 mence researches which had no longer the 
 charm of novelty to recommend them !
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 97 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 "Annie dear, let us try another agency," 
 said Ellen ; " perhaps we shall be more for- 
 tunate in our next attempt." 
 
 "Yes, let us try another," said Annie; 
 " let us go directly." 
 
 " Wont to-morrow do ?" 
 
 " No, darling, there is no time like the 
 present," said Annie, gently. 
 
 Ellen yielded, as was her wont, but with- 
 out alacrity ; she was beginning to feel 
 very, very weary of those long walks, that 
 brought with them delusive hopes, to be 
 immediately overthrown by bitter disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 The new agent to whom they applied was 
 one of extensive connexion, and real respec- 
 tability. He w r as a clerical as well as a 
 scholastic agent, and apparently transacted 
 his business without extravagant professions 
 of zeal in the service of his clients, but 
 with regard to their interests as well as his 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 own. The curates, tutors, and governesses 
 applying to him for engagements were con- 
 sequently so numerous, that he found it im- 
 possible to meet all their demands. He had 
 therefore adopted the equitable plan of only 
 receiving fees from those whom he actually 
 succeeded in placing, and whoever applied 
 to him was sure of meeting with civility, if 
 not success. 
 
 Annie and Ellen Sherwood were received 
 by Mr. Major with courtesy, but requested 
 to wait a short time, till he had finished a 
 conversation with a gentleman with whom 
 he had been conversing on their entrance. 
 The sisters sat down to await the agent's 
 leisure. 
 
 Nearly opposite to them was seated a 
 young man in shabby black, very sallow and 
 unhealthy, but he had a pleasing counte- 
 nance, lit by luminous dark eyes, and an 
 expression of thought and earnest feeling. 
 He was not handsome, still, it was a beau- 
 tiful countenance, a spiritual, chastened- 
 looking face, which the eye would seek again 
 and again, and never weary in perusing. In 
 one hand the poor curate held a shabby 
 pocket-book, the other was industriously en- 
 deavouring to conceal the torn cuff of his
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 99 
 
 coat, while his hat, which lay on a chair 
 beside him, though smoothly brushed, was 
 almost guiltless of nap. 
 
 At length the person with whom Mr. 
 Major had been conversing was dismissed. 
 He then turned to the threadbare curate. 
 " I am sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Stan- 
 cliff/' said he, courteously. 
 
 " Thank you, I have no other engage- 
 ment," said he, with a low sigh ; " I can wait 
 without inconvenience." 
 
 Then the agent would like to know Annie's 
 business. Annie briefly, but clearly ex- 
 plained what she and her sister wanted, and 
 stated how little they undertook. 
 
 "Do you think we have any chance of 
 employment ?" asked Ellen, with a tremulous 
 voice. 
 
 " We have a great many applicants," said 
 Mr. Major, "but I will do all I can." 
 
 " Thank you," said Annie, gratefully. She 
 believed the promise, and to see that she 
 believed it, raised Ellen's spirits. The Sher- 
 woocls rose to depart, the shabby curate rose 
 too ; he opened the door for them, and in so 
 doing displayed his torn cuff, then coloured 
 with confusion. 
 
 Before the door closed they heard Mr. 
 
 h 2
 
 100 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Major say, "I am sorry to tell you, Mr, 
 Stancliff, that the curacy is gone." 
 
 " Gone !" repeated the young man, in great 
 agitation, "gone, did you say?" 
 
 " Oh, Annie I" exclaimed Ellen, "he is in 
 distress. I thought he was !" 
 
 "Who is in distress?" said Annie, ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 " That amiable-looking — that poor young 
 man, I mean," said Ellen, blushing. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say he is," said Annie ; 
 "but one's own anxieties make the heart 
 selfish. You have observed him more closely 
 than I." 
 
 " I could not help noticing him," rejoined 
 Ellen ; " he was directly opposite to me, and 
 besides, being a clergyman, and " 
 
 " And having very fine eyes !" interrupted 
 Annie. 
 
 " I don't know, I — I did not notice," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Nonsense, Ellen, you know you did ! 
 Is he not something like our rustic friend, 
 Charles Turner?" 
 
 " Oh, no !" cried Ellen, warmly, " not the 
 least ; he has a pale, melancholy lace, what 
 Lavater calls ' a spiritually beautiful coun- 
 tenance !' "
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 101 
 
 " Indeed !" said Annie. " Ellen ! Ellen ! 
 this looks very like what romancers call 
 ' love at first sight IV 
 
 " Pray do not talk so," said Ellen ; "I am 
 not quite so silly as you think, only I 
 thought him very amiable and " 
 
 "What proof did he give of being 
 amiable ?" 
 
 " He opened the door for us." 
 
 " Did he ! Dear child, don't you know 
 that any man of the world would have done 
 the same?" 
 
 " Yes, but not in the same manner," per- 
 sisted Ellen. 
 
 " I grant you that some people might per- 
 form the same action less graciously, but 
 still they would do it. What shall we do, 
 Ellen ?" 
 
 " What about, dear ?" 
 
 " If you grow romantic ! Don't you know, 
 child, no one would put up with a romantic 
 governess. How will }^ou ever " 
 
 " I shall try to put our father's precepts 
 in practice," said Ellen, seriously. " I shall 
 do my duty, and leave all the consequences 
 to God." There was an earnestness and 
 clinging faith in Ellen's religious feelings 
 which gave an air of dignity to their expres-
 
 102 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 sion, ancl inspired respect. Annie was silent 
 and thoughtful ; she was brooding over her 
 young sister's words, and wishing she could 
 more fully enter into her feelings. Happy 
 had it been for her could her wish have been 
 accomplished. As it was, with a host of 
 fine qualities and generous passions, Annie 
 Sherwood was about to enter the " battle of 
 life ' aided by no stronger weapons of de- 
 fence, girt with no other armour, than that 
 of her own strong will and unbending spirit. 
 
 Another fortnight of patient waiting. A 
 note came from Mr. Major, requesting Ellen 
 
 to call at No. , Street, upon a lady 
 
 who required a governess for two little girls. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington was not in the drawing- 
 room on the Sherwoods' arrival, but soon 
 after entered. She was rather faded, and 
 wore a look of fatigue and sorrow on her 
 gentle countenance, but was still a lovely 
 woman. She led in with her two beautiful 
 children. 
 
 " Which is the Miss Sherwood recom- 
 mended by Mr. Major?" asked Mrs. Har- 
 rington, after she had courteously greeted 
 both the sisters. When Ellen was desig- 
 nated, a shade of disappointment crossed the 
 lady's face.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 103 
 
 " I am afraid — that is, I think I need not 
 trouble you by inquiries. I fear you will 
 not suit me ;" but she spoke almost apolo- 
 getically, as if she were saying something 
 very unkind. 
 
 " I shall not suit you 1" repeated Ellen ; 
 " oh, I am so sorry, so very sorry I" 
 
 " Why?" asked Mrs. Harrington, in a yet 
 softer tone of voice. 
 
 "Because — because — ! faltered Ellen, 
 " of all the ladies I have seen, you are the 
 first, the very first, that has spoken kindly 
 to me." 
 
 " Poor girl !" said Mrs. Harrington, seat- 
 ing herself beside Ellen, while she took one 
 of her hands in hers ; " no, I cannot have 
 you, but " 
 
 "My sister knows much more than her 
 youthful appearance would lead you to sup- 
 pose," said Annie, who felt that if they must 
 part she would give worlds to leave Ellen in 
 such gentle hands. 
 
 " I dare say she does," replied Mrs. Har- 
 rington. " I am not very anxious, at least, 
 I trust not over-anxious, for my children to 
 be accomplished. I would rather that they 
 should be trained to shine in heaven than to 
 glitter in the world."
 
 104 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " Ellen is a Christian in heart and life," 
 said Annie, warmly. 
 
 " I have not one doubt of that," said Mrs. 
 Harrington, "but I will tell you frankly 
 why I cannot engage your sister. I have 
 known much sorrow, as I think my counte- 
 nance must show you, sorrow that has taught 
 me caution ; your sister is too young and 
 beautiful for me." 
 
 " Too beautiful !" exclaimed the astonished 
 EUen. 
 
 " Yes, too beautiful," repeated Mrs. Har- 
 rington, slowly. " There are reasons (apart, 
 I trust, from any unworthy or ungenerous 
 feelings in me,) which would render you a 
 dangerous inmate. Stay a few minutes," she 
 added, seeing that the disappointed girls rose 
 to depart ; " you must need refreshment after 
 your long walk." 
 
 Mrs. Harrington constrained the Sher- 
 woods to remain, and ordered luncheon. 
 
 There was something so sweet, so loveable, 
 in the very sound of Mrs. Harrington's 
 tunable voice, something so charming in 
 
 "The music breathing from her face," 
 
 that Annie was as much pleased with her as 
 the confiding Ellen. Her manner was more 
 than courteous, it w T as friendly; and she
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 105 
 
 seemed as much interested in lier new ac- 
 quaintance, as they were fascinated by her. 
 Without any appearance of indelicate curio- 
 sity, she succeeded in drawing forth their 
 history. Ere they departed she said to Ellen, 
 "Though I must not have you myself, I 
 may perhaps be enabled to recommend you." 
 
 Ellen's face beamed with gratitude which 
 she could not express. " I will make every 
 inquiry among my friends, and — but you 
 will call again," added Mrs. Harrington, 
 hastily. " Yet no, I had better call on you ;" 
 and in completing her sentence, Mrs. Har- 
 rington's face flushed with extraordinary 
 emotion. There was a mystery attending 
 her which Ellen's simplicit}^ could not un- 
 ravel ; to Annie it was no mystery at all. 
 
 " Mamma ! mamma !" said one of the chil- 
 dren, as the Sherwoods were about to with- 
 draw ; "I don't think Miss Sherwood beau- 
 tiful at all! Do let her come to teach me. 
 I should love her so much ! and I'm quite 
 sure she is not beautiful at all!" 
 
 " You are very complimentary, Harry," 
 said Mrs. Harrington. "What will Miss 
 Sherwood think of my spoilt boy ?" 
 
 " I love him for his truthfulness," said 
 EUen.
 
 106 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " But you don't understand him," said the 
 lady ; "he thinks that to be beautiful is very 
 wicked." 
 
 "Yes, it is wicked!" exclaimed the boy, 
 vehemently, "very wicked. I hate beauti- 
 ful people, ever since Miss Germains was 
 here. She w T as beautiful — and you cried all 
 day and papa scolded you, and " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! dear Harry ! you are talk- 
 ing of what you do not understand; run away 
 now, and play." 
 
 " But I do understand, mamma ; I un- 
 derstand very, very well. Miss Germains 
 was beautiful and — I hate all beautiful peo- 
 ple, and I want Miss Sherwood to come and 
 teach me. She wouldn't make you cry !" 
 
 "No one makes me cry, love," said the 
 mother, clasping the boy in her arms, though 
 her eyes filled with tears at the time. Mrs. 
 Harrington shook hands warmly with Annie 
 and Ellen, and promising that they should 
 hear from her directly she had anything 
 good to communicate, she took their address, 
 looked at her watch anxiously, and then out 
 of the window, as if she did not wish to 
 detain them longer. 
 
 " How very strange," said Ellen, when 
 they had left the door ; " Mrs. Harrington
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 107 
 
 seemed to take an extraordinary and sudden 
 interest in us, and yet towards the close of 
 our visit she was evidently anxious to see 
 us away !" 
 
 " Not at all strange," said Annie, " she 
 expected him home." 
 
 " Expected whom ?" ' 
 
 " Her husband, to be sure; she is an angel, 
 but mated with one of earth's grossest sons. 
 I am not surprised that she could not ven- 
 ture to take you, Ellen. Did I not tell you 
 that your pretty face would mar your 
 prospects ?" 
 
 " But what is a mere pretty face, beside 
 one so incomparably lovely as Mrs. Harring- 
 ton's?" said Ellen. 
 
 " Novelty, of course," said Annie. " Mr. 
 Harrington has read every line in his wife's 
 face, till he is wearied of it, and can no longer 
 discover any beauty there." 
 
 " How can he be so heartless !" said Ellen. 
 
 " He is a man!" replied Annie. 
 
 " My dear Annie ! a stranger who heard 
 you talk thus, would think some one had 
 deceived you, and left a bitter impression of 
 the whole sex !" 
 
 " No, no, I have never been deceived," 
 said Annie, quickly, "nor shall I be. No
 
 10S ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 man shall ever have it in his power to say 
 he has deceived Annie Sherwood ! I was not 
 made for the puerilities of commonplace love 
 affairs." 
 
 "But apart from all that sort of thing, 
 you must believe in love I" 
 
 " Yes, yes, in love," said Annie ; " but my 
 ideas on the subject are exaltees\ I have 
 dreamt of unrealized perfection. Had I 
 lived in the days of the young Earth, I 
 should have been one of the daughters of 
 men who sang — 
 
 1 Come pray with me, my seraph love ! 
 My augel lord, come pray with me !' 
 
 I should have had no charms to cause an 
 angel's fall, but I should have had the soul 
 to turn from earth's earthly sons to the 
 worship of some glorious seraph. Ellen ! 
 Ellen ! I forget myself ! I am asleep, and 
 you are asleep ; I am visioning a fallen 
 Raphael; you, dreaming of the shabby curate 
 we saw the other day. But, Ellen dear, we 
 must wake — wake and remember I am not at 
 the gates of a lost Eden; you, not in the plea- 
 sant parlour of a pretty curacy ! No, we are 
 volunteer governesses, ready to give up our 
 lives and liberty to the highest bidder, and 
 moreover w T e have just 6/. 1 3*. in our pockets."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 109 
 
 But though Annie Sherwood spoke thus, 
 and tried hard to chase away her own dreamy 
 visions with a scornful laugh, she still 
 dreamt on. 
 
 Long days and longer weeks went by. 
 The Sherwoods had spent their last guinea. 
 Again they talked of economizing : they had 
 nothing wherewith to economize. Want, 
 actual want, stared them in the face. Which 
 way were they to turn ? to whom could they 
 apply for assistance? To Bertha? What 
 could she do for them ? Lend them a portion 
 of her hardly-earned stipend? No, that 
 they could not ask ; all she had for her 
 labour (and that was little enough) went to 
 supplv the necessities of a widowed mother. 
 
 The Sherwoods' last shilling had been 
 given to their landlady, the morrow would 
 find them without a meal. "I will do it !" 
 exclaimed Annie, starting from a reverie in 
 which she had long been plunged, with her 
 hands tightly clasped on her forehead, — " I 
 will do it !" 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" cried Ellen, 
 in alarm at her sister's agitation. 
 
 " Provide for you and myself!" said Annie, 
 as she seated herself and seized a pen. 
 
 " How, dearest ?"
 
 110 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " You will see." Annie wrote a few hurried 
 lines ; they were these : — 
 
 " If Charles Turner is still desirous of 
 marrying Annie Sherwood, she will grate- 
 fully accept his offer." 
 
 " For me 1" exclaimed Ellen, who had 
 looked over her sister's shoulder, "for me, 
 Annie ! No, you shall never sacrifice your- 
 self for me !" and speaking with unwonted 
 resolution, she snatched the letter, and tore 
 it up. 
 
 " What are you doing?" cried Annie. 
 
 " Saving you. You must not marry your 
 inferior. Were it I, the disproportion would 
 not be so great, but you — it would make 
 your misery for life." 
 
 " What is to become of us ?" said Annie. 
 
 " Annie, Annie ! Have you never read in 
 the Word of God, 'Yet saw I never the 
 righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging 
 their bread'? It is impossible for the children 
 of our Father to starve j it is sinful in them 
 to despair! Come, Annie, let us try ^Irs. 
 Piscator once more." 
 
 For a brief space the sisters had changed 
 characters ; it was Ellen who led, and Annie 
 who followed. They proceeded to Mrs. 
 Piscator's, but not being rich enough to
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. Ill 
 
 possess a watch between them, they were so 
 unfortunate as to arrive after the hours 
 usually allotted to business, and that was a 
 great crime. The Slier woods were admitted, 
 however, by a servant, who was forgetful of 
 the hour, or else had forgotten the rules of 
 the Establishment, or " Institution," as its 
 proprietor called it. The two girls remained 
 some time in the dingy waiting-room. At 
 length a head of curls and a pair of naked 
 shoulders were thrust in the door- way, which 
 w r ere unmistakeably appertaining to Miss 
 Piscator. " Dear me ! Miss Sherwood, I 
 declare ! Well, I never ! but ma can't see you ; 
 I'm sure she can't ; why, it's long past time !" 
 
 "I am sorry to break your mamma's 
 rules," said Annie, "but I really had no 
 idea of the time. We have come from a 
 considerable distance, so I hope Mrs. Piscator 
 can see us ; we shall not detain her five 
 minutes." 
 
 "I shall do nothing of the kind!" ex- 
 claimed a very wrathful voice, and a full, red 
 face, still more inflamed by passion, showed 
 itself. " See you, indeed ! Pray what do 
 you mean by coming here at this hour of the 
 day ! half-past four ! What do you mean 
 by it, I say ?"
 
 112 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 "Ma," interposed Miss Piscator, "nia, 
 Miss Sherwood didn't know it was so late." 
 
 " Don't tell me, she knew well enough," 
 vociferated the energetic lady. " Base in- 
 gratitude, after all I have done for you !" 
 
 " I know of nothing you have done for 
 me which merits particular gratitude, Mrs. 
 Piscator," said Annie, resolutely ; " or if any 
 obligation exists, I believe it must be 
 mutual. You have acted, I suppose, pro- 
 fessionally ; had you placed me, you no doubt 
 fully intended receiving the customary fee." 
 
 " Gret out of my house ! Never dare to 
 enter these doors again !" cried the infuriated 
 Mrs. Piscator. 
 
 " I have no intention of doing so," said 
 Annie, " it would be useless in any sense ;" 
 and as she spoke, she and Ellen walked to- 
 wards the door, but not quickly enough to 
 effect a safe retreat, for Mrs. Piscator 's rage 
 triumphing over her corpulent frame, she 
 rushed on Annie like a tigress on its prey, 
 and while pouring forth a torrent of 
 reproaches, shook her violently by the 
 shoulders, and then pushed her over the 
 threshold with such force that she stag- 
 gered, and would have fallen on the pave- 
 ment had not her terrified sister caught her
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 113 
 
 in her arras. " Are you hurt, dearest ?" 
 faltered the agitated Ellen. 
 
 " No, dear Ellen," replied Annie, com- 
 pressing her white lips, while her livid 
 countenance betrayed the truth that she had 
 really suffered. 
 
 " No, not hurt, Ellen ; but that woman 
 has taught me another lesson. Come, let us 
 go home." 
 
 " Oh, that we were both going home I" 
 ejaculated Ellen ; " home to our Father in 
 Heaven ! home to the peaceful rest of the 
 grave ! Annie, this business has quite over- 
 whelmed my little courage." 
 
 " And your faith ?" asked Annie. 
 
 " Not dead — not quite dead !" said Ellen, 
 colouring deeply. " Who knows what Provi- 
 dence has in store for us !" 
 
 "Who, indeed!" said Annie, with a sigh. 
 " That woman's insolence has had a strange 
 effect on me, Ellen ; it has hardened me. 
 Each fresh insult that the world heaps on 
 me seems to give me stronger powers of 
 resistance — a more iron will to struggle 
 against oppression." 
 
 However Annie might express herself, she 
 felt, at least physically, the effects of the 
 rough treatment she had received ; and on 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 entering tlieir little room she was obliged 
 to lie down, faint and exhausted, while Ellen 
 busied herself in preparing their scanty tea. 
 While thus occupied, the question arose in 
 her mind — " How will another meal be se- 
 cured ?" An involuntary ejaculation, " What 
 shall we do ?" roused Annie. " I'll tell you," 
 said she. " Our money has gone, and we 
 are unprovided for ; we must get more 
 money 1" 
 
 " How can we ?" 
 
 " By borrowing." 
 
 " And how are we to borrow in this 
 strange place ? Poor Bertha, to my certain 
 knowledge, sent all her last quarter to her 
 mother, excepting a few shillings. 
 
 " And if she had not, we must not borrow 
 from her," said Annie, quickly ; " still, I 
 think we could get a little." 
 
 "From where? Do explain, dear Annie." 
 
 "From a pawnbroker. Do you not know 
 what that means ?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so," said Ellen, faintly 
 smiling ; " but what could we take him ?" 
 
 "The six old silver tea-spoons," said 
 Annie, " which I put in my desk before the 
 sale at Merton." 
 
 " How are we to find a pawnbroker's ?"
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 115 
 
 asked Ellen, after weighing the new ideas 
 presented to her mind. 
 
 " They have three golden balls hung out 
 in front of their houses," said Annie. 
 4e The arms of Lombardy ; you know the 
 Lombards were in olden times the money- 
 lenders." 
 
 " I can't think how you find out all these 
 things," said Ellen. 
 
 "I have read about the pawnbrokers' 
 signs somewhere," said Annie ; " besides, as 
 I foresaw to-day's necessities, I took occasion 
 to make inquiries a week ago. But don't 
 trouble your mind about it, Ellen ; it is not 
 fitting work for you. I shall be up early 
 to-morrow, and go about it before breakfast. 
 We have tea and bread enough for the 
 morning, I think?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so ! ' said Ellen, slowly 
 putting back the crust she had just taken on 
 her plate. 
 
 " Ellen ! Ellen ! you will break my heart !" 
 exclaimed Annie, with tears. " Did you not 
 tell me not to doubt Providence, darlino"? 
 Let us, then, take what God sends us to-day, 
 and trust to Him for to-morrow's provision. 
 My mind is darkened, and full of bitterness 
 and doubt ; but yours, darling, was made for 
 
 i 2
 
 116 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 looking up, and confiding trust. You must 
 not doubt !" 
 
 " I know I am wrong to doubt a gracious 
 Providence," said Ellen. "I will try and 
 hope more ; but now, my Annie, take this cup 
 of tea I have poured out for you, and lie 
 down again." 
 
 Annie did as she was desired, and soon 
 fell into a deep sleep. Ellen covered her 
 sister up carefully, screened her eyes from 
 the light, and then taking the old silver tea- 
 spoons from their resting-place, she sallied 
 forth she knew not well whither. 
 
 It was dusk, and the lamps were being 
 lit; it was Saturday evening, too, which 
 Annie had forgotten, and Ellen had only 
 
 just remembered. E Street was a 
 
 crowded thoroughfare; for at one end a 
 number of itinerant vendors of vegetables, 
 fruit, fish, penny toys, &c, had congregated, 
 and with stentorian lungs were calling on 
 the bystanders to make purchases. Here, 
 a ballad-singer, accompanied by three or 
 four children, hired for the occasion, was 
 endeavouring to extort money from the 
 passers-by, by sounds, not such as drew back 
 Eurydice from the infernal regions, but dis- 
 mal cries, something between the groans of
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 117 
 
 despair from a rack, and the noise from a 
 broken-winded pair of bellows. There, an 
 itinerant dealer in penny pies boasted the 
 excellence of his merchandise in a cracked 
 voice, momentarily drowned by the stronger 
 lungs of an umbrella mender, who in his 
 turn was forced to succumb to the rival 
 cries of a grinder of scissors and penknives. 
 Ellen had never witnessed such a scene be- 
 fore ; she walked through it stunned and 
 confused ; but in the midst of her confusion 
 she contrived to find the three golden balls, 
 though she was sadly at a loss by which 
 door to enter the premises, as two stood 
 open. For awhile she hesitated, and remained 
 looking in at the window, in which were 
 displayed an immense number of forfeited 
 pledges — watches, brooches, rings and other 
 trinkets; and, sadder still, miniatures of 
 perhaps idolized features, crosses, stars and 
 medals, once the pride and honour of the 
 wearers. 
 
 While Ellen Sherwood stood undecided, a 
 woman approached with a bundle under her 
 arm, and she, too, passed in front of the win- 
 dow, — not, like Ellen, in ignorance of the 
 path ; she knew it too well ; she crossed that 
 sad threshold every Saturday night !
 
 IIS ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 At the same moment a tall young man in 
 black came up. " Can you tell me," said 
 lie, to the woman with the bundle — " can you 
 tell me which is the door ?'' and he spoke in 
 a low voice, as if he were ashamed. 
 
 "Not the shop way," said the woman. 
 " There, that door down the dark passage." 
 
 The young man shot into a long, dark 
 passage, with a hurried " Thank you ;" but 
 his voice left an echo in Ellen's ear, if not 
 in her heart ; she had heard it before some- 
 where — it was a sw r eet, gentle voice. 
 
 Ellen walked slowly down the dark, long 
 passage — very dark, very long. Accidentally 
 her hand came in contact with the handle of 
 a door ; she seized it at hazard. The door 
 opened with a spring, and showed a little 
 box against the counter ; therein stood the 
 young man who had just entered, a jet of 
 gas from the well-lighted shop revealing him 
 fully. The door quickly slid from Ellen's 
 hand, and shut with a loud noise. On she 
 groped her way ; tried another door ; within 
 was the woman with her bundle. On a 
 third trial, Ellen found the little box to con- 
 tain three or four ragged children, with a 
 pair of flat irons. In her fourth attempt
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 119 
 
 she was more successful; she found the little 
 box vacant, and entered. The people of the 
 shop were too busy to notice her, and she 
 had time to observe not only her next door 
 neighbour's flat irons pledged for twopence 
 a piece, but the poor woman's bundle opened, 
 and a quantity of wearing apparel which it 
 contained, surrendered for the trifling con- 
 sideration of three shillings and sixpence. 
 The poor woman sighed piteously as she 
 took what might be her last look of a little 
 frock worn by a dead child, that misery and 
 starvation had consigned to an untimely 
 grave. There was her own Sunday gown 
 too, but she did not think of that; her moist 
 eyes were fixed on the little braided frock, 
 and she stretched out her hand to touch it 
 once more, while the pawnbroker's man was 
 rolling up the bundle. " Please take care of 
 it, sir!" said the woman, timidly. "You've 
 got a penny, m'em, for the ticket, 'aven't 
 you?' 7 asked the man, without noticing her 
 request. 
 
 " No, sir," she answered, sighing. So 
 the poor woman received 3s. 5d., with a 
 diminutive bit of pasteboard; and with a 
 piteous look at the bundle which contained
 
 120 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the dead child's frock, she made way for 
 another woman, almost as dejected looking 
 as herself. 
 
 Ellen could not help looking beyond, to 
 see what the next applicant would bring. 
 He had laid three books on the counter. 
 " We can't take them," said the man, deli- 
 berately. " They ain't at all in our way." 
 
 " They are valuable old books," said the 
 gentleman, " and worth several pounds." 
 
 " Can't help it ; in books we go mostly by 
 the outside," said the clerk ; " we could 
 make nothing at all of such shabby-bound 
 things. Who'd buy them ?" 
 
 " But there is no danger of their beinir 
 sold ; I shall return for them in a lew 
 weeks." 
 
 " So all the folks say that bring their 
 things to pledge, from a flat iron up to a 
 thirty guinea watch," said the man, with a 
 vulgar chuckle ; " I dare say they think it, 
 poor ; but if you'll look round the pre- 
 mises, sir, 'specially at the window, you'll 
 see what stuff their hopes are made of." 
 
 The applicant did not reply, but he took 
 up his precious books fondly, for he was a 
 true student, and in silence placed an old- 
 fashioned silver watch on the counter. " How
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 121 
 
 much?" said the pawnbroker. "3/. 10s.," said 
 the student. " 11. 10s.," replied the pawn- 
 broker; so the business was settled, the 
 ticket written, and Ellen heard the same 
 sweet voice that she had before noticed give 
 the name of Richard Stancliff. She was so 
 lost in sympathy and pity that she had for- 
 gotten her own errand, and was only roused 
 from a deep reverie, by hearing the shopman 
 say, "Well, miss, what's your pleasure?" 
 Ellen started. " My pleasure," she repeated; 
 " it is no pleasure I" " Well, then, your 
 business, miss?"- "This," said Ellen, slowly 
 recovering her recollection ; "I want to 
 borrow some money." " On what ?" Ellen 
 handed the spoons. " Thin and light," said 
 the man, poising one of the tea-spoons on 
 his finger; " how much?" " Two pounds," 
 said Ellen. " Make it eighteen shillings to 
 oblige you, miss." " That must suffice, then, 
 I suppose," said Ellen. She received the 
 money with a sinking heart, after giving her 
 name and address. As she bent forward to 
 take the money, she perceived that Mr. 
 Stancliff had not left the counter. She 
 fancied he was listening to her ; it was not 
 very well-bred, but she could not be angry 
 with him for listening, as her conscience told
 
 122 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 her she had been doing the same thing ; in 
 fact, if her conscience had not reproved her, 
 she could not be angry at all. She secured 
 her little ticket (which the pawnbroker, 
 perceiving her to be a novice, had cau- 
 tioned her to preserve very carefully), and 
 went out. 
 
 Ellen neither looked behind her nor yet 
 to the right or left ; but still she was con- 
 scious that some one was walking her road, 
 and conscious, too, that that some one was 
 the shabby curate with the torn cuff. She 
 was conscious, moreover, of a strange flut- 
 tering at her heart. What could that be ? 
 She quickened her pace ; the steps behind 
 came quicker. Ellen reached her abode, and 
 entered, without once turning her head 
 round to ascertain whether her impressions 
 were correct. She found Annie awake, and 
 uneasy at her absence ; but she easily ex- 
 plained the cause of her late ramble, and 
 found, to her mortification, that she had 
 accepted a sum very much beneath the real 
 value of the spoons. 
 
 Ellen was in very low spirits the next 
 day ; but about five o'clock in the evening 
 the shabby curate passed by their little win- 
 dow, and the next day, and the next to that,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 123 
 
 and it gave Ellen something to think about, 
 and diverted her mind from the constant 
 contemplation of the rapidly-diminishing 
 eighteen shillings.
 
 124 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 The eighteen shillings were not immortal, as 
 Annie and Ellen Sherwood found to their 
 sorrow. Their prospects with regard to 
 employment had not yet brightened, and at 
 length they grew so familiar with the road 
 to the three golden balls, that their already 
 scanty wardrobes became more and more 
 slender. In vain had they besieged agency 
 offices, and answered advertisements. None 
 of the countless applications produced any 
 other result than disappointment. At length, 
 in trembling anticipation of a yet darker 
 future, Annie resolved to take in needle- 
 work (provided she could obtain any), while 
 she prosecuted her researches for a governess 
 engagement. But to resolve on humble 
 industry was one thing ; to obtain means of 
 exercising that industry, quite another. She 
 had no one to whom she could apply for 
 assistance, or even advice, and actual desti- 
 tution threatened them. Which way could 
 she turn in her difficulties ?
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 125 
 
 Pull of perplexing thoughts, she one day 
 sallied forth, and wandered into a part of 
 the town, in which she had observed several 
 ready-made clothes shops. She entered five 
 successively; in four, her offers of service were 
 rejected: in the fifth she might have had 
 employment, but the people required a deposit 
 for the materials entrusted to her care, and 
 of course Annie had not that to give. 
 
 Weary, faint, and hungry, poor Annie 
 leaned for support on the counter, and tears 
 filled her eyes ; but they that looked on were 
 hard people of business. They noted not the 
 pale cheek, the quivering lip, the tearful eye 
 of the young woman that leaned on their shop- 
 board ; how should they note these things? 
 Annie went out of the shop with a dizzy 
 brain, and a sense of hunger and weariness 
 such as she had never felt before, and she 
 passed on slowly through the lines of bril- 
 liantly-lit shops, and saw the tide of human 
 beings busy, striving, jostling one another, 
 and her heart grew sadder and her step 
 fainter as she whispered, " Room for all but 
 us ! 
 
 Just as she was debating in her mind 
 whether she should apply at another shop or 
 not, a little child ran out of an open door in
 
 126 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 pursuit of a rolling marble, and heedlessly 
 rushed after it into the throng of coaches 
 and other vehicles. The sight of the child's 
 danger restored Annie Sherwood to herself. 
 Unmindful of her own peril, she darted after 
 the little one, and succeeded in rescuing him 
 from impending destruction at the moment 
 when the father, who had not been imme- 
 diately aware of his child's situation, arrived 
 in search of him. 
 
 The man overwhelmed Annie with grate- 
 ful thanks, and entreated her to go in and 
 refresh herself after her great exertions. Glad, 
 indeed, was she to accept the offer, and thank- 
 ful was she for the cup of tea which the 
 mother of the rescued child gave her. Only 
 then did Annie look round and perceive 
 that she was in a ready-made clothes shop. 
 As the happy parents continued to reiterate 
 their gratitude, it occurred to her that from 
 them she might obtain employment ; so 
 when the first emotions of joy had subsided, 
 and they asked if they could be of any u 
 to her, she answered quickly, " Will }'ou 
 give me work? I can do it neatly. But I 
 have no money to leave as a deposit ; I am 
 very, very poor I" 
 
 " Money!" repeated the man. " Surely,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 127 
 
 Miss, we can trust you ! If we can't, who 
 can we trust ?" 
 
 Annie left her new acquaintance with a 
 lightened heart, for she carried away with 
 her a bundle of shirts, which she was to 
 make for a small sum indeed — only eight- 
 pence a piece; but she had heard some- 
 where of shirts made at three half-pence 
 each, and was therefore inclined to think 
 she had made a very good bargain. Every- 
 thing in this world must be valued by com- 
 parison. 
 
 When Annie returned home, her face spoke 
 volumes of joyful intelligence. " Some one 
 has engaged you !" said Ellen. 
 
 " No, indeed !" said Annie, but still look- 
 ing bright. 
 
 " You have met some of our dear old peo- 
 ple from Merton !" 
 
 " No, not that." 
 
 " Well, what is it then ? for I know some- 
 thing very good has happened." 
 
 " Look 1" said Annie, triumphantly dis- 
 playing her bundle. 
 
 " What a merciful Providence !" exclaimed 
 Ellen. " I w T ill begin directly." 
 
 The sisters were now becoming familiar 
 with privations. Anxious not to exchange
 
 12S ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 their lodgings for those that were less 
 respectable, they determined to make their 
 other expenses as small as possible j but 
 they found that the most rigid economy 
 •would not enable them long to subsist, on the 
 produce of their labours as needlewomen. 
 Again and again the question arose, what 
 was to become of them ? Ellen was ever 
 ready to suggest, trust in God ; but Annie, 
 though a firm believer, was not a trusting 
 Christian, and Ellen, though the weakest in 
 all things, w r as yet the happiest. 
 
 One Saturday afternoon Bertha came in 
 to see her friends ; till then she had had no 
 idea that they were distressed. She entreated 
 them to take the few shillings her purse 
 contained, but both steadily refused. Bertha 
 then begged Annie to meet her in the Square 
 Gardens the following Monday morning, as 
 she designed introducing her to a governess 
 friend or acquaintance who was remarkably 
 clever, had been eminently successful her- 
 self, and, having a very large connexion 
 among the nobility and gentry, was often 
 enabled to recommend governesses to very 
 distinguished families. Of course, Annie 
 testified her glad acquiescence in any plan 
 which would bring her acquainted with
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 129 
 
 so influential a person as Miss Hortensia 
 Maynard, and ere Bertha departed, the meet- 
 ing for Monday morning was agreed on. 
 
 Accordingly, Annie rose early on the ap- 
 pointed day, and repaired by seven o'clock 
 to the place of rendezvous. She had been 
 walking some time with Bertha, when a 
 strange-looking little woman entered, attired 
 in a deeply -flounced blue dress, with an air 
 of importance, as if she knew herself to be 
 somebody, and at the same time displaying 
 an affectation of girlish sprightliness. Her 
 countenance was only remarkable for a cer- 
 tain vivacity and quickness in the eyes. Her 
 age was about thirty-seven or eight. 
 
 Miss Hortensia Maynard advanced hastily 
 to Bertha, cordially shook her by both hands, 
 and exclaimed — " My dear creature, I am so 
 afflicted to have kept you waiting, so sincerely 
 afflicted, but I am so driven ! You can 
 scarcely imagine the business I have on 
 hand ; the secretaryship of two societies, you 
 know, and as large a correspondence as the 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer, besides my 
 duties. The last post brought me a charm- 
 ing letter of four sheets from the dear 
 Countess. You know I made her acquain- 
 tance at Dover, last year. I had been there 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 some weeks before I had the least conception 
 that she was in the neighbourhood. We 
 were at church one day, when I happened to 
 observe a lady in the adjoining pew without 
 a hymn-book. I offered her one, little 
 imagining that that trifling circumstance 
 would lay the foundation of an eternal friend- 
 ship ; such, however, has been the case. 
 The Countess called on me, an intimacy 
 sprang up between us. Our minds are so 
 congenial, the Countess has a very cultivated 
 mind — but what was I saying ? Oh ! speak- 
 ing of my numerous correspondents. I have 
 so many applications from families requiring 
 governesses, and who beg me to interest my- 
 self in their researches ; so many from gover- 
 nesses begging me to recomend them. Then 
 the friends of orphans who w r ant to get them 
 into asylums, call on me to use my influence, 
 so that I have scarcely a minute to call my 
 own. Then, in our numerous parties at 
 
 home, Sir William and Lady S always 
 
 depute me to do the greater part of the 
 honours. I ask whoever I choose, and it 
 often happens that they are uncertain as to 
 the names of the guests assembled in their 
 drawing-room s. " 
 
 Here the little lady thought proper to
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 131 
 
 take breath, and Bertha seized on the oppor- 
 tunity, lest another should not occur of doing- 
 so, of introducing Annie Sherwood. Miss 
 Hortensia warmly protested that she was 
 delighted to make Miss Sherwood's acquain- 
 tance, and would be charmed to be of any 
 assistance to her. She had no doubt of 
 being enabled to procure her an engagement, 
 so many friends applied to her, &c. ; in fact, 
 she was " so driven," that she could scarcely 
 breathe. The above is a very brief summary 
 of a very lengthened exordium with which 
 Miss Hortensia favoured her friends, before 
 withdrawing from their company. 
 
 "It is very strange," said Bertha, sighing. 
 
 "The S s must be very extraordinary 
 
 people; Hortensia is entirely her own mistress, 
 disposes of her time as she pleases, and may 
 order the carriage at any time in the day ! 
 Is it not strange ?" 
 
 " Passing strange, if it be true," said 
 Annie. 
 
 " Certainly it is true." 
 
 "Then you don't suspect your friend of 
 any exaggeration ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly not," said Bertha. " I have 
 
 seen her with Lady S , a quiet, meek, 
 
 silent woman, who lets Hortensia do all the 
 
 k 2
 
 13.2 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 talking, and seems to acknowledge her supe- 
 riority. She is certainly very clever, don't 
 yon think so?" 
 
 "She talks a great deal," said Annie. 
 
 "And talks so well," said Bertha. "Don't 
 you think her clever?" 
 
 " Frankly, no !" replied Annie ; "judging 
 by the slight specimen I have just had, I 
 think she is one of those people in whom 
 immense self-reliance passes for talent, and 
 (forgive me, Bertha) consummate impudence 
 for genius ! But she is " 
 
 " She is very good-hearted," said the crest- 
 fallen Bertha, 
 
 " Of that I have no doubt," said Annie, 
 " and I am really obliged to her for her kind 
 promises of assistance to me, as a stranger, 
 not that I have much faith in them." 
 
 " I really am surprised!" exclaimed Bertha. 
 " You are the first person I have met with, 
 the very first, who has made the acquaintance 
 of Hortensia, without being fascinated by 
 her. I must acknowledge that she has exer- 
 cised an immense influence over me." 
 
 " Shall I tell you why ?" asked Annie. "It 
 is because you have a modest estimate of 
 yourself; such people are always apt to exag- 
 gerate the merits and talents of their neigh-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 133 
 
 bour. Now, I dare say you never caught 
 yourself admiring one of your own sayings 
 in your life; and consequently, those of your 
 friends, if confidently uttered, appear to you 
 chefs-cVceiivre of genius and eloquence ! But 
 it is time, dear Bertha, for you to go in, if 
 St. Peter's clock speaks the hour faithfully." 
 
 " Oh dear, Annie, I should have been in 
 ten minutes ago ! what shall I do ?" 
 
 "It is accidental, pray don't agitate your- 
 self thus," said Annie, seeing Bertha look 
 quite pale and frightened. 
 
 " I can't help it," said she, " indeed I can't. 
 I know it is weak and silly; but if I see a 
 cloud on Mrs. Cheshyre's face, my heart beats 
 violently, like that of a frightened bird." 
 
 " I think I should never have such a feel- 
 ing," said Annie, " if I should ever obtain 
 ingress to one of these e very distinguished 
 
 families,' as Mr. de F calls them. It 
 
 is very strange that all my plans have mis- 
 carried." 
 
 "You must not despair of success, never- 
 theless," said Bertha. " I have frequently 
 known governesses a year, or even longer, 
 looking out." The friends then parted. 
 
 Annie's adventures for the day were not 
 completed. Having occasion to go into the
 
 134 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 City to carry home some finished work, she 
 passed through Piccadilly on her return, and 
 was overtaken by her new acquaintance of 
 the morning. Miss Hortensia was lounging 
 in her employer's carriage, and attended by 
 two very amiable, dull-looking youths, her 
 pupils. Miss Hortensia was a learned lady, 
 and taught the embryo lords of creation. 
 The fortunate governess pulled the check- 
 string with an air which implied habitual 
 practice, and when the carriage stopped, in- 
 sisted on Annie's entering. 
 
 From that moment Miss Hortensia opened 
 her fire, and rapidly threw off anecdotes 
 of illustrious and well-known personages, 
 always intermingling some personal adven- 
 ture, to form a thread on which to string 
 her scattered gems of narrative. 
 
 Miss Hortensia suddenly recollected that 
 
 her friend Lady Mary L was in want of 
 
 a governess ; her engagement would do for 
 Miss Sherwood. Yet stay ! her ladyship 
 required music. No, that would not do. A 
 charming acquaintance of Miss Hortensia's, 
 well known in the literary and religious 
 world, was just going to bring out a work 
 on education, a work worthy of Locke ! she 
 was in want of a companion and amanuensis,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 135 
 
 the office was exactly the thing for Miss 
 Sherwood. Yet no ! the person required 
 must be able to write the Grerman character. 
 At length a more feasible plan suggested 
 itself to Miss Hortensia. Her friend (she 
 had so many friends !) the Hon. Mrs. Erns- 
 cliff, wanted a boys' governess ; she was sure 
 Miss Sherwood would suit her precisely. 
 Annie smiled. Miss Hortensia translated 
 the smile into intense admiration, surprise, 
 and gratitude, and ere they parted she in- 
 structed her new protegee (Miss Hortensia 
 did so love to have & protegee) to call as early 
 as possible the next morning on the Hon. 
 
 Mrs. Ernscliff, No. — , Place, 
 
 Square, and use her name ! that would be a 
 sufficient introduction and recommendation. 
 Annie Sherwood accordingly called on 
 Mrs. Ernscliff. She found her haughty and 
 assuming. She had indeed some recollection 
 of a person called Mallerd or Manning, or 
 something of the kind, whom she had seen 
 at luncheon at Sir William S 's, bat as- 
 suredly she had never commissioned her to 
 look out for a governess for her. This was 
 an age of general assumption, an age in which 
 people seldom knew their own station, but 
 were constantly stepping out of it, and med-
 
 136 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 dling with matters which did not concern 
 them. Annie Sherwood thought she had 
 heard enough, and withdrew silently, leav- 
 ing Mrs. Ernscliff in a fit of aristocratic 
 surprise and high-bred disdain at the im- 
 pertinent intrusion. 
 
 " You have seen my friend Mrs. Erns- 
 cliff ?" said Miss Hortensia, when next they 
 met. 
 
 " I have seen Mrs. Ernscliff," said Annie, 
 significantly. 
 
 " Is she not charming ?' 
 "Very! 3 
 
 " And you have agreed with her ?' 
 " No, we did not enter on the business. 55 
 " Dear me ! Did you tell her that I 
 recommended you ?" 
 
 " Yes, but she did not recollect your name. 55 
 Miss Hortensia coloured, and changed the 
 conversation. 
 
 lot cnarmmg r' 5
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 137 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Annie ! Annie ! liow the professions of 
 that Mrs. Harrington deceived me !" ex- 
 claimed Ellen, one day. " Do yon know I 
 quite relied on her promises. I really did 
 expect she would recommend us, or at least 
 let us know that opportunity rather than 
 inclination had failed her." 
 
 It must be remarked that Ellen was un- 
 usually depressed; perhaps some connexion 
 might be traced between her depression, and 
 the fact that for the last six weeks, a parti- 
 cularly rusty hat had ceased to pass by the 
 dim little window just as the clock struck 
 five. 
 
 " And for once I, too, believed and 
 trusted," said Annie, with a sigh ; "I have 
 learnt to distrust every one on earth, I am 
 afraid!" 
 
 " She had such a sweet, ingenuous coun- 
 tenance," said Ellen ; " after all, perhaps she 
 has not forgotten us wilfully. She did not 
 seem happy, she may have been distracted
 
 138 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 with a thousand cares, been ill, or even may 
 be dead !" 
 
 "No, no," said Annie, "she is neither ill 
 nor dead, but her momentary sympathy did 
 not survive our visit. Eich people are too 
 much immersed in their pleasures to throw 
 aw r ay time or thought on the necessitous. 
 How pale and thin you are growing, 
 darling !" she continued, in a tone of the 
 utmost tenderness, to Ellen; "I scarcely 
 know whether it is with constantly bending 
 over this work, or with insufficient food. 
 Put on your bonnet, and come with me. I 
 must carry these shirts home. Let me see ; 
 seven eights are fifty-six ; fifty-six pence, 
 four and eightpence ! Come, we can afford a 
 mutton-chop for dinner to-morrow ; you have 
 not had meat for three days !" 
 
 " You have not had any for a week !" 
 
 "But I am stronger than you," said 
 Annie, quickly. "Make haste, dear, or 
 Wilson's will be shut." 
 
 The two girls set oft' with their little 
 bundle of work. Ellen's steps were slow 
 and faint, so were those of Annie, though 
 not so much so, for her will was strong in 
 the midst of disappointment and privation ;
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 139 
 
 still, a life of hardship had begun to tell on 
 the physical strength of both. 
 
 Any one might have recognised those two 
 pale girls as the children of sorrow, even 
 without a glance at their shabby clothing ; 
 for as they passed along the gay streets, 
 neither of them gave a single glance at those 
 they met, nor at the gaudy display of fashion 
 and luxury so alluringly spread forth to 
 attract the feminine gaze — the glittering 
 jewels, the silken robes, the gossamer laces, 
 the flowers so bright and artistic that they 
 might vie with nature ; none of these could 
 attract the eyes of the tired seamstresses, 
 the governess candidates. Their path was 
 labour, their goal labour; labour was the 
 echo of their thoughts — their words ; the 
 only thing to which they dared aspire was 
 labour : and yet nature had destined them 
 for better things. Keep on with lowly faith, 
 pale sisters ; there are better days in store, a 
 brighter dawn to rise for her who endures, 
 unhardened by the fire of affliction. The 
 road you travel is thorny, but its thorns 
 will not be eternal to her who meekly 
 bears the wounds they make, and looks 
 upward for a healing balm.
 
 140 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Annie's employer and patron, Mr. Wilson, 
 was putting up the shutters of his shop, 
 though it was two hours before the regular 
 hour of closing. 
 
 " You are very early to-day, Mr. Wilson !" 
 said Annie, as they came up to him. The 
 man made no reply, but looked round with 
 such a ghastly countenance, that it w r as 
 evident some dreadful misfortune had hap- 
 pened to himself or his family. The Sher- 
 woods passed into the house, then into the 
 back parlour, where the wife was wringing 
 her hands, and the children sat crying on the 
 floor ; they did not know why, but they saw 
 their mother cry, so they cried too. 
 
 " We are undone ! ruined ! completely 
 ruined !" was all the poor woman could 
 ejaculate. Annie put down her bundle and 
 sank on a chair, while Ellen, struck dumb 
 with consternation, continued standing. 
 
 The scene told its own story — bankruptcy, 
 and one more distressed, despairing family 
 thrown on the world, destitute ! Perhaps 
 it was their own fault, perhaps their mis- 
 management ; but Annie and Ellen were not 
 hardened enough in the world's ways to 
 form such reflections, and only saw before 
 them so many objects of sympathy and com-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 141 
 
 miseration, entirely forgetting that the ruin 
 they witnessed, involved the annihilation of 
 their own scanty means of subsistence. 
 
 It was only when they had left the un- 
 fortunate family, that the poor girls remem- 
 bered they were penniless, that the coming 
 day was Sunday, and that they had not even 
 a loaf of bread in their possession : besides, 
 they owed a fortnight's rent. Again the 
 oft-repeated question, " What was to be 
 done ?" Bertha was in the country. " Let 
 us go to the * Grand Lombard V " said Annie, 
 trying to smile. 
 
 " Impossible, they close at eight," replied 
 Ellen, who had become quite learned in such 
 matters ; then she added, quickly, " Annie, 
 there can be nothing wrong in it ; there will 
 be no one to recognise us in this crowded 
 city — -I will sing some ballads, and " 
 
 "Ellen, Ellen, you are mad! A crowd 
 would gather round us, and you would be 
 insulted 1" 
 
 " No, no, I should not ; come, let us walk 
 quickly towards home ; there are quiet streets 
 about there, — Sloane Street, for instance, or 
 Hans Place, where we wandered to look at 
 the outside of poor L. E. L.'s house." 
 
 " Oh, no, I could never consent to such a
 
 142 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 thing," cried Annie, in the utmost agitation. 
 " Your head is wandering, Ellen, or you 
 would not make such a proposition. We 
 must try and find a ' Lombard' still open." 
 
 " And if we do, what have we to take 
 there ?" said Ellen. 
 
 That was indeed putting things in a new 
 light. " We have nothing left !" murmured 
 she ; then suddenly Annie said, " My black 
 satin cape." 
 
 "It is quite rusty, Annie." 
 
 " Your fine cotton stockings !" 
 
 " They are covered with darns !" 
 
 " Pope's Homer, Ellen." 
 
 " No, no," said Ellen; " they don't take 
 books, or if they do, only well-bound ones. 
 Come, Annie, consent, let me have an ad- 
 venture for once. I will just sing three 
 little songs under L. E. L.'s old balcony ; if 
 her musical spirit hovers near, it may in- 
 spire some generous heart to drop us a 
 shilling." 
 
 Full of new-born determination, Ellen 
 hurried on so quickly, that by the time th< 
 reached Hans Place she was completely out 
 of breath, and stood still, quite still, pressing 
 her little hands on her heart, which beat at 
 once with fatigue and a wild, startled fear of
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 143 
 
 her own temerity. Poor Ellen, she was still 
 a child. 
 
 The moon had risen high, and cast a 
 melancholy light on that quiet, secluded 
 spot ; it shone full into the windows of the 
 house where the maiden poet used to sit in 
 her old high-backed chair, weaving her 
 golden dream of romance, and her wild, fan- 
 tastic fancies into verse, which had more 
 sweetness than immortality perchance ; but 
 yet, though heart-stricken with sorrow and 
 disappointment, she went on singing — 
 
 " How many share such destiny ! 
 
 How many, lured by fancy's beam, 
 Ask the impossible to be, 
 
 And pine, the victims of a dream !" 
 
 And while Ellen tried very hard to gather 
 up the courage necessary for the bold task 
 she had undertaken, and ransacked her brain 
 for scraps of old song, there came a strange 
 thought into Annie's mind — a sudden light 
 flashed upon her, a joyous gladness thrilled 
 through her frame, so exquisite, it seemed as 
 though it came from an angel's whisper, and 
 she knew that she was destined for higher 
 things than she had contemplated — knew 
 that she was a poet 1 And with that reve- 
 lation came the wild-fire ambition too, and
 
 144 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 she dared to dream that she would win fame, 
 that she would snatch at the stars, and 
 weave them into a crown for her head, 
 though that crown should turn to thorns 
 and pierce her brow. 
 
 Nothing in life, from the cradle to the 
 grave, nothing save the first rosy dawn of 
 love in the heart, is, or can be so entrancing, 
 as the first consciousness of genius. No, Earth 
 has nothing like it — it is worth an Eternity 
 of meaner joys. Perhaps love itself — di- 
 vine as is its first throb, perhaps love itself 
 cannot equal it ! So thought, or rather so 
 felt, Annie Sherwood, and she stood still, 
 quite still, beneath the window of the de- 
 parted minstrel, so rapt that she quite 
 forgot all that had happened to her the last 
 dreary months, — all the painful privations, 
 the midnight work and weariness, the us 
 less efforts, the disappointed hopes, and the 
 world's harsh stings ; forgot too, what had 
 brought her to that spot, till a few broken, 
 struggling, half-choked notes of " Annie 
 Laurie," from Ellen, roused her to the stern 
 realities of life. 
 
 Instinctively Annie snatched Ellen's arm 
 to lead her away, but it was useless, the faint 
 attempt at a song had broken down of itself.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 145 
 
 The window of a house near which the two 
 
 girls stood was open. The light of a chan- 
 delier streamed through the transparent 
 curtains ; a young girl with a profusion of 
 ringlets flitted past the window ; she laughed 
 aloud, and her laugh was not the most mu- 
 sical ; then she struck two or three notes of 
 the air which Ellen had attempted, on the 
 piano, exclaiming, in a loud tone, " How 
 ridiculously false her voice is I" 
 
 " And she sings through her nose ; her 
 voice is cracked, like that of all street musi- 
 cians," answered a gentleman ; and then he 
 laughed, and the young girl laughed too — 
 but poor Ellen did not laugh, she — she cried ! 
 
 A young man passed by Ellen in the 
 street ; he looked like a linendraper's as- 
 sistant. He paused and looked at her, which 
 made her draw back, but he only wanted to 
 put some halfpence in her hand, and then 
 he went on his way. Meanwhile, Annie 
 walked up to the door of the mockers, and 
 noted the number ; she would never forget 
 it ; Ellen would. 
 
 The song was effectually over ; Ellen 
 would have fainted had she yielded to her 
 weakness. A white-haired, benevolent look- 
 ing old man came up quite close to her. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 14G ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Ellen thought that he, like the young man, 
 was going to offer her a few pence for her 
 broken song. Hesitatingly she stretched 
 forth her hand ; but wdiat was her surprise 
 and terror when the benevolent white-haired 
 old man drew that trembling hand in his 
 arm, and was hurrying her away, she knew 
 not whither, calling her " my dear" and 
 " my love," and talking to her of the beau- 
 tiful moonlight, and how fair her fair face 
 looked in it ! 
 
 " I do not know you, sir !" gasped Ellen; 
 " you mistake me for some other person. 
 Pray, pray let me go !" 
 
 " Release my sister this instant, sir !" ex- 
 claimed Annie, darting after him, " or I will 
 call a policeman and give you in charge." 
 
 " And if you commit such an absurdity 
 said the old man, coolly, " I shall merely tell 
 him that you are an impostor, and that this 
 young person belongs to me. You had better 
 go away quietly," he added, " or you will 
 tempt me to give you in charge as a trouble- 
 some vagrant. If you want money, take 
 that" — flinging down a piece of gold — " and 
 begone. Your sister, if she be such, will 
 come to no harm ; she could not be safer 
 than under my protection."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 147 
 
 So speaking lie hurried away, dragging 
 Ellen with him 5 she had grown speechless 
 from fear, and Annie in vain appealed to the 
 few straggling passers-by. They entered 
 Sloane Street. A private cabriolet, with 
 arms emblazoned, and a fashionable tiger, 
 stood in waiting. The old man would have 
 forced Ellen in, when poor Annie made a 
 desperate appeal for help to a strong-looking 
 man who was passing by. He laughed 
 coarsely, and said something about " spend- 
 ing one's strength on one's own business," 
 then passed on. A slight boyish-looking 
 figure sprang forward, and hastily dropping 
 a parcel of books which he held by a leather 
 strap, collared the benevolent white-haired 
 individual resolutely, and forced him to 
 release Ellen. The old man would have 
 struggled to regain his prize, but his young 
 antagonist was too much for him, and after 
 inflicting several well- aimed blows on the 
 delinquent, succeeded in tripping him up. 
 " I would advise you to walk on quickly, 
 ladies," said the youth ; " this may prove a 
 very unpleasant affair, and it would be 
 painful for you to be brought forward as 
 witnesses." 
 
 It seemed that the benevolent old gentle- 
 
 l 2
 
 148 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 man was somewhat stunned by his fall. 
 The tiger, who had kept aloof while the 
 combat lasted, despite his master's calls for 
 assistance, now came to help him to rise, while 
 the young knight-errant stood still, with his 
 arms folded composedly, and his lips curled 
 into a scornful smile. When the benevo- 
 lent old gentleman was fairly on his feet 
 again, his chastiser handed him a card, say- 
 ing, " If you wish to hear more from me, 
 there is my name and address." Then, with 
 a bow of mock ceremony, he turned away, 
 while his adversary struck the air in a vain 
 attempt to reach him with a whip which he 
 had snatched from the tiger's hand. 
 
 The youth stooped, picked up his books 
 with a great deal of sang-froid, and whist- 
 ling 11 segreto per esser felice, passed on. 
 Designedly or otherwise, he soon overtook 
 the sisters. Annie immediately recognised 
 him, and though anxious to lead the trem- 
 bling Ellen home as speedily as possible, 
 she could not resist stopping to offer a word 
 of gratitude to their youthful preserver. 
 
 " Do not mention the trifling service I 
 have rendered you," replied the boy. " I 
 assure you that your satisfaction at your 
 escape from impertinence, cannot equal mine
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD., 149 
 
 at having been privileged to rescue you. I 
 have just been reading Froissart's Chro- 
 nicles. The tales of chivalry inspire me 
 with emulation. Have you read Froissart? 
 If not, pray do. Grood night ; I am so 
 very glad to have rescued you ! Pray 
 read Froissart." So saying, the chivalrous 
 youth raised his hat, and bowing with a 
 grace that might have done honour to Sir 
 Walter Manny, turned down a street and 
 was lost to sight. 
 
 At any other moment, the ludicrous part 
 of the foregoing scene would have so far pre- 
 vailed as to draw from both sisters uncon- 
 trollable fits of laughter ; but as it was, both 
 were too painfully pre-occupied to admit of 
 merriment. In silent sorrow they pursued 
 their way with slow uncertain steps, and 
 when they entered their humble dwelling 
 both sank faint and exhausted, on the first 
 chairs they found. " Shall I bring in tea 
 and a candle, ma'am ?" asked the landlady. 
 " No, thank you," replied Annie, " we have 
 had — I mean we do not want tea. We have 
 nothing to do ; the moon will light us to 
 bed." " Yes, let us go to bed !" said Ellen : 
 so they went, with their arms laced round 
 each other, those two pale sisters, up to their
 
 150 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 little chamber, faint from want of food, yet 
 more faint from weariness of heart. 
 
 Pause, reader ! luxurious reader, whose 
 eye perchance idly skims these pages, while 
 your form reposes on the couch of ease and 
 luxury, and think — ay, take the thought to 
 your heart, and ponder it there — think that 
 there is hunger, yes, actual starvation, if you 
 could, nay, if you icould, hunt it out, un- 
 heralded by the beggar's garb, unproclaimed 
 by his whining plaint. 
 
 Annie Sherwood was going to throw her- 
 self on her bed, but Ellen fondly, gently 
 drew her on her knees, whispering " God is 
 a very present help in time of trouble ; He 
 feedeththe young ravens that call upon Him !" 
 
 Happy, Annie, had that guileless, child- 
 like monitor always been near to whisper of 
 heaven ! — the weak to speak wisdom to the 
 strong ! the humble spirit to counsel the 
 proud-hearted ! — but thus it might not be. 
 
 The sisters were silently kneeling in prayer, 
 hand clasped in hand, when they were sud- 
 denly startled by a loud, thundering knock 
 at the door. Neither stirred, though each 
 fluttering heart whispered " It may be for 
 us ! it may be help !" Yet, humanly speak- 
 ing, they had no foundation for such a sup-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 151 
 
 position: whom had they in the whole world 
 to meet them with the succour they had 
 never solicited? 
 
 "A letter for Miss Sherwood, an unstamped 
 letter — two-pence to pay/' said the landlady. 
 
 " I have no money — no change, I mean," 
 said Annie, quickly. 
 
 "Never mind, ma'am, I can pay him," said 
 the civil landlady. 
 
 Annie seized the letter, and darting to the 
 window, hastily broke the seal. " Gracious 
 Heaven ! from whom can this come ?" she 
 exclaimed, as a bank-note fell in her lap. 
 " From our Heavenly Father," said Ellen, 
 reverently ; " an answer, oh, how speedy an 
 answer, to the prayer, ' Give us this day 
 our daily bread !' " 
 
 " But some one must have sent it," per- 
 sisted Annie ; "we are past the age of 
 miracles." " Here is a solution," said Ellen, 
 picking up the fallen envelope, on the edge 
 of which she read by the aid of the moon- 
 light, "He feedeth the young ravens that 
 call upon him." " Your own favourite text!" 
 exclaimed Annie ; " most wonderful !" 
 
 The note was only one for 5/., but that 
 seemed to the sisters, in their present circum- 
 stances, an inexhaustible mine of wealth.
 
 152 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 It was long ere the poor girls remembered 
 again that they were hungry ; when they did 
 so, it was too late to procure anything, and 
 the morrow was Sunday. " I will tell Mrs. 
 Stevens that we have no change, only a bank- 
 note, (oh, sound of unaccustomed splendour !) 
 and ask her to spare us some bread and tea, 
 for to-morrow's use," said Annie, sighing, 
 not with sorrow, but an oppression of hap- 
 piness. 
 
 The landlady not only granted their 
 request, but also pressingly invited them 
 to join her at supper, which they did gladly 
 enough; and while Ellen exerted herself with 
 her usual amiability to return the kindness 
 of their humble hostess by endeavouring to 
 entertain her, Annie went on with a dream 
 that had been rudely interrupted : sometimes 
 the vision was dark as the thundercloud, but 
 sometimes the bright gleam of ambitious 
 thought flashed through, and lit her face 
 with such a sudden glow of inspiration and 
 happiness, that her sister gazed on her with 
 fond exultation, and wondered that every one 
 did not think Annie beautiful ! And then 
 Ellen answered her own wonder by, " It i< 
 because they don't know what the beautiful 
 means ! the fault is in their own souls !
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 153 
 
 some mirrors are so coarse and dim that 
 they reflect nothing truly !" 
 
 Annie was in that moment stringing 
 together her first random gems of song; 
 unpolished indeed they were, but their 
 freshness and native glory dazzled herself, 
 and filled her with proud joy. Yet she said 
 nothing of what was passing in her mind or 
 heart ; if she had, Ellen would have marvelled 
 much — would have been, if possible, yet 
 prouder of her than she was at present, but 
 she would not quite have understood her. 
 
 The disagreeable adventure with the 
 benevolent old gentleman had ceased to 
 ruffle the girls, and they couldnow thoroughly 
 enjoy the remembrance of " Sir Walter 
 Manny," as they called their young cham- 
 pion. They had both already made acquain- 
 tance with Froissart, but each promised 
 another reading in remembrance of the 
 hero, who only seemed fit to assume the 
 black-patch and to figure in the court of 
 Queen Philippa, or " to strike a sparkle of 
 fine love" in the snowy bosom of one of her 
 maidens. 
 
 " What have you done with the envelope 
 of this mysterious letter ?" said Annie, 
 when they had retired to their own precincts.
 
 154 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " Here it is," said Ellen ; and added, hesita- 
 tingly, " if you don't mind, dear, I should 
 so like to keep it !" 
 
 " Oh no, I don't mind it at all," said 
 Annie, smiling* ; " I see you set a high value 
 on the precious document. My only fear is 
 that you should apply it to superstitious pur- 
 poses, wear it as a charm, or " 
 
 " Not as a charm," said Ellen, " but as a 
 token, to call to remembrance that He who 
 clothes the grass of the field, will watch over 
 His children for ever. Oh, Annie, let us 
 never forget this night !" and Ellen sank to 
 rest murmuring, " He feedeth the young 
 ravens when they call upon him."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 155 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 The following day, Sunday, was indeed one 
 of deep, heartfelt thankfulness ! Annie and 
 Ellen were frequently lost in conjecturing 
 who their unknown friend and benefactor 
 might be, but the manner in which the gift 
 was conveyed, the few solemn words which 
 accompanied it, directing the recipient's 
 thanks to the gracious Providence which 
 orders all things, precluded any hesitation 
 as to the propriety of employing it in the 
 way the generous donor had intended. No, 
 there could be no shame in accepting such 
 an offering, so made, and both Annie and 
 Ellen registered a promise, that if ever the 
 day of prosperity came, the heaven-directed 
 bounty they had just received should be 
 returned sevenfold to the suffering children 
 of earth. 
 
 Monday brought with it another surprise : 
 surprises, like trials, seldom come alone. 
 About mid-day, a plain, neat carriage drove 
 up to the door, and a soft, gentle voice was
 
 156 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 heard inquiring for Ellen ; and while the 
 two girls wondered where they had heard 
 that voice before, Mrs. Harrington entered, 
 looking very pale, and clad in deep mourn- 
 ing ; one of her fair children she held by her 
 hand, the other, the fairest, brightest, and 
 best, was sleeping in the graveyard. The 
 Reaper had passed by, and had been con- 
 tent to take none but the scarce opened 
 bud. Poor mother ! her grief was desola- 
 ting, but not loud; deep, not wild; the 
 stream that flows on silently and for ever, 
 not the thundershower which exhausts itself. 
 
 In the midst of her bereavement, Mrs. 
 Harrington had remembered the trials and 
 wants of others, and reproached herself for 
 not remembering them earlier. She spoke not 
 much of her own loss, only mentioning it as 
 a reason for her seeming negligence, but 
 inquired kindly if Ellen had met with an 
 engagement, or if she had anything in pros- 
 pect ; "for if you have," added she, hastily, 
 " I shall not propose to you what otherwise 
 might be acceptable. 
 
 On Ellen's telling her that she had not at 
 present the most distant prospect of employ- 
 ment, Mrs. Harrington resumed, but with- 
 out the alacrity of a person who feels that
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 157 
 
 they are conferring a real benefit. " A rela- 
 tive of mine, indeed a half-sister, has com- 
 missioned me to procure a governess for her 
 two little girls, and I thought that unless 
 something better offered, you would perhaps 
 like to try Elmgrove. Mind, I only say to 
 try, for it might prove altogether distasteful 
 to you." 
 
 " I am sure, quite sure, that I must be 
 happy with a relation of yours," said Ellen ; 
 " a sister, too !" 
 
 " But I am not quite so sure," said Mrs. 
 Harrington, with a sad but sweet smile ; 
 "every situation in life has its trials, as 
 every heart has its sorrows. I must tell 
 you, however, something of my sister's 
 family. Mr. Ferrers is many years her 
 senior ; taciturn and reserved, you might 
 consider him haughty, but on the whole 
 he is well-intentioned and kind-hearted. 
 He has three grown-up daughters (two of 
 whom must be several years older than you,) 
 by his first wife. Perhaps you would find 
 your position with regard to them rather 
 trying. I am not sure. They are con- 
 sidered amiable and agreeable ; one is pious, 
 and I believe they are all clever and accom- 
 plished. Your two little charges that are
 
 158 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 to be, have never been broken in, and are 
 consequently rather wild. I am afraid they 
 come under the class of spoilt children ; but 
 if they should be troublesome at first, you 
 will bring them round no doubt by kind- 
 ness. I must tell you beforehand that you 
 must not expect much assistance in the wa}- 
 of training from their mamma, who is a sort 
 of nervous invalid, and almost whollv con- 
 fined to the sofa. The remuneration offered 
 will not, I fear, be adequate to the amount of 
 labour required, but my sister promises that 
 the stipend shall be increased the second 
 
 year." 
 
 Ellen, all beaming gratitude and delight, 
 never once thought of inquiring what salary 
 might be given by Mrs. Ferrers ; she was 
 ready to accept anything, to promise anything, 
 to do anything. Annie, however, ventured to 
 inquire what sum Ellen would receive yearly. 
 Mrs. Harrington coloured as she replied, 
 "Twenty pounds;" she was ashamed of the 
 sum offered to an educated gentlewoman. 
 The smallness of the salary did not shock 
 either Annie or Ellen ; they remembered an 
 offer of twelve! but Mrs. Harrington, who 
 knew her brother-in-law's income was above 
 7000/. per annum, was ashamed of what her
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 159 
 
 own generous spirit taught her to consider a 
 mean transaction. 
 
 Ellen would be required to go to her new 
 home and her untried duties immediately, at 
 least, within a week. " But my poor dear 
 Annie !" exclaimed Ellen ; " she will be left 
 quite alone ! What can she do ?" And she 
 spoke in a tone of the utmost dismay. " We 
 have never before been separated for a 
 single day 1" said Annie, while she tenderly 
 wiped her sister's tears. And though Mrs. 
 Harrington had been brought up in the 
 world's ways, and knew well the world's 
 thoughts, she had not enough of that world 
 in her own heart to sneer or mock at the 
 feelings of the unsophisticated. 
 
 Before leaving the Sher woods, Mrs. Har- 
 rington gave Ellen an advance of her first 
 quarter's salary, ostensibly to meet her tra- 
 velling expenses, but in reality she saw how 
 much the rusty black of her protegee needed 
 renewing, and how little chance there would 
 be of her meeting with any consideration, 
 should she present herself at Elmgrove as 
 she then was, wearing the certain insignia 
 of a decayed gentlewoman ! 
 
 Ellen would fain have deferred the hour 
 of departure, not from any dread of coming
 
 100 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 hardships — for it seemed to her an utter im- 
 possibility that she could meet with anything 
 painful among those so nearly connected 
 with Mrs. Harrington — but she dreaded 
 leaving Annie in her solitude ; yet more 
 she would have feared the coming separation 
 could she have foreseen that her departure 
 would be to her sister like the last sad fare- 
 well of a holy spirit that had formed a link 
 between her and Heaven. True it was of 
 those sisters, that the strong intellect, the 
 resolved will of the one, learned all they ever 
 knew of high and holy things from the 
 weaker, frailer one, ignorant of the world's 
 ways, but full of divine thoughts and 
 feelings. Yes, when Ellen went forth, it 
 appeared that poor Annie's good angel went 
 forth too, and left her generous but erring 
 heart to struggle on in darkness with the 
 iron world and its oppressions ! 
 
 But yet a few days remained to the sisters, 
 ere the younger and the well loved should 
 take on her the yoke of bondage in the 
 house of the stranger. Yes, bondage it is, 
 however much we may disguise it to our- 
 selves, when we barter, not our talents and 
 attainments, not our intellectual strength 
 alone, but our thoughts, words, looks, our
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 161 
 
 very gestures, for the bitter bread of depen- 
 dence ; for, do thoughts, words, looks, or 
 gestures remain free ? No ; they must be 
 shaped to please our patrons. 
 
 Talk not of the pale seamstress in the 
 close, unwholesome garret, toiling far into 
 the night for her wretched pittance ! True, 
 she struggles, struggles piteously, till the 
 heart groans over the contemplation ; but 
 she has one happiness. She may labour 
 sometimes unobserved — univatched! She is 
 alone — alone with Him that made her ; and 
 the full heart, full even to bursting, 
 may spread out its griefs before His 
 eye, unmarked — pour forth the passionate 
 complaint unchecked and unreproved. Or, 
 she labours among her equals : all suffer, all 
 fare alike, all bear the same burden ; there is 
 no startling contrast near, to make her 
 compare her lot with others. 
 
 But go to that luxurious mansion, that 
 rears its palatial front like the dwelling of 
 a king. Let the polished door be thrown 
 back on its hinges. Tread through yon costly 
 marble hall, with its statues and busts, its 
 gilded doors, its crimson draperies — tread 
 up that noble staircase, whereon the foot 
 sinks, noiseless as a snow-flake, in the soft 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1G2 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 pile of the velvet-like carpets. Stop before 
 that gorgeous window, catch through its open 
 valves the breath of the rare flowers, chil- 
 dren of the south, transplanted hither as 
 much for the rich man's pride as for his 
 pleasure. See. the doors are half unclosed : 
 as you go up the staircase you can catch 
 a glimpse of the luxurious suite of drawing- 
 rooms, — the gilded, satin-covered couches and 
 chairs, — the chandeliers, glittering like the 
 spray falling from a sunny fountain, — the 
 rich inlaid cabinets, — the books, so encased 
 that they seem only fit for royal hands, — 
 the musical instruments, whose tones thrill 
 through the soul like enchantment ! Pass 
 on upwards. Those are the sleeping 
 chambers of the rich, with their downy 
 beds, their sheets fine as if from fairy looms, 
 their velvet hangings, their toilets covered 
 with lace, and adorned with mirrors that 
 would make deformity itself look beautiful. 
 Pass on ; you have gazed enough on the 
 cushions, on which men forget their mor- 
 tality. Up, higher still. The next suite of 
 rooms will dazzle your eye much less ; but 
 onward, onward. Are you wearied now? 
 Do the steep stairs (they are only just be- 
 ginning to be steep), — do they tire you?
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 1C3 
 
 Are they slippery, now that the costly 
 carpet no longer hushes your foot-fall ? Do 
 you shiver coming from the warm atmo- 
 sphere below ? Do those dingy walls, with 
 their dark, mouldy papers, chill you, after 
 the warm life-glow you have just left ? 
 But pass on, there is more to see. There, 
 enter that prison-like chamber. You see 
 that dirty bed, with the soiled, rusty, torn 
 hangings — that dingy window, foul with the 
 accumulated dust of months, and the soot 
 of the neighbouring chimneys? You see 
 that table, with its dim, cracked looking- 
 glass ? Ah ! you are looking at the toilet 
 cover ! You are wrong ; that is not one, it 
 is only a discoloured piece of calico, the 
 remnant of some garment, spread, in a vain 
 attempt, to hide the unsightly article it but 
 partially covers. You noted the marble 
 bath-room as you came up-stairs? Now, 
 look at that old wash-hand stand, with its 
 worn-ofF paint, its cracked potter}- of odd, 
 discordant patterns. Have you seen enough ? 
 Must you tread on that narrow strip of 
 threadbare carpet beside the bed ? — it will not 
 cheat you into the belief of comfort. 
 
 Ah ! you need not look round in the cold 
 evening for a little friendly blaze to throw 
 
 M 2
 
 1C4 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 its ruddy glow of cheerfulness around and 
 teach desolation to smile. There is no fire- 
 place ; but why should there be one to mock 
 the sight ? Fuel for that chamber would be 
 too expensive ; the owners of the mansion 
 have a limited income — only 12,000/. a-year ! 
 
 I w T ill not tell you who sleeps in that 
 chamber at the top of the house ; who 
 kneels there at midnight, and cries in a 
 voice of choking agony, 'Eli, Eli, lama 
 sabacthani !" from the heart, if not from the 
 lips. No, I will not tell you who sleeps 
 there ; you know it — of course you know it ! 
 
 A crucifix hangs on the walls, but the 
 governess is not a Roman Catholic ; no, nor 
 is she a Puseyite ; only she hangs up the 
 symbol of the intensest suffering, that she 
 may look on the climax of agony, realize it, 
 and learn to bear — her own ! That desolate 
 chamber is the faint picture of her life ! 
 
 Is this picture the creation of fancy? 
 Forbid it, just Heaven, that the mind 
 should be morbid enough to create such 
 images ! No, no! I thai write these pictures 
 have seen with my own eyes what I de- 
 scribe. Shall I say more ? have felt it — all — 
 all ; have sat in such a room, cold, very cold, 
 and lonely ; while ever and anon the sound
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. J 65 
 
 of music, and mirth, and revelry came 
 echoing up from the halls beneath, and 
 smote on the solitary heart sadder than the 
 funeral bell at midnight, tolling for a de- 
 parting soul. 
 
 It was while sitting thus, listening to 
 revelry in which I had no share, that a 
 thought came into my mind that there were 
 great, noble souls in the world, that knew 
 nothing of governess life among the rich 
 and great — souls too noble to conceive the 
 image of wrongs that they would never, 
 never inflict; and then the thought came, 
 too, that I would tell them, in plain, simple 
 words, straight from my heart to theirs, a 
 story of wrong that would thrill them ! 
 
 So it was, reader, that I seized a pen, and 
 sat down to my task, and, to speak truth, 
 that pen was dipped in gall, and the tale it 
 traced was bitter — oh, so bitter, that I turned 
 from it myself in shuddering horror. Then 
 something said to me, — "Not yet, not yet! 
 Patience ! it is not yet time ; wait a few more 
 winters; a very few, for with such as you, a 
 few years do the work of many ; wait till 
 thy heart is older, thy fancy grown more 
 chilly, — then shalt thou be listened to, and 
 thy sober words believed. Eeader, I have
 
 166 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 waited, and now I speak to the noble hearts 
 that will understand me, (why should I speak 
 to others?) of the realities of governess life, 
 the nude realities, softened as the remem- 
 brance is by speaking of the past, that can 
 never more return. 
 
 Annie Sherwood was alone ; alone to begin 
 a death struggle. Mrs. Harrington had said 
 kindly, even warmly, " Come and see me, 
 I am much alone, for ' I have not loved the 
 world, nor the world me/ You saw my 
 precious angel boy, though but for a mo- 
 ment : I feel as if I could talk to you of him. 
 Do come, Miss Sherwood." 
 
 And Annie, who believed so few people, 
 did believe Mrs. Harrington, and answered, 
 with grateful smiles, that she would come. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington had the misfortune to 
 be united to a man whose gross nature knew 
 no other law than his own will, and whose 
 habitual fickleness of temper perpetually led 
 him in pursuit of fresh objects of guilty 
 passion. Virtuous ladies and worldly-wise 
 friends had coldly lectured the unhappy 
 wife on the necessity of a legal separation 
 from her unprincipled husband ; but she had 
 always answered, " He is the father of my 
 children; I loved him, and he loved me,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 167 
 
 when his soul was pure. Who knows but 
 that Heaven will give me back his heart some 
 blessed day ! I will abide the time, and 
 pray — loving him still, for the past !" 
 
 So had she gone on, hoping against hope, 
 with meek endurance and never-ending 
 patience ; but the happy day she had spoken 
 of came not, and the clouds gathered darker 
 and darker in her gloomy sky, till she began 
 to murmur, "How long!" but she checked 
 the impatient thought almost as soon as it 
 rose, and went on her path with even more 
 saintly patience than before. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington was not naturally what 
 we call a jealous wife, but she could not be 
 expected voluntarily to draw persons round 
 her, whose charms might serve as a ready 
 lure to her wandering lord ; but looking on 
 Annie Sherwood as people generally looked, 
 and seeing nothing beneath the surface of 
 an ordinary set of features, she mentally de- 
 cided that there could be no danger to be 
 apprehended in such a person. 
 
 It did not occur to Mrs. Harrington, good 
 and amiable as she was herself, to weigh 
 whether Annie Sherwood had principle and 
 virtue to withstand the seductive fascination 
 which she was accustomed to attribute to
 
 1G8 ANNE SHERWOOD; 
 
 her husband. She only thought, "She 
 is plain ; Charles will never notice her !" 
 and she had so lone: denied herself the solace 
 of female society, from the fear of meeting 
 rivals in women whose beauty she was 
 accustomed to exaggerate, that she gladly 
 seized on the occasion of procuring an occa- 
 sional interchange of thought with an agree- 
 able and cultivated person, whose society she 
 might enjoy, without the attendance of dis- 
 quieting apprehensions as to the result. 
 
 Thus invited, and even pressed, poor 
 Annie went forth from her solitude to spend 
 an evening in the house of her opulent 
 friend, in whom she gladly acknowledged 
 her sister's benefactress. Annie was attired 
 with neat simplicity — in fact, with the best 
 her impoverished wardrobe afforded ; a plain 
 white muslin skirt, and a close-fitting black 
 silk jacket, surmounted by a lace ruff, which 
 was becoming, though not quite a la mode 
 — L. E. L. wore such a ruff. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington received her guest with 
 gentle cordiality. She was alone, but in a 
 few minutes the children came in, and, 
 gathering round Annie, soon grew friendly 
 and communicative. In Mrs. Harrington 
 there was not a shade of haughtiness — no
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 169 
 
 pride of birth, fortune, or position ; still 
 better, there was none of that vulgar conde- 
 scension which is more intolerable than 
 oppression itself: she made her guest her 
 equal, and made her happy. 
 
 And then, she had good accounts to give 
 of Ellen (who had as yet only been able to 
 write briefly of her safe arrival at Elmgrove) ; 
 she could say that the young governess had 
 made a most favourable impression on Mrs. 
 Harrington's sister, — indeed, on the whole 
 family; that she was well, and certainly 
 very happy. 
 
 So the delight of her kind reception, and 
 the much greater delight of such good news, 
 filled Annie Sherwood's heart with a joy that 
 coloured her cheeks brilliantly, and her eyes 
 became radiant as they were wont to do, 
 when she experienced sudden emotion. Her 
 hostess looked as if she could not recognise 
 her; started, and wondered how she could 
 ever have thought her plain ; and then the 
 door opened, and Mr. Harrington walked in, 
 yawning. He was going to spend an evening 
 at home, a very rare occurrence ; but even 
 the novelty of the circumstance could not 
 preserve him from ennui, and he was tired 
 by anticipation.
 
 170 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington went through the form 
 of introduction. Annie's momentary bright- 
 ness had passed away — she was again the plain 
 Annie Sherwood. Mr. Harrington glanced 
 at her, and slightly bowed. He seemed to 
 divine that she was an insignificant person ; 
 once more he yawned : he sat down to read 
 Bentleg's Miscellany. 
 
 Mr. Harrington was tall; he had been 
 handsome, but his countenance was dis- 
 figured by an expression of disgust and 
 premature satiety. He seemed to have ex- 
 hausted pleasure, without having attained 
 philosophy, and to be dying for want 
 of a new sensation. He was reclining 
 in an easy chair, and soon dropped asleep 
 over his book. Mrs. Harrington looked 
 very much ashamed, but wisely said nothing. 
 If she could not speak approvingly of her 
 husband, she would not have uttered a cen- 
 sure on him, even to her own mother. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington and Annie continued 
 conversing, but in a lower tone. " My hus- 
 band is very tired," said the former, at length; 
 " he has been riding some distance," — for she 
 had observed Annie glance at the sleeper. 
 A few minutes later a peculiar tone of 
 Annie's musical voice roused Mr. Harrington
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 171 
 
 momentarily; he opened his eyes, glanced at 
 her, then turned away, and composed him- 
 self again to sleep, as if regardless of her 
 existence. Soon after, a thunder-storm came 
 on ; the rain beat fearfully against the win- 
 dows, defying even the closed shutters and 
 the thick draperies to exclude the threatening 
 sound. Annie listened in dismay. " Don't 
 be alarmed," said Mrs. Harrington, who was 
 herself extremely nervous. " Thank you, I 
 am not at all so," said Annie, quietly ; "I 
 was only thinking of my walk home." 
 
 " You must not attempt it ; you must stay 
 all night," said Mrs. Harrington. Her hus- 
 band said nothing (he was awake, because it 
 thundered) : he was never commonly civil to 
 a woman, unless he thought her handsome. 
 
 Constrained by her kind hostess, Annie 
 consented to remain. She w r as disgusted by 
 Mr. Harrington's ill-breeding, but it was of 
 too negative a kind to call forth strong re- 
 sentment, and perhaps rather amused her 
 fancy than touched her pride. She was 
 speculating on how she would have been 
 entertained had she been a beauty ! Perhaps 
 had Mr. Harrington been worth the trouble 
 — had his wife been less an angel, Annie 
 Sherwood would have exerted her conscious
 
 172 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 powers, and proved to him that she could be 
 charming, for the mere triumph of deriding 
 the attentions paid to the enchantress, though 
 politeness was denied to the woman. 
 
 The room which Annie occupied was next 
 to that of her host and hostess. She did 
 not listen ; she was too proud to commit 
 such a mean action ; but she could not avoid 
 overhearing their conversation, — at least, all 
 that Mr. Harrington said, for his wife always 
 spoke in subdued tones. 
 
 The first words Annie heard were these, 
 — "A governess ! pray where did you pick 
 up such an elegant acquaintance?" The 
 answer was not audible. Mr. Harrington 
 went on : "A complete dowdy ; ugly as my 
 grandmother in her best tabinet. I tell you 
 what, Carry, if you think of engaging her, 
 you'll give her a hint to keep her ugly face 
 within her own precincts : never to put it in 
 my way !" 
 
 Annie laughed ; she was not angry. The 
 coarse rudeness of Mr. Harrington had no 
 barb; it might tease and scratch the sur- 
 face, but it could not reach the quick. It 
 required a more subtle spirit than his 
 to make Annie Sherwood writhe. Annie 
 went to bed, and slept; moreover, she dreamt
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 173 
 
 pleasantly. She saw her best-loved Ellen 
 happy under the protecting care of a loving 
 and loved husband; and, behold, when she 
 saw the face of her new brother-in-law, it 
 wore the aspect of the young clergyman 
 she had met at the agent's, and he bent an 
 earnest gaze of reproof upon her; but he 
 looked upon Ellen with such tenderness, 
 with such an air of protecting solicitude, 
 that Annie felt inexpressibly happy. And 
 it appeared to her that for long she watched 
 the beautiful pair wandering through a fair 
 garden, that might have been Paradise, and 
 they seemed like the first created, and from 
 Ellen's gentle eyes was spoken — 
 
 " God is tliv law, thou mine !" 
 
 Just then Annie woke, and behold it 
 was but a dream, though passing pleasant, 
 and her sister Ellen was the poor governess, 
 not the cherished bride ! 
 
 Annie breakfasted with Mrs. Harrington 
 in her dressing-room. In the course of con- 
 versation she mentioned Bertha Somerton, 
 and her unfortunate position at Mrs. 
 Cheshyre's. " Would she do for me ?" said 
 Mrs. Harrington, quickly ; then as quickly 
 she asked a number of questions, more 
 tending to elicit a personal description of
 
 174 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Bertha, than any account of her accomplish- 
 ments or acquirements. It was finally re- 
 solved that Annie should bring Bertha to 
 Mrs. Harrington's on her next half* holiday, 
 and that if the interview should prove satis- 
 factory, she should give Mrs. Cheshyre 
 notice to provide herself with a successor, 
 for Annie felt quite sure that Bertha would 
 o-ladly exchange her present bondage, for an 
 engagement with such a patroness as Mrs. 
 Harrington. 
 
 While Annie was putting on her bonnet 
 to depart, Mrs. Harrington went down stairs 
 to speak to her husband before he went out 
 for the day. A portrait-painter had just 
 sent home a likeness of their beautiful, 
 lost boy. Mrs. Harrington held up the 
 picture to his gaze ; her soft eyes were veiled 
 with tears, but they looked up to his with 
 such pleading tenderness, that he had been 
 less than man could he have withstood that 
 look. He could not; he w T as evidently 
 moved, though perhaps his emotion was 
 only for the moment. He drew his wife 
 towards him, and kissed her cheek. She 
 threw her arms around his neck, and wept 
 happy tears upon his bosom ; but he still 
 held his hat and gloves, and glancing
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 175 
 
 towards the window, lie perceived a pretty, 
 coquettish milliner pass by. He disen- 
 gaged himself from his wife's arms, and, 
 with a half-muttered excuse, walked out. 
 Mrs. Harrington sank on a chair, covering 
 her face with her hands ; the momentary 
 gleam of joy had been rudely dispersed, but 
 she complained not. 
 
 She had no reproaches to utter; she 
 would meet him again with gentle pa- 
 tience when he returned ; but her heart was 
 broken. 
 
 Annie had unavoidably witnessed the 
 scene, and she hesitated to advance and take 
 leave of her hostess, who sat with her fair 
 face bowed down upon her hands. 
 
 At last Annie thought she must withdraw 
 or make herself heard ; she touched the 
 handle of the door. Mrs. Harrington started 
 up ; her cheeks were wet, her lips quivering. 
 She looked up at Annie, — she read her face, 
 speaking the sympathy which respect and 
 delicacy forbade her to utter. Mrs. Har- 
 rington had many acquaintances ; she had 
 few friends ; she wanted friendship in her 
 lonely sorrow. Instinctively she hastened to 
 Annie, and throwing herself into her arms, 
 wept unrestrainedly. Annie said nothing
 
 176 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 (what could she say ?), but she returned that 
 mute caress with all her heart. 
 
 " When shall I tell Miss Somerton that 
 you would be likely to want her ?" at length 
 Annie asked. 
 
 " Who ? What did you say ?" asked 
 Mrs. Harrington, abstractedly ; then con- 
 tinued, " Oh, yes ; Miss Somerton — I re- 
 member. I should want her directly, — that 
 is to say, as soon as she can honourably 
 leave. If she is all you describe, she will 
 be a m'eat comfort to me. But how foolish 
 I must seem to you, Miss Sherwood — how 
 excessively childish ! I am afraid I shall 
 never lose this nervousness — it is consti- 
 tutional." 
 
 Annie made no remark ; she saw that 
 Mrs. Harrington wished to attribute her 
 recent agitation to any other cause than the 
 real one, and she could not condemn her for 
 seeking to veil the errors of her still-beloved, 
 though unworthy husband. 
 
 Annie hastened to Bertha, to convey to 
 her the gladtidings of her probable engage- 
 ment in Mrs. Harrington's family. Bertha 
 could not venture on so bold a step as in- 
 viting Annie upstairs, as Mrs. Cheshyre 
 happened to be in the way ; so the pleasant
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 177 
 
 communication must be deferred till the 
 
 friends could meet in the E Square 
 
 Gardens the following morning. 
 
 As impatient to tell her news as Bertha 
 would have been to receive it, could she 
 have divined all there was to tell, Annie 
 found herself at the place of rendezvous half 
 an hour before the various parties of gover- 
 nesses and nurses would appear with their 
 keys and their charges. 
 
 Impatiently enough Annie walked up and 
 down ; and the only thing that could recon- 
 cile her to the delay, was the triumphant 
 thought of the ill-used governess being able 
 to give notice to the haughty and over- 
 bearing Mrs. Cheshyre. " She will not find 
 another meek- spirited Bertha Somerton to 
 toil so patiently in her service !" she ex- 
 claimed. But Annie Sherwood knew little 
 of such labourers, after all ! She did not 
 know that there were hundreds — yes, many 
 hundreds — who would seize with avidity on 
 the hard terms Mrs. Cheshyre would offer, and 
 feel themselves very, very fortunate in obtain- 
 ing even such a home, — humbly, even grate- 
 fully, receiving the pittance of their bondage. 
 " Poor-spirited, mean wretches, who deserve 
 their fate !" Annie would have exclaimed. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 And so they would be, did they work for 
 themselves ; but, reader ! they labour — ay, 
 that is the word that speaks their calling 
 — they labour, it may be, for a white- 
 headed, widowed mother, for a paralytic 
 father, a brother or sister worn by lin- 
 gering disease, or perhaps for all these ! 
 and to those loved ones their slender 
 pittance is existence — I will not say life I 
 I have known one who toiled for an old, 
 blind mother ; another, for a widoioed sister 
 with five helpless children; another, for a 
 young sister, too young, too delicate to brave 
 the storms of the world ; another, to support 
 a sister too — a sister whose only refuge front 
 governess life had been a lunatic asylum! another 
 — but need I add more ? — and these bore in- 
 dignities from which flesh and blood shrink, 
 beneath which the soul writhes, but they 
 remembered for whom they bore them, and, 
 with woman's tender heroism, bowed down 
 beneath the cross, which woman's strong 
 love had made them take up. Yes, Mrs. 
 Cheshyre's engagement would soon be tilled, 
 and joyfully perhaps. 
 
 " Can it be ? oh, no, this is too good to 
 be true !" ejaculated Bertha, when she heard 
 the news which Annie brought her.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 179 
 
 " Yes, 'tis all true ; but pray don't look so 
 beamingly happy, Bertha," said Annie, — 
 "pray don't, or Mrs. Harrington will be 
 afraid of you, thinking you too good-looking. 
 Remember, your business there will be to 
 be as ugly as possible : however, to make 
 up for that, you will have sixty guineas 
 a-year, and, better still, Mrs. Harrington 
 will place you on such a footing in her house, 
 that the footman will not dare to make love 
 to you !" 
 
 " Sixty guineas a-year 1" ejaculated Bertha, 
 as if in a dream ; " sixty guineas a-year, 
 Annie ! You surely cannot mean that !" 
 And when she had realised the truth, her 
 first exclamation was, " Oh, how happy 
 mamma will be !" 
 
 At the thought of the added comforts she 
 could give her mother, Bertha sobbed like a 
 child. 
 
 " Come, come, Bertha," said Annie Sher- 
 wood, " no sentiment." And yet she was 
 almost as much moved as Bertha herself. 
 " Tell me, who is that common-looking girl 
 with deep-red hair — do you know her ?" 
 
 " Know her ! I might as well boast an 
 acquaintance with her Majesty. 
 " But who is she, then?" 
 
 j> 
 
 N * 
 
 .v
 
 180 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " A governess. But here is some one 
 who will tell you all about her." 
 
 Just then a remarkably pretty young 
 Frenchwoman came up, with a group of 
 children. " Emilie Tourville," said Bertha, 
 by way of introduction. 
 
 " Emilie, I want you to tell my friend, 
 Miss Sherwood, who that rousse Anylaise 
 
 55 
 
 IS. 
 
 "Not more rousse Anglaise than rousse 
 Francaise" said the French girl, in perfect 
 English, or so slightly tinged with a foreign 
 accent that it was only more charming. 
 " She is of both nations, and an old school- 
 fellow of mine. Her mother is an English 
 lady's-maid, her father a French groom. 
 Her parents, at once thrifty and ambitious, 
 have succeeded in placing her in a little 
 higher position than their own, and one in 
 which she can gain nearly as much money as 
 if she ic ere a lady s-nf aid — of course, not quite 
 so much. She is well-educated, though not 
 
 lady-like, and lives with Lady A . I 
 
 do not know her now, for she dislikes in- 
 timacy with any one who does not live in a 
 nobleman's family ; besides which, she has 
 probably other reasons for declining to re- 
 cognise me."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 181 
 
 "Have you seen anything of Hortensia 
 Maynard ?" said Bertha to Annie. 
 
 " Not since she gave me an introduction 
 to her friend, the Hon. Mrs. Ernscliff," said 
 Annie, unable to repress a smile. 
 
 " Ah, you would not laugh at Hortensia 
 if you knew her as well as I !" said Bertha, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Possibly not ; but you must admit she 
 is ridiculously pretending." 
 
 " She is odd," replied Bertha, " but that is 
 because she is so clever. Clever people are 
 always odd." 
 
 " Not always," said Annie. " My father 
 was not at all odd, and had as much common 
 sense as talent and learning. But in what 
 way do you consider Miss Maynard so 
 clever ?" 
 
 " She knows Greek and Latin," said Ber- 
 tha, " and knows them so well." 
 
 " Excuse my asking, Bertha, how do you 
 know she is such a good classic ?" 
 
 " I will tell you. The s used to keep 
 
 a tutor conjointly with a governess ; he never 
 could succeed in making Beginald con- 
 strue. Hortensia, in the presence of Sir 
 
 William and Lady , took the work out 
 
 of the tutor's hands, and succeeded admira-
 
 182 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 bly. The sad part of the story is though, 
 that the poor tutor stood by, quite mortified, 
 and finally lost his engagement." 
 
 "And who told you the story, Bertha?" 
 
 " Hortensia told me." 
 
 " And what said the poor tutor ? he must 
 have felt very indignant." 
 
 "Oh, no, he did not, I assure you; far 
 from it !" 
 
 " How can you tell ?" 
 
 " For the best of reasons, Annie. So far 
 from resenting Hortensia' s rivalry, he was 
 very much attached to her, and made her an 
 offer, dictated as much by admiration as 
 affection." 
 
 "And she told you?" 
 
 " Yes. He carried one of her slippers in 
 his pocket for a fortnight." 
 
 " An excellent proof of affection, cer- 
 tainly!" said Annie, laughing. " How old 
 was this Strephon, Bertha ?" 
 
 " One-and-twenty." 
 
 " That accounts for his folly, if the tale 
 be genuine. Miss Maynard is nearly old 
 enough to be his mother. But why did she 
 not accept him ?" 
 
 "He has not mind enough for Hortensia/' 
 said Bertha. "Then only think, Annie, of
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 183 
 
 the influence, the strong influence she pos- 
 sesses over Lady ." 
 
 " If the influence you ascribe to her really 
 exists, it certainly goes farther to prove her 
 cleverness than all her Greek and Latin, her 
 scholastic triumph over the boy-tutor's head, 
 or her conquest of his heart. It really gives 
 one the conception of l the magic which the 
 strong mind always exercises over the weak 
 one.' But I am very much inclined to think 
 that poor Miss Maynard's reign is imagi- 
 nary, and that the apparent obsequiousness 
 of the servants is obtained by heavy fees." 
 
 " I am so sorry, so disappointed, that you 
 don't like her !" said Bertha. 
 
 " I don't dislike her ! indeed I don't," 
 said Annie ; " on the contrary, she strikes 
 me as a particularly good-natured person, 
 who, if she would give up conquests when 
 she is past the age of being charming, and 
 consequence, when she is placed in a position 
 which renders it pitiable, might be very 
 pleasant — at least, would not be ridiculous."
 
 1S4 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 " My own, dear, kind Sister, — Oh, Annie, 
 how dearly I love yon ! How this separa- 
 tion shows me all that I have lost in 
 leaving yon! Sister! mother! friend! all, 
 all in one ! But I have no right to murmur. 
 My last was so hurried, that I could not tell 
 you of more than my safe arrival at this 
 delightful place. If you were but with me, 
 I should be so very happy ! Now, however, 
 I must comply with your request, and tell 
 }'ou all. 
 
 " To begin at the beginning. Listen ! 
 but I know you wilL I thought my journey 
 long and tedious, and felt as if I had left 
 half of myself behind ; and so 1 had, and the 
 very best half too, Annie ! At the station 
 Mrs. Ferrers' footman met me with a hired 
 conveyance. I liked their not Bending their 
 own carriage for me : I should have thought 
 it like the clergyman who offered me twelve 
 pounds a-year, if they had. I fancied the 
 footman rather familiar, and T began to think
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 1S5 
 
 uneasily of Bertha's humble admirer (but you 
 say he is not humble). When I reached the 
 house, he offered me his hand to get out of 
 the carriage : and I have since noticed that 
 he assists his mistress and her daughters, 
 in quite a different style. I tried very 
 hard to get up a little dignity, but I felt 
 myself too insignificant for the attempt to 
 succeed. 
 
 " Elmgrove is a sweet place. I don't ad- 
 mire the house, which is modern, and not in 
 good taste ; but the small park in which it 
 stands is beautiful, and I expect a great 
 many pleasant hours in rambling about it. 
 I felt very nervous indeed, as we drove up 
 to the door ; I can't tell you how I trembled. 
 I am sure I w r as ghostly white. A gentle- 
 man, w r ho was standing on the steps, stared 
 veiy hard at me, but he did not offer me 
 any assistance. Perhaps he saw how 
 frightened I looked, and thought he should 
 frighten me still more if he spoke to me ; 
 thus good-nature may sometimes give a 
 person even a rude appearance. Three or 
 four vouns: ladies were looking at me from 
 the windows, but none of them came out. 
 I thought they were perhaps as timid as 
 I was, and afraid of a stranger ; but I am
 
 186 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 sure there is nothing in me to frighten any 
 one. Do you think there is, Annie ? 
 
 " How I got through the hall, and reached 
 the drawing-room, I don't know. There I 
 found Mrs. Ferrers lying on a sofa, with a 
 novel in her hand. I noticed that it was 
 Corinna. I was glad to see her reading 
 your favourite book, and she must have a 
 great deal of sensibility, for I saw she had 
 been crying over it ; as I went towards her, 
 she was wiping her e}^es. She shook hands 
 with me very kindly, and made several in- 
 quiries about my journey. Her voice is 
 very sweet, and she is like Mrs. Harrington 
 in the face, but of course a great deal older. 
 After talking to me very kindly for some 
 time, she said that no doubt I should be 
 glad to go and rest; rang, and desired a 
 servant who came, to show me my rooms. 
 First of all I must tell you that Mrs. Ferrers 
 had very considerately said that, at my age, 
 it was desirable that I should continue to 
 improve myself, so she thought it best that 
 for that purpose, I should have the evening 
 to myself in the school-room. Of course I 
 thought so too. 
 
 " A school-room and abed-room adjoining 
 were, I found, allotted to me. The rooms
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 187 
 
 were not in any order — indeed, were untidy ; 
 but then there is such a large family, I dare 
 say the poor servants have a great deal to 
 do. There was no blind at my bed-room 
 window, and as I did not like to give trouble 
 directly in a strange house, I hung my 
 shawl up for that night, and the next day I 
 ventured to ask Mrs. Ferrers about it. She 
 was very sorry, and said she would give 
 strict orders to have it attended to; but 
 either she has forgotten it, or the servants 
 have been very busy, for I have to hang up 
 my shawl every night; perhaps they will 
 think of it presently. — But to return to my 
 first night. I dare say — indeed, I feel sure 
 — they forgot I had been travelling all day, 
 and must want something, but they gave 
 me neither tea nor supper ; and I was going 
 to bed really hungry, when I heard a loud 
 bell ringing, and some one say on the stair- 
 case, ' Shall I tell Miss Ellen it is supper- 
 time ? perhaps she is busy, and wont notice 
 the bell/ I quite forgot that at Elmgrove 
 I should not be called Miss Ellen, as at dear 
 old Merton, and walked down stairs. I saw 
 the door of a dining-room standing open, 
 and within, an elegant table was laid for 
 supper. I was just going in, when the foot-
 
 188 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 man who had met me at the station stopped 
 me. * Your supper will be taken up stairs, 
 Miss,' he said, smiling oddly at another 
 man, who was putting wine on the table. 
 Then his face changed, and he looked sorry, 
 as if he thought he had hurt my feelings, 
 and said, ' I am afraid you have not had 
 anything, Miss ; I'll just run and tell the 
 school-room maid.' I ran up stairs as fast 
 as I could, relieved to think I should sup 
 alone, and not have to face so many 
 strangers. A maid brought me up a tray, 
 with bread, cold mutton, and a jug of beer ; 
 there was no napkin on the tray. I took 
 some supper, and rang for the remains to be 
 taken away ; but as they did not hear me, I 
 went into my bed-room. I looked round that 
 lonely room, and, oh, Annie ! dearest, best of 
 sisters, how I missed you ! I am ashamed 
 to tell you how many tears I shed ; I tried 
 to keep them down, but they would spring 
 up. I felt so very, very lonely ! I sat 
 down to read the Bible ; but my door closed 
 badly, and the sound of merry voices and 
 laughter came echoing up the stairs, and I 
 was so silly that I cried again, and felt still 
 more lonely. 
 
 " The next morning I began my work, and
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 189 
 
 found my little pupils clear children ; but I 
 fear it will be difficult to teach them, they 
 are so wild. I must try to remember that 
 high spirits are natural to their age. I 
 breakfasted with them in the school-room ; 
 we did the lessons ; then I took them out ; 
 but as they ran away from me, I had great 
 difficulty to get them home in time for 
 luncheon — that is, the family's luncheon and 
 our dinner. 
 
 " There I saw the three Miss Ferrers for 
 the first time. Miss Ferrers seems about 
 thirty, but is extremely handsome and aris- 
 tocratic : very fashionably dressed too. Miss 
 Ellen looks older, but is in reality four or 
 five }^ears younger : she has a thoughtful, 
 care-worn face; is not pretty; dresses plainly, 
 in a very high gown, and is neat and precise 
 in the extreme. Her sister Sophia is two- 
 and-twenty ; and oh, so pretty, Annie — such 
 a sweet, good-tempered looking girl, with 
 lovely eyes, and hair like Marmions Con- 
 stance, threads of living gold ! I so wish 
 you could see her. When I went in, Miss 
 Ellen shook hands with me very kindly ; 
 Miss Ferrers examined me through a glass, 
 till my cheeks grew like crimson; and Sophia 
 laughed, but I think not in ill-nature.
 
 190 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " Mr. Ferrers is old, deaf, and notices no 
 one but his wife, to whom he is very atten- 
 tive. When luncheon was half over, the 
 gentleman I had seen on the steps came in ; 
 he did not once look towards me, or seem to 
 know that there was a stranger present, of 
 which I was very glad, for his staring so 
 much the day before had made me quite 
 nervous. The Ferrers call him ' Francis/ 
 but the servants speak of him as Mr. Vincent. 
 I suppose he is some relation of the family, 
 but I have not heard them say that he is. 
 Miss Ferrers evidently admires and likes him, 
 but he is more attentive to Miss Sophia. He 
 is not nice-looking, and his manners are far 
 from agreeable. He dresses in rough, shaggy 
 clothes, with immense pockets, and, in my 
 mind, there is some connexion between his 
 voice and his coat. Indeed, he is an illustra- 
 tion of the ' ruffian style,' and uses a great 
 deal of slang. Miss Ferrers remarks ' How 
 very clever Francis is 1' but I have never 
 heard him talk of anything beyond dogs and 
 horses ; and of them I am so ignorant myself, 
 that I cannot well judge whether what he 
 says on the subject is clever oi not ; but I 
 should scarcely think such topics could atibrd 
 much ground for the display of talent as a
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 191 
 
 1 conversationalist/ to use your favourite Dr. 
 Chalmers's word. 
 
 " After dinner (to return to my story), I 
 took the children out again ; then we returned 
 to lessons till we had tea, at six o'clock, in 
 the school-room. When tea was over, the 
 children began some very noisy play (what 
 a good thing it is that I have a very strong 
 head), and continued it, until they went to 
 be dressed for dessert. 
 
 " I have been at Elm grove a week ; every 
 day is precisely the same — rather fatiguing 
 — but I have a great many comforts. How 
 much better I am situated than poor Bertha ! 
 I am sure I ought to be contented. How I 
 wish you had such an engagement ! and yet, 
 Annie, — no, — this life would not do for you ! 
 Your mind would starve for want of food. 
 You could not bear solitude, absolute soli- 
 tude, as well as I. ' The higher the intel- 
 lectual powers, the more aliment they require/ 
 our dear father used to say ; ' it is a mistake 
 to suppose great minds suffice to themselves. 
 Eivers may exist on their own sources ; 
 but the sea, the great wide sea, asks for tri- 
 butary streams and receives them/ No, nice 
 as it is, Elmgrove would not do for you, 
 dear Annie ! The Ferrers see a great deal of
 
 19.2 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 company, but I never meet any of tlieir 
 friends except at luncheon. I am not intro- 
 duced to any one, so that I am not obliged 
 to talk, happily. The only person that takes 
 any notice of me is the old Vicar, who often 
 drops in when I am at dinner. He is very 
 amiable and good-natured ; but his sermons 
 make me think of Mr. Pendexter's, in Long- 
 fellow's Kavanagh. Mr. Weston is very 
 old, and his old age is not the energetic, elo- 
 quent old age of our dear father, who had 
 the majesty of years without tlieir infirmities. 
 I am afraid it is very wrong, but I can't 
 help contrasting Mr. Weston's feeble voice 
 with 
 
 1 His voice's manly flow,' 
 
 and his sleepy utterance with our dear 
 one's 
 
 1 Thoughts of power.' 
 
 Only think, Annie, Miss Ellen has just come 
 in to say that we shall spend an hour to- 
 gether in improving conversation, every even- 
 ing. That will be delightful ; she is so very 
 good, and spends hours every day in visiting 
 the sick poor, school, &c. I often wish I 
 were as good. The only thing that I can't 
 understand in her, is the sharp way in which 
 she sometimes speaks to her sisters. Perhaps
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 193 
 
 it is that she is vexed and sorry to see them 
 without any serious thoughts, and so given 
 up to the world. Then there is always a sort 
 of wordy war going on between her and Mr. 
 Vincent. Sometimes he takes the liberty of 
 calling her ' a Puritan/ when she retorts by 
 some biting sarcasm. Then he laughs, she 
 gets more annoyed, and usually leaves the 
 room, sometimes drawing a comparison be- 
 tween the tares and the wheat, or murmuring 
 'they that will live godly in Christ must 
 suffer persecution.' Still I am sure she is a 
 very good person, but she often looks unhappy 
 and distressed. She frets a great deal about 
 Mr. Pendexter — Mr. Weston, I mean (some- 
 how the two names have got confused in my 
 head), and says his light burns so dimly that 
 he is leading his people to destruction. At 
 times she talks as papa described the Whit- 
 field preachers, so excitingly that one feels 
 too much carried away, to examine the sound- 
 ness of her arguments. She wants to see a 
 more awakening preacher in our pulpit ; in 
 that I think she is right, but Mr. Pendex — 
 Mr. Weston — should be dealt tenderly with. 
 She talks to him of the necessity of taking a 
 young, energetic curate, and particularly re- 
 commends a clergyman whom she met at the 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 sea-side last year. Mr. Weston fears his 
 holding what he calls exaggerated views, and 
 though he is willing to take a curate, as he 
 begins to feel his own infirmities, he very 
 naturally likes to have one of his ow r n choos- 
 ing, rather than of his friends' selection. He 
 has been to town and seen a Mr. Newingham, 
 who pleases him very much, but Miss Ellen 
 says she is sure he is a Puseyite, and will 
 preach in the alb. I should not much care 
 what he preached in, provided he taught us 
 the truth, but she makes herself positively 
 unhappy lest he should wear what the Puri- 
 tans called ' Aaronic garments ;' though we 
 really don't know whether he is coming or 
 not. One minute she exclaims ' we are in 
 heathen darkness, and if he brings us light, 
 it will be that of a firebrand, consuming, not 
 warming the dying branches ! He will arrive 
 armed with No. 90, and will know nothing 
 among us but hagioscopes and lecterns, 
 piscinas and credence tables ! It is horrible 
 to contemplate !' 
 
 " ' But how can you know all this :' asked 
 Miss Ferrers, rather scornfully. ' By my 
 presentiments,' her sister replied, with solem- 
 nity j ' I see it all as if it had been revealed 
 to me. If Mr. Weston had listened to me,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 193 
 
 and secured Mr. Wilson, the dark clouds so 
 ominously gathering over his flock, would 
 have spread their sable pall elsewhere ; but 
 we are a doomed people. Still — still there 
 is among us an -election of grace !' 
 
 " But now, my dearest Annie, I must say 
 good-bye. I was going to add you will be 
 weary of this long, rambling epistle, but you 
 will not, no, I am sure you will not. 
 
 Your own Ellen." 
 
 o 2
 
 196 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 "When Annie had read Ellen's letter, her 
 first impulse was to seize a pen, write, and 
 tell her to return immediately, for she felt 
 assured, even from the few hints of negli- 
 gence of her comfort contained in her sister > 
 simple narrative, that she could not he happy 
 at Elmgrove. But then Annie exclaimed, 
 " But to what shall I bid her return — to 
 starvation? There she has at least food, 
 except," she added, bitterly, "when they 
 forget to give her her meals. My poor 
 Ellen ! I see what they are, but (as she 
 would say herself) it might be worse ! She 
 might be with people who would work her 
 to death, or goad her gentle temper into 
 harshness — it might be, break her heart. 
 "Well, she must stay for the present, she 
 must stay and listen to Ellen Ferrers 1 
 fanatic raving, and Mr. Vincent's veterinary 
 lectures ! The one will not make her a 
 visionary, the other will fail in teaching her 
 farrier lore. Oh, my sister ! my sweet, in-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 197 
 
 nocent Ellen ! how meekly she takes every- 
 thing ! with what angelic patience she bears 
 indignities that would gall and sting me 
 unendurably !" Annie sat an hour longer 
 quite lost in thought, in the solitude of the 
 little chamber, and night shadows gathered 
 round her. She dismissed all thought of 
 the teacher's sordid cares, and of her own 
 prospects as far as they were concerned. She 
 bent her mind wholly on one subject, the for- 
 mation of a poem, a poem which she dreamt 
 would win her fame ; and while her heart was 
 glowdng, and her very soul seemed uncon- 
 trollable, she seized the pen with which she 
 had been about to address her sister, and 
 only then became conscious that she was 
 sitting in the dark. "With a sigh of dis- 
 appointment, poor Annie groped her way 
 down the dark, narrow staircase into the 
 landlady's kitchen. On her road thither she 
 had time to reflect that she possibly mistook 
 enthusiasm for genius, and memory for in- 
 spiration ! The sickening doubt fell cold 
 and chill on her heart. The landlady, a 
 mass of bombazine and collar, broke harshly 
 on her reverie with a very homely remark. 
 " Do you know, Miss Sherwood, that machril 
 you bought this evening wasn't fresh, not
 
 198 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 a bit of it? Whenever fish is cried about 
 the streets nights, I always suspects 'em ; 
 but I've cleaned it, and put a bit of salt and 
 pepper in," &c. 
 
 Annie laughed heartily, for she had a keen 
 sense of the ridiculous, but her poetical ideas 
 were effectually put to flight. A minute 
 later she was in her room, pen in hand, 
 trying to recalher scattered thoughts. A 
 beautiful simile had occurred to her in illus- 
 tration of the theme she had chosen. She 
 looked up, as one is wont to do in a 
 moment of inspiration that comes over the 
 soul, like a thing too bright to be of earth — 
 she looked up, not at the student's midnight 
 lamp, with its classical memories and associa- 
 tions, but at a tallow T -candle, which having 
 been neglected, had guttered, and half filled 
 the candlestick ! " One of poverty's vulgar 
 realities !" thought Annie ; but the beautiful 
 simile was lost ! 
 
 Annie's mind had not yet acquired hard- 
 ness enough to grasp and hold its own 
 conceptions ; the}' were like the bright 
 things we see in dreams, presented before 
 her but to be snatched away and irrevocably 
 lost. Between the landlady's fish and the 
 unfortunate tallow-candle, her lovely visions
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 199 
 
 were entombed, perchance to rise no more. 
 And into what an nngenial grave the plan 
 of an elaborate poem and a profusion of 
 ornaments had fallen ! To the surface rose, 
 after a deep search, the following decousu 
 lines, which poor Annie in vain sought to 
 connect, or reconcile with each other : — 
 
 " My peace on earth, my hope of Heaven, 
 I tell thee all — yea, all were given ! 
 And more — if more had been my own— 
 Upon that die I would have thrown ! 
 Wild the ambition ; but the prize, 
 To me, 'twas more than paradise ! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Yea, call it madness — what thou wilt, 
 None more than I discerns my guilt ; 
 Yet one wild thought can still subdue, 
 And bend, as man could never do ! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Oh, give me but once more to feel, 
 In this strong grasp, the unerring steel ! 
 Give me the steed that knows the frame 
 He bore so oft, through flood and flame ! 
 Whose light foot spurns the sandy plain ; 
 I shall be all I was, again. 
 Give me the desert wild and free, 
 And with it, life — and liberty 1" 
 
 And here the elaborate poem began and 
 ended. At first, when she had scrawled 
 these lines, Annie really thought them 
 poetry. She read them over two or three 
 times, and decided that they looked like an
 
 200 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 imitation, and a very bad imitation, of " The 
 Giaour." Then she tried something else, in 
 which the following occurred : — 
 
 " Across his large stag eye 'twould fling 
 The shadow of past suffering." 
 
 But immediately she recollected a similar 
 expression in Lady M. W. Montagu's trans- 
 lation from the Turkish. 
 
 " Your large stag eyes, where thousand glories play." 
 
 Ah ! she was an unconscious plagiarist ! 
 and so poor Anne Sherwood went to bed 
 with the uncomfortable conviction that she 
 had been deceived in supposing herself a 
 poet, and that she had just :2/. 18s., on 
 which to exist until Ellen's first quarter 
 should become due, and Ellen had been 
 but a small portion of that quarter in the 
 enviable post of governess, or more properly 
 speaking, bear-leader to the tractable scions 
 of the Ferrers family. Annie determined to 
 attempt no more poetry. As well might a 
 heart full of love's divinest feelings promise 
 that it will hide for ever in its depth the 
 welling affections that will rise and over- 
 flow, in spite of the sternest, strongest efforts 
 to check and seal them down. No, be it 
 the emanation of genius, or merely the
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 201 
 
 effervescence of fancy, the song conceived in 
 the heart mnst spring forth, though it be 
 but to meet neglect or ridicule. Apart from 
 the puerilities of vanity, there is in some 
 hearts a besoin de chanter, as in others a 
 besoin Maimer, and few imaginative people 
 but remember, when their fancy was young 
 and warm, how they planned immortal 
 poems that were to die of chilling neglect, 
 or rushed to the press with matter suffi- 
 ciently absurd to excite their own ridicule 
 in after hours of calm reason. Ah ! how a 
 young author is met with a dangerous paean 
 of applause, or a harshness of satire, alto- 
 gether disproportioned to his feeble efforts ! 
 How we should mock at the madman point- 
 ing a cannon at a wren, but no one sees the 
 absurdity of the critic gunner who directs 
 a broadside at the trembling ambition of 
 the harmless sonneteer, who is probably 
 frightened sufficiently by the uncouth echo 
 of his tinkling rhymes. 
 
 Annie Sherwood's dreams were troubled 
 that night, as Mr. Churchill's might have 
 been while planning and re-planning scenes 
 in his long contemplated, but never executed 
 romance. 
 
 In solitude and frequent sadness, time
 
 202 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 rolled on for Annie Sherwood. AVhen Ellen 
 remitted to her the whole of her quarter's 
 salary, except a few shillings, Annie was still 
 unplacee — still looking out for employment, 
 which appeared to fly from her. 
 
 Some few events had happened in her 
 little world. Bertha was rejoicing in the 
 comforts of Mrs. Harrington's house, and 
 overwhelmed Annie with thanks for having 
 procured her such a haven of rest. She was 
 the more grateful for her success, as Mrs. 
 Cheshyre, in a fit of aristocratic indignation 
 at the poor girl's having dared to quit her 
 service — (yes, it teas service, and very hard 
 service too) — had refused to give her any 
 testimonial for four years' conscientious dis- 
 charge of arduous, heart-depressing duties, 
 and Mrs. Harrington had received Bertha 
 on Annie's simple recommendation. 
 
 In the fulness of her grateful heart, 
 Bertha would have forced a large part of her 
 newly acquired riches on her friend, hut 
 Annie steadily refused to receive anything 
 from one who had higher duties to perform 
 than relieving her necessities. 
 
 Many were Annie Sherwood's privations 
 during the first three months of Ellen's 
 residence at Elmgrove ; but she concealed
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 203 
 
 all she suffered, and even suppressed any 
 comments of a painful nature on Ellen's 
 letters, many of which detailed instances of 
 mortifying neglect, or of still more active 
 unkindness, on the part of those with whom 
 she dwelt. And Ellen often told these 
 things so simply, so artlessly, that it seemed 
 she did not appreciate their meaning, was 
 too humble-minded to resent them, or too 
 patient to feel the useless indignation they 
 were calculated to excite. 
 
 But while Annie forcibly restrained the 
 expression of her feelings, from the im- 
 measurable love she bore her sister, the iron 
 entered into her soul, and she view r ed her 
 own future with increasing bitterness — 
 mankind with something approaching mis- 
 anthropy. 
 
 Header, the humble delineator of this 
 character should perhaps claim your for- 
 giveness for attempting to invest your 
 sympathies in a heroine full of faults, instead 
 of craving your kind interest for the angelic 
 creature of spotless perfection usually drawn 
 by romance writers — an embodiment of what 
 woman might have been, had our first 
 Mother never sinned ! a being who goes 
 through fiery trials, and comes forth purer
 
 204 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 than the refiner's gold! Eeader, such 
 characters are not living ! You know they 
 are not while you read of them ; and my 
 heroine is not the child of imagination, 
 whom I might at pleasure invest with 
 unnatural perfections. No, she is a real, 
 living, erring child of humanity, who set out 
 in life with some, nay, with many, noble 
 aspirations and generous passions, whom 
 wrong, inflicted on herself, and a yet dearer 
 self, drove into a thorny path of error, which 
 a less proud spirit would have avoided at 
 the expense of a crushed and broken heart. 
 I have chosen this defective character to 
 show the working of an oppressive, a cruel 
 system on one subject to the frailties of 
 humanity. An angelic model would be 
 useless! and when she who sat for the 
 portrait failed, or rather when I failed in 
 drawing the likeness, I have followed Sir 
 Philip Sydney's advice, " Look into thine 
 own heart, and write !" When the thread 
 of my narrative broke, I have stirred the 
 records of my memory for scenes which I 
 have at least witnessed — in some of which 
 I have acted. 
 
 To return from a digression. Annie had 
 met with two or three events. Not only
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 205 
 
 the all-important one of having placed Ber- 
 tha — the kind, gentle, forgiving Bertha — 
 in a happier position, but she had, despite 
 her resolution of renouncing poetry, actually 
 written a poem, and was simple enough to 
 believe she would find a publisher ! Sad, 
 indeed bitter, was her disappointment wdien 
 they civilly told her that these were not the 
 days of poetry, and tried to talk her into the 
 belief that railroad times annihilated the 
 sense of the divine and beautiful ! One, to 
 whom she tremblingly presented her MS., 
 had the candour to acknowledge that there 
 was merit in the performance — fancy and 
 feeling ; but he advised Annie not to pub- 
 lish. Poor aspirant ! hopeless, but struggling 
 on ; how she turned back; day after day, 
 with wearied steps, and a more wearied 
 brain, after long walks between governess 
 institutions and booksellers' shops, in all of 
 which she seemed doomed to meet disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 One day, however, came an order from a 
 scholastic agent to wait on him (the great 
 man) in order to receive instructions as to 
 the manner in which she (Miss Sherwood) 
 should present herself before " a very distin- 
 guished lady;" possibly an ex-queen, cer«
 
 206 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 tainly, at least a countess. Annie set forth, 
 unwilling to lose even a chance, but very 
 doubtful, after so many failures, of any good 
 result. 
 
 On her way to the agent's, she happened 
 to meet Bertha's French friend. " Where 
 are you going?" she inquired. 
 
 " To the Governess' Institution," replied 
 Annie . 
 
 " Not the Union, I suppose ?" said a 
 lively young woman accompanying Made- 
 moiselle. 
 
 cc No, not to H Street," said Annie, 
 
 smiling sadly. 
 
 " I asked you," said the French girl, 
 "because my — the lady with whom I 
 live, is looking out for a governess for her 
 sister." 
 
 "Are the children boys?" asked Annie, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " No ; girls." 
 
 " Then I shall not do for them. I can 
 only teach boys, for I never learned the 
 piano, nor French, nor bead-work, nor 
 crochet." 
 
 " Oh, pray do not name music and French 
 with those silly things !" said Emilie. 
 
 " Don't they always go together ?"
 
 ANNE SHE11W00D. 207 
 
 " I can't argue the point," replied Emilie ; 
 " argument tires the brain, and makes one 
 look old and ridee before their time. I 
 think you will suit Mrs. Maberly. Her 
 children are young, and can't want music 
 yet ; when they do, I dare say she will be 
 liberal, and give them a master." 
 
 Annie cared little for her destination ; 
 she did not even inquire in what county the 
 possible patroness resided. She knew that 
 " the world was not all before her, where to 
 choose " — that she must go where necesshVv 
 pointed, and she almost mistook hopelessness 
 for resignation. 
 
 It was agreed that she should call at four 
 o'clock that afternoon to see Mrs. Maberly' s 
 sister, or rather to be looked at by her, and 
 then Annie prosecuted her walk to the 
 scholastic agent's, who had summoned her 
 to his august presence. By the agent she 
 was directed to the distinguished lady in 
 question, who interrogated her so impe- 
 riously, that pride conquering prudence, the 
 governess-candidate remarked, that the en- 
 gagement proposed would not suit her at all, 
 and so saying bowed herself out, perhaps as 
 much to her own surprise as to that of the 
 great lady.
 
 208 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 The "distinguished lady" was not really 
 of high rank, but having had a seventh 
 cousin elevated to the peerage by the Liberal 
 administration, when desirous of securing a 
 majority in the Upper House, she had suc- 
 ceeded in persuading herself — and indeed 
 in persuading some other people, which was 
 more remarkable — that she was a member 
 of a noble family, though her own vulgarity 
 of mind and bearing largely contradicted 
 the blazonry she arrogated to herself. 
 
 When the contumacious governess had 
 departed, the great lady's footman heard her 
 murmur to herself that the world must be 
 coming to an end ; there was no distinction 
 of ranks left, mushroom parvenus affected 
 dignity, and low-bred povert}' insulted opu- 
 lence and fashion ! 
 
 Poor distinguished lady ! the footman 
 who had heard her murmur her pathetic 
 complaint, was commissioned to carry a 
 note, which she wrote in agitated haste, to 
 the agent who had recommended ]\li>- 
 Sherwood, complaining of his client, and 
 conveying something like a threat to him- 
 self, if he should in any way assist the 
 delinquent's views. The distinguished lady 
 added, that " Mr. could inform thai
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 209 
 
 civil young person, Miss Smith, that she 
 might have a chance of success, if she liked 
 to call again." 
 
 The " civil young person" was the daugh- 
 ter of a respectable grocer in the Edgware 
 Road. She went to the great lady's, was 
 very well treated, and being certainly very 
 
 worthy of Mrs. 's praises, was shortly 
 
 promoted to the post of head toad-eater, in 
 which capacity she spent several happy and 
 profitable years. 
 
 At four o'clock Annie stood before Mrs. 
 Maberly's sister, Mrs. Stuart, who gra- 
 ciously waved her hand, thereby intimating 
 that she might be seated. She was then 
 catechised at length, and at the same time 
 instructed as to the demeanour she was 
 to observe at Locksly Lodge, should she 
 be so fortunate as to obtain the appoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Mrs. Stuart's hauteur as she leaned back 
 in her lounge, was particularly galling to 
 Annie, but she forcibly compressed her lips, 
 and determined she would bridle her indig- 
 nation this time. In her walk from the 
 mansion of the one great lady she had 
 offended, to that of the other whose scrutiny 
 she was to undergo, she had had time to 
 
 vol. i. p
 
 210 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 reflect, and she had thought sorrowfully 
 over her young sister's position, and resolved 
 that, for the love of dear Ellen, she w r ould 
 curb her proud spirit, and try to please Mrs. 
 Stuart. For herself, Annie would not have 
 borne the humiliation of that lady's arro- 
 gance another moment. 
 
 " I suppose you have no objection to 
 solitude ? You can bear it well, Miss Sher- 
 wood?" 
 
 " Perfectly well." 
 
 " And you are a good walker ? You can 
 amuse the children in their play-hours, I 
 hope ?'' 
 
 41 Anything which the duties of my office 
 require." 
 
 " You do not expect, of course, to be 
 mixed up in any way with the family — or 
 their friends?" and Mrs. Stuart coloured a 
 little, the least in the world. 
 
 " I have no such expectations or wishes/' 
 answered Annie, with a perfectly unmoved 
 face. 
 
 " Then you may call again. Let me see ! 
 "What is to-day ?" 
 
 14 Wednesday." 
 
 44 Then you may call next Monday. By 
 that time I shall be able to receive an answer
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 211 
 
 from my sister. Yes, you may call on 
 Monday." 
 
 Mrs. Stuart turned away, and took up a 
 book; Annie felt herself dismissed, and 
 retired. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 On a cold January night, with very insuffi- 
 cient wrappings to defend her from the 
 inclement weather, Annie Sherwood stood in 
 
 the front of a little inn at L , watching 
 
 the unlading of an omnibus, which had 
 brought her from the railway station to the 
 little old-fashioned country town, near wdiich 
 she was to reside in the family of Mr. 
 Maberly. 
 
 A hired conveyance was waiting to receive 
 her and her luggage, as soon as she should 
 have identified and received her little pro- 
 perty. Little, indeed, it was ; but ere the 
 object of securing it could be effected, the 
 poor girl was half frozen, and trembling in 
 every limb. At length Annie found herself 
 rolling along a smooth, level road, and knew 
 that in less than half an hour she must 
 stand before her future patron. She was not 
 nervous, but low and sad. She knew what 
 she had to expect, or rather fancied she 
 knew it ; and instead of being overwhelmed
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 213 
 
 by the coming trial, she felt nerved to en- 
 durance. A sudden jerk, caused by a stone 
 in the road, and the coachman alighted, 
 turned his horses to the right, and entered 
 the gates of some enclosure. Then he re- 
 mounted the coach-box, drove a short dis- 
 tance, and stopped before a large house, 
 dimly denned in the gloom of night. A 
 sharp, sudden ring, the hall-door opened, a 
 stream of light from within pierced the 
 obscurity. 
 
 Annie Sherwood's heart did not beat ; no, 
 it stood still, quite still; it seemed dead; 
 she pressed her hands on her chilled bosom, 
 drew one long gasping breath, and stood in 
 the hall, frightfully pale, amid a group of 
 servants. That night the footman told the 
 butler in confidence that Miss Sherwood 
 was decidedly ugly, whereas the previous one 
 before was a splendid woman ! 
 
 A respectable elderly woman in black 
 approached Annie, and civilly, even respect- 
 fully, offered to conduct her to her rooms. 
 She even carried her parcels for her ! unpre- 
 cedented condescension in an upper servant ! 
 
 Annie looked up in gratified surprise at 
 the pleasant countenance beside her ; a ray 
 of hope darted into her heart ; perhaps, after
 
 214 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 all, she should find friends there, perhaps 
 receive a kind, warm welcome, that would 
 come like a balm to a spirit deeply wounded, 
 though it was not of a nature to be crushed. 
 
 She followed her guide up a broad stair- 
 case, and across a gallery lined on either 
 side with books, whose aspect greeted the 
 student girl like familiar friends, and 
 strengthened her new-born hope. She was 
 led into a large carpeted room, tolerably well 
 furnished, through which a blazing fire cast 
 the ruddy hue of cheerfulness. A comfort- 
 able and plenteous supper was spread on the 
 table, and looked very inviting to the hungry 
 traveller. Leaning one arm on the mantel- 
 shelf, stood a lady, with so bright and fasci- 
 nating a smile that the gazer would have 
 been too much charmed to note that the 
 features it lit were quite irregular, and that 
 the tall, elegant figure they surmounted, was 
 thin, almost to attenuation. 
 
 Annie looked at that beautiful smile, and 
 it won on her so much that its light became 
 instantly reflected on her own speaking- face. 
 She advanced with more confidence, feeling 
 sure that a friendly hand would be extended 
 to welcome her ; but she was mistaken : Mrs. 
 Maberly only bowed, and said something
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 215 
 
 civil about cold and fatigue. Annie forced 
 back tlie appearance of disappointment, and 
 answering with quiet self-possession, seated 
 herself by the fire. Mrs. Maberly was natu- 
 rally good tempered, she wished to be land, 
 but at the same time to keep the governess 
 in her proper place ; after a few unim- 
 portant remarks, she said, " Grood night, 
 ma'am," and retired. 
 
 Annie scarcely tasted her solitary supper, 
 but sat by the fire brooding over melancholy 
 thoughts, inspired by the unimportant con- 
 versation of the last few minutes. At length 
 she took a candle, and prepared to try the 
 comfortable-looking bed, which awaited her 
 in the adjoining room. It was only on the 
 following morning she discovered, that her 
 apartments were placed at quite the opposite 
 end of the house to that part which the 
 family occupied, indeed so distinct were they, 
 that her isolation was complete, her only 
 neighbours during the long stormy nights 
 of winter being the rats and mice which 
 usually inhabit old country-houses. Annie's 
 heart was too full of sad cares of another 
 kind to admit of nervous fears, or imagina- 
 tive terrors ; moreover, she was naturally 
 courageous ; had it been otherwise she might
 
 216 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 well have conjured up a ghostly visitant 
 stalking along the deserted gallery and 
 gliding among the hangings of her bed. As 
 it was, she spent a sleepless night, and rose 
 unrefreshed, to begin her new and untried 
 duties. 
 
 When Annie's pupils were presented to 
 her, she was agreeably surprised. Some of 
 them were intelligent, and all so young that 
 they were as yet untaught in the world's 
 ways. One was a beauty, and in her motherly 
 pride for her favourite child, and her earnest 
 wish that she should produce a favourable 
 impression on the stranger, insignificant as 
 that stranger might be, Mrs. Maberly mo- 
 mentarily forgot her family pride, and spoke 
 naturally, even in a friendly tone to the 
 governess, but ever and anon she checked 
 herself, and resumed a proper distance of 
 manner. Annie noticed that Mrs. Maberly 
 always addressed her as "ma'am," and 
 thought it must be an aristocratic habit (as 
 the ^ood Vicar of Wakefield lone; considered 
 the swearing of the ladies of quality, who 
 patronized himself and his daughters), until 
 she heard afterwards from undoubted autho- 
 rity, that her country education had made 
 her mistake novelty for high-breeding.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 217 
 
 On the whole, Mrs. Maberly's children 
 seemed well pleased with their new instruc- 
 tress, regarding her entirely in the light of a 
 fresh playmate ; but when they came to sit 
 down to lessons, they speedily broke out into 
 open rebellion, and Annie feared she had 
 become tamer to so many importations from 
 a menagerie. 
 
 People may mock at what they imagine 
 petty grievances, but the poor governess's 
 heart sinks within her when, sitting down 
 with three or four sweet-looking children, 
 whose mouths dimple into smiles, whose 
 sunny eyes tell of nothing but mirth and 
 good-humour, she finds that the least effort 
 for their real instruction, the least conscien- 
 tious discharge of duty, and the smiling 
 cherubs, from long indulgence and pamper- 
 ing, are on the instant transformed into 
 bitter revolters, agitated by the counterfeit 
 of those evil passions which we are apt 
 merely to attribute to their elders. It is 
 heart-sickening to witness an attempt at 
 leading such perverted spirits, perverted, not 
 by themselves, but by their parents' careless 
 habits or moral weakness. 
 
 Some of them might be rescued from de- 
 struction, some even trained to angels, but
 
 218 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the teacher's hands are fettered ; she has been 
 told in general terms that her charges are to 
 do just as they like ! that she is not to force 
 them on in their studies — that all things will 
 come right with time — that "the beauty" 
 (the fairest child goes by that name in the 
 household) is delicate, and must be especially 
 spared ! yet the governess will presently be 
 reproached with the slow progress of her 
 pupils ! Poor governess — yet poorer children ! 
 Before Annie had been one month in the 
 house, she witnessed the disgraceful scene of 
 the beautiful Ellinor slapping her mother's 
 face, in a fit of passion at having received 
 some unwonted command. Mrs. Maberly 
 had perhaps never before contradicted her 
 sweet Ellinor — she was roused to anger, and 
 returned the blow, not in the way of correc- 
 tion, but reprisal. The beauty reared once 
 more on tip-toe, and with her fairy, little 
 hand again smote the cheek of her parent ; 
 for awdiile the scene continued — a blow, 
 and its return. It ended by the foolish 
 mother begging a sort of pardon, a kiss was 
 exchanged, and the quarrel made up, to be 
 renewed, probably, when the beauty should 
 be again provoked by the exercise of an au- 
 thority not habitual.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 219 
 
 Annie Sherwood, with all her imagined 
 knowledge of the world, was still too unso- 
 phisticated to view without shuddering hor- 
 ror, such scenes as we have attempted to 
 describe. She had seen the children of her 
 country neighbours sometimes wilful, some- 
 times injured by injudicious training, but 
 she had no conception of the school, in which 
 nearly all the children of those considering 
 themselves the higher classes, are brought 
 up. 
 
 Annie's heart sank within her, not so 
 much at her own uncomfortable position in 
 a family wherein selfishness and disorder 
 reigned paramount, as from the dread of 
 finding that Ellen was equally tried. Mrs. 
 Maberly's children were not only idle in the 
 common acceptation of the word, but were 
 entirely wanting in energy for every purpose 
 of life, except quarrelling and annoying one 
 another. Their toys and varied means of 
 amusement had lost all power to charm. 
 They were all, especially the beauty, as com- 
 pletely biases as the world's worn-out vota- 
 ries. If Annie tried to teach them a new 
 game, they were immediately wearied; did 
 she read them a story, they gave their languid 
 attention for a few minutes, and then insisted
 
 220 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 that that should be broken off and another 
 tale begun. 
 
 Ellinor Maberly had very little sense, 
 and having been so frequently told of her 
 exceeding loveliness, frankly declared that 
 she need learn nothing — she was beautiful, 
 that was enough ! 
 
 Of course the labours of the governess 
 among those poor children were very hope- 
 less, but she had a woman's heart, and soon 
 grew attached to them. They had their 
 bright spots, they were very loving, and 
 might have been rendered docile by gentle 
 firmness ; but then they were never to be 
 contradicted ; and indeed at the most trifling 
 opposition, they filled the house with cries 
 more piercing than the torture has drawn 
 from man} r a martyr. What was the gover- 
 ness to do ? complain ? to whom ? To the 
 mother, who allowed her face to be slapped 
 by her (mild ? To the father, who appeared 
 ignorant of everything concerning his 
 children ? 
 
 Annie had been several weeks in the 
 house before she had once met Mr. Maberly. 
 
 Should she attempt correction herself, she 
 would immediately lose her employment. 
 
 "Do }'ou like company, Miss Sherwood?"
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 221 
 
 asked Annie's eldest pupil one evening, when 
 she had been, much to her own satisfaction, 
 arrayed in white, with a broad blue sash, to 
 go down to dessert, for there was a dinner 
 party. " Do you like company ?" 
 
 " I like good company, Geraldine ; that is, 
 I like conversing with intelligent, well- 
 informed people. But why do you ask ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing particular; only I was think- 
 ing you would like to be down-stairs this 
 evening. Now, wouldn't you ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, Geraldine, I should not." 
 
 " Oh, but I know you would ; you're only 
 telling a fib, Miss Sherwood." 
 
 " I don't know such things as ' fibs/ 
 Geraldine," said iinnie, seriously ; " and I 
 never tell what is not true; it would be wrong 
 and dishonourable." 
 
 " But if you're not found out, Miss Sher- 
 wood ?" 
 
 " Oh, Geraldine ! I am shocked to hear 
 you talk this way," said Annie. 
 
 " Now, pray don't scold me, Miss Sher- 
 wood," said the girl, petulantly, and putting 
 up her shoulder ; " it's very unkind of you ; 
 you'll make me cry, you know you will, and 
 then I shall look a horrid fright at dessert. 
 I am sure I have been kind to you, for I
 
 222 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 asked mamma to let you go down to see the 
 company, only she said she wouldn't !" 
 
 " I am obliged to you, dear Geraldine, for 
 thinking of me," said Annie, colouring with 
 mortification ; " but I beg you'll never do 
 such a thing again, for I am much happier 
 up-stairs." 
 
 " But I shall do it again, though," replied 
 the child, " that I shall, for Uncle Hal says 
 he is quite curious to see you. He asked 
 me if you were pretty ; of course I said no, 
 for you know r you're not at all pretty, Miss 
 Sherwood. You are not fair, and you've an 
 ugly nose, and your eyes are so big and grey, 
 and your gown, why your gown is quite 
 shabby ! Now, is not all that true ?" she 
 added, looking quite triumphant at her own 
 sagacity. 
 
 " Quite true," said Annie, trying to laugh. 
 " Yes, I am dark, I have grey eyes, and a 
 bad nose. My gown is, as you say, very 
 shabby. But you should not say these 
 things. I don't mind — that is, I don't mind 
 very much ; but it hurts people's feelings to 
 hear " 
 
 " What does hurting people's feelings 
 mean?" interrupted Geraldine; but just 
 then she was summoned to dessert. " Do I
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 223 
 
 look nice ? do I look pretty ?" she asked, 
 quickly. 
 
 " No, Greraldine, you look " 
 
 " How do I look ?" 
 
 " Wilful and conceited l" said Annie, as 
 the offended girl flounced out of the room. 
 
 Annie did not speak thus because she was 
 mortified ; but from what she believed to be 
 her duty. She had no personal vanity to 
 occasion mortification, therefore Greraldine' s 
 coarse remarks had not galled her, but she 
 was greatly annoyed at the supposition that 
 Mrs. Maberly might imagine she had 
 prompted Greraldine's request to admit the 
 solitary governess to her circle. The next 
 day, Mrs. Maberly said to her, " I should 
 have asked you down-stairs yesterday even- 
 ing, Miss Sherwood, but it would not be 
 quite the thing. I have so many brothers I" 
 
 " Thank you," replied the governess, " I 
 find my time quite filled." 
 
 Annie had habitually such command over 
 her emotions, that her feelings were not 
 betrayed, and Mrs. Maberly left her, with 
 the promise of sending her a nice book and 
 some patterns for collars ; and bore away 
 with herself the comfortable assurance that 
 she might pursue her selfish policy without
 
 224 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 making her governess discontented. As for 
 her dress, no doubt Geraldine's mother appre- 
 ciated its shabbiness as much as she did ; 
 but then, who would see her toilette, shut 
 up in that remote room at the top of the 
 house ? On the whole, Mrs. Maberly liked 
 Annie Sherwood, that is, she suited her pur- 
 pose, so she did not ill-treat her ; but she 
 took care to show her a back staircase, and 
 hinted that she had much better use it — of 
 course, entirely for her own convenience.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 225 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Annie Sherwood seldom strayed from the 
 precincts of her school-room, she had no 
 reason for passing beyond. Her pnpils dis- 
 liked walking, so of course they never walked, 
 and she had little inducement to wander out 
 alone. If she did so, it was with such a 
 feeling of utter solitude, that she hastened 
 back to the gloom of her own apartments, 
 where, from the hour in which the children 
 left her, no human foot but her own re- 
 sounded till the following morning, unless 
 it were that of the servant who had greeted 
 her on her arrival, and whom Annie soon 
 learned to thank as the thoughtful provider 
 of the many comforts with which she was 
 furnished — comforts which were so utterly at 
 variance with the habitual negligence of the 
 family towards her, that they seemed at first 
 to have dropped direct from the skies. 
 
 Mrs. Maberly had, as she told Annie, a 
 number of brothers. One of them was 
 peculiarly interesting, on account of his 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 having endured some real or imaginary per- 
 secution. He had challenged his commander, 
 who had in some way offended his dignity, 
 perhaps by exacting more subordination 
 than Mr. Augustus Fitzgerald Oakley 
 thought proper to be yielded by one of his 
 
 descent and position in the county of . 
 
 Through some inconceivable mistake, or 
 some gross blunder on the part of Captain 
 Blessington, of H.M.S. " Medusa," he had 
 failed to discover the immense merits of 
 Lieut. Augustus Fitzgerald Oakley, and had 
 io-norantly confounded him with the sons of 
 many other country squires of small for- 
 tunes and large pretensions, and had con- 
 sequently made no distinction in discipline 
 between the said Lieut. Augustus Fitzgerald 
 Oakley, and Lieut. Jones, Lieut. White, 
 Lieut. Smith, Lieut. Brown, Lieut. Thomp- 
 son, or — any other lieutenant ! The conse- 
 quence was, that Lieut. Augustus Fitzgerald 
 Oakley watched his opportunity, caught at 
 some words of disparagement supposed to 
 be uttered by the Captain, and repeated to 
 Oakley by an empty-headed woman, and 
 boldly challenged him. Capt. Blessington 
 was a man of sense; his known bravery 
 made it unnecessary for him to establish liis
 
 ANNE SHE11W00D. 2:27 
 
 reputation by blowing out the Lieutenant's 
 brains, and he wisely declined compromising 
 his own dignity by fighting his subordi- 
 nate. On this the fury of Lieut. A. F. 0. 
 raged uncontrollably ; he did everything 
 insulting which he possibly could to arouse 
 the spirit of Captain Blessington and force 
 him to fight, but his expectations were dis- 
 appointed ; instead of meeting his com- 
 mander in the field, he awoke one morning 
 to find himself under arrest ! 
 
 Poor unhappy Augustus Fitzgerald Oak- 
 ley ! he was not literary, or he might have 
 written verses ; not a philosopher, or he 
 might have pondered how Pompey fell, or 
 other men at least as great as Pompey or 
 himself ! 
 
 It was believed by some that Captain 
 Blessington would have made strenuous 
 efforts to soften the sentence of the court- 
 martial to which Oakley's own intemperate 
 folly had brought him, but his threats con- 
 tinued so very warlike, that the only means 
 of taming the belligerent seemed to be to 
 deprive him of his sword. So Lieut. Augustus 
 Fitzgerald Oakley was broken, and her Ma- 
 jesty's royal navy deprived of its brightest 
 ornament (in his own estimation), in fact, of 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the only man capable, should opportunity 
 offer, of eclipsing- the immortal names of 
 Howe and Nelson. 
 
 Since the decision of the venal court — as 
 the ex-Lieut, was pleased to call the just 
 tribunal which had per force condemned 
 him — Mr. Augustus Fitzgerald Oakley had 
 resided on his paternal estate, a dilapidated 
 old place, which he fondly imagined one of 
 the most valuable in the county. He had 
 lived in retirement, from which few of the 
 neighbouring families cared to draw him, as 
 it was generally known, that he solaced him- 
 self for past misfortunes by low pleasures. 
 Those who lived at a distance, and knew 
 him only through newspaper reports (espe- 
 cially the ladies), had transformed him into 
 a fieros de Boman, imagining, as man}' people 
 do, that misfortune and merit are insepa- 
 rable. 
 
 On the whole, A. F. 0. was rather what 
 the French call redevable to the circumstances 
 which had occurred ; as to them he owed a 
 species of notoriety .which he and his rela- 
 tions mistook for celebrity, and which he 
 certainly never would have enjoyed had it 
 not been for the timely persecution of Capt. 
 Blessington.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 2.29 
 
 Among the ladies whose imagination, if 
 not their sensibilities, had been touched by 
 reading the newspaper paragraphs of which 
 Oakley was the hero, was Annie Sherwood. 
 His apparently gallant spirit had taught her 
 to extenuate conduct, which her principles 
 could not approve, and the issue of the trial 
 secured her strongest, warmest sympathies 
 for the supposed sufferer. The affair was 
 not recent, but she remembered it well, and 
 when the communicative Greraldine told her 
 that the hero was her uncle, Annie was not 
 only interested, she was positively anxious 
 to see this " observed of all observers," as 
 she believed Mr. Oakley to be, and fully 
 expected to find him, "the glass of fashion 
 and the mould of form ;" in fact, in every 
 Way interesting. 
 
 Thenceforward, for one long month Annie 
 had an object in view that broke the mono- 
 tony of her existence. She liked (herself 
 unseen) to take her station by the window, 
 and watch for his possible coming. Late 
 one night she stood by that window — not 
 looking for the hero of her imagination, but 
 watching the troop of stars come forth from 
 the prevailing gloom, like bright hopes 
 arising in a despairing mind; and as she
 
 230 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 gazed, the poor solitary governess wondered 
 whether any stars would ever come forth to 
 light the midnight of her darkened life ! It 
 was spring-tide, but still cold, nevertheless 
 Annie Sherwood threw open the window ; 
 and believing that at that hour she must be 
 perfectly unobserved, she leaned for some 
 time on the sill, resting her head upon her 
 hand. Presently she thought she heard a 
 rustling among the leaves (some of which 
 still strewed the ground), but after listening 
 for a while, she persuaded herself that it 
 was a nervous fancy, and looked neither for 
 an apparition ghostly nor bodily. A little 
 later, the full-orbed moon came forth, and 
 dimming the stars, gloriously lit up the lawn 
 and shrubberies. It w r as a lovely night 
 indeed, and Annie repeated to herself the 
 lines from The Merchant of Venice, where 
 Lorenzo says to Jessica — 
 
 "How fair the moonlight sleeps upon that bank ;" 
 
 and she w r anted some one with her to share 
 the pleasure she felt in gazing on such a 
 scene. She arose, and sought the only com- 
 panion of her solitude, a book ; she needed 
 no lamp but the serene light of heaven, and 
 she sat down again by the window and read
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 231 
 
 The Martyrs of Science (wherein science be- 
 comes poetry), and while she communed 
 with the sonl of Gralileo, she read too, in his 
 book, the firmament. 
 
 Again the sound that she had heard, like 
 footsteps, struck her ear, and then a tap at 
 one of the lower windows. A tall figure 
 cast its shadow on the broad moonlight, and 
 a young man stepped forward and paced up 
 and down, not on the gravel path, but on 
 the soft, yielding grass. His slight figure 
 seemed well formed, and as he took off his 
 hat, and shook back the dark locks from his 
 brow, that brow, and the hand which re- 
 vealed it, looked white as December's snow- 
 wreath. Annie forgot the natural effect of 
 moonlight ; forgot, moreover, that 
 
 " Distance lends enchantment to the view," 
 
 and mentally pronounced that Augustus 
 Oakley (for who else could it be) was in- 
 deed the " mould of form" her fancy had 
 pictured, and she paraphrased Borneo s ex- 
 clamation into 
 
 " His beauty hangs upon the wings of night 
 Like a rich jewels in an Ethiop's ear V\ 
 
 Then she smiled at herself, and thought how 
 she would have laughed at Ellen, if she had
 
 232 A^'NE SHERWOOD. 
 
 thus admired a handsome stranger. Still, 
 though she mocked herself, Annie would 
 probably have dreamed of the hero of the 
 night, had not her bud of romance been 
 cruelly snapped from its stem by a veiy 
 vulgar reality. A circumstance occurred to 
 account for Mr. Oakley's apparent admira- 
 tion of a moonlight scene, which he might 
 have enjoyed equally on his own lawn : it 
 was soon apparent that he had an appoint- 
 ment with a servant-maid of his sister's, 
 whom Annie afterwards accidentally disco- 
 vered to be a young woman who waited on 
 the school-room party, wearing no cap, but 
 very carefully-dressed flaxen hair, and boast- 
 ing a pair of deep blue eyes, as blue as glass 
 beads, and very much like them ! Annie 
 Sherwood shut the window and went to bed, 
 rather chilled and disappointed in her little 
 romance, but fortunately saved from the 
 humiliation and sorrow, of becoming too 
 deeply interested in her patroness's libertine 
 brother. 
 
 A few days after, as Annie was walking 
 through one of the shrubberies, she overtook 
 Mrs. Maberly's youngest child — a little 
 boy, scarcely two years old, who had strayed 
 forth unnoticed. She took the little thing
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 233 
 
 in her arms, and was coaxing him into a 
 better acquaintance, when a gentleman 
 stepped forth from another path, and began 
 to play with the child over Annie's shoulder, 
 but without speaking or bowing to her. 
 He however quite made up for his silence 
 by the unscrupulous impertinence with which 
 he examined her half-averted face. Appa- 
 rently the examination did not please 
 him j for as Annie was going to place 
 the child on the walk, and leave it to his 
 care, the gentleman (?) whistled and turned 
 away. 
 
 Annie had not failed to recognise the hero 
 of the moonlight adventure, though the 
 glare of day stripped him of many advan- 
 tages, with which the goddess of night had 
 invested him. He was good-looking, cer- 
 tainly; but the bright, pinky hue of his 
 cheeks gave him at once an effeminate and a 
 vulgar stamp, and yet worse, he looked 
 what he was — a brainless fool. He was, 
 after all, not the interesting object of Cap- 
 tain Blessington's persecution, for in the 
 course of the evening Geraldine (who was 
 always unwilling to suppress any informa- 
 tion she possessed) exclaimed, "Miss Sher- 
 wood, I was quite right in saying you were
 
 234 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 ugly ! Uncle Hal says you are a fright, and 
 
 a dowdy, and " 
 
 " You need not tell me the rest." 
 " Oh, but I must ! He says he was very 
 curious to see you (he always is curious 
 when any new nurse or maid comes), but 
 now he has seen you, he never wants to look 
 at your face again ! I heard him tell mamma 
 so (I stood behind the arbutus hedge to 
 listen) ; and mamma laughed very much, and 
 said she knew him and Uncle Augustus far 
 too well to have a pretty governess, and that 
 she was very glad you were ugl}', but that 
 you suited her very well, and so Uncle Hal 
 must not tease and make fun of you, but 
 leave you alone." 
 
 It was all in vain that Annie tried to set 
 before Geraldine the impropriety of listening 
 to conversations not meant for her ear. 
 She did not seem to know what " wrong ' 
 meant ; so Annie tried to explain by Ellen's 
 word " sinful," and was met by the startling 
 remark, from a girl scarcely eleven, " But 
 perhaps the Bible is not true ! Uncle Hal 
 told me it wasn't ; and if he is right, of 
 course it's no matter if we do bad things, as 
 we sha'n't be punished for them !
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 235 
 
 The governess heard the child's speech 
 with the deepest consternation, and gazed 
 on her with a conntenance so full of sorrow 
 and pity, that the girl's heart was touched, 
 and its best feelings awakened. She threw 
 her arms round Annie, expressed contrition, 
 and promised not to say such things again, 
 though she added, naturally enough, " I am 
 always hearing them from my relations, 
 though papa and mamma don't talk so. 
 Uncle Augustus never goes to church ; 
 Uncle Hal does sometimes, but then it's to 
 see some one. I know who 1" she added, 
 slily. 
 
 " But, Greraldine, you promised me that 
 you would try to avoid saying or doing 
 wrong things. Now, if you really mean to 
 keep your word, you must resolve never to 
 listen when your parents or uncles are 
 talking ; or, if you hear anything acciden- 
 tally, not to repeat it." 
 
 " But don't you like to hear everything, 
 Miss Sherwood ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, there are many things I 
 would much rather not hear, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " Well, I can't understand that at all ! I
 
 236 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 like to hear everything that happens, and 
 more too. I would much rather people 
 would invent something to tell me, than 
 that I should hear nothing new. Oh, I 
 must tell you one thing — I really must. Do 
 you know what the nurserymaid says ? She 
 thinks it quite beneath her to wait on the 
 school-room, and says you're a hired servant 
 just as much as she is ! Uncle Hal thinks 
 her very pretty ; do you call her pretty?" 
 
 " Oh, Geraldine, your word is already 
 broken; you promised me " 
 
 " I'll try and keep my promise, indeed I 
 will. I mean to begin to-morrow, but habit 
 is so strong !" 
 
 " Strong indeed !" said the disheartened 
 governess, shaking her head. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Geraldine rushed to 
 the window. " Come here, Miss Sherwood ! 
 come here !" she cried suddenly. Willing to 
 please her by compliance, Annie went over 
 to the window. A gentleman was at the 
 door on horseback, his hat was off, his face 
 fully revealed. He was about forty ; plain 
 would be a very mild word to describe his 
 coarse features, unredeemed by any pleasing 
 or intelligent expression. The only thing 
 that countenance spoke was fierce passion
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 237 
 
 and gross sensuality ; his figure was short 
 and thick set. " There ! that is Uncle 
 Augustus, Miss Sherwood; the one I told 
 you about, who wanted to fight with Captain 
 Blessington !"
 
 238 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " My best-loved Annie, — 
 
 " How welcome your kind letters are to 
 me, doubly welcome since their cheerful tone 
 assures me that you are not unhappy. I 
 prayed and hoped it might be so, till at last 
 I began to feel confident that your merits 
 must command the consideration they de- 
 serve. 
 
 " You have told me to write about myself 
 (though I would much rather talk of you, at 
 once an easier and a pleasanter task), and I 
 will try to do as you wish. In my existence 
 no change ever comes. I am sure I ought 
 to be contented, for no one ever finds fault 
 with me, and when my day's work is over, 
 which it is at eight o'clock, I am left entirely 
 to myself. I believe the Ferrers actually 
 forget my existence. Of course the evening 
 is quite at my own disposal. I am sorry to 
 say that there is no piano in the school-room, 
 (I give the children their music lessons in 
 the drawing-room, when the family are out
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 239 
 
 driving or walking,) so that I cannot practise. 
 There is often music down- stairs in the even- 
 ings ; I used to leave my door open to listen, 
 hut it made me feel sad, so now I shut my- 
 self in and read, when I can get a hook. 
 
 " Miss Ellen used to come for an hour 
 every evening to talk to me, which made me 
 feel very grateful, I thought it so kind j but 
 she tried so hard to convince me that our 
 dear father's system of religion was errone- 
 ous, that at last her visits became more pain- 
 ful than pleasant. She was then very low 
 church, but now has gone into the contrary 
 extreme. But I must tell you some of the 
 late events of this little world of Elmgrove. 
 I should not feel it right to talk of the 
 family I live with to any one else, but you, 
 dear Annie, you are myself! 
 
 " You remember that in one of my former 
 letters I spoke of a new curate coming, and 
 of Miss Ellen's dread of Puseyism arriving 
 in his train ? Well, he did come, that 
 dreaded curate, and all her predictions were 
 strangely verified. Mr. Newingham preached 
 in a surplice the first Sunday after his arrival, 
 and showed various other signs of Oxford 
 training. Mr. Pendex — Mr. Weston is rather 
 lax, though it seems unkind to say so of him,
 
 240 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 and perhaps he is better described as an easy, 
 good-natured man, who, unless people do 
 something very glaring, w r ill see no fault in 
 them, and lets them have all their own way. 
 Mr. Newingham is a great zealot ; but seems 
 amiable and pleasant, and certainly is 
 remarkably handsome. The Squire of Elm- 
 grove — Le. 9 my patron — is very much opposed 
 to Puseyism ; he not only refuses to invite 
 Mr. Newingham, but after remonstrating 
 with the Vicar on the impropriety of his 
 choice, has grown quite cool to him, and 
 will not attend church when the curate 
 preaches. The ladies of the family, however, 
 attend, and you w T ill scarcely believe me 
 when I tell you that Miss Ellen was con- 
 verted almost immediately to the Tractarian 
 views. I am sure she is perfectly sincere, 
 and she certainly does a great deal of good, 
 incessantly visiting the poor, and schools, 
 &c. She is the only member of the family 
 personally acquainted with the curate ; of 
 course they are drawn together by his duties, 
 and the good works in which she delights. I 
 should not be surprised, with her enthusiastic 
 character, if she became a Sellonite. 
 
 " There is something of a poetical and ima- 
 ginative cast in this Puseyism. I like their
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 241 
 
 beautiful churches, their grandchoral services, 
 and their self-denying charities, but I cannot 
 get reconciled to a system which magnifies 
 human merits ; surely we have nothing to 
 boast. I have positively caught myself 
 writing reflections for which I have not head 
 enough, so I must return to Mr. JSTewingham. 
 He has a fine voice, and his preaching is 
 often effective in matter, always so in man- 
 ner j but I wish he would talk to us a little 
 more of God and the Bible, and a little less 
 of ' the church !' Our dear father used to 
 explain ' the church' as formed of all 
 believers and doers of the Word ; Mr. 
 Newingham's theology makes it a body of 
 ecclesiastics. 
 
 "Poor Miss Ellen is getting into great 
 trouble at home on account of her new 
 views. Her father is vexed and angry, her 
 sisters and Mr. Vincent (he almost lives 
 here), rally her unmercifully. She does not 
 now bring forward texts as she used to do 
 when assailed, but quotes instead the Fathers, 
 and ' Tracts for the Times/ She seems born 
 to be a martyr ; but she takes persecution 
 so joyfully, that I suspect she has either the 
 fancied consciousness of meriting reward, or 
 else she is attached to Mr. Newingham, and 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 bears all for his sake. Perhaps it is so, they 
 are so much together. 
 
 " Now, Annie, you must not think, from 
 what I am going to tell you, that I have 
 grown vain and foolish, for I know he is 
 only amusing himself at my expense ; but if 
 I chance to meet Mr. Francis Vincent alone, 
 (though he never addresses one word to me, 
 or one look, in the presence of any other 
 person,) he immediately begins talking, and 
 pays me the most exaggerated compli- 
 ments. 
 
 " If he sees any one approaching at such 
 times, he darts off, as if detected in a crime ! 
 You must not fancy I am flattered or pleased 
 by these attentions ; he is the last man whose 
 compliments I should value ; and he is on 
 other occasions so grossly rude, that I must 
 despise him. Only fancy his meeting me in 
 the hall, walking before me into the dining- 
 room to luncheon, and seating himself with- 
 out offering me a chair, and perhaps the very 
 next day telling me I am an angel, and that 
 he adores me. I believe he knows pretty 
 well what I think of him. I am not sur- 
 prised Miss Ellen admires Mr. Kewingham, 
 however extravagant his views may be : he is 
 evidently a highly-bred, as well as a clever
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 243 
 
 man ; she must contrast his polish with her 
 cousin's coarse vulgarity. 
 
 " Mrs. Ferrers continually lies on the sofa, 
 but I cannot tell why, for she looks quite 
 strong and well. When her husband is 
 away, the young ladies are often very rude 
 to her, but she does not mind it, and reads 
 all the new novels with uninterrupted plea- 
 sure. 
 
 " My charges do not improve, I am 
 sorry to say ; perhaps I have a wrong 
 method with them, but I am afraid they are 
 learning nothing. They so often run away, 
 and hide themselves at lesson-hours, that a 
 great part of my time is consumed in hunt- 
 ing for them ; it is usually on these occasions 
 I meet that odious Mr. Vincent. I never 
 called any one odious before. You see the 
 commerce of the world makes one wicked ! 
 but indeed, he is very disagreeable; you 
 would almost hate him. 
 
 " I am very much interested in what you 
 told me of your discovery; I mean, that 
 Mr. Augustus Oakley is Mrs. Maberly's 
 brother. Perhaps, by this time, you have 
 seen him ; pray tell me exactly what he is 
 like. I can't help fancying him something 
 of a hero. I declare your going to his sister's 
 
 r 2
 
 244 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 may prove quite a little romance ! After 
 all, though, one can't help sympathising with 
 such an interesting person ; it was wrong in 
 him to want to fight a duel. So don't lose 
 your heart to him. / should not like you to 
 marry him, Annie, unless he were very, very 
 sorry for having sent a challenge. 
 
 " Your loving sister, 
 
 Ellen." 
 
 Poor simple Ellen ! Your letter must 
 stand as you wrote it ! But what a day- 
 dream ! Mr. Augustus Fitzgerald Oakley 
 marry your plain little governess sister I 
 Silly, silly Ellen ! you have been poring 
 over fairy tales by the light of your single 
 dim candle ! Mr. Augustus Fitzgerald 
 Oakley ! What next ? a royal duke ?
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 245 
 
 CHAPTEK XV. 
 
 " A dismal letter, dear Annie, I must send 
 you this time ; I am afraid I must, though 
 I had quite resolved only to write cheer- 
 fully, but I have been so vexed and annoyed 
 lately that I cannot refrain from telling you 
 of my little trials. I have had one pleasant 
 surprise however, but I hope you wont 
 laugh at me for calling it pleasant, when 
 you know what it is 1 Indeed, I have had 
 two surprises lately ; not the least has been 
 
 j 
 
 to recognise in a young relation of Mrs. 
 Ferrers', who is spending his vacation at 
 Elm grove, the jjreicx chevalier who de- 
 livered me from a monster, and so strongly 
 recommended to us the study of Froissart. 
 He is a very nice, amiable, high-spirited 
 lad, as his timely assistance once testified. 
 Perhaps I should not have recognised him, 
 only that he came into the school-room one 
 day, and turning over some books, in the 
 course of conversation, exclaimed — c Have 
 you ever read Eroissart, Miss Sherwood?'
 
 246 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 concluding with, £ Pray do read Froissart, if 
 you have not.' Mr. Beresford, for that is 
 his name, certainly did not recognise me the 
 least ; but involuntarily I laughed so heartily 
 that I was heard in another part of the 
 house. Little did I know the mortifica- 
 tion which that unfortunate laugh was to 
 cause me ! 
 
 "Mr. Beresford looked rather surprised 
 and offended. Of course I apologized, and, 
 regarding him in the light of a youth, I 
 think that when I begged his pardon I 
 shook hands with him. I told him that 
 I was the person to whom he had some 
 months before shown great kindness, and he 
 appeared much pleased at the recognition. 
 I, too, was pleased, for of course after what 
 had passed I felt that we could not be quite 
 strangers to each other. I am afraid you 
 will think I acted imprudently in recalling 
 our unpleasant adventure ; but I think, 
 indeed I am sure, our young knight -errant 
 has too much discretion to publish it. 
 
 " The next day, when I took the children 
 out, young Beresford went with us ; and I 
 was very glad to have him to talk to, for 
 though a mere boy in years, he is very 
 sensible and well read. But oh, Annie
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 247 
 
 dear ! it seems that I committed a grievous 
 indiscretion in allowing a youth of sixteen 
 to accompany my pupils and myself. When 
 we returned, Miss Ferrers was standing at 
 one of the windows, and looked so extremely 
 ill-natured, that her very glance made me 
 nervous. I had scarcely taken my bonnet 
 off before I was summoned to Mrs. Ferrers' 
 presence. After motioning me to draw near 
 the sofa, she began in her usual gentle voice 
 (a very gentle one it is), to this effect : ' I 
 am grieved and pained, Miss Sherwood, after 
 the good opinion I had formed of one so 
 strongly recommended to me by my sister, 
 to be constrained to remonstrate with you 
 on the levity, not to say the gross impro- 
 priety of your conduct !' I was shocked, 
 Annie ! completely stunned ! The very ex- 
 clamations of surprise and pain which I 
 might naturally have uttered, were checked 
 by the choking tears which gushed forth in 
 spite of me. I could not ask an explanation 
 in words, but I suppose my face of dismay 
 spoke for me. * The preceptress of youth is 
 particularly called on for discretion,' con- 
 tinued Mrs. Ferrers ; ' and a young person 
 in your position, should be doubly careful to 
 evince, by the modesty of her demeanour,
 
 it i 
 
 (C 
 
 248 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 that she has no intention or desire to lay 
 snares for any gentleman !' 
 
 Snares I' I gasped out. 
 Yes, Miss Sherwood,' she repeated, in 
 the same soft voice ; ' Snares. I must re- 
 quest that while you are in my ser — my em- 
 ployment, you will refrain from receiving 
 gentlemen in the school-room. 5 
 
 " ' I have never received any gentlemen 
 there/ I replied; and all this time I was 
 standing at the foot of Mrs. Ferrers' couch, 
 and feeling quite sick and faint. 
 
 " ' Can you deny Mr. Beresford having 
 heen there yesterday?' I was going to say 
 that I regarded him as a mere boy, but Mrs. 
 Ferrers did not intend me to answer; she 
 was now growing warmer. 'Nay; do not 
 add duplicity to impropriety,' she exclaimed; 
 ' not only was he there, but you were seen, 
 through the open door, holding his hand, or 
 he yours, which is much the same thing. 
 And I find that this morning he has accom- 
 panied you in your walk ! You may now 
 retire ; your youth and inexperience induce 
 me to be lenient; but remember, it is the 
 last time I can pass by such glaring miscon- 
 duct ; if it occurs again, you Avill leave !' 
 
 " Oh, Annie ! my agony at these unmerited
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 249 
 
 accusations made me feel as if my heart 
 would burst. I tried hard to speak, but 
 words utterly failed me ; my breath came in 
 gasps, and I stood riveted to the spot. Mrs. 
 Ferrers waved me away, with one word — 
 f Remember !' and turned again to her book. 
 Still I stood; I had no power to move. 
 Young Beresford came in ; he looked sur- 
 prised and sorry to see me in tears. But 
 there is an intuitive delicacy of feeling in 
 that boy, and he uttered no exclamation. 
 When, at length, I turned to leave the 
 room, he hastened to open the door for me, 
 and, as he did so, bowed. 
 
 " A loud, ringing laugh from a bay-window 
 at the end of the room made me start ; it 
 came from Miss Ferrers, who had been 
 present, though I was quite unconscious of 
 it, and had witnessed the whole scene of 
 humiliation. I went straight to my work ; 
 my pupils were doubly troublesome, or I 
 less patient than usual. I cried nearly all 
 day like a child. From that time Miss 
 Ferrers and Miss Sophia, especially the 
 former, have sneered at me whenever we 
 have met. Sometimes I think they have 
 noticed Mr. Vincent's talking to me now 
 and then, and imagine that I encourage
 
 250 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 him ; if so, they little know me, for I have 
 a complete aversion to him, and always 
 shim his path. If Miss Ferrers is attached 
 to her cousin, there is every excuse to be 
 made for her; and in any case, I must try 
 to avoid all angry and unforgiving feelings, 
 though it is hard to be accused of conduct 
 which makes one tremble to think of only. 
 
 " When I had a little recovered from my 
 agitation, I was tempted, very strongly 
 tempted, to return to the drawing-room, and 
 tell Mrs. Ferrers I would leave. But then I 
 thought over the trials we went through last 
 year, and our immense difficulties before we 
 could obtain situations, and I determined to 
 pray for patience, and hope on, feeling sure 
 that all will work for good in the end. 
 
 " I am not the only one in trouble ; poor 
 Miss Ellen is in great grief. I told you a 
 great deal about Mr. Newingham in my 
 last letter. He is certainly a man of talent, 
 but he has introduced so man}' innova- 
 tions in the service, and Mr. "Weston has 
 let him have so much of his own way, that 
 nearly all the people have deserted the 
 Church, and are gone over to the Wesleyans. 
 One day he actually retired from the altar 
 backwards, bowing all the time ; and, in
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 251 
 
 doing so, he gave ns the opportunity of 
 observing, that he had a small circle on the 
 crown of his head shaven, like the tonsure of 
 the Eoman Catholic priests. 
 
 a 'To keep him in the curacy after this 
 discovery was quite impossible, though he 
 was a great favourite with Mr. Weston, who 
 was sincerely grieved to part with him. But 
 he is gone, and poor Miss Ellen is broken- 
 hearted. She looks so wretched, I am afraid 
 she will have a fit of illness ; and, I am sorry 
 to say, that instead of trying to console her, 
 her sisters laugh and sneer at her openly, and 
 most unkindly encourage Mr. Vincent to do 
 the same. She has begun to come back to 
 me in the evenings, but she often sits with- 
 out saying a w r ord. I wish so much that I 
 could do something to comfort her ; she has 
 always been kind to me. Young Beresford 
 is gone. He never came into the school- 
 room again after that day: I asked him not 
 to do so, and he complied without asking 
 me for any reason. He knew that I should 
 not like to give an explanation. Only think, 
 Annie! the day before he left he rode over 
 to Groverton, and returned with a parcel 
 under his arm. Well, you will say there 
 was nothing wonderful in that; but after
 
 252 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 he was gone, I found on the school-room 
 table such a beautiful copy of Froissart. He 
 must have put it there while I was out. He 
 had written my name in it, and added, — ' In 
 remembrance of the 10th of September.' I 
 think that must have been about the date of 
 our first meeting. Ah! why should the 
 innocent friendship of this good youth be 
 construed into evil ! 
 
 "But, Annie dear, I have not yet told 
 you of my other pleasant surprise — I have 
 put that off till the last. I am like Miranda 
 in The Tempest, 
 
 ' I weep at that I'm glad of !' 
 
 and yet, perhaps } r ou will think it a mere 
 trifle when I have told you. But it is so 
 pleasant to see a face that is not quite 
 strange when one lives among those who 
 will always continue distant strangers, even 
 if I remain with them for years. 
 
 " You see I am beginning to know the 
 world, and have always seen many ot^ nvy 
 fanciful visions (of realizing friends in a 
 governess life) melt away 
 
 • Like snow-flakes in the river !' 
 
 But to return to him, to my story I mean. 
 I fear I am writing quite incoherently. The 
 very Sunday after poor Mr. Newingham's
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 253 
 
 abrupt dismissal, a candidate for the curacy 
 preached, and oh, Annie ! I was so surprised 
 to find it was none other than that Mr. 
 Stan cliff — but perhaps you forget the name. 
 I mean the gentleman in shabby black, with 
 the torn cuff, whom we saw at Mr. Major's 
 one day. Do you remember the circum- 
 stance ? I am sure you must — it was on 
 the 8th of June. The reason I remember 
 it so well is, because you joked me so much 
 about him. The surprise of seeing him, and 
 the remembrance of having met him at the 
 pawnbroker's once, together with the recol- 
 lection of your jokes, made me grow quite 
 scarlet, and I am almost sure that he looked 
 at me, as he came down the pulpit stairs. 
 
 "He preached such a beautiful sermon, 
 Annie, so different to Mr. Newingham's, so 
 very different, but just as clever, or more so. 
 The Squire went into the vestry to make 
 his acquaintance, and brought him home to 
 luncheon. He sat opposite me at table, and 
 though we had not been introduced, spoke 
 to me several times, and I am sure I made 
 awkward, silly answers, for I felt that every 
 one at the table was watching me. What 
 an uncomfortable feeling that is ! 
 
 " That evening Mrs. Ferrers sent for me
 
 254 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 to her dressing-room, and desired me to give 
 up curls, remarking that plain hair was much 
 more modest and becoming for a young 
 person in my situation. I have changed my 
 style accordingly, though it does seem very 
 strange not to leave me a free choice in such 
 a trifle ; but I thought it best to yield. 
 
 "I am certain Mr. Stancliff knew me 
 asrain : I wonder whether he remembers 
 the pawnbroker's shop as well as I do ? Is 
 it not very strange that I should meet him 
 here? By the bye, remember the spoons, 
 Annie ; the man told me that if we did not 
 pay back the money by the time the year 
 was finished, that the spoons would be his, 
 and he could sell them if he liked. 
 
 " Yes, it is very strange I should meet 
 Mr. Stancliff here, and he is so amiable 
 and pleasant, it is almost like seeing an old 
 friend. He certainly must have known me, 
 for he called me by my name as if it were 
 quite familiar to him, and when he went away 
 after luncheon the other day, he shook hands 
 with me. How different Mr. Vincent looks 
 to Mr. Stancliff; the one so rough and un- 
 couth, the other so gentle and polished. Do 
 you know of whom he makes me think ? — of 
 course I mean Mr. Stancliff — of Melancthon,
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 255 
 
 the gentle, elegant-minded Melancthon ! 
 He is quite as clever as Mr. Newingham, 
 and a thousand times more agreeable. I 
 think too, that he will be useful, if he stays. 
 I hope he will remain, if it does not hurt 
 poor Miss Ellen's feelings. She would not 
 go to church to hear him preach last Sunday, 
 but went (on foot) four miles to the town, to 
 St. Mary's, which is said to be Tractarian. 
 Mr. Stancliff is not quite low church, but 
 preaches practical sermons in beautiful, yet 
 simple language; the poorest hearer could 
 understand him, and the most refined would 
 discover nothing to offend their taste. 
 
 " But what a thoroughly selfish letter I am 
 writing! andnot a word about you, my dearest 
 Annie ! What a comfort it is to me to think 
 that you are in a nice family who can appre- 
 ciate you, and spare you those cruel morti- 
 fications so often inflicted on a poor depen- 
 dent. And yet, do you know, Annie, that 
 sometimes I do not think you quite tell me all. 
 At times I think you may have trials to en- 
 dure which you heroically keep to yourself, 
 while I — weak-minded, silly girl that I am — 
 pain you by the recital of petty grievances. 
 I will try for more courage ! 
 
 " Farewell, dearest, best of sisters ! guide,
 
 25G ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 counsellor, all and everything good and 
 kind ! I leave you to dive into Froissart. 
 Despite what has lately happened, my spirits 
 rise to-day like mercury in a July sun. 
 
 Your ever affectionate 
 
 " Ellen. 
 
 « ps.— It is decided Mr. StanclifF is to 
 remain here. Every one is charmed with 
 him, and Miss Ellen has most amiably pro- 
 mised to attend the church, in order to 
 oblige her papa, though I can well under- 
 stand that it will be a great trial to her, to 
 see any one in Mr. Newnngham's place. 
 
 " You must not think from what I have 
 said that I am unhappy at Elmgrove. I 
 am not ; indeed I am not. I become more 
 contented every day, and should regret a 
 change very much. The scenery round here 
 is so beautiful, I should enjoy my walks 
 extremely, if I were quite sure of never 
 meeting Mr. Vincent. The two Miss 
 Ferrers tease me still a good deal, but I do 
 not now seem to feel it. Mr. Stancliff is a 
 great favourite with them ; sometimes lie 
 rides with them, and they frequently urge 
 their papa to invite him to dinner."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 257 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Since we last peeped in at her, in her lonely 
 schoolroom, a bright beam of sunshine has 
 found its way through those thick, melan- 
 choly walls to cheer the solitary Annie 
 Sherwood in her sterile path. She has found 
 a jewel, to her of inestimable value, which 
 sheds rays of light on her monotonous, un- 
 interesting tasks ; and, reader, the gover- 
 ness's task is monotonous, is uninteresting, 
 when she sees no fruit of her weary months 
 of labour, no blossoms, no buds even, to 
 promise fruit at a far distant day. Yes, 
 Annie Sherwood's desert life has at last put 
 forth a flower, a solitary prison flower, and 
 she smiles on it fondly, like the man who 
 watered and reared " Picciola." She is com- 
 forted by one sweet consoler — she chides her- 
 self that she has doubted of humanity, and 
 grows reconciled to hourly trials. She has 
 found a lover, perhaps, you think ? Oh, no ! 
 but a warm-hearted, loving friend ; and the 
 lonely girl throws all the earnest feelings of 
 vol. i. s
 
 253 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 her nature into a romantic friendship, which 
 she dreams will last for life, and that friend- 
 ship is to her in place of the love she has 
 not known. 
 
 Annie came in one day from a solitary 
 walk in the grounds of Locksley Lodge. 
 In that walk she had met a lady who had 
 looked at her very earnestly, and with an 
 evident interest, in which no curiosity 
 mingled ; her face said plainly, " I should 
 like to talk to you — I see you are lonely ; so 
 am I ! Let us he friends." The stranger 
 was not a beauty — most people would have 
 called her plain ; perhaps she was so, but 
 Annie never saw it. 
 
 They had not spoken in words, but they 
 had already conversed ; Annie already loved 
 the unknown, and her imagination imme- 
 diately created for her, all the beauties we 
 invariably discover in a loved face. 
 
 When the governess came straight from 
 that pleasant meeting back to the school- 
 room, so far removed from all the household, 
 it did not look half so desolate. Nothing 
 had been changed ; there was still the same 
 old-fashioned, half-faded furniture, the thrice- 
 read book, the two or three shrivelled 
 flowers, the still, cold silence — for the noisy 
 
 <"V
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 259 
 
 children were all out ; but by some means 
 the whole scene wore a new aspect. Per- 
 haps it was that the rich sunset was throw- 
 ing its dazzling beams into the chamber ! 
 No, no, it was not that ; it was the kindly 
 smile cast by a stranger on the lonely one 
 which had lit her very soul within her, 
 and that soul now threw the reflection of 
 its own brightness on every surrounding 
 object. Annie sat down by the window, 
 and watched the gleaming of a white robe 
 in the distance among the green trees, much 
 as a lover would watch the new idol of his 
 affections. She had a friend there — she was 
 sure she had — the feeling was as delightful 
 as it was new. 
 
 Geraldine rushed in, her plain face lit with 
 a kind smile (for the child had a heart), and 
 exclaimed, " See what some one has sent 
 you ! I am not going to tell you who !" and 
 she put a fragrant bunch of lily-of-the-valley 
 into Annie's hand. 
 
 " You need not tell me, for I know," said 
 Annie, involuntarily pressing the flowers to 
 her lips, as she burst into tears. "Ah, how un- 
 grateful I have been to say there was no " 
 
 "Do finish your sentence, Miss Sherwood!'' 
 said Greraldine, " do, pray, instead of crying ! 
 
 s 2
 
 2 GO ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 That is such a provoking way of yours, 
 breaking off in the middle of a speech. You 
 are very, very disagreeable, and I wont tell 
 you a word of the message, that I wont ; 
 and you may guess it as well as you can !" 
 
 Annie was in too happy a mood for anger, 
 or even remonstrating, and gently drew from 
 Greraldine a message, which was to the effect 
 that her aunt Antonia would be very glad to 
 lend Miss Sherwood any books she had, and 
 had sent her some flowers from her own 
 garden. 
 
 From that day Annie's existence changed. 
 She saw Antonia, and they immediately be- 
 came friends ; in fact, they had been friends 
 before. 
 
 Antonia was the youngest of the Oakley 
 family, and had lived much in retirement. 
 She was not handsome, not clever, not dash- 
 ing, not attractive in any way, except to the 
 few who knew her kind heart ; and her own 
 people either knew it not, or were incapable 
 of appreciating it, if they did know it. 
 Antonia was three years younger than Annie 
 Sherwood : if she did not possess actual 
 talent, she had at least sufficient intelligence 
 to appreciate a mind which she unenviously 
 acknowledged to be deeper than her own.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 261 
 
 As yet the quality of worldly-mindedness did 
 not exist in Antonia, or it was wholly unde- 
 veloped. She did not enter into the full 
 absurdity of forming a romantic friendship 
 with a poor governess, whatever her friends 
 might do ; and in a very short time Annie 
 Sherwood and she became like shadows of 
 each other, and interchanged their thoughts 
 with the frank ingenuousness of school-girls. 
 
 Together they read, thought, and felt; 
 their happy intercourse existing without the 
 shadow of envy on the part of the less 
 gifted. Annie's labours became pleasanter 
 to her ; not that their nature had altered, 
 not that her pupils' humours had changed, 
 but that when the tasks were over, there 
 would be a nice walk with Antonia, or a 
 pleasant visit from her, during which the 
 world's masquerading would not step in, to 
 disguise a single thought of either ingenuous 
 nature; during which Annie might fondly 
 dwell on the praises of her young sister, 
 talk freely of her hopes and fears for her, 
 and even of her aspirations for herself, bold 
 and daring as they were, for Annie knew her 
 own powers. Antonia loved her, and enthu- 
 siastically shared her dreams. 
 
 When in after life, that confiding pair
 
 262 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 became women of the world, and had learned 
 to wear the mask that worldlings assume, 
 perhaps each looked back with a sigh of 
 regret to their trusting friendship ; certainly 
 one did, and bore v about with her an abiding 
 grief, that friendship, like love, is too often 
 doomed to wear a thorn, when all its bright 
 petals are withered. 
 
 In the fulness of her joy at having found 
 a friend, Annie forgot the back staircase and 
 the many indignities which had been offered 
 her. When the Mr. Oakleys walked into 
 the room wearing their hats, and seated 
 themselves without one single word of cour- 
 tesy (reader, the Mr. Oakleys were well-born 
 gentlemen), if Annie felt indignant for a 
 moment she stifled the feeling, for she could 
 not be angry with Antonia's brothers. On 
 the whole, though worried and worn-out by 
 her pupils, neglected by their parents, in- 
 sulted by their relations, Annie was happy, 
 for she had a friend. Her evenings were 
 pleasantly spent in reading books, with 
 which Antonia's thoughtful kindness had 
 provided her, or in imaginative compositions, 
 in executing which she not only surrounded 
 herself with beautiful beings of her own 
 creation, but even bv dreams that the crea-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 263 
 
 tures of her fancy were destined for some- 
 thing more than an ephemeral existence. 
 
 In the midst of her newly-fonnd con- 
 tentment, Annie's peace was bitterly wounded 
 by receiving a letter from Ellen, with which 
 our readers are already acquainted. It ap- 
 peared to her a thousand times more terrible 
 that her sweet innocent sister should be 
 insulted by unjust accusations, than it had 
 appeared to Ellen herself; at least, Annie 
 bore it much worse. She was almost frantic 
 with indignation. Had it been herself, she 
 might have borne it in silent bitterness of 
 spirit, and derived some consolation from 
 the little-mindedness of her accusers ; but 
 Ellen — her dear, modest Ellen — she who had 
 been the light of their happy home and its 
 idol ! — she to be accused of impropriety ! It 
 was too much to endure. Annie instantly 
 wrote, not only entreating Ellen to leave 
 Elmgrove, but even laying her commands 
 on her, as an elder sister might, to depart 
 immediately. Ellen was to proceed to Lon- 
 don, and, with Bertha s counsel and assis- 
 tance, to place herself as a parlour-boarder 
 in a school, Annie fancying — and it was but 
 fancy — that her own moderate salary would 
 supply all her sister's wants.
 
 264 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Of course Annie expected to meet with 
 the ready compliance which Ellen was wont 
 to show. She looked anxiously for a reply 
 to her letter, quite certain that she should 
 hear of her sister's being already in town. 
 Her surprise was great, very great indeed, 
 when, instead of the intelligence expected, 
 she received an earnest, appealing letter 
 from Ellen, entreating her to allow her to 
 remain at Elmgrove, as she was so happy 
 there ! Her pupils were indeed rather wild ; 
 their mother had been unjust; but then 
 the little things were improving in conduct, 
 and she saw so little of the family, that they 
 had no opportunity of annoying her ; then 
 Elmgrove was such a sweet place, she was 
 growing quite attached to it. Ellen thought 
 too, and she w r as quite sincere, that the 
 ministry of Mr. Stancliff had been peculiarly 
 blessed to her. Perhaps it had. Perhaps 
 some other ladies of the Elmgrove congre- 
 gation thought the same — one certainly 
 did. Annie folded up the letter with a 
 sigh, and sat for a long time holding it 
 tightly between her hands, while her fore- 
 head rested on them, and she thought in 
 dejected sorrow of her sister's possible fate — 
 an unrequited attachment. Ellen was evi-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 265 
 
 dently, however unconscious of the truth, 
 becoming too deeply interested in the amiable 
 curate ; and that interest was heightened by 
 the little romance of their meeting again at 
 Elm grove, after their first rencontre under 
 peculiar circumstances. 
 
 " She must — she shall leave, before it is 
 too late !" cried Annie, starting up and 
 pacing the room. Then sitting down again, 
 her head once more drooped on her hands, 
 and she murmured, " No, no ; let her stay 
 and indulge her young dream of innocent 
 romance ! Love will be a heaven of light to 
 her, — why should I forebode clouds to dim 
 it? Ellen was born to love, I — only to 
 dream that such things are !" 
 
 So Ellen stayed at Elmgrove, and months 
 rolled on, and her letters were all so cheerful 
 and happy, and daily she grew more attached 
 to the beautiful scenery around !
 
 26G ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 " Dearest Annie, — After the letter which 
 you wrote to me live months since, in which 
 you told me to leave Elmgrove, I fully 
 resolved not to pain you again by the use- 
 less recitals of those grievances which people 
 in our position must expect to meet with, 
 and which no doubt true Christians would 
 bear with humility and resignation. I was 
 very vexed with myself for having so grieved 
 you with my selfish complaints, and deter- 
 mined that you should hear no more of 
 them. I have been enabled for some time 
 to keep my resolution, either by a change 
 in myself or in my circumstances — which, I 
 know not — but after the time I refer to, 
 either I grew more contented, or my path 
 less thorny. Yet now, Annie dear, I must 
 again grieve you. Either I have returned 
 to a murmuring spirit, or the thorns have 
 grown up sharper than ever. And now I 
 must really leave ; I think there is no choice 
 left me, — I must give warning, or receive it.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 267 
 
 But I must tell you, coherently if I can, 
 what has happened. About tw r o months 
 since, Mrs. Ferrers renewed her accusations 
 of impropriety. What would our father 
 have said — what would he have felt, to hear 
 me thus accused ! And then you will 
 scarcely believe that Ellen Ferrers is my 
 persecutor ! I am overwhelmed at the dis- 
 covery ; she used to be so kind, and never 
 at any time w r as haughty to me. But her 
 manner is altered lately ; not that she has 
 been proud — no, she has no pride ; but she 
 has said so many unkind, cutting things, and 
 even hinted that she considered me a re- 
 ligious hypocrite ; but still I could not have 
 believed that she would be the person to 
 misrepresent my most innocent actions. 
 She told Mrs. Ferrers that I was in the 
 habit of walking by the river-side with Mr. 
 Stancliff, and of corresponding with him. 
 I declare to you, dear Annie, that it is not 
 at all true. I have never done either ; I 
 will tell you the exact truth. 
 
 " Twice when wandering about in search 
 of the children, who had, as they often do, 
 run away from me, I met Mr. Stancliff, and 
 on each occasion he very kindly insisted on 
 hunting for them, while I sat down to rest,
 
 263 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 after running till I was out of breath. Two 
 or three times he has sent me books, and 
 once I had a drawing of his to copy ; and 
 altogether he has been so kind, so very kind, 
 that I really think he has done more to re- 
 concile me to Elmgrove than any one else. 
 And what was I to do, Annie? I could not 
 be ungrateful when he offered to spare me 
 fatigue by finding the children for me ! I 
 could not refuse the books, which he took 
 the trouble to walk to the town to fetch me ! 
 I assure you, Annie, and I know }-ou will 
 believe me, there was no letter with the 
 books, no note, not a line nor w T ord of writing. 
 But Mrs. Ferrers says — but listen, Annie, 
 and try to be patient. Mrs. Ferrers sent 
 for me. I went to her trembling, for I 
 knew I was to hear something dreadful. 
 
 " ' Miss Sherwood,' she exclaimed, ' we 
 must come to an understanding. I was 
 in hopes that out of regard to your own 
 interests, if not from principle, 3-011 would 
 have avoided the recurrence of the im- 
 proprieties with which I have already 
 had to reproach you. Now pray don't affect 
 that look of surprise ; you very well know 
 what I mean. All counsel appears lost on 
 you. You will force me to believe the doc-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 269 
 
 trine, which my naturally soft feelings long 
 made me reject, that young women only 
 enter families as governesses, the more 
 effectually to carry on their own base in- 
 trigues. Nay, that theatrical start, those 
 clasped hands, those tears, are quite useless. 
 I show kindness to my dependents always, 
 till ingratitude calls forth a severity quite 
 foreign to my nature/ 
 
 " ' But what have I done ?' I at last ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " ' What have you done ? rather what 
 have you not done ! Not contented with. 
 artful endeavours to inveigle the affections 
 of a mere youth — you well know I refer to 
 Mr. Beresford — Miss Ferrers has detected 
 you several times in cunning endeavours to 
 attract Mr. Vincent's attentions/ 
 
 " ' Mr. Vincent ! I detest the sight of Mr. 
 Vincent / I cried, I am afraid very passion- 
 ately. 
 
 " ' Unless in the shrubbery, I suppose, 
 Miss Sherwood !' said Miss Ferrers, entering, 
 and looking very maliciously at me. 
 
 " ' And I suppose you equally detest Mr. 
 Stancliff?' said Mrs. Ferrers, with a sneer. 
 
 " 'No, Madam, I respect and esteem him,' 
 I replied, as firmly as I could.
 
 270 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " * It is unfortunate/ said Mrs. Ferrers, 
 ' that your conduct will not allow him to 
 return the compliment. As it is, Miss 
 Sherwood, I am constrained to tell you that 
 Miss Ellen Ferrers informs me you are con- 
 stantly throwing yourself in his path, joining 
 in his walks, and even receiving letters from 
 him, though you must be perfectly aware 
 that no gentleman could offer a young person 
 in your situation attentions which she ought 
 to receive. I don't wish to be severe on 
 any one ; my servants can testify to my in- 
 dulgence. Of course I don't mean to say 
 that a governess should not look forward to 
 a settlement in life, as well as any one else ; 
 but if she has any discretion at all, she will 
 make no attempt to step out of her own 
 class. Had Mr. Park been the person in 
 question (Mr. Park is the village school- 
 master), I might have thought the ailliir 
 very suitable ; but one of the clergymen of 
 the parish ! really your head must be com- 
 pletely turned by vanity, to have thought of 
 such a thing ! As for Mr. Stancliff, if he 
 has any thoughts of you, he must be insane 
 to cut himself off from so many advantages. 
 Of course he knows that if he were to marry 
 beneath him, we could never ask him to our
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 271 
 
 table, where, under present circumstances, 
 whenever there is a vacant place, we are glad 
 to see a modest, unassuming young man. 
 You may retire, and go to your duties, Miss 
 Sherwood. See that you confine yourself to 
 them ; and remember, I must hear no more 
 of these improper doings !' 
 
 " I did retire, but firmly resolved that 
 nothing should make me submit to such an 
 attack again. At dinner, my eyes were red 
 and swollen with weeping. Every one 
 looked quite unconcerned except Mr. Ferrers, 
 who asked if I had a cold, and gave me a 
 glass of wine ; perhaps he did not know I 
 was in disgrace. 
 
 " I have been very careful since to avoid 
 Mr. Stancliff, but he looks sorry and vexed, 
 and I feel quite unhappy at seeming un- 
 grateful to one who has been so very kind 
 to me, and — but it is no use continuing. 
 
 " No, dear Annie, I will not accept your 
 generous offer of long ago. I will not live 
 at ease on the fruit of your toil, but will try 
 for employment ; perhaps I shall be happier 
 in my next engagement. 
 
 " I shall immediately write a note to Mrs. 
 Ferrers, and give her warning. I do not 
 feel that I have courage to talk to her. I
 
 '272 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 am a sad coward ! I have so little of what 
 people call spirit • in lieu of it, I must stri 
 and pray for Christian resignation, and a 
 heart to forgive. 
 
 " Dear Annie, don't be unhappy about 
 me ; I am sorry to leave Elmgrove, for, with 
 all their waywardness, I love the children 
 (there is always something to love in chil- 
 dren), and I shall regret Mr. Stand iff 's 
 ministry ; but if it be Grod's will for me to 
 depart, I shall try to make it my will too. 
 
 " This is a beautiful country ! I never 
 thought it so beautiful till I found I must 
 leave it. Mr. Stancliff draws ; he has pro- 
 mised to make a sketch of the church for 
 me ; at least, he did promise the last time I 
 spoke to him, but that is very long ago. 
 The church is very pretty, many centuries 
 old, with a tapering spire which, rising from 
 a cluster of dark trees, points to Heaven 
 like hope rising amid life's sombre cares. I 
 can't help loving this place. How strange 
 that one should love a place in which the}' 
 have suffered ! But then I have been happy 
 too sometimes, at Elmgrove, and I am not 
 sure, taking them all together, whether my 
 bright days would not outnumber my dark 
 ones. I often wonder why people count up
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 273 
 
 the rainy days, and talk so little of the 
 sunny ones, though they are so much more 
 numerous ; to-night I think I shall give my 
 warning, that is, if I can find courage ! 
 
 " I am just going to hang up the old shawl 
 that has so long been my curtain, but it 
 seems a sin to shut up the window that 
 shows so beautiful a scene. The moon is 
 shining on the landscape j I can see in the 
 distance the 'heaven-directed spire/ close 
 by it is the Eectory. Mr. Stancliff lives 
 with the Eector. I can fancy I see him 
 studying now by the light of the holy stars, 
 his pale, thoughtful face raised to heaven ! 
 
 " Oh, Annie ! I have something to tell you, 
 but I cannot write it, indeed I cannot. Do 
 you know that I am tempted, yes, strongly 
 tempted, to bear all these insults, and stay 
 at Elmgrove, but I will strive against the 
 weakness. 
 
 " Your loving sister, 
 '< Ellen." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 274 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 " Dearest Annie, — Do not be vexed with 
 ine when I tell you that, notwithstanding 
 your earnest wishes and my own determined 
 resolves, I foolishly hesitated to give the 
 letter of warning to Mrs. Ferrers ; indeed, I 
 have kept putting it off. 
 
 " I had written the intended note, but it 
 lay in my desk day after day, and though I 
 well knew how weak and silly I was, I kept 
 saying, 'To-morrow I will put it on Mrs. 
 Ferrers' table ; but the time never came ; yet 
 I did not know my own reasons for this 
 vacillating folly — perhaps I had no reason 
 but want of courage. I have been well 
 punished for my cowardice, as you will see, 
 dear Annie. One day last week I walked 
 out with the children before breakfast. We 
 had not gone very far, when I felt both the 
 little things suddenly snatch their hands 
 from mine, and before I could speak they 
 were off like arrows, and shouting with 
 merry laughter. I called after them in
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 275 
 
 vain; they were soon out of sight and 
 hearing. I often lose them thus, for two or 
 three hours. I ran as quickly as I could in 
 the direction they had taken, scarcely hoping 
 to find the truants, but not daring to return 
 without them! I was soon beyond the 
 grounds of Elmgrove. I met several poor 
 people, and asked if they had seen the 
 children. ' Yes, they had only just passed 
 that way.' I encountered Mr. Stancliff 
 coming out of a cottage; he seemed to 
 understand what my business was, and asked 
 if he could help me. I could not answer, 
 but shook my head and rushed on, leaving 
 him in the road, looking after me with 
 wonder ! At that minute the clock struck 
 the hour at which we always breakfast, and 
 Mrs. Ferrers likes us to be in at the exact 
 time. (The children breakfast with her ; I 
 quite alone in the school-room.) I well 
 knew that I should be blamed for their not 
 appearing, so I hastened on ; quite wearied 
 and out of breath, I found myself at the 
 entrance of a little wood. From within I 
 heard the mischievous laugh of little Franky ; 
 I was in hopes that the children were turning 
 back ; but no, I called till I was quite ex- 
 hausted, and they answered, but they led me 
 
 t 2
 
 276 annj; SHERWOOD. 
 
 such a weary chase for half an hour longer, 
 that at last (I am ashamed to confess it) I 
 leant against a tree and burst into tears. I 
 soon dried them, however, when I heard 
 some one approaching. Annie, it was that 
 hateful Mr. Vincent, and he came up to me 
 with the most impertinent smile. 
 
 « < What, in tears, my charming Ellen !' 
 he exclaimed, drawing nearer as I involun- 
 tarily retreated from his disagreeable pre- 
 sence. ' Come, don't fret,' he added, attempt- 
 ing to draw my hand through his arm \ ' these 
 little rogues have led you a nice chase, but 
 I can't find in my heart to be angry with them, 
 since they have procured me what I have so 
 long wanted — the opportunity of telling you 
 how much I adore you, and of telling it, too, 
 in this charming solitude. Come, we wont 
 leave it yet ; let us take a turn this way. 
 The children have gone home through the 
 village; you wont be missed, at least not 
 directly, and when you go back, you can say 
 you lost your way, you know ! Very likely 
 you may slip in unobserved. We can part 
 before we come in sight of the house, and 
 no one will know that ' 
 
 " ' Let me go, sir !' I exclaimed ; • I wish 
 to have nothing to do with you ; let me go !'
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 277 
 
 " ' I see how it is/ he said, confidently, 
 and still holding my hand so tightly that I 
 could not withdraw it. f You are jealous of 
 that fright, Sophy Ferrers ; but you little 
 know me ! I am only civil to her in case I 
 should one day find myself constrained to 
 marry her, or her tin, rather ! You need 
 not pout, for if I did, it could make no diffe- 
 rence in my feelings for you !' 
 
 " ' Your feelings are of no consequence to 
 me, sir/ I replied ; ' you have none belonging 
 to a gentleman or man of honour, or you 
 would not thus insult me!' 
 
 " ' Well, I had no idea you could look so 
 vixenish, but 'pon my honour it rather be- 
 comes you/ he cried ; ' why, you silly child, 
 what have I said or done to insult you? 
 You're really too romantic ! I want nothing 
 in the world from you, but that you should 
 take a turn with me in the wood, give me 
 two or three kisses from those pretty lips, 
 and keep your own counsel and mine. No 
 one need be the wiser, if you're only discreet, 
 and you'd see, I could meet you afterwards 
 without any one suspecting that we had ever 
 exchanged a word in our lives. See what I 
 have brought you from London, you little 
 vixen !' and he thrust a glittering ring into
 
 278 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the hand that was free. I am afraid, Annie, 
 that I have become very wicked, for what do 
 yon think I did ? Eeturn him the ring ? No, 
 I threw it with all my force over the bank 
 into the river; while he, though still de- 
 taining me, uttered an angry exclamation; 
 but cooling down, he added, ' After all, as I 
 find you've so much pluck, I think I'd rather 
 win your love than buy it !' 
 
 " ' My love !' said I ; ' I hate, despise, 
 loathe you !' 
 
 " ' No, no, I'm sure you don't/ he replied ; 
 ' give me a kiss, and let us be friends. 'Pon 
 my life I'd rather win you than the Derby !' 
 
 " ' It is plain I have no protector !' I ex- 
 claimed, in great misery, as I found the in- 
 sulting villain attempting to kiss me, despite 
 all my efforts to frustrate his intentions ; 
 but oh, Annie, what were my feelings of 
 joy and gratitude when I heard a well-known 
 voice calling out loudly, c Yes, yes, you have 
 one !' and at the same minute Mr. Vincent 
 staggered, and fell down heavily, from a 
 blow across his face, while Mr. Stancliff 
 stood beside me, trying to soothe me with 
 the kindest words and looks ; and I found 
 myself, though trembling with many con- 
 flicting feelings, clinging to his arm, as if he
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 279 
 
 had been my brother all my life ! He made 
 no attempt to move away from the spot, but 
 stood still, as if waiting for Mr. Vincent to 
 rise, which he slowly did, looking very like 
 what one fancies a bad spirit, a very per- 
 sonification of malice and hatred. 
 
 " ' Your cloth shall prove no protection to 
 you, sir/ he muttered, while his mouth was 
 bleeding profusely, which frightened me very 
 much, though I own it was more from fear 
 of the consequences to my kind preserver, 
 than from any pity for that wicked man 
 'What I dare do, I dare justify, sir,' said 
 Mr. Stancliff, with great dignity. ' But did 
 I need or desire protection, I should be 
 amply provided with it in your cowardice. 
 The man who would take advantage of her 
 friendless situation to insult an unprotected 
 girl, would scarcely have the courage to boast 
 of his exploits!' So saying, he turned and 
 led me away. But grateful as I was to 
 Mr. Stancliff for his kindness, I dreaded the 
 conclusion of the walk. He would not leave 
 me till I reached the house. On the way there 
 he said everything he could think of to con- 
 sole me and quiet my fears. But kind as 
 he was, his manner was so full of grave 
 respect, that I felt he was trying to efface
 
 280 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the remembrance of the mortifying insult I 
 had just received. As we walked along, 
 Mr. Stancliff told me that he was in the 
 habit of taking an early morning walk every 
 day ; that in those rambles he had often seen 
 me, but had never ventured to speak or 
 approach me, lest his doing so should excite 
 disagreeable remarks, for he had long noticed 
 that the Ferrers' family did not treat me 
 with kindness and consideration. He told 
 me too (though at the same time he begged 
 my pardon for having misconstrued my con- 
 duct so far), that he had been both surprised 
 and pained, at seeing me enter the wood alone 
 that morning, and Mr. Vincent immediately 
 after, as it made him fear that our meeting 
 was not wholly accidental. Of course I ex- 
 plained to him as well as I could, what had 
 led to the unfortunate meeting with Mr. 
 Vincent, and he seemed quite satisfied with 
 my account. 
 
 " Mr. Stancliff then asked me, onlv hesi- 
 tatingly, why I had avoided him so much 
 lately. I believe I looked quite silly and 
 confused, but it was of course impossible 
 to answer the question by telling him all, 
 or even a part of what Mrs. Ferrers had
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 281 
 
 said on the subject of my acquaintance with 
 him. 
 
 " When we reached the house, he said, 
 hurriedly, ' I cannot bid you good-bye now. 
 I have much more to say, but our walk has 
 been so hurried, I could not tell you all. But 
 you will let me go in with you? I must 
 see Mr. Ferrers on your account ; indeed I 
 must !' he added, earnestly ; and he held my 
 hand in his while he spoke, but so differently 
 to Mr. Vincent, that I could not feel offended. 
 1 I know,' he continued, ' the unpleasant 
 scene that awaits you with those heartless 
 women; perhaps there may be even some 
 misrepresentations from that miscreant. I 
 cannot bear you to brave the storm alone ! 
 Dear Ellen, let me shield you from it !' 
 Perhaps it would have been better if I had 
 yielded to his kind wishes ; but as it was, I 
 earnestly intreated him to forego his in- 
 tentions. I was so afraid of his injuring 
 himself; and felt that I would rather endure 
 anything, than occasion his receiving rude- 
 ness, perhaps insult. Besides, I dreaded 
 hearing a repetition of Mrs. Ferrers' charges, 
 and they would be probably made in his 
 presence, if he accompanied me. Mr. Stan-
 
 282 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 cliff reluctantly gave up the point, and 
 departed, taking leave of me more like an 
 affectionate though respectful friend, than a 
 comparatively recent acquaintance. 
 
 " I went in, you may be sure with a 
 beating heart, and hastening up-stairs found 
 I was an hour beyond my time, and that Ellen 
 Ferrers was seated in my place, teaching the 
 children. c Miss Sherwood V she exclaimed, 
 in a very harsh voice, ' so you have at length 
 returned ! Perhaps it will be agreeable to 
 you to perform a portion of your duties 
 yourself! The salary you receive might 
 surely entitle us to expect that your office 
 would be a little more conscientiously ful- 
 filled. But this is, I suppose, your view of 
 religious obligation; this, your exemplifi- 
 cation of faith and practice ! I am obliged 
 to do your work, while you are wandering 
 in the green shades with a sentimental 
 curate. You need not deny it/ she added, 
 in a very shrill voice, ' for you were seen ! 
 Happily, your career in this quarter will soon 
 be stopped however ! Mrs. Ferrers has au- 
 thorized me to tell you that you leave the 
 house the moment your quarter ends; 
 before indeed, if you attempt a renewal of 
 this morning's scenes. And as for Mr.
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 283 
 
 Stancliff, he had better beware how he acts ; 
 after having had the presumption to pay his 
 addresses to me, it is going rather too far 
 to transfer them to our dependent, though I 
 don't doubt the least that your artifices 
 rather than inclination, have drawn him 
 on to act absurdly ! You need not attempt 
 an explanation ; I will not listen to any : 
 nor need you try to see mamma; she has 
 promised to leave the business entirely in 
 my hands. One word of advice I give you, 
 though — stop short before your reputation 
 is quite gone. Eemember, as Mrs. Ferrers 
 said, no gentleman would or could marry 
 you !' I saw indeed, that I should be 
 allowed no opportunity of justifying myself, 
 so I merely replied that if I had not re- 
 ceived warning, I meant to have given it ; 
 indeed, had written a note to Mrs. Ferrers 
 on the subject, though I had not yet given 
 it to her. She told me plainly she did not 
 believe a word I said, so I gave her the 
 note, which she opened, read, and then 
 tore up. The perusal seemed to make her 
 more and more angry. She continued 
 talking in a violent tone for some time, 
 without suffering me to reply, but was in- 
 terrupted by Miss Ferrers, who rushed in,
 
 284 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 exclaiming, ' Poor Francis lias been thrown 
 from his horse, and had three of his front 
 teeth knocked out ! Do come, Ellen, and 
 stop Sophy's meddling; she will do him 
 much more harm than good. Pray do come, 
 and leave that creature !' A few minutes 
 after, I heard Miss Ferrers and her sister 
 Sophia quarrelling violently. Ellen tried 
 to pacify them, and her endeavours were met 
 with the ill-natured remark, l You know 
 you're only spiteful because Mr. Stancliff 
 has been making love to that little fright up- 
 stairs. You're just like the ox in the man- 
 ger, Ellen; you can't have him yourself, 
 and — ' I did not hear the rest of that 
 speech, but involuntarily caught enough to 
 show me that Mr. Vincent had forged a tale 
 of being thrown from his horse, to account 
 for the state, in which the well-merited chas- 
 tisement he had received from Mr. Stancliff, 
 had placed him j but I had quite made up my 
 mind that I would explain everything before 
 I left the house. 
 
 " I tried to be patient with the children at 
 their lessons that day, though they had oc- 
 casioned all the mischief. But after all, the 
 fault is not really theirs when they get one 
 thus into trouble ; they have been so badly
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 285 
 
 trained that they are beyond all authority, 
 and I have too little firmness and dignity to 
 counteract their previous bad training by 
 commanding obedience and respect. 
 
 " I am sure it is a great mistake, a very 
 great mistake, for poor gentlewomen to be- 
 come governesses, unless they have suitable 
 talents, and have been regularly taught their 
 profession. I am sure I wish to do my duty, 
 and I love children too much to be unkind 
 to them, but I want management and de- 
 cision ; they see that I do, and treat me 
 as a playmate, while their friends treat 
 me as — alas, I cannot say what ! but if 
 I were to stay here, my heart would be 
 broken. 
 
 " Yet I have not told you all, Annie ! 
 Are not dark and sunny skies strangely 
 blended ? Even while I write of injustice and 
 oppression, there is a glow of happiness in 
 my heart which the darkest memories could 
 not wholly shadow. 
 
 " Only think, Annie ! your simple little 
 sister, with neither mind nor talent, with 
 little to engage, and much to condemn in 
 her feeble character, is loved by the most 
 superior of men ! 
 
 " But you will be better pleased if I tell
 
 286 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 things ill order. Yesterday evening, to my 
 great surprise the footman knocked at the 
 school-room door, and then looking behind 
 him, as if he had some secret message to 
 deliver, pushed a letter into my hands, say- 
 ing, ' I fancy, Miss, here's something you'll 
 be glad to get, and as I've been paid hand- 
 some for being postman, I've run the risk 
 of bringing it to you. But I hope you'll 
 be prudent, and keep things nice and snug, 
 for as sure as you're alive, if Miss Sophy 
 finds us out (and she's as cunning as a cat) 
 if II cost you and me our places /' 
 
 " You would have found a ready answer 
 for such a speech, but I was too much stu- 
 pified to reply, and when he went away, I 
 had not the least notion of the man's errand. 
 The letter proved to be from Mr. Vincent, 
 and contained proposals even beyond the in- 
 sults he had already offered me. Every in- 
 dignant feeling in my nature was roused ; so 
 thoroughly did I feel exasperated, on finding 
 that the lesson enforced by the oaken stick 
 was not enough for him, that in the first 
 moments of resentment, I was going to carry 
 the letter straight to Mr. Ferrers. Perhaps I 
 ought to have done so, but after a little 
 (aimer thought, I resolved to leave him tu
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 287 
 
 that vengeance, which sooner or later over- 
 takes the guilty. 
 
 " This morning, dear Annie, has brought 
 me another letter, so different, so widely 
 different from that wicked Mr. Vincent's ! 
 I was so surprised, so frightened too, though 
 my fright was of a joyful nature, to think 
 that I, — poor little insignificant Ellen Sher- 
 wood, should — but I am growing quite inco- 
 herent again ! My letter was from Mr. Stan- 
 cliff, and he told me, Annie, that he loved 
 me, and hoped I would one day be his w T ife ! 
 His wife — I can scarcely believe it possible ; 
 I feel so unworthy of such a destiny ! He is 
 so immeasurably my superior. Only fancy 
 your little Ellen the wife of a learned, elo- 
 quent man ! 
 
 " He seems to feel sure I will accept him, 
 and yet he is the last man in the world who 
 would be vain or conceited. Perhaps he has 
 found out that I think him superior to every- 
 body else, but I hope not, lest he should 
 fancy me forward, and seeking his attentions, 
 as the Miss Ferrers say I am. I assure you, 
 dear Annie, I have done nothing wrong, at 
 least I hope not, and if he has discovered my 
 partiality, it must be because I have been 
 myself ignorant of its existence.
 
 288 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " He says that he is resolved to leave this 
 place immediately ; that he has the offer of a 
 better curacy in Somerset, and that in a few 
 months he hopes to have a home to offer me. 
 He adds so kindly, ' You must bring me a 
 sister, as well as a bride, my Ellen !' Oh, 
 Annie, how happy we shall be together 
 again ! for I know you will come to us as he 
 wishes, and for ever leave the stranger's 
 home ! Are not these blessed prospects 
 too, too blessed for my deserts ? How plea- 
 santly w T e shall spend our days ! Surely it 
 will be heaven begun ! 
 
 " Richard says (I love to write his name, 
 and yet tremble at my own presumption 
 when I do so) that he is sorry he struck Mr. 
 Vincent, /cannot think he was at all wrong ; 
 but he thinks he should have contented him- 
 self with protecting me, and have left him to 
 heaven and his own conscience. 
 
 " But, dear Annie ! the strangest thing 
 of all, and to me the sweetest surprise, has 
 been to recognise in Richard Standings writ- 
 ing that of our unknown benefactor, the 
 person who so unostentatiously came to our 
 assistance when we might, but for that pro- 
 vidential succour, have perished with want. 
 
 " You remember the words that accom-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 289 
 
 panied the note? — c He feedeth the young 
 ravens/ &c. I shall not venture to tell him 
 of my discovery, of which I am sure he 
 would rather not hear, though I long to find 
 out how he knew T all about us and our 
 circumstances. 
 
 " He says he will not try to see me again 
 till after I have left here, lest he should 
 render the rest of my sojourn more uncom- 
 fortable. But nothing now will make me 
 unhappy ! Every one in the house is set 
 against me ; but I have love, and hope, and 
 happiness, and, I humbly trust, Heaven too 
 on my side, and with supports and shields 
 like these, I shall be invulnerable. I do not 
 — w T ill not believe that Richard ever paid his 
 addresses to Ellen Ferrers ; but she looks 
 very miserable — and had she not lately, so 
 very lately, been attached to Mr. Newingham, 
 I should think she loved him. 
 
 " I have a fortnight more to spend here. 
 I shall try and keep our engagement a secret, 
 lest it should pain her ; but I am afraid that 
 some of the happiness I feel, will shine out 
 in my face. Fortunately, I don't go down- 
 stairs to dinner now : the children do ; but 
 all my meals are sent up to me from the 
 kitchen. 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 "I ought to have shown you Eichard's 
 letter first, dear Annie — I mean before I an- 
 swered it — and asked your advice ; but he 
 begged so much for an immediate reply, that 
 I could not keep him waiting. But I gave 
 him your address, and asked him to write to 
 you, to confirm what I had told him. Have 
 I been wrong, Annie ? I hope you will not 
 think so. 
 
 " I am doing all I can to fulfil my duties 
 to the last ; but it is a hard task to teach 
 these poor, spoiled children. Still I am sorry 
 to leave them, for love grows up in one's 
 heart for even the wayward, before we know 
 it, and these little ones have really kindly 
 natures, if they were well directed. 
 
 " Your affectionate Ellen. 
 
 " P.S. to this already overgrown letter, 
 written three days since. — Don't think I am 
 unhappy ; Elm grove itself has no power 
 now to make me so. I am strangely 
 strengthened against unkindness, but really 
 the petty persecutions of Ellen Ferrers must 
 task her invention to devise. Mr. Vincent 
 is staying in the house ; he is better, but suf- 
 fering a good deal from the rough chastise- 
 ment received in the wood. He and his 
 cousin Ellen, formerly so opposed in every-
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 291 
 
 tiling, are now confederated on one point — 
 that of turning Mr. Stancliff into ridicule ; it 
 is envy in the one, and malice — I am afraid 
 jealousy — in the other. Whenever Richard is 
 the subject of discourse, they seem to raise 
 their voices on purpose for me to hear. He 
 preached such a beautiful sermon on Sunday, 
 Annie ; our dear father would have liked it 
 so much (I often think how he and Richard 
 would have loved and appreciated each other). 
 The text was, * Lay not up for yourselves 
 treasures on earth/ It seemed to rebuke me 
 for being too happy, when he spoke of the 
 uncertain nature of the deepest happiness 
 arising from earthly causes. Several times 
 he repeated, ' here we have no abiding city.' 
 I thought he looked sorrowful and grieved 
 about something, but I did not dare to look 
 up a second time ; I felt as if every eye were 
 upon me. One pair was, and they looked as 
 if they would read my soul — Ellen Ferrers'. 
 She was seated directly opposite to me, and 
 was quite pale and agitated. Certainly she 
 loves Mr. Stancliff, and I must pity her, and 
 forgive the wrongs which jealous love has 
 made her inflict on me. Oh, Annie, it is so 
 easy to forgive every one now ! My heart is 
 too full of happiness to hold resentment. 
 
 xj 2
 
 292 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Dear, dear Annie ! when I remember how 
 soon we are to be restored to each other, I 
 am too happy ! It seems as if some reverse 
 must come ; but I will not think of that, the 
 present is so cloudless and joyful ! Bless 
 you, my dear, kind sister."
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Annie Sherwood read her sister's last letter 
 with conflicting emotions; and while she 
 rejoiced at her bright prospects (for it never 
 occurred to her that a curacy was a very 
 poor provision), she yet felt a brief pang at 
 the thought of henceforth holding a second- 
 ary place in Ellen's heart, for hitherto she 
 had been all in all to her. But Annie's 
 nature was too generous to allow that jealous 
 pain to endure long, and she soon woke to a 
 sense of happiness such as she had not 
 known for years, when she remembered that 
 the cruel yoke which Ellen had so meekly 
 borne in the house of the stranger was so 
 soon to be broken, and that for ever. 
 
 How merrily Annie's laugh rang through 
 the room when Greraldine began thus : " Do 
 you know, Miss Sherwood, you don't look 
 quite so ugly to-day — indeed you don't 1" 
 
 " Don't I ?" 
 
 " No, that you don't ! Now, if you would 
 only stop like that, I should like to run
 
 294 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 down and fetch up "Uncle Hal, that he might 
 see you're not quite so frightful as he thinks. 
 I know he is down stairs, for I just now put 
 my eye to the key-hole, and my ear too, 
 
 and But it's no use my going ; you're 
 
 quite ugly again ! I see you don't want to 
 look pretty." 
 
 " I don't care very much about it, Geral- 
 dine." 
 
 " But I do, Miss Sherwood, and I like 
 pretty people. Joseph (the footman) is very 
 handsome, and I like him. Oh, how I wish 
 he would marry me when I'm big ! Don't 
 you wish he would marry you ? I'm sure 
 you do !" 
 
 Then Annie's unwonted joyousness was 
 clouded by a futile effort to convince the 
 poor spoiled child that honour and duty alike 
 forbade her peeping and listening at key- 
 holes, and propriety equally condemned her 
 familiarity with a handsome young footman. 
 To the latter observation Geraldine certainly 
 made a very natural and logical reply. " My 
 uncles always talk and laugh with the maid- ; 
 why shouldn't I with the footman?" Ere 
 the argument concluded, Antonia entered. 
 
 " A new book for you, Minnie !" said she, 
 holding up a fresh-looking volume to her
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 295 
 
 friend, for whom she had adopted the pet- 
 name of Minnie. 
 
 " But what has happened ? You are be- 
 tween tears and sunshine/' 
 
 "The sunshine is from within," said 
 Annie, smiling, " and I have good reason 
 to hope will prove permanent ; the tears are 
 but a passing shower." 
 
 Antonia was surprised at Annie's un- 
 wonted cheerfulness ; but she understood 
 from her air that, though she had something 
 pleasant to tell her, she did not wish to 
 speak before the talkative Greraldine. So the 
 friends began to talk of books, and the child, 
 after lingering awhile, and finding nothing 
 that passed would be available as retail gossip, 
 departed to seek amusement elsewhere. 
 
 When the door was shut, Annie freely 
 poured forth her joyous tidings, but was 
 rather disappointed to find that Antonia did 
 not view Ellen's prospects in as bright a 
 light as she did. The reason was obvious. 
 Antonia had always been accustomed to 
 easy circumstances, though not to actual 
 wealth ; while Annie's only experience was 
 of very slender means, or of actual poverty. 
 To Antonia it seemed a very poor thing to 
 marry a curate.
 
 296 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " Only a curate !" said she. 
 
 " But then, Mr. Stancliff is such a good 
 and superior man," said Annie, warmly ; 
 " and Ellen will be so happy with him ! Is 
 not that the chief thing to be thought of?" 
 
 "Oh, of course, dear Minnie," saidAntonia; 
 " of course, to be happy is the principal 
 thing. But how are they to live on a curacy?" 
 
 " By economy and care." 
 
 " Well, perhaps they may manage," said 
 Antonia, doubtingly. " There is one tiling 
 to be said, they'll have you to help and 
 advise them." 
 
 " No," said Annie, sighing ; "I shall not 
 live with them. I must not decrease their 
 small means ; besides, I must preserve my 
 independence." 
 
 " Your independence ! Poor Minnie !" 
 said Antonia, who had seen enough to esti- 
 mate the value of a governess's indepen- 
 dence ; but seeing the train of thought her 
 exclamation excited, she kindly turned the 
 conversation to other matters. 
 
 " So you think they will be able to ma- 
 nage on about a hundred a year ?" 
 
 " I am sure they will," said Annie ; " and 
 they shall have my stipend to help them 
 out. But you look sad, Antonia ! '
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 297 
 
 " I was only thinking, " said Antonia, 
 " wliat I should do if I were married to a poor 
 man. I should be utterly helpless." 
 
 " But I would teach you to keep house," 
 said Annie, " in return for all the pains you 
 have taken to teach me a little French." 
 
 Antonia, although not naturally very in- 
 dustrious, had for the last few weeks been 
 making really Herculean efforts to teach 
 Annie something of the language in which 
 she was so deficient, and for the want of 
 which, not all her classical knowledge could 
 compensate. 
 
 Antonia Oakley was one of those rare 
 mortals who do not over-estimate them- 
 selves. She felt quite confused and ashamed 
 at the thought of possessing any one advan- 
 tage over Annie Sherwood. Ah, Antonia, 
 thine was a simple, lovely nature ! Couldst 
 thou have been transplanted to a healthier, 
 worthier soil ! for the world was not worthy 
 of thee ; yet it has gathered thee into its vor- 
 tex, and thy nature is marred, thou art be- 
 come of the world, worldly ! But, Antonia, if 
 thine eyes fall upon this page, if thou seest 
 thyself mirrored therein, let the remem- 
 brance of thy early, single-minded friendship 
 snatch thee away one moment from the
 
 298 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 heartless, and remember Annie Sherwood. 
 Sweet Antonia ! the lonely governess who, 
 consoled by thy gentle friendship, grew re- 
 conciled to life, still thanks thee for the 
 pleasant past, and forgives the weakness 
 that constrained thy unwilling heart to in- 
 flict a pang on hers, by forsaking her for the 
 world's opinion! Early friendship has all 
 the beautiful romance of early love ! 
 
 Antonia and Annie talked for a Ions: time 
 of Ellen's prospects, till Antonia grew 
 quite persuaded that a curacy, with a rustic 
 porch shaded by woodbine, w T as the only fit 
 substitute for Eden, since Eden was lost; 
 and Annie dwelt with more pride than 
 became the subject, on Ellen's deep piety, 
 which would shine forth so beautifully in a 
 sphere for which she w r as born. 
 
 All that interested Annie had an equal 
 interest for Antonia, and day after day wore 
 away in the pleasant expectation of the 
 friends being enabled more fully to estimate 
 Mr. Stancliff's character, when they should 
 have read his anxiously expected letter to 
 Annie ; but the letter came not. 
 
 Ellen wrote to say that she had left Elm- 
 grove; she w r as in London, boarding at a 
 cheap school, where, as the period likely to
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 299 
 
 elapse between that time and her marriage 
 would probably be short, she hoped to re- 
 main till it took place. She hoped too, that 
 Annie would soon join her, and was anxious 
 to know what she thought of Richard's 
 letter, which she was sure had been received. 
 
 Annie delayed her reply to Ellen for a 
 week, and then a second week, still hoping 
 to hear from the intended bridegroom ; but 
 no missive came. Two months slipped 
 away, and no tidings arrived ! Annie grew 
 vexed, and her pride was chafed. She 
 thought her sister trifled with and forgotten. 
 Ellen's letters betrayed neither resentment 
 nor mortified vanity. She had perfect con- 
 fidence in her lover. She was sure, quite 
 sure, that he had been prevented writing 
 by illness, or some other cause over which he 
 had no control. 
 
 When the third month of silence was past, 
 she quite gave him up ; he was dead, certainly 
 dead. A few weeks of quiet sorrow, and 
 Ellen began to reproach herself for her 
 inactivity. She would not remain unem- 
 ployed while Annie was labouring. Annie 
 was content to labour herself, but not at all 
 satisfied that Ellen should return to the kind 
 of life she had led at Elmgrove. She
 
 300 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 therefore strenuously combated her sister's 
 resolution; but Ellen had heard of an 
 engagement, and thought she ought to take 
 what offered. 
 
 The Emersons were not the least like the 
 Ferrers family; no, they were deeply re- 
 ligious people ; with them she could not fail 
 to find happiness. 
 
 The family consisted of three little girls 
 and one boy. The father, a gentleman of 
 private fortune, devoted himself entirely to 
 going about doing good. The mother, a 
 great invalid, never went out, or very 
 seldom, but she exercised the most un- 
 bounded benevolence. They invited Ellen 
 to spend a week with them, and though she 
 could not but notice that a melancholy 
 atmosphere pervaded the house, she w T as so 
 pleased with her reception that she wrote to 
 Annie, "Don't oppose my going to these 
 really Christian people ! Such an air of peace 
 and quiet fills their home ; it will be a 
 heaven after Elmgrove I" 
 
 So Annie yielded, and Ellen went into 
 Buckinghamshire ; sorrowful, indeed, but 
 much more sorrowful for the uncertain late 
 of her lover than for the rude dispersion of 
 her first love-dream. Meekly resigned to do
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 301 
 
 and suffer all God's will, and fully resolved 
 to exert herself to the utmost for the con- 
 scientious discharge of her duties, Ellen 
 could not be really unhappy ; but Annie was 
 unhappy for her ; yes, and even angry for 
 her, too ! 
 
 Her own occupations were becoming more 
 agreeable. Her pupils, though spoiled and 
 wayward, were insensibly beginning to feel 
 the influence of her teaching. Had Mr. and 
 Mrs. Maberly renounced a little, nay, a 
 very little, of their overweening pride in 
 her favour, they would have rendered their 
 dependent not only contented with her lot, 
 but even grateful for it. Such a sacrifice 
 was not to be thought of for a moment ! 
 Mr. Maberly was an amiable man — no one 
 could call him otherwise ; strictly honour- 
 able, sometimes even generous; but much 
 that was excellent in him was marred by 
 one unfortunate mania, a mania to take a 
 position in society for which neither his 
 connexions (though they were highly respect- 
 able) nor his attainments (though they were 
 of average merit) fitted him. He did not, 
 like Yussuf, exclaim, " I am Yussuf, the 
 water-carrier, and as a water-carrier I will 
 live and die !" but his countenance, bearing,
 
 302 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 habits, all loudly proclaimed, " I am striving 
 to live among the great and as do the great, 
 and with that sole ambition I will live 
 and die !" 
 
 Like the man in the play, Mr. Maberly 
 adored a lord, and doted on a duke. He 
 would certainly have given a considerable 
 part of his substance to see his name in 
 print among the guests at a reunion in the 
 fashionable world. Foolish Mr. Maberly ! 
 he would cringe to a set of men equally 
 beneath him in character and conduct, lend 
 them money, do their bidding blindly, with 
 no other recompence than having it said 
 that he w r as the intimate friend of the 
 
 Marquis of , or like a brother with 
 
 Lord E L ! 
 
 Au reste, Mr. Maberly had really few 
 faults ; just, honourable, kind-hearted, ready 
 to bestow help on the needy, he would not 
 have inflicted the least injury on any one. 
 He was an indulgent, generous master, and 
 would no doubt have been polite and con- 
 siderate to his children's governess, if he had 
 not feared that he might thereby lose caste ! 
 
 When he was not in attendance on his 
 noble friends, Mr. Maberly lived in digni- 
 tied solitude. There were scarcely any
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 303 
 
 families in the neighbourhood with whom 
 he could associate on equal terms. Some 
 were self-made men; others did not know 
 who their grandfathers were. When reduced 
 to solitude, Mr. Maberly studied, and 
 apparently studied very hard ; not the 
 classics, however, but the Peerage. He knew 
 the descent, the intermarriages, the em- 
 blazonment of all the peers of England. 
 The Peerage, in fact, so absorbed his mental 
 powers, that though he sometimes read other 
 books, he seldom remembered them ; in fact, 
 to leave clear space for his darling subject, 
 he seemed, like Hamlet, to have wiped from 
 his " memory, all foolish, fond records." It 
 was sad that a good heart like Mr. Maberly 's 
 should have been wasted by thus tenaciously 
 clinging to the skirts of a world, from which 
 fortune, position, and nature had separated 
 him ! 
 
 With greater intelligence, and conse- 
 quently greater responsibility, Mrs. Maberly 
 pursued the same course as her husband. 
 She too, aimed high, but less successfully, 
 for he often found ingress when she did not, 
 and yet her appearance and manner were far 
 more aristocratic than his. But then, she 
 did not lend money; perhaps she had not
 
 304 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 thought of it as a passe partout, perhaps she 
 had not sufficient at her command. She was 
 very benevolent to the poor, and gave freely 
 of what she had. She encouraged her children 
 to relieve the wants of the indigent ; and if 
 she taught them no other virtue, the lesson 
 of generosity was given by precept and 
 example. But Mrs. Maberly forgot that 
 charity is something more than relieving the 
 physical wants of the necessitous. She knew 
 nothing, positively nothing, of the large- 
 hearted charity which, calling all mankind 
 by the name of brother, is tenderly careful 
 even of the feelings of others. A kinder 
 mistress than Mrs. Maberly never existed, 
 but it would have been vulgar to show any 
 attention to " the governess," and quite 
 degrading to associate with her ! 
 
 And besides wishing to do as the great 
 world did, Mrs. Maberly had a particular 
 aversion to bringing any one into contact 
 with her who might draw attention from 
 herself, or share with her that which she 
 received. So the governess must remain 
 shut up in that room at the top of the 
 house. Certainly she wanted for nothing. 
 There was an excellent dinner sent up there 
 every day. She had a good supper too, and a 
 
 /
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 305- 
 
 tea-caddy, with a key in her own possession. 
 " What more could she want ! Lonely ? 
 Nonsense ! She is fond of reading. We lend 
 her plenty of books ; and if the men are 
 rather boorish, it is only the penalty that 
 ugliness must pay. Has she not plenty of 
 consolation in the sentimental friendship of 
 Antonia ? Come down- stairs, indeed ? No, 
 indeed she shan't. If she is not satisfied, 
 we can find plenty to replace her !" 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 306 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Only think, Miss Sherwood, we're going 
 to London 1" exclaimed Miss Greraldine, 
 rushing into the school-room one day. 
 " Going to stay there the whole season ; but 
 perhaps you don't know what the season 
 means, as you're so poor, and have always 
 lived in the country, and your papa was not 
 a gentleman. Why, how you colour ! Have 
 I said any harm ? I really didn't know it, 
 if I did say anything to offend you ; and I'm 
 sorry too, for I do love you when we're not 
 at lessons, though you are so ugly ! Ah ! 
 you're laughing ! Now you're not ugly at 
 all. Aren't you very glad we're going to 
 London ?" 
 
 " Not very." 
 
 " But London is so gay, Miss Sher- 
 wood !" 
 
 " It will make very little difference to 
 me," said the governess ; " very little indeed. " 
 
 " Oh yes, it will make a difference ! You 
 wont be so lonely there. I know you i
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 307 
 
 here; and I've often asked mamma to let 
 you come down-stairs. Perhaps she will 
 when we're in town, as my uncles wont be 
 there. She says you could not come where 
 they are. In London she'll often let you go 
 out, and let you take us to see sights ; that 
 w r ill make you happy, I'm sure." 
 
 " But I have no taste for sight- seeing, 
 and I like the country best," said Annie, 
 who was saddened by the prospect of leaving 
 Antonia. 
 
 " Well, you are the strangest person that 
 ever lived !" said Greraldine. " Not care for 
 sight- seeing ! Not care for London ! We 
 shall walk in the Park, and see so many 
 people ; not St. James's — vulgar people go 
 there — but Hyde Park. All the people of 
 rank go to Hyde Park, Miss Sherwood ! 
 You didn't know that before, I dare say. 
 Did I ever tell you my godmother was a 
 countess ?" 
 
 " Yes, a great many times, Geraldine ; 
 but you never told me whether she was a 
 nice, kind, amiable woman." 
 
 "She is not a woman, Miss Sherwood; 
 she's a lady, a lady of rank ; did I not tell 
 you she was a countess ? As to her being 
 amiable, I don't know, for I never saw her.
 
 30S ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Oli, yes ! I did once ; but so long ago. Oh, 
 here comes Aunt Antonia ! She is really 
 very u^ly ; almost as ugly as you, Miss 
 Sherwood, and doesn't even look handsome 
 when she smiles. Now, don't put on that 
 grave face. I am saying no harm of her, I 
 am sure. Mamma lets me say and do all I 
 like ; and so must you if you want me to 
 love you ! I shall get quite good presently, 
 if you let me have all my own way. Have 
 I not already begun to read some Bible 
 every day (though I hate it), only to please 
 vou r 
 
 Antonia entered without her usual smile. 
 She had learned that she was to lose her 
 companion and friend ; one who her partial 
 friendship taught her to believe could not 
 soon be replaced, and her heart felt sad ; 
 while Annie could not restrain the tears of 
 regret for their approaching separation. 
 
 " But we shall meet again in a few- 
 months, dear Minnie," said Antonia. 
 
 " But not as now," replied Annie. " You 
 will have seen something more of the outer 
 world by that time, Antonia, and will per- 
 haps learn to smile at your friendship for 
 a poor dependent." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't conjure up such
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 309 
 
 dreadful things!'' said Antonia. "Why 
 pain your own mind by constantly recurring 
 to your situation? Why, dear Minnie, 
 wrong me, by supposing that my feelings 
 towards you could change ? No one in the 
 world could ever be to me what you have 
 been, and are/' she added tenderly, em- 
 bracing Annie. "Come, tell me that you 
 believe all I say, Minnie !" 
 
 " Most implicitly," said Annie, seriously. 
 " So implicitly, that if I find you changed, 
 it will break — or harden my heart.' 3 
 
 "Nothing in me shall wilfully occasion 
 you a moment's pain," replied Antonia. " I 
 have found in you what I have all my life 
 desired, but never possessed till now, a sym- 
 pathising friend. Do you think I will volun- 
 tarily resign such a prize ? No ! when you 
 are gone, I scarcely know how I shall be 
 able to pass the hours you have made so 
 pleasant. But you will write to me often, 
 dear Minnie ?" 
 
 " Very, very often I" 
 
 "And you will tell me everything?" 
 
 " Yes, positively everything. But you 
 know my world is in books, so I must often 
 talk to you of imaginary characters, places, 
 and things."
 
 310 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 " Never mind ; all you talk about will be 
 pleasant to me. You will advise me what 
 is best to be done for the poor ; you will tell 
 me what books to read, will give me your 
 own thoughts upon them. You will tell 
 me too, of all you write, and thus I shall 
 become acquainted with the creatures of 
 your imagination." 
 
 " And you, Antonia ! You will write me 
 nice long letters, and very often ?" 
 
 " Indeed I will ; but you must promise me 
 to take care of yourself, for your sister's 
 sake and for mine !" 
 
 " For her dear sake and yours, I will," 
 said Annie. " I live for no one else." 
 
 " There is no single vision of my future 
 life with which you are not mingled," said 
 Antonia ; "no plans for days to come, in 
 which I do not see you joining. You will 
 not distrust me again, Minnie ?" 
 
 " Never 1" said Annie, warmly. 
 
 The friends parted then, and Annie spent 
 an hour in composing some pathetic verses 
 to her dear Antonia, which when they came 
 to be read over in after years, Annie found 
 out to be very bad poetry, and Antonia pro- 
 bably discovered that the sentiments they
 
 ANNE SHERWOOD. 311 
 
 expressed were as absurd as the composition 
 was defective ! 
 
 Antonia Oakley enjoyed a small indepen- 
 dence, but it was not spent in selfish indul- 
 gence or in trifles. A large part of her 
 income went to relieve the unfortunate. It 
 was Annie Sherwood's chief pleasure to go 
 through the adjoining village, examine into 
 the wants of the poor, and report their cases 
 to her friend, who never failed to answer the 
 appeal by granting help to the sufferers. 
 Sometimes it was warm flannel for a rheu- 
 matic old man, sometimes coal for a shiver- 
 ing family, sometimes better food for the 
 sick than their penury would permit them 
 to obtain for themselves. And all Antonia's 
 charities were so sweetly, so modestly dis- 
 pensed, all her gifts so free from ostentation 
 and display ! 
 
 Sweet Antonia ! whose early life was so 
 beautiful in charity and friendship — sweet 
 Antonia ! why didst thou let the unfeeling 
 world rudely break the bands of a friendship 
 cemented by such holy charities ! 
 
 The journey to London was through a 
 monotonous, uninteresting country — those 
 counties which Dr. Arnold (essentially a
 
 312 ANNE SHERWOOD. 
 
 man of taste,) declared were calculated to 
 annihilate every conception of the beautiful 
 in those who dwelt in them. But Annie 
 Sherwood was too sad to notice anything, if 
 her route had been through Arcadia. 
 
 end or vol. x. 

 
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