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 PASSION Al^J) PRmCIPLE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 CAPT. FREDERICK CHAMIER, R.N. 
 
 " Our acts our angels are, or good or ill 
 The fatal shadows that pursue us still." 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDGlSr: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1842.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 V. SHOBERL, JUN., 51 , RUPERT STREET, HAYMARRET, 
 
 PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.
 
 8£^ ^^'^ 
 
 C35Gpa. 
 V. X 
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The lady thus addressed her spouse : — 
 What a mere dungeon is this house ! 
 By no means large enough. And was it ? 
 Yet this dark room, and that dark closet. 
 Those hangings with their worn out graces. 
 Long beards, long noses, and pale faces. 
 Are such an antiquated scene. 
 They overwhelm me with the spleen. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 On a bright sunny day, towards the end of 
 -April, 18 — , the quiet fishing-hamlet of Ethel- 
 
 wode presented an unusual appearance of festi- 
 ^ vity. The bells of the little church, whose low, 
 '^ grey Saxon tower was scarcely distinguishable 
 
 from the rocks behind it, were ringing a merry 
 •rpeal; the whole population in holiday clothes 
 - were abroad in the street, and busy knots of 
 ^fathers were scattered here and there, whilst the 
 ^^ children, 'with their hands and aprons full of 
 V flowers, were eagerly running to and fro between 
 - the cottage gardens and the corner of the street 
 
 ^ VOL. I. B
 
 2 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 which turned into the London road. Lord Ethel- 
 wode, the owner of the fine old castle on the brow 
 of the hill, was expected that day, on his return 
 from abroad, and with him he was to bring a 
 young, and, as report said, a beautiful bride. 
 His tenants had all turned out to greet him, and 
 the young men had already thrown off their 
 coats, in readiness to unharness the horses and 
 draw the noble pair in triumph to their ancestral 
 home. 
 
 They had already been expected several hours ; 
 and, as all the flowers which the neighbourhood 
 could furnish were gathered, and ready to be 
 strewn on their road by the children, and as only 
 two people could be employed in ringing the 
 bells, and nothing remained to be done, the 
 people grew tired of standing in the sun, look- 
 ing towards the turning of the road, and gathered 
 together in groups, to talk over their expected 
 lord and lady. 
 
 " Well, this is a more joyful day than I thought 
 my old eyes would ever see again at Ethelwode," 
 said Mr. Sibley, who had been bailiff of the es- 
 tate for forty years, and w^ho, on this extraordi- 
 nary occasion, condescended to relax from his 
 usual dignified reserve, and join one of the groups 
 of gossips, which was composed of the aristo- 
 cracy of the village. " When the present lord 
 went away, just after the old lord's death, I
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 3 
 
 thought, and so did many others, that he would 
 never come to live here again." 
 
 "And how should he," said Mrs. Anderson, 
 the porter's wife, " when the old lord gambled 
 away every farthing, and sold all the land that 
 wasn't entailed, and there was not enough left 
 for the young lord to keep lip the castle ? Some 
 people said he would sell it; but he was too 
 proud to do that; and no wonder, when one 
 thinks it's belonged to the family since the days 
 of the old Saxon, Earl Cedric." 
 
 " I was at the castle the day the will was 
 opened, and all came out about the debts," said 
 Sibley. " My lord had been abroad for several 
 years, and did not know what had been going on 
 at home and all his father's shameful doings, so 
 that the news of his ruin came upon him all of a 
 heap. I shall never forget his look as he came 
 out of the room where the executors had met, 
 and crossed the hall. If ever man did look as if 
 he would like to commit murder on himself or 
 somebody else, such was he at that minute." 
 
 " Lord, Mr. Sibley, how you do talk !" said 
 Mrs. Anderson, looking fearfully towards the 
 turning of the road. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Anderson, I only wish you had 
 seen him, that's all. I went up to ask him about 
 some repairs that were wanting to Cedric's 
 tower, and he said : ' Curse the tower ; let it fall !' 
 
 B 2
 
 4 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 —only think of that ! he cursing that tower which 
 he w^as always as fond of as the apple of his eye." 
 
 " But how does it happen ?" asked another of 
 the gossips, '' that he is coming back now, only 
 a year after he went away a ruined man, as rich 
 as a Jew, and with a wife into the bargain ? He 
 must have spent more money than his father left 
 him altogether, in repairing and refurnishing the 
 castle as he has done." 
 
 " Why, he has married a rich widow, with as 
 long a purse as he has a pedigree, and very hand- 
 some besides, as I hear. They have been stay- 
 ing abroad w^hilst the castle was being repaired 
 with her money, and now they are coming to live 
 in it. Long life to them, I say." 
 
 All joined loudly in the wish, for, though the 
 haughty, imperious baron had never been very 
 popular among them, every one agreed that it 
 would be an excellent thing for the village that 
 a wealthy family should be settled again at the 
 castle. 
 
 All further gossiping was put an end to by the 
 shout which now arose from the watchers at the 
 corner. *' They are coming, they are coming ! 
 Here they are !" and the next moment a barouche 
 and four, containing a lady and gentleman, dashed 
 round the corner, into the little village street. 
 Hats were tossed in the air, and hurras, loud and 
 long, succeeded one another, as Lord Ethelwode
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 5 
 
 gave orders to the postillions to slacken their pace, 
 and bowed and shook hands with one or two 
 amongst the foremost groups. The beautiful wo- 
 man who sat beside him bowed and smiled too, 
 though somewhat languidly, at the loud cry of 
 " God bless your ladyship ! Welcome to Ethel- 
 wode !" The horses were quickly unharnessed, 
 and the carriage dragged in triumph up the steep 
 hill to the castle gate, over the heaps of flowers 
 that the children strewed before it. 
 
 Another carriage followed that of Lord and 
 Lady Ethelwode ; and the few whose eyes and 
 attention were not entirely engrossed by the for- 
 mer, were curious to know who was the lovely 
 child who occupied it, with two female atten- 
 dants, and who, frightened at the loud cheers, 
 hid her face in the lap of the woman w^ho sat 
 next her. After all the party had entered the 
 castle, it was ascertained that this was the only 
 child of Lady Ethelwode, by her first marriage, 
 which was the only additional piece of news that 
 could be learnt this evening concerning the noble 
 family ; for Lady Ethelwode w^as too tired to re- 
 appear on the terrace, beneath which half the 
 village had collected to offer their welcome, and 
 Lord Ethelwode, having spoken a few words 
 of courteous thanks to the crowd, and ordered 
 that refreshments should be liberally dispensed 
 amongst them, retreated also within the castle.
 
 6 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 There was nothing more for the people to do 
 but to drink their new Lord and Lady's health, 
 with three times three, in the baron's stout ale, 
 and return to the village- to discuss at home, or 
 at the public-house, every word and gesture of 
 the noble pair, and conjecture from thence what 
 sort of master and mistress they were likely to 
 prove. 
 
 Their conjectures would probably have been 
 much facilitated, could they have followed the 
 subjects of them into the stately saloon where 
 Lady Ethelwode had been led by her husband 
 on leaving the carriage. She had thrown herself 
 listlessly on one of the rich damask sofas, near the 
 spacious fireplace, where a fire was burning 
 brightly, although the weather was warm for the 
 season ; and Lord Ethelwode stood near the open 
 window, looking out on the beautiful prospect of 
 wood and water, on which the setting sun was 
 shedding a deep glow : but he looked as though 
 he saw it not, and a frown of displeasure was on 
 his brow. 
 
 " Are you cold, Helen," said he, turning to 
 his wife, " that you sit by the fire, with your 
 back turned to this lovely view ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am very cold and very tired," replied 
 Lady Ethelwode, in a sweet but rather drawling 
 voice. " The people were so long dragging us 
 up the hill that I am quite chilled. Is the view 
 vert/ beautiful ?"
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 7 
 
 "It is the same I have so often described to 
 you, and which you used to say you were so 
 anxious to see." 
 
 " Well, so I am still," said the lady, rising 
 languidly and walking to the window. " Yes, 
 it is very beautiful, certainly ; but, really, after 
 a long journey, one is too tired to care for any 
 thing but rest and quiet." 
 
 The frown darkened on Lord Ethelwode's 
 countenance, as she returned to the sofa, but her 
 back was turned to him, and she did not see it. 
 
 " This room looks so dark and gloomy in the 
 twilight," she continued, as she drew nearer to 
 the fire. " Do ring the bell for lights and tea, 
 Ethelwode ; I am half afraid to sit here in the 
 dark, with those grim figures looking out of the 
 tapestry." 
 
 Lord Ethelwode strode across the room and 
 rang the bell so violently that the bell-pull re- 
 mained in his hand. He threw it from him with 
 a muttered oath : his wife shrank affectedly at 
 the sound. 
 
 " Pray take care of what you are about. The 
 old house will be falling about our ears ; you 
 should be more gentle, Ethelwode, really ; it is 
 quite dangerous." 
 
 " There is not much cause for alarm," replied 
 her husband, in a tone of suppressed indignation ; 
 " the old house, as you are pleased to call the
 
 8 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 castle, which has resisted time and change for 
 eleven centuries, is not likely to be brought down 
 by a bell-rope. Bring lights and tea directly," he 
 added, to the footman, who had hastily answered 
 the loud peal of the bell. 
 
 " And tell Mary to bring Miss Perceval to me," 
 said Lady Ethelwode. " Poor Ellen ! she must 
 feel very strange in this rambling, gloomy place. 
 By the way, I hope her nursery is not hung with 
 this frightful tapestry. The child will go into 
 fits if she sees these figures at night." 
 
 " I really do not know where Miss Percival's 
 apartments are," answered Lord Ethelwode ; " I 
 suppose the housekeeper has settled that im- 
 portant matter ; to-morrow you can see them, 
 and alter them as you like, if they do not suit 
 your taste." 
 
 " Yes ; and, indeed, a little alteration will not 
 be amiss every where. This old furniture is so 
 heavy and sombre ! a i^vf fauteuils, and French 
 tables, and other modern comforts, will be a great 
 improvement. I must think about it to-morrow, 
 and write to Gallow to send us some one to 
 arrange it all." 
 
 *' Lady Ethelwode, I beg you will think of no 
 such thing. Your own private apartments, and 
 those of your daughter, you are at liberty to 
 transform and deform as you will, but the state 
 rooms of this castle shall not, so long as I am 
 master of it, present such monstrous incongruities
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 9 
 
 as you propose. I have gone to great expence 
 and trouble in collecting the most rare and an- 
 tique furniture, to suit the character of these 
 magnificent old apartments ; and no barbarous 
 taste, not even yours, shall be allowed to deface 
 them by the modern trash you talk of." 
 
 " You are very polite, certainly," replied her 
 ladyship ; " however, I am quite indifferent about 
 the matter, although, as it was my fortune which 
 gave you the means of furnishing the place at all, 
 I think my taste might have been consulted." 
 
 Lord Ethelwode bit his lip, and walked away 
 again to the window. Lights and tea arrived 
 just in time to break the sullen silence which 
 succeeded ; and with them came bounding in 
 Ellen Percival, overflowing with happiness at 
 the change from the confinement of London to 
 the freedom and manifold delights of the country, 
 and her hands already full of flowers fresh 
 gathered from the gardens. Even the presence 
 of her step-father, of whom she generally stood 
 in great awe, could not check her merry prattle ; 
 and it was well that it did not, for her childish 
 and unfeigned delight in her new abode w^on back 
 a smile to his haughty countenance. 
 
 " But, good gracious, Ellen," said her mother, 
 after listening languidly to her for awhile, "where 
 have you been ? you are all damp with the dew. 
 You will catch your death of cold, child. How 
 
 B 5
 
 10 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 could Mary be so foolish as to let you go out at 
 this time of night ?" 
 
 " Mary did not let me, mamma. I chose to go, 
 and ran away from her. I went about the gar- 
 den all alone, and picked these flowers for you. 
 Mary was so frightened when she could not find 
 me." 
 
 " For shame, Ellen ! how could you be so 
 naughty ?" 
 
 Ellen denied that there was any naughtiness 
 in choosing to be free, and passionately protested 
 that she would not be shut up in that hot, dark 
 nursery. She might as well be in London. 
 
 " Well, my darling, do not cry. I suppose 
 you must do as you like. If Mary cannot ma- 
 nage you, I am sure I cannot. Only do not cry, 
 and make mamma's head ache. There, go and 
 wish your papa good night, and go to bed." 
 
 "He is not my papa, and I won't wish him 
 good night," answered the child, as she ran oif, 
 out of the sound of her mother's feeble — " For 
 shame, Ellen !" 
 
 Lord Ethelwode's meditations that night, as 
 he sat alone in the deserted saloon, after his wife 
 had retired to rest, were not as pleasant as he had 
 anticipated they would be on the day when he 
 returned, rich and prosperous, to inhabit the 
 home of his fathers. He had believed that if he 
 could see that ancestral home restored to its
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 1 1 
 
 former splendour, and himself enabled to dwell 
 in it as became the head of his ancient house, he 
 should be happy. For the gold which would 
 enable him do this, he had sacrificed his inde- 
 pendence, and sold his faith to a woman whom 
 he could neither love nor esteem, and now he 
 discovered that his anticipated happiness was 
 marred by that woman's indifference and want 
 of sympathy, and vulgar pride in the wealth she 
 had bestowed on him. He felt angry and ag- 
 grieved, and -was ready to quarrel with his wife 
 and with fortune ; as if, having married not for 
 sympathy or companionship, but for gold, and 
 having obtained gold, he had a right to require 
 any thing else withal. 
 
 There are many men besides Lord Ethelwode 
 who fall into the mistake of supposing that, when 
 they have laboured to attain one thing which 
 seemed to them most desirable, and have attained 
 it, all other desirable things, for which they 
 never laboured, should be added thereunto.
 
 12 P.iSSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Their only labour was to kill the time — 
 
 And labour dire it is, and weary woe. 
 
 They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme., 
 
 Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go. 
 
 Or saunter forth with tottering steps and slow ; 
 
 This soon too rude an exercise they find ; 
 
 Strait on the couch their limbs again they throw. 
 
 Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclin'd, 
 
 And court the vapoury god soft breathing in the wind. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Lady Ethelwode was sitting alone at breakfast 
 the next morning, slowly crumbling a hot roll 
 into a cup of cafe au hit. Her beautiful coun- 
 tenance had assumed an expression nearly ap- 
 proaching to ill-humour, and the tone of her re- 
 plies to little Ellen's multifarious questions had 
 just elicited from the latter the exclamation of 
 " How cross you are this morning, mamma ! " 
 when Lord Ethelwode entered the room with a 
 brow as moody as her own, and his hands full of 
 papers. A careless " how d'ye do ? " was his 
 only salutation to his wife, as he sate down, and 
 began eating his breakfast with a rapidity which 
 strikingly contrasted with her languid move- 
 ments.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 13 
 
 " Well, I must say," said Lady Ethelwode, 
 after waiting in vain for her husband to break 
 the silence, " that your return home has not im- 
 proved your sociability. In France you would 
 not have allowed me to wait an hour for break- 
 fast, and then, when you did come, never have 
 asked me how I was after such a journey as we 
 had yesterday." 
 
 " I beg pardon, my dear, for my offences 
 against your code of French politeness, but, 
 truly, I was too much vexed when I came in to 
 remember that I was bound to play the lover 
 after eight months of marriage." 
 
 '' The lover ! how ridiculous ! As if common 
 politeness was making love. But pray what has 
 vexed you ? I thought you were never to be 
 vexed when you got back to your dearly-beloved 
 castle." 
 
 " No more I should, if my first object in re- 
 turning to it were not thwarted by the malice of 
 others. The castle is not worth having if I can- 
 not regain the lands which once belonged to it, 
 and which my father sold so disgracefully to that 
 upstart, Lord Caldwell. I cannot live here to be 
 daily irritated by the sight of that staring white 
 house which he has built within a few yards of 
 the ruins of the old abbey, and just opposite to 
 these windows, on purpose, I believe, to annoy
 
 14 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Well, really I am sorry that white house is 
 a nuisance to you, for I think it is a very hand- 
 some building, and quite a relief to one's eyes 
 after the gloomy, dingy towers of the castle. It 
 makes the view of those wooded hills so much 
 more cheerful." 
 
 Lady Ethelwode stopped suddenly as her hus- 
 band pushed his cup from him, and abruptly 
 rose from the table. She had already learned 
 to dread the scowl of his dark eye, and the sneer 
 which curled his lip when she spoke in this man- 
 ner, although she never could understand the 
 feelings which called them up. 
 
 " But why do you not buy the land, if you 
 are so anxious for it ?" she added, after a minute 
 or two of silence. 
 
 " Why ? Why because that cursed Lord 
 Caldwell, whose father was a cotton-spinner or a 
 tailor, for aught I know, chooses to say he is 
 fond of the place, and will not part with it. But 
 his true reason is, that he is opposed to me in 
 politics, and he will not let me have the land 
 because it would increase my interest in the 
 county." 
 
 " And who is this tiresome Lord Caldwell ?" 
 ' " I tell you a nobody — an upstart, who has 
 crawled, and crept, and wriggled himself up into 
 political eminence, and was made a peer to give 
 a majority to ministers. A man whose fore-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 15 
 
 fathers, if he had any, were vassals of mine, and 
 who dares to withhold from me my ancient patri- 
 mony, although I have offered him three times 
 the value of the land." 
 
 " That is very provoking, to be sure, especially 
 as there ought to be a larger park attached to 
 such a castle as this. But I cannot understand 
 why you should offer so much for those particu- 
 lar woods, when I suppose you could buy just as 
 good land in another direction from people less 
 obstinate than this Lord Caldwell." 
 
 " It is very unlikely you should ever under- 
 stand any of my feelings," muttered her husband, 
 crushing the papers he held in his hand, and 
 walking towards the door. 
 
 " And are you going away already, and 
 leaving me the whole morning alone ? What am 
 I to do with myself? Come, Ethelwode, don't 
 be so cross. Stay with me — or, if you are going 
 out, shall I go with you ?" 
 
 The musical voice, and the beautiful face 
 upturned to his, were not without effect on 
 her husband, and he answered, in a mollified 
 tone, 
 
 " I am going to ride to H on business, 
 
 so you cannot come with me, love. But you 
 will find plenty of books and your harp in your 
 own sitting-room ; and there is Ellen to keep 
 you company, and by and by, no doubt, you will
 
 16 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 have plenty of visitors, as, by this time, all the 
 neighbourhood knows of our arrival." 
 
 " Country visitors ! what a bore ! " yawned 
 her ladyship ; " coming, too, of course, to offer 
 congratulations, and all manner oimal'd-propos.''^ 
 
 " I am sorry you consider congratulations on 
 your marriage with me to be mal-a-propos ^ 
 
 " Nonsense ! I did not mean that, of course. 
 But why cannot you stay with me ? " 
 
 '' I am no carpet-knight, and cannot amble all 
 day long in a lady's chamber. Besides, I must 
 go out on business. Good bye, my love." 
 
 " Good bye. So like men — business is always 
 their excuse for avoiding what they do not like. 
 I wish women had some business, too." 
 
 However, as Lady Ethelwode could not think 
 of any business that a woman could have, she 
 sauntered through the magnificent suite of apart- 
 ments, in search of something to while away the 
 long, w^ary morning. She reached at length 
 the room which Lord Ethelwode had destined 
 for her boudoir, and which he had provided with 
 every luxury art could invent and wealth com- 
 mand. 
 
 It was the last of the suite, and the large mul- 
 lioned window opened on a stone balcony over- 
 hanging a rapid stream. Every rare exotic had 
 been collected on this balcony, and, through the 
 branches of the lofty cedars on the other side of
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 17 
 
 the stream, glimpses of the hills beyond, and the 
 wide sea, with its bright yellow sands, were visi- 
 ble. The sweet spring air was blowing softly 
 into the room, and wafted up the sleepy sound of 
 the running water. It was a perfect temple of 
 Indolence, and its fair mistress seemed to feel 
 its influence, for she lay down on one of the 
 luxurious couches with half-closed eyes, whilst 
 Ellen sprang out upon the balcony, and flitted 
 about amongst the flowers, looking even fresher 
 and lovelier than they. 
 
 " Ellen, give me that book, and put that little 
 table near me. How can you heat yourself so, 
 child, with running in the sun ? — you will ruin 
 your complexion. Do get your bonnet, or come 
 and sit still by me." 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma ! I cannot sit still this fine 
 day, and I hate a bonnet." And, shaking her 
 long auburn curls, she sprang out again, and 
 was back in an instant with her hands full of 
 flowers. 
 
 " How long this morning is ! " said her mo- 
 ther, yawning. " I got up too early ; to-mor- 
 row I shall breakfast in bed, for I cannot bear 
 these long mornings by myself." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I wish you would get up, and 
 walk with me before breakfast — it is so plea- 
 sant ! And, if you would play with me a little 
 now, I am sure the morning would not seem so 
 long."
 
 18 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Nonsense, child ! Do you suppose I have 
 nothing else to do than to act as your nursery- 
 maid ? You had better go to Mary, if you want 
 to play." 
 
 Ellen did not want to play just then, but she 
 could not imagine what her mother had to do 
 that should prevent her playing with her. How- 
 ever, as she had gathered as many flowers as she 
 wished for, she consented to sit quietly on the 
 floor, and amuse herself with arranging them in- 
 to nosegays, whilst her mother tried to sleep 
 away the time she could find no other means to 
 get rid of. 
 
 Two hours were dozed away quickly enough, 
 and then came luncheon, which occupied full 
 another hour, as Ellen would dine whilst her 
 mother lunched, and she jumped off her chair be- 
 tween every two or three mouthfuls to see the 
 fishing-boats gliding, as it were, between the 
 branches of the trees, and to watch the gradual 
 disappearance of the rocks on the sands as the 
 tide came in. At length, just after she had 
 been coaxed and scolded into saying grace in as 
 cross a tone as possible, the joyful sound of car- 
 riage wheels was heard rumbling over the draw- 
 bridge, and Lady Ethelwode, rejoicing in the 
 thoughts that the hours of solitude were over, 
 repaired with unusual alacrity to the drawing- 
 ing-room to receive her visitors.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 19 
 
 There was no fear of any more solitude that 
 day. Every one had heard of Lady Ethelwode's 
 beauty and wealth long before her arrival, and 
 all were anxious to pay their homage to the new 
 mistress of Ethelwode Castle, who, it was sup- 
 posed, would, from her rank and fortune, natu- 
 rally take the lead in all future society in the 
 neighbourhood. Curiosity, also, had no small 
 share in the matter, for a bride, be she who she 
 may, young or old, poor or rich, however obscure 
 and uncared for she may have been in her single 
 state, becomes at once a lion in virtue of her 
 orange blossoms ; and, of all brides. Lady Ethel- 
 wode, young, rich, beautiful, the chosen of the 
 most fastidious peer in the whole county, who 
 had disappointed the hopes of half the disposable 
 young ladies in the neighbourhood, was naturally 
 the most interesting, so carriage succeeded car- 
 riage almost without intermission. 
 
 Lady Ethelwode, glad to be relieved by any 
 society from the burden of her own, received her 
 visitors with so much grace and graciousness, 
 that they all went away wondering at the ru- 
 mours of her finery and superciliousness which 
 had been spread not less widely than the report 
 of her wealth and beauty. 
 
 The last of the long line of visitors were Mr. 
 Allen, the clergyman of the parish, his wife and 
 grandson, Edward Annesley, a quiet, intelligent-
 
 20 PASSION AND PRLXCIPLE. 
 
 looking boy, of thirteen or fourteen. Lady 
 Ethelwode, tired of the exertion of so much af- 
 fability, rose to receive them with even more than 
 her usual supercilious indiiference ; but, to her 
 astonishment, she found that, with them, the 
 "insolence of condescension" was out of her power. 
 She had seen, with surprise, the deference and 
 courtesy with which they were treated by Lord 
 Ethelwode, who came in with them; but now 
 she herself felt the influence of their manner, 
 simple and unpretending as it was, and found her- 
 self obliged to lay aside the impertinence of fine 
 ladyism, with which she had received them, and 
 treat them with the same courtesy she had se- 
 cretly sneered at in her husband. 
 
 *' I am very glad to see you once more amongst 
 us, my lord," said Mr. Allen. "Poor Ethel- 
 wode seemed quite deserted whilst you and the 
 Con ways were both absent." 
 
 " Are not the Conways yet returned, then ?" 
 asked Lord Ethelwode. 
 
 " No ; but they will be here soon, I trust, un- 
 less, which God forbid, Lady Eleanor grows worse. 
 I heard from Sir Charles to-day, and he talks of 
 being home at the beginning of next month." 
 
 In answer to Lady Ethelwode's inquiry, of 
 " Who are these Conways ?" Mrs. Allen explained, 
 that Sir Charles was a baronet of old family and 
 large fortune, whose place, Oaklands, adjoined
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 21 
 
 Lord Ethelwode's, their two parks being only 
 divided by a narrow lane. His wife, Lady Elea- 
 nor, had long been in a precarious state of health, 
 and they had gone abroad with their only child, 
 a little girl of Ellen's age, in hopes that a warmer 
 climate would do for her what every exertion of 
 medical skill had failed of doing in England. 
 
 " I fear, however," added Mrs. Allen, '' that 
 their hope has been disappointed; Sir Charles 
 writes in a very desponding tone. If she is taken 
 away, the world will lose one of its best and 
 brightest ornaments, her husband the best wife, 
 her child the best mother, the poor their best 
 friend !" 
 
 " How very melancholy !" said Lady Ethel- 
 wode, listlessly, whilst Mrs. Allen turned away 
 to hide the tears which had risen to her eyes. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Ellen, who had grown tired 
 of sitting still, and being unnoticed, had seized 
 upon Edward Annesley, and, notwithstanding his 
 entreaty, that she would allow him to finish 
 looking over the book of prints, which he 
 vainly protested he liked much better than all 
 the gardens in the world, she dragged him off to 
 see her darling flowers, and the trout in the 
 clear stream, which she had only discovered this 
 morning, and which she had been longing, ever 
 since, to shew to somebody else, who might 
 share in her delight. Unfortunately, Edward
 
 22 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 knew the stream of old, and could not shew as 
 much surprise as she expected, when she tri- 
 umphantly shewed him the speckled trout, glan- 
 cing from side to side, in the clear water. His 
 admiration of the flowers, however, made up for 
 his indifference to the trout. 
 
 " I am so glad you like flowers !" she exclaimed. 
 " I am sure I shall like you now. What is your 
 name — how old are you ?" 
 
 " My name is Edward Annesley, and I shall 
 thirteen next birthday." 
 
 " Thirteen ! how very old ! I am only six and 
 a half," said Ellen, with a sigh. 
 
 " And what is your name ?" 
 
 " Ellen Percival." 
 
 "But why is your name Percival and your 
 mamma's Lady Ethelwode ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, looking puzzled ; 
 " mamma did not use to be called Lady Ethel- 
 wode ; but ever since that tall, dark man came 
 to live with us, Mary has called her ' my lady,' 
 and she says I ought to call him ' papa ;' but I 
 won't, because I know he is not my papa, and I 
 do not like him. Was that your papa and mam- 
 ma you came with ?" 
 
 " No ; they are my grandfather and grand- 
 mother. I have no father or mother." 
 
 " And where do you live ?" 
 
 " At the parsonage, down in the village. You
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 23 
 
 cannot see it from here, though you can see the 
 church tower, which is quite near it. Perhaps 
 you will come there some day." 
 
 Ellen thought she should like to come very 
 much, especially if there were any flowers there. 
 Edward assured her there were plenty of flowers 
 at the parsonage, though not such fine ones as 
 those in the castle gardens. There were roses 
 and geraniums, but ho camelias like these. 
 
 " Are these camelias ? How do you know 
 their names ?" 
 
 " Grandpapa knows the names of all the flow- 
 ers. He is very fond of them, and has books 
 about them, and he has given me one to read." 
 
 " Can you read to yourself?" said Ellen, look- 
 ing up to him with more respect than she had 
 yet shewn. " How very nice that must be ! I 
 wish I could read books about flowers, I am so 
 fond of them. Will you teach me? I should 
 like you to teach me, because you do not look 
 cross like Mary, and you would not be always 
 saying, * Mind, what are you about, Miss Per- 
 cival!'" 
 
 Edward laughed, and said he thought he could 
 teach her, and that he should like it, if his grand- 
 father would allow him, and Lady Ethelwode had 
 no objection. 
 
 *' Oh ! mamma will have no objection, she al- 
 ways lets me do as I like, because she cannot
 
 24 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 bear to be teazed about it. And you can teach 
 me the names of the flowers, too, and that will 
 be so nice ! When shall we begin ?" 
 
 " My play-hours are before breakfast, and in 
 the afternoon ; so I can teach you at either time. 
 But I must speak to grandpapa about it first." 
 
 Mr. Allen's consent was accordingly asked, 
 and, to Ellen's great joy, granted, without any 
 more delay than was necessary to ascertain that 
 Lady Ethelwode had no objection to the scheme. 
 Ellen had rightly judged that her mother would 
 have no objection to any thing which did not in- 
 volve personal trouble to herself. In fact, Lady 
 Ethelwode thought it an excellent plan, as Ellen 
 would be kept quiet, in consequence, at least an 
 hour every day, and she should escape Mary's 
 everlasting complaints of Miss Percival's idle- 
 ness and inattention to her book. So it was set- 
 tled with mutual satisfaction on all sides that, 
 whenever it was fine, the children should meet 
 either at the parsonage, or in the castle gardens, 
 and that Ellen's course of tuition should begin 
 forthwith. 
 
 Ellen now looked forward to her reading les- 
 son as the greatest pleasure of the day. It was 
 so new to her to have a companion, to find sym- 
 pathy and active kindness in any one, that she 
 soon learnt to love her young tutor with all the 
 warmth of her little heart. He was so patient,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 25 
 
 SO gentle, and yet so firm withal, that she looked 
 up to him with a respect mingled with her affec- 
 tion, such as she never felt for any one else. She 
 could confide to him all her childish joys and 
 sorrows, without fear of being checked or chilled 
 by an impatient or careless answer ; and he was 
 never weary of answering her interminable ques- 
 tions as they walked or studied together. On 
 his side, he was proud of being of use to her — 
 proud and pleased, too, at being looked up to 
 and loved by his little pupil. 
 
 They made a beautiful picture, as oftentimes 
 they sat together beneath the shade of one of 
 the old oaks by the side of Ellen's favourite 
 stream — the pale, thoughtful-looking boy, with 
 the book on his knees, and the bright girl sitting 
 beside him, her eager face upturned to his, or 
 else leaning over the book, her eyes following 
 his finger as he patiently pointed out each sepa- 
 rate letter. 'Tis true, she was not always so 
 attentive. Often, in the very middle of a word, 
 she would spring away in chase of a butterfly, or 
 jump up to watch the trout shooting imder the 
 shady bank ; but his voice always had power to 
 recal her, and his look could at any time chase 
 the frown of ill-humour from her brow. 
 
 Mary could not conceive by what magic a boy 
 of thirteen had found means to control and sub- 
 due her impetuous, and, to her, uncontrollable 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 96 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 charge. His influence was even felt in his ab- 
 sence ; for, in Ellen's most towering passions, 
 the question : " What would Master Edward say, 
 if he saw you now, Miss Percival ?" always had 
 the effect of silencing her screams and recalling 
 her to a gentler mood. 
 
 Lady Ethelwode was equally surprised, though 
 she gave herself no further trouble about the 
 matter than to say how fortunate it was some- 
 body could teach Ellen — and really, since she 
 got on so well with Edward Annesley, there was 
 no use in troubling herself about getting a go- 
 verness till after her confinement. 
 
 And thus began Ellen's education.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " She's gone and left me ; and the place she fill'd 
 In my heart is empty — empty. She has done 
 Her travail : but my task is still to roam 
 On through the world." 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 It has been said by philosophers that Time is 
 a thing which has no real independent existence, 
 that it is not a law of universal nature, but 
 only a form of human thought, one of the con- 
 ditions of the mind in its earthly tenement ; 
 and, when we look abroad, and see how diffe- 
 rently men measure, according to their different 
 circumstances, the selfsame portions of time, the 
 philosopher's mysterious theory seems realized 
 into a practical truth. Does the happy lover on 
 the eve of the day which is to give him his be- 
 loved for ever, as he lies wakeful and restless 
 from feverish joy, measure that night as the con- 
 demned convict in his cell, to whom the morrow 
 brings an ignominous death ? Is that period of 
 time the same to both, as the one watches it out 
 in a dream of love and blessedness, whilst the 
 other wakes for the first time from Ms dream, 
 to know the reality of death and eternity, and 
 
 c 2
 
 28 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 not only lives over again the long- past of crime 
 and misery, but, in fearful anticipation, lives 
 through the endless torment of the future ? The 
 chimes of the clock fall with the same sound on 
 the ears of each, but do they measure to each an 
 equal period of existence ? 
 
 So it was with the personages of our tale. So 
 lightly and gladly did the spring pass away with 
 the two children, that it seemed to them but as 
 one long sunny day ; but, oh ! how differently 
 was that season measured by him who watched, 
 hoping against hope, the last feeble flickerings 
 of that life which was the light of his ovm. ex- 
 istence ! 
 
 It was thus that Sir Charles Conway watched 
 beside his dying wife; and he counted not the 
 hours like other men. He reckoned them by 
 each pulsation of that feeble frame, by each 
 change of that fading countenance. His world 
 lay within the narrow bounds of her sick room. 
 He had taken her to Italy, when all other hope 
 failed, believing, or persuading himself to believe, 
 that the warmer climate would yet revive the 
 waning spark of life ; but the very brilliancy of 
 that foreign land, where all was strange and un- 
 familiar, seemed to oppress her failing spirit, and 
 she drooped like a transplanted flower. He soon 
 perceived that the change he had anticipated was 
 not for the better, but the worse ; and yielding
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 29 
 
 to her earnest entreaty, he turned homewards 
 again, hoping now (oh, how desperately the 
 heart clings even to the shadow of hope when 
 all its reality is gone !) that the joy of being re- 
 stored to her beloved home, of breathing once 
 more her native air, would have the healing in- 
 fluence he had sought for in vain from change of 
 scene and climate. For the first few days after 
 their arrival, his fervent expectations seemed 
 realised, for the excitement recalled awhile the 
 bloom to her cheek and brilliancy to her eye ; 
 but the delusion was short lived as its cause. 
 
 By the time they reached London, it was evi- 
 dent that the last remnant of strength was ex- 
 hausted ; and from that hour she sank rapidly 
 and visibly. Her husband watched beside her 
 night and day in silent anguish, and little Louisa 
 often forsook her playthings, and, creeping to her 
 father's knee, gazed with astonished awe on her 
 mother's altered features, where Death w^as al- 
 ready printing his mysterious characters. She 
 could not understand the change ; but the anx- 
 iety of the attendants, the fussy attentions of 
 her aunt. Lady Frances Montague, her father's 
 deep sadness, the gloom and silence of the apart- 
 ment, weighed upon her young spirits, and made 
 her feel the presence of some great mystery 
 which it would be terror to solve. 
 
 One evening that Louisa had thus taken her
 
 30 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 place by her father's side, Lady Eleanor begged 
 him to put the child on the bed beside her. She 
 was lifted up accordingly, and the dying mother 
 opened her feeble arms to receive her. She soon 
 nestled down with her head resting on her mo- 
 ther's bosom, and her little hand caressing her 
 pale cheek, and lay there quite still, till she felt 
 hot tears fall fast upon her hand. She was 
 frightened as she looked up and saw them rolling 
 down her mother's face, and began to cry. 
 
 " Hush, my precious one," said her mother, 
 pressing her more closely to her bosom, " hush, 
 I will kiss away the tears." 
 
 " Let me take her away," said her husband ; 
 " you are not strong enough for this." 
 
 " No, no, leave her ; leave her a little while 
 longer ; it will be the last time." 
 
 " Eleanor, Eleanor, do not say so ; I thought 
 you were better to-night ; I hoped — " 
 
 " It is too late to hope now," said Lady Eleanor, 
 gently. 
 
 Sir Charles threw himself on his knees beside 
 her, and laid his head on the pale thin hand she 
 stretched out to him, in agony too deep for words. 
 Both remained silent for many minutes. At 
 length Lady Eleanor spoke again. 
 
 " Charles, dearest Charles, look up, look up ; 
 do not let me see you despair. You have always 
 been my strength, my support ; will you fail me
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 31 
 
 now in this last and hardest trial ? Oh, you do 
 not know how weak, how faithless I am, when I 
 think of this poor motherless child." 
 
 She had chosen the best method of rousinof 
 her husband from his trance of misery. He raised 
 his head, and, drawing her nearer to him, strove 
 to soothe and cheer her by the most solemn as- 
 surance that her child should be cherished by him 
 as his best and only treasure. 
 
 " I know you will cherish her," said Lady 
 Eleanor, speaking more earnestly ; " but it is 
 more still that I ask of you. Will you watch 
 over her, dearest Charles, in all the detail of her 
 little life ? Will you guard her young heart from 
 being checked or chilled in its loving faith ? Will 
 you keep her from ever feeling the aching want 
 of a mother's love ? I know that this is a weary 
 and difficult task for a man ; but I remember how 
 often we have talked over together our plans for 
 that dear child ; how you first taught me the 
 high purpose of education, and made me feel that 
 a mother's vocation is the noblest that Heaven 
 can entrust to a human being ; and now it is the 
 task you taught me to perform, that I bequeath 
 to you. It is a solemn charge ; will you under- 
 take it ? Will you be to her all that I would 
 have been — mother, friend, instructor, guide ?" 
 
 " Yes, all, more than all, if it be possible," re- 
 plied her husband. " For this child will I hence-
 
 32 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 forth live ; here, on your death-bed, Eleanor, I 
 solemnly promise to fulfil to the utmost our joint 
 duty to her. I will teach her to follow in her 
 mother's footsteps ; to trust to the same hope ; 
 to cling to the same faith ; and when we meet in 
 another world, may God and you bear me wit- 
 ness that I have redeemed my pledge !" 
 
 " Now then I may die in peace," exclaimed 
 Lady Eleanor, her features lighting up with a 
 gleam of joy. '^ May God bless you for the 
 comfort you have given me ! Lift up the child ; 
 let me have her in my arms once more : fare- 
 well, my own darling ; may God for ever bless 
 you ! Charles, I commit her to Him and to you ; 
 tell her, in after years, of the mother who is now 
 leaving her. One more kiss, my child, my own 
 blessed one ! Love your father ; be to him all 
 that I have been, and more. God bless you 
 both ! Take her away now, Charles, I feel that 
 I am going fast." 
 
 The subdued and awe-stricken child was quietly 
 lifted off the bed by her father, and allowed her- 
 self to be carried quietly away. Lady Eleanor 
 was right in her foreboding that it was her last 
 farewell. A few hours afterwards the silver 
 chord was broken which binds the immortal soul 
 to its earthly dwelling-place, and her pure spirit 
 had departed to its home. 
 
 Her husband led his sister-in-law from the
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 33 
 
 room, and, leaving her to give way to her noisy 
 lamentations, returned to watch in solitude be- 
 side the bed of death. We will not follow him 
 into that sacred privacy of grief. If the strong 
 soul warring against despair was for a moment 
 subdued, no mortal eye witnessed the defeat ; if 
 the Christian's faith forsook him in that dark 
 hour, and he doubted that the blow which struck 
 him to the earth was dealt in mercy, no mortal 
 ear heard the rebellious murmur. 
 
 When summoned from his solitary communings 
 to perform the last duties towards the dead, he 
 appeared calm and self-possessed, as one who 
 had manned himself to run to the end the race 
 set before him ; with the same uncomplaining 
 fortitude he left Louisa with her aunt and de- 
 parted for his home, there to deposit the lifeless 
 remains of her who had hitherto been its life and 
 sunshine. 
 
 c5
 
 PASSION AND PEINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Wouldst thou plant for eternity, then plant in the deep, 
 infinite faculties of man, his heart, and ])hantasy. Wouldst thou 
 plant for year and day, then plant into his shallow, superficial 
 faculties, his self-love, and arithmetical understanding, what 
 will grow therein." Carlyle. 
 
 Sir Charles Conway returned to town almost 
 immediately after the funeral, for he had not 
 courage to trust himself alone in his desolate 
 home. When his child should be with him, he 
 thought he should be better able to encounter 
 the recollections with which every object as- 
 sailed him there ; and he resolved to hasten 
 the business he had to settle in town, and to 
 return with Louisa as quickly as possible. 
 
 Lady Frances Montague was greatly asto- 
 nished, and still more shocked, when she heard 
 of this determination. Was it possible that he 
 meant to bury himself and his daughter in that 
 remote county, to give up all advantages of society 
 for himself and education for her ? Surely, if he 
 must live in the country, there were houses 
 enough in the neighbourhood of London ; and he 
 might place Louisa in any one of the many ex-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 35 
 
 cellent educational establishments she could 
 point out to him, where the daughters of several 
 particular friends of hers had been brought up, 
 and where the instruction was first-rate, such as 
 Louisa could not have at Oaklands, even with 
 the best of governesses. 
 
 The lady was still more astonished when Sir 
 Charles quietly assured her that he did not mean 
 to have a governess at all, and that he intended 
 to educate his child himself. 
 
 " You may try, my dear Sir Charles," she 
 replied with an incredulous smile, "but you 
 will soon give it up : no man could do it. I 
 predict, that in less than six months you will 
 write me word that you are bored to death with 
 the thing, and beg me to find a school or a 
 governess for Louisa. I should offer at once to 
 take charge of her myself, but I am sure you see 
 that it would be impossible for me to attempt it. 
 I cannot perform my duties to my own children 
 as I could wish. I am too anxious, too nervous ; 
 and any additional responsibility would be more 
 than I could bear ; but if you decide on leaving 
 Louisa in town, I will promise to look after her." 
 
 Sir Charles thanked his sister, both for the 
 kindness she offered and for that she withheld, 
 but again assured her his mind was made up, and 
 no earthly consideration would induce him to 
 part with his child. It was not, he said, in his
 
 36 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 eyes even a matter of choice ; it was a task im- 
 posed by Heaven, of which he could not shake 
 off the responsibility, even though he devolved 
 the trouble upon another ; and he dared not trust 
 to any other the formation of his child's charac- 
 ter, on which depended the happiness of her 
 whole life here and hereafter. 
 
 This was a way of looking at the subject quite 
 new to Lady Frances, and, as she thought, very 
 high-flown and incomprehensible. But as her 
 arguments seemed equally unreasonable to Sir 
 Charles, she gave up the point, and took leave of 
 him, not without many sighs over poor Louisa's 
 hapless fate, and many forebodings that he would 
 ruin the child, and then he would repent not 
 having followed her advice. 
 
 " I hope we shall see you at Oaklands in the 
 autumn, my dear Frances," said her brother ; 
 " and when you come you will find Louisa thriv- 
 ing in body and mind, notwithstanding your 
 predictions." 
 
 '^ I trust so, though I fear you will be disap- 
 pointed in your expectations. For her sake and 
 for yours, as I know I shall be a comfort to you, 
 I will try and prevail upon myself to visit that 
 place again. It will be a great trial ; but I must 
 not think of this, or my feelings will overpower 
 me. Good bye, good bye, my dear Sir Charles ! 
 Take care of poor dear Louisa, since you will
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 37 
 
 have her; but if you should change your mind, 
 remember that I shall be quite as ready as if we 
 had never differed, to assist you in carrying out 
 any plans you may form for her." 
 
 Sir Charles once more thanked her, saying at 
 the same time, however, that he did not think it 
 likely that he should change his mind ; and Lady 
 Frances departed, inwardly marvelling at his 
 obstinacy and folly. 
 
 A few days afterwards, Sir Charles returned 
 to Oaklands with his little charge. He had well 
 judged that he should need all his fortitude, all 
 the support his child's presence could give him, 
 to bear the aspect of his desolate dwelling. Every 
 spot in the grounds, every room in the house, 
 every familiar object, was connected with the 
 thoughts of the dead. Her image seemed to 
 haunt every scene where she had once moved, 
 shedding light and gladness around her ; and it 
 needed all the energy of a mind of no common 
 strength, to resist the overwhelming influence. 
 
 Often, after a long weary day of forced occu- 
 pation, when the quiet evening had closed in, 
 and little Louisa had been carried away to bed 
 by the old nurse, who had been her mother's 
 also, and Sir Charles was left alone by his soli- 
 tary fireside, he felt that, but for his promise to 
 the departed to live for her child, he should give 
 up the struggle, and yield up a life of which he
 
 38 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 was weary. Even his faith, strong as it was, well 
 nigh forsook him in those gloomy hours, and he 
 was ready to exclaim, " It is better for me to die 
 than to live." 
 
 But these seasons of weakness and despondency 
 grew less and less frequent as time wore on, and 
 gave him with each new effort new strength to 
 perform his task. Even in his darkest moods, 
 his child's caresses had power to rouse him, and 
 day by day his interest became stronger in the 
 task he had undertaken, till he learnt to feel that 
 he had yet something left him worth living and 
 struggling for. Notwithstanding Lady Frances's 
 prophecies of the impossibilities of such a thing, 
 he devoted himself to Louisa with the entire, un- 
 selfish, patient devotion, of which women alone 
 are generally supposed capable. He had pro- 
 mised to supply the want of a mother to her ; 
 and with a mother's care he watched over the 
 development of that young and tender being, and 
 gave, almost with a mother's gentleness, the 
 guidance and gradual instruction that is needed, 
 and fostered and trained, with a mother's earnest 
 brooding love, each good and noble faculty of 
 her mind. 
 
 The bitterness of grief, the aching sense of so- 
 litude, passed away from him as he gave himself, 
 heart and soul, to the task, and a deeper and 
 holier joy than he had ever known sprung up in his
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 39 
 
 heart as he watched, day by day, his child's noble 
 nature unfold itself in the genial atmosphere of 
 love, and truth, and purity, in which she lived, 
 and looked forward to the full fruition of the 
 hopes now only budding into bloom. 
 
 Lady Frances came in the autumn, as she had 
 promised, bringing with her her two little girls, 
 who were about the same age as Louisa. She 
 had come prepared to triumph over Sir Charles, 
 on seeing all her predictions, verified, and she 
 was not a little disappointed, and still more as- 
 tonished, to find him neither tired of his under- 
 taking, nor more inclined to follow her advice 
 concerning Louisa than he had been six months 
 before. It was some compensation to find that 
 his system of education was fully as absurd as 
 she expected. Louisa was woefully ignorant, as 
 she took the first opportunity of telling her bro- 
 ther, in all things which she considered essentials 
 in her education. What was the use of her 
 knowing the names and uses of all the objects, 
 animate and inanimate, she was in the habit of 
 seeing ; of being acquainted with flowers and 
 shells, birds, beasts, and fishes, when she was 
 absolutely ignorant of even the elements of his- 
 tory and chronology ; could not read a word of 
 French, and had not even heard of the five posi- 
 tions in dancing ! 
 
 " Time enough for every thing, even the five
 
 40 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 positions, my dear Frances," was Sir Charles's 
 invariable answer, whilst he still persevered in 
 the reprobated system ; and Lady Frances was 
 obliged to give up her attack for the time, though 
 she never failed to renew it the very next day, 
 or perhaps the next hour. 
 
 The little girls were nearly as much astonished 
 at Louisa's ways as Lady Frances was at her 
 father's. They could not understand how it 
 happened that Louisa was never happy in her 
 father's absence, whilst they voted their mother 
 a terrible bore. Moreover, Louisa's unbending 
 love of truth was at times very inconvenient, 
 when they got into any childish scrapes. No ar- 
 gument, threat, or bribe, could induce her to say 
 any thing but the truth ; though she often left 
 untold, except when asked the direct question, 
 what would have exonerated her from the blame, 
 and thrown it, where it was due, on her cousins. 
 It was impossible to make her comprehend any 
 thing like trick, or cunning, or evasion ; and her 
 straightforward dealing often disconcerted not 
 only her cousins, but her aunt, who was as fond 
 of finessing and manoeuvring as weak minds ge- - 
 nerally are. Lady Frances and her daughters, 
 who did not often agree, were quite of the same 
 opinion on this subject — that they could make 
 nothing either of Louisa or her father. 
 
 The party at Oaklands was soon increased, by
 
 PASSION AKD PRINCIPLE. 41 
 
 the arrival of Reginald Talbot, Sir Charles Con- 
 way's ward, and Arthur St. John, the son of a dis- 
 tant relation, who was his heir-at-law, both fine, 
 high-spirited boys, several years older than the 
 other children. Edward Annesley, who had 
 been a schoolfellow, and was still a great friend, 
 of Reginald's, now often came over to Oaklands, 
 from the Rectory, and he was not seldom ac- 
 companied by Ellen Perceval, whose actions 
 were left perfectly uncontrolled by her indolent 
 mother. 
 
 The house, which had so lately been the abode 
 of silence and mourning, now resounded with the 
 voice of boyish mirth, the laughter and the sports 
 of the young and gay. Sir Charles.had prepared 
 himself for this; and when he had conquered 
 his reluctance to what could not but seem, at 
 first, a kind of profanation — a sacrilege to the 
 memory of the dead — his benevolent mind took 
 pleasure in witnessing the young people's joyous 
 mirth, and sympathised in their thoughtless, 
 unclouded gladness of spirit, till his solitary and 
 wounded heart forgot some part of his own sor- 
 rows in the happiness of others. 
 
 Not so Lady Frances, who held all schoolboys 
 in utter aversion, and who, from the moment 
 they entered the house, lived in perpetual terror, 
 lest her little girls should be contaminated by 
 their society and example. She could not suf-
 
 42 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 iiciently express her astonishment at Sir Charles 
 allowing Louisa to be their constant companion, 
 and she declared herself perfectly shocked at 
 Lady Ethelwode's total neglect of her child's 
 manners and complexion. Her indignation, in 
 this case, was a little increased by the mortifi- 
 cation with which she perceived that EUlen's 
 beauty wholly eclipsed her own pretty Minna's : 
 and that Fanny, though the pride of Madame 
 Gambade's dancing academy, looked stiff and 
 awkward, when brought into contrast with Ellen's 
 untutored and fairy-like grace of form and mo- 
 tion. Finding Sir Charles wholly deaf to all 
 her warnings of the ruin to which he was expos- 
 ing Louisa, she resolved to go over to the 
 castle, to try her eloquence on Lady Ethelwode, 
 with the view of persuading her of the impro- 
 priety of allowing Ellen to run wild as she did. 
 
 She was not more successful with her than 
 with Sir Charles. Lady Ethelwode thought 
 Lady Frances's educational manners more absurd 
 than her own neglect. 
 
 *' I am sure / never was taught any of these 
 things," w^as her answer to her friend's remon- 
 strances, " and I have got on in the world as well 
 as most people, and I hope Ellen will do the 
 same ; with such a face as her's, who will care 
 whether she knows any thing or not ?" 
 
 There was no denying the beauty of the face
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 43 
 
 — nor that it was exquisite enough to make any 
 one forget to inquire into the accomplishments 
 of the possessor. So Lady Ethelwode remained 
 perfectly satisfied with the conviction so pleasing 
 to her indolence — that the '^ Laissez-faire'' system 
 was the only rational system of education, and 
 Ellen was left to grow, as she had hitherto done, 
 like the wild flowers she so dearly loved, receiv- 
 ing only such education as nature and circum- 
 stances administered. 
 
 Notwithstanding their disagreement on this 
 important point, the two ladies had rapidly pro- 
 gressed into intimacy ; and when Lady Frances 
 announced her intention of leaving Oaklands, 
 Lady Ethelwode entreated her to remain till 
 after her confinement, which was soon to take 
 place, and which was looked forward to as a mo- 
 mentous event by her husband and all who de- 
 pended upon him, in hopes that she w^ould give 
 birth to an heir to the house and lands of Ethel- 
 wode. These hopes were soon fulfilled ; and 
 Lord Ethelwode, as he held his infant son in his 
 arms, and presented him to his assembled te- 
 nantry, felt that the proudest wish of his heart 
 had been granted to him. Bells were rung, bon- 
 fires blazed, oxen were roasted whole, ale flowed 
 like water; high and low, gentle and simple, 
 were convened to partake of the baron's hospi- 
 tality, which was worthy of the barbarous mag-
 
 44 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 nificenee of his Saxon forefathers ; and the baron 
 himself would have been the happiest man in 
 England, but for the sight of Lord CaldwelFs 
 white house reminding him that the fairest por- 
 tion of those forefathers' domains had passed into 
 the hands of a lowborn stranger. 
 
 As soon as the joyous excitement, and the 
 round of festivities caused by this event, were at 
 an end, Lady Frances prepared to leave Oaklands. 
 With many parting admonitions to her brother- 
 in-law on the subject of Louisa's appearance and 
 manners, she, the French governess, the accom- 
 plished children, and the train of nurses and 
 lady's maids, drove off, leaving Sir Charles feel- 
 ing more happy than he had done for many 
 months before. 
 
 Snatching up Louisa in his arms, he threw 
 away the green veil and French spelling book 
 her aunt had left her as a legacy, and running 
 through the library and out upon the lawn, he at 
 length tossed the laughing child upon a heap of 
 new-mown grass, and threw himself beside her 
 with a delicious sensation of relief and freedom.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 45 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " The situation that has not its duty, its ideal was never yet 
 occupied by man. Yes, here, in this poor, miserable, hampered, 
 despised actual, wherein thou even now standest,here or nowhere 
 is thy ideal. Work it out therefrom ; and workino;, believe, live, 
 be free ! " Carlyle. 
 
 Twelve years passed away — twelve years, so 
 uneventful in external circumstances, however 
 momentous in the inward history of each indivi- 
 dual, that for the purposes of our tale it will 
 suffice to say that they had passed. Sir Charles 
 Conway had taken his daughter abroad when she 
 reached the age at which girls generally go out ; 
 and they were now just returned home, after an 
 absence of two years. The London season being 
 over. Lady Frances Montague and her two 
 daughters had come down to meet them ; and 
 thus the same party was once more assembled 
 at Oaklands, with the exception of Reginald 
 Talbot and Arthur St. John, the former of whom 
 had entered the career of diplomacy, and was 
 already considered one of the most rising men of 
 the day ; whilst the latter had obtained a com- 
 mission in his Majesty's Life Guards, and had
 
 46 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 won for himself no mean reputation in the high- 
 est circles of London exclusivism. 
 
 Years had done nothing towards diminishing 
 the differences of opinion and practice between 
 Sir Charles Conway and Lady Frances Monta- 
 gue, or those of character and pursuits between 
 Louisa and her cousins. They had grown up 
 from childhood to womanhood, and their parents 
 were severally beginning to reap the fruits of the 
 harvest they had sown. 
 
 Lady Frances had laboured more consistently 
 and successfully than many who profess a higher 
 aim, and she had attained her object. Her 
 daughters' dress, manners, and appearance were 
 unexceptionable, their accomplishments much 
 above par. Fanny's singing made her sought 
 after by all concert givers in London, and Minna 
 had always more partners at a ball than any 
 other girl in the room. 
 
 Lady Frances rejoiced in the proud conscious- 
 ness that she had fulfilled to the utmost her 
 duties towards them : it was for them to do the 
 rest, and by the means which she had bestowed 
 upon them, to procure themselves an advanta- 
 geous settlement in life. When this was accom- 
 plished, she felt she should have nothing left to 
 wish for. 
 
 Sir Charles's joy was of a different kind, as 
 his views and aims had been ; and, as he took
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 47 
 
 once more his accustomed seat in the old library, 
 he gratefully contrasted his present return with 
 that melancholy arrival twelve years before, when 
 he stood on his desolate hearth a lonely, cheer- 
 less, broken-hearted man, and hardly feeling that 
 he had strength enough within him to perform 
 his duty towards the only being that was left 
 him to cherish. The effort which had then 
 seemed so painful had long been made, and he 
 was now reaping the reward of his incessant de- 
 votion to his child, in her unbounded affection 
 and reverence, in her sympathy for all her pur- 
 suits and pleasures, and in the companionship 
 which daily grew dearer to him. If sometimes 
 he regretted that her separation from the soften- 
 ing influence of female society had given a 
 shade of sternness to her manner, and left her 
 wanting in many of the lesser graces and accom- 
 plishments of her sex, this was only a passing 
 trouble; it could not disturb his deep joy in 
 her strength of mind, her cultivated intellect, 
 her noble and generous spirit, and he felt that he 
 had amply redeemed his pledge to her beloved 
 mother. 
 
 " Well, and what do you think of my girls ? " 
 was Lady Frances's first question when she found 
 herself alone with Sir Charles. 
 
 *' I think they are very handsome, agreeable 
 girls, and well fitted, as far as I can judge, to
 
 48 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 take their place in the sphere in which you wish 
 them to move." 
 
 " Yes, I flatter myself they are ; and I think. 
 Sir Charles, that you must give me credit now 
 for understanding something about the education 
 of girls, though you always refused to follow my 
 advice about Louisa." 
 
 '* I have always given you credit for adapting 
 your means to the end you had in view ; — my 
 end was a different one, and it was therefore ne- 
 cessary that I should use different means to 
 attain it. Since we are equally satisfied with 
 the results of our labours, there is no use in 
 discussing the matter further." 
 
 Lady Frances willingly changed the subject, 
 for she felt that she could not, in the face of 
 Louisa's plain features and unfashionable man- 
 ners, return the compliment he had paid to her 
 daughters ; and her next question was, when did 
 he mean to bring Louisa out ? 
 
 " She is out, as far as I understand the word. 
 She has been at the head of my establishment for 
 more than two years." 
 
 " Yes, I know that ; but you have been abroad 
 during these two years, and you seem to have 
 entered very little into society during that time. 
 Now, dear Louisa wants society ; — she wants 
 polishing. You know how fond I am of her, so 
 you will not mind my speaking openly. A Lon-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 49 
 
 don season would do wonders for her, with a 
 little help from me and her cousins. Besides, 
 you should really begin to think of her establish- 
 ment in life. She is twenty already, you know." 
 
 Sir Charles was ready with his old answer, that 
 there was time enough to think of that. He 
 meant to go to London next spring ; and in the 
 meanwhile he hoped Louisa's prospects would not 
 be injured by her having no other society than 
 the neighbourhood afforded. 
 
 " Poor Louisa !" said her aunt, in a pathetic 
 tone. " And so she is to remain for another year 
 buried alive in this gloomy place !" 
 
 '* A very comfortable way of being buried 
 alive, at all events," said Louisa, who had come 
 into the room with her cousins as her aunt ut- 
 tered these words ; *' with this house for a coffin, 
 and the sky for a vault, and air, and sunshine, 
 and pleasant society, instead of ' the worms creep- 
 ing in and the worms creeping out.' The land of 
 the living can scarcely be made more desirable." 
 
 " Louisa turns every thing into ridicule," said 
 Lady Frances, angrily, " and I must say I do not 
 approve of it. It is not at all becoming in a 
 young person to be so sarcastic ; nothing succeeds 
 less in good society." 
 
 " You forget, mamma," exclaimed her eldest 
 daughter Minna, " that Louisa would not for the 
 world confess she would like to go out. It 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 would be quite beneath her dignity to care for 
 any thing so frivolous as a ball." 
 
 " I imagine Louisa would think it much more 
 beneath her dignity to be insincere," said Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 A bright idea had flashed across Lady Frances's 
 mind at the mention of the word ball. Why 
 should not Sir Charles give a ball at Oaklands ? 
 It would be an excellent way of bringing Louisa 
 out with proper eclat in the county, and of re- 
 newing their intercourse with the neighbourhood 
 after their long absence. 
 
 " I wonder it never struck me before how well 
 this house is adapted to that sort of thing," said 
 she ; " the saloon will make a capital ball-room, 
 opening as it does into the conservatory ; then, 
 the two drawing-rooms, and the library, and 
 poor dear Eleanor's boudoir (though it would be 
 a sore trial to my feelings to see strangers in that 
 room) might be opened en suite; and the lawn 
 could be lighted with coloured lamps ; it would 
 be quite splendid. Do pray, my dear Sir Charles, 
 fix a day, and let me write the invitations at 
 once." 
 
 Minna and Fanny bent eagerly forward in ex- 
 pectation of their uncle's answer; Louisa had 
 read it already in his countenance. 
 
 " If I thought Louisa wished it " he began,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 51 
 
 " Of course Louisa wishes it !" exclaimed both 
 mother and daughters. 
 
 But Louisa begged to speak for herself. She 
 knew that to a man of her father's grave and re- 
 tired habits nothing could be more irksome or 
 annoying than to have his house thrown into 
 confusion, to receive a crowd of strangers ; and 
 she quietly said that she was sorry to disappoint 
 her cousins ; but she had no wish that her father 
 should give a ball at Oaklands. 
 
 " Well," said Lady Frances, " I do think— I 
 must say — I confess I should be sorry to see my 
 girls so unnatural, so forgetful of others. I 
 could not bear to see them setting themselves up 
 as being so superior to the rest of the world, and 
 thinking and judging so coolly for themselves." 
 
 Notwithstanding her aunt's angry disapproba- 
 tion, Louisa remained firm in her decision ; and 
 as Sir Charles was equally so in his, of acting 
 according to her wishes, it was evident that there 
 was no hope of a ball being given at Oaklands. 
 Lady Frances, however, would not give up the 
 idea of a ball altogether; and she told Minna 
 that evening that she should go over to the 
 castle the next day, and try what could be done 
 with Lady Ethelwode. Ellen was nearly eighteen, 
 and it was high time that she should be brought 
 out ; and a mother could not be so insensible to 
 
 D 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS UBRARZ
 
 52 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 her daughter's advantage as Sir Charles chose 
 to be. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Minna, " this plan will 
 turn out more hopeless than the last. Poor lazy 
 Lady Ethelwode will be frightened into fits at 
 the thoughts of the fatigue ; besides, it would 
 require a forty-horse power to get her out of her 
 chaise longue to receive her guests." 
 
 *' But she need not leave it unless she chooses. 
 Ellen can do all that. Leave it to me. I will 
 go over to-morrow morning, and manage it all. 
 You shall have your ball, my dear girls ; and I 
 am sure you ought to be thankful for having a 
 mother to slave for you, as I do." 
 
 The young ladies were thankful. Their mo- 
 ther's merits shone highly in contrast with Sir 
 Charles Conway, or Lady Ethelwode ; and they 
 were much more ready to acknowledge them, 
 since she had directed her activity on their behalf 
 to gaiety instead of education. 
 
 The next morning, Lady Frances, accompanied 
 by Louisa, who was, however, left in ignorance of 
 the real object of the visit, drove over to Ethel- 
 wode Castle, to make her attack upon its fair 
 and indolent mistress. They found her, as usual, 
 in the boudoir, where she was last seen by our 
 readers. Every thing was unchanged in that de- 
 licious apartment. The subdued light, the mur- 
 mur of the stream, the rich scent of the flowers,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 53 
 
 the gorgeous furniture, all were the same. The 
 hand of time had left no visible trace on the lux- 
 urious scene, save in the enlarged and less 
 graceful proportions of the lady who reclined 
 there, listening with half-shut eyes to the novel 
 her daughter's Italian governess was reading 
 aloud. 
 
 Twelve years had passed over Lady Ethel- 
 wode's head like one long dull dream, leaving on 
 her as few traces of their passage as on the trees 
 in her garden. Like them, she had vegetated 
 on, equally indifferent to every event which did 
 not effect her own animal existence ; but, unlike 
 them, she had borne neither fruit nor flower, 
 she had neither ministered to the wants of man 
 nor gladdened his heart. 
 
 Lady Frances had been casting about in her 
 mind, all the time of the drive, how she should 
 manage to get Louisa out of the way, as the 
 latter's straightforward dealing was likely to 
 interfere with the success of her intended ma- 
 noeuvres. But Louisa herself saved her all trou- 
 ble on this score ; for, feeling no relish for her 
 aunt's and Lady Ethelwode's conversation, she 
 soon left them together, and went away in search 
 of Ellen. The friendship between the two girls, 
 which had begun in childhood, had become 
 stronger and closer with each year of their lives, 
 and to it Ellen owed all that she had ever re-
 
 54 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 ceived of instruction, or guidance, or even affec- 
 tion. Louisa's stronger mind exercised a great 
 and beneficial influence over her, but it could 
 only partly counteract the effects of neglect and 
 bad example, on a nature endowed with strong 
 passions and a fervid imagination, which it w^ould 
 have required the most careful education to con- 
 trol and regulate. Ellen was still the child of 
 impulse, and it was evident that her lot would 
 be shaped not by herself with the power that 
 strong minds exercise over the external condi- 
 tions of their existence, but by those into whose 
 hands she might happen to fall, and the circum- 
 stances in which she lived. 
 
 Louisa directed her steps in search of her to 
 a summer-house in the upper part of the gardens, 
 where she knew she should most likely find her 
 at that hour. This summer-house was built on 
 a knoll behind the castle, which commanded a 
 wide view of sea and land. It was Ellen's fa- 
 vourite haunt ; and she would sit there for hours, 
 looking out on the glorious scene below — the 
 richly wooded hills — the dell in which the village 
 seemed to nestle in the sunshine— the creek, 
 with its yellow sands gleaming in bright contrast 
 with the soft green slope, which met them, and 
 whose overhanging trees nearly kissed the waters 
 when the tide came in — and, more beautiful than 
 all, the wide open sea beyond — beautiful alike in
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 55 
 
 the sunny calm of summer, or in the dark ^vin- 
 ter's storm, and ever sending up its low deep 
 murmur through the lighter sounds of rustlhig 
 leaves and humming insects, entrancing the ear, 
 and thrilling the heart with a power which no 
 other earthly music possesses. 
 
 There did Louisa find Ellen that mornino-. 
 She stopped on the threshold one moment, to 
 contemplate the beauty of the picture the little 
 summer-house presented. Ellen was sitting by 
 the arched window wdth a book in her hand ; 
 but she was not reading ; the hand had fallen 
 listlessly on her knee, and she leaned back in the 
 rustic chair in the attitude of one in a deep re- 
 verie. A shade of mournfulness was on her 
 brow, and her large blue eyes looked on the rich 
 'landscape as if they saw it not ; a tear trembled 
 on the long black lashes, and her thoughts were 
 evidently far from the sunny scene before her. 
 As the light from above fell on her exquisitely 
 graceful form, and her chiselled and perfect fea- 
 tures, Louisa thought that never had dream of 
 mortal poet conceived, or hand of mortal artist 
 embodied, any thing so surpassingly, so fault- 
 lessly lovely. She gazed on her for a few mi- 
 nutes in silence, and then gently went up to her. 
 
 " Still dreaming, Ellen !" said she, as she 
 laid her hand on her friend's shoulder. Ellen 
 started up.
 
 56 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 '' You here, Louisa ! What can have brought 
 you over so early ?" 
 
 " So early ! Why, my dear dreamer, you do 
 not seem to know how time passes away. It is 
 past two o'clock !" 
 
 ** Past two ! impossible ! I have not heard 
 the gong for luncheon." 
 
 " It sounded, however, just as we drove up, 
 and there is my watch for further proof. Look !" 
 
 " Yes, I see you are right. How quickly this 
 morning has flown ! Well, I am glad to see you, 
 dear Loo ; but I did not expect you, as you said 
 in your note, yesterday, that you should not be 
 able to come to-day." 
 
 " Nor did I think I should, as I have my aunt 
 and two cousins to entertain ; rather a heavy 
 task, with people who have not a taste or a pur- 
 suit in common with me. But my aunt took a 
 violent fancy this morning to call on Lady Ethel- 
 wode without delay, so, away we came ; I left 
 them in the drawing-room, deep in conversation, 
 and came to look for you, and here I have caught 
 you in the very fact of breaking your last good 
 resolution." 
 
 " What about my idle day-dreaming ?" said 
 Ellen, blushing. " You, who never broke a reso- 
 lution in your life, must think me very weak ; 
 but I really cannot help it." 
 
 " This is a most lamentable confession of
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 57 
 
 weakness — almost too lamentable to be quite 
 credible. Do you not think it sounds rather like 
 a flattering unction laid to one's soul, a sort of 
 excusing one's self to one's self, for not leaving 
 off what is ' pleasant but wrong.' " 
 
 " But, after all," said Ellen, evading a direct 
 answer, '* what is the harm of my poor dreams, 
 which you wage such war against ? What harm 
 can it do me to picture to myself a world brighter 
 and more beautiful than this — beings more pure 
 and noble than the common clay of our earth — 
 love such as the earth cannot give ? Why should 
 I for ever plod on in this dull, stale, unprofitable 
 world, when I can forget it awhile in my bright 
 dreams ? You are no judge, Louisa, of the force 
 of such a temptation — you who have the hap- 
 piest of homes, a friend, a companion, in your 
 father, to share in all your feelings and pursuits 
 — you do not know what it is to feel lonely and 
 sick at heart, as I do, when I am away from you 
 — to pine for the affection I cannot obtain, the 
 activity of heart and mind which is denied me — 
 you cannot imagine what it is, at such times, to 
 escape from the realities of a life like this, and 
 to find happiness and freedom at least in dreams." 
 
 " And the waking, dearest Ellen ?" said 
 Louisa, in a gentler tone, looking sorrowfully on 
 her companion's beautiful countenance ; " the 
 waking — is it not all the more bitter for your 
 
 Do
 
 58 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 having deceived yourself for awhile ? Do not the 
 realities of life seem more harsh, its pleasures 
 more insipid, and its duties more difficult to per- 
 form, after your mind has heen thus ungirded 
 and intoxicated by those delicious dreams ?" 
 
 Ellen sighed deeply. 
 
 " But, Louisa," said she, after a moment's 
 silence, *' it is not as if I had any duties to per- 
 form ; I have none — I am cared for by no one : 
 — no, I am ungrateful — ^you do care for me, 
 dearest Loo, and so does my brother, I believe ; 
 but, besides you two, I am loved by no one, and 
 I am of use to no one. I am of no good to 
 any human being." 
 
 " Have you already forgotten, Ellen, the words 
 of your favourite Shakspeare, that you admired 
 so much the other day ? 
 
 "■ ' For nought so vile, that on this earth doth live. 
 But to the earth some special good doth give.' 
 
 Look out only on this turf whereon we stand — 
 on this endless variety of plants. Do you think 
 that if there is not one of these — not even the 
 smallest, lowliest flower, hut exists for some 
 good purpose — that you, a human being, rich in 
 affections, in capacities, with ' a miraculously 
 gifted head,' and immortal soul — that you are 
 here for no purpose at all — that no good was in- 
 tended to be produced by your existence — that,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 59 
 
 whilst a sphere of action, adapted to its faculties, 
 is provided for every meanest insect, for you 
 there is none — that the all-wise Creator made 
 you, merely to be a useless link in the chain of 
 existence ?" 
 
 " But, although I feel all this is true, must be 
 true, in theory, I cannot see how it is to be ap- 
 plied. Of what use — what good can I be to any 
 one ? I have affections, which I must strive to 
 deaden, for I am not allowed to lavish them on 
 the only beings I could love. I have energies, 
 which I must forcibly keep down, for I have no 
 object on which to exercise them. What can I 
 do in such circumstances as these ?" 
 
 " Yet, since God has placed you in these cir- 
 cumstances, they must be the sphere in which he 
 meant you to act, and your work must be within 
 them, if you could but discover it." 
 
 " Ay, there's the rub," said Ellen. " Only find 
 my work, and I will do it." 
 
 " You will not find it in such books as this," 
 replied Louisa, pointing to a volume of Lord 
 Byron, which lay open on Ellen's knee. " It is 
 not through the medium of a mind ungirded by 
 luxury, and embittered by the consciousness of 
 having been false to its own nobler aspirations, 
 that you must look on actual life, in search of your 
 appointed work therein. It is in the truth, not 
 in fiction, that you must seek for it — in the
 
 60 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 truth, which lies around you, could you but dis- 
 cern it, in every work of God — the truth which 
 is more plainly interpreted in His word. Look 
 more closely into those very circumstances you 
 complain of; — the meanest of human beings exer- 
 cises an influence for good or evil on those 
 around him — think you that, gifted as you are, 
 you exercise none? Christ came on earth to 
 minister unto men, not to be ministered unto. 
 Can you, with health, beauty, intellect, wealth, 
 minister to none of His creatures, less gifted 
 than yourself? To look no farther than your 
 own welfare, have you not talents to cultivate, 
 aftections to purify and control, another life be- 
 yond this, for which to educate yourself? If 
 you have none of these, then, indeed, I will 
 allow that you have no work to do." 
 
 " Oh, Louisa !" exclaimed Ellen, covering her 
 face with her hands. 
 
 Both remained silent for some minutes, till 
 Louisa saw two or three tears slowly trickling 
 through Ellen's fingers. " This will never do, 
 dear Ellen," said she, gently kissing her as she 
 spoke. " Crying is a bad way to begin a hope- 
 ful task, and I shall get scolded by Lady Ethel- 
 wode for making your eyes red. Come — now, 
 I have preached my sermon, which, I confess, 
 was long enough to bring tears into any body's 
 eyes, and have cut you out a lifetime's work, I
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 61 
 
 think we had better go back to the house, espe- 
 cially as aunt Frances must have talked Lady 
 Ethelwode into a fever by this time." 
 
 Ellen brushed away her tears, and returned 
 Louisa's kiss, saying, " she hoped she would find 
 her sermon had not been thrown away ;" and 
 the two girls returned to the castle. 
 
 They found Lady Frances in all the triumph 
 of successful diplomacy. She had managed 
 matters so skilfully, that she had not only con- 
 vinced Lady Ethelwode of the absolute necessity 
 of bringing Ellen out without delay, and the 
 propriety of giving a ball for the purpose, but 
 she had induced Lord Ethelwode to give his 
 consent to the plan, fixing on his son's birthday 
 as that on which the ball was to take place ; and 
 persuading him that it was to be given entirely 
 in honour of his youthful heir. This ingenious 
 expedient obviated all the objections which Lord 
 Ethelwode would otherwise have made ; and, 
 before Lady Frances left him, the matter was 
 decided upon, and the preliminaries were all 
 settled. 
 
 " How very kind of you to take all this trouble 
 for my child, my dear Lady Frances !" said Lady 
 Ethelwode, as her busy friend rose to take her 
 leave ; " I am really very much obliged to you." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all ; I assure you, I never 
 mind trouble when I can be of service to my
 
 62 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 friends. To be sure, in this case, I may claim 
 the merit of disinterestedness ; for I felt it my 
 duty to go out so much with the girls this year 
 in London, that I am almost sick of the very 
 mention of a ball, and they really care so very 
 little about it, that I have the less inducement to 
 interest myself in any thing of the kind. But 
 there is nothing I would not do for my favourite 
 Ellen." 
 
 So saying, she hurried away, leaving Lady 
 Ethelwode wondering at the strength of the 
 affection which could make her friend go through 
 the fatigue of so much activity for any one 
 living.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 63 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Her wordsj her looks, her every movement, impressed you 
 with respect ; another sort of respect than what was paid to rank 
 or birth. Good sense, good feeUng, disclosed itself in all she did. 
 You forgot that more beauty, more softness, might have been 
 required; you felt yourself under the influence of something 
 noble, something stately and earnest, something decisive that lay 
 in her look and gestures ; not less attracted to her, than com- 
 pelled to reverence her." — Heyne, from Carlyle's Review, 
 
 The next day Louisa was detained in doors 
 by a slight cold, and, as Minna was engaged to 
 ride with her father, and Lady Frances had 
 visits to pay with Fanny, she was left at home 
 alone. She was rejoicing in the prospect of a 
 long afternoon of uninterrupted occupation, 
 when, on her return to the drawing-room, which 
 she had left to seek for her book, she found a 
 stranofer there, who bowed and advanced towards 
 her. 
 
 " Will you excuse my having taken the liberty 
 of an old acquaintance. Miss Conway," said he, 
 " in asking for you when I heard that Sir Charles 
 was not at home ?" 
 
 Louisa bowed, but, far from seeming glad to
 
 64 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 meet an old acquaintance, she did not appear 
 even to recognise her visitor. 
 
 " I am afraid I am quite forgotten, which is 
 not a little mortifying," resumed the stranger, a 
 tall and very handsome man, somewhere about 
 five-and-twenty ; "but if Miss Conway will 
 allow her memory to run back some eight or 
 nine years, perhaps she will recollect a certain 
 old playfellow of hers, Arthur St. John." 
 
 " Undoubtedly I do," exclaimed Louisa, her 
 somewhat stiff manner relapsing into cordiality, 
 and her countenance lighting up with the pecu- 
 liarly bright smile which made her at times look 
 almost beautiful, "though I certainly did not 
 recognise him in you. It is but a fair revanche^ 
 however, for I remember that in those days your 
 contempt for the amusements and conversation 
 of little girls was much more mortifying than 
 my natural difficulty just now in recognising 
 you after such a lapse of years could possibly be." 
 
 " Oh, pray do not let your memory extend to 
 the sins of my youth !" exclaimed Mr. St. John. 
 " I have no doubt I was a brute, as all school- 
 boys are, and only claim to be remembered that 
 I may not be received as a stranger." 
 
 Louisa readily allowed his claim, and granted 
 him the permission he asked, to wait in her so- 
 ciety for her father's return. His reminiscences 
 of their childish days had at once banished the
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 65 
 
 formality of a first meeting. She went on with 
 her drawing, whilst he took his seat beside her 
 as if they had only parted the day before. 
 
 *' But how is it, Miss Conway," said St. John, 
 after they had talked for some time, " that you 
 have so little of a woman's curiosity, as not yet 
 to have asked by what miracle I, a cockney by 
 birth and profession, arrived here unexpectedly 
 at three o'clock in the afternoon ?" 
 
 *' True, I forgot the improbability ; but now 
 you have raised my curiosity, pray satisfy it. To 
 what do we owe the honour of Mr. St. John's 
 visit?" 
 
 " I came down to the abbey last night with 
 Lord Caldwell, and naturally rushed forth this 
 morning, at the earliest possible hour, to pay my 
 respects here," answered St. John, bowing with 
 mock gravity. 
 
 " Lord/Caldwell's presence is almost as strange 
 as yours in the county. I scarcely ever remem- 
 ber seeing the abbey look anything but desolate 
 and uninhabited." 
 
 " He tells me he intends coming down here 
 more frequently now, which sounds, I think, like 
 an approaching change in the ministry ; for such 
 an unwearied politician as Lord Caldwell must 
 think any place distant a hundred miles from 
 Westminster, beyond the limits of the habitable 
 world, unless he were in dudgeon w ith the ruling
 
 66 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 party. The country ought to be grateful to 
 him, for such a life must be horribly irksome." 
 
 " The country should be grateful to all who 
 work energetically in its service ; but why call 
 it an irksome life ?" 
 
 " Irksome, 7i'est pas le mot. It is the worst 
 of all possible drudgeries, in my opinion — ^buried 
 up to the ears all day in parliamentary records 
 and statistical reports, scraping together facts 
 and arguments ; on one's legs all night, wasting 
 both upon country squires and Tory lords, whose 
 obtuse brains have no ' weak side of common 
 sense whereat to attack them.' Can anything 
 be more thankless ?" 
 
 " That must depend upon the nature of the 
 ambition. To a man with a really great and 
 noble object in view, towards which he felt that 
 his efforts were enabling him to draw nearer 
 every day, even such toil as you speak of must 
 lose the name, and become a source of pleasure." 
 
 " Well, thank Heaven I never had any ambi- 
 tion ! I always had an insurmountable horror of 
 becoming what is called a rising young man ; 
 thanks to which, I have escaped being brought 
 into Parliament, and drudging all my life to ob- 
 tain a garter, or a title, which never comes till 
 your leg is too gouty to wear the one, and the 
 other can only serve the purpose of ornamenting
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 67 
 
 your tombstone. Lord Caldwell, however, is an 
 exception to the rule. Do you know him ?" 
 
 " I can hardly say I do, though I have met 
 him. My father knows him very well ; they are 
 of the same opinion in politics." 
 
 " Yes, I know it; and I suppose that is pretty 
 nearly the only subject on which they do agree. 
 If ever Lord Caldwell should settle in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Lord Ethelwode will be left in a com- 
 plete minority." 
 
 " He is unfortunately so violent in his opinions, 
 that my father never will discuss politics with 
 him." 
 
 " An excellent plan ! I wish that more of our 
 political partisans would imitate his example, 
 and cultivate ' un grand talent pour le silence ;' 
 certainly the Frenchman who supposed that this 
 was an English characteristic, had never been to 
 the House of Commons. But, to turn to a more 
 interesting subject, what is become of Lady 
 Ethelwode's pretty daughter ?" 
 
 '' Oh ! she is at the castle, and lovelier than 
 ever. Pretty is not the word to apply to her. 
 But I will not attempt to describe her ; you will 
 probably see her, and judge for yourself." 
 
 *' I hope I shall not have to wait long : but is 
 this wonder of the world to be immured for ever 
 in the old castle, like some heroine of ancient 
 times ; and we poor mortals without to be tan-
 
 68 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 talised by the report of her beauty, which is never 
 to shine upon us ?" 
 
 *' I assure you nobody was ever less immured 
 than Ellen ; she is the most fearless wanderer 
 o'er hill and dale." 
 
 << Very likely ; but you know we Londoners 
 are apt to give the name of the world rather ex- 
 clusively to our own particular portion of it ; and 
 it is for that world I am pleading." 
 
 " I forgot," said Louisa, smiling. " Well, 
 then, I suppose Ellen will gladden your world 
 with her presence whenever Lady Ethelwode can 
 make up her mind to take so long a journey ; — 
 du Teste there has not been much delay as yet, 
 for she is not eighteen. Perhaps we may make 
 our debut together next spring, and see how we 
 like it." 
 
 " You will be singular if you do not like it too 
 well." 
 
 "Too well?" 
 
 " Yes, the fascination is great, till the perpe- 
 tual round of the same amusements becomes 
 'weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable;' and then we 
 still crowd to them, wasting on them our ener- 
 gies of body and mind, because we have become 
 unfit to enjoy more healthful pleasures." 
 
 " And is this your real opinion of London so- 
 ciety ? Yet it was but a minute ago you were
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 69 
 
 advocating the expediency of Miss Percival being 
 introduced into it." 
 
 " I spoke then as interest leads one to speak ; 
 and I should urge the same again if I thought 
 that by doing so, that same weary round would 
 be enlivened by anything so fresh and new as Miss 
 Percival." 
 
 " Uttering different opinions according to in- 
 terest and circumstance," said Louisa — " is that 
 one of the sanctioned freedoms of your fashion- 
 able world ? If so, you do well to inveigh against 
 it." 
 
 " Not uttering different opinions, only modify- 
 ing them," replied Arthur; " there is little gained 
 in society by hurting the opinions and prejudices 
 of others." 
 
 " But still less, I should hope, by showing a 
 false compliance with them." 
 
 " I will not presume to argue such a serious 
 question with you ; I should undoubtedly make 
 a fool of myself; and, at all events, if I am 
 obliged to confess that London is not le Palais 
 de la Verite, believe me, at least, I rejoice to 
 find it here." 
 
 " Surely it should be in every human heart," 
 answered Louisa, still gravely, for to her there 
 was no plaisanterie upon such a subject. 
 
 " Do not judge too severely until you know 
 how ill-suited a place London is for preserving
 
 70 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 that temple pure. It is that knowledge," he 
 continued, after a moment's silence, " more than 
 the desire of quiet, more than mere satiety of 
 worn-out pleasures, wdiich sickens one of the 
 world, and makes one long to seek in such scenes 
 as these to regain the guilelessness and the fresh- 
 ness of mind it has destroyed." 
 
 Louisa looked up in astonishment, but her mo- 
 mentary displeasure was gone; she forgot that 
 he had a moment before advocated the cause of 
 insincerity, when she heard the tone of mournful 
 regret with which he spoke these last words. 
 
 A short silence ensued, and, before they had 
 time to resume their conversation, Minna Mon- 
 tague entered the room, having just returned 
 from her ride. 
 
 " Mr. St. John ! is it possible ? " she ex- 
 claimed, as she recognized Louisa's companion. 
 " What can you be doing in Devonshire, when all 
 the world is grouse-shooting in Scotland? I 
 hope you mean to stay for Lady Ethelwode's 
 ball : I suppose Louisa has already told you that 
 she is going to give one?" 
 
 '' Lady Ethelwode give a ball ! Then she 
 must be much changed from what I remember 
 her." 
 
 ''Oh no ! she is as indolent as ever ; but 
 mamma managed to persuade her into it, and 
 promised to take all the trouble ; and now, if
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 71 
 
 any thing should happen to prevent it, it would 
 be desolant ! " 
 
 " You will not be kept long in suspense," said 
 Mr. St. John, " for here come Lady Frances and 
 your sister, just in time, I hope, to save you from 
 any dangerous excess of grief and anxiety." 
 
 Minna ran off to hear the news they had 
 brought in spite of her riding-habit, which rather 
 embarrassed her movements. At the door she 
 nearly tumbled over Sir Charles, who was coming 
 in with his hands full of papers, which she 
 knocked down and scattered in her hurry. 
 
 *' Ten thousand pardons, my dear uncle ! I 
 will come back again in a minute to pick them 
 up ;" and on she ran, leaving Sir Charles rather 
 confounded at her rapidity. 
 
 He was still more astonished when, on turn- 
 ing round, he saw St. John, who had sprung for- 
 ward to repair Miss Montague's awkwardness, 
 and now presented to him the papers he had 
 dropped. 
 
 ** My dear Arthur," exclaimed he, " how came 
 you here ? Do you drop from the clouds ? " 
 
 " No, only from the abbey, where I arrived 
 yesterday, and whither I must soon return now 
 I have seen you, or Lord Caldwell will think I 
 am lost, owing to my conceit in not choosing to 
 take a guide." 
 
 " Well, I am glad you waited to see me ; I
 
 72 PA.SSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 should have been very sorry to miss you. How 
 is your father? Does he like his colonial ap- 
 pointment ? " 
 
 *' Very much indeed, I believe. When the last 
 Mediterranean packet sailed from Corfu, he was 
 as happy as a man can be with the thermometer 
 at ninety degrees in the shade, and the air black 
 with musquitoes." 
 
 " That does not sound very like happiness," 
 said Sir Charles, laughing. " But, my dear boy, 
 will you not stay and dine with us ?" 
 
 St. John could not stay that day, as Lord 
 Caldwell expected him, and he had no time to 
 lose, as he had promised to be home early. Sir 
 Charles asked him for the next day, and, having 
 accepted the invitation, he took his leave, with- 
 out waiting for the return of Miss Montague. 
 
 The next day Sir Charles went to the abbey 
 to call on Lord Caldwell and St. John, and, as 
 Louisa and Minna were with him, they rode up 
 and down the avenue whilst he was within. 
 
 " Why is this place called the abbey ? " asked 
 Minna, when the two girls were left together. " I 
 never was here before, and I always concluded it 
 was an old place, from its name." 
 
 " It is certainly not very appropriate for this 
 new house," answered Louisa ; '^ but it owes it 
 to that old ruin you see between us and Ethel- 
 wode Castle, and which, I believe. Lord Ethel-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 73 
 
 wode grudges the possession of to his neighbour 
 more than all the rest of thrs fine property which 
 once was his." 
 
 " What an unaccountable fancy ; but I know 
 it is the fashion with a certain set of people to 
 love any thing because it is old — the very 
 reason, to my mind, why such things are little 
 worth having." 
 
 " Lord Ethelwode would be not a little 
 shocked to hear it hinted that he followed the 
 opinions or fashions of any set. No ; with him 
 it is a much deeper and truer feeling, and I can 
 myself sympathize with him to a great extent. I 
 could not, without reluctance, pull down an old 
 wall, or suffer an old withered tree to be cut 
 down, if they had witnessed the noble deeds, or 
 only the village sports, of other times." 
 
 " I care little for village sports, either ancient 
 or modern," said Minna, laughing ; " besides, 
 the ruins of a gloomy old convent cannot even 
 conjure up such pleasant recollections as these." 
 
 " No ; but it has other ones of much higher 
 interest — recollections of the days when these 
 buildings were the only sanctuaries where the 
 spiritual part of man's nature asserted its right- 
 ful supremacy over the material. Then, whilst 
 the outer world was sunk in barbarism and ig- 
 norance, and brute force held universal sway — 
 when slaves tilled the ground, and women were 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 little better than slaves, though mocked with a 
 semblance of worship — within the silent walls of 
 many an abbey such as this, men, full of genius, 
 thought, and pondered, and wrote in their nar- 
 row cells, and preserved from destruction the 
 learning which was one day to diffuse its light 
 over the earth, and civilize and enfranchise the 
 human race." 
 
 " All very musty together," yawned Minna, 
 to whom such reflectious were uncongenial. ''Let 
 us canter on. Loo ; my uncle is a long time pay- 
 ing his visit." 
 
 Louisa was so accustomed to sympathy in all 
 her feelings, or at least to find her father ever 
 ready to follow her train of thought, and discuss 
 a subject fully with her, that Minna's words 
 struck coldly upon her, and she rode on, glad to 
 lose, in the rapid motion, the unpleasant feeling 
 thus excited. 
 
 '' You are going at a tremendous pace !" cried 
 Arthur St. John, who, a few minutes after, over- 
 took them with Sir Charles Conway and Lord 
 Caldwell. " I hope you had no design of run- 
 ning away from us ?" 
 
 " We did not know we were pursued," said 
 Minna, " though I, for one, should have been 
 very glad to find it out. Louisa fell into a 
 rhapsody before that old ruin just now, and I 
 was forced to make her ride on to bring her down
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 75 
 
 to this terrestrial world again. You cannot ima- 
 gine what a deal of eloquence she wasted upon 
 me." 
 
 " Now where shall we go ? " said Sir Charles, 
 after he had introduced Lord Caldwell to Louisa, 
 who had not seen him since she was a child. 
 '' To the beach for a canter, or to the hills for 
 a view ? " 
 
 '' Oh, to the beach, by all means !" cried 
 Minna. " I am unworthy of your fine views ; 
 I should only provoke Louisa by my indifference ; 
 but a canter on a good beach is the pleasantest 
 thing in the world, next to a waltz." 
 
 " Apropos of the beach," said Lord Caldwell, 
 as they turned their horses' heads in the direc- 
 tion Minna had proposed ; " yesterday, as I Avas 
 riding there, I saw a girl — a young lady I sup- 
 pose I ought to call her, who struck me as being, 
 without exception, the loveliest creature I had 
 ever beheld. She was sitting on the rocks, sort- 
 ing some shells that a very handsome boy, appa- 
 rently her only companion, had just tossed into 
 her lap ; and, as she had thrown off her bonnet, 
 I had a full view of her : I could not have con- 
 ceived any thing in human shape so perfectly 
 beautiful. I would have given any thing to find 
 out who she was, but there was nobody near to 
 ask." 
 
 " It must have been Ellen !" exclaimed Louisa 
 
 E 2
 
 76 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 and her father in a breath ; " no one but her 
 could answer to such a description." 
 
 " And pray who is this wonderful Ellen ?" 
 " Miss Percival, Lady Ethelwode's daughter." 
 " Lady Ethelwode ! is it possible that any 
 thing so bright should have grown up under the 
 shadow of my grim, stately old opponent ! I 
 should have thought his very presence enough to 
 congeal any one into stone as grey and gloomy 
 as the towers of his old castle." 
 
 " He has certainly not had that effect upon 
 his step-daughter," said Louisa ; " she is a being 
 of pure flesh and blood, and the brightest, the 
 sunniest that ever trod the earth." 
 
 " She looked just that," said Lord Caldwell. 
 " I am glad she is a friend of yours, for I shall 
 come to you for an introduction whenever I see 
 her again, for you know the castle is forbidden 
 ground to me. Lord Ethelwode has not yet 
 gulped down his indignation at my refusing to 
 sell back the abbey to him after his father's 
 death ; and he holds me, moreover, in additional 
 abomination as a man who has won, by his own 
 exertions, the honours which he piques himself 
 upon having inherited without any exertion at 
 all." 
 
 Lord Caldwell spoke with evident bitter- 
 ness, and Sir Charles, to whom the subject was 
 disagreeable from the regard he felt for his
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 77 
 
 old neighbour, changed it as quickly as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 When they reached the beach, to Minna's 
 great disappointment, the tide was not low 
 enough, or the sand sufficiently firm to afford 
 good cantering ground. Seeing herself forced 
 into a gentle pace, she would most willingly have 
 engrossed the attention of Mr. St. John, but all 
 her manoeuvres proved ineffectual to accomplish 
 her object. His London experience had made 
 him acquainted with a large circle of young la- 
 dies, of whom Minna was but the type ; and he 
 turned from her to Louisa, whose peculiar turn 
 of thought and expression had at least the charm 
 of novelty to one who was wearied with the fri- 
 volous talk which generally usurps the name of 
 conversation in fashionable society. No one 
 could be a more agreeable companion than the 
 fastidious Mr. St. John when he thought it worth 
 while to exert himself, and he and Louisa were 
 quickly engaged in conversation, and rode on 
 together, quite unconscious of Minna's disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 For some time the whole party proceeded very 
 quietly ; but, as the wind rose, Louisa's horse, 
 which was very hot and spirited, grew so restless 
 as to require her utmost skill to manage him. 
 They were riding as near the water as possible, 
 to find harder ground, and from time to time, as
 
 78 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 some wave, more ambitious than the rest, broke 
 higher upon the shore, the spray dashed upon the 
 horse's legs, to the great disturbance of Louisa's 
 equanimity. He had been fidgetting and chafing 
 for some time, when Minna, heartily tired of 
 hearing Lord Caldwell discuss county politics 
 with her uncle, suddenly started off at a quick 
 canter, and, passing Louisa, just touched her 
 horse's ears with her whip, saying, — 
 
 *' Come on, Louisa ! the sands are hard here !" 
 This put the finishing stroke to Junius's pa- 
 tience ; no sooner did he feel the whip than, 
 shaking his head as if indignant at the insult, he 
 plunged, reared, then plunged again, and finally, 
 in spite of all Louisa's efforts, and St. John's 
 attempts to catch at his bridle, he got the bit 
 into his mouth and started off. Finding she 
 had no longer power to stop him, Louisa di- 
 rected all her efforts to guide his headlong career. 
 It was fortunate for her thoughtless cousin that 
 she retained sufficient presence of mind to do so, 
 for had she in her turn alarmed Minna's horse 
 by passing him at that speed, the unpractised 
 rider would probably have been thrown. Just 
 between them there was a lane, which turned off 
 from the beach, and, as Minna kept down upon 
 the sands, Louisa managed to turn her horse in 
 the opposite direction ; but Junius had now his
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 79 
 
 head towards home, and the fearful rapidity of 
 his pace only increased. 
 
 " St. John, for God's sake, do not attempt to 
 follow her," cried her father, *' you will only 
 terrify the horse still more. He must he stopped 
 by the park gate ; and we will go up this steep 
 path, which is a short cut ; and I trust we shall 
 be yet in time. Have the kindness. Lord Cald- 
 well, to follow Miss Montague, and escort her 
 home." 
 
 So saying, Sir Charles dashed at full speed up 
 the rocky path he had mentioned, followed by 
 St. John, and, as he had foreseen, they reached 
 the lane leading to the park gate just as Louisa 
 was borne rapidly towards it. Sir Charles stuck 
 his spurs into his horse, and made a desperate 
 effort to intercept her, but it was in vain ; Ju- 
 nius, enraged at finding an obstacle in his path, 
 became more unmanageable than ever, and, 
 turning suddenly round, bounded over the fence 
 into the park, w^here Sir Charles soon lost sight 
 of horse and rider. With compressed lips and 
 countenance pale as ashes, he entered the park, 
 and, now that the thick turf deadened the sound 
 of his horse's feet, urged him at full speed in the 
 direction Junius had taken, whilst he strained 
 his eyes to catch a glimpse of his child. The 
 road was visible in several places in its winding 
 approach to the house, but she was not to be
 
 80 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 seen there ; and he hoped that she had succeeded 
 in turning her horse's course once more, for there 
 was a bridge across the stream which divided the 
 park, and should the gate which closed it also be 
 shut — the wretched father trembled to think of 
 the consequences. 
 
 " I see her!" cried Arthur, after a few minutes 
 more of dreadful suspense. " I see her, she is 
 safe, and leading her horse !" 
 
 *' Thank God ! But stop, we must approach 
 slowly, or we shall startle him again." 
 
 They checked their speed, and approached 
 Louisa so gently, that, without alarming him 
 further, St. John was able to relieve her from the 
 charge of Junius, whilst her father clasped her in 
 his arms. 
 
 " Thank God !" he said again in scarce audible 
 accents, while a tear fell on his daughter's cheek. 
 
 " How did you manage to stop him ?" said 
 St. John; "we were trembling lest he should 
 have made straight for the bridge." 
 
 " I made one strong effort, though I confess 
 almost a hopeless one, and succeeded in directing 
 him towards this sandy knoll, where, as I had 
 hoped, the deep ground and this brushwood im- 
 peded his course, and he gave up." 
 
 " But were you thrown at last ?" 
 
 " No, it was a sudden impulse, and rather a 
 foolish one, which made me jump off the moment
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 81 
 
 he stopped. I did not think much about what I 
 was doing." 
 
 Sir Charles begged St. John to ride to the 
 house, and order the carriage to take Louisa 
 home; but she stopped him. She was neither 
 tired nor frightened, she said, and she had rather 
 ride home than run the risk of alarming her 
 aunt, on Minna's account, by sending Mr. St. 
 John. Junius had tired himself out now, and 
 would go home quietly enough. 
 
 Upon her repeated assurance and entreaty. Sir 
 Charles allowed her to mount again, and they 
 soon reached the house in perfect safety. Lord 
 Caldwell and Minna joined them shortly after- 
 wards, and, whilst the thoughtless cause of all 
 this alarm was pouring out a torrent of questions 
 and excuses, the two gentlemen took their leave. 
 
 " By Heaven ! that is the strangest girl I 
 ever met with !" exclaimed St. John, as they 
 rode away from the door. 
 
 " She seems to me a franche etoiirdie, and 
 nothing more," said Lord Caldwell, somewhat 
 amazed at his companion's warmth. 
 
 " You mean Miss Montague, I suppose," re- 
 plied St. John ; " she is common-place enough. 
 I am speaking of her cousin. Just now, when I 
 put her on her horse again, after the fearful ex- 
 citement of the danger she had run, she sprang 
 
 E o
 
 82 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 as lightly into the saddle, and took the rein with 
 as firm a hand, as if nothing had happened." 
 
 *' Rather too masculine a display of courage 
 for my taste," said Lord Caldwell ; "I hate im- 
 moveable women with nerves of iron." 
 
 " There was no display about it ; in fact, it is 
 a characteristic of her manner, that it always 
 impresses one as being the natural effect of the 
 feeling of the moment ; it is the same with her 
 conversation ; there is a truthfulness . and sim- 
 plicity about it which would strike one, even if 
 united to far less intellect." 
 
 " My dear St. John, you seem to have made 
 rapid progress in the knowledge of Miss Con- 
 way's character," said Lord Caldwell, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, as one devours the book which presents 
 some new thoughts, or even old ones, dressed in 
 fresh garb, after the mind has been nauseated 
 and wearied with the meaningless trash which is 
 the staple literature of the day." 
 
 Lord Caldwell said with a smile, that St. John 
 seemed to have taken a very sudden fit of disgust 
 to the common aspect of the world, and that he 
 supposed it was this which disposed him to admire 
 novelties of any kind. 
 
 " Perhaps so," said St. John, laughing, '' and 
 therefore I admire Miss Conway; for I repeat 
 again, she is very unlike any other young lady I 
 ever met with. She is certainly far from hand-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 83 
 
 some, yet there is a strange power in those dark 
 eyes of hers, and I have been obliged to re- 
 member her want of beauty, not to think her 
 beautiful. Then, with all her abruptness of 
 manner, which sometimes almost amounts to 
 brusquerie^ there is a great dignity about her, 
 which I never saw in so young a person before, 
 and which just saves her as she is on the verge 
 of becoming less feminine." 
 
 "All of which may be summed up in one 
 French word," said Lord Caldwell, " i. e. she is 
 very bizarre, which I think detestable in a wo- 
 man. So, as we are not likely to agree on this 
 subject, let us gallop home to dinner. The re- 
 collection of all Miss Conway's perfections or 
 imperfections would not console me (or you 
 either, I imagine) for that being spoilt by 
 waiting."
 
 84 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " He had been a coxcomb—but that he had too much talent ; — 
 and a great man, but that he had too much vanity." 
 
 " A wound given by a word is oftentimes more difficult to cure, 
 than a wound given by a sword." — Sir Philip Sydney. 
 
 Whether Arthur St. John found the Abbey a 
 dull residence, or whether his curiosity was 
 piqued, and his interest excited, by the origin- 
 ality of mind and character displayed by Miss 
 Conway, it is not easy, at this period of our tale, 
 to ascertain ; but certain it is, that every day he 
 made his appearance at Oaklands, or joined the 
 party there in their rides and walks. He was 
 always welcomed by Sir Charles and his daughter. 
 
 The latter was surprised, and pleased, to find 
 so intellectual a companion in one whom she 
 had, at first, concluded to be a mere man of the 
 world, engrossed with the fashionable frivolities 
 of London society ; and her father was glad of 
 having an opportunity of becoming better ac- 
 quainted with his future heir, in whose hands 
 must some day rest the accomplishment, or the 
 overthrow, of all his cherished plans for the im-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 85 
 
 provement of the tenantry on his large estate. 
 It was a matter of no small anxiety to him, to 
 anticipate the probable fate of those who now 
 depended upon him, when he should cease to 
 watch over them, and be obliged to yield the 
 sacred charge to another. 
 
 St. John had given little or no attention to 
 such subjects ; and as he had, therefore, few 
 fixed opinions with regard to them, he listened 
 to Sir Charles without opposition. The two 
 gentlemen rode over the different farms, and 
 visited the tenants, and St. John entered with 
 apparent zeal into all Sir Charles's views for the 
 improvement of the estate, and the enlighten- 
 ment of the people. 
 
 Louisa was almost always their companion on 
 these occasions. From constant association in 
 all her father's pursuits, she had learnt to feel an 
 interest in these subjects, as great as his own. 
 Her mind had been strengthened and developed 
 by perpetual intercourse with his, and the se- 
 verer study, and freer discussion, to which he 
 had trained her, had given her the power of 
 thouo^ht, the loofical clearness of lanofuaofe, which 
 are generally supposed attainable only by men. 
 Accustomed to converse on every subject with 
 him, she joined naturally, and without a thought 
 of pretension, in his conversations with St. John; 
 and the surprise of the latter, at what he had at
 
 86 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 first considered the singularity of her character, 
 gradually changed into admiration, as each day 
 her richly stored mind revealed itself more fully 
 to him. 
 
 Her aunt and cousins were astonished, too ; 
 but theirs was not the surprise of admiration. 
 There was no end to Lady Frances's insinuations 
 of the horror all elder sons entertained of learned 
 ladies ; nor of her ominous prophecies, that no 
 man of fortune would ever marry a woman likely 
 to be so much cleverer than himself; nor of 
 Minna's sarcasms about blue-stockings ; nor of 
 Fanny's serious dread of any thing so unfashion- 
 able — ^so unlike what every body else did. 
 
 All this Louisa bore very philosophically, and 
 she continued to take her part in the gentlemen's 
 conversation, with as much spirit and interest 
 as if the fear of being pointed out to the finger 
 of fashionable scorn, as a blue, had not been be- 
 fore her eyes. 
 
 One day, however, as she was just returned 
 from a long ride with her father and St. John, 
 during which the latter had been listening, with 
 evident interest, to her clear, large-minded views 
 upon the different subjects on which they had 
 conversed, Minna exclaimed, 
 
 " Well, Louisa, I believe your plan is a good 
 one, after all !" 
 
 " What plan ? What do you mean ?"
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 87 
 
 " How admirably unconscious you look ! I 
 mean your method of catching Mr. St. John. It 
 was a very bold one to adopt, certainly, and 
 would have frightened most men off at once. 
 But it has answered wonderfully with him ; and 
 I think you will succeed in remaining mistress of 
 Oaklands, after all." 
 
 Louisa stood speechless with surprise. She, 
 who had never conceived a thought of artifice, 
 who would have considered herself polluted by 
 one act or word not dictated by perfect sincerity 
 — who could easier have submitted to have a 
 limb cut off, than condescend to sue for the ad- 
 miration of any man living — she was accused of 
 a mean, cold-hearted design to entrap Mr. St. 
 John, with a view to his future position, as the 
 heir of her father's property. K a look had the 
 power to strike, or if a being like Minna had 
 been capable of feeling the force of its eloquent 
 indignation, Louisa's glance must have made her 
 fall at her feet, and humble herself in shame, 
 before the pure being she had insulted. Some 
 shame she did apparently feel, for the colour 
 mounted to her face, and she began a kind of 
 apology, — but Louisa did not wait to hear it ; 
 there was a choking sensation at her throat, 
 and she hastily left the room, that Minna might 
 not see that she had power to wring tears from 
 her.
 
 88 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Lady Frances, who had been present during 
 this scene, followed her to her room. 
 
 " My dear Louisa," said she, " I have been 
 scolding Minna for vexing you ; and, indeed, I 
 am dreadfully vexed myself. I have known so 
 many marriages fail, owing to such thoughtless 
 speeches. Nay, my dear, let me speak. I know 
 exactly what you would say — all young ladies 
 say the same thing on these occasions ; but you 
 know, as your poor mother's sister, I must feel 
 such an interest in you, that you may speak 
 openly to me. Now, do not interrupt me, my 
 dear child ; of course it will be delightful to me 
 to think that you will not be turned out of Oak- 
 lands, after all. No one knows how that has 
 weighed on my heart for years, and your mar- 
 riage with Mr. St. John " 
 
 " There is no marriage in the case !" exclaimed 
 Louisa, making an effort to speak calmly. " I 
 do not know what you and Minna mean. My 
 words and actions are always open ; and rather 
 than degrade myself to such artifice, such un- 
 womanly meanness, as Minna spoke of, I would 
 forfeit lands to which Oaklands should be as a 
 paddock. Pray, let this subject never be men- 
 tioned between us again." These last words 
 were uttered in a tone which made even Lady 
 Frances feel that it was impossible to resume the 
 conversation, and she left the room, inwardly
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 89 
 
 commenting on Louisa's absurdity, in takmg 
 such affront at being charged with doing what 
 almost every girl in London did as a part of her 
 business in life. 
 
 " I wonder how she supposes she is to get 
 married," was her final reflection, " if she is too 
 proud to take any trouble to attract admirers. 
 If she thinks they will fall at her feet, without 
 her condescending to make any exertion on her 
 part, she will find herself very much mistaken." 
 
 The next time Mr. St. John called at Oak- 
 lands, Louisa could not help feeling glad that 
 her aunt and cousins were not present. In spite 
 of all her determinations not to let their words 
 have any influence over her, they instantly re- 
 curred to her mind when he was announced, and 
 she received him with a heightened colour, and 
 an embarrassed manner, very unlike her usual 
 quiet self-possession. 
 
 " I am sorry to say that this is a farewell 
 visit," said he, after a few minutes' conversation. 
 " I return to town to-morrow." 
 
 " This is a very sudden determination, is it 
 not ?" said Sir Charles ; " yesterday you did 
 not seem to contemplate leaving the abbey so 
 soon." 
 
 " No ; nor am I leaving it now ; I am fairly 
 turned out, hongre, malgre. Lord Caldwell has 
 received despatches, recalling him to town, and,
 
 90 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 as he takes his cook with him, I have nothing 
 for it but to go, or starve." 
 
 "Oh, if that is all, I think we can manage to 
 save you from such a distressing alternative. 
 Come and finish your visit here ; you will be a 
 mile nearer the trout stream, and I shall escape 
 Lady Ethel wode's wrath, which would infallibly 
 have fallen upon me, if I had let a dancing man 
 go out of the country just before her ball." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to accept your invita- 
 tion," said St. John, casting a glance at Louisa, 
 who bent in unwonted silence over her drawing. 
 " I never felt less inclined to leave a place in my 
 life, and have been pitying myself all the morn- 
 ing for a very ill-used individual." 
 
 *'Then when shall we expect you? to-night 
 or to-morrow morning ?" 
 
 " To-night, if it be the same to you, for Lord 
 Caldwell is in such a violent hurry to be off, 
 that, I believe, but for my determined deafness 
 to all hints to that effect, we should have been 
 on the road to town by this time. I must go 
 now and tell him of my altered plans, and give 
 orders for my things to be brought here. I shall 
 be delighted to change their destination." 
 
 Again he looked at Louisa, and this time her 
 eye met his, and he fancied he saw a momentary 
 blush on her cheek. He had no time to ascer- 
 tain the fact, however, for she rose and left the
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 91 
 
 room, saying that she was going to give orders 
 about his apartment. 
 
 In a few hours he found himself installed at 
 Oaklands, and he took possession of his room 
 with a feeling of pleasure, which he could scarcely 
 have accounted for to himself. It is rare for a 
 clever man — and such was Arthur St. John — 
 to be a coxcomb, but he had, to say the least, 
 no mean opinion of himself, and his retrospection 
 of the day's events did not tend to lower it. To 
 have excited enough interest in such a woman 
 as Louisa, as to cause the embarrassment and 
 discomposure which had been evident in her 
 manner that morning, he felt to be of itself no 
 mean triumph. Whether he had any deeper 
 feeling at stake or not, the mere power of mo- 
 ving her thus was delightful. It would be some- 
 thing worth achieving to make that proud eye 
 sink in confusion beneath his, to see that strong 
 and noble nature yielding to his influence ; and, 
 without a thought beyond the pleasure of such a 
 triumph, he determined to leave no effort untried 
 to obtain it. 
 
 Thus already were Minna's careless words 
 working their evil effects. Owing to them, her 
 single-minded cousin had made a false impres- 
 sion on St. John, and created hopes which his 
 vanity was stimulated to realize, before his heart 
 had any interest in the result. Men have cried
 
 92 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 out against the severity of the sentence, " that 
 every idle word that men shall speak, they shall 
 give account thereof in the day of judgment ;" 
 yet, could we calculate the amount of evil and 
 misery produced by idle words spoken in jest, 
 perhaps in thoughtless sarcasm, in momentary 
 irritation, and forgotten as soon as the lips have 
 uttered them, w^e should feel that few sins de- 
 serve a heavier retribution. In that day when 
 " the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed," the 
 careless speaker will stand aghast at the fearful 
 sight of the festering wounds, sore rankling for 
 years, the minds defiled and embittered, the bad 
 passions roused into activity, the train of evil 
 consequences, trial, suffering, sin, operating, per- 
 haps, throughout a whole life, which have re- 
 sulted from his idle words ! 
 
 When St. John met Louisa at dinner, he saw 
 at once that his plans of conquest would be quite 
 as difficult of achievement as the most ardent 
 lover of glory could desire, and that he was yet 
 far from having gained as much ground as he 
 had imagined. It is true that Minna's meaning 
 smile, as he took his place by her side, called 
 up the indignant blood to her cheek, but the 
 embarrassment of the morning was gone ; her eye 
 met his with its usual open expression, and her 
 manner had regained its quiet dignity, though 
 he felt that it was somewhat colder, and more
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE, 93 
 
 reserved than it had been. There was something 
 in this very reserve which piqued his curiosity, 
 and the additional difficulties it seemed to throw 
 in his way only stimulated him to a more eager 
 pursuit of his object. His residence in the same 
 house afforded him abundant opportunities, and 
 he exerted so successfully his great powers of 
 conversation, and adapted himself with such ad- 
 mirable appearance of sincerity to the tone of 
 thought and feeling of Sir Charles and his 
 daughter, that Louisa soon forgot, in her admi- 
 ration of his talents, and in the charm of his so- 
 ciety, the reserve which her cousin's words had 
 temporarily thrown over her manner. 
 
 Days passed on, uneventful enough as to ex- 
 ternal things ; but when are the days which are 
 not rich in revelations of mind to mind in conver- 
 sation, in passing glimpses of character and 
 temper, in discoveries of the secret tastes and 
 pursuits which show the direction of the mind, 
 to those who live together in free and intellec- 
 tual companionship ? In such companionship, 
 and by such means, Louisa's character daily un- 
 folded itself to St. John ; and blase as he was to 
 the pleasures of the world, and sickened of the 
 artificial characterless beings he was used to as- 
 sociate with, there was a kind of fascination to 
 him in her originality of thought, her freshness 
 and purity of mind.
 
 94 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 As they rode and walked together day after 
 day, he forgot his selfish designs in the engros- 
 sing interest of her conversation, in his daily in- 
 creasing pleasure in her society, and he even 
 learned to fancy her almost beautiful, as he 
 watched her eloquent countenance, lighting up 
 with sudden brilliancy, as some passing thought 
 or word gave her pleasure, and her calm manner, 
 warming into grace and animation, in the ex- 
 citement of conversation. Plain as her features 
 certainly were, it had been once said of her that 
 " the beauty must be very striking indeed, which 
 could even attract a glance when she was pre- 
 sent ;" and this was true. Hers was the beauty 
 of mind, shining in an open countenance, and 
 St. John unconsciously yielded daily more and 
 more to its power. 
 
 " I wonder what can have become of Ellen 
 
 Percival," said Sir Charles, one morning when 
 
 the whole party were assembled at luncheon. 
 
 " I do not think she was ever so long without 
 
 coming here before." 
 
 *' She must do it on purpose to spite me," 
 
 said St. John, in a tone of ludicrous annoyance ; 
 
 " I think I have been infamously used, in having 
 
 been three weeks in the neighbourhood, without 
 
 once seeing its greatest prodigy." 
 
 *' I am afraid you have no chance of seeing 
 
 her till the ball," said Louisa. " She is at pre-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 95 
 
 sent overwhelmed with business. Lady Ethel- 
 wode, of course, takes no part in any thing so 
 fatiguing as the preparations for such an aiFair, 
 and Ellen will not trust any thing to Mademoi- 
 selle Juliani's taste, so that it all falls upon her. 
 I have just had a note from her, begging me to 
 go and help her w^ith my advice." 
 
 '' But I hope you are not going, instead of 
 riding ?" 
 
 *' Indeed I am, and Junius must be content 
 to remain in the stable to-day." 
 
 St. John eagerly offered her his escort for 
 the walk, but Louisa thanked him, saying she 
 would not deprive him of his ride, and the dis- 
 tance was nothing to a practised walker like 
 herself. 
 
 St. John bit his lip, and turned away. Louisa's 
 manner so plainly shewed that she said what she 
 meant, that he felt it was useless to press her. 
 
 " I had thought of asking t/ou to come with 
 me, Minna," continued she. " Your greater ex- 
 perience in ball-rooms will make you a much 
 more useful addition to Ellen's council of taste 
 than I can be." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Minna, jumping 
 up ; and in a few minutes the two girls were on 
 their way to the castle. 
 
 '' It was very prudent of you not to let Mr. 
 St. John come with you," said Minna. " Ellen
 
 96 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 would be a dangerous rival. He must see her at 
 the ball, however ; I do not see how you can 
 prevent that. Now, my dear Louisa, pray don't 
 look as if you meant to beat me." 
 
 Louisa felt much more inclined to beat herself 
 for having chosen such a companion. She walked 
 on in silence, for she felt that she could not just 
 then speak as calmly as she wished. 
 
 " Really, Louisa," continued her tormentor, 
 " you should learn to bear a joke more good- 
 humouredly." 
 
 " Really, Minna, you should learn not to make 
 one which you know will insult another person's 
 feelings." 
 
 " Then you do allow," cried her cousin, tri- 
 umphantly, " that there are feelings in the case ?" 
 
 *' I allow (what you might already have per- 
 ceived) that my feelings of truth, of womanly 
 pride, are insulted by your imputations of the 
 mean artifice to compass the most unworthy 
 object." 
 
 " Poor Mr. St. John ! If he could but hear 
 that, his vanity must hide its diminished head for 
 ever after." 
 
 "I am not speaking of Mr. St. John, as you 
 very well know, but of the design you impute to 
 me ; the design of . . . .No, it is too degrading, I 
 cannot utter it." And Louisa walked on at a 
 rapid pace.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 97 
 
 " My dear Louisa," said Minna, breathlessly, 
 after a few minutes' silence, '' if you have worked 
 off your indignation, I should really be much 
 obliged to you to walk a little slower. Pray do 
 not carry your revenge so far as to make me drop 
 with the heat and fatigue of running after you 
 any longer." 
 
 Louisa slackened her pace, saying, with a smile, 
 that she was not aware how fast she was going ; 
 and they proceeded to the castle without any- 
 thing further happening to ruffle the composure 
 a strong effort had enabled her to recover. 
 
 Ellen welcomed them warmly ; and all three 
 were soon busily engaged in consulting, admir- 
 ing, approving, and disapproving the unfinished 
 arrangements. The afternoon quickly slipped 
 away ; and as Louisa and Minna prepared to 
 return home, the former pressed Ellen to come 
 back with them to dine at Oaklands. Ellen could 
 not come, however ; she was too much wanted 
 at home ; and Louisa saw, by the glow of her 
 radiant countenance, that she was happier in feel- 
 ing that she was wanted, that her presence was 
 necessary, than she would have been in the en- 
 joyment of the pleasantest society. She ceased 
 urging her, therefore, and she and Minna pro- 
 ceeded on their way homewards. 
 
 " Let us take the lane by the trout stream," 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 said Louisa ; " it will be cooler than crossing the 
 park." 
 
 Minna had no objection, and they entered the 
 lane. They had not proceeded far before they 
 perceived Mr. St. John at a little distance, ap- 
 parently deeply engaged in fishing. Minna cast 
 a malicious glance at her cousin, but Louisa was 
 looking in another direction ; and whether the 
 glow on her cheek was caused by any inward 
 emotion, or merely by the warmth of exercise, 
 Minna was unable to decide to her satisfaction. 
 At all events, by the time they reached the spot 
 where Mr. St. John was sitting, her voice and 
 manner were as calm as usual. 
 
 " I thought you were going to ride with my 
 father and Fanny," said she. " How did you 
 happen to change your mind ?" 
 
 " I hope you do not grudge me that feminine 
 privilege. Miss Conway. The reason of my ex- 
 ercising it in this instance was, that Sir Charles 
 was called away on business ; and, knowing how 
 nervous Lady Frances is, I would not incur the 
 responsibility of riding alone with Miss Fanny ; 
 so I saved myself the possible mortification of 
 seeing my escort refused a second time to-day, 
 and came here to solace myself for all my dis- 
 appointments." 
 
 " You have certainly been very unfortunate 
 to-day," said Minna, ironically; "but I am
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 99 
 
 afraid we shall not feel for you as we ought, if 
 your misfortunes procure us a good dish of fish 
 for dinner." 
 
 "We shall prevent the possibility of that," 
 said Louisa, " if we stand talking here, frighten- 
 ing away all the trout. So we had better go on, 
 Minna, and leave Mr. St. John to his sport." 
 
 But St. John had had enough fishing for that 
 day. He took up his empty basket, which tes- 
 tified, as Minna said, either to his want of skill 
 or his want of zeal in the sport, and prepared to 
 accompany the young ladies. This time his 
 escort could not be refused, so he walked on by 
 Louisa's side ; but she was unusually silent, and 
 her countenance showed no signs of pleasure. 
 
 *' I can make nothing of my dignified cousin," 
 said Minna, as she entered her mother's dressing- 
 room on her return from her Avalk. " She is 
 offended with me, I believe, for noticing her flir- 
 tation with Mr. St. John; and, whenever I ap-. 
 proach the subject, she puts on the airs of a 
 princess. But the strangest thing of all, is the 
 conceit that lies under all that apparent simpli- 
 city. She was quite affronted with me for hint- 
 ing that Ellen Percival would be a dangerous 
 rival ; and asked her to dinner immediately, as 
 if to show how little she feared her : and just 
 now, when we met Mr. St. John, she treated him 
 
 F 2
 
 100 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 with as much hauteur as if he had been already 
 her sworn vassal." 
 
 " You must be more indulgent to your cousin, 
 my dear Minna," answered Lady Frances, in her 
 sweetest tone. " You must make allowance for 
 her perfect ignorance of the world, and for her 
 having been so spoiled by her father's foolish 
 management. It is not everybody who has a 
 devoted mother to watch over them and sacrifice 
 every thing for their advantage, as you have had, 
 my dears. I could have done a great deal for 
 Louisa too, if Sir Charles had not been so obsti- 
 nate about her ; and I half suspect he repents it 
 now that he sees he has made her more of a man 
 than a wom.an. Now, if he had been reasonable. 
 Mademoiselle Juliani might have been Louisa's 
 governess, and she would, perhaps, have sung as 
 well as Ellen Percival. I did engage Juliani for 
 her, you know, and took an immense deal of 
 trouble about it, as she was such a treasure ; but 
 when I told Sir Charles I had done so, and that 
 she would only consent to come from the hopes 
 of sea-air benefiting her voice, he actually took 
 a lodging for her in the village, and said he hoped 
 the sea-air would do her all the more good for 
 having no lessons to give. After this, what can 
 one expect ?" 
 
 Minna burst out laughing. 
 
 " Ah ! it is very well for you to laugh ; but,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 101 
 
 I assure you, my heart aches when I think of 
 what my poor dear sister would have said. And 
 then, when she comes out in London, it will make 
 me miserable to see her making herself conspi- 
 cuous, and bringing ridicule upon us all." 
 
 " I do not think any one could think Louisa 
 ridiculous," said Fanny. " With all her oddity, 
 she does the honours of the house with a know- 
 ledge of " les usages du monde " quite extraor- 
 dinary, and she is never embarrassed or awk- 
 ward." 
 
 " That is to say, she receives her guests with 
 the dignity of a comtesse de comedie of the suite 
 de Louis X/F.," said Minna, " so absurd in a 
 girl of her age ; and then, with all her horror of 
 affectation, I cannot help thinking that there is 
 a good deal of it in that excessive sincerity, 
 and in her delight in those prosy conversations 
 between her father and Mr. St. John, who, by 
 the way, is bored to death by them, I am sure, 
 though he goes through them with such exem- 
 plary patience. However, she manages Sir 
 Charles, and will marry his heir ; so she plays 
 her cards very well, notwithstanding her simpli- 
 city and ignorance of the world." 
 
 The object of this conversation was, mean- 
 while, sitting quietly with her father in the 
 library. She had sought him, as she generally 
 did when any thing had grieved or ruffled her ;
 
 102 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 and in his genial, affectionate companionship, 
 she had almost forgotten the annoyance of the 
 morninof. 
 
 " How long it is since I have had such a plea- 
 sant tete-a-tete with you, dearest father !" said 
 she, as she rose to go and dress for dinner. " I 
 do not know how it is, but I seldom see you now." 
 
 " Society has stronger claims upon you now, 
 my child, than in former days, when we had no- 
 thing to do but to keep one another company. 
 But I should be sorry to think that our old pur- 
 suits were given up, or that we should not be as 
 happy together in our quiet corner, when we are 
 left to ourselves again." 
 
 " I wish that time were come !" said Louisa, 
 with a sigh. " I am sure, even from my short 
 experience, that neither my mind nor my temper 
 could bear a life of idleness or constant society." 
 
 " My dear child, beware how you allow any 
 circumstances to exercise an undue influence on 
 your mind and temper. The temper which is 
 schooled to Christian charity and humility, the 
 mind which is habitually trained to lofty aims, 
 ought not to be so strongly affected by the 
 varying hues of our external condition. It was 
 a weak philosophy that taught that man is the 
 creature of circumstances. Man may rise above 
 circumstances, in the strength of his principles 
 and of his faith, and use them rather as the tools
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 103 
 
 wherewith to work out the high purposes of his 
 existence." 
 
 " Yet the influence of circumstances has been 
 powerful even on great minds." 
 
 " Yes, on minds that needed the discipline of 
 circumstances. They were appointed as the re- 
 finer's fire, to purify the precious ore from the 
 dross that adulterated it. Therefore it is that 
 we should welcome every change of circum- 
 stances as an ordeal, whence we may work out 
 a higher faith, a clearer knowledge of the truth. 
 May your's, if such be appointed you, be a mild 
 one, my child ! — but no ; I am wrong — may you 
 have strength to endure and improve it, whatever 
 it may be !"
 
 104 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " She walks in beauty, like the night 
 
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; 
 And all that's best of dark and brioht 
 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes : 
 Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
 
 Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 *' One shade the more, one ray the less 
 
 Had half impaired the nameless grace 
 Which waves in every raven tress. 
 
 Or softly lightens o'er her face. 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
 
 How pure, how clear their dwelling-place." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The day of the ball was now rapidly approach- 
 ing, and Ethelwode Castle, usually so quiet, was 
 in a state of extraordinary bustle and commotion. 
 Such running to and fro of the whole corps do- 
 mestiqite, male and female — such activity in the 
 housekeeper's room and kitchen — such a rubbing 
 up of old oak floors and furniture — such ham- 
 mering and carpentering, had not been heard 
 there since the christening of the young heir. 
 The old grey towers seemed to look down in 
 grave astonishment at the unwonted turmoil be-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 105 
 
 low. But Lord Ethelwode, having determined 
 that a ball should be given at the castle, had de- 
 termined, also, that nothing should be wanting 
 to make it the most splendid thing of the kind 
 which had ever been seen in the county. 
 
 A London upholsterer was engaged to super- 
 intend the decoration of the apartments ; Weip- 
 ert's band had been secured at an immense cost ; 
 and Gunter had been ordered to despatch a host 
 of cordons bleus to prepare the costly supper. 
 
 Nothing that money could procure should be 
 left undone to grace the fete given (as Lord 
 Ethelwode believed) in honour of the heir of his 
 ancient house ; and, from the moment the invi- 
 tations were issued, nothing w^as talked of for 
 twenty miles round but the splendour of the ap- 
 proaching festivity at Ethelwode Castle. 
 
 Lady Frances had succeeded even beyond her 
 expectations. But her satisfaction was not 
 wholly unmingled ; she could not help being a 
 little disappointed at having the management 
 taken out of her hands ; she had enjoyed the 
 thoughts of her importance as directress of the 
 wdiole thing — it w^ould have been such a fine 
 field for the exercise of her active managing 
 propensities — and now she found that . she was 
 to be nothing but a guest, like any one else. It 
 really was rather a trial ; and even Louisa, unsus- 
 picious as she always was of any thing like hum 
 
 F 5
 
 106 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 hug, could not be quite satisfied that her aunt 
 was sincere in her extraordinarily vehement pro- 
 fessions that she was delighted to have nothing 
 to do with it, and that it was really a great re- 
 lief to have so much responsibility taken off her 
 hands. 
 
 To Ellen this ball was a source of greater 
 pleasure, perhaps, than to any one else — even 
 the most dancing-loving young lady in the 
 county. It was so new to her to have some- 
 thing really to do, to think of, to look forward 
 to — something that did not exist only in her 
 world of dreams. It was her taste which cor- 
 rected and guided that of the upholsterer, and 
 her hands that wove the garlands which were to 
 deck the lofty saloons. Her sweet, rich voice, 
 might be heard almost all day in snatches of 
 joyous song, as she stood amongst the heaps of 
 flowers which had been brought in for the pur- 
 pose, more like a Grecian poet's conception of 
 the goddess Flora, than any thing belonging to 
 this working-day world. 
 
 Lady Ethelwode declared that Ellen was get- 
 ting almost as noisy again as she used to be in 
 childhood ; and young Egbert, who seemed in 
 his element in all the bustle, vowed that he had 
 never thought his sister could be so useful and 
 pleasant a companion before. She even contrived 
 to please her cold, harsh, father-in-law, by bring-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 107 
 
 ing out, from their obscure abode in one of the 
 towers, certain old banners, which the barons of 
 Ethehvode had used to have borne before them 
 to battle; and with them, and some pieces of 
 old armour, drawn from the same receptacle, to 
 arrange a splendid trophy, beneath which, a tran- 
 sparency, surrounded with laurels, exhibited the 
 initials of the young heir. 
 
 " Really, Ellen, you have done this admirably !" 
 said Lord Ethehvode, as he crossed the gallery. 
 " The armour is uncommonly w^ell arranged ; and 
 all of the same epoch, I see — the reign of Henry 
 II., when my ancestor. Sir Egbert Ethelwode, 
 was created a baron. I give you great credit for 
 the taste and skill you have shewn in this." 
 
 Ellen's heart danced more lightly than before, 
 as she listened to these, almost the first words 
 of kindness and approbation she had ever heard 
 from him ; and she bounded up stairs to dress, 
 with the feeling, that this was the happiest day 
 of her life ! Her happiness was certainly not de- 
 creased by the sight of the beautiful w^hite crape 
 dress, her first ball-dress, which had been sent 
 for from London, for the occasion. 
 
 There was a wTeath of the' most delicate arti- 
 ficial flowers, too ; but these Ellen positively re- 
 fused to wear. She had herself gathered some 
 of the richest blossoms of her favourite gera- 
 niums, and had twined them into a wreath ; and
 
 108 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 none but these would she allow to be placed in 
 her hair, notwithstanding all Mademoiselle Juli- 
 ani's remonstrances. And when they were placed, 
 and when she stood arrayed for the evening's 
 festivity, even Mademoiselle Juliani thought that 
 no blossom there could equal, in freshness and 
 loveliness, the being who wore them. 
 
 Yes ; beautiful she was indeed, far beyond the 
 common beauty of women — the features were 
 cast in the most perfect classic mould, the oval 
 contour, the straight and delicate nose, the open, 
 yet not high forehead, from whence was parted 
 back the dark, glossy hair, the rounded cheek, the 
 small, and well-shaped head, placed, with such 
 perfect grace, on the slender throat, which be- 
 tokened her patrician descent, might well have 
 been deemed an incarnation of that lovely ideal, 
 which inspired the sculptors and poets of ancient 
 Greece. 
 
 Her skin had the texture and the transparency 
 of a white rose-leaf ; and only on her cheek did 
 it change its hue to that of the glowing damask. 
 Her eyes — but who shall tell of the magic beauty 
 of those deep blue eyes, which, when she lifted 
 their long, -dark fringe of eyelashes, looked things, 
 which the philosophy of no man, who met their 
 glance, had ever dreamed of, in heaven or earth ; 
 and then, her smile seemed to illuminate her 
 whole countenance as a visible light ; and even
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 109 
 
 the beauty of her rich red lips was forgotten, 
 when the clear, liquid tones of her voice fell on 
 the ear. Verily, the singing of any other woman 
 was not so full of music as the simplest words 
 spoken by Ellen. 
 
 Her figure accorded well with the dream-like 
 loveliness of her face, in the perfect symmetry and 
 proportion of the rounded limbs ; and there was 
 an undefinable and exquisite grace in every mo- 
 tion, that gave to her beauty a character of fasci- 
 nation. Truly, to look on her, as she moved in 
 her loveliness, she seemed a thing too bright and 
 delicate for this coarse earth, and belonging, ra- 
 ther, to another, and purer sphere. 
 
 When she went down to the drawing-room, 
 she found the Aliens already arrived, and her 
 mother fretfully complaining that she was left 
 to endure all the fatigue of receiving the guests. 
 
 " You will excuse my rising, I am sure, Mrs. 
 Allen — I am so tired, so overpowered. You 
 cannot conceive what the fatigue of this day has 
 been to me. I think I have opened and read at 
 least a hundred notes ; I was obliged, at last, to 
 desire that no more should be brought to me." 
 
 *' We are come very early," said Mrs. Allen ; 
 " but we wished to introduce to you our grand- 
 soii, Edward Annesley, whom you may remem- 
 ber as a boy. He has come back to settle at
 
 110 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Ethelwode, as his grandfather's curate, till he 
 can get a living of his own." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Annesley, I am delighted to see 
 you ! I have been a sad invalid since we met. 
 Ellen will be down in a moment, and will, I am 
 sure, be glad to welcome her old playfellow. In- 
 deed I cannot conceive why she is not here al- 
 ready ; there will be more people coming, and 
 she will not be ready to receive them. Made- 
 moiselle Juliani, do go and look after her ; and 
 tell Sindon to let Lord Ethelwode know that 
 Mr. Allen is here." 
 
 Ellen, however, made her appearance before 
 Mademoiselle Juliani could depart on her errand, 
 and the w^ords of displeasure died away on Lady 
 Ethelwode's lips, as her eyes fell on that radiant 
 form. For a moment the mother's pride over- 
 came her indolence. She rose from her sofa, 
 and, drawing Ellen towards her, she imprinted a 
 kiss on her forehead, saying, at the same time, 
 to Mrs. Allen, " Is she not lovely ?" 
 
 But Mrs. Allen's assenting look of admiration, 
 and Mademoiselle Juliani's rapturous exclama- 
 tions, were alike lost on Ellen. She heard only 
 her mother's kind tone, she felt only her mother's 
 fond kiss — the only tokens of real affection she 
 had received from her for years. Her first im- 
 pulse was to fall on her mother's neck, and weep ; 
 but she remembered Lady Ethelwode's horror of
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. Ill 
 
 a scene; and Lord Ethelwode's entrance still 
 more effectually recalled her to herself. She 
 brushed away the falling tear, and turned to 
 speak to Mrs. Allen. 
 
 " But where is Edward — Mr. Annesley, I 
 mean ?" asked she. " I thought he was to ar- 
 rive yesterday." 
 
 Edward now came forward. He was glad 
 she had not noticed him at first, for he had had 
 time to recover the breathless surprise into which 
 her appearance had thrown him. It was several 
 years since he had seen her, and, though prepared 
 to expect beauty, such faultless, almost unearthly 
 loveliness, he had never even dreamed of; and he 
 gazed on her in speechless admiration. He had 
 seen, too, the change of her countenance, the 
 emotion called up by her mother's words ; and 
 that slight incident had already revealed to him 
 much of her inward history. His admiration 
 was, therefore, mingled with a feeling of com- 
 passion, akin to that which he had formerly 
 experienced for the wayward and lonely child, 
 as he advanced to receive her ofreetino-, and to 
 press the proffered hand in his own. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you back again in our 
 neighbourhood," said Ellen. '' I assure you I 
 have often missed my kind, patient tutor ; your 
 long absence has been very fatal to the progress 
 of my education."
 
 112 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " I am afraid my instructions did not greatly 
 promote it," said Edward, smiling. " I think 
 we were much more given to wander about the 
 woods than to keep steadily to our book. But 
 you must have forgotten things which happened 
 so long ago." 
 
 " Indeed I have not," said Ellen, eagerly ; " I 
 remember every thing, even to my naughtiness 
 and your forbearance with me. I have not so 
 many friends that I should forget my first and 
 kindest one. What happy days those were ! 
 Do you remember ..." 
 
 But Ellen's recollections were checked in full 
 career by the entrance of more guests, whom she 
 was obliged to go and receive, and she could not 
 again speak to Edward for a long time. Car- 
 riage after carriage drove up to the door, and an 
 incessant stream of people began to pour into 
 the saloon. Lord Ethelwode stood beside her 
 to receive his guests. He was in his highest 
 mood of gratified pride, and could afford to be 
 graciously condescending to all — even the un- 
 titled and nouveaitw riches amongst his guests. 
 He had tried to persuade young Egbert to re- 
 main beside him, that he might have the satis- 
 faction of presenting his heir to those whose 
 families were sufficiently ancient, or their grand- 
 fathers sufficiently authenticated, to entitle them 
 to such an honour. But Egbert had no idea of
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 113 
 
 submitting to such restraint, and, escaping from 
 his father's hand, he ran off to watch the arrival 
 of the carriages, and amuse himself by peeping 
 through the keyhole of the cloak-room to dis- 
 cover the proceedings of the ladies within. 
 
 Ellen's rather fatiguing task as her mother's 
 representative was lightened by the amusement 
 she felt in watching the nice adjustment of her 
 step-father's civilities, according to the scale of 
 hereditary descent — how gracefully courteous he 
 was to the duke of fifty generations, with what 
 easy familiarity he greeted the ancient baronet, 
 with what aifable politeness he returned the 
 salutations of the squire whose family had held 
 the same estate for centuries, and how he con- 
 descendingly nodded to the common herd, whose 
 ancestors were, at least, problematical, if not 
 completely shrouded in obscurity ! In the case 
 of the Oaklands' party, however, it required some 
 nicety of judgment to settle which of these vari- 
 ous modes were to be adopted. 
 
 Sir Charles, as being a baronet of the first 
 creation, and an old friend besides, was cer- 
 tainly entitled to all possible courtesy, and Lady 
 Frances's pedigree was unexceptionable ; but 
 then she had married a man whose father had 
 made his fortune in the city, and invented his 
 own armorial bearings. This was a serious stain, 
 and the daughters of such a mesalliance could not
 
 114 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 claim the privileges of unsullied descent. To- 
 wards them, therefore, it was necessary to main- 
 tain a somewhat dignified demeanour. Mr. St. 
 John he received graciously. He came of the 
 same old stock as the Conways, and, besides, his 
 mother was a daughter of Lord Colville, who 
 stood next to himself in the peerage. The 
 " sangre azul^'' or blue blood, as the Spaniards 
 call the blood unsullied by mesalliance^ was, in 
 his case, perfectly pure. Lord Ethelwode could 
 shake him by the hand without feeling that he 
 demeaned himself in any way by so doing. 
 
 Before the party passed on, however, he was 
 won over almost to a forgetfulness of Lady 
 Frances's terrible matrimonial faua^-pas by her 
 enthusiastic admiration of every thing she saw, 
 and more especially of the noble boy, whose 
 birthday had served as a pretext for the fete. 
 Even the half-caste daughters rose in his esti- 
 mation, as Minna declared that she had never 
 seen so handsome a boy, and laughingly regretted 
 that he was too young as yet to be made a con- 
 quest of ; whilst Fanny gravely assured him that 
 Ethelwode Castle resembled one of the fairy 
 palaces of the old romances, and that she thought 
 he must have had some genii at command to 
 create such a scene of enchantment. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, we are moving on at last ! " 
 said Mr. St. John to Louisa. " I thouo:ht the
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 115 
 
 flow of compliments never would cease, or, at 
 least, not till we had been crushed to death by 
 the crowd at the door. Now that we can move 
 and breathe freely, do tell me who is that beau- 
 tiful girl in white standing near Lord Ethelwode 
 — that celestial houri, as your poetical cousin 
 would call her ?" 
 
 ** That is Miss Percival ; I am glad you do 
 not think I exaggerated her beauty." 
 
 " Exaggerated ! no ; how could it be possible 
 to exaggerate that which is so entirely, beyond 
 description ?" replied Arthur, still gazing on El- 
 len. " Lady Ethelwode has done well in keep- 
 ing her quiet here till now ; when she does come 
 out, all London will go mad about her. But, 
 as she is a friend of yours, Miss Conway, I hope 
 you will introduce me." 
 
 " Why really I am half afraid," said Louisa ; 
 *' you seem so disposed to set the example of 
 madness to your London world, I scarcely think 
 it would be safe." 
 
 " Oh, you need not be alarmed, though cer- 
 tainly that face would be a reasonable excuse for 
 any degree of insanity. But it requires," added 
 he, in a lower tone and with a look which called 
 up the colour to Louisa's cheek, " more than a 
 beautiful face to merge mt/ sober reason into 
 love." 
 
 The opening in the crowd now enabled Louisa
 
 116 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 easily to approach Ellen ; and the introduction 
 was accordingly performed, and Ellen's hand 
 claimed by St. John for the first waltz. Louisa 
 did not waltz, and she sat down in one of the 
 recessed windows, and amused herself with watch- 
 ing the animated scene before her. The spacious 
 apartment, though well filled, was not so crowded 
 but that she could easily trace through the mazes 
 of the dance the couple in which she was most 
 interested. 
 
 At first she felt nothing but pleasure in watch- 
 ing Ellen's fairy-like grace of motion, so well 
 contrasted with the manly bearing of her hand- 
 some partner, and listening to the general mur- 
 mur of admiration which followed their steps. 
 She could not help thinking, however, that for 
 one who had declared himself proof against the 
 fascination of mere beauty, Mr. St. John hung 
 over Ellen with a most lover-like devotion, and 
 that the whispered words which brought up so 
 vivid a glow to her cheek must have some deeper 
 import than the common- place nothings of ball- 
 room conversation. 
 
 ** It signifies nothing to me, however," said 
 Louisa to herself. 
 
 It signified nothing to her either, she again 
 repeated, when the waltz was over, and she saw 
 Arthur, instead of returning to her, as she had 
 unconsciously expected, walk down the long
 
 PASSION ASJ) PRINCIPLE. 117 
 
 suite of apartments with his fair partner still 
 hanging on his arm. But every body did the 
 same, thought she, why should not Mr. St. 
 John ? She would watch them no longer, and 
 was glad when somebody came up to ask her to 
 dance, and thus forced her to direct her attention 
 to something else. 
 
 She could not help seeing, however, that St. 
 John was again Ellen's partner, and afterwards, 
 though he could not prevent her dancing with 
 other people, yet, at the end of each dance, he 
 stood by her chair, and seemed to have neither 
 eye's nor ears for any one else. Louisa was angry 
 with herself for feeling hurt by his inattention. 
 If he chose to forget the rules of good breeding, 
 it was for him, not her, to be vexed, and she 
 would think of it no more. Yet all her pride 
 could not preserve her from an unaccountable 
 feeling of uneasiness, when he led Ellen out to 
 waltz a second time. 
 
 At that moment she caught a glimpse of Ed- 
 ward Annesley, who was leaning against the 
 fireplace, his eyes fixed on Ellen ; and she 
 fancied that his countenance expressed the same 
 feeling. Whilst she was pondering somewhat 
 deeply upon this circumstance, some one touched 
 her arm, and she heard a well-known voice pro- 
 nounce her name. She looked up, and started 
 on seeing Reginald Talbot standing beside her.
 
 118 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 All her unpleasant thoughts were dispelled in a 
 moment. 
 
 " You here, Reginald ! Is it possible ? When 
 did you arrive ? Where have you come from ? 
 How did you come ?" 
 
 " I arrived at Oaklands about an hour ago," 
 said Reginald ; *' and, to my great discomposure, 
 found you all out. The servants told me you 
 were here ; so, presuming on my old acquaintance 
 with Lord and Lady Ethelwode, I dispensed with 
 an invitation, changed my dress, and came over 
 to seek you." 
 
 " Most wisely done, M. le Secretaire," said 
 Louisa ; "it would have been provoking to find, 
 on our return home, that you had been there so 
 many hours without us. And have you announced 
 your arrival to our host and hostess ?" 
 
 " I met Lord Ethelwode at the door, and was 
 graciously received ; and I was making my way 
 up to her ladyship when I spied you out. But 
 where is my excellent guardian, for I suppose 
 you are not here alone ?" 
 
 "Oh, no ! He is somewhere in the room. 
 But there is no use in going to look for him till 
 this waltz is over ; so you may as well sit down 
 here by me, and give me an account of your 
 proceedings since we left you abroad." 
 
 Reginald desired no better, so he took the 
 offered seat, and was soon deeply engaged in
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 119 
 
 answering his companion's multifarious questions, 
 and inquiring in his turn about all that had taken 
 place in his absence. 
 
 " Ah ! there is Ellen — Miss Percival I should 
 call her, I suppose," said he, as a pause in the 
 waltz brought St. John and his partner nearly 
 opposite to them. " More beautiful than ever, 
 I perceive. Who is that tall handsome man 
 waltzing with her ? They make a splendid 
 couple." 
 
 " That is Mr. St. John," said Louisa, with a 
 slight return of her former uncomfortable feeling. 
 " He is my father's heir-at-law, you know, and 
 is staying with us for a short time. I believe 
 you met him at Oaklands when you were both 
 boys." 
 
 Reginald's face clouded over as he heard the 
 name. It was only two days before that he had 
 heard certain discussions concerning this Mr. 
 St. John at the Traveller's, which disposed him 
 to feel rather sorry at finding him domesticated 
 in the same house with Louisa. 
 
 The latter did not remark his change of coun- 
 tenance, and went on talking about other subjects 
 with so much animation that he soon forgot his 
 momentary uneasiness. 
 
 It was now Arthur's turn to wonder and feel 
 uncomfortable. As Louisa had told him that 
 she scarcely knew any of the gentlemen in the
 
 120 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 room, he could not conceive who was the dark 
 handsome man to whom she was now talking so 
 eagerly, and to whom she listened with so bright 
 a smile. He was evidently an intimate acquaint- 
 ance, and one in whose conversation she took no 
 small delight. Though Arthur had scarcely 
 spoken to her since the beginning of the even- 
 ing, he now felt rather indignant that she should 
 listen to any body else ; and as soon as the waltz 
 was over, and he had deposited Ellen on her 
 seat, he hastened to interrupt the obnoxious 
 tete-a-tete. 
 
 " I suppose I must introduce you en forme to 
 one another," said Louisa, " as you do not seem 
 to remember your boyish acquaintance. Mr. 
 St. John— Mr. Talbot." 
 
 The gentlemen bowed rather coldly ; but the 
 moment afterwards, St. John, recollecting the 
 absurdity of shewing jealousy towards a man 
 whom Louisa always spoke of as a brother, held 
 out his hand with frank courtesy, and expressed 
 a hope that *' so pleasant an acquaintance would 
 be speedily renewed under Miss Conway's aus- 
 pices." 
 
 Reginald bowed again, scarcely less stiffly 
 than before. The words he had heard at the 
 Traveller's were still ringing in his ears, and he 
 could not bear to see the easy footing on which 
 the man thus spoken of seemed to be with
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 121 
 
 Louisa. She was at a loss to account for his 
 strange demeanour, and turned away displeased 
 that Reginald should receive so haughtily the 
 advances of one whom she had introduced as her 
 father's guest, and standing in such near con- 
 nexion to him. 
 
 " May I have the pleasure of dancing with 
 you, Miss Conway ?" said St. John^as the music 
 struck up for another quadrille. 
 
 Louisa coloured involuntarily at this tardy 
 civility, but she accepted it, and stood up. 
 
 " Louisa," cried Reginald, "surely you meant 
 to dance this quadnlle with m.e." 
 
 " Did you name this one ? I did not recollect 
 it," and she felt confused, for, in truth, she would 
 have been glad, at that moment, not to have 
 been found ready to dance with Mr. St. John, 
 when he seemed only just to have remembered 
 her presence ; however, she was too true to ac- 
 cept any false pretext, and :she did 7iot remem- 
 ber that Reginald had specified this quadrille. 
 
 " You have put in your claim too late, Mr. 
 Talbot," said St. John. 
 
 *' We have misunderstood each other, Regi- 
 nald," added Louisa ; " but I shall be happy to 
 dance v/ith you all the rest of the evening, if 
 you like." And then, trusting that such a slight 
 mistake would not be misinter]3reted by an old 
 
 VOL. 1. G
 
 122 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 friend like him, she turned away, and allowed 
 St. John to lead her to her place. 
 
 Reginald was much displeased — more so, per- 
 haps, than mere dislike to St. John's character 
 quite accounted for; and he walked off in search of 
 Sir Charles Conway and Edward Annesley, who, 
 Louisa had told him, were also there, with feel- 
 ings very dif]^rent from those with which he had 
 entered the room. As he proceeded through 
 the apartments, he passed the place where Lady 
 Frances and her youngest daughter were sitting, 
 somewhat disconsolately. 
 
 " Mr. Talbot !" exclaimed Lady Frances, as 
 her eye fell upon his figure. *' From what cloud 
 have you dropped, in this abrupt manner? I 
 thought you were in London. Do come and sit 
 here, and tell me by what strange chance you 
 happen to be here." 
 
 Reginald could not sit down, however ; he was 
 in search of his guardian, whom he had not yet 
 seen, and could only answer, in as few words as 
 possible, the lady's eager questions. 
 
 '* What a bear Mr. Talbot has grown !" ex- 
 claimed she, as he passed on his way. '' I should 
 not have spoken to him a minute, but that I 
 thought, perhaps, he would ask you to dance, 
 Fanny." 
 
 " So did I, mamma. It is very provoking ta
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 123 
 
 sit still in this way all the evening. I never 
 was so bored in my life." 
 
 " My poor child ! It is hard upon you ; but 
 really the men seem to have no eyes to-night for 
 any one but Ellen Percival." 
 
 " Louisa is dancing, however, mamma, and so 
 is Minna — she always gets partners." 
 
 " Because she talks more than you, my dear." 
 
 " I think it looks very like flirting," said 
 Fanny, in a lower tone ; " and that I could never 
 bring myself to do." 
 
 " All nonsense, my dear. Now, Minna. . . . 
 But, dear me, who is that she is talking to now?" 
 
 " Mr. Hope. She has danced with him twice." 
 
 "What, Lord Hope's younger son? That 
 will never do. I thought she was dancing with 
 the elder brother. I must go and give her a 
 hint ; she is so giddy and indiscriminate. You 
 had better come with me, Fanny — perhaps I 
 may get you a partner by the way." 
 
 Her purpose was accomplished sooner than 
 she had hoped for. As she was making her way 
 through the crowd, she found herself near a very 
 young and very shy-looking man, whom she 
 chanced to know by name. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Ashton ' how glad I am to see you 
 here. If you are not dancing, pray, do lend us 
 your assistance in getting through this dreadful 
 press." 
 
 G 2
 
 124 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Mr. Asliton was not dancing ; and, as he was 
 not quick enough to devise any other excuse, he 
 nervously offered his arm to the lady. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you. Will you give your 
 other arm to my daughter ? This is really cha- 
 ritable, for it is quite a service of danger to 
 make one's way through such a crowd. It is a 
 delightful ball, though — the music is quite in- 
 spiring. I wonder, Mr. Ashton, you can resist 
 its influence." 
 
 Mr. Ashton pleaded that he was not very fond 
 of dancing, and that he knew very few people in 
 the room. 
 
 " Oh, if you are fond of dancing, and want a 
 partner," said Lady Frances, ** I am sure Fanny 
 will dance with you, if she is not engaged. 
 Fanny, let me introduce Mr. Ashton." 
 
 After this broad hint, Mr. Ashton could do no 
 otherwise than bow to the young lady, and re- 
 quest the honour of her hand for the next dance ; 
 an honour which she granted without delay. 
 
 " If you are going to dance, you had better 
 take your places at once. Never mind me, — I 
 will go and sit on the sofa beside Lady Ethel- 
 wode. If you see your sister, my dear, tell her 
 where I am." 
 
 Away went Fanny, with her nervous and re- 
 luctant partner ; whilst Lady Frances, delighted 
 at the success of her manoeuvre, took her seat by
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 125 
 
 Lady Ethelwode, and began expatiating on the 
 extreme delicacy, care, and watchfulness, which 
 were required for the office of chaperon to grown- 
 up daughters. By the time Lady Ethelwode 
 had dropped avsleep a dozen times, and been 
 startled again by her friend's louder tone of 
 voice, the room began to thin, and she was 
 obliged to wake up in earnest, to receive her 
 guests' parting compliments. Lady Frances 
 hurried off in search of her daughters, that she 
 might not run any risk of committing the vul- 
 garity of staying till the last. 
 
 Both the girls were ready to go ; Minna was 
 tired of flirting with younger sons ; and Fanny, 
 having been obliged at last to release Mr. Ash- 
 ton, after having kept him by her side through 
 two waltzes and a quadrille, had been sitting 
 yawning in a corner for some time past, Louisa 
 was ready, too ; she was vexed at Reginald's 
 strange conduct in not coming near her again 
 the whole evening, and was beginning to find it 
 rather difficult to keep up her animated conver- 
 sation with Mr. St. John, whilst her thoughts 
 wandered to the cause of Reginald's coldness 
 towards him. 
 
 Reginald was summoned from his conversation 
 with Edward Annesley, and the whole party left 
 the room, after having taken their leave of Lady 
 Ethelwode and Ellen. Edward followed them,
 
 126 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 but not before Ellen had made him promise that 
 he would call the next morning, and renew his 
 acquaintance with all their old haunts in the 
 park and gardens. 
 
 Some indefatigable dancers still kept up the 
 ball, but Lady Ethelwode would not sit up after 
 the Oaklands' party was gone, and Lord Ethel- 
 wode followed her example, as soon as he had 
 shaken hands with the last squire of sufficiently 
 long pedigree to entitle him to such a condescen- 
 sion. One by one, however, the guests all 
 dropped off, and, as the clock struck four, the 
 last carriage drove over the drawbridge, and 
 Ellen found herself alone in the empty ball- 
 room. It looked strange and melancholy enough 
 in the grey cold light of morning, which was 
 now shining in upon its faded flowers, and making 
 the wax lights burn dim and yellow. 
 
 She hastened away to her own room, but not 
 to bed. She could not have slept until she had 
 cooled her throbbing head, and quieted a little 
 her excited thoughts ; so, having taken off her 
 ball dress, she threw open the casement, and sat 
 down by it to enjoy the pure sweet morning air, 
 so delightful after the heated atmosphere of the 
 ball-room. 
 
 It required some such sedative as this to allay 
 the fever of excitement into which that night of 
 triumph to all her woman's vanity had thrown
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 127 
 
 her. For the first time in her life she had felt 
 herself the object of general admiration, and be- 
 come conscious of the power of her wondrous 
 beauty. She had seen it alike in the earnest 
 gaze of the young retired student ; in the devoted 
 attention of the man of the world ; in the looks 
 and actions of almost every being who had ap- 
 proached her. 
 
 She had often been told before of her beauty, 
 and had cared little about it ; but now she knew, 
 she felt that she was beautiful, and that such 
 beauty was power, — power over all human 
 hearts. A flush of triumph mantled on her 
 brow, and made her eye kindle more brightly at 
 the thought. But the flush passed away as she 
 remembered that her triumph was now over, and 
 that to-morrow she must return again to the 
 same quiet, monotonous existence she had led 
 before this ball was talked of. No, not the same, 
 for Edward Annesley was returned to settle at 
 Ethelwode. Edward would be again her com- 
 panion and friend, as in former days. 
 
 Poor Ellen ! she forgot the years that had 
 passed away, and, still a child herself in the 
 ways of the world, she never thought of the in- 
 terpretation which the world would put on such 
 companionship between them now. She dwelt 
 with delight on the thoughts of renewing all "\ 
 
 their former intimacy, and formed a thousand
 
 128 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 happy schemes for their future companionship, 
 till the village clock, striking five, roused her 
 from her. reverie, and sent her to bed to dream 
 of balls and country walks, of Edward Annesley 
 and Mr. St. John, all mingled together in strange 
 and inextricable confusion of times and places.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 129 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ^' Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. 
 " Valentine. Ay, boy, 'tis for love." 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 '' He resolved to establish his power over her ; it became his 
 ambition. For when a man has no other ambition, he will covet 
 a much more insignificant bauble than the mastery over such a 
 woman," BuLWER, Ernest Maltravers, 
 
 Louisa's retrospections after the ball were by 
 no means so pleasant as Ellen's. She also had 
 awakened to a full consciousness of the power 
 of beauty ; but to her it was a painful, discovery. 
 Though she was incapable of envying her friend, 
 and still rejoiced, as she had hitherto done, in 
 her surpassing loveliness, she, for the first time, 
 reflected with sorrow on her own inferiority ; 
 and as most, even of the wisest, women have 
 done, at some time of their lives, she sighed for 
 the frail but precious gift nature had denied her. 
 
 Such a feeling could only be transitory in a 
 mind like hers, but it was the sign of another, 
 far deeper and more dangerous to her peace ; 
 namelv, the consciousness that St. John's atten- 
 
 G 5
 
 130 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 tions were no lonsrer a matter of indifference to 
 her. Not that this consciousness was clearly 
 developed, much less openly acknowledged, even 
 to herself. Her pride would not admit the 
 thought that the acquaintance of one short 
 month had power to exercise such an influence 
 over her. It was only Minna's insinuations that 
 made her for a moment entertain such a fear ; 
 and it was natural that she should feel hurt at 
 St. John's decided neglect, directly he came 
 within the sphere of Ellen's fascination. 
 
 Those who know how long a pure-minded girl 
 shrinks from confessing, even to her inmost 
 heart, a preference which seems indelicate and 
 unwomanly until it has heen sought, will not 
 accuse Louisa of any extraordinary self-decep- 
 tion in trying to attribute her uneasy feelings to 
 any cause rather than the true one. It was long 
 before she could quiet her thoughts sufficiently 
 to retire to rest ; and she lay down at last with 
 a heart much less at peace than was her wont. 
 
 The unusual dissipation of the night, added to 
 this cause, made her feverish and restless. She 
 could not sleep ; and, after an hour's uncomfort- 
 able tossing, without being able to attain any 
 rest, she rose again, and, wrapping a cloak round 
 her, opened the window in hopes that the fresh 
 air would drive away her headache. The grey 
 dawn was just breaking in the east, whilst over-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 131 
 
 head the stars were still shining brightly. Louisa 
 watched them as they gradually paled, and then 
 faded away before the stronger light of day. 
 
 It was beautiful to look out on the cool, dewy 
 morning, so pure and sweet in its freshness and 
 subdued colouring, like a child before a breath 
 of passion has swept over its guileless heart ; and, 
 more beautiful still, to watch the gradual kind- 
 ling of the eastern sky, growing more and more 
 intense, till the glorious sun arose " like a giant 
 going forth to run his course," and suddenly 
 lighted up earth and sea as with the visible 
 smile of the Almighty. 
 
 Louisa looked out on that prospect, which she 
 had loved to gaze upon since her mind first 
 opened to the love of the beautiful ; and under 
 its influence her thoughts grew calm, and the 
 gladsome peace which had been for a while dis- 
 turbed, brooded again over her heart. The re- 
 turn of day seemed to recall her to its sober 
 duties ; and she shook off the recollection of the 
 feverish pleasure and pain of the last night, as 
 the delusions of a dream. By the time that the 
 blue smoke, curling up through the trees from 
 the village chimneys, announced that the inha- 
 bitants were astir and about to resume their 
 daily toil, Louisa was dressed and ready to go 
 forth and enjoy to the utmost the beauty of the 
 morning, which she was now glad she had not
 
 132 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 been able to sleep away. As she passed through 
 the library into the garden, she started at seeing 
 Reginald standing by one of the bookcases. He 
 turned round at the sound of her footsteps. 
 
 " Louisa ! How do you happen to be up at 
 such an hour as this, after last night's dissipa- 
 tion?" 
 
 " I will answer in the Scotch fashion, by an- 
 other question," said Louisa, smiling. " What 
 has brought you here so early ?" 
 
 " I could not sleep, so I thought I might as 
 well get up and take a walk this bright morn- 
 ing ; and I came here for a book, by way of com- 
 panion." 
 
 '' Well, take your book, if you like ; but I am 
 going to walk, too . . . . " 
 
 " Then farewell to reading for this morning," 
 said Reginald. " Unless you are much changed 
 since we parted, I shall want no pleasanter 
 companion." 
 
 ^' You have been living at court, and have 
 learned to pay compliments," said Louisa, laugh- 
 ing. " But come, we are wasting our time 
 standing here." 
 
 The uneasy thoughts which had been torment- 
 ing Reginald since the preceding evening, and 
 had driven him forth thus early to seek relief 
 and refreshment after a sleepless night, vanished 
 before Louisa's frank, warm manner, so like
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 13S 
 
 what it used to be in old days. Arthur St. John 
 was forgotten ; and, drawing her arm within his, 
 they were soon out on the lawn, and deliberating 
 which way they should turn their steps. 
 
 "I meant to dawdle, not to walk," said 
 Louisa ; •* for although I enjoy the air, I do not 
 think I have much energy to spare this morning." 
 
 " I thought it was rather a rash undertaking, 
 walking before breakfast after a ball ; but I shall 
 not let you tire yourself. Shall we go down by 
 the rough path to the crag, and rest on our old 
 seat ; — nothing is changed there, I suppose ?" 
 
 " No, we have had no earthquakes since you 
 left us ; and I do not know. what else could effect 
 a change. So let us go ; the footing is none of 
 the best, but the way is short, and it is one of 
 my favourite haunts." 
 
 They were soon threading the intricacies of 
 the rocky path ; and after a few minutes' walk- 
 ing, or rather scrambling, they reached the crag 
 — a huge mass of stone, which hung over the 
 water as if it had been suddenly arrested in its 
 fall down the abrupt face of the cliff, and sus- 
 pended there by some giant hand. 
 
 " Do you remember," said Louisa, as they sat 
 down to rest on the bench which had been carved 
 out of the rock, " how proud we both were the 
 first day you induced me to follow you to this 
 place ?"
 
 134 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Reginald remembered it well ; and, as usual 
 when people begin with the magic words '' Do 
 you remember ?" — they went on recalling to each 
 other many other days which had been marked 
 with events equally important in their childish 
 intercourse. 
 
 Reginald was some years older than Louisa ; 
 and, not being gifted with the patience of Edward 
 Annesley, he had taken no notice of his guar- 
 dian's child, till he discovered in the little girl a 
 spirit as bold and as enterprising as his own, and 
 energy as great, only more untiring from being 
 more calm. From the moment he had made this 
 discovery, he had shewn invariable delight in 
 Louisa's society. As years passed on, and he 
 found each time that he returned to Oaklands 
 that, by her father's care, she was ignorant of 
 none of the subjects in which he took an interest, 
 and that the rapid development of her mind 
 fitted her to be the companion of his graver 
 pursuits and studies, as she had been of his 
 boyish sports, the difference of age was forgotten, 
 and his affection for the child deepened into a 
 stronger and warmer feeling for the young girl. 
 
 Of late years, however, their meetings had 
 been more rare, and, with the exception of the 
 short time they had spent together abroad, they 
 had not met for two years. No wonder, then, 
 that on this first day of their renewed inter-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 135 
 
 course, there was no end of their mutual remi- 
 niscences ; of the things that both had to tell 
 and to listen to ; to the thousand and one occur- 
 rences, too minute to be related in a letter, and 
 which yet are the connecting links of the chain 
 of life ; and which required now to be gathered 
 up, that the chasms which absence had made in 
 their mutual knowledge might be filled up, and 
 their intercourse be resumed as fully and freely 
 as if it had never been interrupted. 
 
 To Reginald there was too much heartfelt 
 happiness in such a conversation to allow him to 
 remember such sublunary things as time and 
 hunger. He was astonished and half inclined to 
 be angry, when Louisa interrupted herself in the 
 midst of an account of her pursuit of some study 
 which she had begun under his direction, and 
 the difficulties and disgust she had experienced 
 in going on with it alone after his departure, to 
 exclaim that it was time for them to go into 
 breakfast. 
 
 " Breakfast- time ! impossible ! What can make 
 you think of such a thing ?" 
 
 Louisa pointed to the shadow on the rock. 
 " Do you not remember that we used to call that 
 rock our sundial? See how the shadow has 
 shortened ! it reached to that furze-bush when 
 w^e first sat down ; we must have been here 
 nearly three hours."
 
 136 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Reginald was still incredulous, and was on the 
 point of saying that Louisa must be very hungry 
 or very tired of his conversation, to fancy they 
 had been there so long. He did not say it, how- 
 ever ; and at this moment all doubts as to the 
 correctness of her calculation were set at rest by 
 the distant sound of the breakfast-bell making 
 itself heard in the intervals between the breaking 
 of the waves on the shore below, and he was re- 
 luctantly forced to follow her back to the house. 
 As they crossed the lawn, they saw that most of 
 the party were already assembled in the break- 
 fast-room. St. John was standing at the open 
 window ; and as Louisa emerged from the shrub- 
 bery, he ran out to meet her. At the sight of 
 Reginald following her, however, he stopped 
 short, and his eager manner changed almost to 
 coldness. 
 
 " My dear Louisa," said Sir Charles, as she 
 entered the room, " for once you really deserve 
 a scolding for going out so early after sitting up 
 all night at a ball." 
 
 " I could not sleep, so I thought it was better 
 to get up ; and I feel more rested now than I 
 did three hours ago. The morning was so de- 
 licious, and Reginald and I have been enjoying 
 it together, as we used to do in old times." 
 
 St. John walked away to the other side of the 
 room, and Reginald's countenance, which had
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 137 
 
 been clouded over, brightened again into an ex- 
 pression of pleasure. 
 
 " Well, you do not seem to have suffered much 
 from your imprudence," said Sir Charles, patting 
 his daughter's head as he kissed her glowing 
 cheek. *' But where have you been, Loo ? your 
 hair is quite wet." 
 
 *' We went to our old seat on the crag," said 
 Reginald, *' not to tire Louisa by going too far, 
 and the spray occasionally saluted us with a 
 shower. The wind is rising, and the waves are 
 breaking magnificently on the rocks." 
 
 " My dear Louisa," said Lady Frances, *' I 
 really wish you would be more like other girls, 
 and not go to such places. It frightens one so 
 dreadfully to think of your clambering about 
 those horrid slippery rocks ; — and then it is 
 ruination to your feet and to your complexion, 
 and your hair will turn red from being exposed 
 to the air and salt water. Ah ! you will be sorry 
 when you see this happen, that you did not fol- 
 low my advice." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Louisa, laughing ; *' but 
 I am in great hopes it never will happen. And 
 even with the dread of such misfortunes before 
 my eyes, I do not think I could forego the 
 pleasure of such a walk as I have had this 
 morning." 
 
 " Mr. Talbot should give lessons in the art of
 
 138 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 entertaining, for the benefit of mankind," said 
 St. John, sarcastically. '' He must be maitre- 
 passe in it, to have made a young lady forget 
 even her complexion in the pleasure of his 
 conversation." 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot take all the credit to 
 myself," said Reginald, smiling, for he could 
 afford to be generous just then. '' I must be 
 content to share it with the beauty of the 
 morning and the influence of the fresh sea-breeze, 
 which was certainly delicious enough to make 
 one forget every thing, but to enjoy it to the 
 utmost." 
 
 '•' It does, indeed, seem to have made Miss 
 Conway forget every thing," said St. John, in a 
 low voice, as Louisa passed him to take her 
 place at the head of the table, with a look of 
 cold displeasure. She did not seem to hear his 
 words, and began pouring out the tea in silence. 
 
 "Where are Minna and Fanny?" asked Sir 
 Charles ; " they do not seem disposed to be as 
 alert as Louisa this morning, though they are 
 such much more practised ball-goers." 
 
 " Minna will be down presently, I believe," 
 said their mother ; " but Fanny says over-ex- 
 ertion spoils her voice, so she always stays in 
 bed half the day after a ball." 
 
 " Rather a heavy price to pay for an evening's 
 amusement. But the ball last night was really
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 139 
 
 worth going to. It was beautifully done — every 
 thing so splendid and in such good taste — and 
 my good neighbour played the host with great 
 effect — not to speak of his pretty step-daughter, 
 who did the honours with as much grace as if 
 she had been bred up in a court." 
 
 " She is really surpassingly beautiful," said 
 Reginald. " In all my experience of courts, I 
 have never seen any thing to compare with her. 
 I thought, when I was here last, that she could 
 not be more lovely ; but last night I felt as if I 
 had never seen her before, so much did she 
 throw my recollection of her former self into the 
 shade. These two years have added an expres- 
 sion of thought and feeling to her countenance, 
 which makes it more fascinating than all the 
 faultless beauty of her features." 
 
 " It is Ellen then that he admires, after all," 
 thought St. John ; " he would not praise her so 
 warmly if he cared for the other." Under the 
 soothing influence of this reflection, St. John's 
 countenance relaxed into good humour again, 
 and he addressed himself to Louisa, with his 
 usual gaiety of tone. But her manner was re- 
 served and cold. She was evidently displeased ; 
 and all his efforts to lead her into conversation 
 seemed to have the effect of making her reserve 
 still more chilling. He was indignant at his 
 repulse, and relapsed into sullen silence. But
 
 140 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Louisa seemed as provokingly indifferent to his 
 indignation as to his attentions, and talked on 
 to Reginald and her father with as much un- 
 concern as if the most fastidious man in London 
 had not been sitting beside her, chafing at her 
 neglect over his untasted breakfast. 
 
 "But, Louisa, you have not yet told us what 
 you think of balls in general, and last night's in 
 particular," said Reginald. " That was the first 
 you ever went to, was it not ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but you must wait for an opinion on 
 balls in general till I have had more opportunity 
 of judging," answered Louisa, blushing as the 
 recollection of the occurrences of the preceding 
 evening, and the sleepless night which had fol- 
 lowed, rushed to her mind. " Your sudden re- 
 turn, you know, was a great pleasure, quite 
 independent of the ball." 
 
 St. John saw the blush, and attributed it to 
 the recollection of that pleasure. He was glad 
 that breakfast was over, and that the party rose 
 from the table at that moment, for he felt that 
 his irritation must soon have become visible. 
 He took his hat and walked out into the park, 
 to try the effect of fresh air and exercise on his 
 ruffled temper. 
 
 *' I will think of her no more," said he to 
 himself, as he paced rapidly on. Yet, in spite 
 of this determination, the thought of her per-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 141 
 
 petually recurred. He was surprised and angry 
 at the unaccountable influence she exercised 
 over him, and told himself, over and over again, 
 that her pride, her caprice, her coldness, were 
 odious, insupportable in a woman, and that she 
 was perfectly indifferent to him ; but the next 
 moment he found himself pondering upon her 
 looks and words, and trying to account for the 
 change in her manner. 
 
 This was absurd, ridiculous. He had sought 
 her society from mere curiosity — the novelty of 
 her character — her superiority over the women 
 he was used to see — had made him feel that it 
 would be a triumph such as he had never yet 
 achieved, to make her yield to his influence ; 
 and was he now to find himself foiled in that oft- 
 played game by an inexperienced country girl ? 
 Was he to be caught in his own net, and find that, 
 in playing with her aflections, he had endangered 
 his own ? He laughed to scorn the thought of 
 such a possibility, and resolved to prove his 
 utter indifference to her attractions, and his 
 freedom from any such humiliating thraldom, 
 by leaving Oaklands as soon as he decently 
 could, and meanwhile to spend his time more 
 profitably in improving his acquaintance with 
 Lady Ethelwode's beautiful daughter. It would 
 be a satisfaction to see Louisa's mortification,
 
 142 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 which all her pride would not enable her wholly 
 to conceal. But here he stopped short. 
 
 The thought of Reginald flashed across his 
 mind. Should he then withdraw just as his 
 haughty rival appeared, as if he feared to stand 
 the contest ? Would it not look as if he yielded 
 hopelessly to his superior claims? Such a 
 thought was unendurable — he would stay — he 
 would pursue his object in defiance of Re- 
 ginald — he would make the proud girl who had 
 dared shew him her indifference feel and acknow- 
 ledge his power, and then — then it would be 
 time enough to think of leaving Oaklands.
 
 PASSION AND PRIXCIPLE. 143 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ^' Young, handsome, and of opposite sexes, they agreed to be 
 friends and nothing more ! Fools I" — Ernest Maltravers. 
 
 Edward Annesley did not forget his promise 
 of calling at the castle the day after the ball. 
 Ellen was already looking out for him, and came 
 to meet him as soon as she descried his figure 
 among the trees. 
 
 Although she was somewhat paler, in conse- 
 quence of her unwonted dissipation, and the rest- 
 less night which had succeeded it, he thought 
 her not less beautiful by daylight, and in her 
 simple morning attire, than he had in last night's 
 full blaze of light, with all the advantages of 
 dress. 
 
 She greeted him with the same gleeful sim- 
 plicity of former days. '' I am so glad you are 
 come ! I was half afraid you would forget your 
 promise ; though you never used to do so. I 
 should have been so disappointed ! " 
 
 Annesley thought there was little fear of his 
 forgetting a promise, when he could be rewarded 
 for keeping it by such words as these, uttered in
 
 144 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 the most musical of voices, and accompanied by 
 a smile so radiant, that it might have won to 
 mirth the crying philosopher himself. He gave 
 utterance, however, only to the first of these re- 
 flections, and added, with a smile, that he hoped 
 to prove that he was not less punctual than for- 
 merly in keeping promises — agreeable ones espe- 
 cially. 
 
 " Where shall we begin our tour of inspec- 
 tion ?" said Ellen. " Shall we go first to the 
 little flower-garden, or to the old oak by the 
 waterfall, or. . . ." 
 
 " Had I not better go first to pay my respects 
 to Lord and Lady Ethelwode ? I suppose that 
 will be the most proper mode of proceeding." 
 
 " I know little about the propriety of the 
 case," said Ellen ; " but it will be a very useless 
 proceeding, for mamma is still in bed, and will, 
 probably, not get up all day ; and Lord Ethel- 
 wode (Ellen had retained her old dislike to 
 giving her stepfather any more tender appella- 
 tion) is out riding with Egbert." 
 
 " Well, since that matter is settled," said Ed- 
 ward, " I am at your orders. Miss Percival." 
 
 Ellen looked up with a feeling of unpleasant 
 surprise. In all their former intercourse, he had 
 been wont to call her "Ellen," and this cere- 
 monious appellation reminded her, rather chil- 
 lingly, of the diflerence which the lapse of years
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 145 
 
 had placed in their relative positions. She took 
 no notice, however ; only telling herself that she 
 must be careful in remembering to call him "Mr. 
 Anneslej," since he chose to take up so formal 
 a tone ; and there was something less of child- 
 like glee in her manner as they proceeded on 
 their walk. 
 
 " Here is the old tree !" exclaimed she, as 
 they issued from the shady path they had been 
 following into an open space of rich green turf, 
 which was almost surrounded by a barrier of 
 rocks, over which the clear stream leapt into a 
 pool below. The huge oak stood in the midst 
 of the ofreen, castinof its broad shadow to the 
 very edge of the water. " Now tell me, have 
 you seen any thing, since you went away, more 
 beautiful than this little nook ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! I have often thought of this 
 old tree, and wished I was seated under it, when 
 I have been studying in my close rooms, on a 
 hot summer's day. How lightly these six long- 
 years seemed to have passed over this spot : one 
 could almost fancy old Time had forgotten it, or 
 had not been able to find his way to it, so few 
 signs are there of his passage." 
 
 " Even our names, that we carved in the bark 
 the day before you went away, are still there. 
 Look, Ed .... Mr. Annesley, I mean — look at the 
 two ' E's ' and the date, as plain as if it had 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 been done yesterday ; and yet six long years 
 have passed since then !" 
 
 " And sixty more may pass, and leave this 
 spot still fresh and beautiful, whilst we, mean- 
 while, shall have run our long course of change 
 and toil, of joy and sorrow, and perhaps be laid 
 beneath the green sod, which others, now un- 
 born, will then be treading." 
 
 " It is this thought which often destroys or at 
 least saddens my enjoyment of the beauty of 
 Nature," said Ellen. " She has no sympathy 
 for us, but looks equally bright, whether we are 
 glad or sorrowful. She remains unchanged, 
 w^hilst every day brings a change to us." 
 
 " And to Nature, also, could we discern her 
 secret processes," said Edward. " Only think 
 of the long series of changes by which this rock 
 has been slowly formed, the convulsions by 
 which, from its original horizontal position, it 
 has been thrown into that in which we now see 
 it, and broken into those fantastic masses. Think 
 of the many changes this little spot must have 
 undergone, whilst the soil, brought from afar by 
 the waters, was gradually accumulated upon the 
 rocky ledge, and the seeds, wafted by a thou- 
 sand breezes, dropped upon it, and vegetation 
 sprung up, binding the loose earth into the firm 
 sod which it is now, making it fit for the foot- 
 steps of man — or even since the acorn was
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 147 
 
 planted by some hand, long ago turned to dust, 
 from whence this splendid oak has sprung. You 
 see, Nature must also obey the universal law of 
 change and progression, though the processes 
 may be so slow as not to be sensible to us." 
 
 This was a new thought to Ellen, and she 
 pondered silently upon it, as they proceeded to- 
 wards the flower-garden. 
 
 " There are chano-es enouo^h here !" cried Ed- 
 ward, as they reached it. *' I should hardly have 
 known this garden, it is so much improved." 
 
 "• Do you really think so ? I am glad of that ; 
 for the changes are all of my making. Mamma 
 has given up this little garden to me, and I spend 
 half my days in it, altering and arranging, and 
 making the poor gardener wish me and my va- 
 garies a thousand miles off. I have not changed 
 every thing, however. Look ; there is the bench, 
 under the sycamore tree, just as it was when we 
 used to sit there, when you taught me to read. 
 I would not have it moved, because I like to 
 think of those happy days. I have often won- 
 dered since how you could have patience to bear 
 with my petulance and ill-humour." 
 
 Annesley thought he could still bear a great 
 deal, for the sake of having his forbearance thus 
 remembered. " And was that Italian lady I saw 
 last night my successor?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; and a good-natured, easy creature she 
 
 H 2
 
 148 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 is, though not a very intellectual companion — at 
 least, when compared with Louisa Conway, the 
 only other intimate acquaintance I have ever had. 
 But then, I am sure Louisa must be superior to 
 most women : so well-informed, so high-minded ; 
 such a true, warm-hearted, generous friend ! She 
 was away a long time on the continent, and I 
 was very lonely till she came back." 
 
 "My friend Reginald speaks of her as you 
 do," said Annesley ; " so I must needs believe 
 that Miss Conway is incomparable : but, with 
 such a father as her's it would have been strange, 
 indeed, if she had not attained to excellence. 
 Few women are blessed with such advantages." 
 
 " Few, indeed !" said Ellen, sighing. " How 
 few find in their nearest relations, their dearest 
 and wisest friends, guides and instructors !" 
 
 Edward felt it was her own case she was thus 
 generalising, and his heart grieved for the lonely 
 girl, deprived of the inestimable blessing of re- 
 verencing those whom she was bound to obey ; 
 and so feelingly alive to her own position. Ellen 
 was conscious that his voice became gentler, his 
 manner kinder, after this ; and her o^vn manner 
 lost the shade of constraint which the beginning 
 of their conversation had inspired. They wan- 
 dered on through the gardens, then to Ellen's 
 favourite pavilion, where the sight of books in- 
 troduced the subject of literature ; and Ellen
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 149 
 
 found that not even Louisa could speak so de- 
 lightfully, so eloquently, upon these subjects, as 
 Edward Annesley, when enthusiasm made him 
 forget his natural reserve. Some German books 
 lying on the table, induced him to ask her if she 
 were acquainted with the language. 
 
 " No ; I have been trying to puzzle it out a 
 little by myself, because Louisa's admiration of 
 German authors o^ave me a ofreat wish to read 
 them ; but I have almost given it up in despair." 
 
 " Do you always allow yourself to be thus 
 easily defeated ?" asked Annesley, wdth a smile. 
 
 '' I fear I do. I soon get weary of working 
 on alone, and this is rather like working in the 
 dark, for I have no one to tell me if I go right 
 or wrong. Even Louisa has no time now to help 
 me." 
 
 " I am something of ^ German scholar my- 
 self," said Edward, moved with the sudden wish 
 to be useful to one who seemed to have so few 
 to assist her; " if I can help you, I shall be 
 happy to do so ; my grammars and dictionaries 
 are quite at your service, and my instructions 
 also, if you will accept them." 
 
 Accept them ! Never was offer more eagerly 
 or joyfully embraced. Already Ellen saw, in 
 imagination, all her anticipations of finding 
 again in Edward the friend and companion of 
 her childhood fully realised, and the radiant
 
 150 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 smile with which she thanked him made him 
 feel that he was abundantly rewarded for his be- 
 nevolent intentions on her behalf. It was with 
 a step even lighter, a countenance brighter, than 
 before, that she left the summer-house, and con- 
 tinued to lead him on from one favourite spot 
 to another ; now stopping to point out some 
 stately tree ; now springing away to gather the 
 wild flowers, which her glance of love never 
 failed to discover in their shadiest lurking places ; 
 now^ pausing to watch silently the fishing- 
 boats running home into the little creek, or the 
 shadows of the clouds, passing like a dream over 
 the sunny dell, till the yellow glow of sunlight 
 on the stems of the trees warned Edward that 
 it was time to take his leave. AVhen they 
 reached the drawbridge, they parted, with a 
 sigh from Ellen, that the happy day was over, 
 and an earnest request that he would come again 
 soon, and give her the first of his promised 
 lessons. 
 
 The next day the German books arrived from 
 the parsonage, but Edward did not come with 
 them. He had reflected, on his return home, 
 upon the offer he had made, and had felt, not 
 without self-l'eproach, that he had acted with 
 something less than his usual prudence, in thus 
 opening the way to the renewal of his former in- 
 timacy with Ellen. He did not fear the danger
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 151 
 
 to himself. He felt secure enough, that, not- 
 withstanding ail her beauty, Lady Ethelwode's 
 daughter, and Mademoiselle Juliani's pupil, was 
 not the woman for whom he could ever feel a 
 serious attachment ; but the world would see his 
 intercourse with her in another light, and would 
 probably make comments on it injurious to her, 
 and distressing to them both. He reproached 
 himself for not having considered this before he 
 made his thoughtless offer; but, as it was too 
 late now to retract, he could only resolve to be 
 more prudent in future, and to take care that 
 his intercourse with her should be such that 
 the most censorious could find nothing to say 
 against it. 
 
 Ellen was much disappointed, for she had 
 looked forward all the morning to his arrival, and 
 had already chalked out another walk, to be taken 
 after the German lesson was over. She thought 
 that he must have been accidentally detained ; 
 and, as it rained all the afternoon, so as to pre- 
 clude all possibility of walking, she bore the 
 disappointment, on the whole, very philosophi- 
 cally, comforting herself with the assurance that 
 he would certainly come on the morrow. But 
 when the morrow passed away, and another day 
 after that, and still no Edward made his appear- 
 ance, Ellen's philosophy, a virtue for which she
 
 152 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 was, certainly, not remarkable, gave way to 
 vexation and disappointment. 
 
 She pushed away the German book she had 
 been trying in vain to understand, and gave her- 
 self up to the discontented mood which had 
 come over her. She was sure that Edward had 
 forgotten both her and his promise. . He had, 
 no doubt, found pleasanter society than hers at 
 Oaklands, with Louisa and Reginald, — no won- 
 der, when they were both so clever, so agreeable, 
 whilst she was ignorant, uncultivated, foolish. 
 She was angry with herself, for having supposed, 
 for a moment, that it would be otherwise — for 
 having dreamt that Edward would give up his 
 time and society to her, when Oaklands was at 
 hand, with all its attractions. Happy Oaklands ! 
 Why was she always told that beauty was the 
 most invaluable of all possessions, when she daily 
 saw Louisa sought after, admired, loved, whilst 
 she was neo-lected and foro-otten ? 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed aloud, " what would I 
 not give to be able to exchange all this worthless 
 beauty for a mind like Louisa's !" 
 
 " Miss Percival, what are you talking about ?" 
 said Mademoiselle Juliani, entering at that mo- 
 ment with Lady Ethelwode, whose daily exercise 
 generally consisted in sauntering through the 
 garden to the summer-house, where she could 
 rest on Ellen's sofa from the fatigue of her five
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 153 
 
 minutes' walk, and then slowly saunter back 
 again to her own sofa in the boudoir. " What 
 are you saying," continued the Italian, " that 
 you would exchange your divine beauty to be 
 like Miss Conway, who is so plain !" 
 
 " Miss Conway is not plain," said Ellen, 
 bluntly, " no one can be plain with such a 
 countenance as hers; but it was not of her 
 person I was speaking, but of her mind." 
 
 " My dear Ellen," said Lady Ethelwode, as 
 she languidly sank into a chair, '' what is there 
 in Louisa's mind for you to covet ? It is very 
 well for her who,, as Mademoiselle says, is so 
 plain, and who, after her father's death, will not 
 even be rich, to desire mind and talent, and that 
 sort of thing; but why you, lovely as you are, 
 should trouble yourself about them, is more than 
 I can understand." 
 
 " Will this beauty you talk of," exclaimed 
 Ellen, passionately, " give me such friends as 
 Louisa possesses? Will it make my society 
 agreeable to the intellectual and the high- 
 minded, who are far above being moved by such 
 worthless attractions as mine ? Can beauty com- 
 fort me in sorrow, strengthen me in adversity, 
 or cheer me in my loneliness ? All this Louisa's 
 power of mind may do for her ; prove then that 
 beauty will do as much for me, and I will no 
 longer wish to exchange with her." 
 
 H 5
 
 154 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " I am sure I do not know. As for all you 
 have been saying, it is perfect nonsense ! I have 
 gone through life very well with the same ad- 
 vantages you have, and have been often envied, 
 too ; and I never remember troubling myself to 
 consider whether I had a mind or not. I have 
 always had plenty of friends and society, and all 
 that sort of thing, and so will you, I dare say ; 
 so what can be the use of making your eyes 
 red with fretting because you are not Louisa 
 Conway ?" 
 
 " Besides," interposed Mademoiselle Juliani, 
 in her softest tones, " I cannot understand why 
 Miss Percival should fancy Miss Conway so 
 superior ; for my part, I never could see it. I 
 am sure she is not more agreeable ; and, as to 
 accomplishments, there can certainly be no com- 
 parison between Miss Conway's drawings, and il 
 canto divino, of Miss Percival. Then she speaks 
 Italian with a barbarous accent, which quite 
 wounds my poor ears ! To be sure, she under- 
 stands Latin and Greek, and has studied ma- 
 thematics, and frightens every body by her 
 learning ; but I cannot think that will make her 
 the better liked in society. Superior to la hella 
 Ellena ! no, I cannot see that." 
 
 " Perhaps she would not have been superior," 
 exclaimed Ellen, more bitterly than before ; 
 " perhaps even I might have been equal to her ;
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 155 
 
 at least I should not now be thus humbled, 
 under the sense of my own inferiority, and ig- 
 norance, and worthlessness, if the power God 
 gave me had been cultivated like hers ! — if," 
 she continued, gradually growing more vehement, 
 " if I had not been allowed to grow up like a 
 wild plant, without care or cultivation, to turn 
 out ill or well, as my lot might happen, if I had 
 ever obtained affection, or guidance, or instruc- 
 tion from those who were bound to give me all 
 and more than all these." 
 
 " Now, Ellen, I must say you are a very un- 
 grateful girl," said Lady Ethelwode, roused for 
 once out of habitual supineness, " after my doing 
 every thing I could for you, taking so much 
 trouble to procure you the best governess in 
 England, at an enormous expense (though cer- 
 tainly Mademoiselle Juliani's services are worth 
 any money I can pay for them), and after my 
 allowing you every indulgence, and even going 
 through the dreadful fatigue of that ball, the 
 other day, for your sake, to hear you turn 
 round and say, I have neglected you ! I am 
 sure, if you have grown up wildly, as you say, it 
 is all your own fault; you never would bear 
 restraint; you know, as a child, poor Mary 
 never could manage you, and with my delicate 
 health, of course I could not be expected to 
 attempt it ; and it is very wrong of you to blame
 
 156 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 me now, for having been too indulgent to you, in 
 allowing you to be happy your own way, instead 
 of plaguing you to death with lessons, like 
 Louisa Conway or the IMontagues. I did not 
 expect this would have been my reward ; you 
 are too ungrateful, Ellen !" and the mother sank 
 back exhausted in her chair, overcome with the 
 sense of her child's ingratitude, and with the 
 unusual exertion of making so long a speech. 
 
 *' Mother ! mother !" exclaimed the poor girl, 
 bursting into tears, and throwing herself at 
 Lady Ethel wode's feet, as the tide of passion 
 now took a different course. " Forgive me ! I 
 know I am wrong ! I know I am passionate and 
 wilful, and odious, to others as well as to myself I 
 But I would become gentle as a lamb ; I would 
 obey you, and love you, more, yes, more even 
 than Louisa Conway loves her father, if you 
 would but sometimes speak a few kind words to 
 me ; if you would but let me feel that I have a 
 mother ; that I am not utterly alone and friend- 
 less in the world !" She hid her face in her 
 hands and sobbed aloud. 
 
 " Now, really, Ellen," said Lady Ethelwode, 
 astonished at her daughter's violent emotion, 
 ^' this is foolish, quite silly. Of course you 
 have a mother, since I am still alive, though 
 such scenes as this would soon kill me ; and as to 
 kind words, I do not know that I ever speak un-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 157 
 
 kindly to you. And what can have put into 
 your head that you are alone and friendless, and 
 have made you work yourself up into this state ? 
 Kow, pray do not cry so, Ellen, it is so distress- 
 ing, and my nerves are already dreadfully shaken 
 by this scene. You will ruin your eyes too, and 
 make such a figure of yourself ! There, there's a 
 good girl ! do not cry any more," — kissing her as 
 she spoke — '' and get up, and do not let any 
 such nonsense get into your head again." 
 
 Ellen's tears were now effectually repressed. 
 There is, perhaps, no moment when the heart 
 feels so chilled and mortified, as when it has 
 opened its inmost recesses, and poured out its 
 full tide of passion, and suddenly finds that it 
 has thus bared itself to cold or careless eyes. 
 She rose in silence, angry with herself for having 
 given way to her feelings before those who could 
 so little understand them. 
 
 Lady Ethelwode rose also. *' Mademoiselle 
 Juliani, pray give me your arm ; I am so shaken 
 and fatigued 'I must go home immediately. 
 Ellen, you had better come too, and lie down a 
 little. You had rather not ? very well, then, do 
 as you like ; I only hope you will never be so 
 foolish as to make such a scene as this again ; it 
 would certainly be the death of me." And so 
 saying, Lady Ethelwode took the arm of her 
 da?ne de compagnie, and walked slowly away.
 
 158 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Ellen watched them till the winding of the 
 path hid them from her sight, and then, throwing 
 herself once more on the ground, she hid her face 
 on the sofa where her mother had been lying, 
 and gave way without restraint to the tears 
 which were choking her. She was still in this 
 position, though the violence of her grief had 
 somewhat subsided, when, about an hour after- 
 wards, her brother rushed breathlessly into the 
 summer-house. 
 
 *' Nelly ! Nelly ! where are you ? Asleep on 
 the floor, I declare ! Is this the way you spend 
 your time, when you make me believe that you 
 are studying German all the morning ? Oh, ^e !" 
 
 Ellen started to her feet, and hastily brushed 
 away the two large tears which Avere slowly 
 rolling down her cheeks, as she asked him what 
 he wanted with her. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Nelly ?" said 
 the boy, unheeding her question. " Your face 
 is as pale as a ghost, and your eyes as red as my 
 ferret's : you have been crying, I'm sure. Now 
 tell me who has been vexing you, Nelly dear; 
 and I will pay them off, even if it were papa 
 himself." 
 
 " Nobody has vexed me," said Ellen. " I 
 have vexed myself with my own foolish fancies, 
 so you can do me no good, dear;" and she
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 159 
 
 kissed her little champion as she spoke. '* Now 
 tell me what you wanted me for ?" 
 
 "It was Louisa Conway who sent me for 
 you ; she is at the door with two gentlemen, and 
 she is going to take a long ride, and wants you 
 and me to ride with them." 
 
 " I cannot ride to-day," said Ellen, hastily ; 
 " I am not fit to he in company with any one." 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed, you are, Nell ! and you will 
 keep your veil down, and nobody will see you 
 have been crying ; and they shan't even speak to 
 you if you do not like it : / will prevent them ; 
 so do come; I shall not enjoy the ride at all 
 unless you come with us." 
 
 This was a potent reason, for Egbert was not 
 less spoiled by Ellen than by the rest of the 
 household ; and at that moment especially she 
 felt as if any sacrifice of her private comfort 
 would be amply repaid by the consolation of 
 knowing that her presence was giving pleasure 
 to somebody. So she allowed Egbert to run off 
 in triumph, and announce her arrival to the party 
 at the door, while she hurried away to her own 
 room, to efface as much as possible the traces of 
 her recent agitation, and to change her dress in 
 preparation for her ride. 
 
 It was still further consolation to find, when 
 she joined the party, that Edward Annesley was 
 not one of the two gentlemen Egbert had men-
 
 160 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 tioned ; and when she found out from Louisa, by 
 a little cross-questioning, that he had called but 
 once at Oaklands, and then without finding them 
 at home, her spirits rose, and she sprang so lightly 
 on her horse, that Mr. St. John half wondered 
 whether any thing so coarse and heavy as our 
 mortal clay could enter into the composition of 
 so fairy-like a being. 
 
 Ellen met his look, and easily read its expres- 
 sion of undisguised admiration. It was with a 
 vivid sensation of pleasure that she perceived that 
 even in Louisa's presence her beauty had not lost 
 its power, and, forgetful of the morning's suffer- 
 ings, she inwardly felt that she would not now 
 exchange that magic beauty for all the powers of 
 intellect she had so lately and so ardently coveted. 
 
 The fresh breeze on the sea-shore effaced what- 
 ever yet remained of the morning's depression ; 
 but, what was still better, it also effaced the vain 
 thoughts which had momentarily succeeded it. 
 There was no pleasure equal, in Ellen's estima- 
 tion, to that of galloping on the smooth beach, 
 the fresh breeze blowing in her face, the waves 
 breaking at her horse's feet ; and no one could 
 have recognized in the being, glowing with ani- 
 mation, and managing her spirited steed with the 
 perfect ease and grace of one used to ride from 
 childhood, the pale, desolate girl, whom Egbert
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 161 
 
 had found one short hour before weepmg on the 
 floor of the summer-house. 
 
 She was riding on with St. John, rather in ad- 
 vance of the rest of the party, and, suddenly, at 
 the instigation of Egbert, they started oiF toge- 
 ther to gallop to a certain point. Louisa followed 
 them with her eyes, whilst she kept a more steady 
 pace with Reginald. "How beautifully they both 
 ride !" she exclaimed ; " it is a pleasure to look 
 on any thing so graceful, especially as grace is so 
 rarely united to quick motion." 
 
 " She certainly manages that fiery Arab admi- 
 rably," said Reginald. 
 
 " And Mr. St. John seems to form a part of his 
 horse ; one cannot imagine any possible accident 
 which could throw him out of his seat. He is 
 worthy to ride with Ellen." 
 
 " Yes, they are well matched," said Reginald 
 — " perhaps as well in other things as in riding 
 or in personal appearance." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " That we might trace a further resemblance 
 in unsteadiness of character, in volatility of mind, 
 and " 
 
 Louisa looked at him with some astonishment. 
 "You do not spare my friends," she said, in a tone 
 of displeasure ; " may I ask what they have done 
 to deserve your censure ?" 
 
 "I have no wish to be censorious," replied
 
 162 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Reginald ; " and, as far as Miss Percival is con- 
 cerned, I draw my knowledge of her character 
 
 from yourself: as to Mr. St. John " Here 
 
 he hesitated, and Louisa interposed. 
 
 " And what do you know of Mr. St. John which 
 justifies you in extending to him a censure which 
 would fall heavier upon him than upon a girl of 
 seventeen? — what do you know of him, except 
 that he is a clever, well-informed man, and a most 
 agreeable companion ?" 
 
 " What I know of him is little, and I grant 
 the fascination of his manners and conversation ; 
 even I am forced to yield to it, though " 
 
 " Though you have taken such an unaccount- 
 able dislike to him — but it is unlike you, Regi- 
 nald, to detract from a man's character because 
 you dislike him yourself." 
 
 " Louisa ! you are unjust to me in your warmth 
 for your new friend. Yet, so be it — I must sub- 
 mit." And this submissive gentleman struck his 
 spurs violently int^ his horse as he spoke, and 
 made him rear up into the air. The trouble he 
 was forced to take to subdue the indignation of 
 the high-spirited animal somewhat calmed his 
 irritated feelings, and he came up to Louisa again 
 in a softer mood. " I have oiFended you, I see ; 
 but will you, who are never suspicious, begin by 
 suspecting your oldest friend of unworthy mo-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 163 
 
 tives, because he claims the privilege of warning 
 you ?" 
 
 " Warning me !" 
 
 *' Yes, Louisa, lest, before you are aware of it, 
 a sinister influence should steal over you, and rob 
 you of your peace of mind and your power of 
 judging. Will you not forgive me ?" 
 
 Louisa coloured, looked angry, was about to 
 speak, then checked herself, and, just as a proud 
 answer was upon her lips, she met Reginald's 
 anxious and rather sorrowful glance, and she was 
 subdued. " I thank you for your kind intention," 
 she said, with some emotion, " but you are quite 
 mistaken ; I am vexed that you should imagine, 
 that you should believe " 
 
 What Louisa was vexed that he should ima- 
 gine or believe was left for Reginald to conjec- 
 ture, for the rest of the party now joined them ; 
 and, during the remainder of the ride, he had no 
 other opportunity of speaking to her in private. 
 But she returned home annoyed and uneasy — now 
 f eelino: humbled that Reo^inald should have thouo^ht 
 such a warning necessary, now angry because, in 
 her secret heart, she was forced to acknowledge 
 that he was right. That evening St. John found 
 it more difficult than usual to engross her conver- 
 sation ; and, if it had not been for the cloud on 
 her brow, Reginald would have felt happy.
 
 164 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " There is a dangerous silence in that hour — 
 A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul 
 
 To open all itself, without the power 
 Of calling wholly back its self-control. 
 
 The silver light, which, hallowing tree and tower. 
 Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole. 
 
 Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws 
 
 A loving languor, which is not repose." 
 
 When Ellen returned from her ride, she found 
 that Edward had called during her absence. Her 
 vexation at this contretemfs was, however, dis- 
 pelled by learning from her stepfather that he 
 had asked Mr. Annesley to dinner, and that the 
 invitation had been accepted. She was not a 
 little surprised at this voluntary act of conde- 
 scension on the part of Lord Ethelwode towards 
 one who, though of old and good family, had no 
 pretensions to high birth. But the cause soon 
 appeared. Mr. Annesley had chanced to meet 
 Lord Ethelwode as he was leaving the castle, and 
 he had expressed his admiration of the venerable 
 structure not only in enthusiastic but injudicious 
 terms, showing a knowledge of the subject, which 
 equally astonished and delighted the noble owner.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 165 
 
 The offer of the latter to show him all that was 
 best worth seeing within and without the walls 
 had been eagerly accepted by Edward ; and, in the 
 course of their walk, Lord Ethelwode, having re- 
 quested his assistance in ascertaining the date of 
 a certain old tower, which had hitherto set at 
 fault his antiquarian lore, Edward had brought 
 forward several strong arguments in support of 
 a theory which supposed it to be at least a century 
 older than the date Lord Ethelwode had been 
 inclined to assign to it. 
 
 ifothing more was wanting to convince his lord- 
 ship that the young clergyman must be a very 
 superior person — " Very superior, indeed," he 
 said, " to the generality of young men in these 
 days ; no affectation, no pretension about him ; 
 bringing forward his opinions Avith manly mo- 
 desty, and shewing a thorough knowledge of the 
 subject he conversed upon, so very unusual in 
 these superficial, frivolous times. I should cer- 
 tainly have wished to be of use to him, as far as 
 lies in my power, for his grandfather's sake ; but 
 now I would exert myself on his own account, as 
 I feel assured he is deserving of preferment. 
 
 " Ellen, I request you to be particularly civil 
 to him to-night. He will be a frequent guest in 
 this house, and I wish him to feel he is a welcome 
 one. Such merit should be properly appreciated 
 and rewarded."
 
 166 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Ellen smiled at the thought of her stepfather's 
 recommending to her to appreciate Edward's 
 merits, and requesting her to act with becoming 
 civility towards him ; and she bounded up stairs 
 to prepare for dinner with feelings very different 
 from those with which she had descended that 
 same staircase two hours before to go out riding. 
 Her toilette was speedily performed, although 
 she bestowed a little more care on it than usual, 
 and she hastened down to the drawing-room to 
 receive Annesley before the rest of the party were 
 assembled. 
 
 She found him already arrived. " I do not 
 think I ought to shake hands with so false a 
 knight," said she, smiling ; " is this your punctil- 
 iousness in keeping promises ?" 
 
 " I will boldly plead ' not guilty,' " said Ed- 
 ward, taking her hand in spite of her threatened 
 refusal. " I sent the books most punctually, but 
 the rest of my engagement rested on very vague 
 terms ; and when to-day I called to fulfil it in 
 part, I found my pupil flown." 
 
 " Yes ; because the pupil was tired of wait- 
 in o* for her faithless master, and would w^ait no 
 longer. You know, of old, she never was re- 
 markable for patience." 
 
 " But, have my books been of any use to you ?" 
 asked Edward, wishing to avoid her direct at- 
 tack — " have you done any thing with them ?"
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 167 
 
 " Very little ; there was no magic in the books 
 to make the task of studying alone less irksome, 
 and that is what I have no energy for." 
 
 " Have you taxed your energy to the utmost?" 
 said Edward, smiling ; " without that there is 
 little hope of making much progress, whether 
 alone or with others." 
 
 " Oh ! but it is so different to have some one 
 by, to apply to in case of need ; to know where 
 to find a helping hand, instead of struggling on 
 alone against the difficulties which meet one at 
 every step." 
 
 Could Edward refuse, after this, to stretch 
 forth that helping hand, or avoid promising his 
 assistance in that or any other pursuit, whenever 
 his professional duty left him at leisure. At all 
 events, he satisfied his own conscience that this 
 was unavoidable, -and Ellen was made happy by 
 the assurance. 
 
 The rest of the family now dropped in, and 
 dinner was announced. As Edward was the 
 only guest, the party was too small for any thing 
 but general conversation, if that could deserve 
 the name, which consisted of languid half- 
 sentences from Lady Ethelwode, echoed and 
 amplified by Mademoiselle Juliani, of Lord 
 Ethel wode's sneers at his silly wife, intermixed 
 with efforts to turn the conversation upon his 
 favourite topic ; and of Edward's endeavours to
 
 168 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 answer the latter, without noticing the former. 
 Ellen sat almost silent, except when answering 
 her brother's eager questions, or trying to si- 
 lence his clamour — an effort which was mostly 
 ineffectual, as Egbert knew that he might be 
 rude and boisterous with impunity in his father's 
 presence. 
 
 Tiresome and disagreeable, however, as the 
 boy's manners often were, Edward quickly per- 
 ceived that he was the only person at table by 
 whom Ellen was not considered a complete 
 cipher ; and he now understood why she bore 
 so gently his incessant and petulant demands 
 upon her attention, and received almost with 
 gratitude his boisterous caresses. Before dinner 
 was over, he had seen enough of her home life 
 to read plainly some of the traits of her charac- 
 ter which had seemed strange to him before ; 
 the whole secret of her life lay disclosed in her 
 manner to that wayward boy ! And, as he read 
 it, must he not have been more or less than man, 
 had he not felt a deeper compassion for the 
 lonely girl, so exposed to temptation from within 
 and peril from without, and left to struggle 
 against both, with no other guide than the im- 
 pulse of a naturally pure and noble, but utterly 
 undisciplined mind ; and, yielding to the influ- 
 ence of that compassion, he determined that no 
 overstrained scruple or selfish fear for himself
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 169 
 
 should prevent his lending her such assistance 
 as he could, in treading her dangerous path? 
 Every feeling as a man, a Christian, a minister 
 of the gospel, urged him to this course ; and no 
 evil could come of it, so long as he watched 
 over himself, and preserved untainted the pre 
 sent purity and disinterestedness of his motives. 
 
 After the ladies had left the dining-room, the 
 nohle host renewed the conversation which had 
 so interested him in the afternoon, and, having 
 finally settled the antiquity of the tower to his 
 own satisfaction, he retired as usual to his 
 library, where it was his custom to spend most 
 part of his evenings alone, amongst the pon- 
 derous folios whose pages offered far superior 
 charms to him than the insipid society of his 
 wife and her dame de comjmgnie, or even of his 
 beautiful daughter-in-law, whom he disliked, 
 partly because she was Lady Ethel wode's child, 
 partly because her proud spirit could never brook 
 in silence his continual sneers at her mother, who 
 herself bore them patiently, from her perception 
 being seldom quick enough to discern their sar- 
 castic meaning. 
 
 Lord Ethelwode was a studious man, after a 
 certain fashion ; he had read much, and was no 
 mean antiquarian ; but his very studies were 
 perverted from their nobler uses to pamper his 
 ruling passion. He sought not in the page of 
 
 VOL. I, I
 
 170 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 history for wisdom, gathered from the experi- 
 ence of ages ; he only valued its records as they 
 enabled him to trace the high deeds of his an- 
 cestors, from the Saxon Jarl, who had fought 
 and bled at Hastings, to the chivalrous baron, 
 his grandfather, who had fallen a victim at Pres- 
 ton-Pans to his devoted attachment to the ill- 
 fated Stuarts. 
 
 He sought not, in his antiquarian researches, 
 for the traces of the spirit of change and pro- 
 gression, which slowly, but unceasingly, works 
 over the whole earth, silently altering the faces 
 of things, and carrying man imperceptibly on 
 through each successive stage of civilization ; — 
 he looked there only for the knowledge which 
 might enable him to affix the date of their re- 
 mote antiquity to his ancestral towers, and give 
 a " local habitation and a name" to the vague 
 traditions of the fame and power of the house of 
 Ethelwode, on which his imagination delighted 
 to dwell. Like the fabled king of old, who, in 
 his covetousness, converted even the wholesome 
 aliment of existence into gold, and starved in 
 the sight of his gorgeous banquet ; so did the 
 one absorbing principle of Lord Ethelwode's 
 character turn all noble and generous things, 
 and the precious food of the mind itself, to its 
 own base uses, leaving the higher faculties of 
 his being to perish for want of nourishment.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 171 
 
 It was to such barren studies as we have 
 spoken of that Lord Ethelwode now retired, 
 leaving Edward, whom he did not consider of 
 sufficient consequence to interfere with his usual 
 habits, to return to the ladies alone. When he 
 reached the drawing-room, he found only Lady 
 Ethelwode and Mademoiselle Juliani there ; the 
 former gently nodding in her ample bergere, 
 while her attendant finished to herself the novel 
 with which she had read her patroness to sleep. 
 " Miss Percival is in the garden," said she, in a 
 low voice, in answer to Annesley's inquiries — 
 " there you can see her on the bench under the 
 sycamore tree." 
 
 " Thank you, I will join her ; the evening is 
 too fine to remain in-doors." In a few minutes 
 he was by Ellen's side, sitting on the same bench, 
 under the same tree where they had sat as chil- 
 dren, while he initiated her into the mysteries of 
 the alphabet. 
 
 " What a lovely evening it is !" said Ellen, as 
 he joined her ; " I am glad you have preferred 
 this seat in the open air to the hot drawing- 
 room." 
 
 ** My presence was not at all needed there, 
 as Lady Ethelwode was asleep, and Mademoi- 
 selle Juliani reading. I should have felt it al- 
 most a sin to waste in the house this most beau- 
 tiful hour of the day." 
 
 i2
 
 172 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 *' Do you think sunset the most beautiful 
 hour ?" said Ellen ; " to me the early morning al- 
 ways seems more beautiful still. It is so fresh, 
 80 dewy in its brightness, before a single human 
 sound has broken its stillness, or the toil and tur- 
 moil of the busy day has begun. I often think 
 that the beauty of a bright summer's dawn must 
 be like that of Eve before the fall ; it is so pure, 
 so calm, so untainted by any touch of sin or sor- 
 row !" 
 
 '' Then might the beauty of evening be com- 
 pared to that of the penitent Magdalen," said 
 Edward ; " more rich and glowing in its hues, 
 but bearing the traces of human passion and suf- 
 fering, though both are now stilled into peace." 
 
 Ellen's countenance glowed with pleasure on 
 finding that her companion could understand and 
 enter into her fanciful imaginings, and she gave 
 way to the feelings the hour inspired, without 
 fear of being chilled by apathy or ridicule. 
 
 ^' I often w^onder, as I sit here," said she, after 
 a short silence, " that there should be sin and 
 suffering in such a beautiful world — that men 
 should live in strife and turmoil, when all nature 
 is in peace and harmony around them." 
 
 " It is because men too seldom look upon 
 the face of Nature, or heed the lessons it would 
 teach them," answered Edward; "they shut 
 themselves up in dense, smoky cities, and bend
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 173 
 
 the whole power of their energies to the acquire- 
 ment of some worldly object, good in itself, per- 
 haps, but unworthy of occupying the whole soul 
 of man ; and, in the pursuit of this shadow, they 
 lose their richest inheritance — the power of feel- 
 ing and admiring such scenes as these. If men 
 would but come forth from their brick walls, and 
 leave behind them their anxious cares, and walk 
 abroad with a free spirit, and a heart open to re- 
 ceive its influence, what lessons of love, and wis- 
 dom, and faith, might they not read from the book 
 of Nature — lessons which would make them re- 
 turn to the office, the shop, and the factory, witli 
 purer and stronger minds, and a better know- 
 ledge of what is worth the care and anxiety of 
 an immortal being !" 
 
 " But you speak of the inhabitants of towns, 
 as if they alone lived in strife and toil. But in 
 the country, in the villages built in the very 
 midst of Nature's loveliest scenes, where men 
 cannot lift up their eyes without seeing her rich- 
 ness and beauty, do they live for higher and purer 
 objects than in cities ? In this very spot, for in- 
 stance," pointing as she spoke to the straggling- 
 lights which twinkled through the deep shadow 
 in which the village lay, " how much of envy, 
 hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, is work- 
 ing in those cottages which seem as if they should 
 be the abode only of peace and virtue !"
 
 174 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Yes, in villages as in towns ; in the country 
 as in the crowded metropolis, the leaven of evil 
 is too surely at work in human hearts ; and when 
 they are hardened by too heavy toil, or by the 
 love of gain, or the constant and fretting anxiety 
 about providing things necessary for the body, 
 whilst the greater need of the spiritual nature is 
 unthought of, it is no wonder that they look on 
 the face of Nature with eyes insensible to its 
 beauty ; that its salutary influence has no power 
 on minds so debased and blunted." 
 
 " Such thoughts as these sadden even this 
 beautiful scene," said Ellen ; " it is mournful to 
 think, that while its loveliness is filling our 
 hearts with joy, and peace, and thankfulness, 
 there are so many human beings near us, to whom 
 it is a mere voiceless blank, who pursue their 
 petty strife or low pleasures, as if there were no 
 blue heavens above them, to look up to in won- 
 der ; no wide sea, with its beautiful and mys- 
 terious voice to stir their hearts to awe." 
 
 " It is painful to feel this ; but there is conso- 
 lation in the assurance, that if there are some un- 
 happy dwellers in those cottages who ' have eyes 
 but see not, ears and hear not,' all the sounds 
 and sights of Nature, which might make their 
 hearts purer and happier, there are others who 
 drink in their beauty with a delight as keen as 
 our own ; who find, in such communings with
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 175 
 
 Nature, strength to bear their heavy burdens, 
 and faith to enable them to cast away each anx- 
 ious thought, and food for their intellectual and 
 moral being, which their poverty denies them 
 the power of seeking in books, as we do." 
 
 " But are there really any such as these in our 
 village ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and such I doubt not there are in every 
 village and city throughout the land. If you 
 knew how much there is in those very cottages of 
 active charity and devotedness of faith, nobly 
 struggling against trial and temptation — of affec- 
 tion strong as death, you would look upon them 
 with far different feelings ; you would feel that 
 they give a deeper and holier interest to the scene, 
 which now they seem to you to sadden." 
 
 ** But still," said Ellen, after a pause, " if there 
 is not sin, there is suffering ; and the sorrow of 
 such hearts as those you speak of is even more 
 painful to remember than the hardened sensi- 
 bility of others." 
 
 " No," said Edward, " not when we remember 
 also the good which such hearts work out for 
 themselves from their very affliction ; how they 
 learn to consider such suffering as a part of the 
 necessary discipline and purification of the heart 
 and mind, which is the purpose of our earthly 
 life, and sanctify their sorrows by making them 
 the means of exercising a stronger faith, a purer
 
 1 76 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 self-denial. Suffering endured, in such a spirit 
 as this, is like the rain which fertilizes and en- 
 riches the earth, which too much sunshine might 
 have hardened into barrenness." 
 
 Ellen was silent. She had never before viewed 
 human suffering in this light ; and she thought of 
 her own trials, her own sorrows, and was hum- 
 bled to think how little she had ever sanctified 
 them to such noble uses. In how different a 
 spirit had she borne her burden ! 
 
 It was some time before the increasing beauty 
 of the evening, or even Edward's conversation, 
 could win her from these painful musings, or 
 chase the feelings they had called up. At length, 
 however, they gave way to the influence of the 
 hour, and the happiness of having a companion 
 who could feel it like herself, who could under- 
 stand and sympathize in her silent delight. 
 
 Neither of them thought of returning to the 
 house ; and they sat there till the reflection of 
 the sunset sky upon the sea deepened into crimson 
 — then changed to orange, paled again to lilac, 
 and at last faded into the dim grey of twilight. 
 And when the twilight deepened into night they 
 still sat there, watching star after star become 
 visible in the deep blue of the heavens, till it 
 was studded with constellations, and marking 
 the gradual cessation of every sound of life, till all 
 nature seemed hushed into the stillness of sleep,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 177 
 
 and the occasional stirring of a leaf, and the al- 
 most inaudible murmur of the waters, only made 
 the silence more sensibly felt. They also had 
 sank into silence, for it seemed like sacrilege 
 to break the spell which hung over the scene : 
 they felt they needed not words to express the 
 feelings each knew to be stirring in the other's 
 mind ; and those hours of silent sympathy crea- 
 ted a bond between them, and drew their hearts 
 more closely together than years of common in- 
 tercourse would have done. 
 
 How much longer they would have remained 
 there, in total forgetfulness of time and every 
 thing else, is a doubtful question. But, just as 
 the evenino^ star had sunk low enouo^h on the 
 horizon, to cast a thread of silvery light upon 
 the trembling waters, they were startled by the 
 sound of Egbert's voice, loudly calling upon 
 them to come into tea. There was no possibi- 
 lity of disobeying this summons, as they would 
 gladly have done, for Ellen knew that Lord 
 Ethelwode always left his study at this time, 
 and that he would be highly displeased at his 
 guest's absence from the drawing-room, when he 
 honoured it with his presence. They were, there- 
 fore, obliged to content themselves with one 
 more lingering look at the setting planet, and 
 then turned their steps towards the castle. 
 
 The hissing of the urn, Lady Ethelwode's lan- 
 
 I 5
 
 178 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 guid whine, and her husband's harsh tones, struck 
 discordantly on their ears, after the deep still- 
 ness of the scene they had left, and Edward re- 
 joiced, when Egbert, having speedily drank his 
 tea, urgently requested his sister to sing him 
 " one song, only one song,'' before he went to 
 bed. Even if her singing were not good, it 
 must be infinitely preferable to such sounds as 
 those. But the first notes of Ellen's song at 
 once startled him into the conviction that few 
 sounds on earth could be compared to those full 
 liquid tones, which gave to each word of the old 
 and hackneyed ballad a freshness and a truth, 
 which made the listener's heart follow every 
 changing feeling which they expressed. 
 
 Long after Egbert was gone to bed, Edward 
 was still sitting by Ellen's harp, echoing his re- 
 quest of " one song, only one song more before 
 I go ;" and it was not till Lady Ethelwode's 
 snore became audible, even through the full 
 chords, and the loud chimes of the castle clock 
 roused him from his trance, that he reluctantly 
 rose to depart. As he walked home he felt that, 
 if he wished to retain his present calm feelings 
 , towards Ellen, and the mastery of his sober 
 reason, he must not often expose himself to the 
 witchery of her song, watching the while every 
 change in that eloquent countenance !
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 1 79 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Began to bend down his admiring eyes 
 On all her touching looks and qualities^ 
 Turning their shapely sweetness every way. 
 Till 'twas his food and habit day by day." 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 " Her whole heart, and soul, and life, were his, but never had 
 
 she named it Love ; existence was all a Feehng, not yet shaped 
 
 into a Thought." 
 
 Carlyle. 
 
 The next Sunday Edward was to preach for 
 the first time at Ethelwode. The friends who 
 had known him from a boy, were very anxious 
 to hear him and judge for themselves how far 
 the reputation he had acquired at Oxford was 
 well deserved. Sir Charles Conway, Reginald, 
 and Louisa, were, therefore, as much disap- 
 pointed as Ellen, when the torrents of rain 
 which fell in the morning precluded all possibi- 
 lity of going to church. In the afternoon, how- 
 ever, the weather cleared up, and Ellen met the 
 Oaklands' party at the churchyard gate. 
 
 " Alone, Ellen ?" said Louisa, as they ex- 
 changed greetings.
 
 180 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Yes ; mamma, you know, cannot endure the 
 heat and fatigue of church, and Lord Ethel- 
 wode would not infringe his invariable rule of 
 never going to afternoon service, even to hear 
 Mr. Annesley preach." 
 
 ^' And you walked here by yourself?" said 
 Minna. " You country damsels are wonder- 
 fully bold ; I should be frightened out of my 
 wits at beino^ oblis^ed even to cross a street 
 alone." 
 
 '' I have not done much more than that to- 
 day," answered Ellen, smiling, "as the park 
 gates are not fifty yards from the church, and 
 there is nothing to be afraid of in our quiet 
 neighbourhood, unless it be the deer in the park, 
 and they are great friends of mine. However, 
 if there had been any risk to run, I should have 
 braved it to-day, as I am very anxious to hear 
 Mr. Annesley." 
 
 " This Mr. Annesley 's preaching seems to fill 
 every body's head," said St. John, rather impa- 
 tiently ; '* I hope he will be worth hearing; after 
 all, though, if the man had real talent, I should 
 think he would not be fool enough to bury it in 
 such a place as this." 
 
 " The man, as you are pleased to call Mr. 
 Annesley," said Reginald, reddening with anger, 
 " is my intimate friend, and I can vouch for his 
 talents, which, perhaps, he considers as usefully
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 181 
 
 and actively employed amongst his fellow-crea- 
 tures in a village, as in a city." 
 
 " And we," added Louisa, in a tone of cold 
 sarcasm, more cutting to St. John than all Re- 
 ginald's displeasure, " we, who form a part of 
 his congregation, have reason to be highly flat- 
 tered by Mr. St. John's opinion, that we are un- 
 worthy of the talents of a good preacher." 
 
 " I cry you mercy !" exclaimed St. John, con- 
 cealing his vexation under a tone of irony. 
 " Had I known Mr. Annesley was the idol of 
 Ethelwode, far would it have been from me to 
 breathe a doubt of his infallibility. I shall be 
 wiser in future." 
 
 Ellen and Reginald looked indignant, and 
 Louisa turned away in displeasure. The stop- 
 ping of the church-bell warned them that they 
 had no time for further remarks, and they hur- 
 ried into the sacred edifice with feelings ruffled 
 by what had passed, into a state very unfitted to 
 the purpose which called them there. 
 
 Mr. Allen's venerable aspect and impressive 
 manner as he read the service soon had their 
 effect in subduing the jarring discord. St. John, 
 indeed, experienced a slight return of irritation, 
 as he saw all eyes turn towards Edward as he 
 mounted into the pulpit, and the attitude of 
 deep attention with which his first words were 
 waited for ; but even he felt his prepossessions
 
 182 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 vanish as he marked Edward's manly unaffected 
 bearing, and listened to his simple but forcible 
 address. 
 
 Annesley's preaching was exactly what Regi- 
 nald had expected from him, and his other 
 friends had wished it might be. His language 
 was perfectly plain, and logical in its concise- 
 ness and clearness. There was no hesitation or 
 nervousness in his manner : he spoke nobly and 
 earnestly, as one who feels that his mission is a 
 high one, and whose whole soul is bent on fulfil- 
 ling it worthily ; it was this which gave to his 
 preaching the character of eloquence. His de- 
 livery was made more impressive by the perfect 
 intonation of his full and well-modulated voice, 
 and the graceful action, which seemed the na- 
 tural involuntary expression of the inward work- 
 ings of his mind. 
 
 The little church was hushed into breathless 
 silence as he spoke. Even the worldly Monta- 
 gues felt the spell, and St. John, who had come 
 to scoff, was forced to listen with the same re- 
 verence and attention as Louisa and her father. 
 There were others more strongly moved ; and it 
 was perhaps fortunate, for the young preacher's 
 composure, that he could not see the tears which 
 rolled over his aged grandmother's cheeks — tears 
 of deep joy, at finding her dearest hopes thus 
 realised ; or Ellen's face, as she leaned forward
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 183 
 
 to listen, her whole soul seeming to hang upon his 
 words, and her countenance changing with each 
 change in his voice. When the party met again 
 outside the church-door, the feelings with which 
 they had entered it were forgotten, and the sub- 
 dued and serious tone of the most frivolous 
 amongst them bore the strongest testimony to 
 the preacher's power. 
 
 The Oaklands' party turned their steps at once 
 towards home ; but Ellen lingered awhile in the 
 churchyard, to speak to Mrs. Allen. She was 
 soon joined by the old lady and her grandson. 
 
 '' We were speaking, the other night," said 
 the latter, " of the good which some minds work 
 for themselves out of trial and affliction. If you 
 like to accompany us on our walk, Miss Percival, 
 I will show you some instances of this amongst 
 the poor people my mother and I are going to 
 visit." 
 
 Miss Percival gladly acceded to the proposal^ 
 and all three turned down into the village. 
 Ellen had scarcely ever before entered the cot- 
 tages of the poor. Her purse and her influence 
 were always at the service of those whom Mrs. 
 Allen recommended as proper objects for charity, 
 but she shrank from nearer contact with the 
 coarse and undisguised misery which saddened 
 her heart. It was, therefore, with the interest 
 of novelty that she now followed Mrs. Allen and
 
 184 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Edward into the lowly dwellings whither they 
 led her, and it was with surprise and shame, 
 that she found how true were Edward's words — 
 how much of nobleness of mind, of faith and 
 purity of heart, existed within them, giving to 
 poverty and low station a dignity far beyond 
 that which the most splendid outward trappings 
 of existence can confer. 
 
 " I shall leave you here," said Mrs. Allen, as, 
 the last cottage being visited, they reached a 
 lane which was a short cut to the park-gates, 
 " and Edward will go with you, to see you safe 
 home." 
 
 Ellen protested against Mrs. Allen walking 
 home alone, and said that she did not want any 
 escort, as she was so near home. But Mrs. Allen 
 insisted that, as she had kept her out so late, 
 she must provide for her getting home in safety. 
 She was only a few steps from the parsonage, 
 whilst Ellen had nearly two miles to walk. As 
 she was bent on having her own way, Ellen sub- 
 mitted ; and having taken leave of her, accepted 
 Edward's offered arm. The path they had 
 taken led to the old oak, by the waterfall, which 
 we mentioned before, and, as they reached it, 
 they perceived Egbert making his way towards 
 them, down the steep rocky brink of the chasm, 
 through which the stream leapt from its upper 
 channel into the pool below.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 185 
 
 " Take care ! for Heayen's sake, take care !" 
 she exclaimed, as she saw the boy springing 
 carelessly from rock to rock. 
 
 A laugh was the only answer he returned to 
 his sister's fears, and he waved his hat in the air 
 as he prepared to take a wider leap than before. 
 But the stone on which he alighted was slippery 
 with spray — he lost his footing, and fell. Ed- 
 ward sprang forwards, and reached him just as 
 the bushes, which had for a moment arrested his 
 fall, were giving way under his weight ; in an- 
 other moment he must have been plunged into 
 the deep pool below. 
 
 He was so stunned, that it was not for some 
 minutes after Edward had laid him on the grass, 
 and Ellen had unfastened his collar and sprinkled 
 his face with water, that he recovered his con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 " I am better now," he said, at length ; '' do 
 not look so frightened, Ellen ; I am not killed, 
 only a little bruised. If Mr. Annesley will just 
 lift me up, I shall be able to walk home very 
 well." 
 
 But the first attempt to put his foot to the 
 ground convinced him that the injury he had re- 
 ceived was, by no means, so trifling as he had 
 imagined, and he was forced to allow Annesley 
 to carry him. Ellen preceded them as quickly 
 as she could, to give notice at the castle of what
 
 186 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 had happened, and to despatch a messenger for 
 the nearest surgeon. 
 
 Her first step was to seek Lord Ethelwode. 
 He was in his library, as usual ; and he looked 
 up in angry surprise at her abrupt entrance. 
 But his anger soon gave way, as she proceeded 
 with her story, and there was something moving 
 in the stern man's agony of fear, when he heard 
 of his son's accident, and the danger he had run. 
 His usual stateliness of demeanour, and even his 
 presence of mind, utterly forsook him, and his 
 hurried contradictory orders were so unintelli- 
 gible, that Ellen was obliged to give the neces- 
 sary directions herself ; whilst he, with some of 
 the servants, hastily went forth to meet Edward, 
 and bring the sufferer to the castle. 
 
 The boy had fainted away with the pain, and, 
 when Lord Ethelwode came up, he was lying in 
 Edward's arras, pale and motionless. 
 
 " My God, he is dead !" exclaimed the father, 
 as he bent over him and looked eagerly into his 
 face. He staggered back against a tree, pale, 
 and trembling in every limb. 
 
 It was some minutes before Edward could 
 make him understand, through the stupor which 
 had overtaken him,' that Egbert had only fainted, 
 and that there was no reason to fear a fatal re- 
 sult. The boy's own feeble voice, as he reco- 
 vered his senses, did far more towards recalling
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 1 8 7 
 
 his father to himself than all Edward's efforts, 
 and his joy was then almost as overpowering as 
 his sorrow had been. 
 
 Every moment's delay was only increasing the 
 poor child's suffering ; and, as Annesley saw that 
 Lord Ethelwode was incapable of giving the ne- 
 cessary directions, and that Egbert would faint 
 again if not speedily relieved, he gently put the 
 father aside, and placing the boy on the litter 
 which had been brought, went with him to the 
 castle, and saw him laid on his bed, resolving to 
 remain with him till something like order was 
 restored in the house, and he could leave him 
 under better care than he was likely to meet 
 with at present. 
 
 It was now time that Lady Ethelwode should 
 be informed of what happened. The tumult in 
 the castle had been heard even in the remote 
 boudoir, and Mademoiselle Juliani was just leav- 
 ing it to ascertain the cause of this unwonted 
 disturbance when Ellen made her appearance. 
 
 '' What is the matter, Ellen ?" cried her mo- 
 ther, fretfully. '' I am almost distracted with 
 noise." 
 
 Ellen explained, briefly and calmly, the acci- 
 dent that had befallen Egbert ; and begged her 
 mother to be quiet, and not give way to need- 
 less alarm. But Lady Ethelwode would not 
 listen to her assurances of Egbert's safety. She
 
 188 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 was sure that he had broken a limb^ that he 
 was dying, that he would die ; and, forgetting 
 her usual languor, she hurried away to his room, 
 where the village surgeon was now examining 
 the injured limb. But the sight of her child 
 lying on the bed, deadly pale, and with features 
 contracted by pain, and his father leaning over 
 him in speechless anxiety, as the surgeon felt 
 every part of the limb, to ascertain where the 
 injury had been received, was too much for her 
 over-excited nerves ; she went off into violent hy- 
 sterics, and was carried away to her own apart- 
 ment. 
 
 It was fortunate that Ellen retained her pre- 
 sence of mind, for Mademoiselle Juliani, terrified 
 by Lady Ethelwode's hysterics, was helpless as 
 a child, and was unable to attend upon her with- 
 out the assistance of the servants. Ellen was, 
 therefore, left almost alone, to do what was re- 
 quired in the sick room. Her energy seemed to 
 rise with occasion for it, and she listened calmly, 
 and obeyed quickly and quietly, the surgeon's 
 directions, procured, herself, all that was wanted, 
 soothed Egbert by her caresses, and, finally, suc- 
 ceeded in restoring order in the room. Edward 
 watched her with a new feeling of admiration, 
 and he thought he had never seen her look so 
 beautiful before. The hurt was pronounced to 
 be a violent sprain of the sinews of the right leg ;
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 189 
 
 but it was not till this opinion was confirmed by the 
 opinion of the two other surgeons, who had been 
 sent for, and whose successive examinations pro- 
 longed poor Egbert's torture, that Lord Ethel- 
 wode could be persuaded that there reallj was 
 no danger, and that care and quiet were all that 
 were necessary to restore the sufferer to the per- 
 fect use of his limb. 
 
 But thouofh he now resumed the calm stateli- 
 ness of demeanour, which was habitual to him, 
 there was none of his usual haughtiness in his 
 manner ; when Edward, having seen Egbert re- 
 lieved by the fomentations Ellen was applying, 
 according to the surgeon's directions, and satis- 
 fied that he could be of no further use, came up 
 to him to take his leave. 
 
 *'You have saved my boy's life," said he, 
 wannly shaking him by the hand, " and I shall 
 never forget the deep debt of gratitude I owe 
 you. From this time, Mr. Annesley, consider 
 me as your warmest friend, and this house as 
 your home, whenever you choose to make it 
 so." 
 
 " Mr. Annesley, pray come again soon ! Come 
 and see me to-morrow !" exclaimed the weak 
 voice of the sufferer. 
 
 Edward said he would certainly come; and, 
 havino: thanked Lord Ethelwode for his cordial 
 offers, and taken leave of Ellen, he hastened
 
 190 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 home to the parsonage, where he found Mr. and 
 Mrs. Allen anxiously wondering what could 
 have detained him so late. 
 
 The next morning he went early to the castle, 
 and found that Egbert had spent a tolerable 
 night, and, though suffering much from occasional 
 spasm, the surgeon had pronounced him better. 
 There was every hope of his speedy recovery, if 
 he could be kept perfectly quiet ; but this was a 
 matter of no small difficulty with a boy of such 
 an ardent temperament, little accustomed to find 
 amusement in any thing but active exertion. 
 Lady Ethelwode, who had been persuaded at 
 last that his cure was not hopeless, had offered 
 to take Ellen's place in the sick room, whilst the 
 latter lay down to take a few hours' rest, w^hich 
 she much needed, after sitting up all night with 
 her brother. The chaise-longue was accordingly 
 placed by Egbert's bed-side, and Lady Ethel- 
 wode addressed herself to the task of amusing 
 the restless patient. But he was not to be 
 amused by her ; her languid tone, and perpetual 
 intreaties that he would keep quiet, irritated him 
 the more ; and when the spasms came on, she 
 could only tremble, and cry, and ring the bell 
 for the servant to apply the fomentations, whilst 
 she turned away, not to witness the distortion of 
 his countenance caused by the pain. 
 
 Egbert longed for Ellen, with her bright smile
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 191 
 
 and light, skilful hand, and he was heartily glad 
 when his mother declared that her nerves were un 
 able to stand it any longer, and that she must give 
 up the attempt to sit by Egbert and witness such 
 dreadful suffering. Lord Ethelwode was almost 
 as unskilful as his wife in the office of sick- 
 nurse. He could watch for hours by his child's 
 bed-side, marking every change in the boy's 
 countenance, and he was ready to perform any 
 service he required, but he could not lighten 
 the weary time with talking ; and his step was 
 heavy, and the very touch of his unpractised 
 hand made the sufferer shrink wdth agony. Poor 
 Egbert was lying in this fretful and restless 
 state, and Lord Ethelwode was walking up and 
 down the room, miserable at being unable to do 
 any thing for him, and half angry with Ellen for 
 having, even an hour, left the task none seemed 
 able to perform but herself, when Edward arrived. 
 Never was any one more warmly welcomed. 
 
 *' Oh ! Mr. Annesley, I am so glad you are 
 come !" cried the boy, starting up in his bed, and 
 then falling back again with a groan, at the pain 
 the movement had occasioned. " I am so tired, 
 so very tired of lying here, with nothing to do." 
 
 " But why should you have nothing to do ?" 
 asked Edward, after he had returned Lord 
 Ethel wode's statelier, but scarcely less joyful 
 greeting.
 
 192 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Egbert could not conceive that there was any 
 thing to be done, so long as he was confined to 
 his room, away from his garden, his pony, and 
 his canoe. 
 
 '* But books ; there are always books, and you 
 can read as well in bed as out of it." 
 
 Egbert did not care about books ; he had never 
 found one that amused him, and he did not think 
 there were any that could. He changed his mind, 
 however, when Annesley brought him " Frank," 
 and " Harry and Lucy," and beginning with 
 reading to him, gradually led him to feel an in- 
 terest in the different characters, and in their 
 pursuits. Lord Ethelwode could scarcely re- 
 cover from his astonishment, when he returned 
 to the sick room, at finding Egbert reading in- 
 tently, without a thought beyond his book. His 
 opinion of Mr. Annesley rose still higher than 
 before ; for any one who could effect such a mi- 
 racle, as interesting Egbert in any quiet employ- 
 ment, must, he thought, possess powers nearly 
 allied to magic, and he earnestly repeated his 
 invitations to him, which were backed by Eg- 
 bert's entreaties, that he would come again, and 
 come often. 
 
 Edward had the less reluctance in complying 
 with this request, as he saw, that by coming, 
 he relieved Ellen from some part of the fatiguing 
 task of attending upon her brother, which other-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 193 
 
 wise must have fallen entirely upon her. The 
 presence of any one else in his room seemed 
 rather to irritate Egbert than to give him plea- 
 sure. He would suffer none but his sister, or 
 Annesley, to change his bandages, or apply the 
 fomentations to his foot ; and when he was tired 
 with reading, and Ellen had sung to him till 
 she could sing no more, he was not to be amused, 
 or kept quiet, unless Mr. Annesley was there to 
 talk to him. He could explain to him all he 
 did not understand, in the scientific parts of 
 " Harry and Lucy," and was ever ready to assist 
 him in trying such of the experiments as were 
 practicable under his present circumstances ; 
 and to answer all the inquiries which these 
 experiments suggested, and lead his mind to a 
 desire for more knowledge. Every time Edward 
 left him, the boy repeated his urgent request of 
 '' Pray, come again soon;" and Edward, at last, 
 came to consider his visit to the castle as part 
 of the day's employment. He was equally wel- 
 come to every one there as to Egbert. Lord 
 Ethel wode was grateful to him for his kindness 
 to his son, and valued him also as one, whose 
 antiquarian lore made him a peculiarly accepta- 
 ble companion. Her ladyship liked him for 
 keeping Egbert quiet, and saving her from any 
 shadow of self-reproach which she might have 
 felt at leaving the whole care of nursing him to 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 devolve upon Ellen, whilst Mademoiselle Juliani 
 was thankful for the good humour her patroness 
 was thus kept in ; and liked him for his constant 
 consideration for herself, whom no one else 
 thought it necessary to consider. 
 
 And Ellen ! what were her feelings towards 
 him, as day after day hrought him to share her 
 labour of love, and taught her to know mose 
 intimately all the resources of his mind, all the 
 beauty of his character ? Perhaps she could not 
 have defined them herself, nor did she attempt 
 it ; she only knew, that in his presence, she was 
 perfectly happy ; and that, when he was away, 
 the sunshine seemed to have lost its splendour, 
 the air its freshness, the scenery its beauty, and 
 all things became " weary, stale, flat, and un- 
 profitable" to her, till he returned to give them 
 
 an interest and a charm. She onlv felt that the 
 
 t/ 
 
 deep murmur of the sea, and the low sweet 
 sounds of Nature, instinct with life, had no 
 music when compared with Edward's voice, as 
 she listened to his rich and varied conversation. 
 She never asked herself why she felt this : 
 she yielded to the influence which made life 
 assume a new aspect to her, making all the 
 years that had gone before seem like a dull and 
 indistinct dream, without seeking to analyse 
 the reason of the change, without a thought of 
 its consequences. The present hour, with its
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 195 
 
 freight of happiness, was enough for her, and 
 she looked not beyond. Neither did she attempt 
 to scrutinize more carefully Edward's feelings 
 towards herself. She would, probably, have 
 laughed, had any one told her that he loved her, 
 for the idea of a lover was identified in her mind 
 with that of a devoted slave, neglecting all the 
 common duties of life in the pursuit of the 
 object of his passion, and only speaking, to con- 
 vey, in honeyed words, the expression of his rap- 
 turous devotion. 
 
 Nothing could be more different from all this 
 than Edward's demeanour towards her. No en- 
 treaty of hers had ever had power to make him 
 neglect the slightest particle of what he looked 
 upon as his duty ; and she had often known him 
 refuse an invitation to the castle, and even re- 
 sist the temptation of a tete-a-tete ramble with 
 her, to spend hours watching by a pauper's sick 
 bed, or attending to the children in the village- 
 school. His manner, though peculiarly gentle 
 to her, was always calm and collected, and no 
 word of flattery or compliment had ever passed 
 his lips, whilst, on the contrary, if occasion 
 offered, he sometimes told her very uncom- 
 promising, and even humiliating truths. In his 
 presence she forgot that she was beautiful, and 
 only felt conscious of her inferiority to him. 
 Had she, on the other hand, been asked if she 
 
 K 2
 
 196 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 loved him, she would, probably, have answered 
 in the words of Helena ; — 
 
 " It were all one. 
 That I should love some bright particular star. 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me ;" 
 
 her weaker nature leant upon his, and clung 
 to him almost instinctively, as the fragile 
 creeper seeks and twines itself round the nearest 
 support ; and so child -like, so undoubting was 
 her trust, that she dreamt not of the possibility 
 of her stay being riven from her. 
 
 It was the very simplicity and frankness which 
 this unconsciousness of the nature of her own 
 feelings gave to her manner, which helped to 
 deceive Edward, as to them and his own also. 
 
 Day after day he watched her in the perform- 
 ance of the most touching of woman's cares, — 
 soothing the weary hours of a sick chamber, 
 anticipating every wish, ministering to every 
 want with untiring gentleness. Day after day 
 he exposed himself to the seduction of that most 
 dangerous and subtle flattery, from a young and 
 lovely woman ; — her evident reverence for him, 
 her unhesitating deference to his opinions, her 
 ready submission to his judgment, and her 
 eagerness in following out the plans which they 
 made together for her instruction ; — still he had 
 no thought of love. 
 
 Ellen, the creature of impulse, impassioned.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 197 
 
 undisciplined, uncultivated, was utterly unlike 
 the beaiC'ideal he had formed to himself of the 
 woman he could love ; and it was not until cir- 
 cumstances roused him from his self-delusion, 
 and startled him into a consciousness of his own 
 feelings, that he became aware that he regarded 
 Ellen with any other than brotherly interest 
 and affection.
 
 198 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " He of wide blooming youth's fair flower possest. 
 Owns the vain thoughts — the heart that cannot rest." 
 
 Lady Frances Montague and her daughters had 
 intended taking their departure immediately after 
 the ball, but poor Fanny was discovered to have 
 caught a cold that night, and it rapidly grew so 
 much worse as to preclude all thoughts of her 
 moving for some time to cOme. Lady Frances 
 was loud in her lamentations over her poor child's 
 sufferings, and the evil which might ensue to her 
 voice. She spoke eloquently of her own sen- 
 sitive feelings, which were too acute to allow her 
 to remain in the room whilst the village apothe- 
 cary was bleeding Fanny ; and she left her to 
 the care of her maid and Mr. Johnson, and went 
 in search of Louisa, to sympathize with her suifer- 
 ings. 
 
 " I am afraid I do not understand that kind 
 of feeling," said Louisa, bluntly, and she left her 
 aunt, and ran up stairs to see whether she could 
 be of any assistance in the sick-room.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 199 
 
 Arthur St. John heartily wished Lady Frances 
 Montague at the devil for disturbing Louisa from 
 her drawing. He had hoped to* spend the whole 
 morning with her in quiet, as the other gentle- 
 men were out riding. Had he known that the 
 drawing she was finishing was for Reginald, he 
 would not, perhaps, have watched its progress 
 with so much complacency. 
 
 As no evil effects were apprehended from poor 
 Fanny's cold, further than a tedious confinement 
 to her room. Sir Charles did not think it neces- 
 sary to postpone a dinner-party, which had been 
 arranged some time before. 
 
 " I do not feel very fit for society," sighed 
 Lady Frances, when he proposed it ; " though 
 dear Fanny's illness is really nothing, I am so 
 easily alarmed that I suffer more than any 
 one could imagine." 
 
 " If you would like better not to come down, 
 my dear Frances," said Sir Charles, kindly, " pray 
 do not stand upon any ceremony. We shall be 
 sorry to lose the pleasure of your society, 
 but—" 
 
 " My dear brother, you are very kind, but I 
 must not allow myself to give way. My feelings 
 are so absurdly sensitive already, I must restrain 
 them ; I consider it quite a- duty to myself : be- 
 sides, I could be of no use to poor dear Fanny,
 
 200 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 you know; and if I sat with her, she would be 
 sure to talk, which is the worst thing in the 
 world for her ; so I will come down. I think I 
 may be of some assistance to dear Louisa, as you 
 have so large a party." 
 
 Thus amiably resolved on putting a constraint 
 upon her feelings, and acting up to her sense of 
 duty, Lady Frances made her appearance in due 
 time in the drawing-room, prepared to give 
 Louisa the benefit of her greater experience in 
 the usages of society. But Louisa, with her self- 
 possession and quiet dignity of manner, seemed 
 to stand little in need of her assistance, and could 
 not be made to look grateful for her aunt's 
 sacrifice of feeling. Lady Frances was obliged, 
 therefore, to be satisfied with being no more 
 than any other visiter. 
 
 Ellen and her stately stepfather were amongst 
 the guests. Lady Ethelwode was to have accom- 
 panied them, but was still too much fatigued with 
 her exertions on the night of the ball to venture 
 out, and it was generally supposed that she would 
 not leave her chaise-longue under another month 
 at least. 
 
 All eyes were turned on Ellen as she entered 
 the room, and, as she took her seat beside Louisa, 
 she was immediately surrounded by the gen- 
 tlemen, with the exception of St. John, who was 
 intent on watching his opportunity for leading
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 201 
 
 Louisa into dinner, if possible, or at least to seize 
 a place by her side. Of the first he had no chance, 
 for Lord Ethelwode, as the man of highest rank 
 in the room, naturally took possession of his 
 young hostess; and St. John was obliged, in 
 obedience to an intimation from her, to offer his 
 arm to Mrs. Fanshaw. Ellen fell to Reginald's 
 share ; and Minna, finding herself on the point of 
 becoming a prey to little, fat, fussy Mr. Fanshaw, 
 made the best use of her shortsightedness ; and, 
 apparently, entirely overlooking the little man, 
 whose small arm was extended with a half bow 
 and smile, she took that of tall Mr. Hope, who, 
 though a younger son, did very well,/a2^^e de 
 mieuw, to flirt with in the country, and quietly 
 walked away, leaving Mr. Fanshaw standing in 
 the middle of the room, with his arm still ex- 
 tended, apparently petrified by this unheard of 
 disregard to the dignity of Thomas Fanshaw, 
 Esq., of Fanshaw Hall. 
 
 He was yet destined to another blow ; for 
 when he entered the dining-room, and advanced 
 to take his place beside Louisa, in right of his 
 being (in his own estimation) the second man in 
 the company, St. John forestalled him by a skil- 
 ful manoeuvre, and took possession himself of the 
 coveted seat, leaving him no alternative but to 
 go much lower down, to the only vacant place 
 
 K 5
 
 202 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 remaining, beside Miss Montague's tall cavalier, 
 whom he regarded with unmingled detestation. 
 
 There are some topics of conversation which 
 never fail, any more than the sonp and the fish 
 at a dinner party. Wine and politics, the clubs 
 in London, the crops in the country, shooting or 
 hunting, according to the season, varied by in- 
 teresting remarks on the weather of the last week, 
 and bold prophecies on the weather of the week 
 to come — all these are standing dishes, staple 
 articles of tabletalk. But few are the parties 
 where any subjects of greater interest become the 
 topics of general conversation, or, in fact, where 
 there is any general conversation at all. The 
 various tete-a-tetes round the table may make 
 pleasant discourse for their own private benefit, 
 but a really animated conversation amongst the 
 whole party is very rare. 
 
 It requires a master-spirit to start the subject, 
 and keep up the ball ; to draw out the timid or 
 the reserved, who are afraid of the sound of their 
 own voices, when so many ears must hear ; to 
 restrain the prolix, who would engross all the 
 talk to themselves, and merge conversation into a 
 discourse; to avoid equally the confusion of 
 many speakers at once, or the sudden and dead 
 silence which falls like an extinguisher upon the 
 flame of wit and merriment, often hopelessly 
 putting it out to be no more rekindled. But of
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 203 
 
 all the dangers which threaten a general con- 
 versation, none is more fatal or so difficult to 
 avert as any tendency to flirtation — or, worse 
 still, serious love-making amongst the younger 
 ladies and gentlemen of the party ; and this was 
 the rock on which, in spite of all Sir Charles's 
 efforts — and few could be better fitted for the 
 task — general conversation split this day at Oak- 
 lands. 
 
 St. John and Reginald were both remarkable 
 for their conversational powers ; but St. John 
 was intent on making use of his to engross 
 Louisa's attention as much as her sense of cour- 
 tesy to her other guests would allow ; and Regi- 
 nald was too uncomfortably occupied in watching 
 their animated discourse, and the changes of 
 Louisa's eloquent countenance, to think of exert- 
 ing himself for the benefit of society in general. 
 Ellen sat in silence by his side, wondering what 
 could have made her think that Mr. Talbot was 
 an agreeable man when he was last at Oaklands, 
 and wishing that Edward Annesley had been in 
 his place. 
 
 Minna and Mr. Hope had neither eyes, ears, 
 nor wor^s for any one but themselves, and the 
 young lady's convenient shortsightedness enabled 
 her to be happily unconscious of all her mother's 
 winks and frowns, as she sat opposite to her, 
 watching, in an agony of alarm, the rapid pro-
 
 204 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 gress of her daughter's flirtation with a younger 
 son. Others, who had no flirtation of their own, 
 and no interest in watching other people's, were 
 equally indisposed to second Sir Charles's at- 
 tempts to make the conversation general. 
 
 Lord Ethelwode sat in stately silence, feeling 
 all the time rather indignant that Louisa should 
 give so much of her attention to Mr. St. John, 
 and leave him to the alternative of remaining 
 silent, or talking to his other neighbour, Mr. 
 Dickson, who had made a large fortune in trade, 
 and had just bought a fine old place in the 
 neighbourhood. The baron wondered, as he dis- 
 cussed his venison in silence, what could possess 
 a man of Sir Charles's good breeding and know- 
 ledge of the world to ask him to meet such peo- 
 ple. On the other hand, Mrs. Fanshaw had 
 been making strong but ineflectual endeavours 
 to secure to herself some portion of St. John's 
 attention. She had several times attempted to 
 edge herself into the conversation he was holding 
 with Louisa, by bending forward with, " What 
 is that you are saying. Miss Conway ? " " Who 
 are you talking of, Mr. St. John V But, finding 
 that every attempt was unheeded, or answered 
 by, " I beg your pardon, I was speaking to Miss 
 Conway," she drew herself up with her stateliest 
 air, and looked round to see whether there was 
 not any one near on whom to bestow her conver-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 205 
 
 sation, who would appreciate it more than her 
 heedless neighbours. Her choice instantly 
 lighted upon Lord Ethelwode, who evidently 
 was as little pleased with their proceedings as 
 herself; so, leaning forward with a gracious smile, 
 she addressed him across the table. 
 
 " By the way, Lord Ethelwode, have you 
 seen the prospectus of Mr. What's-his-name's 
 work — views of the noblemen and gentlemen's 
 
 seats in shire ? I suppose, of course, you 
 
 are a subscriber." 
 
 *' I never heard of the man or his work be- 
 fore," answered Lord Ethelwode, looking rather 
 astonished that Mrs. Fanshaw should tliink of 
 addressing him in such a familiar manner. 
 
 " Ah [ you will hear of him very soon, then. 
 He was at Fanshaw Hall this morning. He was 
 quite struck with the place, and said the view of 
 it should be in his first number, as he was sure 
 it would attract a great many people. I told 
 him to go to the castle, and I have no doubt 
 that you will see him there as soon as he has 
 done at the hall." 
 
 "• He had better save himself the trouble," re- 
 plied his lordship, sarcastically. "Amongst the 
 class of people for whom his work seems de- 
 signed, and whom he means to attract by views 
 of Fanshaw Hall, Ethelwode Castle would find 
 little favour."
 
 206 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Oh ! I assure you, you are mistaken. Every 
 body must admire the castle, though, of course, 
 as tastes differ so much, some may prefer the 
 hall, as it is so much lighter and more cheerful. 
 The castle certainly is a leetle gloomy," contir 
 nued she, seeing- that Lord Ethelwode sat erect, 
 apparently attentively listening, and with an ex- 
 pression of determined silence on his counte- 
 nance ; " it always reminds me of ' the Mysteries 
 of Udolpho.' Indeed, my brother-in-law, Mr. 
 Smith, who has lately returned from Italy, told 
 me it was very like some of the old Italian cas- 
 tles or palaces ; it only w^anted, he said, to have 
 the moat filled up, and a terrace made along the 
 front, with a few vases and statues, to make it 
 perfect. I will bring Mr. Smith over, and in- 
 troduce him to you the next time I come to 
 Ethelwode. He is a man of so much taste, and 
 understands the thing so well, I am sure you will 
 find his suggestions worth attending to." 
 
 All the blood of the Ethelwodes boiled up in- 
 to the baron's face as he listened to this speech. 
 
 He, baron of Ethelwode*, and lineally descended 
 from Alfred the Great, to be recommended to 
 listen to the suggestions of a Mr. Smith, who 
 could have no certainty of being lineally de- 
 scended from any one at all besides Adam, for 
 altering his ancestral castle, filling up the moat, 
 which had proved an impregnable defence against
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 207 
 
 the whole power of three kmgs of England in 
 three successive sieges, and replacing it by a 
 garish terrace, decked, like a cit's box at Hamp- 
 stead, with vases and statues ! Fortunately for 
 Mrs. Fanshaw, looks have not the power to an- 
 nihilate, or her portly person would undoubtedly 
 have dissolved into an airy n'othing beneath the 
 glance of the insulted descendant of Alfred. No 
 such catastrophe ensued, however ; and Louisa, 
 who had witnessed the scene, and had with great 
 difficulty restrained her own and St. John's in- 
 clination to laugh, now interposed to avert any 
 more open ebullition of the wrath with which 
 the baron was evidently choking. 
 
 " Apropos of alterations. Lord Ethel wode ^— 
 you have been doing a great deal lately to the 
 ruins on the island, have you not ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Lord Ethel wode, making a 
 strong effort to master his indignation, and speak 
 with his usual dignified equanimity. " I have 
 been restoring, as much as possible, the western 
 tower, and part of the cloister which had fallen 
 in. I know that such' restorations are aofainst 
 the taste of the times— most people would think 
 the money better spent in building a mill or a 
 manufactory — but I am one of those old- 
 fashioned people who still remember that some- 
 thing great, and good, and noble existed before 
 the nineteenth century ; and wdthin my grounds,
 
 208 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 at least, the relics of that past shall be preserved 
 and reverenced as they ought to be»" 
 
 " I agree with you," said Louisa ; " we are 
 too apt in this utilitarian age to overlook the use 
 of every thing that does not produce pounds, 
 shillings, and pence — to think that what minis- 
 ters to the highest faculties of the mind, reve- 
 rence, and the love of the beautiful, is of lighter 
 value than what ministers only to the wants of 
 the body. It is well for us that there are some 
 people, like you, bold enough, and disinterested 
 enough to stem the torrent." 
 
 Lord Ethelwode's features relaxed from the 
 expression of haughty indignation they had worn 
 since Mrs. Fanshaw's attack, and he answered, 
 with a smile : 
 
 " I wish there were more young ladies who 
 looked on these things as you do, Miss Conway ; 
 we should hear less of reform, which is but an- 
 other name for destroying every thing that is 
 ancient and venerable." 
 
 This was an unsafe topic to enter upon, for 
 Louisa was far from carrying her love of an- 
 tiquity to ancient abuses and prejudices ; she 
 therefore hastened to bring back the conversa- 
 tion to less dangerous ground, and made some 
 further inquiries as to the repairs he had been 
 makino: in the island ruin. 
 
 " What is this ruin you are speaking of ? "
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 209 
 
 asked St. John, who was growing impatient at 
 Louisa's bestowing so much of her attention on 
 any one but himself. 
 
 " It was formerly a monastery, and was under 
 the jurisdiction of the prior of Ethelwode. The 
 refractory monks at the abbey were imprisoned 
 there, and I believe the dungeons which are still 
 extant have witnessed many a scene worthy of 
 the inquisition." 
 
 "Are you speaking of the ruin in the island?" 
 asked Ellen, in her turn. " Really, Louisa, we 
 must make an expedition there together some 
 day, to see the monuments which have been 
 lately discovered by the workmen in clearing 
 out the rubbish from the chancel. Lord Ethel- 
 wode says they are finer than any which have 
 hitherto been laid open." 
 
 Louisa was quite ready for such an expe- 
 dition^, and, in the evening, when the strangers 
 of the party were gone, the subject was again 
 recurred to. As it then appeared that both 
 Reginald and St. John were eager to be allowed 
 to join in the excursion, and that Minna thought 
 a party of any kind would be a charming di- 
 version from the usual monotony of a country 
 life, it was quickly agreed that they should all 
 go over together to the island in Sir Charles's 
 yacht, and spend a day there, provided Lord 
 Ethelwode had no objection to such an invasion
 
 210 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 of his territories. Lord Ethelwode came forward 
 at once with a gracious assurance that they were 
 not only welcome to go, but that he should be 
 happy to be himself their cicerone among the 
 ruins. It only remained therefore to ^x the 
 day ; this must depend, Sir Charles said, on the 
 state of the yacht, which had not been used this 
 year, and might require repair; and Reginald 
 engaged to go down to the creek next morning, 
 to make the necessary inquiry into her con- 
 dition, and at the same time to ask Edward 
 Annesley to join their party — he and Mr. Hope, 
 whom Minna thought it would be uncivil to 
 exclude, after he had partly heard the matter 
 arranged, being the only additions that were to 
 be made to their party. 
 
 Edward was so immersed in his books and 
 papers when Reginald called upon him the next 
 morning, that it was not till his friend laid his 
 hand on his shoulder that he became aware of 
 his presence. 
 
 " This room, with its litter of books and 
 papers, its stillness and subdued light, reminds 
 me of our college rooms," said Reginald, looking 
 round whilst his friend removed some ponderous 
 folios to make a place for him to sit down. '* I 
 look with pleasure, and almost with regret, to 
 those days now, though at the time I did not
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 211 
 
 value their privileges, and only pined to leave 
 them for the active labours of life." 
 
 " And thereby proving," replied Edward, " the 
 truth of the poet's saying : 
 
 " * Man never is, but always to be blest/ 
 
 I did not suspect you, however, whose career has 
 hitherto been so prosperous, not to say brilliant, 
 of looking back with regret to those quiet 
 days." 
 
 " Quiet, yes, it is that which makes me regret 
 them : theirs was the communion of minds as yet 
 unscathed by passion, knowing nothing of the 
 strife of existence, of the thousand sordid cares 
 and thoughts which will be forced upon them in 
 the world, dimming all their high and noble 
 aspirations, till they almost forget that they ever 
 proposed to themselves a higher goal than the 
 earth-worms they see crawling along around 
 them. Such quiet once lost can never be re- 
 gained." 
 
 " True ; the quiet of ignorance and inex- 
 perience once lost is lost for ever ; but we may 
 attain a better in its stead. We may attain the 
 peace of a mind which has thoroughly looked 
 into both the realities and the semblances of 
 life, and has found the true value of each, which 
 has mastered its own passions, and has read 
 enough of the mystery of human existence to
 
 212 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 discover where harmony and order lie concealed 
 beneath its jarring elements, and which, by the 
 light of this inward sunshine, presses onwards to 
 its goal with a clear eye and unwavering step." 
 
 " Have you already attained such peace as 
 this ?" asked Reginald, looking with momentary 
 envy on his friend's calm and noble countenance. 
 
 " No, indeed ; but my trial of active life has 
 hitherto been so uneventful, that I have as yet 
 scarcely lost the first peace of ignorance." 
 
 " Your life seems, indeed, quiet enough," said 
 Reginald. " Are you not afraid of getting wea- 
 ried by its monotony? Do you never regret 
 your choice of a profession, now that you know 
 by actual experience how thankless and ill-repaid 
 is the toil of a country clergyman ?" 
 
 *' My experience of a country clergyman's life 
 has not been of such a forbidden nature as you 
 represent it," replied Edward, smiling. " It is 
 no thankless toil, in my opinion, to sow the 
 seeds of knowledge and virtue in human hearts ; 
 to bring the light of God's truth to shine in 
 minds where it never shone before ; and, though 
 the bread seems now cast in vain upon the 
 waters, it will return after many days, if we 
 have patience to wait for it." 
 
 " Yes ; but do you never wish for a more 
 extensive and active sphere of life than this 
 narrow villao^e ? It seems to me that the mind
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 213 
 
 must stagnate in a place where there is so little 
 motive for exertion, and where it is perpetually 
 forced to lower itself, so as to be on a level with 
 the coarse, uncultivated understandings it has to 
 deal with." 
 
 " But I do not see the necessity of this de- 
 basement of min,d. My task is to raise those 
 around me to my level, not to descend to theirs ; 
 high thoughts can be expressed in language 
 intelligible to the poorest labourer. As to a 
 more extended or public sphere of action, you 
 know I never had a very stirring disposition ; 
 and I had rather watch the course of events 
 from a distance, and speculate on their issues, 
 than be an actor in them myself. My path may 
 seem obscure and my work mean in the eyes of 
 the world, but to those who really reverence 
 their human nature, nothing is mean or little 
 which has the good of man for its object ; and, 
 viewed in this light, the vocation of the most 
 obscure parish priest is not less noble than that 
 of the statesman or philosopher." 
 
 '' You have successfully vindicated your 
 choice," said Reginald ; " I was too worldly, too 
 ambitious to see it in that light, and, though I 
 acknowledge its real greatness, I still feel that 
 I could not be satisfied with such a vocation. I 
 have a superabundance of restless energy which
 
 214 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 I must find some outward employment for, lest 
 my mind, like Sir Hudibras's sword, should 
 
 " * Eat into itself, for lack 
 
 Of something else to hew and hack.' " 
 
 " Do not let your energy grow morbid in its 
 restlessness," said Edward, looking anxiously at 
 his friend, who was pacing up and down the room 
 as he spoke, as if he already felt its limits too 
 confined for him. " Do not let your ambition 
 fall short of the high aim you proposed to your- 
 self when you started in the race. Do not let 
 the world make you forget your early faith in the 
 truth that here below the highest should be as a 
 servant, and that the post of honour is the fore- 
 most place in the great conflict between good 
 and evil. When w^e parted at college to enter 
 our different careers, it was this belief which 
 made us feel that, however widely asunder our 
 lots were cast, we were labourers in the same 
 cause, striving towards the goal. Let not either 
 of us be unfaithful to it." 
 
 He spoke earnestly, and, as Reginald listened 
 to him, he gradually slackened his pace, and at 
 length came and stood in silence beside his 
 friend. 
 
 *' I will not be unfaithful to it," said he, as 
 Edward ceased speaking, " though of late I have 
 often needed such a warning as this, to keep it
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 215 
 
 in mind. There are times when my faith is dark- 
 ened, and the goal so obscured as to be well nigh 
 invisible — at those times, I will strive to re- 
 member your words. And now," added he, in a 
 lighter tone, after a moment's silence, " I may 
 as well tell you the errand which brought me 
 here." 
 
 The errand was soon told ; and Edward, having 
 readily agreed to make one of the party to the 
 island, the young men walked down together to 
 the creek, to examine into the state of the yacht.
 
 216 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " In the very hour of their s^reat peril, a light 
 Flashed o'er their hearts : and then they knew 
 They loved." 
 
 Reginald's report of the state of the yacht 
 having proved favourable, it was agreed on all 
 hands, that the sooner a day vras fixed for the 
 pic-nic the better. Louisa alone proposed that 
 the party should be deferred till Fanny, who was 
 still confined to her room, should be able to join 
 them, but the proposal was instantly overruled 
 by the multitude of objections which presented 
 themselves to any delay. St. John pleaded that 
 he should be obliged very shortly to quit Oak- 
 lands, his leave of absence being nearly expired. 
 Reginald might receive any day orders from the 
 Foreign Office, for instant departure from Eng- 
 land. The Montagues' visit was drawing to a 
 close, and finally, the changing leaves of the 
 beeches gave warning that no pleasure which de- 
 pended on warm, bright weather, could be safely 
 delayed at this season. 
 
 There was notwithstanding such a host of ar-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 217 
 
 guments, and poor Fanny was obliged to submit 
 to tlie disappointment, and find as much comfort 
 as she could in the thought, that even had she 
 been well, nothing could be more injurious to 
 her voice, than the damp of the sea air after 
 sunset. Lady Frances lamented bitterly over 
 her poor child's disappointment, and said it would 
 entirely spoil her pleasure to think of the long, 
 lonely day she Avould spend ; she should wish 
 herself with her a thousand times. 
 
 '' Would you prefer staying with her ?" said 
 Louisa. " Papa and Lord Ethelwode will do 
 very well as chaperons ; therefore you need not 
 feel bound to sacrifice your own feelings on our 
 account." 
 
 " Oh, my dear Louisa, I could not think of 
 staying ; I could not let Minna go on the water 
 without me; if any thing were to happen, I should 
 never forgive myself. Besides, Fanny would be 
 miserable if I were to give up going on her ac- 
 count, dear, unselfish girl as she is; she would 
 rather, a thousand times, stay alone ; and as good 
 Mrs. Allen has promised to look in upon her, and 
 she has James's new novel to read, I shall be 
 more comfortable about her, though it is cer- 
 tainly a hard thing to have one's feelings so 
 divided." 
 
 Everybody was satisfied that whatever Lady 
 Frances's feelings might be, she did not mean 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 them to prevent her making one of the boating- 
 party, so no more was said on the subject. Lady 
 Ethelwode, of course, could not go on any expe- 
 dition which required so much exertion ; sight- 
 seeing had always been her abhorrence, and a 
 pic-nic seemed to her a vast deal of unnecessary 
 trouble, for no other purpose than eating one's 
 dinner in the most uncomfortable manner pos- 
 sible. Mademoiselle Juliani was obliged to re- 
 main with her, so that the party from Ethelwode 
 consisted only of Lord Ethelwode, Ellen, and 
 Egbert, who was now perfectly recovered; Ed- 
 ward Annesley and Mr. Hope were to join them 
 at the general rendezvous on the beach, where 
 they were to embark. 
 
 The weather proved most auspicious. It was 
 one of those still, sunny days, peculiar to an 
 English autumn. The busy hum of summer life 
 no longer stirred in the air, but it was sweet with 
 the scent of the woods, which were already 
 tinged with their rich autumn hues. Every fea- 
 ture of the scenery — rocks, hills, and wooded 
 banks — stood out in well-defined outline from 
 the pale fleecy sky ; and the lowing of the cattle, 
 or the ploughman's whistle, came through the 
 still air, clear and distinct to the ear, from a 
 great distance. A light breeze curled on the 
 water — so light that it scarcely filled the cutter's 
 top-sail, as she lay at her moorings, her sails set,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 219 
 
 and ready to let slip the moment the party came 
 on board. 
 
 They did not get there without some difficulty. 
 Lady Frances had at first declared that no earthly 
 power should induce her to set foot in the cutter's 
 boat, which came to fetch them. They must get 
 a larger boat for her : she could not, she would 
 not go in such a cockle-shell. There was no 
 larger boat to be had, however, as Sir Charles 
 informed her, and she must choose between going 
 in the cockle-shell, or remaining behind. 
 
 '' But you know I cannot stay behind," re- 
 plied she ; ^' I must go." 
 
 Nobody saw the necessity, so nobody assented. 
 
 " I cannot let Minna go alone. Oh dear ! I 
 know the boat will upset ! — how dreadful ! And 
 poor dear Fanny, left there alone, too — I ought 
 perhaps to have stayed with her." (They were 
 by this time some distance from the shore.) '* If 
 I had known what I should have to go through, 
 I never should have attempted it. But it is so 
 difficult, when one has so many claims upon one, 
 to decide what it is best to do." 
 
 Lady Frances's conscientious distress seemed, 
 however, to excite no feeling of compassion 
 amongst her companions, who were, one and all, 
 in the brightest of moods, and little inclined to 
 sympathize in her ill-timed complaining. Even 
 her courteous brother-in-law turned away from 
 
 L 2
 
 220 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 her to talk to Lord Ethelwode. It was useless 
 to attempt to move such impassable beings, so 
 she put on a look of painful resignation and sate 
 in silence, only screaming each time a rather 
 stronger ripple on the wave caused the boat to 
 roll a little. Once, as they were going to cross 
 the bows of a fishing-smack under sail, she seized 
 the yoke-lines in Sir Charles Conway's hand, but 
 he shook her oif with a sternness so unlike his 
 usual demeanour, bidding her be quiet and 
 rational, unless she wished to drown herself and 
 the whole party, that she shrank back, actually 
 abashed, and did not again stir or speak, till they 
 got alongside the yacht. 
 
 It was now quite calm, and the mainsail flapped 
 lazily against the boom as the tide carried the 
 little vessel slowly on her way. Even Lady 
 Frances could find no cause of fear in the glassy 
 sea and gliding motion, and could join in the 
 conversation of the others — interrupting it, how- 
 ever, every five minutes, to intreat Minna to 
 keep down her green veil. 
 
 " Boating parties were such dreadful things 
 for complexions. Minna's skin, too, was so very 
 fair — she would not be fit to be seen after ex- 
 posure to such a hot sun and on the salt water, 
 too." 
 
 Minna put down her veil ; but not before she 
 had turned to Mr. Hope, and appealed to him,
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 221 
 
 with her sweetest smile, "whether she really 
 was not fit to be seen?" and Mr. Hope answered, 
 as she expected, with a look that said, " that, 
 under any circumstances, she would always be 
 beautiful in his eyes/' The day's flirtation having 
 thus successfully begun, Minna and Mr. Hope sate 
 down somewhat apart from the rest, and con- 
 tinued a whispered conversation, in spite of the 
 angry looks which Lady Frances occasionally 
 cast at her daughter, for wasting her time so 
 unprofitably upon a younger son. 
 
 Louisa and the rest of the party, except Eg- 
 bert, who was diligently employed in learning 
 from one of the sailors the names of all the ropes, 
 gathered into a group and kept up a lively con- 
 versation, interrupted occasionally by exclama- 
 tions at the beauty of the coast as it opened out 
 before them, when they had crept round the 
 headland which inclosed the little bay. Then, 
 when the sleepy influence of the sunny calm be- 
 gan to be felt in the slackening of the conversa- 
 tion, Minna and Mr. Hope were called from their 
 tete-a-tete, to join in the games which Sir Charles 
 Conway proposed to enliven the party. 
 
 There were shouts of laughter when the grave 
 Lord Ethelwode was seated on the stool of re- 
 pentance and accused of not having a proper 
 regard for his old baronial castle, and louder 
 shouts still, when, in the game of forfeits, St.
 
 222 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 John, having been condemned to bow to the 
 wisest, kneel to the prettiest, and kiss the hand 
 of the one he loved best, he bent his head to the 
 ground before Lady Frances, knelt with impas- 
 sioned gesture before the rough, weather-beaten, 
 old coxswain, and devoutly kissed his own white 
 hand; and Mr. Hope found time, in the midst 
 of his laughter, to assure Minna that if such a 
 doom had been awarded to him, he should not 
 have had to move beyond his present place to 
 render this triple homage to one person only. 
 There was laup^hter ao-ain when Sir Charles Con- 
 way was called upon to redeem his forfeit by 
 singing a song; but he was allowed to makft 
 over his task to Ellen, who fulfilled it so much 
 to every body's satisfaction, that the forfeits 
 were forgotten by the time the song was ended, 
 and there was a general cry for another song, 
 and then another, and another, till any one's 
 voice and memory but Ellen's must have been 
 exhausted. 
 
 " Your singing has brought the breeze, Ellen," 
 said Sir Charles. " Look, how fast it is coming 
 over the water." 
 
 Minna could not understand how any one 
 could see a breeze, and Sir Charles pointed out 
 to her the line of deep, blue water, just curled 
 into a ripple, now rapidly advancing towards 
 the cutter's quarter.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 223 
 
 In a moment Minna could feel it herself ; the 
 sails filled; and the enlivening sound of the 
 water, as the cutter dashed it from her bows, re- 
 placed the sleepy flapping of the sails. The little 
 vessel now moved rapidly on ; the buz of con- 
 versation grew more animated, and exclamations 
 of delight burst forth from each of the party, as 
 they passed headland after headland, and each 
 bend of the shore presented a new beauty in the 
 scenery. 
 
 The breeze freshened as they stood out from 
 the coast towards the island, which was the ob- 
 ject of their expedition, and, as the yacht leant 
 over to it, and sent the spray flying over the 
 deck. Lady Frances's sentimental effusions of ad- 
 miration at the beauties of nature turned into 
 exclamations of alarm. 
 
 " Good heavens, it is coming on to blow a 
 gale ! Pray, Sir Charles, let us turn back im- 
 mediately, I cannot think of going on in such 
 weather as this. Oh ! we shall be drowned !" 
 she screamed, as a few drops of spray fell on her 
 face. 
 
 '' No fear of that," said Sir Charles, laughing, 
 " you will only get a little wet with the spray." 
 
 " A little wet, indeed ! I am drenched al- 
 ready. Minna, come and sit by me ; your skin 
 will never recover the salt water. Look how 
 dreadfully we are leaning over ; I know we must
 
 224 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 be upset in a minute ; I will not go on ; why 
 did not I stay with my poor darling Fanny ? I 
 insist upon being let out, Sir Charles ; let me 
 out, I will not stay to be drowned ; Minna shall 
 not stay either. For Heaven's sake, let us out !" 
 
 St. John jumped up, and opened the gang- 
 way. 
 
 *' Allow me to hand your ladyship out," said 
 he, offering his arm with grave politeness. Every 
 body smiled as Lady Frances turned angrily 
 away, and the smile changed into a laugh, when 
 she assured them that it was no laughing matter. 
 
 " Will you go down into the cabin ?" said Sir 
 Charles at last, wishing to avoid any further ex- 
 posure of his sister-in-law's folly ; '' you will be 
 quite safe, and more comfortable there than on 
 deck, whilst the spray is flying about." 
 
 " Yes, I think I will go down. What, are 
 you all going to stay on deck, and leave me in 
 the cabin alone ? It is very hard upon me that 
 I am to be shut out of all the pleasure of the 
 day, and to stay by myself in this hot cabin. 
 Minna, you had better come with me ; I am sure 
 you will find it much pleasanter than ruining 
 your complexion with that dreadful salt water. 
 Now pray don't pretend to be fearless and mas- 
 culine, like Louisa, and affect not to care about 
 your appearance. I can assure you, your femi-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 225 
 
 nine looks are not at all suited to that sort of 
 thing, so come down with me." 
 
 There was no disobeying this peremptory sum- 
 mons, and Minna was reluctantly obliged to al- 
 low Mr. Hope to assist her down the companion 
 ladder. He would have stayed with her in the 
 cabin, but Lady Frances gave him such broad 
 intimations of his presence not being acceptable, 
 that he could be deaf and blind no longer, and 
 was forced to leave the mother and daughter to 
 themselves. 
 
 " Really, Minna," exclaimed the former, as 
 soon as the gentleman was gone, "you make 
 yourself so conspicuous with that man, I cannot 
 bear to see it. I made you come down on pur- 
 pose to take you out of his way. What can you 
 mean by encouraging him to dangle after you 
 in this manner ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all," answered Minna, coolly ; 
 " except making the time pass as pleasantly as I 
 can. Mr. Hope prefers my society to that of 
 others, and I do not see why I am to snub him 
 for his good taste." 
 
 " But other people will not treat it so lightly 
 as you do ; you drive away other men, by giving 
 your attention so exclusively to one. There is 
 Mr. St. John, for instance ; a man of large pro- 
 perty, and who will inherit Oaklands ; if you had 
 taken half as much trouble to attract him, you 
 
 L 5
 
 226 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 know he would have been as devoted to you, as 
 he now is to Louisa. It is so provoking to see 
 you throw yourself away in that unprofitable 
 manner, and Louisa quietly slipping in to carry 
 off the prize you might have won." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, mamma, I never had any 
 chance with Mr. St. John. He was taken at 
 once by Louisa's oddity, so it was not worth 
 while wasting time upon him." 
 
 " But even Reginald Talbot would be better 
 than Mr. Hope. He is a rising man, and will, 
 perhaps, turn out something good. However, 
 go your own way, Minna, only remember that 
 you have not a shilling in the world, and, if you 
 marry a younger son, you will bitterly repent 
 your folly before the honeymoon is over." 
 
 " Pray do not be alarmed, mamma," ex- 
 claimed the young lady, laughing, " I have no 
 thoughts of marrying Mr. Hope — only of flirting 
 with him f ante de mieuw — whilst we stay in this 
 stupid place. As we are forced for economy's 
 sake to vegetate here two months in the year, 
 do let me enjoy what little pleasure I can find 
 to make it endurable." 
 
 Lady Frances was forced to confess that this 
 was a powerful argument ; still, she begged 
 Minna, if she must flirt with Mr. Hope, not to 
 make it so very conspicuous, and to give him as
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 227 
 
 little encouragement as possible — " younger sons 
 were so very presumptuous ! He might fancy..." 
 
 But here she was interrupted by the entrance 
 of the younger son in question, who came to in- 
 form them that they were very near the island, 
 and that the deck was now perfectly dry. 
 
 Minna jumped up, and, notwithstanding her 
 mother's signs and frowns, accepted his arm to 
 go on deck again. Lady Frances followed with 
 a deep sigh at her daughter's wilful neglect of 
 her prudent advice, and in a few minutes more 
 the whole party landed on the smooth yellow 
 beach of the little island. 
 
 The first thing to be done was, of course, to 
 find a good place to dine in. Lady Frances and 
 Lord Ethelwode strongly inclined to the neigh- 
 bouring farm-house, but the rest were all for 
 dining in the open air — the fresh grass and the 
 shade of one of those broad oaks would be so 
 much pleasanter than the close room at the 
 farm. As they had numbers on their side, they 
 carried the point ; and a mossy spot, beneath a 
 clump of old trees in sight of the sea, was chosen 
 as the banquet-room. This important point being 
 settled, the whole party proceeded, under Lord 
 Ethelwode's guidance, to visit the ruin, which 
 was the ostensible object of the expedition. 
 
 Lord Ethelwode assumed his stateliest de- 
 meanour and his gravest tone as he led them
 
 228 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 over the remains of the magnificent monastery 
 which had been built and endowed by one of his 
 ancestors, and whose abbots had been chosen, 
 generation after generation, from the younger 
 branches of the house of Ethel wode. It was 
 still the burying-place of the family ; and he 
 pointed out, with delighted pride, the richly- 
 carved monuments of the knights and barons 
 which adorned the aisle of the gothic chapel, 
 the only part of the monastery which was still 
 uninjured. Louisa and her father, who were 
 both fond of every relic of the olden time, 
 listened with eager interest to his legends of the 
 warriors and priests that lay beneath, and to his 
 details of all he proposed to do to preserve their 
 monuments from any further decay ; but Minna 
 soon got tired of poring over half- effaced in- 
 scriptions, and moralizing over tombstones and 
 ruined walls ; and she watched her opportunity, 
 whilst her mother was expatiating to Sir Charles 
 upon her love for ruins, to steal away from the 
 group. 
 
 Mr. Hope, as she expected, soon followed her; 
 and, as he perfectly agreed with her that a ram- 
 ble in the woods would be much pleasanter than 
 listening to the tiresome harangues of the noble 
 baron, they struck off into a path which led in 
 an opposite direction from the ruins. It was 
 exactly the path for such a tete-a-tete^ only just
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 229 
 
 wide enough to admit two, and sufficiently tan- 
 gled and difficult to afford the gentleman num- 
 berless opportunities of offering his assistance to 
 his companion, now in pushing aside the branches 
 which overhung it, now in lifting her over a nar- 
 row brook, which she was almost too timid to 
 venture to cross on the stepping-stones, now 
 in disentangling her veil from the brambles on 
 either side. 
 
 Minna repaid his services with such sweet 
 smiles and bright glances from beneath her long 
 eyelashes, and talked so feelingly of the delight 
 of living in such a spot as this, and of love in a 
 cottage, and leant upon his arm with such win- 
 ning and gentle confidence, that Mr. Hope felt 
 persuaded that he was the person with whom 
 she wished to share her solitude ; and he seized 
 the opportunity, whilst they were in the thickest 
 and most romantic dell of the wood, to pour out 
 his tale of devoted love, and to entreat her, as 
 they could expect nothing but opposition from 
 their parents, on both sides, to elope with him 
 to Scotland, without delay. 
 
 Minna had certainly not expected such a se- 
 rious denouement to her fit of romance, but she 
 showed no other signs of surprise than fixing her 
 large blue eyes with a gaze of astonishment on 
 Mr. Hope's impassioned countenance, as she 
 quietly asked him, " on what he proposed they
 
 230 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 should live after having taken so decided a 
 step?" 
 
 " Live !" said Mr. Hope, rather staggered at 
 this matter-of-fact reception of his passionate 
 declaration — "why, I do not exactly know; 
 but, with such love as our's, dearest," continued 
 he, warming again, " we should not require 
 much ; even poverty would become delightful 
 when endured with you. Your beauty, your 
 excellence, are treasures far beyond the value of 
 gold." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," said Minna, still in 
 the same cool tone — " I have no doubt of my 
 manifold perfections, or your's either, ' mais on 
 ne fait pas des soupes de vertu ni des fricassees 
 de talent dans ce monde,' as the French lady 
 said. Come, Mr. Hope, you have acted your 
 part admirably ; and as of course you are not 
 in earnest, we may as well change the subject 
 now to something else." 
 
 But Mr. Hope was in earnest — most sober 
 earnest. Minna had given him constant and 
 great encouragement, and she could not mean 
 to disappoint so cruelly the hopes she had her- 
 self created. 
 
 " Really, Mr. Hope, I am very sorry, but, if 
 you have chosen to draw such unreasonable con- 
 clusions from my manner, I cannot hold myself 
 bound to realize them. You never could have
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 231 
 
 seriously imagined that I meant to marry a 
 younger son, and live on prospects and five hun- 
 dred a year, or, if you did, it is not my fault ; 
 so pray do not let us talk any more about it. 
 I am quite willing to forget all that has passed, 
 so let us return as fast as possible to the com- 
 fortable footing on which we were before." 
 
 Mr. Hope, however, could not treat the matter 
 so lightly ; he had really attached himself to 
 Minna, and he was deeply wounded by her flip- 
 pant manner. He expressed, in strong terms, 
 his indignation at the selfish vanity with which 
 she had drawn him on to a declaration, merely 
 to humble him by a scornful refusal ; but, at 
 the same time, he said, he was glad that it had 
 happened, as the event had unveiled her real 
 character. He had thought her every thing that 
 was good, and pure, and disinterested, but now 
 he was undeceived, and this knowledge would 
 work his cure. 
 
 " Ah ! you may smile scornfully as you will," 
 continued he ; " but a day may come. Miss Mon- 
 tague, when you may repent having thus lightly 
 rejected an honest man's affection, though he had 
 nothing else to offer you ; and in that day I shall 
 be amply avenged." And so saying, he turned 
 upon his heel, and disappeared amongst the bushes, 
 leaving Minna to find her way back as she could 
 to the ruins they had left, and to meditate, en die-
 
 232 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 min, on this abrupt and unpleasant termination 
 to her agreeable flirtation. 
 
 The rest of the party were somewhat surprised 
 when they saw Minna issuing forth alone out of 
 the wood, looking heated and flurried by her soli- 
 tary walk ; and their surprise was not decreased, 
 when Mr. Hope leaped out from behind a hedge 
 a little farther on, his dress disordered from the 
 tangled path he seemed to have broken through, 
 and his demeanour as unlike as possible to his 
 usual smiling complacency. 
 
 Lady Frances guessed what had passed ; but 
 the others, who had been too much engaged in 
 their own thoughts and feelings to investigate 
 very narrowly those of Minna and Mr. Hope, 
 were unable to account for this strange circum- 
 stance ; they did not give it much thought, how- 
 ever, for Egbert now came running towards them, 
 to say that dinner was ready. 
 
 " But where is Ellen ?" said Louisa, looking 
 round the party. " She left me whilst I was 
 sketching, and I thought she was walking with 
 you, Mr. Annesley?" 
 
 *' Yes, so she was some time ago, but Lord 
 Ethelwode called me away to look at the battle- 
 ments which he has been restoring at the top of 
 the old tower, and I have not seen her since." 
 
 No one else had seen Ellen since the party had 
 dispersed in groups, only, Egbert said that she
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 233 
 
 had been with him on the beach, looking for 
 shells, some time ago ; but he had soon got tired, 
 and had left her there. 
 
 " She is gone away to some wild spot, in one 
 of her wayward fits," said Louisa to Annesley. 
 " Let us call her — she cannot be far off." 
 
 But though Ellen's name was shouted in every 
 direction, no answer was returned, nor was she 
 to be found in the wood-walks, or on the beach. 
 
 " Which way was she going when you left her, 
 Egbert ?" asked Annesley, now beginning to feel 
 really alarmed at her unaccountable absence. 
 
 " Towards the Cradle Rock," answered Eg- 
 bert ; " I believe she said she was going to look 
 for shells there — but she must have left it long 
 ago, for the tide is up." 
 
 The tide ! — a horrible idea flashed across Ed- 
 ward's mind, as he heard the words. Perhaps 
 Ellen had forgotten it was rising, and her return 
 had been cut off by it. The rock was covered 
 at high water, and a glance at the beach showed 
 that it was nearly that now. If Ellen had re- 
 mained there, she must before this have been 
 borne away by the waters. He hastily hinted at 
 his fears before he left the party to run full speed 
 round the point which concealed the rock from 
 view. 
 
 The instant he came in sight of it his worst 
 apprehensions were realized. Ellen was there,
 
 234 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 standing on the rock, which was now only a few 
 feet above the rising water. She saw him also, 
 for she waived her handkerchief and shouted. 
 The sound came faintly to Edward's ear, and 
 roused him from the deadly sickness which had 
 come over him. 
 
 He answered her signal, to show it had been 
 perceived, and then rushed back to meet the 
 party, who were now turning the point. 
 
 " The boat, the boat ! — we have yet time !" 
 shouted he. 
 
 In a moment he, and St. John, and Reginald 
 were running towards the spot where they had 
 landed, but the boat was not there. The men 
 had taken her back to the yacht, and were to 
 come for the party upon a given signal from the 
 farm-house. Egbert ran to make the signal, while 
 the others tried to launch a boat belonging to 
 the farmer, and which was unfortunately drawn 
 high up under a shed. Before this could be 
 effected, the yacht had answered the signal, and 
 the boat pushed off from her side. 
 
 " If we could make thein understand, they 
 might row at once to the rock — it would save 
 half an hour," said Edward, who seemed to have 
 taken upon himself the direction of the others. 
 " A trumpet — a speaking-trumpet — has any one 
 a speaking-trumpet ?" 
 
 Egbert remembered having seen one that morn-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 235 
 
 ing at the farm. It was brought in less time 
 than could have been supposed possible, and Ed- 
 ward shouted to the boat's crew to steer for the 
 rock. 
 
 At first they lay on their oars, and seemed 
 uncertain, as if they had not caught the words ; 
 but the next moment the boat's head was turned 
 towards the rock, and the party on shore had the 
 satisfaction of feeling that they had succeeded in 
 gaining almost an hour's time. The gentlemen 
 now returned to the spot where they had left 
 Louisa and her companions. 
 
 Minna and her mother were apparently para- 
 lyzed with fear. But Louisa stood on the brink 
 of the water, still waving to Ellen, and trying to 
 make her hear, from time to time, a few words 
 of encouragement. 
 
 Edward's heart grew cold with terror when he 
 perceived that the rock was no longer visible, and 
 that Ellen only retained her footing by the help 
 of the stick which Egbert had used to walk with 
 since his accident, and which, by some fortunate 
 chance, he had left with her wdien he parted from 
 her on the beach. But, even with this assistance, 
 it was impossible that she could withstand much 
 longer the swell of the waves. Her only chance 
 lay in the dead calm, which left the sea without 
 a ripple on its surface. Still the water rose and 
 rose — it now reached her waist — and once the
 
 236 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 agonized watchers thought she tottered as a 
 stronger wave broke around her. 
 
 At that moment the boat shot round the point, 
 which, till now, had hidden it from view, and a 
 general shout hailed its appearance ; but there 
 was yet the distance of a mile between it and 
 Ellen ; and though the men, who now, for the 
 first time, perceived the reason of the order they 
 had received, bent to their oars with their whole 
 strength, they were pulling against the tide, and 
 it was a doubtful chance whether they could reach 
 the rock before Ellen's fast-failing strength was 
 exhausted. Another wave broke over her, but 
 she yet retained her presence of mind, for they 
 could see her throw off her bonnet and shawl, lest 
 the weight should sink her, when she was borne 
 off her footing. It was evident that this must 
 happen in a few minutes, for the water was nearly 
 up to her shoulders. 
 
 Edward could endure no longer ; he was a 
 tolerable swimmer, and he determined to try one 
 more chance to save her. If he reached her he 
 might keep her floating, at all events, till the boat 
 could pick them up. In a moment he had thrown 
 off his coat and boots, and plunged into the water. 
 The rest of the party stood in agonized anxiety, 
 watching his progress, as he breasted the waves 
 with the strength of a desperate man. The dis^ 
 tance between the shore and the rock was not
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 237 
 
 very great, and he evidently was decreasing it 
 every moment. Louisa looked from him to Ellen. 
 She yet retained her footing, but the water was 
 nearly up to her throat ; the next moment a fear- 
 ful cry arose from the watchers — she was borne 
 off her feet, and only her white dress could be 
 seen floatinor on the surface of the water. With 
 extraordinary presence of mind, however, she 
 had managed to throw herself on her back, and 
 she now lay perfectly still, though her clothes, 
 already saturated with water, helped to weigh 
 her down. 
 
 Edward saw her floating, and he struck out, 
 with desperate energy, towards her ; fortunately 
 the tide, though it increased his difficulty, was 
 bearing her towards him. Louisa still hoped 
 that he might reach her before she sank ; the 
 boat, too, was nearing fast, for they were pulling 
 for life and death. For a moment Louisa hid 
 her face in her hands, and remained in fervent 
 prayer. When she looked again, Ellen was sink- 
 ing — there was a momentary struggle, and then 
 the waters closed over her. 
 
 " My God ! she is gone !" groaned Louisa. 
 
 But no ; Edward had reached the spot by al- 
 most superhuman exertion. He dived below the 
 water — in another moment he rose again to the 
 surface, bearing up Ellen by her clothes. Louisa 
 could hear his shout, as the boatmen seemed to
 
 238 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 waver in their course, unable to perceive them, 
 and her heart leaped within her. The men heard 
 it too, and instantly steered for the spot ; if Ed- 
 ward could keep up five minutes longer, they 
 were saved. Louisa strained her eyes, almost out 
 of their sockets, to watch every motion of the 
 two beings floating as a speck on the waters. 
 Edward was evidently exhausted ; but he still 
 retained a firm grasp on Ellen ; only one moment 
 more, and the boat would reach them. He seized 
 the gunwale just as he was sinking, unable to 
 bear up any longer, and the next minute he and 
 his precious burden were lifted into the boat. 
 
 " They are saved !" shouted every voice from 
 the beach, and Minna and Lady Frances burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Louisa could not weep. She sank down on 
 the sand, and covered her face with her hands, 
 her whole frame trembling violently. St. John 
 could not leave her ; he remained beside her, 
 whilst the others ran to assist in carrying Ellen 
 and her deliverer to land; but she sent him 
 away. 
 
 " Leave me, leave me only one moment to my- 
 self ; I shall be well directly." 
 
 He was obliged to obey, and slowly joined the 
 others at the landing-place. But, before the 
 boat reached it, Louisa was already at the farm- 
 house, with a countenance calm as usual, though
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 239 
 
 deadly pale ; quietly and quickly disposing every 
 thing for Ellen's reception, whilst Lady Frances 
 and Minna still sat on the sands, overpowered 
 and helpless from the excitement they had un- 
 dergone. 
 
 When the boat reached the landing-place, Ed- 
 ward would allow none but himself to carry Ellen 
 up to the farm. He had learned to feel how un- 
 utterably precious she was to him, in the agony 
 he suffered at the thoughts of losing her for ever ; 
 and he felt as if, in saving her from death, he 
 had acquired a kind of property in the life he 
 had preserved. It was not till he had deposited 
 her on the bed which had been prepared for her, 
 and was reluctantly forced to leave her to the 
 care of Louisa and the farmer's wife, that he re- 
 collected himself sufficiently to answer, with 
 composure, the stately thanks Lord Ethelwode 
 addressed to him, as the deliverer of his step- 
 daughter. 
 
 Reginald observed his deep emotion, and, be- 
 fore he had time to reply to the compliments on 
 his gallant conduct, with which Sir Charles Con- 
 way and St. John greeted him in their turn, his 
 friend hurried him off, saying, that he must be 
 exhausted, and must rest whilst his clothes were 
 being dried. But Edward could not rest till he 
 knew that Ellen was really saved ; and after Re- 
 ginald had left him, he stole to the door of the
 
 240 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 room where she lay, and leaned against it, listen- 
 ing, with intense anxiety, for every sound that 
 could indicate what was passing within. 
 
 At length, after twenty minutes, which seemed 
 to him as many hours, he heard Louisa exclaim — 
 
 '* She is recovering ! look, she is opening her 
 eyes !" 
 
 And the next moment a voice, whose tones 
 thrilled to his very soul, said, faintly, " Edward 
 — is Edward safe?" 
 
 Ellen's first returning thought was of him ; 
 her first word was his name ; and he was on the 
 point of bursting into the room to answer that 
 call ; but he restrained himself, with a powerful 
 effort, and, satisfied that she was safe, he returned 
 to another room, to pour out first his fervent 
 thanksgiving to the Almighty Lord of life and 
 death, and then to collect his thoughts, and mas- 
 ter his emotion, before he was obliged to meet 
 again the party below. 
 
 Soon after he went down, Louisa came to 
 report that Ellen was perfectly restored, and, 
 though weak, she seemed to have experienced 
 no other ill effects from the danoer she had in- 
 
 o 
 
 curred. Desirable as it was that she should be 
 taken home as speedily as possible, it was neces- 
 sary to wait till her clothes were dried ; and she 
 had so far recovered her strenoth as to be able 
 to undergo the fatigue of dressing.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 241 
 
 It was therefore agreed, that they should 
 keep to their original plan of dining on the 
 island, and returning in the evening. 
 
 The dinner, which had been so gaily antici- 
 pated, passed in silence and seriousness. All 
 had heen too recently under the influence of 
 strong emotion, to he able to regain so soon the 
 light-heartedness of the morning. They could 
 not forget how near death had been to them, 
 and the impression of awe was still fresh on 
 their minds. The rupture between Mr. Hope 
 and Minna increased the constraint and gloom 
 of the party; and it was a relief to every body 
 when Ellen was pronounced able to embark, 
 and Sir Charles Conway gave orders for the 
 yacht to get under weigh. 
 
 Edward felt his heart beat thick, when Ellen 
 came down, leaning on Louisa ; and her pallid 
 countenance lighted up with one of her radiant 
 smiles, as she held out her hand to him. 
 Neither of them spoke. Edward did not dare 
 trust his voice, and Ellen's was choked with the 
 tears which rolled down, in spite of her smiles. 
 Louisa felt her hand trembling as she leant on 
 her arm, and she begged her to let herself be 
 carried ; she was too weak as yet for so much 
 exertion. Lord Ethel wode and Sir Charles 
 joined in the entreaty ; but Ellen declared her- 
 self perfectly able to walk, and, putting her other 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 arm within Annesley's, she slowly proceeded to 
 the beach, followed by the rest of the party. 
 
 With what different feelings did they sail 
 back over that star-lit sea, which they had 
 crossed in such mirth and sunshine only a few 
 hours before ! Lady Frances forgot to be fright- 
 ened, and Lord Ethelwode seemed awed into 
 gentleness. Minna's usually flippant manner 
 was so quiet and serious, that Mr. Hope could 
 scarcely believe she was the heartless coquette 
 who had so lately rejected his affection with 
 scorn, and almost wished he could forget the 
 scene of the morning. St. John and Reginald 
 forgot their rivalry, and Egbert's noisy mirth 
 was subdued into awe-struck silence : but who 
 shall tell what deeper thoughts were stirring in 
 the hearts of the two, who had been together 
 within the shadow of death, and had learnt, in 
 that awful hour, that the existence of each w^as 
 bound up in that of the other, and new felt, as 
 they sat in silence beneath the starry heavens, 
 that the event of that day had changed the aspect 
 of life to them, and that, on the feelings it had 
 revealed, hung the weal or woe of their whole 
 future fate !
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 243 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 '' But still her lips refused to send — ' Farewell !' 
 • •«••• 
 
 O'er ever)' feature of that still, pale face, 
 Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase; 
 The tender blue of that large, loving eye. 
 Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Ciarriages and horses were awaiting the party 
 on the beach, when they landed. Mr. Hope 
 mounted his horse instantly, and with a cold bow 
 to Miss Montague^ and a general good-night to 
 the rest, galloped off without delay. Lady 
 Frances and Minna got into their carriage with 
 a yawn, declaring it was the longest and most 
 fatiguing day they had ever spent ; and Louisa 
 followed them, as soon as she had seen Ellen 
 comfortably placed in Lord Ethelwode's, and 
 had ascertained that she could be of no use in 
 accompanying her to the castle. The carriages 
 drove off, and the gentlemen followed on horse- 
 back, with the exception of Edward, who re- 
 mained alone on the beach ; but instead of 
 turning his steps towards the parsonage, he 
 struck into a footpath which led to the castle. 
 
 M 2 .
 
 244 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 The carriage could only advance slowly up the 
 hill, and he was at the door by the time it 
 stopped, ready to assist Ellen out. 
 
 " You here, Mr. Annesley ?" she exclaimed, as 
 the light from the hall-door fell upon his figure, 
 as he advanced towards the carriage. 
 
 " Yes; I could not leave you, till I saw you 
 safely deposited at home," answered Edward, 
 drawing her arm within his, and leading her 
 into the house. " You seem scarcely strong 
 enough to w^alk yet." 
 
 At that moment Ellen did certainly require 
 support, for she was trembling from head to 
 foot ; she could not speak, but allowed him to 
 lead her on to the drawing-room, which was 
 dark and empty, Lady Ethelwode having already 
 retired to rest. 
 
 ** Oh ! pray, do not disturb her," exclaimed 
 Ellen, as Lord Ethelwode proposed to call her 
 mother up ; " I do not want any body ; do not 
 let me detain you, Mr. Annesley." 
 
 " I cannot leave you till I see you placed 
 under proper care, unless you will allow me to 
 go for Mr. Johnson." 
 
 " No, no ; I will have no apothecary ; I am 
 quite well again now, and here are plenty of 
 people to take care of me," said she, as Made- 
 moiselle Juliani, and her own maid, and the
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 245 
 
 housekeeper, rushed into the room, full of won- 
 der, and terror, and exclamations. 
 
 Mademoiselle Juliani was not likely to afford 
 much help to any body ; she was so flurried, so 
 dreadfully shocked, that she was sure she should 
 have an attaque de nerfs. She was quite over- 
 powered at the thoughts of dear Miss Percival 
 having been so nearly drowned ; she thought she 
 still looked terribly like a corpse. She was very 
 anxious to do any thing she could for dear Miss 
 Percival, but she was afraid she could not offer 
 to sit up with her. 
 
 " Of course not," said Ellen, impatiently, " I 
 want no one to sit up with me ; pray go to bed, 
 Mademoiselle. Mrs. Stokes and Mary are more 
 than enough to do all I require." 
 
 Mademoiselle Juliani retreated, after pouring 
 out another torrent of regret, and horror, and 
 sorrow^ whereat Mrs. Stokes shrugged her 
 shoulders, and muttered " humbug." Mrs. 
 Stokes was a good, motherly kind of person, 
 and fond of Ellen ; when, therefore, Edward had 
 seen the latter confided to her care, he felt he 
 had no longer a pretext for prolonging his stay, 
 and he reluctantly prepared to depart, saying, 
 
 " I will not detain you any longer, Miss Per- 
 cival, from the rest you so much need. To- 
 morrow I hope to find you quite recovered. 
 Good night."
 
 246 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Good night," answered Ellen, in a voice 
 scarcely audible, as she returned the pressure of 
 his hand. " To you I owe it, that I have still a 
 morrow to look forward to. But I cannot thank 
 you now, my heart is too full — you will not 
 think me ungrateful, because I cannot tell you 
 all I feel." 
 
 Edward's only answer was to bend down and 
 fervently kiss the hand which still rested in his, 
 and then he hastily left the room. He felt that 
 he could not much longer silence the feelings 
 which almost overpowered his calmer reason. 
 
 At the door he met Lord Ethelwode, who 
 shook his hand warmly, as he wished him " good 
 night," and pressed him to dine at the castle the 
 next day. Edward accepted the invitation ; 
 and Ellen, who had heard their conversation, 
 went to bed, forgetful of every thing, but that 
 she should see him again on the morrow — 
 that another whole evening would be spent in 
 his society, which had become to her almost a 
 necessary part of her existence. 
 
 Edward lingered near the castle, till the light 
 which shone from Ellen's window was extin- 
 guished, and he knew that she must have gone 
 to rest, and that her form would flit no more 
 across the light, throwing a shadow on the white 
 curtain. He then hurried down to the parson- 
 age, and was glad to find that its inmates had
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 247 
 
 already retired, and that he should have the 
 whole night to compose his thoughts, and regain 
 his self-command, before he should be called 
 upon to meet the Aliens, and to relate the story 
 of Ellen's danger. 
 
 His mind was too excited, to allow him to 
 think of sleep, and he threw open the window, 
 and paced up and down his narrow apartment. 
 At first, as he looked out on the sea, now reflect- 
 ing every star on its glassy bosom, he could only 
 think of the fearful death which Ellen had 
 nearly found beneath its waters, and the chill 
 of terror came over him again at the recollection. 
 But gradually his mind turned to other thoughts. 
 It was that very sensation of terror, which had 
 first roused him to the consciousness of the na- 
 ture of his feelings towards Ellen. He had 
 been blind, self-confident, and deluded; but he 
 could deceive himself no longer. He now knew 
 that the feeling he had believed to be brotherly 
 regard, was love — the intense, passionate love, 
 which such a nature as his must feel, where it 
 loved at all. He felt that, unconsciously, Ellen 
 had wound herself round every fibre of his heart, 
 and that, had she died that day, the sun of his 
 existence would have sunk with her into the 
 grave. 
 
 As this conviction pressed itself more and 
 more clearly upon him, he gave way, at first, to
 
 248 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 a full torrent of passion. He recalled her to his 
 mind, as he had seen her that morning, radiant 
 with youth and loveliness ; and again, when her 
 cold, inanimate form, scarcely less beautiful in 
 the semblance of death, than in life, had rested 
 in his arms, and he uttered, almost aloud, his 
 fervent joy that he had been her deliverer — that 
 to him she owed that life, more precious in his 
 eyes than his own. 
 
 But, after the first burst of passion was over, 
 calmer thoughts succeeded, and then Edward 
 felt the necessity of seriously considering his 
 situation, and of deciding on what he ought to 
 do. He felt the impossibility of continuing his 
 intercourse with Ellen on the same footing as 
 before ; he could no longer be to her merely a 
 friend, a brother — he must henceforward be her 
 lover, or nothing. 
 
 But had he a right to yield to that love ; had 
 he a right to strive to win her affections, to bind 
 her to his lot, he whose sphere was so circum- 
 scribed, and whose income would never, at any 
 time, ensure more than a moderate competence ? 
 Could he ask Ellen, beautiful, high-born, as she 
 was, nursed in every luxury, and unfitted, by 
 her whole education, for its duties, its trials, its 
 daily self-denial, to share a lot like his ; and 
 that, too, while she was yet too young to be able 
 to appreciate the sacrifice he asked her to make ?
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 249 
 
 No, it could not be ; every principle of recti- 
 tude, of honour, forbade it ; and the delicious 
 dream which, for a moment, had almost blinded 
 his reason, must be forgotten. Ellen never 
 could — never ought to be — his wife. He buried 
 his face in his hands, and remained long silent 
 and motionless ; feelings too deep and bitter for 
 words were stirring within. 
 
 Once he almost w^ished, in his agony, that 
 they had sunk together beneath the cold waters, 
 when she was clasped in his arms, her hands 
 locked in his. He shuddered, as he cast from 
 him the impious thought. Still her image 
 haunted him. He dwelt, almost unconsciously, 
 on her look, when she opened her eyes for a 
 moment, as he caught her ere she sank ; the 
 tones of her voice, as she pronounced his name 
 on first recovering, sounded in his ear. 
 
 Suddenly a thought flashed across his mind ; 
 " If — if it were possible that she loves me !" he 
 exclaimed. He remembered every look, every 
 tone, her brightening eye when he approached, 
 her trembling voice, her evident emotion when 
 he assisted her out of the carriage. A wild thrill 
 of joy shot through his whole being, as he con- 
 templated the possibility ; but it soon passed 
 away. Edward was not a man to yield lightly, 
 at any time, to a thought so flattering to his 
 vanity, and his own deep love now made him 
 
 M 5
 
 250 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 still more diffident. He was ashamed of having, 
 even for a moment, entertained such a supposi- 
 tion, and he cast it from him at once. 
 
 The path of duty was clear. He ought to 
 leave Ethelwode, to break at once the tie that 
 bound him to Ellen, and fly from the dangerous 
 influence he could not feel certain of his power 
 to resist. He must leave her, and never see her 
 again, till he had conquered his ill-fated attach- 
 ment. This was clearly what was rights and it 
 must be done, though at a sacrifice a thousand- 
 fold more agonising than the plucking out of 
 an eye, the cutting off of a right hand. 
 
 Having come to this resolution, Edward felt 
 more calm. His mind could rest on the deci- 
 sion he had made, and was no longer tossed 
 about on the tempest of passion. He had been 
 weak as a child ; he now felt that he must gird 
 himself with new strength, to accomplish his 
 purpose, to go through, calmly and collectedly, 
 with the trial that awaited him that evening, 
 and to part with Ellen without giving her a mo- 
 ment's suspicion of the cause of his departure. 
 It was due to her, it was due to himself, that 
 they should part friends, kind, familiar friends, 
 as they had ever been ; and he determined, cost 
 him what it might, he would wound her by no 
 abruptness of manner, nor distress her by any
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 251 
 
 exhibition of a warmer feeling than that of 
 friendship. 
 
 Yet the very thought of meeting her, only to 
 say farewell, almost unmanned him ; the day 
 was now breaking, and, as sleep was impossible, 
 he went out to try and gather strength and 
 calmness from the pure and soothing influence of 
 Nature. Involuntarily his steps turned towards 
 the castle, and, in a few minutes, he found him- 
 self on the bench in the garden, from whence he 
 could see Ellen's window. Long and full of 
 bitter and conflicting thoughts was the watch he 
 kept there. When he left the spot, though the 
 sun was high in the heavens, Ellen's curtains 
 were yet undrawTi, and there was no sign of any 
 one stirring within. 
 
 ** She is sleeping still," said he ; " sleeping 
 peacefully, and undreaming of what, during this 
 night, the thought of her has been to me. To- 
 morrow night, when I am gone, she will rest as 
 peacefully — whilst I — well, thank God ! it is I 
 who am the sufferer, not her." 
 
 When Edward came down to breakfast, his 
 pale and haggard countenance instantly attracted 
 Mrs. Allen's attention. 
 
 " My dear Edward, what is the matter with 
 you ?" exclaimed the affectionate old lady, laying 
 her hand on his arm. 
 
 *' I am not very well," said Edward, gladly
 
 252 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 seizing this opportunity of making illness a 
 pretext for his proposed departure. " I think 
 this place does not agree with me." 
 
 " My dear boy, it is not the place, I am sure ; 
 it is impossible that this pure bracing air should 
 disagree with any one. You work too hard, that 
 is the fact. What with visiting the poor, and 
 attending the schools, and writing at night, you 
 wear yourself out !'* 
 
 Edward blushed, as he thought of the very 
 different cause of his apparent illness. 
 
 " You must take a holiday, my child, to rest 
 both body and mind/' added Mrs. Allen. 
 
 '^ I had some thoughts, myself, of doing so," 
 said Edward ; "I have been wishing for some 
 time to go to Oxford, and if my grandfather 
 can spare me, I think I shall go now." 
 
 " Where are you going to, EdAvard ?" said Mr. 
 Allen, lifting his head from the newspaper. 
 
 " To Oxford, sir, if you have no objection ; I 
 should like to go to-morrow, if you can spare me 
 for a week or two." 
 
 " To-morrow ! you are very expeditious in 
 your movements," said Mr. Allen, smiling ; 
 '* however, I can spare you, if your grandmo- 
 ther, and the village, and the castle can, though 
 I am afraid we shall all be sadly at a loss. But 
 this is rather a sudden freak, Edward ; yester- 
 day, you were making plans for this week and
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 253 
 
 the next, and never mentioned a word of going 
 to Oxford." 
 
 Edward could not meet his grandfather's in- 
 quiring look; he turned away with an embar- 
 rassed air. " I thought of it last night," he 
 said ; " and as you are particularly well just 
 now, and I am not very much wanted at the 
 schools, I think it is a good opportunity." 
 
 " Very well, my boy, you are quite welcome 
 to go, for you work hard enough to deserve a 
 holiday." 
 
 " By-the-by," said Mrs. Allen, mshing to 
 change the subject, which, from some cause or 
 other, she saw was painful to Edward, " you 
 have told us nothing about your party, yes- 
 terday ; had you a pleasant day ?" 
 
 Edward had been expecting this question for 
 some minutes past, and had been nerving himself 
 to answer it. He told as shortly, and as calmly 
 as possible, the story of Ellen's peril, and the 
 part he himself had had in rescuing her. 
 
 " In the midst of life we are in death," said 
 Mr. Allen, solemnly, as Edward ceased speaking. 
 Mrs. Allen wiped the tears from her eyes. 
 
 " Good God, if she had died — she so young — 
 so beautiful, so full of life !" The good old lady 
 hid her face in her hands, as if to shut out the 
 thought ; and Edward, whose inmost soul had
 
 254 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 been stirred by her words, rose abruptly, and 
 went to the window. 
 
 " I must go this morning and inquire after 
 her," said Mrs. Allen, after a pause. ** You will 
 come with me, of course, Edward?" 
 
 He could not refuse ; besides he was himself 
 trembling to hear how Ellen was after the shock 
 she had sustained. So, at the appointed time, 
 he was ready to offer his arm to Mrs. Allen, and 
 they began their walk. It was a wretched one 
 to him, for his companion was not satisfied with 
 the brief account of Ellen's adventure which he 
 had given, and asked question after question 
 about all the particulars. He was glad when 
 their arrival at the castle put a stop to the con- 
 versation, and still more so when the servant 
 who opened the door answered Mrs. Allen's in- 
 quiries, by saying that Miss Percival had had a 
 good night, but was not yet up. It was a relief 
 to him to know that he should have the whole 
 day to prepare himself for that dreaded meeting. 
 
 It was not, however, in the solitude of his own 
 room that that preparation was to be accom- 
 plished. There was much to be done before he 
 could leave Ethelwode. Sick people to visit, 
 directions to give, parish matters of different 
 kinds to be settled, in order to leave as little as 
 possible to be a burden to his grandfather. 
 Edward experienced that day, how blessed is the
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 255 
 
 privilege a man possesses of flying from his 
 sorrow into the world, of finding in his pro- 
 fession a stimulus to exertion, a channel into 
 which his thoughts are forcibly directed, a hope 
 for the future which otherwise had been blank. 
 
 There was another consolation also in the 
 great and unaffected sorrow of most of his pa- 
 rishioners, when they received his farewell. " If 
 my stay here has caused the ruin of my own 
 happiness," thought he, " it has not been alto- 
 gether useless to others. Yes ; to her^ even to 
 her, may I not hope that I have been of some 
 use, that my blindness has been fatal only to 
 myself?" 
 
 Alas ! poor Edward, could he have known the 
 truth, how would the joy which accompanied 
 that thought have been turned to bitter remorse ! 
 
 At that very moment, Ellen was watching for 
 his arrival from the drawing-room window, which 
 commanded a view of the postern-gate, by which 
 he had always entered since his intimacy at the 
 castle. Her heart was beating high, for the 
 long, long day was past, and a few minutes more 
 would bring him to fulfil his engagement. How 
 childlike, how unthoughtf al of all but the present 
 hour, was at that time Ellen's love ! She had 
 never even asked herself whether she loved him, 
 whether he loved her; she had neither questioned 
 the past, nor looked anxiously into the future :
 
 256 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 the present was all in all. To feel that he was 
 near her, to drink in the music of his words, to 
 let her eyes rest on his countenance, was enough ; 
 she was happy, intensely happy, and she asked 
 not why. 
 
 When Edward entered the room, she met him 
 with her radiant smile and outstretched hand. 
 She was paler than usual, and her manner was 
 more agitated, but Edward's anxious glance 
 could detect no other traces of the peril she had 
 undergone. 
 
 " I need scarcely ask you, if you are recovered 
 from the effects of your accident," he said, as he 
 took her oifered hand. 
 
 " No, indeed ; I am quite well, and only feel 
 rather fatigued and shaken. I think I ought 
 rather to inquire after your health," she added, 
 smiling, but looking anxiously in his face ; ** you 
 look much more like a ghost than I do, notwith- 
 standing mamma's opinion of my pale face. Are 
 you ill?" 
 
 The tone of affectionate anxiety with which 
 she spoke made Edward's heart beat, but he an- 
 swered hastily, that he had nothing the matter 
 with him, only a slight head-ache. Ellen was 
 struck with the abruptness of his manner, but 
 she was still more astonished when he left her to 
 go to the farther end of the room, to talk to her 
 mother and Mademoiselle Juliani, a piece of civi-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 257 
 
 lity wholly unnecessary, as he was well aware of 
 Lady Ethelwode's aversion to the trouble of 
 keeping up a conversation. However, this day 
 her ladyship was unusually animated, for she was 
 really grateful to Edward for having saved her 
 child, and he remained beside the chaise-longue, 
 till dinner was announced and Lord Ethelwode 
 made his appearance, which he never did, on or- 
 dinary occasions, till the precise hour of sitting 
 down to table. Edward gave his arm to Lady 
 Ethelwode, and sat beside her ; Ellen sat oppo- 
 site to him, but her back was to the light, and 
 he could not see the large tears which trembled 
 on her eyelashes, nor the increased paleness of her 
 countenance. 
 
 The dinner passed off tolerably well ; Lord 
 and Lady Ethelwode were uncommonly gracious, 
 even to each other; Egbert was in high spirits, 
 and insisted on telling Mademoiselle Juliani, 
 over and over again, the story of Ellen's escape, 
 with the minutest particulars. 
 
 " Mr. Annesley saved her," he repeated. " If 
 it had not been for Mr. Annesley, Ellen must 
 have been drowned." 
 
 " That is true," said Lord Ethelwode. " We 
 owe Mr. Annesley the lives of both our children," 
 (it was the first time he had ever called Ellen 
 his child). " Such a debt cannot be repaid," added
 
 258 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 he, " but I hope to prove, ere long, that it is not 
 to be forgotten." 
 
 " Indeed I deserve no thanks at all," said Ed- 
 ward, as calmly as he could. '* I did nothing 
 but what any other man would have done in my 
 place." 
 
 " Yet there were six men standing on the 
 beach, and you were the only one who risked 
 your life to save mine," exclaimed Ellen, almost 
 involuntarily, and blushing crimson as she spoke. 
 
 " I have had my reward," answered Edward, 
 in a lower voice, as his eye met hers. He dared 
 not trust himself to speak again just then, but he 
 seized the first opportunity of changing the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 When dinner was over, and the ladies had 
 retired, Edward informed Lord Ethel wode of his 
 intended departure. 
 
 " Going away? going back to Oxford, my 
 dear Annesley ?" exclaimed his lordship, for once 
 forgetting all his usual stateliness ; " I am truly 
 sorry to hear it ; what can have induced you to 
 form so sudden a resolution ?" 
 
 " I wish to obtain some curacy near Oxford ; 
 I have even some hopes of a University living ; 
 besides, it is necessary that I should keep a cer- 
 tain time of residence at my college, as a condi- 
 tion of my fellowship."
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 959 
 
 " I do not wonder at your wishing to obtain a 
 higher office than that you now hold. I have 
 often thought, that a village like this was a very 
 narrow sphere for talents like yours — yes, I will 
 say talents, at the risk of wounding your too 
 great modesty. But I have been for some time 
 revolving in my mind a plan which would, at all 
 events, relieve you from the laborious duties of 
 a curate, and will, I trust, keep you here till 
 preferment more worthy of your merit is offered 
 to you." 
 
 Edward bowed, and awaited in silence the 
 unfolding of the plan which Lord Ethelwode had 
 announced with great stateliness, and evident 
 certainty of its being approved of. 
 
 " Egbert is now of an age to apply seriously 
 to study," continued his lordship ; " I have a 
 srreat aversion to the indiscriminate mixture of 
 a public school, and wish him to remain under 
 my own eye, till he is prepared for college. I 
 have, in consequence, been anxiously looking out 
 for some time for a tutor for him, one in whom 
 I could repose such an important trust with per- 
 fect confidence. I need scarcely say that you 
 are the person I have fixed upon. I do not hesi- 
 tate to say, that I have never seen any young 
 man whose manners, demeanour, and principles, 
 fitted him so perfectly for such a responsible 
 office, as the education of a young nobleman,
 
 260 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 and I shall feel satisfied in placing my son in 
 your hands, that he will become worthy of his 
 noble name, and fitted to fulfil the important 
 duties entailed upon him by his high station. 
 Of course you will become an inmate of my 
 house, not as a dependant, but as an honoured 
 guest ; and your salary shall be named by your- 
 self; such services as yours would be cheaply 
 obtained at any price. This is my plan, Mr. 
 Annesley ; may I hope that you will seriously 
 consider it, and that it may induce you to re- 
 main where your talents and character are so 
 fully appreciated ?" 
 
 Edward had listened in silent astonishment to 
 Lord Ethelwode's speech ; and for a moment, 
 the thought of becoming an inmate in the same 
 house with Ellen staggered his resolution. Long 
 before his host had finished speaking, however, 
 his hesitation w^as over. He thanked Lord Ethel- 
 wode warmly for his favourable opinion and the 
 generous offer he had made ; but, at the same 
 time, he firmly and respectfully declined accept- 
 ing it. He had always wished, he said, to conse- 
 crate what powers he had to the work of the 
 ministry : the profession he had embraced was 
 his own free choice, and he felt himself bound to 
 labour in it. Finally, money was no object to 
 him, and he had, therefore, no motive for sacri- 
 ficing his independence.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 261 
 
 Lord Ethelwode received this answer with as- 
 tonishment, mingled with displeasure, that any 
 request of his should he refused ; but he con- 
 quered the feeling with an extraordinary effort, 
 and merely said, as he rose from table — 
 
 " I appreciate the motives of your refusal, 
 but I will not accept it as final : when you have 
 considered my proposal more deliberately, you 
 will, perhaps, find reason to change your deter- 
 mination." He left the room before Edward 
 could assure him, a second time, that his de- 
 cision was unalterable. 
 
 Edward returned slowly and thoughtfully to the 
 dra wing-r oom. Lady Ethelwode was there alone, 
 ^Q2||||HkMmal ; but as he went up to the win- 
 dow, 4HV^1^^^ slowly walking to her favou- 
 rite evemBpl^ation beneath the sycamore. He 
 determined on following her ; it was better they 
 should part at once ; and he felt that he would 
 rather wish her that last farewell when they were 
 alone than before witnesses : none would be 
 there to watch the agony he might not be wholly 
 able to conceal, no image but hers would mingle 
 in the recollection of that hour. 
 
 With this thought he took the path he had 
 seen her follow. She was sitting on the bench 
 when he came up to her, but in such deep medi- 
 tation, that she did not hear his footsteps. He 
 was glad of it ; he stopped a few paces from her
 
 262 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 to gaze at her unobserved. He felt that perhaps 
 he might never see her again, and his eje scanned 
 earnestly every lineament of that exquisitely 
 graceful form, that countenance, whose loveli- 
 ness seemed almost unearthly, as she sat there 
 in deep, apparently melancholy, musing. It was 
 some minutes before she changed her attitude, 
 and then he drew near her ; she turned quickly 
 round as she heard his step, and her countenance 
 instantly brightened. 
 
 " I am glad you are come," said she, making 
 room for him to sit down beside her ; " the sun- 
 set is so lovely, and the air as warm as it was 
 two months ago : the first evening you spent 
 here, do you remember that evening ?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly," said Edward, so coldly that 
 she turned away to hide the tears which again 
 rose to her eyes. Both were silent for awhile. 
 Edward felt that he had given pain (though her 
 tears were concealed), and he was bitterly re- 
 proaching himself. At length Ellen spoke again. 
 
 " Mr. Annesley," she said, with a heightened 
 colour, " what is the matter with you to-day ? 
 why do you speak so strangely, so coldly ? have 
 I done any thing to offend you ? perhaps you 
 think me ungrateful, because I cannot express 
 
 what I feel. Indeed, indeed I am not 
 
 if I could but tell you, if you could but know . . ."
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. ^6S 
 
 She clasped her hands, and looked up to him with 
 streaming eyes. 
 
 " Ellen ! Miss Percival ! for Heaven's sake, do 
 not speak so ! I deserve no gratitude ; had I ten 
 lives, I would willingly peril them all to save 
 you even a moment's sorrow." He checked 
 himself, and then resumed, in a calmer tone and 
 with a faint smile : " It is sorrow, not anger, 
 that makes me so silent, so disagreeable a com- 
 panion to-night ; and I regret it the more, as I 
 fear my last visit will leave a less favourable re- 
 collection than I could wish." 
 
 " Your last visit ? what can you mean ?" ex- 
 claimed Ellen, breathlessly. 
 
 " I am going away to-morrow — going to Ox- 
 ford for an indefinite time, and I am come now 
 to wish you farewell. The sooner that painful 
 word is said the better." He paused again, and 
 then continued more hurriedly : *' Our paths in 
 life are widely different, and we may never meet 
 again ; may I hope that through the brilliant 
 career which will, probably, be yours, you will 
 sometimes remember the friend of your child- 
 hood?" 
 
 Ellen did not answer ; whilst he spoke, hei 
 face had gradually assumed the hue and the rigi- 
 dity of marble ; and, as he uttered the last words, 
 she convulsively grasped his arm, and, with a 
 faint cry, sank senseless to the ground.
 
 264 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 For a moment Edward stood as if thunder- 
 struck ; then the truth flashed across his mind, 
 and his first feeling was one of intense and be- 
 wildering joy. Every other consideration was 
 momentarily forgotten. He hung over Ellen's 
 lifeless form, and called upon her, with every 
 term of passionate endearment, pressed her cold 
 hands, again and again, to his lips ; but all his 
 efforts to bring back animation were vain. She 
 lay cold and motionless as a corpse, and alarm 
 soon recalled him from his first wild frenzy of 
 delight. 
 
 He ran to the castle for assistance, and Ellen 
 was carried, still insensible, to her bed. When 
 she was at length restored to animation, she was 
 delirious ; and the medical man, who had been 
 hastily called in, pronounced her to be under the 
 influence of a violent brain fever, brought on by 
 the accident of the previous day, and subsequent 
 over-exertion and excitement.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ^* But still the smothered fondness burns within him. 
 The sense of honour and desire of fame 
 Drive the big passion bacii into his heart." 
 
 Addison's Cato. 
 
 The party which had been so long assembled 
 at Oaklands was now on the eve of dispersion. 
 The morning after the excursion to the island, 
 Lady Frances and her daughters drove out early 
 to pay some farewell visits in the neighbourhood, 
 in which Louisa narrowly escaped being forced 
 to accompany them. St. John listened with dis- 
 may while these arrangements were under discus- 
 sion, for he had fixed his departure for the next 
 day, and had proposed to himself the pleasure of 
 one more ride with Louisa. He half resolved to 
 postpone his journey to another day if she went ; 
 but he was saved the necessity by its being at 
 length decided that, on Fanny's account, the 
 ladies should take the chariot instead of the open 
 carriage, which made it impossible for a fourth 
 person to go. This being arranged, St. John 
 announced to Sir Charles his intended departure 
 on the morrow ; but Louisa had left the room, 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 Q66 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 and he was glad to reserve this intelligence for 
 her ear at some more private moment. He re- 
 tired to make the necessary preparations for his 
 journey, whilst she, in happy ignorance, having 
 seen her aunt and cousins depart on their visit- 
 ing expedition, repaired to the library, where 
 she was soon joined by Reginald. 
 
 He took his seat beside her easel, with a book 
 in his hand ; but he did not read, nor did he 
 seem better disposed for conversation than for 
 study. 
 
 " Reginald, are you ill ? " asked Louisa, at 
 length, after a long silence, during which she 
 had several times looked up from her painting, 
 and each time seen her companion sunk in 
 thought, with a gloomy expression of counte- 
 nance, and his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, 
 where hung a large picture, in which they figured 
 together, he leading a pony which Louisa, then 
 about nine years old, was riding, and repressing, 
 at the same time, the caresses of a large New- 
 foundland dog, who was rudely expressing his 
 joy at the prospect of a walk. But Louisa was 
 sitting with her back to the wall, and thus the 
 apparent object of his long reverie was concealed 
 from her when she startled him from it by her 
 affectionate inquiries. 
 
 " No — yes — perhaps I am ill; bodily suffer- 
 ing is nothing," was the intelligible reply.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 267 
 
 Louisa laid down her brush, and looked at 
 him with amazement. 
 
 " My dear Reginald, now I am sure you must 
 be ill, for I never before heard you speak, or saw 
 you look as you do this morning. What is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 The kind tone of these words seemed to soothe 
 the suffering, whatever it was, which had con- 
 tracted his brow ; and a smile played on his 
 handsome features as he took her hand, and said, 
 " I am easily cured, you see, dear Louisa. But, 
 in truth, I was not ill — I was only thinking, 
 and " 
 
 " I am afraid your thoughts were dark, then. 
 Their outward and visible effects might have 
 been ascribed to deep meditation on some nefa- 
 rious plot, some treason, murder, or suicide. 
 You were wont to let the sun shine upon your 
 reveries." 
 
 ** And does not each year that we live rob us 
 of some part of that sunshine which at first illu- 
 mines not only the present of our daily exist- 
 ence, but also our dreams of the future ?" 
 
 " No, no ! " exclaimed Louisa, interrupting 
 him ; " no ; this is the language of morbid feel- 
 ing, not of a sober and healthful view of life. 
 The feelino: would not be a true one, even in a 
 woman, for whom the flight of time must have 
 things unknown to you. But you, the free, the 
 
 N 2
 
 268 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 strong, the active — life cannot so soon be disen- 
 chanted for you ! You do not speak your own 
 thoughts, Reginald, or you are much changed." 
 
 " Perhaps I ana," was the laconic answer. 
 
 Again Louisa looked anxiously at him ; and, 
 when he met her glance, he seemed a moment 
 undecided, as if about to take some desperate 
 resolution, and then turned away his eyes. 
 
 " I had indeed remarked a change," said she, 
 after a few minutes' silence ; " however, as 
 you were unusually reserved, I would make no 
 inquiries ; but, unless you have some better 
 friend than the companion and sister of many 
 happy years, tell me what has happened, dear 
 Reginald, what has distressed you ?" 
 
 '^ Louisa," he exclaimed, strangely excited by 
 her words, " do you indeed wish to hear the 
 truth, and will you not repent having urged me 
 to speak it ? So be it, then ! I — I am raving, 
 I believe," he added, in a calmer voice, and 
 forcing a smile after another inward struggle. 
 '' The truth is, I am not fit for this quiet life ; 
 idleness unhinges me." 
 
 Louisa was not a little surprised at this quiet 
 conclusion to a speech so vehemently begun, but, 
 with a woman's tact, she forbore to press him, 
 and answered quietly, 
 
 *' I am sorry to hear you say that, for it proves 
 to me that you are changed. Formerly a quiet
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 269 
 
 life was not an idle one to you. I never saw 
 you without occupation before." 
 
 " You forget that I am daily waiting for or- 
 ders from the Foreign Office, and this suspense 
 prevents me settling to any occupation. The 
 days when I could read, and draw, and botanize 
 with you are passed. The struggle of real life 
 has begun for me, and a fierce one it must be," 
 he continued, rising again suddenly from his 
 languid attitude, " since I am bent on vic- 
 tory." 
 
 '* I am glad to see you are unchanged in 
 energy, at least," said Louisa, smiling ; " but, 
 if it renders you a restless or an unsociable 
 being, I shall fear the extent of your ambition. 
 Let it not, dear Reginald, rob you of the flowers 
 you might innocently enjoy by the way, by the 
 delusive prospect of the grandeur you may never 
 attain." 
 
 *' Grandeur ! and do you then think, Louisa, 
 that they are visions of mere grandeur which 
 have such power over my soul ? I am ambitious, 
 it is true — more than ever ambitious — and my 
 unwearied efforts shall accomplish for me all 
 that fortune has denied, and more than fortune 
 ever could bestow, or I will perish in the at- 
 tempt. But " 
 
 " I do not understand you." 
 
 " No, no ; I know you do not," resumed Re-
 
 270 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 ginald, bitterly ; " the days are passed when, if 
 I were anxious or unhappy " 
 
 ** Reginald, stop ! Spare me the reproach you 
 half uttered. I do not deserve it: your own 
 heart must tell you that I do not. I met you, 
 on your return, with the same confidence and 
 affection as of old ; but I have been repaid with 
 reserve and an evident wish to shun my society. 
 I am not used to force it upon any .one ; and to 
 you only would I now have made such an expla- 
 nation, in answer to an unjust, an uncalled-for 
 reproach." 
 
 These words were spoken with Louisa's proudest 
 manner ; but, when her old playfellow stretched 
 out his hand with an imploring look for pardon, 
 hers was instantly given, and her noble counte- 
 nance lightened up with one of those smiles, 
 which imparted to it more than the radiance of 
 mere physical beauty. Such a smile is a triumph 
 of spirit over matter. 
 
 *' I must go and prepare for riding," said 
 Louisa, some time after ; '* will you go with me?" 
 
 " Is not Mr. St. John going ? I thought I 
 heard you appoint the hour with him." 
 
 ** You did ; and what of that ? now I ask you 
 to join us." 
 
 " No ; I am not fit to join in his gay conver- 
 sation, and do not choose to expose myself to 
 his sarcastic observations."
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 271 
 
 " If such is still your mood, you are perhaps 
 right to remain alone," answered Louisa, in a 
 displeased tone, as she left the room to dress. 
 
 Reginald paced up and down for some minutes, 
 seemingly much excited ; then rushed out to wait 
 for Louisa in the hall, that he might be ready to 
 assist her to mount, as he could not with patience 
 see her allow St. John to perform that office for 
 her. The latter gentleman showed evident signs 
 of displeasure at his interference ; but, in Louisa's 
 presence, neither of them ventured to express 
 their feelings, and the riding party went off 
 peaceably, whilst Reginald, w^hen he found that 
 Sir Charles was gone out on business and could 
 not ride with them, half repented that he had 
 not accompanied them himself, to break the 
 tete-a-tete. 
 
 This reflection did not tend to soothe his 
 ruffled temper ; and, after chafing some time in 
 the house, he set off, at a furious pace, tow^ards 
 the beach, hoping, perhaps, amidst the wild con- 
 fusion of rocks and the roar and tumult of the 
 weaves, to find solace and sympathy in the con- 
 flict of his feelings. 
 
 Meanwhile, the two persons who thus engrossed 
 his thoughts were proceeding quietly on their 
 way ; and, though they were alone, and though 
 this ride was to be their last, it proved as un- 
 eventful as any that had preceded it. And if
 
 272 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Louisa did feel a weight upon her heart, after 
 hearing of St. John's approaching departure, at 
 least nothing betrayed her feelings to him. 
 Minna's indiscreet remarks had taught her to 
 cover her open countenance with a veil ; and, if 
 she felt a pang, she was at that moment too in- 
 tent on adjusting her stirrup, for Arthur to be 
 able to read his triumph in her face. 
 
 Gloomily enough did that evening pass at 
 Oaklands. Sir Charles, ever cheerful and ready 
 for conversation, could hardly elicit a word from 
 any of his companions. Lady Frances was so 
 tired, from all her exertions on this and the pre- 
 ceding day, that she fell asleep almost imme- 
 diately after dinner. Minna, knowing it was a 
 hopeless attempt to attract the attention of either 
 Reginald or St. John, had taken up a novel; 
 Fanny was busy finishing some songs Ellen had 
 lent her to copy, and Louisa turned from one 
 occupation to another with a restlessness very 
 unusual to her, and finally amused herself with 
 looking over a book of prints. From the young 
 men Sir Charles derived as little assistance : Re- 
 ginald was divided between a book and the con- 
 templation of the carpet, and St. John, who from 
 some secret feeling — was it conscience ? was it 
 regret ? — ^had shrunk from taking his accustomed 
 seat by Louisa, after a few languid attempts at 
 conversation, also sunk into silence.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 273 
 
 However, as usually happens, a woman was 
 the first to shake off the selfish enjoyment of her 
 own thoughts and to exert herself for others. 
 Louisa laid down the book to which she had ap- 
 peared to be giving so much attention, and pro- 
 posed a game of chess to her father. The game 
 was begun ; and, as St. John sat watching her, 
 and heard the calm tone of her voice, and saw a 
 smile play on her lips, the cloud darkened on his 
 brow. 
 
 At the close of the evening, when she was 
 about to leave the room, he sprang forward to 
 open the door for her ; and, as she shook hands 
 with him, she said, in a low, but assured voice — 
 
 '' I suppose you will start early to-morrow?" 
 
 " I am afraid I shall start too early to see 
 you," he replied, in a tone of feeling, and press- 
 ing the hand he held ; " but we shall meet again 
 — soon, I trust — and may I hope it will be with 
 pleasure on your part ?" 
 
 The crimson blush which mantled Louisa's 
 cheek, as she looked down not to meet his gaze, 
 said more than the few polite words with which 
 she answered him, and his vain heart bounded 
 with joy. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! proud girl ! " he mentally ejacu- 
 lated ; " you own my influence, spite of yourself, 
 and I hold in my hand the chord which vibrates 
 to your inmost heart. 'Tis a noble game that I 
 
 N 5
 
 274 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 have played. To conquer and mould to my 
 wishes fifty weak, vain women, were little in- 
 crease of glory to Arthur St. John ; but to have 
 brought her proud heart to yield to my power ! 
 — I could almost love her for the pleasure she has 
 given me ! — Love her ? — yea ; even as that fond 
 fool Reo^inald loves her. And here I leave him 
 in possession of the field ; and my triumph may 
 be short-lived. But what is that to me? God 
 knows, I do not wish her to be miserable : I hope 
 he may comfort her. Even if I cared enough 
 for her to wish to commit such an egregious 
 piece of folly, I could not marry her. I must 
 have money to tempt me — money, and much of 
 it ! Yet, if ever the poets spoke truth, if ever it 
 could be said that woman's love was sweeter than 
 the smiles of Plutus, it must be the love of such 
 a woman as Louisa Conway 1" and a sigh actually 
 escaped the breast of the callous man of the 
 world. 
 
 The next morning, whatever feeling of regret 
 Louisa might have felt on finding St. John's 
 place vacant at the breakfast-table, was quickly 
 merged in painful anxiety about Ellen, of whose 
 sudden illness she was apprized, by a note from 
 Mademoiselle Juliani, requesting her to come as 
 speedily as possible to the castle, as Ellen had 
 so often called for her in her delirium, that they 
 were in hopes her presence might have a sooth- 
 ing efiect.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 275 
 
 Louisa would not have needed this request to 
 make her instantly hasten to her friend. Within 
 an hour of receiving the summons, she was esta- 
 blished by her bed-side, and, as Ellen continued 
 in the same dangerous state, she wrote in the 
 afternoon to her father to ask his permission to 
 comply with Lady Ethel wode's earnest request 
 that she would remain at the castle for the pre- 
 sent. The wished-for permission was instantly 
 granted, and Louisa gave herself up entirely to 
 the care of her friend. Well was it for poor 
 Ellen that she did so ; for Lady Ethelwode w^as 
 totally unfit to take upon herself the pharge of 
 watching over her child, and Mademoiselle Ju- 
 liani, had she been less incapable, was required 
 to be in constant attendance upon her ladyship, 
 so that Ellen would have been left wholly to the 
 care of servants, but for Louisa's unwearying af- 
 fection and solicitude. 
 
 The news of Ellen's illness accelerated Lady 
 Frances's departure from Oaklands. In spite of 
 herself, she stood in a certain awe of her grave 
 brother-in-law, and she had no wish to be left to 
 his society, and that of the often gloomy and 
 abstracted Reginald. Her daughters, for diffe- 
 rent reasons, were equally eager to go. Minna 
 felt the loss of Mr. Hope, and there was no 
 chance of replacing him at Oaklands ; Brighton, 
 which was now beginning to fill, offered a much
 
 276 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 more favourable prospect, and Fanny, who had 
 recovered her voice, was anxious to exhibit its 
 powers where she should be quite safe from 
 Ellen's dangerous rivalry. Lady Frances and 
 her daughters being thus happily unanimous, her 
 ladyship took the first opportunity of announcing 
 her intention to Sir Charles, and then went to 
 pay a farewell visit of inquiry at the castle, and 
 at the same time to take leave of Louisa. 
 
 " I know, my dearest child," she said to the 
 latter, as she came out of Ellen's room for a few 
 minutes, to obey her aunt's summons, " I know 
 that your dear father and yourself wish that I 
 should stay a little longer, and we should all be 
 delighted to do so ; indeed, to go away at this 
 distressing moment, is peculiarly trying to me, 
 and the poor girls are quite in despair at the 
 thoughts of leaving you ; still, I have been so 
 long away from home, that I think it is my duty 
 to go ; and dear Montague is getting quite im- 
 patient to have us with him once more : he is so 
 lonely without us. So, I hope, my dear Louisa, 
 that you will feel with me, that, however painful 
 to all parties, I am right in complying with his 
 wishes ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly," replied Louisa, with a 
 scarcely repressed smile ; " indeed, I think my 
 uncle has been very good-natured in allowing 
 you to remain so long, and veri/ considerate in
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 277 
 
 only requiring your return, when there was no 
 prospect of further amusement in the country." 
 
 Lady Frances felt, as usual, abashed before 
 her niece's straightforward looks and words, and, 
 when she took leave of Sir Charles, she took care 
 to say nothing more about " dear Montague," 
 but to reserve her^ eloquence, to express her 
 sorrow, at beinof forced to leave him at a mo- 
 ment when she must be so much wanted to re- 
 place Louisa.
 
 278 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "She woke at length — but not as sleepers wake — 
 
 Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new ; 
 A strange sensation, which she must partake 
 
 Perforce, since whatsoever met her view 
 Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache 
 
 Lay at her heart, whose earhest beat, still true. 
 
 Brought back the sense of pain." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 For many days Ellen lay hovering between 
 life and death. To Annesley those days seemed 
 long, weary years of misery. It was in vain that 
 he toiled with double energy in his professional 
 avocations, or strove to bury thought in the pur- 
 suit of abstruse science — the idea of Ellen, on 
 the bed of death, haunted him in every place. 
 Her image, pale and lifeless, such as he had seen 
 her in that last awful moment, which had re- 
 vealed to him the truth, was ever before his eyes, 
 and seemed to reproach him for the thoughtless 
 imprudence, through which he had destroyed her 
 happiness, perhaps, and his heart stood still at 
 the thought — her life. 
 
 He could no longer delude himself with the
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 279 
 
 belief that he alone would suffer from the proud 
 self-confidence, which had made him carry on 
 without fear such constant and familiar inter- 
 course with a being like Ellen, nor hope "that if 
 he had thereby irretrievably wrecked his own 
 happiness, to her, at least, it had been produc- 
 tive only of good. Fool that he had been ! 
 Might he not have known how vain was the 
 dream of mere friendship between himself and a 
 young girl like Ellen — so lovely, so richly gifted 
 with the capacity of loving, and with so few to 
 love — so child-like in her clinging trust, where 
 she found something to trust to ! Might he 
 not, if he had not been utterly blinded by his 
 self-deception, have seen how such a dream as 
 this must end ! 
 
 No thrill of triumph came now with the con- 
 viction of Ellen's love. Was it not that love 
 which now laid her low on the bed of sickness, 
 perhaps of death ? Had it not darkened her 
 young life with the first blight of sorrow ? And 
 he was the cause of all. He had stolen from 
 that young and unsuspecting heart its rich trea- 
 sure of affections, he had taught it to lean upon 
 him with full undoubting trust, and then he had 
 rudely withdrawn the support, and the flower 
 had fallen to the ground ! 
 
 It was in the solitude and stillness of night, 
 when the stir and business of the day were over,
 
 280 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 and he was left to commune with himself in the 
 solitude of his own room, that these thoughts 
 came upon him with almost maddening force. 
 Often, when they became too oppressive, he 
 would rush frorn the house, and pace up and 
 down the sea-shore, till the grey dawn gleamed 
 upon the waters. At other times, he would 
 take up his long, weary watch beneath Ellen's 
 window. Her room was on the ground floor, 
 and through the stillness he could sometimes 
 hear her voice in the wild fever of delirium, call- 
 ing upon his name, entreating him not to leave 
 her, and then bewailing his absence, his indif- 
 ference, in tones that wrung his very soul. Oh ! 
 during those long hours, with what agonized 
 earnestness did he pray that that young life 
 might be spared, that he might be allowed by 
 the devotion of his whole existence to repay the 
 sufferings he had brought upon her ! How did 
 he long to make his way into that chamber, to 
 take up his station by her sick bed, to watch 
 over and cherish that precious being, to lay 
 himself, his existence at her feet ! Hour after 
 hour did he spend beneath that window, listen- 
 ing for every sound, watching every shadow that 
 passed before the dim light ; and it was not till 
 daybreak brought with it the fear of discovery, 
 that he reluctantly quitted his station, and re- 
 turned home to prepare himself to go through
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 281 
 
 the duties of the day with outward self-posses- 
 sion and composure. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Allen had been themselves too 
 anxious and too much interested in the fate of 
 their favourite Ellen, to wonder that Edward 
 should have at once given up his journey on 
 hearing the dangerous nature of her illness. 
 The real causes of that journey they were still 
 ignorant of. Edward was usually so open, so 
 sincere, that they were unused to seek any mo- 
 tive for his actions, beyond that which he him- 
 self assigned to them. But Mrs. Allen's mater- 
 nal eyes soon perceived the alteration in his 
 looks, the appearance of effort which accom- 
 panied his usual easy cheerfulness, his increased 
 love of solitude, and the restless exertion by 
 which he seemed striving to drive away painful 
 thoughts. All this was noted by the affectionate 
 old lady; but she refrained from questioning 
 him; she thought that it was better to leave 
 him to take his own time to speak, and she only 
 showed her solicitude by an increased tenderness 
 of manner, and a still more anxious attention to 
 his comfort. 
 
 There were others more clear-sighted in the 
 village. Many an old parishioner remarked that 
 Mr. Annesley had never been the same since the 
 day Miss Percival fell sick. He had several 
 times been seen pacing, at daybreak, on the
 
 282 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 sea-shore, and once he had been perceived 
 watching beneath Ellen's window. This was 
 more than enough to authorize the Tillage 
 gossips to conclude that their young curate was 
 in love, and one and all wished that his love 
 might prosper. Reginald, too, had long read 
 the heart of his friend, but even to him Edward 
 was silent. He could not speak of Ellen when 
 her very life hung on a thread ; he could not 
 utter his passionate love, nor, had he done so, 
 could he have justified his yielding to it without 
 betraying Ellen's secret. It was better to be 
 silent; and Reginald, having discovered his 
 anxiety to avoid the subject, respected his feel- 
 ings too much to approach it. Egbert was the 
 only person to whom Edward could speak of 
 Ellen: the boy's devoted attachment to his 
 sister made him think it but natural that every 
 one who had known her, and Edward especially, 
 must love her equally. 
 
 It was a bitter grief to him that he was not 
 allowed to enter her room, or take his place 
 amongst her attendants. He would sit for hours 
 outside her door, quiet and motionless, and was 
 only happy when Louisa opened it to give him 
 news of her patient, or to send him on some 
 errand for her. When his father, anxious for 
 his health, drove him away from his station, he 
 would go down to the parsonage, to seek conso-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 283 
 
 lation in telling all his sorrows to Edward. 
 Mutual affection for Ellen was a strong tie be- 
 tween them, and Edward often cheered the boy 
 when his own heart was almost hopeless. He 
 made him read with him — walk with him — he 
 strove to interest him in books and study, and, 
 in fact, virtually assumed the functions of tutor, 
 which he had again refused to take up formally 
 at the castle. He felt as if, in being useful to 
 Ellen's brother, he was repairing in some measure 
 the evil he had done to her. The boy, who 
 already loved him, as all did love Edward, who 
 came within the influence of his winning man- 
 ners, his refined and lofty mind, and the kindli- 
 ness of a heart full of the best charities of our 
 nature, soon learnt to look up to him with an 
 affection and reverence resembling Ellen's in 
 their depth and entireness. 
 
 Lord Ethelwode, despite his mortification at 
 Edward's repeated refusal of his condescending 
 offers, could not but confess that he had worked 
 a most beneficial change in the habits and man- 
 ners of his son, and he began to think that it 
 would be incumbent on him to provide for Ed- 
 ward's future promotion, whether he chose to 
 arrive at it by the path his lordship had wished 
 to open to him, or not. 
 
 At length Ellen's youth and good constitution 
 prevailed against the virulence of the disease.
 
 284 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Dr. Curewell pronounced her out of danger, and 
 Egbert was raised to the summit of happiness by- 
 being commissioned to carry the joyful news to 
 Oaklands and to the village. Edward's thanks- 
 givings were too deep and heartfelt to be loud, 
 and Egbert was almost disappointed at the quiet 
 manner in which his friend received the intelli- 
 gence which made him shout and jump for joy. 
 
 He had hoped to find in Edward an abettor 
 to a plan he had formed, as he ran down the hill, 
 of having the bells rung for Ellen's recovery; 
 but there was somethinor in Edward's manner so 
 opposed to all noisy demonstrations of gladness, 
 that he thought it better not to mention it. He 
 hinted at it to Mrs. Allen, who was the confidante 
 of many of his schemes, but she instantly forbade 
 the very thought of it. Such a thing as a merry 
 peal was not to be thought of till Ellen's head 
 was much stronger than it could possibly be now. 
 Egbert was obliged, therefore, to content himself 
 with venting his glee by scrambling over the 
 wildest part of the park, singing and hallooing 
 at the top of his voice all the while, and em- 
 ploying his superabundant animal spirits in over- 
 coming every obstacle that was in his way or out 
 of it. 
 
 *' In a few days," thought he, '^ Ellen will be 
 here too, and scrambling with me again, as she
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 285 
 
 used to do — darling Ellen!" And he gave a 
 higher leap at the thought. 
 
 But Ellen's progress was by no means so rapid 
 as Egbert anticipated. She had been weakened 
 to a fearful degree by her illness, and her mind 
 seemed to have suffered even more than her body. 
 Whilst she recovered her strength by very slow 
 degrees, a deep depression seemed to have settled 
 upon her spirits. In vain did Louisa try to rouse 
 her to something of her former animation — she 
 was listless and indiiferent to every thing. Day 
 after day Egbert came to her room, hoping to 
 find her stronger and more cheerful, and he be- 
 came almost impatient, when, at the end of a 
 fortnight, he saw her as weak and unfit for ex- 
 ertion as the first day she left her bed. 
 
 " When will you be able to come and walk 
 again with me and Mr. Annesley?" exclaimed 
 he, one day, as he entered her darkened room, 
 and found her reclining, pale and sad, as usual, 
 on her sofa, whilst Louisa read to her. 
 
 " Mr. Annesley ! " exclaimed Ellen, with a 
 start and a deep blush, " when did he come 
 back again?" 
 
 " Come back ! — why he has never been away. 
 What could have put that into your head, Ellen?" 
 
 " I do not know," replied Ellen, looking be- 
 wildered. '' I thought — I am sure he told me 
 he was going away, the day I fell ill."
 
 286 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " You must have dreamt it whilst you had the 
 fever — he has never moved from here ; and, if he 
 thought of it before, he was too anxious about 
 you, I am sure, to think of going away whilst 
 you were so ill. You cannot imagine, Ellen, 
 how anxious he has been — as anxious even as I 
 was — and he was so kind to me when I was 
 miserable about you !" 
 
 " My dear Egbert, you must not talk so much 
 to Ellen at one time," said Louisa, who had ob- 
 served that Ellen's colour had been changing 
 every minute whilst he was speaking. " She is 
 not strong enough to bear much talking yet." 
 
 " But when will she be strong enough ?" ex- 
 claimed the boy, almost petulantly. " I have 
 so much to tell her — and I want to show her the 
 books, Mr. Annesley " 
 
 *' Egbert, pray go now — look how deadly pale 
 she is — she is quite exhausted." 
 
 Egbert reluctantly departed, and Louisa ran 
 to Ellen, who had sank back on the sofa, and hid 
 her face in the pillows. Louisa leant over her 
 and silently kissed her, and then began rubbing 
 her temples with eau-de-cologne, Ellen lifted up 
 her head, and, taking Louisa's hand, she warmly 
 pressed it. 
 
 *^ Dear Louisa, what a kind, unwearied friend 
 you have been to me all this time that I have been
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 287 
 
 SO troublesome, so fretful ! What can I ever do 
 for you in return ?" 
 
 '' If you want to do any thing for me," said 
 Louisa, smiling, "just try and walk into the next 
 room. You can lean upon me as heavily as you 
 please — it is only a few steps, and it would do 
 you so much good." 
 
 Ellen shook her head and turned away. 
 
 *' Now do not refuse to do the only thing I ask. 
 Dear Ellen, you will never get strong whilst you 
 persist in remaining in this close, dark room, 
 and will not try to exert yourself. Look !" — 
 and she threw open the door — ''how bright and 
 warm the sun is shining in. You who were such 
 a sun-worshipper, how can you prefer this dull 
 coal fire to the brilliant sunshine ?" 
 
 '* There is no sunshine for me any where 
 now," murmured Ellen, as she covered her eyes 
 to shut out the dazzlino^ liofht. 
 
 Louisa closed the door and came back to the 
 sofa. 
 
 " Ellen, is it not ungrateful to speak so? — 
 you, surrounded with so many blessings — you, 
 so richly gifted — you, who have only so lately 
 been twice mercifully snatched from the very 
 jaws of death?" 
 
 " Why should I be thankful for a mercy I did 
 not wish for?" said Ellen, petulantly. *' I had
 
 288 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 rather have died — I wished to die. What is life 
 to me, that I should be thankful for it ?" 
 
 " Have you read the future, Ellen, that you 
 are so sure that life has no blessings in store for 
 you ? Have you so little faith in Him, without 
 whose knowledge not even a sparrow falleth to 
 the ground, as to think that He has preserved 
 your life for no purpose ?" 
 
 Ellen burst into tears. 
 
 " Louisa, I know that I am faithless — that I 
 am ungrateful. I have struggled, indeed I have, 
 against it ; but I cannot overcome this feeling. 
 You would pity me if you knew how miserable, 
 how humbled, how hopeless I am — if you knew 
 what I have suffered." She burst into a lit of 
 hysterical sobbing, which fearfully shook her at- 
 tenuated frame. 
 
 " I do know, dearest," said Louisa, gently — 
 *' I have long known all — when you were deli- 
 rious you often spoke aloud, and I learnt every 
 thing in that way." 
 
 " Then others know it, too ?" murmured Ellen, 
 blushing crimson as she spoke. 
 
 " No — I took care that at those times no one 
 should be with you but myself, or the nurse, who 
 is a stranger, and could not understand what you 
 were talking of. Your secret is quite safe, so do 
 not vex yourself, dearest,"
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 289 
 
 Ellen laid her head on Louisa's arm, and sob- 
 bed long and bitterly ; at length she said — 
 
 " I never could have told you — but it is a 
 comfort to feel there is some one whom I can 
 speak to, who knows what I suffer. But not 
 even you can know what I go through — the 
 misery, the humiliation. And I make you mise- 
 rable, too !" added she, as she felt Louisa's tears 
 falling on her forehead. ** Oh, would that I had 
 died ! — died that day before he reached me — I 
 should have died happy then !" 
 
 " Ellen, Ellen, do not give way to this wild 
 despair. Do you think I should have been less 
 miserable than now, if I had lost you for ever ? 
 And your mother, and poor Egbert, who almost 
 worships you ? and he — he who risked his own 
 life to save your's? Would you rashly throw 
 from you a life so dearly bought ?" 
 
 Ellen seemed struck by those last words. She 
 did not answer, yet she struggled to overcome 
 her emotion. It was a hard struggle — but, in a 
 few moments, her breath came more easily — the 
 convulsive sobbing ceased — and she became once 
 more calm. Louisa saw that her words had had 
 the effect she intended, and she did not urge 
 them farther. The more Ellen dwelt on those 
 words, the more she felt soothed. In the bitter- 
 ness of her humiliation, when she first awoke to 
 the consciousness of her love for one who had 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 never striven to win it, she had not considered, 
 except as an act of humanity, the unhesitating 
 devotion with which he had risked his life to 
 save her's. Life became more valuable in her 
 eyes, when she remembered that she owed it to 
 him. It was almost a gift from his hands. 
 
 Hope, too ! that blessed prophet, whose voice 
 is never silenced in youth till the heart itself has 
 died under its misery, came to her aid. She 
 could not be wholly indifferent to one whom 
 she remembered from childhood as the kindest, 
 gentlest, truest of friends — proof after proof of 
 his interest in her, his anxious desire for her wel- 
 fare, her improvement, came back to her memory. 
 She called up every word, every look, every tone 
 of that last day they had spent together — that 
 half -happy, half-awful day — and something like 
 joy once more awoke in her heart. Louisa had 
 the satisfaction to see her lie down to rest that 
 night in child-like peace, and her own smile, only 
 sadder than it used to be, break over her pale 
 countenance, as she returned her friend's affec- 
 tionate " good night." 
 
 From that day Ellen began to improve rapidly. 
 The life that Edward had saved, at the risk of his 
 own, was worth an effort ; and she exerted her- 
 self to conquer the morbid despondency which 
 had hitherto weighed her down. The wish, too, 
 to see him once more, to be assured of her fate.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 291 
 
 had a powerful influence over her, and she became 
 almost as eager to escape from her present seclu- 
 sion as she had been averse to leave it a few days 
 before. There were still, indeed, times when her 
 heart sank within her, and she felt her burden 
 too heavy to be borne. But Louisa, w^hose watch- 
 ful eye marked every change in her countenance, 
 was always ready to cheer and to comfort her ; 
 and she learned at last to feel, that even were 
 her worst fears true, so long as Louisa and Eg- 
 bert were left to her, there was still something 
 in the world worth living for. At the end of 
 another fortnight, to Egbert's inexpressible joy, 
 Ellen once more made her appearance in the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 According to his usual custom, whether in joy 
 or in sorrow, Egbert flew down to the parsonage 
 in search of Edward Annesley. 
 
 " Ellen is up ! — Ellen is in the drawing-room ! 
 She has been out on the terrace !" exclaimed he, 
 as he burst into Mrs. Allen's quiet parlour, where 
 she was arranging a basket of baby-linen for a 
 poor woman in the village, whilst Edward sat by 
 the window with a book in his hand, and his eyes 
 fixed on the castle, which he could see through 
 the trees, thinking of Ellen. He started, and let 
 fall the book at Egbert's announcement. 
 
 " How very glad I am to hear it !" said Mrs. 
 
 o 2
 
 292 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Allen, warmly ; " how I hope she will really get 
 quite strong and well !" 
 
 " Oh ! she is quite well now," said Egbert. 
 " She walked across the drawing-room without 
 help almost, only leaning a little on my shoulder. 
 She will very soon be able to ride and walk with 
 you and me, Mr. Annesley." 
 
 " I hope she will not be so imprudent as to 
 think of riding or walking for some time to 
 come," said Mrs. Allen, more warmly than was 
 her wont ; for she had of late had some misgiv- 
 ings as to the effect of the said rides and walks 
 on Edward's feelings. " I think she over-exerted 
 herself in that way this summer, and that may 
 have contributed to make her ill." 
 
 Egbert thought that no degree of riding or 
 walking could possibly hurt any body, much less 
 Ellen. He set this down, therefore, in his own 
 mind as an old woman's notion. 
 
 " But when are you coming to see her ?" he 
 continued, changing the subject, as he and Mrs. 
 Allen could not agree upon it. " Won't you 
 come to-day ?" 
 
 "Not to-day," said Mrs. Allen. "She has 
 already exerted herself a great deal, by your 
 account, and the fatigue of seeing visitors might 
 be too much for her." 
 
 " And won't j/oe^ come either?" asked Egbert, 
 turning to Annesley. " Do you know that Ellen
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 293 
 
 thought, till the other day, that you were gone 
 away. She dreamt it, I believe, in the fever ; and 
 she would scarcely believe me, when I told her 
 you were here, and had never talked of going. 
 She was so surprised, that she nearly fainted 
 away ; so you ought to come, to convince her 
 that it was a dream." 
 
 " I shall go directly," said Edward ; "I shall 
 not stay long," added he, answering his grand- 
 mother's deprecating look. " I shall be back to 
 walk with you in half an hour." 
 
 He took his hat and walked away with Eg- 
 bert, who was triumphing in his success, with an 
 elasticity of step very unlike his late demeanour. 
 Mrs. Allen looked after them for a minute or two, 
 and then sat down again to her work. 
 
 " I am afraid I have guessed right," thought 
 she ; " and, if it is so, what can be the end of it ? 
 However, Edward is sure to act honourably and 
 conscientiously — and the rest is in the hands of 
 Providence." 
 
 There were several people in the drawing-room 
 when Annesley entered it with Egbert — Lady 
 Ethelwode, Mademoiselle Juliani, and Mrs. Fan- 
 shaw, who had come to inquire after Miss Perci- 
 val, and had been admitted contrary to her ex- 
 pectations ; as Lady Ethelwode was tired of the 
 dearth of news and gossip, which she had been 
 obliged to suffer, whilst Ellen's danger made it
 
 294 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 impossible to receive visitors. She was now, 
 therefore, making up for it by talking and listen- 
 ing with as much animation as it was in her na- 
 ture to feel, and astonishing Mrs. Fanshaw by her 
 unusual graciousness. 
 
 Ellen sat apart from the group of talkers, in a 
 large arm-chair by the fireside. She had fortu- 
 nately been apprized by Egbert of his intention 
 of bringing Edward to see her that morning ; and, 
 for the last hour, she had been listening for every 
 footstep, and trying to master the emotion which 
 made her tremble in every limb. Mrs. Fanshaw 
 had just come towards her to take her leave as 
 Edward entered, and Ellen was glad that her cha- 
 racter of invalid dispensed her from rising, for 
 she felt that it would have been impossible for her 
 to stand. 
 
 " Really you do not look at all the worse for 
 your illness," said Mrs. Fanshaw, looking at Ellen, 
 whose cheeks were at that moment of the deepest 
 crimson. " I shall not despair, after all, of see- 
 ing you at my little hop at Fanshaw Hall next 
 Thursday." 
 
 Mrs. Fanshaw bustled away. Had she staid 
 a moment longer, she would have retracted her 
 opinion as to Ellen's looks, for the latter had sunk 
 back in her chair, and her brilliant colour had 
 given way to the paleness of death. 
 
 By the time, however, that Edward had saluted
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 295 
 
 Lady Ethelwode, and uttered the few sentences 
 d'usage, Ellen had recovered some degree of 
 calmness, and was able to receive, without any- 
 outward demonstrations of emotion beyond her 
 slightly agitated manner, his heartfelt congratu- 
 lations on her recovery. His look, his tone made 
 her heart thrill — they certainly spoke of any thing 
 but indifference. He took his seat by her side, 
 and, after the first few minutes, her agitation and 
 embarrassment gave way beneath the influence 
 of his manner and conversation. 
 
 There was one question Ellen longed to ask. 
 At length, after much hesitation, she said, in a 
 low voice, and looking down, " I thought you 
 told me, the day I saw you last, the day I was 
 taken ill, that you were going away?" 
 
 " I did intend doing so then, but I could not 
 leave Ethelwode whilst your life was in danger." 
 
 " And now, do you still intend going V 
 
 " No ; I have given up all thoughts of it for 
 the present, at least, unless," added he, looking 
 at her, '' you yourself send me away." 
 
 Ellen raised her eyes to his for an instant, and 
 then turned away with a deep blush. The fear 
 which had bowed her down almost to the grave 
 was suddenly lifted from her heart, and she felt 
 that life might yet be a blessing. The half hour, 
 at the end of which Edward had promised to 
 come home to walk with Mrs. Allen, was long
 
 296 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 past before he thought of moving. Ellen looked 
 so beautiful, especially when a look of his called 
 the colour to her transparent cheek, her manner 
 was so fascinating in its languid gentleness, her 
 low, faltering accents so full of music, that it is 
 very doubtful to what indefinite period Edward 
 would have extended the said half hour, if 
 Louisa's arrival had not interrupted their con- 
 versation. 
 
 " I am just come from the parsonage," said 
 she, as she shook, hands with him, " and there I 
 left poor Mrs. Allen cloaked and bonneted, and 
 waiting for you to walk with her. She told me 
 that you promised to be back an hour and a 
 half ago, and, as she never knew you to forget 
 a promise before, she was quite uneasy, and be- 
 ginning to fancy some terrible disaster must have 
 befallen you. I told her that I was coming 
 here, and would accuse you in her name of being 
 a false knight, and send you back to her forth- 
 with." 
 
 " I am afraid I have prolonged my visit an 
 unconscionable time," said Edward, looking as 
 if he wished no one had reminded him of it, 
 " and I must plead guilty of having wholly for- 
 gotten my engagement to walk with my mother. 
 However, if I have not tired you, Miss Percival, 
 I have no doubt I shall easily obtain her forgive- 
 ness."
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 297 
 
 " Oh ! I am not the least tired," said Ellen ; 
 *' I feel quite well to-day." 
 
 " Very likely, my dear Ellen," said Louisa. 
 " Nevertheless, as you are not yet off Dr. Cure- 
 well's list, and I, as your nurse, am responsible 
 to him for your proceedings, I put my veto 
 against your exerting yourself any more to-day ; 
 so I shall send off Mr. Annesley to keep his en- 
 gagement with Mrs. Allen, and insist on your 
 going to lie down. And here is Dr. Curewell 
 himself to enforce my injunctions." 
 
 Expostulation was now useless, and Edward 
 made his escape before the doctor had got half 
 way across the room. The doctor shook his 
 head over Ellen's pulse, and looked with distrust 
 on her brilliant colour and sparkling eyes, and 
 recommended that his patient should be kept 
 quite quiet, as she was still a little feverish. 
 
 *' You see I was quite right to send him 
 away," said Louisa, as she led Ellen to her 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, Louisa, I was so happy !" 
 
 " Joy is sometimes as dangerous as grief," 
 answered her friend ; " and, as you do not seem 
 to wish to die now, you had better be prudent 
 for a little while to come. So now lie down, 
 dearest, and I will read you to sleep if you 
 like." 
 
 But Ellen wanted no book that day to lull her 
 
 o 5
 
 298 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 into forgetfulness. Her own thoughts were 
 bright companions, and Louisa, having ascer- 
 tained this fact, left her to enjoy them in soli- 
 tude. 
 
 Happiness did not prove hurtful in Ellen's 
 case. Dr. Curewell was secretly amazed at the 
 rapidity with which his patient improved in 
 strength and looks. The golden perspective 
 which the long convalescence he had anticipated 
 had opened to him, became daily more faint; 
 and, at the end of an incredibly short period, he 
 was obliged to declare to Lady Ethelwode that 
 his visits were become useless, and that Miss Per- 
 cival's health was perfectly re-established. Per- 
 haps he would not have wondered so much at the 
 efficacy of his own remedies if he had known what 
 a powerful ally his art had obtained in Mr. An- 
 nesley, who was again become a constant visitor 
 at the castle. 
 
 Edward's days were now divided between the 
 duties of his profession and those of Egbert's 
 education, in which he had become t09^ much in- 
 terested to give it up to the care of another. But 
 his evenings were almost always spent at the 
 castle, and, each night when he left her, Ellen 
 seemed to have recovered something of her for- 
 mer health, and gladness, and brilliancy. 
 
 There were some around her who had not the 
 same motives for blindness as Dr. Curewell, who
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 299 
 
 were at no loss to assign the wonderful rapidity 
 of her recovery to its true cause. The butler 
 and housekeeper smiled and winked mysteriously 
 when Miss Percival and ]Mr. Annesley were men- 
 tioned. The lady's-maid looked very wise on the 
 subject, and even went so far as to hint that she 
 thought her young lady might have done better. 
 The village gossips rejoiced in their perspicacity 
 in having guessed so rightly the cause of the 
 young clergyman's depression of spirits during 
 Ellen's illness. Every body, both at the castle 
 and in the village, were convinced of their en- 
 gagement, and discussing the when and where of 
 the wedding before a word of love had been 
 breathed between the parties concerned. 
 
 Two people, however, remained apparently to- 
 tally ignorant and unconcerned about the affair 
 which occupied all the other heads and tongues 
 in the neighbourhood. These two people were 
 Lord and Lady Ethelwode. Both liked Edward's 
 society from different motives, and both equally 
 encouraged his intimacy in their family — the 
 gentleman because of the advantages Edward's 
 companionship offered to his son — the lady be- 
 cause she was accustomed to him, and that his 
 presence broke the ennui of a family party with- 
 out putting her out of her way. Neither of them 
 thought of Ellen — of the consequences to her of 
 such an intimate intercourse with a man like 
 Edward.
 
 300 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 Lord Ethelwode never did think of his step- 
 daughter. She had neither part nor lot in the 
 glories of the ancient house of Ethelwode. She 
 was an alien from his family, and was therefore 
 nothing in his eyes hut what she had heen from 
 the first hour of his marriage, a necessary appen- 
 dage of his wife. The latter seldom thought of 
 any thing at all. She was satisfied that Ellen 
 was w^ondrously beautiful, because every body 
 told her so, and she liked to look upon that 
 beauty when she had nothing else to do. At 
 times, some vague notions of Ellen's future suc- 
 cess in London, of a brilliant establishment for 
 her, floated across her brain ; but she was in no 
 hurry to realize them. Meanwhile, Ellen might 
 act, think, feel, as she liked ; her mother never 
 saw any thing but what was pointed out to her, 
 never heard any thing that was not addressed to 
 her, never troubled herself about any thing that 
 did not immediately concern her present ease 
 and comfort. 
 
 She had been anxious about Ellen whilst she 
 w^as ill, without inquiring into the cause of her 
 illness ; she was satisfied now to see her recover- 
 ing her health and beauty, without troubling her- 
 self to consider whether Dr. Curewell or Edward 
 Annesley had most share in bringing the vivid 
 colour back to her cheek, the light of gladness 
 to her eye. She dozed away her existence as
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 301 
 
 usual ; whilst Ellen, un watched by a mother's 
 love, unguided by a mother's experience, was 
 yielding her heart, and mind, and soul, to the 
 passion which was to make or mar the happiness 
 of her whole existence.
 
 302 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " By heaven ! raethinks it were an easy leap. 
 To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon ; 
 Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
 Where fathom-line could never touch the ground. 
 And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; 
 So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear. 
 Without co-rival, all her dignities." 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 When Louisa returned home, she found a great 
 improvement in Reginald's demeanour. The de- 
 parture of St. John had first had a brightening 
 effect upon him, and, strange as it may seem, 
 the absence of Louisa herself had not been with- 
 out a beneficial influence. He had been left to 
 recover his sober senses free from all outward 
 excitement, and gradually the fever of his mind 
 subsided, and he became once more like his for- 
 mer self. Left tete-a-tete with Sir Charles Con- 
 way, there had also been more time for confi- 
 dential conversation, than when the house had 
 been full of guests, and he had gladly returned 
 to all his old intimate intercourse with the man 
 he revered as a father, and who had, indeed, been 
 one to him, from his childhood upwards.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 303 
 
 One day that they had been talking over his 
 affairs, and the prospects he had of advancement 
 in his profession, Sir Charles told him, that he 
 had several times thought of a new plan for him, 
 but that he had hesitated to propose it, as it 
 involved some delay, which he did not know if 
 his ward's impatience could brook. Reginald 
 professed himself anxious to hear the propo- 
 sition. 
 
 " I thought," said Sir Charles, " of proposing 
 to you to give up, for the present, your views as 
 a diplomate, and to turn your thoughts to home 
 politics instead." 
 
 " But to what purpose ?" 
 
 " In May, you know, there must be a dissolu- 
 tion of parliament, and if you choose to stand 
 
 for H , I have little doubt you would come 
 
 in." 
 
 " But is not Lord Ethelwode's interest too 
 strong for us ?" 
 
 "No, I think not. When Mr. Davis was 
 elected two years ago, it was a very near thing ; 
 and since then. Lord Caldwell has increased his 
 property in the county, and I have also bought 
 land from Mr. Fanshaw, which would certainly 
 make us the strongest ; and Lord Caldwell would 
 be as glad as myself to see so warm an adherent 
 as you are to the good cause represent us in par- 
 liament."
 
 304 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Why do you not stand yourself ? You, 
 surely, would meet with hardly any opposition." 
 
 *' Perhaps not ; but that does not suit me. I 
 could, I know, have been re-elected for the county 
 two years ago; but I gave it up, because my 
 health was not strong enough to do the business 
 in a conscientious manner; and, when I found 
 Lord Hope's eldest son was anxious to come in, 
 and that our party would not lose a vote, I was 
 glad to retire, and to have the opportunity of 
 going abroad with Louisa. But now to the point ; 
 as far as you are concerned, what do you say to 
 my plan ?" 
 
 " It has always been the height of my ambi- 
 tion to get into parliament ; but there are many 
 months to wait, and my poverty stands, as much 
 as my restless spirit, in the way of an idle life." 
 
 " But why should it be an idle life ? A man 
 who goes into parliament, with a view to distinc- 
 tion, needs as much study, to fit himself for the 
 office, as one who enters into any other profes- 
 sion ; and as to your poverty, if you think your 
 income incompetent to live in England, and to 
 accept an unsalaried appointment, you forget 
 that this house is your home; and though I 
 honour a spirit of independence, the most fasti- 
 dious could see nothing to cavil at, in your re- 
 maining under the roof which has been your 
 home from childhood."
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 305 
 
 "But, my dear sir, it is that very fact, of 
 having lived so long under the shelter of your 
 hospitable roof, which makes me feel it the more 
 incumbent upon me to be a burden no longer." 
 
 " Unless your society be called a burden, either 
 to Louisa or myself, I do not know what else you 
 can mean. It is little my custom to make pro- 
 fessions ; therefore, when I tell you, my dear boy, 
 that I should be sincerely distressed if ever my 
 house ceased to be your home, until you had 
 found a better one of your own, you will believe 
 that I am perfectly sincere." 
 
 Reginald warmly grasped the hand which was 
 held out to him. 
 
 " Your father was my oldest friend," resumed 
 Sir Charles, " and, except my own darling child, 
 I have no dearer tie on earth than that which he 
 bequeathed to me, when he left you to my care ; 
 as long, therefore, as you are satisfied with a 
 son's place, you will always find one both in my 
 heart and in my house." 
 
 Reginald turned away deeply moved. Such 
 words from Louisa's father had additional power 
 to touch him. A son's place under that roof 
 should be his. Oh, could he realize those words 
 in the sense which his impassioned heart longed 
 to give them ! For a few minutes he yielded to 
 the intoxicating influence of such a prospect; 
 but even when that passed away, and he re-
 
 306 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 turned to the sober reality, life seemed to have as- 
 sumed a brighter aspect ; and when, after a long 
 conversation with Sir Charles, it was decided 
 that he should for the present abandon his pro- 
 fession, and wait in England till the elections, 
 hope unconsciously stole into his heart. 
 
 He saw before him long months to be spent 
 in Louisa's society, with every opportunity of 
 making the progress he so much desired in her 
 affections. St. John was gone, and absence 
 would allow her more calmly to appreciate his 
 character. He might yet hope to win the prize 
 from his rival, though he still saw before him a 
 long, long period, during which honour would 
 enjoin a more strict silence than ever as to his 
 real feelings. In her presence he should labour 
 to fit himself for his new undertaking — in her 
 presence he should wear the laurels which, in 
 his strong hope, he doubted not to win — under 
 the influence of her smiles and sympathy, he 
 should climb the rugged ascent to fame; and 
 then — then — and his heart nearly burst with the 
 ecstasy of that thought — all his labour, all his 
 struggles would be rewarded, when he brought 
 the hard-earned wreath and laid it at her feet — 
 when, with a rich harvest of honour, with a name 
 blazoned by a nation's praises, he could ask 
 from her lips the one word which would crown 
 and sanctify all ambition's proudest triumphs.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 307 
 
 Some may smile at Reginald's confidence, and 
 deny their sympathy to one who trusted so 
 proudly in his own strength. But such con- 
 fidence is the earnest of success. Where is the 
 eminent man who in his youth indulged not in 
 proud dreams, which the dull plodders around 
 him laughed to scorn ? And it is only in this 
 strong assurance of success, that the ambitious 
 man can find energy to overcome the numberless 
 obstacles in his path. It is a mysterious reve- 
 lation of the yet untried soul, and it seems as 
 though Heaven vouchsafed it to those who are 
 destined to become the luminaries of their age, 
 that, when the world frowns upon them, they 
 may have some more unerring guide than the 
 common experience or foresight of men, to give 
 them the assurance that they shall reach the 
 goal at last. 
 
 Reginald Talbot was not only endued with a 
 bold and aspiring spirit, which would no doubt 
 have ensured success in any path he might have 
 chosen, but he was peculiarly fitted for the career 
 which Sir Charles's offer had now opened to him. 
 His strong, keen intellect was well adapted to 
 search out Truth from amidst the labyrinth which 
 party spirit and selfish contentions weave around 
 us in political matters ; and, having once dis- 
 covered her, to follow boldly wherever she led, 
 undeterred by mean fears, or unworthy consider-
 
 308 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 ations of expediency. The gift of eloquence — 
 that noble gift of Heaven — with which he was 
 freely endowed, gave him the power to plead her 
 cause ^vorthily in the senate of a great people. 
 It was, therefore, with unfeigned pleasure on both 
 sides that Sir Charles's plan was agreed to — and 
 it was whilst under the first bright influence of 
 this change in his prospects that Reginald met 
 Louisa on her return from Ethelwode, and de- 
 lighted her with the change in his demeanour. 
 
 He was more than the Reginald of former days; 
 for never yet was man under the influence of a 
 lofty hope, without that influence stealing into 
 every part of his being — even as the warm life- 
 blood spreads from the heart to the remotest 
 vein, shewing its beneficial effects in the whole 
 bearing of the outward man. Louisa also re- 
 turned with pleasure to the quiet of her usual life 
 at Oaklands, to her favourite pursuits with her 
 father, in which Reginald now frequently shared 
 as formerly ; and if in her inmost heart there 
 sometimes arose a wish that one other were added 
 to their happy circle, the wish was silent, and 
 had no outward influence on her. Her manner 
 was as calm as ever, her mind as keen in the pur- 
 suit of knowledge, perhaps more alive than ever 
 to the love of the beautiful ; and in this, more 
 than in any thing else, might a searching eye
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 309 
 
 have seen a revelation of her unexpressed, unac- 
 knowledged feelings. 
 
 Reginald watched her narrowly, and with all 
 the jealousy of passion ; but even he could not 
 discover that his rival was regretted, and he began 
 to wonder at his own impetuous jealousy, which 
 had magnified every trifle, and perhaps itself cre- 
 ated the danger he had dreaded. 
 
 If, at breakfast, her eye was eagerly fixed on 
 her father, as he opened the letter-bag, as if she 
 half expected to hear some tidings of importance 
 — and if the colour would occasionally mount to 
 her cheek as she turned away when the hope was 
 disappointed, Reginald saw it not ; he was en- 
 gaged with the papers, and she was ever ready to 
 join in conversation when he laid them down — or 
 if she sketched, by preference, every point in the 
 beautiful scenery around, which St. John had 
 been wont to admire, Reginald had not heard the 
 praises, and she was always pleased that he should 
 sit by her side while she drew ; thus he was satis- 
 fied, whilst Louisa learnt her first lesson in wo- 
 man's painful lot — that of devouring her heart in 
 silence, and smiling the while.
 
 310 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Miranda. Do you love uie ? 
 
 Ferdinand. 1, 
 
 Beyond all limit of what else i' the world. 
 Do love, prize, honour you. 
 
 Miranda. 1 am a fool 
 To weep at what I'm glad of." 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 About this time an event occurred which ma- 
 terially improved Edward Annesley's circum- 
 stances. A distant relation, the only one he 
 had on his father's side, died and left him his 
 property. Without being very large, it was suf- 
 ficient to make him independent of his profession, 
 and so enable him to think, without imprudence, 
 of marrying before he had obtained a living. 
 His heart beat high, as he thought that he could 
 now, without rashness, ask Ellen to share his 
 lot, which, if not brilliant, if below what her 
 beauty and connexions might entitle her to ex- 
 pect, was, at least, one of honourable and com- 
 fortable independence. 
 
 Mr. Allen, who had not the feminine insight 
 of his wife into his grandson's feelings, was as-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 31 1 
 
 tonished at the joy with which Edward received 
 the news of this accession of fortune — Edward, 
 so disinterested, so philosophical ! 
 
 " It is very strange," said he to his wife, " very 
 unaccountable, that a few hundreds a year more, 
 added to what he always considered a sufficiency, 
 should make Edward so happy. I never thought 
 before that he cared for money." 
 
 ^' No more he does now," replied his wife, 
 smiling, " only for the power that money gives." 
 
 " Power ! what power? what can you mean ?" 
 
 " The power to marry, perhaps." 
 
 " Power to marry ! Edward wishing to marry ! 
 marry whom ? Ah, Ellen Percival ! now I see, 
 now I understand. How strange that this should 
 not have struck me before !" 
 
 Mrs. Allen smiled, and thought it would have 
 been much more strange if it had struck him, in- 
 asmuch as half the time he never knew what 
 was going on in his own room, and was not 
 likely, therefore, to know the proceedings of his 
 grandson and Ellen up at the castle. 
 
 '' At all events," said she, after a minute's 
 pause, " pray, do not speak to him about it, my 
 dear. We must not forestall his confidence, and 
 perhaps we may be mistaken." 
 
 " No, we are right ; I am sure of it noAv I 
 think about it ; of course, I shall not speak to
 
 812 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 him, but I am sorry, very sorry. Ellen Percival 
 is not a wife meet for Edward." 
 
 Mrs. Allen sighed as well as her husband, but 
 she comforted herself with the reflection, that if 
 Ellen really loved Edward, she was young enough 
 and docile enough to be moulded into any thing 
 he pleased ; " and if she does not love him," 
 said she, " she will not leave Ethelwode Castle to 
 live in a parsonage on eight hundred a year, for 
 his sake. So it will all turn out for the best." 
 
 Throughout all her long life, in spite of many 
 trials and many sorrows, Mrs. Allen had never 
 been known to think that any thing would turn 
 out for the worst. She was an unbeliever in the 
 power of evil ; in her view, all things worked for 
 good by a shorter or longer process. It was this 
 faith which had ever made her be to her husband 
 as an incarnation of Hope — a living sunbeam, 
 thro wine' its cheerino^ lio^ht over the darkest and 
 most rugged places of the path of life. 
 
 Something of this faith was needed, at this time, 
 by Edward also ; for not even passion could wholly 
 blind him to the fact, which was so clearly seen 
 by his friends, as it had once been by himself, 
 that Ellen was unfit for the life of a poor clergy- 
 man's wife. Fascinating as was now her very 
 weakness, her very plasticity of character, inas- 
 much as they made her look up with deeper reve- 
 rence, and cling with more trusting, more self-rC'
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 313 
 
 nouncing confidence to him, he felt that these 
 were not the qualities most desirable in a wife, 
 one chosen to be his helpmate, to cheer, and 
 strengthen, and assist, as well as to love and re- 
 verence him. 
 
 Then again he could not but feel that the lot 
 he offered to her was homely and obscure, in 
 comparison to that which had hitherto been her's, 
 and the still more brilliant one she might reason- 
 ably look forward to, and that to her it would 
 involve many sacrifices which she could not even 
 estimate, till she was called upon to make them, 
 and for which she was utterly unprepared, either 
 by education or habits. 
 
 There was enough in such reflections as these 
 to cloud over Edward's joy ; and they could not, 
 at all times, be driven away, though he felt it 
 was too late to dwell upon them now. He had 
 erred deeply ; but now that the error was com- 
 mitted and irretrievable, the best and wisest 
 course was to cast behind him all thoughts of 
 what was past, and to direct all his efforts to 
 avert the evil consequences which might follow 
 from his imprudence, not only to himself, but 
 what was of far greater moment in his eyes, 
 to the young and trustful being whose happiness 
 was thus thrown into his hands. 
 
 Notwithstanding his resolutions, however, 
 some misgivings visited her mind, as he passed 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 through the magnificent suite of apartments to 
 the room where Ellen generally spent her morn- 
 ings, when the weather became too cold for her 
 favourite retreat to the summer-house, and where 
 he now sought her to decide upon his fate. As 
 he looked around, the question involuntarily 
 arose to his mind whether it was not madness to 
 ask one who had been used, from infancy, to a 
 home like this, to leave it for such a one as he 
 had to offer. 
 
 This feeling grew upon him as he entered her 
 room, which might, indeed, have seemed, to less 
 interested eyes, to realize the very beau-ideal of 
 luxurious comfort. It was one of the pleasant est 
 apartments in the castle ; small enough to be 
 comfortable, yet lofty and well-proportioned. 
 The sun was streaming* in throuofh the mullioned 
 windows, shedding a rich glow on the carved oak 
 panelling and the massive antique furniture. 
 Ellen's harp and piano-forte stood open at one 
 end ; and her books, her music, her work, were 
 scattered about in comfortable confusion. A 
 stand of beautiful exotics shed the perfume of 
 summer through the apartment, whilst a blazing 
 fire corrected the chillness of the autumn air, 
 which blew in through the open window. 
 
 Ellen herself was sitting by this fire, half 
 buried in the cushions of an ample arm-chair, a 
 book in her hand, and her eyes fixed on the sea, 
 which lay calm and silvery in the sunshine. 
 
 W
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 315 
 
 She started up as Annesley entered, and the 
 uneasy thoughts which had been tormenting him 
 vanished, as he saw her brightening look, and 
 the crimson blush which mantled on her cheek, 
 at his appearance. A morning visit was an un- 
 usual thing from him, and he had interrupted 
 her in the midst of a calculation of the number of 
 hours which must elapse, before she could reason- 
 ably expect to see him. It was, moreover, the first 
 time she had been alone with him since her illness, 
 and her manner was anxious and embarrassed. 
 
 " I believe you never were in my den before," 
 said she, after a few moments' silence, which 
 she felt to be almost oppressive, and which she 
 was glad to break by saying any thing. 
 
 " No ; but it does not much resemble a den," 
 said Annesley, looking round; "it might pass 
 for a boudoir in the Castle of Indolence." 
 
 " It is comfortable, certainly, but not quite 
 luxurious enough for that," said Ellen, talking 
 on without much knowing what she was saying, 
 for, in spite of herself, her heart was trembling 
 with the consciousness that she was alone with 
 him. " Its greatest charm to me is, that it is 
 my exclusive domain, where no one ventures to 
 intrude without especial permission." 
 
 " Then, I fear, I must be looked upon as an 
 intruder, since I am here without permission 
 asked or granted." 
 
 p 2
 
 3 1 6 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " No ; I will not close my doors against you," 
 said Ellen, blushing. *' As a master, you must 
 have access to your pupil." 
 
 " And, once admitted, have I also liberty to 
 say what I please, and will you listen to me ?" 
 
 Annesley's look and tone said more than his 
 words. A strange sort of fear came over Ellen, 
 an undefined, thrilling sensation, painful, from its 
 intensity, though mingled with pleasure, which 
 made her long to entreat him to stop, to pause, 
 to let her enjoy the present hour, before he ut- 
 tered any thing that might break the spell of 
 enchantment in which she lived, and could 
 scarcely make her more happy. For the first 
 time, she shrank from him almost with fear ; the 
 words which hung upon his lips, and which she 
 could not arrest, seemed to give him a mysterious 
 power. She could not answer him ; but neither 
 could she conceal her consciousness. She felt 
 that his eyes were fixed upon her, and she 
 tremblingly turned away, that she might avoid 
 the orlance that she dared not meet. 
 
 " Ellen," said Annesley, is his low, earnest 
 voice, " Ellen, do not turn away from me. 
 Surely you cannot dread to hear what I have got 
 to say : surely you will not refuse to listen now 
 to my avowal of the love which, though unut- 
 tered, must have been long known to you. Tell
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 317 
 
 me that I have not deceived myself in my hope ; 
 speak but one word." 
 
 Ellen could not speak that word ; she could not 
 tell him what she was then feeling in her heart 
 of hearts — that it was the assurance of that love, 
 legible in his looks and manner, which had 
 brought her back from the confines of the grave ; 
 but the small w^hite hand, w^hich he had taken, 
 and which rested tremblingly in his, returned 
 the pressure. Edward asked no more, and gave 
 way to the full tide of passion which was strug- 
 gling for utterance in his heart. 
 
 " And now, Ellen," said he, in conclusion, 
 ** can you, will you, accept such a lot as I have 
 to offer ? It is only to-day that I have acquired 
 the right to ask you this ; it is only to-day that 
 I have had it in my power to offer you any home, 
 however humble. Tell me, now, if love can 
 beautify such a home in your eyes — if it can re- 
 pay you for all the luxury, the splendour you 
 would sacrifice for it ?" 
 
 Ellen did not speak, but she turned to him 
 with one of those looks which seem suddenly to 
 reveal the inner depths of the heart to him who 
 meets them. There was no need of words ; Ed- 
 ward felt that volumes could not have answered 
 him so well as that one look. 
 
 " My generous, noble-minded Ellen ! Mi/ 
 Ellen ! say that I may call you mine — my own !"
 
 318 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 And Ellen's eyes again told him, far better 
 than her few scarcely audible words, that her 
 heart, her soul, her very existence, were his — 
 his, as they had been, long before he sought to 
 win them — his only — his ever ! 
 
 We will not attempt to describe these first 
 moments of scarcely earthly happiness, when 
 every barrier which had separated them was re- 
 moved, and heart was revealed to heart in all the 
 fulness of mutual love. What would it avail to 
 give the mere words that were uttered, when 
 the looks, the expression, which gave them 
 meaning and eloquence, cannot be conveyed? 
 Let such reader picture these moments to him- 
 self, as memory or imagination may suggest. 
 « « * « ^ 
 
 When Edward, at length, rose to take his 
 leave, it was agreed, between them, that he 
 should come that evening, as usual. That even- 
 ing should be one of perfect enjoyment to them 
 both ; and, the next day, Edward should make 
 his formal proposals to Lady Ethelwode. Both 
 foresaw that they should have difficulties and 
 obstacles to encounter, and they were glad to 
 have this one day to enjoy their happiness with- 
 out any mixture of care or anxiety. 
 
 How delicious was that evening, as they sat 
 apart, in one of the deep recessed windows, watch- 
 ing together the autumn moon rising slowly over
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 319 
 
 the sea ; that first evening of full and perfect 
 confidence — of unrestrained communion. It 
 was, during that evening, that Ellen told all to 
 Edward — her love so long unknown, even to 
 herself — her agony when she thought he was 
 leaving her for ever — her misery — her humilia- 
 tion — her struggles ; and how fervently did Ed- 
 ward vow that his life should be devoted to efface 
 every trace of the suffering he had brought upon 
 her ! Was it not already forgotten ? Was she not 
 already repaid for sickness, and sorrow, and hu- 
 miliation, and heart-wearing suspense, as she sat 
 there beside him — her hand in his — listeninof to 
 his bright picturings of their future home ; of the 
 long pilgrimage they were to tread together, and 
 which their mutual love was to cheer and bless, 
 in weal or woe, with the heart's own sunshine ! 
 
 During this evening, it was agreed upon by 
 the lovers, that Ellen should herself inform her 
 mother of her engagement. She knew her 
 mother well; she had that influence over her, 
 which those who feel strongly always possess 
 over the indolent and shallow-hearted ; and she 
 wisely thought, that she could much better than 
 Edward answer Lady Ethelwode's objections, 
 tranquillize the alarm which she always felt at 
 any unusual event, and win her over to receive 
 Edward's proposals, with due benignity and ap- 
 probation.
 
 320 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 For this purpose she sought her mother's dress- 
 ing-room next morning at an earlier hour than 
 usual. Lady Ethelwode was lying on her sofa, 
 with a large piece of tapestry- work in her hands, 
 whilst Mademoiselle Juliani was kneelinof beside 
 her on the floor, sorting different shades of lambs- 
 wool, from a large basket before her. The at- 
 tendant's face was flushed with the exhaustion 
 of kneeling so long, but the indolent fine lady 
 did not seem to perceive her fatigue, and went 
 on giving her directions in her usual drawling 
 tone of voice. 
 
 " Now find me some pinks for these roses, 
 Mademoiselle, four shades ; — no, those will not 
 do, will they ? I think they are too dark ; look 
 at that other bundle. Dear me, what a fatiguing 
 business this sorting shades is !" and Lady Ethel- 
 wode threw herself back on her pillows, whilst 
 Mademoiselle Juliani stooped again over the 
 basket, to look for a third time, for the required 
 colours. 
 
 " Mamma," said Ellen, as she kissed her 
 mother's forehead, "I am sure Mademoiselle 
 Juliani must be very tired with kneeling so 
 long; let me sort the rest of your shades for 
 you." 
 
 " You, my dear ! oh, you do not understand 
 any thing about it. Mademoiselle Juliani is 
 not tired ; she is never tired, are you, Mademoi-
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 321 
 
 selle ? I cannot let any one else do it, the colours 
 will be sorted all wrong." 
 
 " I assure you, mamma, I can do it perfectly 
 well. Just let me try, whilst Mademoiselle 
 Juliani goes to rest herself a little. Now go, 
 Mademoiselle," she added, taking the basket, 
 *' I will do every thing mamma wants, till you 
 come back." 
 
 Just then, in spite of her sore knees and 
 aching back, the dame de compag^iie would have 
 liked to remain, for she concluded rightly, that 
 this unwonted eagerness of Ellen's to relieve 
 her from her attendance on Lady Ethelwode 
 was not without some adequate motive, and 
 that motive she was curious to discover. How- 
 ever, Ellen insisted on taking her place, and she 
 was obliged reluctantly to withdraw, and leave 
 the mother and daughter alone. 
 
 " Mamma, I sent Mademoiselle Juliani away, 
 because I want to speak to you," said Ellen, as 
 soon as the door was closed. 
 
 " Speak to me, my dear ? what can you have 
 to say to me, that Mademoiselle Juliani must 
 not hear ?" 
 
 '' A great deal, mamma, if you will just listen 
 to me quietly and kindly, will you, dear 
 mother ?" 
 
 " Of course I shall listen to you, child, though 
 I cannot conceive what you can have to say, 
 
 p5
 
 322 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 that can make you look so solemn ; I hope it 
 will not be long-, for I am dreadfully tired 
 already, and these lambs-wools are not half 
 sorted yet." 
 
 It was rather difficult, after this opening, to 
 begin such a tale as Ellen's, and the tears rose 
 to the poor girl's eyes at her mother's coldness ; 
 however, collecting herself with an effort, she 
 told Lady Ethelwode, in as few words as pos- 
 sible, of her's and Edward's mutual attachment, 
 of his improved prospects, and of his intention 
 of coming that day to ask formally for her 
 hand. 
 
 Nothing could exceed Lady Ethelwode's as- 
 tonishment at this unexpected intelligence. The 
 idea of Edward Annesley — Mr, Allen's grand- 
 son and curate — becoming Ellen's lover, had 
 never once entered her head. The possibility of 
 Ellen's marrying had indeed visited her mind, 
 as a vague and remote contingency, and the 
 thought had always been accompanied with 
 visions of titles and coronets, presentation at 
 court, and family diamonds. She had been used 
 every year, since Ellen emerged from childhood, 
 to hear her friend, Lady Frances, predict the 
 brilliant establishment which her beauty was to 
 obtain for her, and the sensation her appearance 
 would produce in London. She had gradually 
 accustomed herself to the thoughts of going to
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 323 
 
 town, when Ellen should have reached her 
 eighteenth year, to bring her out, and realise 
 these brilliant expectations; and now, just a 
 few months before the long thought-of period, 
 all these splendid visions were destroyed, by 
 Ellen's untoward avowal, and a poor country 
 curate stood up to claim the hand, which dukes 
 and earls were to have striven for. 
 
 " My dear Ellen, I am so surprised, so asto- 
 nished ! I really am quite bewildered," she said, 
 as Ellen ended her earnest appeal ; "of course, 
 you cannot marry Mr. Annesley, a poor curate ; 
 it was very foolish of you to engage yourself in 
 such a hurry, and so I must tell him, you know, 
 when he comes." 
 
 " Mother, for Heaven's sake, do not speak so ! 
 do not decide at once against him without a 
 moment's consideration. Listen to me : I love 
 Edward Annesley ; I have long loved him be- 
 yond any other human being, and I solemnly 
 declare that, if I do not marry him, no power 
 shall induce me ever to marry another." 
 
 " My dear Ellen, do not be so violent, and 
 talk such nonsense. What can have put it into 
 your head to fall in love, like a heroine in a 
 novel, and with a poor curate, too ?" 
 
 " Mr. Annesley is not a poor curate," replied 
 Ellen, suppressing the scornful smile which the 
 first part of her mother's question had called
 
 324 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 up ; " he is rich enough to be independent of his 
 profession, and many, with smaller means, and 
 far less talent, have risen from a lower station 
 to the highest dignities of the church." 
 
 " That is true, to he sure," said Lady Ethel- 
 wode, brightening up ; " several who are on the 
 bench now have risen from being tutors in 
 noblemen's families. Mr. Annesley is very 
 clever, and might rise like them ; I should not 
 mind your being the wife of the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury ; he walks before all the peers, you 
 know, next to the royal family. His wife takes 
 no rank, however ; that is very unfortunate : — 
 still you would be the mistress of Lambeth 
 Palace, and I should not mind living there my- 
 self. It is a pity Mr. Annesley refused to be 
 your brother's tutor; Lord Ethel wode might 
 have done a great deal for him, and you could 
 have waited quietly till Egbert had done with 
 him." 
 
 " Lord Ethelwode will do much more for him, 
 as his connexion," said Ellen, " when you have 
 accepted him as your son-in-law ; and you will, 
 dearest mother, only say that you will." 
 
 " My dear, I am sure I have no objection to 
 Mr. Annesley himself; he is a very comfortable 
 person to have in the house, for he is so quiet, 
 and never puts me out of my way ; but what 
 will Lady Frances say, who always predicted
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 325 
 
 you would marry a duke before the end of your 
 first season ?" 
 
 " What can it signify what Lady Frances or 
 any one else will say? What would be the 
 advantage of my marrying the first duke in the 
 land, if I could not love him ? what would you 
 gain by seeing me miserable in a palace, instead 
 of happy in an humbler home? Oh, mother, do 
 not sacrifice your child's happiness to such idle 
 vanity !" 
 
 *' My dear Ellen, I am sure I have no wish to 
 sacrifice your happiness, though I think you are 
 very childish to think you must have love in a 
 cottage to make you happy, /never was in love 
 in my life, nor lived in a cottage, yet I have al- 
 ways been very happy ; why cannot you be the 
 same ? However, if you are bent upon marrying 
 Mr. Annesley, I suppose you must do as you like, 
 though it is a great pity such beauty as your's 
 should be buried in a parsonage." 
 
 Ellen threw her arms round her mother's neck, 
 and thanked her with tears. She was too happy 
 just then even to feel the coldness of Lady Ethel- 
 wode's embrace, and the languid indifference with 
 which she spoke of the event which was to take 
 from her her only daughter. The latter took no 
 further notice of her emotion, than by saying : 
 
 " I wish you would get rid of that foolish trick 
 of crying on all occasions, my dear Ellen ; 1 assure 
 you, it will quite spoil your eyes. Now go, that's
 
 326 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 a good child ; and send back Mademoiselle Ju- 
 liani, or these lambs-wools will not be sorted be- 
 fore Mr. Annesley comes." 
 
 Before the hour which Edward had fixed for 
 his visit, Lady Ethelwode had managed to recon- 
 cile herself completely to the change in Ellen's 
 prospects. The timely recollection that her 
 daughter's marriage would save her a journey to 
 London, and the dreadful fatigue of chaperoning 
 her through a season, greatly conduced to this 
 desirable result. On one point, however, she was 
 firm ; she would not hear of Ellen marrying a 
 curate, Edward must obtain a living ; it was the 
 first step of the ladder which was to lead to an 
 archbishopric, and she could not, and would not, 
 let Ellen marry till some approach, at least, had 
 been made to the dazzling vision of clerical ho- 
 nours she had conjured up, as a substitute for the 
 long-dreamt-of strawberry-leaves which were to 
 have graced Ellen's brow. 
 
 The lovers easily acquiesced in this condition ; 
 more especially as Lord Ethelwode, who had by 
 no means so high an opinion of Ellen's preten- 
 sions as her mother, had approved of the match, 
 and promised to exert his interest in Annesley's 
 favour. The delay of a few months, to be spent 
 in each other's society, and with hope to brighten 
 their way in the interval, did not seem, even to 
 them, a very formidable obstacle to their happi- 
 ness.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 327 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " We have been friends together. 
 In sunshine and in shade ; 
 Since first beneath the chestnut trees 
 In infancy we played. 
 But coldness now dwells in thy heart, 
 A cloud is on thy brow ; 
 We have been friends together, — 
 Shall a light word part us now ?" 
 
 Mrs. Norton.. 
 
 There are epochs in human existence when we 
 seem to live years, in the space of a few days ; 
 and we count time, not by the regular vibrations 
 of a pendulum, but by the wild succession of 
 thoughts and feelings that overflow the soul. 
 Such was the present to Edward Annesley and 
 his beautiful betrothed. 
 
 To Ellen a new life had opened, and all her 
 bright capabilities were tuned to happiness, 
 and ready to seize each moment of joy ; whilst 
 Edward, under the genial influence of her warm, 
 trustful affection, gradually lost the tinge of 
 melancholy and self-reproach which had clouded 
 the earlier period of his love, and yielded his 
 whole soul to hope and gladness. The prospect
 
 328 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 of a living was as distant as ever ; but otherwise 
 the course of their true love ran perfectly smooth. 
 Lady Ethelwode had become quite reconciled to 
 Ellen's bad match, since it promised to save her 
 a vast deal of trouble ; and the Aliens (whatever 
 misgivings they might have had at first con- 
 cerning the prudence of Edward's choice), had 
 forgotten them beneath the influence of Ellen's 
 winning and affectionate manner. Who, indeed, 
 young or old, could withstand the witchery of 
 Ellen's smile, or the eloquence of her deep, 
 sunny eyes ? None, at least, when she was pre- 
 sent, could believe that any moral imperfection 
 existed where the spirit's tenement was so fault- 
 lessly beautiful. 
 
 Thus some weeks passed away. At Oaklands, 
 also, on the whole, that time had flown peacefully 
 by, though fitful gleams of disappointment and 
 dejection had disturbed Reginald's serenity. He 
 had deluded himself with the thought that, with 
 a heart engrossed by passion, he could enjoy 
 peace, and he awoke from his vain dream, and 
 found that though it was a certainty of bliss to 
 be by Louisa's side, to see her day by day, to be 
 able to engross her attention and conversation, 
 to share in her themes and pursuits, still he 
 needed something more, and that something was 
 forbidden. More than once, when some affec- 
 tionate word from her, some touch of feeling or
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 329 
 
 manner warmer than usual, or some expression 
 of tender anxiety about him, when she saw him 
 plunged in one of his dejected moods, had roused 
 his feelings almost beyond controul, he was on 
 the point of pouring out his whole heart to her, 
 but his habitual sense of honour closed his lips 
 again, and he would leave her astonished at his 
 sudden gust of passion and mysterious abrupt- 
 ness. 
 
 In one of these dangerous moments he had so 
 far betrayed himself, as to confess that he loved; 
 and that it was that love, which, thwarted by 
 circumstances, made him thus wayward and irri- 
 table ; and Louisa had read the secret of his heart 
 enough to see that it was his pride, revolting 
 against his poverty and obscurity, which created 
 the greatest obstacle in his path. Of the real 
 truth, she read nothing. No possibility of Regi- 
 nald's becoming more than a brother to her had 
 ever crossed her mind ; and now that the change 
 might have been more apparent, it was, perhaps, 
 her own preoccupation which blinded her. 
 
 One day they had been riding together, and 
 their conversation had flowed more evenly than 
 usual, and, as in former days, had ranged over 
 subjects, in which both took an interest, and 
 which called the mind into action, without 
 touching the dangerous chord of passion, when
 
 330 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 on their way home they met Annesley and Ellen 
 walking together. 
 
 " Have you been very far?" asked Ellen, as 
 they stopped to exchange greetings. 
 
 "No," answered Louisa, "we have taken a 
 very quiet ride, and have rather exercised our 
 tongues than our horses. I need not ask where 
 you have been ; the fresh sea-breeze has left a 
 token of its passage in your brilliant colour. If 
 I were Mr. Annesley, I should take you every 
 day to the beach," added she, gazing with affec- 
 tionate admiration at Ellen's countenance, which 
 was, indeed, radiant at that moment with beauty 
 and happiness. 
 
 " By the way. Miss Percival," said Reginald, 
 " I think a great admirer of yours is just returned 
 to these parts. We saw the gates of the abbey 
 wide open as we passed, and the house looked as 
 if it was inhabited." 
 
 " I suppose Lord Caldwell is come down for 
 the hunting season," said Ellen, stealing a glance 
 at Louisa. " But what do you mean about his 
 being an admirer of mine ?" 
 
 " Ah ! thereby hangs a tale," said Louisa, 
 smiling. " However, you need not be jealous, 
 Mr. Annesley ; the conquest was so rapidly 
 made, that it is not likely to have any lasting 
 effects." 
 
 So saying, she rode on with her companion.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 331 
 
 but not before both had seen the look with which 
 Ellen turned to Annesley, telling, in the eyes' 
 most eloquent language, that all fears might be 
 drowned in perfect security. 
 
 " Annesley is a happy man," exclaimed Re- 
 ginald, after a short silence ; " and, admitting 
 the truth of all that your father said about his 
 choice, what calculations of prudence could give 
 the joy of one such look as that ?" 
 
 "Is that J onr co)ista7it belief?" asked Louisa. 
 
 "It is my sober belief; in my best moods, 
 yet " 
 
 " Yet you would yourself sacrifice Love at the 
 shrine of Ambition, or to the paltry shame of 
 poverty. Is it not so ?" 
 
 " Louisa !" exclaimed Reginald, startled at 
 her thus putting his thoughts before him. 
 
 " Now do not be angry, Reginald. I thought 
 I gathered as much from your words once, some 
 time ago, and they seemed to reveal the secret 
 of the inward struggle, which I cannot but see 
 agitates you continually ; but I did not mean to 
 hurt you by alluding to it." 
 
 " Louisa, you are torturing me," said her 
 companion, in a hollow voice ; " you do not 
 know what I suffer daily, hourly. But you shall 
 know," he proceeded, vehemently ; " you have 
 yourself urged me to it, and you must now hear 
 me. Will you, then, despise me, or will you ..."
 
 332 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Reginald, you are talking wildly. How or 
 why should I despise you ? — you, on whose ho- 
 nour and integrity I would stake my life ?" 
 
 " Yet at this moment, perhaps, I am acting, 
 I am going to act dishonourably. I will think 
 of it again ; then, if I open my whole soul to you, 
 Louisa, remember what you have now said." 
 
 " I cannot but remember it ; and, although I 
 do not understand you, I can safely promise that 
 nothing you can tell me will alter my earnest 
 wish to do any thing, every thing that is in my 
 power to diminish your sufferings, which it has, 
 indeed, Reginald, grieved me sorely to witness." 
 
 They had by this time reached the house, and, 
 as Reginald assisted Louisa to dismount, he 
 warmly pressed her hand, in token of thankful- 
 ness for her last words. As they entered the 
 hall, she stopped to look at some cards which 
 had been left on the table since they went out. 
 They were Lord Caldwell's, and Mr. St. John's. 
 
 " Mr. St. John !" she exclaimed aloud ; and 
 her sparkling eyes and heightened colour be- 
 trayed her sudden emotion. 
 
 Reginald heard the words, and saw the change 
 of her countenance. The hope but so lately re- 
 kindled within him vanished at once, and, 
 without saying a word, he left her abruptly, and 
 ran to his own room, to meditate in solitude 
 over this bitter confirmation of all his fears.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 333 
 
 She had, then, deceived him. No; he had 
 deceived himself ; he had hoped against the evi- 
 dence of his senses, of his reason ; he had wil- 
 fully blinded himself. And now that look had 
 revealed the truth ; that one look was enough to 
 him, who knew well hoAv strong the tide of emo- 
 tion must be in Louisa's heart, ere she betrayed 
 it to the glance of others. There was madness 
 in the tumult of thought which followed this 
 conviction ; and, when that had somewhat sub- 
 sided, he felt it was necessary to come to some 
 decision, some settled plan of action. At one 
 time he resolved to declare his passion, to dis- 
 pute the prize openly with his detested rival. 
 Then, as he recollected her feelings, he deter- 
 mined to leave England for ever ; he could not 
 breathe the same air with St. John, tread the 
 same soil which he trod in happiness and triumph. 
 
 Doubts of St. John's truth flashed across his 
 mind. Did he really love her ? Was he even 
 capable of strong affection, affection worthy of 
 Louisa? And Reginald's blood boiled at the 
 thought that any man should dare to win her 
 love, and then cast away the inestimable trea- 
 sure with scorn and indifference ! This was the 
 most endurinof, and the bitterest of all his con- 
 flictino^ thouohts. From the first moment of his 
 meeting St. John at Lady Ethel wode's ball, 
 when the conversation he had heard respecting
 
 334 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 him recurred so painfully to his mind, he had 
 seemed to have an almost intuitive feeling of St. 
 John's unworthiness, and he now almost lost the 
 selfishness of his own passion, in his fears for the 
 happiness of her he loved. He resolved that, at 
 whatever cost to himself, he would warn her of 
 the danger she was incurring, and then, if he 
 found his warning vain, he felt that there re- 
 mained no alternative for him but to leave her 
 for ever. 
 
 It was with every nerve strained to the pitch 
 of this ^resolution that he met her again at dinner ; 
 his whole deportment was changed; and she gazed 
 in sorrowful astonishment at his stern, misery- 
 stricken countenance. Wounded pride had a 
 share in her feelings, when she found that all her 
 affectionate endeavours to recall him to a happier 
 mood were met by repelling, almost haughty, 
 coldness. Her father's presence, however, was a 
 check upon them both, and the evening passed 
 quietly, though gloomily away. 
 
 Sir Charles was the first to retire ; and Louisa, 
 tired of the moroseness of her companion, pre- 
 pared to follow him ; but, as she was leaving the 
 room, Reginald, w^ho had been standing as if un- 
 decided, suddenly caught hold of her hand, say- 
 ing, in an agitated tone — 
 
 " You must not leave me yet, Louisa. I must 
 speak to you — a few words only."
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 335 
 
 " As many as you like, my dear Reginald," 
 replied Louisa, hoping that he would now return 
 to a gentler mood, and putting her candle do^n, 
 she returned to the fireplace. *' I only wish," 
 she continued, " that I could do any thing to 
 restore you to your former peace of mind." 
 
 "It is not of myself I wish to speak now," 
 said Reginald, in an altered tone ; "I was in a 
 dream ; I mistook mv own nature when I thouo'ht 
 I could endure to lay my heart bare to the pity 
 of any human being." 
 
 Louisa was startled at this new chanoe, and 
 looked anxiously at him. He could not meet 
 her eye, and turned away. She said nothing; 
 and, after a short pause, he continued — 
 
 " Pity is too nearly allied to contempt for me ; 
 therefore, I will still suffer in silence ; the days 
 when you could feel with me are over. Do not 
 interrupt me," he cried, seeing that she was 
 about to speak. " I know what you would say ; 
 but I am no boy, to be flattered or soothed by 
 soft words. No ; I will meet and abide the 
 storm alone. It is of you that I would speak 
 now." 
 
 " Of me !" said Louisa, in a tone of mingled 
 surprise and displeasure. 
 
 " Yes, of you ; and you must hear me. It is 
 the last time you will hear aught that is dis- 
 agreeable from my lips, for I am going to leave 
 you."
 
 336 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 " Leave me ! Leave Oaklands ! What can 
 take you away so suddenly ?" 
 
 " No matter. I can stay no longer. To- 
 morrow I shall be gone ; but I cannot, will not 
 leave you, w^ithout warning you against one who 
 has crept, as a serpent, across your path, and may 
 poison all its flowers — as he has poisoned all my 
 future existence !" added he, in a muttered tone, 
 whilst his finn set teeth, and compressed lips, 
 betrayed the in\A'ard struggle. 
 
 " You deal overmuch in metaphors for my 
 plain understanding," said Louisa, in proud dis- 
 pleasure ; for his manner had gradually become 
 too overbearing to be quietly endured by one 
 whose o-reat defect was the want of that o^entle- 
 ness by which a woman can soothe and overrule 
 man's wildest storm of passion. 
 
 " Then I will speak plainly," said Reginald, 
 fixing his searching glance upon her face, which 
 became crimson as he proceeded ; " I allude to 
 Arthur St. John. Do you understand me now?" 
 
 Louisa's eye sank, for a moment, beneath his ; 
 the next she returned his gaze, with a proud in- 
 diofnation. Reoinald continued — 
 
 " I speak of St. John, who, under the mask of 
 qualities he does not possess, has dazzled even 
 your acute mind, and surprised your judgment ; 
 of the shallow, worldly-minded being, who, in- 
 capable of disinterested affection himself, has
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 337 
 
 dishonourably striven to win a treasure lie can 
 neither appreciate nor repay. I speak of him." 
 
 " Speak of him no more !" exclaimed Louisa, 
 in as calm a tone as she could command. " It is 
 unworthy of you, insulting to me. I do not know 
 what has made you so often try to impress me 
 with a bad opinion of Mr. St. John, but I do 
 know that this manner of forcing your opinion 
 upon me is most unwelcome, and I do not choose 
 to submit to it. Mr. St. John is my relation ; 
 he has been my father's guest, and as such was 
 entitled to as much attention as my father and 
 myself saw fit to show him. What more his 
 agreeable qualities, his talents, and his invariable 
 desire to please, may have gained for him, I do 
 not consider myself accountable for to Mr. Talbot. 
 Had my father seen any thing to reprove in my 
 manner, he would have told me so ; as he has 
 been silent on the subject, I beg that it may not 
 be recurred to by yoii /" 
 
 Louisa turned to leave the room; but Regi- 
 nald rushed after her, and, forcibly seizing her 
 hand, led her back to the sofa. 
 
 " Louisa ! we cannot part thus !" he exclaimed, 
 in a tone of deep emotion ; he paused, and then 
 proceeded more calmly, '^ I have offended you ; 
 and that you have thus hastily taken offence, 
 proves to me, but too clearly, the justice of my 
 fears. But I have done. I have attempted to 
 open your eyes ; I have given you a brother's 
 warning ; it is the last act of that brotherly af- 
 fection which you once valued. Louisa ! I im- 
 plore you — I, who would sacrifice every hope of 
 my life to shield you from evil, I implore you to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 think of what I have said ; to gather up the 
 strength of your well-regulated mind to oppose 
 the inroads of an ill-placed affection, at least till 
 you have reflected, till you have weighed the 
 consequences ! I am offending you again," con- 
 tinued he more vehemently, as he caught her 
 haughty glance for a moment fixed upon him ; 
 " yet you must hear me ; then think of me as 
 you will. I shall be far away ; the tie between 
 us is broken ; circumstances are such ; but, no 
 matter for what cause ; your home can never be 
 my home again ; even these dear walls will be 
 
 Jiis, and should " He could not finish the 
 
 picture his jealous forebodings conjured up. " I 
 will never cross his threshold !" he added. " This, 
 then, is a solemn parting, Louisa ; I go forth on 
 my cheerless path ; yes, cheerless, although it 
 should lead to glory, for even glory is now dim- 
 med to my view, and I would fain think that I 
 leave you in a peaceful, a happy one." 
 
 Louisa was softened by these last words ; their 
 melancholy tone went to her heart. 
 
 " Why should you go, Reginald ?" said she, in 
 a kinder voice ; " why must you leave us so 
 soon ? I do not wish to pry into your confidence, 
 but this is a sudden resolution; is it irrevo- 
 cable?" 
 
 ** Yes, irrevocable ; I have hesitated too long 
 already. Had I gone before this man's return, 
 we might have parted in peace." 
 
 "It is your own will that raises Mr. St. John 
 as a barrier between us," said Louisa, her pride 
 again roused by his words. " I should under- 
 stand you better, it would be more honourable.
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 339 
 
 if you were candidly to state what you really 
 know against him, instead of retrenching your- 
 self in these dark insinuations." 
 
 " I know no facts against him," replied Regi- 
 nald ; " but enough of the general tone of his 
 character to feel sure that he is unworthy of you ; 
 and the very loftiness, the very purity of your 
 mind, makes you unable to discern his unworthi- 
 ness. His talents, I allow, his brilliancy, his 
 power of pleasing, I am fully awake to," he con- 
 tinued, in a tone which grew more bitter, as he 
 enumerated his rival's qualities, " but there is a 
 feeling which sometimes enables us intuitively to 
 read the hearts of others, and thus have I read 
 his, and looked on in agony whilst " 
 
 '' Stop, Reginald ;* I will hear no more. If 
 you have no weightier accusations to bring 
 against Mr. St. John, I see nothing to justify 
 the manner in which you have spoken of him, 
 and I do not choose to listen to any more remarks 
 upon m.yself." 
 
 " Then I have done," said Reginald, starting 
 up ; '* I have fulfilled an odious task, but honour 
 bound me to perform it. Now it is at an end, 
 and with it the intercourse, the friendship of 
 years ; for, I repeat it, the tie between us is 
 broken. Childhood and its happy dreams are 
 passed ; its sweetness has forsaken me at the 
 very threshold of life. Louisa, sister, friend, 
 dearest companion of all my happiest days, fare- 
 well ! How changed must be all within and 
 around us, before we can meet again !" 
 
 He grasped her hand, and pressed it fer- 
 vently between his, and hastily left the room. 
 
 q2
 
 340 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 It was not till some minutes after his abrupt de- 
 parture that Louisa could collect herself suffi- 
 ciently to think calmly over this strange and 
 painful scene. As she recalled his last words, 
 and the tone in which they had been spoken, 
 she could not but repent her own harshness and 
 pride. She felt that, however displeasing his 
 manner of declaring his sentiments, they were 
 those of one whose integrity she could not doubt, 
 and who had loved her with a brother's affection 
 from her childhood upwards. Wounded at his 
 reading the feeling she would have concealed 
 even from herself; wounded by his opinion of 
 one who had appeared to her invested with every 
 bright and noble quality ; offended by his im- 
 petuous manner, yet touched by his evident 
 misery, and the tone of deep feeling which ran 
 through all he said, and which could not be mis- 
 taken — the proud girl' wept bitter tears from all 
 these contending emotions. 
 
 At one moment she would have recalled her 
 old and tried friend, that she might part from 
 him, at least, in peace. At another, she almost 
 felt glad that one who had so accurately read her 
 inmost heart was there to scrutinize it no longer, 
 or to humble her with the sense of another's 
 knowledge of her kindness. But this unworthy 
 feeling could not long sway a heart more affec- 
 tionate even than it was proud. She recurred 
 again to his parting words, to the struggle he 
 had evidently gone through before he could bring 
 himself to hurt her feelings, and she longed to 
 see him ao^ain, to atone for her harshness. Then 
 she remembered how often she had seen him
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 341 
 
 swayed, for a time, by a violent passion, which 
 passed away without any further result, and she 
 trusted that this sudden determination to depart 
 would prove equally transitory. 
 
 She could not believe that he had so suddenly 
 altered his plans, that he really meant to go 
 abroad, as his words seemed to imply ; nor could 
 she conceive that St. John's return — although 
 the ostensible cause of his anger — could be a 
 sufficient motive to induce him to banish him- 
 self from his early home. Once, and once only, 
 in this tumult of conflicting feelings, a suspicion 
 of the truth flashed across her mind. But she 
 instantly drove it away ; she had been so long 
 used to look upon him only as a brother, that 
 the idea of regarding her with any other than 
 brotherly affection, seemed to her utterly im- 
 probable, and she blushed at the momentary 
 thought. She remained long in the same spot 
 where he had left her, lost in the painful emo- 
 tions his words had awakened ; and it was not 
 till many hours after she had sought rest on her 
 pillow that sleep came to end a day in which one 
 moment of delight and hope had been balanced 
 by so much that was harassing and agitating. 
 The last distinct image on her mind was Regi- 
 nald, repenting of his resolution and meeting St. 
 John with a cordial orreetino^. But the vision 
 was false. When she awoke in the morning, the 
 sun was high in the horizon, and Reginald was 
 already far from Oaklands. 
 
 A letter to Sir Charles accounted for his sud- 
 den departure, by saying that he had heard from 
 an old and dear collesre friend, who was ill and
 
 342 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 very anxious to see him, and he had, therefore, 
 made no delay in going to him. He said nothing 
 of the future, and Sir Charles, though secretly 
 surprised and dissatisfied, made no further com- 
 ment on the letter than supposing that he would 
 soon return. 
 
 Louisa could not echo his words, but she had 
 not courage to contradict them,' and strove to 
 persuade herself that they would prove true. 
 She could not relate to her father the scene of 
 the past evening ; she could not speak of her 
 own feelings, nor tell how accurately Reginald 
 had read them, and her lips would have refused 
 to utter his opinion of St. John. She resolved, 
 however, that she would, at least, so far follow^ 
 his advice as to study Mr. St. John's character, 
 calmly and carefully, before she allowed herself 
 to yield any further to his influence ; and thus 
 hoping that all might yet be well, she remained 
 silent upon the past. 
 
 EXD OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 V. SHOBERL, JON,, 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET, 
 
 PRINTER TO H.R.H. PRINCE ALBERT.
 
 
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