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 DEERBROOK 
 
 ^ tNTobd. 
 
 BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 " With good 
 Still overcoming evil, and by small 
 Accomplishing great things ; by things deemed weak 
 Subverting worldly strong and worldly wise." — Milton. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES, 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIX.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BBADBURY AND BVANS, PRJNTKKS, 
 
 VVHITBFRIARS.
 
 /^J'c^^.;^ 
 
 OO 
 
 CONTENTS TO VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP. PAGB 
 
 I. AN EVENT . e 1 
 
 II. MOONLIGHT TO TOWNSFOLK 23 
 
 III. MAKING ACQUAINTANCE . . . • .31 
 
 IV. MORNING CALLS . . . . ... 45 
 
 V. THE MEADOWS : .59 
 
 VI. THE SCHOOL-ROOM . 100 
 
 VII. FAMILY CONFIDENCE 126 
 
 Vm, FAMILY CORRESPONDENCE 138 
 
 IX. child's play . 160 
 
 X. A PARTY OF PLEASURE 175 
 
 \ XI. MEDIATION 207 
 
 ^11. A TURN IN THE SHRUBBERY 227 
 
 vXlII. SOPHIA IN THE VILLAGE ..... 247 
 
 \\^IV. PREPARING FOR HOME 261 
 
 XV. MARIA AND MARGARET ..... 286 
 XVI. HOME 320 
 
 
 '-i*^ 
 
 ^
 
 DEEKBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN EVENT. 
 
 Every town-bred person who travels in a rich 
 country region, knows what it is to see a neat white 
 house planted in a pretty situation, — in a shrub- 
 bery, or commanding a sunny common, or nestling 
 between two hills, — and to say to himself, as the 
 carriage sweeps past its gate, " I should like to 
 live there," — " I could be very happy in that 
 pretty place." Transient visions pass before his 
 mind's-eye of dewy summer mornings, when the 
 shadows are long on the grass, and of bright autumn 
 afternoons, when it would be luxury to saunter in 
 the neighbouring lanes ; and of frosty winter days, 
 when the sun shines in over the laurustinus at the 
 window, while the fire burns with a different light 
 from that w^iich it gives in the dull parlours of 
 a city. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Mr^_Grej"*s house had probably been the object 
 of this kind of speculation to one or more persons, 
 three times a week, ever since the stage-coach had 
 taken to passing through Deerbrook. Deerbrook 
 was a rather pretty village, dignified as it was with 
 the woods of a fine park, which formed the back- 
 ground to its best points of view. Of this pretty 
 village, Mr. Grey's was the prettiest house, stand- 
 ing in a field, round which the road swept. There 
 were trees enough about it to shade without dark- 
 ening it, and the garden and shrubbery behind 
 were evidently of no contemptible extent. The tim- 
 ber and coal yards, and granaries, which stretched 
 down to the river side, were hidden by a nice 
 management of the garden walls, and training of 
 the shrubbery. 
 
 In the drawing-room of this tempting white 
 house sat Mrs. Grey and her eldest daughter, one 
 Spring evening. It was rather an unusual thing 
 for them to be in the drawing-room: Sophia read 
 history and practised her music every morning in 
 the little blue parlour which looked towards the 
 road ; and her mother sat in the dining-room 
 which had the same aspect. The advantage of 
 these rooms was, that they commanded the house 
 of Mr. Rowland, Mr. Grey's partner in the corn, 
 coal, and timber business, and also the dwelling of 
 Mrs. Enderby, Mrs. Rowland's mother, who lived
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 just opposite the Rowlands. Tho drawing-room 
 looked merely into the garden. The only houses 
 seen from it were the green-house and the summer- 
 house ; the latter of which now served the purpose 
 of a school-room for the children of both families, 
 and stood on the boundary-line of the gardens of 
 the two gentlemen of the firm. The drawing- 
 room was so dull, that it was kept for company ; 
 that is, it was used about three times a-year, 
 when the pictures were unveiled, the green baize 
 removed, and the ground-windows, which opened 
 upon the lawn, thrown wide, to afford to the rare 
 guests of the family a welcome from birds and 
 flowers. 
 
 The ground-windows were open now, and on one 
 side sat Mrs. Grey, working a rug, and on the 
 other Sophia, working a collar. The ladies were 
 evidently in a state of expectation — a state exceed- 
 ingly trying to people who, living at ease in the 
 country, have rarely anything to expect beyond 
 the days of the week, the newspaper, and their 
 dinners. Mrs. Grey gave her needle a rest every 
 few minutes, to listen, and rang the bell three 
 times in a quarter of an hour, to make inquiries of 
 her maid about the arrangements of the best bed- 
 room. Sophia could not attend to her work, and 
 presently gave information that Fanny and Mary 
 were swinging in the orchard. She was desired to 
 b2
 
 4 DEERBROOK. 
 
 call them ; and presently Fanny and Mary appeared 
 at the window, — twins of ten years old, and very 
 pretty little girls. 
 
 " My dears," said Mrs. Grey, " has Miss Young 
 done with you for to-day ? " 
 
 " O yes, mama. It is just six o'clock. We have 
 been out of school this hour, almost.*" 
 
 " Then come in, and make yourselves neat, and 
 sit down with us. I should not wonder if the Miss 
 Ibbotsons should be here now before you are ready. 
 But where is Sydney V 
 
 " O, he is making a pond in his garden there. 
 He dug it before school this morning, and he is 
 filling it now."" 
 
 " Yes," said the other ; " and I don't know 
 when he will have done, for as fast as he fills it, it 
 empties again, and he says he cannot think how 
 people keep their ponds filled." 
 
 " He must have done now, however," said his 
 mother. " I suppose he is tearing his clothes to 
 pieces with drawing the water-barrel, and wetting 
 himself to the skin besides." 
 
 " And spoiling his garden," said Fanny. " He 
 has dug up all his hepaticas and two rose-bushes to 
 make his pond." 
 
 " Go to him, my dears, and tell him to come in 
 directly, and dress himself for tea. Tell him I 
 insist upon it. Do not run. Walk quietly. You
 
 DEERBROOK. 5 
 
 will heat yourselves, and I do not like Mrs. Rowland 
 to see you running." 
 
 Mary informed her brother that he was to leave 
 his pond and come in, and Fanny added that mama 
 insisted upon it. They had time to do this, to 
 walk quietly, to have their hair made quite smooth, 
 and to sit down with their two dolls on each side 
 the common cradle, in a corner of the drawing- 
 room, before the Miss Ibbotsons arrived. 
 
 The Miss Ibbotsons were daughters of a distant 
 relation of Mr. Grey's. Their mother had been 
 dead many years; they had now just lost their 
 father, and were left without any nearer relation 
 than Mr. Grey. He had invited them to visit his 
 family while their father's affairs were in course of 
 arrangement, and till it could be discovered what 
 their means of living were likely to be. They had 
 passed their lives in Birmingham, and had every 
 inclination to return to it, when their visit to their 
 Deerbrook relations should have been paid. Their 
 old schoolfellows and friends all lived there ; and 
 they thought it would be easier and pleasanter to 
 make the smallest income supply their wants in 
 their native town, than to remove to any place 
 where it might go further. They had taken leave 
 of their friends as for a very short time, and when 
 they entered Deerbrook, looked around them as 
 upon a place in which they were to pass a summer
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 All Deerbrook had been informed of their ex- 
 pected arrival — as it always was of everything which 
 concerned the Greys. The little Rowlands were 
 walking with their mother when the chaise came 
 up the street ; but being particularly desired not 
 to look at it, they were not much benefited by the 
 event. Their grandmama, Mrs. Enderby, was 
 not at the moment under the same restriction ; 
 and her high cap might be seen above the green 
 blind of her parlour as the chaise turned into 
 Mr. Grey's gate. The stationer, the parish-clerk, 
 and the milliner and her assistant, had obtained a 
 passing view of sundry boxes, the face of an elderly 
 woman, and the outline of two black bonnets, — 
 all that they could boast of to repay them for the 
 vigilance of a whole afternoon. 
 
 Sophia Grey might be pardoned for some anxiety 
 about the reception of the young ladies. She was 
 four years younger than the younger of them; and 
 Hester, the elder, was one-and-twenty, — a vene- 
 rable age to a girl of sixteen. Sophia began to 
 think she had never been really afraid of any- 
 thing before, though she remembered having cried 
 bitterly when first left alone with her governess; 
 and though she had always been remarkable for 
 clinging to her mother's side on all social occasions. 
 In the approaching trial her mother could give her 
 little assistance. These cousins would be always
 
 DEERBROOK. 7 
 
 with her. How she should read history, or prac- 
 tise music with them in the room, she could not 
 imagine, nor what she should find to say to them 
 all day long. If poor Elizabeth had but lived, 
 what a comfort she would have been now, — the 
 elder one, who would have taken all the responsi- 
 bility ! And she heaved a sigh once more, as she 
 thought, to the memory of poor Elizabeth. 
 
 Mr. Grey was at a market some miles off; and 
 Sydney was sent by his mother into the hall, to 
 assist in the work of alighting, and causing the 
 luggage to alight. As any other boy of thirteen 
 w^ould have done, he slunk behind the hall door, 
 without venturing to speak to the strangers, and 
 left the business to the guests and the maids. Mrs. 
 Grey and Sophia awaited them in the drawing- 
 room, and were ready with information about how 
 uneasy they had all been at the rain in the morn- 
 ing, till they remembered that it would lay the 
 dust, and so make the journey pleasanter. The 
 twins shouldered their dolls, and looked on from 
 their stools, while Sydney stole in, and, for want 
 of some better way of covering his awkwardness, 
 began rocking the cradle with his foot till he tilted 
 it over. 
 
 Sophia found the first half-hour not at all dif- 
 ficult to surmount. She and Margaret Ibbotson 
 informed each other of the precise number of miles
 
 8 DEERBROOK. 
 
 between Deerbrook and Birmingham. She ascer- 
 tained fully to her satisfaction that her guests had 
 dined. She assisted them in the observation that 
 the grass of the lawn looked very green after the 
 streets of Birmingham ; and she had to tell them 
 that her father was obliged to attend the market 
 some miles off, and would not be home for an hour 
 or two. Then the time came when bonnets were 
 to be taken off, and she could offer to show the 
 way to the spare room. There she took Hester 
 and Margaret to the window, and explained to 
 them what they saw thence : and, as it was 
 necessary to talk, she poured out what was 
 most familiar to her mind, experiencing a sudden 
 relief from all the unwonted shyness which had 
 tormented her. 
 
 " That is Mr. Rowland's house, — papa''s part- 
 ner''s, you know. Isn't it an ugly place, with 
 that ridiculous porch to it ? But Mrs. Row- 
 land can never be satisfied without altering 
 her house once a year. She has made Mr. 
 Rowland spend more money upon that place 
 than would have built a new one of twice the size. 
 — That house opposite is Mrs. Enderby's, Mrs. 
 Rowland's mother s. So near as she lives to the 
 Rowlands, it is shocking how they neglect her. 
 There could be no difficulty in being properly 
 attentive to her, so near as she is, could there ?
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 But when she is ill, we are obliged to go and see 
 her sometimes when it is very inconvenient, because 
 Mrs. Rowland has never been near her all day. 
 Is not it shocking ?" 
 
 " I rather wonder she should complain of her 
 family," observed Margaret. 
 
 "O, she is not remarkable for keeping her 
 feelings to herself, poor soul ! But really it is 
 wonderful how little she says about it, except 
 when her heart is quite full, — just to us. She 
 tries to excuse Mrs. Rowland all she can ; and 
 she makes out that Mrs. Rowland is such an ex- 
 cellent mother, and so busy with her children, 
 and all that. But you know that is no excuse 
 for not taking care of her own mother.'' 
 
 " Those are the Yerdon woods, are they notT"* 
 said Hester, leaning out of the window to survey 
 the whole of the sunny prospect. "I suppose 
 you spend half your days in those woods in 
 summer." 
 
 " No ; mama goes out very little, and I seldom 
 walk beyond the garden. But now you are come, 
 we shall go everywhere. Ours is considered a 
 very pretty village." 
 
 The sisters thought it so beautiful, that they 
 
 gazed as if they feared it would melt away if they 
 
 withdrew their eyes. The one discovered the 
 
 bridge, lying in shadow: the other the pointed 
 
 B 3
 
 10 DEERBROOK, 
 
 roof of the building which surmounted the spring 
 in the park woods. Sophia was well pleased at 
 their pleasure : and their questions, and her de- 
 scriptions, went on improving in rapidity, till a 
 knock at the door of the room cut short the cate- 
 chism. It was Morris, the Miss Ibbotsons' maid ; 
 and her appearance gave Sophia a hint to leave 
 her guests to refresh themselves. She glanced 
 over the room, to see that nothing was wanting ; 
 pointed out the bell, intimated that the wash- 
 stands were mahogany, which showed every splash, 
 and explained that the green blinds were meant 
 to be always down when the sun shone in, lest it 
 should fade the carpet. She then withdrew, tell- 
 ing the young ladies that they would find tea 
 ready when they came down. 
 
 '' How very handsome Hester is I" was the 
 exclamation of both mother and daughter, when 
 Sophia had shut the drawing-room door behind 
 her. ' 
 
 " I wonder," said Mrs. Grey, " that nobody 
 ever told us how handsome we should find Hester. 
 1 should like to see what fault Mrs. Rowland can 
 find in her face.'^ 
 
 '' It is rather odd that one sister should have^ 
 all the beauty,"''' said Sophia. '' I do not see any 
 thing striking in Margaret." 
 
 " Mrs. Rowland will say she is plain ; but, in
 
 DEERBROOK. 11 
 
 my opinion, Margaret is better looking than any 
 of the Rowlands are ever likely to be. Margaret 
 would not be thought plain away from her sister. — ■ 
 I hope they are not fine ladies. I am rather sur- 
 prised at their bringing a maid. She looks a very 
 respectable person ; but I did not suppose they 
 would keep a maid, till they knew better what to 
 look forward to. I do not know what Mr. Grey 
 will think of it." 
 
 When Hester and Margaret came down, Mrs. 
 Grey was ready with an account of the society of 
 the place. 
 
 " We are as well off for society," said she, " as 
 most places of the size. If you were to ask the 
 bookseller at Blickley, who supplies our club, he 
 would tell you that we are rather intellectual peo- 
 ple : and I hope you wall see, when our friends have 
 called on you, that though we seem to be living 
 out of the world, we are not without our pleasures. 
 I think, Sophia, the Levitts will certainly call." 
 
 " yes, mama, to-morrow, I have no doubt." 
 
 " Dr. Levitt is our rector," observed Mrs. Grey 
 to her guests. " We are dissenters, as you know, 
 and our neighbour, Mrs. Rowland, is very much 
 scandalized at it. If Mr. Rowland would have 
 allowed it, she would have made a difficulty on 
 that ground about having her children educated 
 with mine. But the Levitts' conduct might teach
 
 12 DEERBROOK. 
 
 her better. They make no difference on account 
 of our being dissenters. They always call on our 
 friends the first day after they arrive, — or the 
 second at furthest. I have no doubt we shall see 
 the Levitts to-morrow." 
 
 " And Mrs. Enderby, I am sure,*" said Sophia, 
 " if she is at all able to stir out." 
 
 " O yes, Mrs. Enderby knows what is right, if 
 her daughter does not. If she does not call to- 
 morrow, I shall think that Mrs. Rowland prevented 
 her. She can keep her mother within doors, as 
 we know, when it suits her purposes." 
 
 " But Mr. Philip is here, mama, and Mrs. En- 
 derby can do as she likes when she has her son 
 with her. — I assure you he is here, mama. I saw 
 the cobbler's boy carry home a pair of boots there 
 this morning." 
 
 Sydney had better evidence still to produce. 
 Mr. Enderby had been talking with him about 
 fishing this afternoon. He said he had come down 
 for a fortnight's fishing. Fanny also declared 
 that Matilda Rowland had told Miss Young to- 
 day, that uncle Philip was coming to^ see the new 
 school-room. Mrs. Grey was always glad, on poor 
 Mrs. Enderby's account, when she had her son 
 with her : but otherwise she owned she did not 
 care for his coming. He was too like his sister to 
 please her.
 
 DEERBROOK. 13 
 
 " He is very high, to be sure," observed Sophia. 
 
 " And really there is no occasion for that with 
 us," resumed Mrs. Grey. " We should never 
 think of mixing him up with his sister's proceed- 
 ings, if *he did not do it himself. No one would 
 suppose him answerable for her rudeness ; at least, 
 I am sure such a thing would never enter my head. 
 But he forces it upon one's mind by carrying him- 
 self so high." 
 
 " I don't think he can help being so tall," ob- 
 served Sydney. 
 
 " But he buttons up, and makes the most of 
 it," replied Sophia. " He stalks in like a Polish 
 count." 
 
 The sisters could not help smiling at this proof 
 that the incursions of the Poles into this place 
 were confined to the book club. They happened 
 to be well acquainted with a Polish count, who 
 was short of stature and did not stalk. They 
 were spared all necessity of exerting themselves in 
 conversation, for it went on very well without the 
 aid of more than a word or two from them. 
 
 " Do you think, mama, the Andersons will 
 come?" asked Sophia. 
 
 " Not before Sunday, my dear. — The Andersons 
 live three miles off," she explained, " and are much 
 confined with their school. They may possibly 
 call on Saturday afternoon, as Saturday is a half
 
 14 DEERBROOK. 
 
 holiday ; but Sunday after church is a more Hkely 
 time. — We do not much approve of Sunday visits ; 
 and I dare say you feel the same : but this is a 
 particular case, — people living three miles off, you 
 know, and keeping a school. And being dissent- 
 ers, we do not like to appear illiberal to those who 
 are not of our own way of thinking : so the Ander- 
 sons sometimes come in after church ; and I am 
 sure you will accept their call just as if it was made 
 in any other way." 
 
 Hester and Margaret could only say that they 
 should be happy to see Mr. and Mrs. Anderson in 
 any mode which was most convenient to them- 
 selves. A laugh went through the family, and a ge- 
 neral exclamation of " Mr. and Mrs. Anderson ! " 
 " The Andersons " happened to be two maiden 
 sisters, who kept a young ladies* school. It was 
 some time before Mrs. Grey herself could so far 
 command her countenance as to frown with becom- 
 ing severity at Fanny, who continued to giggle for 
 some time, with intervals of convulsive stillness, at 
 the idea that " the Andersons " could mean Mr. 
 and Mrs. Anderson. In the midst of the struggle, 
 Mr. Grey entered. He laid a hand on the head 
 of each twin, observed that they seemed very 
 merry, and asked whether his cousins had been 
 kind enough to make them laugh already. To 
 these cousins he offered a brief and hearty wel-
 
 DEERBROOK. 15 
 
 come, remarking that he supposed they had been 
 told what had prevented his being on the spot on 
 their arrival, and that he need not trouble them 
 with the story over again. 
 
 Sydney had slipped out as his father entered, 
 for the chance of riding his horse to the stable, — ■ 
 a ride of any length being in his opinion better 
 than none. When he returned in a few minutes, 
 he tried to whisper to Sophia, over the back of her 
 chair, but could not for laughing. After repeated 
 attempts, Sophia pushed him away. 
 
 " Come, my boy, out with it !" said his father. 
 " What you can tell your sister you can tell us. 
 What is the joke V 
 
 Sydney looked as if he had rather not explain 
 before the strangers ; but he never dared to trifle 
 with his father. He had just heard from little 
 George Rowland, that Mrs. Rowland had said at 
 home, that the young ladies at Mr. Grey's, who 
 had been made so much fuss about, w^ere riot young 
 ladies, after all : she had seen the face of one, as 
 they passed her in the chaise, and she was sure the 
 person could not be less than fifty. 
 
 " She saw Morris, no doubt," said Hester, 
 amidst the general laugh. 
 
 " I hope she will come to-morrow, and see some 
 people who are very little like fifty," said Mrs. 
 Grey. " She will be surprised, I think," she
 
 16 DEERBROOK. 
 
 added, looking at Hester with a very meaning 
 manner of admiration. " I really hope, for her 
 own sake, she will come, though you need not 
 mind if she does not. You will have no great loss. 
 Mr. Grey, I suppose you think she will calir"* 
 
 " No doubt, my dear. Mrs. Rowland never 
 omits calling on our friends ; and why should she 
 now V And Mr. Grey applied himself to conver- 
 sation with his cousins, while the rest of the 
 family enjoyed further merriment about Mrs. 
 Rowland having mistaken Morris for one of the 
 Miss Ibbotsons. 
 
 Mr. Grey showed a sympathy with the sisters, 
 which made them more at home than they had 
 felt since they entered the house. He knew some 
 of their Birmingham friends, and could speak of 
 the institutions and interests of the town. For a 
 whole hour he engaged them in brisk conversation, 
 without having once alluded to their private affairs 
 or his own, or said one word about Deerbrook 
 society. At the end of that time, just as Mary 
 and Fanny had received orders to go to bed, and 
 were putting their dolls into the cradle in prepa- 
 ration, the scrambling of a horse's feet was heard 
 on the gravel before the front door, and the house- 
 bell rang. 
 
 *' Who can be coming at this time of night ? ' 
 said Mrs. Grey.
 
 V 
 
 DEERBROOK. 17 
 
 "It is Hope, I have no doubt,"*^ replied her 
 husband. "As I passed his door, I asked him to 
 go out to old Mr. Smithson, who seems to me to 
 be rather worse than better, and to let me know 
 whether anything can be done for the old gentle- 
 man. Hope has come to report of him, no 
 doubt." 
 
 " Oh, mama, don't send us to bed if it is Mr. 
 Hope ! " cried the little girls. " Let us sit up a 
 little longer if it is Mr. Hope.'' 
 
 " Mr. Hope is a great favourite with the children, 
 — with us all," observed Mrs. Grey to the sisters. 
 " We have the greatest confidence in him as^oiUL 
 medical man ; as indeed every one has who em- 
 ploys him. Mr. Grey brought him here, and we 
 consider him the greatest acquisition our society 
 ever had." 
 
 The sisters could not be surprised at this when 
 they saw Mr. Hope. The only wonder was, that 
 in the description of the intellectual society of 
 Deerbrook Mr. Hope had not been mentioned 
 first. He was not handsome ; but there was a 
 gaiety of countenance and manner in him under 
 which the very lamp seemed to burn brighter. 
 He came, as Mr. Grey had explained, on business ; 
 and, not having been aware of the arrival of the 
 strangers, would have retreated when his errand 
 was done ; but, as opposition was made to this by
 
 18 DEERBROOK. 
 
 both parents and children, he sat down for a 
 quarter of an hour, to be taken into consultation 
 about how the Miss Ibbotsons were to be con- 
 ducted through the process of seeing the sights of 
 Deerbrook. 
 
 With all sincerity, the sisters declared that the 
 woods of the park would fully satisfy them, — that 
 they had been accustomed to a life so quiet, that 
 excursions were not at all necessary to their enjoy- 
 ment. Mr. Grey was determined that they should 
 visit every place worth seeing in the neighbour- 
 hood, while it was in its summer beauty. Mr. 
 Hope was exactly the right person to consult, as 
 there was no nook, no hamlet, to which his tastes 
 or his profession had not led him. Sophia put 
 paper before him, on which he was to note dis- 
 tances, according to his and Mr. Grey'*s computa- 
 tions. Now, it was one peculiarity of Mr. Hope 
 that he could never see a piece of paper before him 
 without drawing upon it. Sophia's music-books, 
 and any sheet of blotting-paper which might ever 
 have come in his way, bore tokens of this : and 
 now his fingers were as busy as usual while he was 
 talking and computing and arranging. When, as 
 he said, enough had been planned to occupy a 
 month, he threw down his pencil, and took leave 
 till the morning, when he intended to make a call 
 which should be less involuntary.
 
 DEERBROOK. 19 
 
 The moment he was gone, the Httle girls laid 
 hands on the sheet of paper on which he had been 
 employed. As they expected, it was covered with 
 scraps of sketches ; and they exclaimed with de- 
 light, — " Look here ! Here is the Spring. How 
 fond Mr. Hope is of drawing the Spring ! And 
 here is the foot-bridge at Dingleford ! And what 
 is this ? Here is a place we don't know, papa.'' 
 
 " I do not know how you should, my dears. It 
 is the abbey ruin down the river, which I rather 
 think you have never seen." 
 
 " No, but we should like to see it. Are there 
 no faces this time, Fanny ? None anywhere ? No 
 funny faces this time I I like them the best of 
 Mr. Hope's drawings. Sophia, do let us show some 
 of the faces that are on your music-books."" 
 
 " If you will be sure and put them away again. 
 But you know if Mr. Hope is ever reminded of 
 them, he will be sure to rub them out." 
 
 " He did old Owen fishing so that he can't rub 
 it out if he would," said Sydney. " He did it in 
 ink for me ; and that is better than any of your 
 sketches, that will rub out in a minute." 
 
 " Come, children," said their father, " it is an 
 hour past your bedtime." 
 
 When the children were gone, and Sophia was 
 attending the sisters to their apartment, Mrs. 
 Grey looked at her husband over her spectacles. 
 " Well, my dear !" said she.
 
 20 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Well, my dear !'"* responded Mr. Grey. 
 *' Do not you think Hester very handsome T 
 " There is no doubt of it, my dear. She is very 
 handsome."*' 
 
 " Do not you think Mr. Hope thinks so too T 
 It is a fact which few but the despisers of their 
 race like to acknowledge, and which those despisers 
 of their race are therefore apt to interpret wrongly, 
 and are enabled to make too much of — that it is 
 perfectly natural, — so natural as to appear neces- 
 sary, — that when young people first meet, the pos- 
 sibility of their falling in love should occur to all the 
 minds present. We have no" doubt that it always 
 is so ; though we are perfectly aware that the 
 idea speedily goes out again, as naturally as it came 
 in : and in no case so speedily and naturally as in 
 the minds of the parties most nearly concerned, 
 from the moment that the concern becomes very 
 near indeed. We have no doubt that the minds in 
 Mr. Grey's drawing-room underwent the common 
 succession of ideas, — slight and transient imagina- 
 tions, which pass into nothingness when unex- 
 pressed. Probably the sisters wondered whether 
 Mr. Hope was married, whether he was engaged, 
 whether he was meant for Sophia, in the prospect 
 of her growing old enough. Probably each specu- 
 lated for half a moment, unconsciously, for her 
 sister, and Sophia for both. Probably Mr. Grey 
 might reflect that when young people are in the
 
 DEERBROOK. 21 
 
 way of meeting frequently in country excursions, a 
 love affair is no very unnatural result. But Mrs. 
 Grey was the only one who fixed the idea in her 
 own mind and another by speaking of it. 
 
 " Do not you think Mr. Hope thinks Hester 
 very handsome, Mr. Grey ?" 
 
 *' I really know nothing about it, my dear. He 
 did not speak on the subject as he mounted his 
 horse ; and that is the only opportunity he has had 
 of saying anything about the young ladies." 
 
 " It would have been strange if he had then, 
 before Sydney and the servants.'' 
 '' Very strange indeed." 
 
 " But do you not think he must have been struck 
 with her ? I should like very well to have her 
 settled here ; and the corner-house of Mr. Row- 
 land's might do nicely for them. I do not know 
 what Mrs. Kowland would think of Mr. Hope's 
 marrying into our connexion so decidedly." 
 
 " My dear," said her husband, smiling, *' just 
 consider ! For anything we know, these young 
 ladies may both be attached and engaged. Hope 
 
 may be attached elsewhere ." 
 
 " No, that I will answer for it he is not. I ." 
 
 " Well, you may have your reasons for being 
 sure on that head. But he may not like the girls ; 
 they may not hke him : — in short, the only thing 
 that has happened is, that they have seen each 
 other for one quarter of an hour."
 
 22 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Well ! there is no saying what may come of 
 it. 
 
 " Very true : let us wait and see." 
 
 *' But there is no harm in my telling you what- 
 ever comes into my head." 
 
 " None in the world, unless you get it so fixed 
 there that somebody else happens to know it too. 
 Be careful, my dear. Let no one of these young 
 people get a ghmpse of your speculation. Think 
 of the consequence to them and to yourself." 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Grey ! you need not be afraid. 
 What a serious matter you make of a word or 
 two !" 
 
 " Because a good many ideas belong to that 
 word or two, my dear/'
 
 DEERBROOK. 23 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 MOONLIGHT TO TOWNSFOLK. 
 
 The moment the door closed behind Sophia, as 
 she left the sisters in their apartment, Hester 
 crossed the room, with a step very like a dance, 
 and threw up the window. 
 
 " I had rather look out than sleep,'"* said she. 
 " I shall be ashamed to close my eyes on such a 
 prospect. — Morris, if you are waiting for us, you 
 may go. I shall sit up a long while yet." 
 
 Morris thought she had not seen Hester in such 
 spirits since her father's death. She was unwilling 
 to check them, but said something about the fa- 
 tigues of the j ourney , and being fresh for the next day. 
 
 " No fear for to-morrow, Morris. We are in 
 the country, you know, and I cannot fancy being 
 tired in the fields, and in such a park as that. Good 
 night, Morris." 
 
 When she too was gone, Hester called Margaret 
 to her, put her arm round her waist, and kissed her 
 again and again.
 
 24 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " You seem happy to-night, Hester,**' said Mar- 
 garet's gentle voice. 
 
 " Yes," sighed Hester ; " more like being happy 
 than for a long time past. How little we know 
 what we shall feel ! Here have I been dreading 
 and dreading this evening, and shrinking from the 
 idea of meeting the Greys, and wanting to write at 
 the last moment to say that we would not come, — 
 and it turns out — so differently ! Think of day 
 after day, week after week, of pure country life ! 
 When they were planning for us to-night, and talk- 
 ing of the brook, and lanes, and meadows, it made 
 my very heart dance.'** 
 
 " Thank God l" said Margaret. " When your 
 heart dances, there is nothing left to wish." 
 
 " But did not yours ? Had you ever such a pro- 
 spect before, — such a prospect of delicious pleasure 
 for weeks together, — except perhaps when we 
 caught our first sight of the sea V 
 
 " Nothing can ever equal that," replied Marga- 
 ret. " Do not you hear now the ^hout we gave 
 when we saw the sparkles on the horizon, — heaving 
 sparkles, — when we were a mile off, and mama 
 held me up that I might see it better ; and baby, 
 — dear baby, — clapped his little hands? Does 
 
 not seem like yesterday ?" 
 
 " Like yesterday : and yet, if baby had lived he 
 would now have been our companion,— growing
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 into the stead of all other friends to us. I thought 
 of him when I saw Sydney Grey ; but he would 
 have been very unlike Sydney Grey. He would 
 have been five years older, but still different from 
 what Sydney will be at eighteen;— graver, more 
 manly.'' 
 
 " How strange is the idea of having a brother !" 
 said ^largaret. " I never see girls with their bro- 
 thers but I watch them, and long to feel what it 
 is, just for one hour. — I wonder what difference it 
 would have made between you and me, if we had 
 had a brother." 
 
 '' You and he would have been close friends, — 
 always together, and I should have been left alone," 
 said Hester, with a sigh. " O yes," she continued, 
 interrupting Margaret's protest, "it would have 
 been so. There can never be the same friendship 
 between three as between two." 
 
 " And why should you have been the one left 
 out I" asked Margaret. " But this is all nonsense, 
 — ^all a dream," she added. '' The real truth is that 
 baby died, — still a baby, — and we know no more 
 of what he would have been, than of what he is. 
 The real truth is that you and I are alone, to be 
 each other's only friend." 
 
 " It makes me tremble to think of it, Margaret. 
 It is not so long since our home seemed full. How 
 we used all to sit round the fire, and laugh and 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 DEERBROOK. 
 
 play with papa, as if we were not to separate till 
 we had all grown old : and now, young as we are, 
 here we are alone ! How do we know that we 
 shall be left to each other V 
 
 " There is only one thing we can do, Hester," 
 said Margaret, resting her head on her sister's 
 shoulder. "We must make the most of being 
 together while we can. There must not be the 
 shadow of a cloud between us for a moment. Our 
 confidence must be as full and free, our whole minds 
 as absolutely open as — as I have read and r heard 
 that two minds can never be." 
 
 " Those who say so do not know what may be," 
 exclaimed Hester. " I am sure there is not a 
 thought, a feehng in me that I could not tell you, 
 though I know I never could to any one else." 
 
 " If I were to lose you, Hester, there are many 
 many things that would be shut up in me for ever. 
 There will never be any one on earth to whom I 
 could say the things that I can tell to you. Do 
 you believe this, Hester V 
 
 " I do. I know it." 
 
 " Then you will never again doubt me, as you 
 certainly have done sometimes. You cannot ima- 
 gine how my heart sinks when I see you are fancy- 
 ing that I care for somebody else more than for 
 you ; when you think that I am feeling differently 
 from you. O Hester, I know every change of your
 
 DEERBROOK. 27 
 
 thoughts by your face ; and indeed your thoughts 
 have been mistaken sometimes." 
 
 " They have been wicked, often," said Hester, 
 in a low voice. " I have sometimes thought that 
 I must be hopelessly bad, when I have foimd that 
 the strongest affection I have in the world has 
 made me unjust and cruel to the person I love best. 
 I have a jealous temper, Margaret ; and a jealous 
 temper is a wicked temper.^' 
 
 " Now you are unkind to yourself, Hester. I 
 do believe you will never doubt me again." 
 
 " I never will. And if I find a thought of 
 the kind rising in me, I will tell you the moment 
 I am aware of it." 
 
 " Do : and I will tell you the moment I see a trace 
 of such a thought in your face. So we shall be 
 safe. We can never misunderstand each other 
 for more than a moment." 
 
 By the gentle leave of Heaven, all human beings 
 have visions. Not the lowest and dullest but has 
 the coarseness of his life relieved at moments by 
 some scenery of hope rising through the brooding 
 fogs of his intellect and his heart. Such visita- 
 tions of mercy are the privilege of the innocent, 
 and the support of the infirm. Here were the 
 lonely sisters sustained in bereavement and self- 
 rebuke, by the vision of a friendship which should 
 be unearthly in its depth and freedom ; they were 
 2c
 
 28 DEERBROOK. 
 
 SO happy for the hour, that nothing could disturb 
 them. 
 
 " I do not see," observed Hester, " that it will 
 be possible to enjoy any intimate intercourse with 
 this family. Unless they are of a different order 
 from what they seem, we cannot have much in 
 common ; but I am sure they mean to be kind, 
 and they will let us be happy in our own way. 
 O, what mornings you and I will have together in 
 those woods ! Did you ever see anything so soft 
 as they look in this light V 
 
 " And the bend of the river glittering there . 
 Here, a httle more this way, and you will see it 
 as I do. The moon is not at the full yet ; the 
 river will be like this for some nights to come." 
 
 " And these rides and drives, — I hope nothing 
 will prevent our going through the whole list of 
 them. What is the matter, Margaret? Why 
 are you so cool about them V 
 
 " I think all the pleasure depends upon the 
 companionship, and I have some doubts about 
 that. I had rather sit at work in a drawing- 
 room all day, than go among mountains with 
 people " 
 
 " Like the Mansons ; O, that spreading of 
 shawls, and bustle about the sandwiches, before 
 they could give a look at the waterfall ! I am 
 afraid we may find something of the same draw- 
 back here."
 
 DEERBROOK. 29 
 
 " I am afraid so." 
 
 " Well, only let us get out into the woods and 
 lanes, and we will manage to enjoy ourselves 
 there. We can contrive to digress here and 
 there together without being missed. But I think 
 we are judging rather hastily from what we saw 
 this evening even about this family ; and we have 
 no right to suppose that all their acquaintance are 
 like them.'*' 
 
 " No, indeed ; and I am sure Mr. Hope, for 
 one, is of a different order. He dropped one 
 thing, one little saying, which proved this to my 
 mind." 
 
 *' I know what you mean — about the old man 
 that is to be our guide over that heath they were 
 talking of — about why that heath is a different 
 and more beautiful place to him than to us, or to 
 his former self. Is it not true, what he said ? " 
 
 " I am sure it is true. I have little to say of 
 my own experience, or wisdom, or goodness, — 
 whichever it was that he particularly meant as 
 giving a new power of sight to the old man ; but 
 I know that no tree waves to my eye as it did ten 
 years ago, and the music of running water is 
 richer to my ear as every summer comes round." 
 
 " Yes ; I almost wonder sometimes whether 
 all things are not made at the moment by the 
 mind that sees them, so wonderfully do they
 
 so DEERBROOK. 
 
 change with one's mood, and according to the 
 store of thoughts they lay open in one's mind. 
 If I Uved in a desert island (supposing one'^s intel- 
 lect could go on to grow there), I should feel sure 
 of this." 
 
 " But not here, where it is quite clear that the 
 village sot (if there be one), and Mr. Hope, and 
 the children, and we ourselves all see the same 
 objects in sunlight and moonlight, and acknow- 
 ledge them to be the same, though we cannot 
 measure feelings upon them. I wish Mr. Hope 
 may say something more which may lead to the 
 old man on the heath again. He is coming to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " YeSj we shall see him again to-morrow.'"*
 
 DEERBROOK. 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 The sisters were not so fatigued with their 
 journey, but that they were early in the open air 
 the next morning. In the shrubbery they met 
 the twins, walking hand in hand, each with a doll 
 on the disengaged arm. 
 
 " You are giving your dolls an airing before 
 breakfast," said Hester, stopping them as they 
 would have passed on. 
 
 " Yes, we carry out our dolls now because we 
 must not run before breakfast. We have made 
 arbours in our own gardens for our dolls, where 
 they may sit when we are swinging." 
 
 " I should like to see your arbours and your 
 gardens," said Margaret, looking round her; 
 " will you take me to them?" 
 
 " Not now,'' answered they ; " we should have 
 to cross the grass, and we must not go upon the 
 grass before breakfast." 
 
 " Where is your swing? I am very fond of 
 swinging ?"
 
 S2 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " ! it is in the orchard there, under that large 
 tree. But you cannot " 
 
 "I see ; we cannot get to it now, because we 
 should have to cross the grass." And Margaret 
 began to look round for any place where they 
 might go beyond the gravel walk on which they 
 stood. She moved towards the greenhouse, but 
 found it was never unlocked before breakfast. 
 The summer-house remained, and a most unex- 
 ceptionable path led to it. The sisters turned 
 that way. 
 
 " You cannot go there," cried the children ; 
 " Miss Young always has the school-room before 
 breakfast." 
 
 " We are going to see Miss Young," explained 
 Hester, smiling at the amazed faces with which 
 the children stared from the end of the path. 
 They were suddenly seen to turn, and walk as 
 fast as they could, without its being called run- 
 ning, towards the house. They were gone to 
 their mother's dressing-room door, to tell her that 
 the Miss Ibbotsons were gone to see Miss Young 
 before breakfast. 
 
 The path led for some little way under the 
 hedge which separated Mr. Grey's from Mr. 
 Rowland's garden. There were voices on the 
 other side, and what was said was perfectly 
 audible. Uneasy at hearing what was not meant
 
 DEERBROOK. *33 
 
 for them, Hester and Margaret gave tokens of 
 their presence. The conversation on the other 
 side of the hedge proceeded ; and in a very short 
 time the sisters were persuaded that they had 
 been mistaken in supposing that what was said 
 was not meant for them. 
 
 " My own Matilda,"" said a voice which evi- 
 dently came from under a lady's bonnet which 
 moved parallel with Hester's and Margaret's; 
 " My o^vn Matilda, I would not be so harsh as 
 to prevent your playing where you please before 
 breakfast. Run where you like, my love. I am 
 sorry for little girls who are not allowed to do as 
 they please in the cool of the morning. My children 
 shall never suffer such restriction." 
 
 " Mother," cried a rough little person, " Tm 
 going fishing with uncle Philip to-day. Sydney 
 Grey and I are going, I don't know how far up the 
 river." 
 
 " On no account, my dear boy. You must not 
 think of such a thing. I should not have a moment's 
 peace while you are away. You would not be back 
 till evening, perhaps ; and I should be fancying all 
 day that you were in the river. It is out of the 
 question, my own George." 
 
 " But I must go, mother. Uncle Philip said I 
 might ; and Sydney Grey is going." 
 
 " That is only another reason, my dear boy. 
 c 3
 
 34} DEERBKOOK. 
 
 Your uncle will yield to my wishes, I am sure, as 
 he always does. And if Mrs. Grey allows her son 
 to run such risks, I am sure I should not feel my- 
 self justified. You will stay with me, love, won''t 
 you 1 You will stay with your mother, my own 
 boy." 
 
 George ran roaring away, screaming for uncle 
 Philip ; who was not at hand, however, to plead 
 his cause. 
 
 " My Matilda," resumed the fond mother, " you 
 are making yourself a sad figure. You will not be 
 fit to show yourself at breakfast. Do you suppose 
 your papa ever saw such a frock as that ? There I 
 look — dripping wet ! Pritchard, take Miss Matilda, 
 and change all her clothes directly. So much for 
 my allowing her to run on the grass, while the dew 
 is on ! Lose no time, Pritchard, lest the child 
 should catch cold. Leave Miss Anna with me. 
 Walk beside me, my Anna. Ah ! there is papa. 
 Papa, we must find some amusement for George 
 to-day, as I cannot think of letting him go out 
 fishing. Suppose we take the children to spend 
 the morning with their cousins at Dingleford ? '^ 
 
 " To-morrow would suit me better, my love," 
 replied the husband. " Indeed I don't see how I 
 can go to-day, or you either." And Mr. Row- 
 land lowered his voice so as to show that he was 
 aware of his liability to be overheard.
 
 DEERBROOK. 35 
 
 " O, as to that, there is no hurry,'" replied the 
 lady aloud. " If I had nothing else to do, I should 
 not make that call to-day. Any day will do as 
 well." 
 
 As Hester and Margaret looked at each other, 
 they heard the gentleman softly say "hush!'** 
 But Mrs. Rowland went on as audibly as ever. 
 
 " There is no reason why I should be in any 
 hurry to call on Mrs. Grey's friends, whoever and 
 whatever they may be. Any day will do for that, 
 my dear." 
 
 Not having been yet forbidden to run before 
 breakfast, Hester and Margaret fled to the sum- 
 mer-house, to avoid hearing any more of the do- 
 mestic dialogues of the Rowland family. 
 
 " What shall we do when that woman calls ? '"* 
 said Hester. *' How will it be possible to speak 
 to her I " 
 
 " As we should speak to any other indifferent 
 person," replied Margaret. " Her rudeness is 
 meant for Mrs. Grey, not for us ; for she knows 
 nothing about us : and Mrs. Grey will never hear 
 from us what has passed. — Shall we knock I " 
 
 In answer to the knock, they were requested to 
 enter. Miss Young rose in some confusion when 
 she found her visiters were other than her pupils : 
 but she was so lame that Hester made her sit 
 down again, while they drew seats for themselves.
 
 36 DEERBROOK. 
 
 They apologised for breaking in upon her with so 
 little ceremony, but explained that they were come 
 to be inmates at Mr. Grey's for some months, and 
 that they wished to lose no time in making them- 
 selves acquainted with every resort of the family of 
 which they considered themselves a part. Miss 
 Young was evidently pleased to see them. She 
 closed her volume, and assured them they were 
 welcome to her apartment ; " for,'" said she, " every 
 body calls it my apartment, and why should not I ?" 
 
 " Do you spend all your time here ?" asked 
 Hester. 
 
 " Almost the whole day. I have a lodging in 
 the village ; but I leave it early these fine morn- 
 ings, and stay here till dark. I am so lame as to 
 make it inconvenient to pass over the ground 
 oftener than is necessary ; and I find it pleasanter 
 to see trees and grass through every window here, 
 than to look out into the farrier\s yard, — the only 
 prospect from my lodging. The furnace and 
 sparks are pretty enough of a winter's evening, 
 especially when one is too ill or too dismal to do 
 anything but watch them ; but at this season one 
 grows tired of old horse-shoes and cinders ; and so 
 I sit here.'' 
 
 To the sisters there seemed a world of desolation 
 in these words. They were always mourning for 
 having no brother. Here was one who appeared
 
 DEERBROOK. 37 
 
 to be entirely alone. From not knowing exactly 
 what to say, Margaret opened the book Miss 
 Young had laid aside. It was German — Schiller's 
 Thirty Years'* War. Every one has something to 
 say about German literature; those who do not 
 understand it asking whether it is not very mystical, 
 and wild, and obscure ; and those who do under- 
 stand it saying that it is not so at all. It would 
 be a welcome novelty if the two parties were to 
 set about finding out what it is to be mystical, — a 
 point which, for aught that is known to the gene- 
 rality, is not yet ascertained. — Miss Young and 
 her \4siters did not enter upon precise definitions 
 this morning. These were left for a future occa- 
 sion. Meantime it was ascertained that Miss 
 Young had learned the German language by the 
 aid of dictionary and grammar alone, and also that 
 if she should happen to meet with any one who 
 wished to enjoy what she was enjoying, she should 
 be glad to afford any aid in her power. — Hester 
 was satisfied with thanking her. She was old 
 enough to know that learning a new language is 
 a serious undertaking. Margaret was somewhat 
 younger, and ready for any enterprise. She 
 thought she saw before her hours of long morn- 
 ings, when she should be glad to escape from the 
 work-table to Miss Young's companionship and to 
 study. The bright field of German literature
 
 38 DEERBROOK. 
 
 seemed to open before her to be explored. She 
 warmly thanked Miss Young, and accepted her 
 offered assistance. 
 
 " So you spend all your days alone here,'' said 
 she, looking round upon the rather bare walls, the 
 matted floor, the children's desks, and the single 
 shelf which held Miss Young's books. 
 
 " Not exactly all the day alone," replied Miss 
 Young ; " the children are with me five hours a day, 
 and a set of pupils from the village comes to me 
 besides, for a spare hour of the afternoon. In 
 this way I see a good many little faces every day." 
 
 " And some others too, I should hope ; some 
 besides little faces ? " 
 
 Miss Young was silent. Margaret hastened on. 
 
 " I suppose most people would say here what 
 is said everywhere else about the nobleness and pri- 
 vilege of the task of teaching children. But I do 
 not envy those who have it to do. I am as fond 
 of children as any one ; but then it is having them 
 out to play on the grass, or romping with them in 
 the nursery that I Hke. When it becomes a mat- 
 ter of desks and school-books, I had far rather 
 study than teach." 
 
 " I believe everybody, except perhaps mothers, 
 would agree with you," said Miss Young, who 
 was now, without apology, plying her needle. 
 
 " Indeed ! then I am very sorry for you."
 
 DEERBROOK. S9 
 
 " Thank you : but there is no need to be sorry 
 for me. Do you suppose that one's comfort Hes in 
 having a choice of employments ? My experience 
 leads me to think the contrary." 
 
 " I do not think I could be happy,'' said Hester, 
 " to be tied down to an employment I did not like.'* 
 
 " Not to a positively disgusting one. But I am 
 disposed to think that the greatest number of 
 happy people may be found busy in employments 
 that they have not chosen for themselves, and never 
 would have chosen." 
 
 "I am afraid these very happy people are 
 haunted by longings to be doing something else." 
 
 " Yes : there is their great trouble. They think, 
 till experience makes them wiser, that if they were 
 only in another set of circumstances, if they only 
 had a choice what they would do, a chance for the 
 exercise of the powers they are conscious of, they 
 would do such things as should be the wonder and 
 the terror of the earth. But their powers may be 
 doubted, if they do not appear in the conquest of 
 circumstances." 
 
 " So you conquer these giddy children, when 
 you had rather be conquering German metaphysi- 
 cians, or — , or — , what else ?" 
 
 " There is httle to conquer in these children," 
 said Miss Young ; " they are very good with me. 
 I assure you I have much more to conquer in my-
 
 40 DEERBROOK. 
 
 self, with regard to them. It is but little that I 
 can do for them ; and that little I am apt to de- 
 spise, in the vain desire to do more." 
 
 " How more ?" 
 
 " If I had them in a house by myself, to spend 
 their whole time with me, so that I could educate, 
 
 instead of merely teaching them . But here 
 
 I am doing just what we jwere talking of just now, 
 — laying out a pretty-looking field of duty, in 
 which there would probably be as many thorns as 
 in any other. Teaching has its pleasures, — its 
 great occasional, and small daily pleasures, though 
 they are not to be compared to the sublime delights 
 of education/** 
 
 " You must have some of these sublime delights 
 mixed in with the humbler. You are, in some 
 degree, educating these children while teaching 
 them." 
 
 " Yes : but it is more a negative than a positive 
 function, — a very humble one. Governesses to 
 children at home can do little more than stand 
 between children and the faults of the people about 
 them. I speak quite generally .'' 
 
 " Is such an occupation one in which any body 
 can be happy f 
 
 *' Why not as well as in making pins' heads, or 
 in nursing sick people, or in cutting square blocks 
 out of a chalk-pit for thirty years together, or in
 
 DEERBROOK. 41 
 
 any other occupation which may be ordained to 
 prove to us that happiness Hes in the temper, and 
 not in the object of a pursuit. Are there not free 
 and happy pin -makers, and sick -nurses, and chalk- 
 cutters V 
 
 " Yes : but they know how much to expect. 
 They have no idea of pin-making in itself being 
 great happiness." 
 
 " Just so. Well : let a governess learn what 
 to expect ; set her free from a hankering after 
 happiness in her work, and you have a happy 
 governess." 
 
 " I thought such a thing was out of the order of 
 nature." 
 
 " Not quite. There have been such, though 
 there are strong influences against it. The expec- 
 tations of all parties are unreasonable ; and those 
 who are too humble, or too amiable, to be dissatis- 
 fied with others, are discontented with themselves, 
 when the inevitable disappointment comes. There 
 is a great deal said about the evils of the position 
 of a governess, — between the family and the ser- 
 vants, — a great deal said that is very true, and 
 always will be true, while governesses have proud 
 hearts, like other people : but these are slight 
 evils, in comparison with the grand one of the 
 common failure of the relation. — There ! do you 
 hear that bell V
 
 42 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " What is it ? The breakfast bell r 
 
 " Yes. You must go. I would not be under- 
 stood as inviting you here ; for it is not, except 
 upon sufferance, my room ; and I have no induce- 
 ment to offer. But I may just say, that you will 
 always be welcome."" 
 
 " Always V said Margaret. " In and out of 
 school hours V 
 
 " In and out of school hours, unless your presence 
 should chance to turn my pupils' heads. In that case, 
 you will not be offended if I ask you to go away." . 
 
 Mary and Fanny had just reported in the break- 
 fast-parlour, that the Miss Ibbotsons had been 
 " such a time with Miss Young !" when Hester 
 and Margaret entered. The testimony there was 
 all in favour of Miss Young. Mr. Grey called her 
 a most estimable young woman ; and Mrs. Grey 
 declared, that though she could not agree with her 
 on all points, and decidedly thought that she over- 
 rated Matilda Rowland's talents, she was convinced 
 that her children enjoyed great advantages under 
 her care. Sophia added, that she was very supe- 
 rior, — quite learned. Mrs. Grey further explained 
 that, though now so much at ease on the subject of 
 her daughters' education, no one could have an 
 idea of the trouble she had had in getting the plan 
 arranged. It had seemed a pity that the Row- 
 lands and her children should not learn together :
 
 DEERBROOK. 43 
 
 it was such an advantage for children to learn 
 together ! But Mrs. Rowland had made a thou- 
 sand difficulties. After breakfast, she would show 
 her young friends the room which she had proposed 
 should be the school-room, — as airy and advan- 
 tageous in every way as could be imagined : but 
 Mrs. Rowland had objected that she could not 
 have Matilda and George come out in all weathers, 
 — as if they would have had to walk a mile, instead 
 of just the sweep of the gravel walk ! Mrs. Row- 
 land had proposed that her back-parlour should be 
 the school-room : but really it was not to be thought 
 of, — so small and close, and such a dull room for 
 Miss Young ! The gentlemen had been obliged to 
 take it up at last. Nobody could ever find out 
 which of them it was that had thought of the sum- 
 mer-house, though she was satisfied in her own 
 mind that Mr. Rowland was not in the habit of 
 having such clever ideas : but, however, it was soon 
 settled. The summer-house was so exactly on the 
 boundary line between the two gardens, that really 
 no objection had been left for Mrs. Rowland to 
 make. She came as near to it as she could, how- 
 ever ; for she had had the walk covered in at great 
 expense from her garden -door to the summer-house, 
 when everybody knew she did not mind her children 
 getting wet at other times, on the grass before the 
 dew was off.
 
 44 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " And the covered way is quite an eyesore from 
 the drawing-room windows," added Sophia. 
 
 " Quite," said Mrs. Grey ; '' and it can be seen 
 from ours, as I dare say you observed last night. 
 But I have no doubt that entered into her calcula- 
 tions when she had it made." 
 
 Mr. Grey enquired about the arrangements for 
 the morning, and whether he could be of any ser- 
 vice. It happened to be a leisure morning with 
 him, and he did not know when he might have 
 another at command. Sophia reminded her father 
 that it would be impossible for the ladies of the 
 family to go out, when they were expecting the 
 neighbours to call : and this brought on another 
 speculation as to who would call, — and especially 
 when the Rowlands might be looked for. Hester 
 and Margaret believed they could have settled 
 this matter ; but they forbore to speak of what 
 they had overheard. They began to wonder 
 whether the subject of Mrs. Rowland was to be 
 served up with every meal, for a continuance ; and 
 Hester found her anticipations of delight in a 
 country life somewhat damped, by the idea of 
 the frowning ghost of the obnoxious lady being 
 for ever present.
 
 DEERBROOK. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MORNING CALLS. 
 
 The little girls had been dismissed to the school- 
 room before Mr. Grey had finally pushed away his 
 tea-cup. Not being wanted by the ladies, he 
 walked off to his timber-yard, and his wife fol- 
 lowed to ask him some question not intended for 
 the general ear. Sophia was struck with a sudden 
 panic at being left alone with the strangers, and 
 escaped by another door into the store-room. As 
 the last traces of the breakfast things vanished, 
 Hester exclaimed — 
 
 '• So, we may please ourselves, it seems, as to 
 what we are to do with our morning ! " 
 
 " I hope so,'' said Margaret. " Do let us get 
 down to the meadow we see from our window — 
 the meadow that looks so flat and green ! We 
 may very well take two hours' grace before we 
 need sit down here in form and order.'' 
 
 Hester was willing, and the bonnets were soon 
 on. As Margaret was passing down stairs again,
 
 46 DEERBROOK. 
 
 she saw Mrs. Grey and Sophia whispering in a 
 room, the door of which stood open. She heard 
 it shut instantly, and the result of the consultation 
 soon appeared. Just as the sisters were turning 
 out of the house, Sophia ran after them to say 
 that mama wished they would be so good as to 
 defer their walk ; mama was afraid that if they 
 were seen abroad in the village, it would be sup- 
 posed that they did not wish to receive visiters : 
 mama would rather that they should stay within 
 this morning. There was nothing for it but to 
 turn back ; and Hester threw down her bonnet 
 with no very good grace, as she observed to her 
 sister that, to all appearance, a town life was more 
 free than a country one, after all. 
 
 " Let us do our duty fully this first morning," 
 said Margaret. " Look, I am going to carry down 
 my work-bag ; and you shall see me sit on the 
 same chair from this hour till dinner-time, unless 
 I receive directions to the contrary.*" 
 
 The restraint did not amount to this. Hester's 
 chair was placed opposite to Mrs. Grey, who 
 seemed to have pleasure in gazing at her, and in 
 indulging in audible hints and visible winks and 
 nods about her beauty, to every lady visiter who 
 sat near her. Margaret might place herself where 
 she pleased. In the intervals of the visits of the 
 morning, she was treated with a diversity of enter-
 
 DEERBROOK. 47 
 
 tainments by Sophia, who occasionally summoned 
 her to the window to see how Matilda Rowland 
 was allowed to run across the road to her grand- 
 mama's, without so much as a hat upon her 
 head, — to see Jem Bird, the oldest man in the parish 
 (believed to be near a hundred), who was resting 
 himself on the bank of the hedge, — to see the pea- 
 cock which had been sent as a present from Sir 
 William Hunter to Mr. James, the lawyer, and 
 which was a great nuisance from its screaming,— 
 to say whether the two little Reeves, dropping 
 their curtseys as they went home from school, 
 were not little beauties, — and, in short, to witness 
 all the village spectacles which present themselves 
 before the windows of an acute observer on a fine 
 spring morning. The young ladies had to return 
 to their seats as often as wheels were heard, or the 
 approach of parasols was discerned. 
 
 Among the earliest visiters were Mrs. Enderby 
 and her redoubtable son, Mr. Phihp. Mrs. En- 
 derby was a bright-eyed, brisk little old lady, who 
 was rather apt to talk herself quite out of breath, 
 but who had evidently a stronger tendency still ; 
 and that was, to look on the bright side of every 
 thing and every body. She smiled smiles full of 
 meaning and assent in return for Mrs. Grey's winks 
 about Hester's beauty ; and really cheered Hes- 
 ter with accounts of how good everybody was
 
 48 DEERBROOK. 
 
 at Deerbrook. She was thankful that her maid 
 Phoebe was better; she knew that Mrs. Grey 
 would not fail to inquire ; really Phoebe was very 
 much better ; the influenza had left sad effects, 
 but they were dispersing. It would be a pity the 
 girl should not quite recover, for she was a most 
 invaluable servant — such a servant as is very rarely 
 to be met with. The credit of restoring her be- 
 longed to Mr. Hope, who indeed had done every- 
 thing. She supposed the ladies would soon be 
 seeing Mr. Hope. He was extremely busy, as 
 everybody knew — had very large practice now; 
 but he ahvays contrived to find time for every- 
 thing. It was exceedingly difficult to find time 
 for everything. There was her dear daughter, 
 Priscilla (Mrs. Rowland, whose husband was Mr. 
 Grey's partner) ; Priscilla devoted her life to her 
 children (and dear children they were) ; and no 
 one who knew what she did for her children would 
 expect anything more from her ; but, indeed, those 
 who knew best, she herself, for instance, were fully 
 satisfied that her dear Priscilla did wonders. The 
 apology for Mrs. Rowland, in case she should not 
 call, was made not without ingenuity. Hester 
 fully understood it ; and Mrs. Grey showed by her 
 bridling that it was not lost upon her either. 
 
 Mr. Enderby, meanwhile, was behaving civilly 
 to Margaret and Sophia ; that is to say, he was
 
 DEERBROOK. 49 
 
 somewhat more than merely civil to Margaret, and 
 somewhat less to Sophia. It was obviously not 
 without reason that Sophia had complained of his 
 hauteur. He could not, as Sydney had pleaded, 
 help being tall; but he might have helped the 
 excessive frigidity with which he stood upright till 
 invited to sit down. The fact was, that he had 
 reason to believe that the ladies of Mr. Grey^s 
 family made very free with his sister's name and 
 affairs ; and though he would have been sorry to 
 have been obliged to defend all she said and did, 
 he felt some very natural emotions of dislike 
 towards those who w^ere always putting the worst 
 construction upon the whole of her conduct. He 
 believed that Mr. Grey's influence was exerted on 
 behalf of peace and good understanding, and he 
 thought he perceived that Sydney, with the shrewd- 
 ness which some boys show very early, was more 
 or less sensible of the absurdity of the feud between 
 the partners' wives and daughters ; and towards 
 these members of the Grey family, Mr. Enderby 
 felt nothing but good-will ; he talked politics with 
 Mr. Grey in the shrubbery after church on Sunday, 
 executed commissions for him in London, and sent 
 him game : and Sydney was under obligations to 
 him for many a morning of sport, and many a 
 service such as gentlemen who are not above five- 
 and-twenty and its freaks can render to boys 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 DEERBROOK. 
 
 entering their teens. Whatever might be his 
 opinion of women generally, from the particular 
 specimens which had come in his way, he had too 
 much sense and gentlemanly feeling to include 
 Mrs. Grey's guests in the dislike he felt towards 
 herself, or to suppose that they must necessarily 
 share her disposition towards his relations. Per- 
 haps he felt, unknown to himself, some inclination 
 to prepossess them in favour of his connexions ; to 
 stretch his complaisance a little, as a precaution 
 against the prejudices with which he knew Mrs. 
 Grey would attempt to occupy their minds. How- 
 ever this might be, he w^as as amicable with 
 Margaret as his mother was with her sister. 
 
 He soon found out that the strangers were more 
 interested about the natural features of Deerbrook 
 than about its gossip. He was amused at the 
 earnestness of Margaret's inquiries about the 
 scenery of the neighbourhood, and he laughingly 
 promised that she should see every nook within 
 twenty miles. 
 
 " People always care least about what they have 
 just at hand," said he. " I dare say, if I were to 
 ask you, you have never seen a glass-bottle bloAvn, 
 or a tea-tray painted V 
 
 " If I have," said Margaret, " I know many 
 ladies in Birmingham who have not." 
 
 " You will not be surprised, then, if you find
 
 DEERBROOK. 51 
 
 some ladies in Deerbrook who do not ride, and 
 who can tell you no more of the pretty places near 
 than if they had been brought up in Whitechapel. 
 They keep their best sights for strangers, and not 
 for common use. I am, in reality, only a visitor 
 at Deerbrook. I do not live here, and never did ; 
 yet I am better able to be your guide than almost 
 any resident. The ladies, especially, are extremely 
 domestic : they are far too busy to have ever 
 looked about them. But I will speak to Mr. 
 Grey, and '' 
 
 " O, pray do not trouble Mr. Grey ! He has 
 too much business on his hands already ; and he 
 is so kind, he will be putting himself out of his 
 way for us ; and all we want is to be in the open 
 air in the fields.'"* 
 
 " 'All you want !' very like starlings in a cage ;" 
 and he looked as if he was smiling at the well- 
 known speech of the starling; but he did not 
 quote it. " My mother is now saying that Mr. 
 Hope finds time for everything : and she is right. 
 He will help us. You must see Hope, and you 
 must like him. He is the great boast of the place, 
 next to the new sign." 
 
 " Is the sign remarkable, or only new?" 
 
 " Very remarkable for ingenuity, if not for 
 beauty. It is 'The Bonnet so Blue:' — a lady's 
 bonnet of blue satin, with brown bows, or what- 
 d2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUMOlS
 
 52 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ever you may call the trimming when you see it ; 
 and we are favoured besides with a portrait of the 
 miUiner, holding the bonnet so blue. We talk 
 nearly as much of this sign as of Mr. Hope ; but 
 you must see them both, and tell us which you like 
 best." 
 
 " We have seen Mr. Hope. He was here yes- 
 terday evening." 
 
 " Well, then, you must see him again ; and you 
 must not think the worse of him for his being 
 praised by everybody you meet. It is no ordinary 
 case of a village apothecary.*" 
 
 Margaret laughed ; so little did Mr. Hope look 
 like the village apothecary of her imagination. 
 
 " Ah, I see you know something of the pre- 
 dilection of villagers for their apothecary, — how 
 the young people wonder that he always cures 
 everybody ; and how the old people could not live 
 without him ; and how the poor folks take him for 
 a sort of magician ; and how he obtains more know- 
 ledge of human affairs than any other kind of man. 
 But Hope is, though a very happy man, not this 
 sort of privileged person. His friends are so 
 attached to him that they confide to him all their 
 own aflPairs4 but they respect him too much to 
 gossip at large to him of other people's. I see 
 you do not know how to credit this ; but I assure 
 you, though the inhabitants of Deerbrook are as
 
 DEERBROOK. 53 
 
 accomplished in the arts of gossip as any villagers 
 in England, Hope knows little more than you do 
 at this moment about who are upon terms and 
 who are not." 
 
 " My sister and I must learn his art of igno- 
 rance," said Margaret. " If it be really true that 
 the place is full of quarrels, we shall be afraid to 
 stay, unless we can contrive to know nothing about 
 them." 
 
 " O, do not suppose we are worse than others 
 who live in villages. Since our present rector 
 came, we have risen somewhat above the rural 
 average of peace and quiet." 
 
 " And the country has always been identical 
 with the idea of peace and quiet to us town-bred 
 people ! " said Margaret. 
 
 " And very properly, in one sense. But if you 
 leave behind the din of streets, for the sake of 
 stepping forth from your work-table upon a soft 
 lawn, or of looking out upon the old church- 
 steeple among the trees, while you hear nothing but 
 bleating and chirping, you must expect some set-ofP 
 against such advantages : and that set -off is the 
 being among a small number of people, who are al- 
 ways busy looking into one another's small concerns." 
 
 " But this is not a necessary evil," said Mar- 
 garet. " From what you were saying just now, it 
 appears that it may be avoided."
 
 54* DEERBROOK. 
 
 " From what I was saying about Hope. Yes ; 
 such an one as Hope may get all the good out of 
 every situation, without its evils ; but '** 
 
 " But nobody else," said Margaret, smiling. 
 " Well, Hester and I must try whether we cannot 
 have to do with lawns and sheep for a few months, 
 without quarrelling or having to do with quarrels." 
 
 " And what if you are made the subject of 
 quarrels?" asked Mr. Enderby. "How are you 
 to help yourselves in that case ?" 
 
 " How does Mr. Hope help himself in that 
 
 case 
 
 ?" 
 
 " It remains to be seen. As far as I know, the 
 whole place is agreed about him at present. Every- 
 one will tell you that never was society so blessed 
 in a medical man before; — from the rector and 
 my mother, who never quarrel with anybody, 
 down to the village scold. I am not going to 
 prepossess you against even our village scold, by 
 telling her name. You will know it in time, 
 though your first acquaintance will probably be 
 with her voice." 
 
 '' So we are to hear something besides bleating 
 and chirping?" 
 
 A tremendous knock at the door occurred, as if 
 in answer to this. All the conversation in the 
 room suddenly stopped, and Mr. and Mrs. Row- 
 land walked in.
 
 DEERBROOK. 55 
 
 "This is my sister, Mrs. Rowland," observed 
 Mr. Enderby to Margaret. 
 
 '* This is my daughter Priscilla, Mrs. Rowland," 
 said ^Mrs. Enderby to Hester. 
 
 Both sisters were annoyed at feeling timid and 
 nervous on being introduced to the lady. There 
 is something imposing in hearing a mere name 
 very often, — in the proof that the person it belongs 
 to fills a large space in people's minds : and v/hen 
 the person is thus frequently named with fear and 
 dislike, an idea is originated of a command over 
 powers of evil which makes the actual presence 
 absolutely awful. This seemed now to be felt by 
 all. Sophia had nothing to say : Mrs. Grey's head 
 twitched nervously, while she turned from one to 
 another with slight remarks : Mrs. Enderby ran 
 on about their having all happened to call at once, 
 and its being quite a family party in Mrs. Grey's 
 parlour ; and Mr. Philip's flow of conversation had 
 stopped. Margaret thought he w^as trying to help 
 laughing. 
 
 The call could not be an agreeable one. The 
 partners' ladies quoted their own children's sayings 
 about school and Miss Young, and Miss Young's 
 praise of the children ; and each vied with the 
 other in eulogium on Miss Young, evidently on 
 the ground of her hopes of Fanny and Mary on 
 the one hand, and of Matilda, George, and Anna,
 
 56 DEERBROOE. 
 
 on the other. Mrs. Enderby interposed praises 
 of all the children, while Mr. Rowland engaged 
 Hester s attention, calling off her observation and 
 his own from the sparring of the rival mothers. 
 Philip informed Margaret at length, that George 
 was a fine little fellow, who would make a good 
 sportsman. There was some pleasure in taking 
 such a boy out fishing. But Mr. Phihp had 
 lighted on a dangerous topic, as he soon found. 
 His sister heard what he was saying, and began 
 an earnest protest against little boys fishing, on 
 account of the danger, and against any idea that 
 she would allow her George to run any such risks. 
 Of course, this made Mrs. Grey fire up, as at an 
 imputation upon her care of her son Sydney ; and 
 before the rest of the company could talk down 
 the dispute, it bore too much of the appearance of 
 a recrimination about the discharge of maternal 
 duties. Margaret thought that, but for the rela- 
 tionship, Mrs. Rowland might fairly be concluded 
 to be the village scold alluded to by Mr. Enderby. 
 It was impossible that he could have been speaking 
 of his sister ; but Deerbrook was an unfortunate 
 place if it contained a more unamiable person than 
 she appeared at this moment. The faces of the 
 two ladies were still flushed with excitement when 
 Mr. Hope came in. The sisters thought he ap- 
 peared like a good genius, so amiable did the party
 
 DEERBROOK. 57 
 
 grow on his entrance. It seemed as if he was as 
 great a favourite with the Rowlands as with the 
 other family ; so friendly was the gentleman, and 
 so gracious the lady ; while Mr. Hope was, to all 
 appearance, unconscious of the existence of any 
 unpleasant feelings among his neighbours. The 
 talk flow^ed on about the concerns of personages of 
 the village, about the aspect of public affairs, 
 about the poets of the age, and what kind of poetry 
 was most read in Deerbrook, and how the book 
 society went on, till all had grown cordial, and 
 some began to propose to be hospitable. Mrs. 
 Rowland hoped for the honour of seeing the Miss 
 Ibbotsons one day the next week, when Mr. Row- 
 land should have returned from a little excursion 
 of business. Mrs. Enderby wondered whether she 
 could prevail on all her young friends to spend an 
 evening with her before her son left Deerbrook ; 
 and Mrs. Grey gave notice that she should shortly 
 issue her invitations to those with whom she 
 wished her young cousins to become better ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 All went right for the rest of the morning. 
 When the Enderbys and Rowlands went away, 
 the Levitts came. When Dr. Levitt inquired 
 about the schools of Birmingham, it could not but 
 come out that Hester and Margaret were dissenters. 
 Yet, as they were desired to observe, he did not 
 d3
 
 58 DEERBROOK. 
 
 seem in the least shocked, and his manner was 
 just as kind to them after this disclosure as before. 
 He was pronounced a very liberal man. Mr. 
 Hope was asked to stay to dinner, and Mrs. Grey 
 complacently related the events of the morning to 
 her husband as he took his place at table. Deer- 
 brook had done its duty to Hester and Margaret 
 pretty well for the first day. Everybody of con- 
 sequence had called but the Andersons, and they 
 would no doubt come on Sunday.
 
 DEERBROOK. 59 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MEADOWS. 
 
 The afternoon was the time when Miss Young's 
 pupils practised the mysteries of the needle. Little 
 girls are not usually fond of sewing. Till they 
 become clever enough to have devices of their own, 
 to cut out a doll's petticoat, or contrive a pincushion 
 to surprise mama, sewing is a mere galling of the 
 fingers and strain upon the patience. Every wry 
 stitch shows, and is pretty sure to be remarked 
 upon : the seam or hem seems longer the oftener 
 it is measured, till the little workwoman becomes 
 capable of the enterprise of despatching a whole one 
 at a sitting; after which the glory is found to 
 ameliorate the toil, and there is a chance that the 
 girl may become fond of sewing. 
 
 Miss Young's pupils had not arrived at this 
 stage. It was a mystery to them that Miss Young 
 could sit sewing, as fast as her needle could fly, for 
 the whole afternoon, and during the intervals of 
 their lessons in the morning. It was in vain that 
 she told them that some of her pleasantest hours
 
 60 DEERBROOK. 
 
 were those which she passed in this employment ; 
 and that she thought they would perhaps grow as 
 fond of work as their sister Sophia before they were 
 as old as she. With languid steps did the twins 
 return to the house this afternoon for another pair 
 of shirt-sleeves, and to show mama the work they 
 had finished. Hand in hand, as usual, and car- 
 rying up for judgment their last performance, 
 they entered the house. In a very different mood 
 did they return. Running, skipping, and jumping, 
 they burst again into the summer-house. 
 
 " Miss Young, O Miss Young, we are to have 
 a hohday ! " 
 
 " Mama sends her compliments to you, Miss 
 Young, and she hopes you will give us a holi- 
 day. It is a fine afternoon, she thinks, and my 
 cousins have never gathered cowslips ; and we are 
 all going into the meadow for a cowslip-gathering ; 
 and Mr. Hope will come to us there. He has to 
 go somewhere now, but he will come to us before 
 we have half done." 
 
 Matilda Rowland looked full of dismay till she 
 was told that Mrs. Grey hoped she would be of the 
 party, and begged that she would go directly and 
 ask her mama's leave. 
 
 '' What a quantity of cowslips we shall get I" 
 observed Mary, as she took down Fanny's basket 
 from the nail on which it hung, and then her own.
 
 DEERBROOK. 61 
 
 " We are each to have a basket, mama says, that 
 we may not quarrel. What shall we do with such 
 a quantity of cowslips V 
 
 '' Make tea of them, to be sure," replied Fanny. 
 " We may dry them in this window, may not we, 
 Miss Young ? And w^e will give you some of our 
 cowslip tea." 
 
 Miss Young smiled and thanked them. She 
 did not promise to drink any of the promised tea. 
 She had a vivid remembrance of the cowslip -drying 
 of her young days, when the picked flowers lay in 
 a window till they were laced all over with cobwebs ; 
 and when they were at length popped into the tea- 
 pot with all speed, to hide the fact that they were 
 mouldy. She remembered the good-natured at- 
 tempts of her father and mother to swallow a dolFs 
 cupful of her cowslip tea, rather than discourage 
 the spirit of enterprise which, now that she had lost 
 those whom she loved, was all that she had to 
 trust to. 
 
 " Fanny," said Mary, with eyes wide open, " can- 
 not we have a feast here for my cousins, when 
 we make our cowslip tea?" 
 
 " A feast ! O, that would be grand ! " replied 
 Fanny. " I have a shilling, and so have you ; and 
 we could buy a good many nice things for that : 
 and Matilda Rowland will lend us her doll's dishes 
 to put with ours. Miss Young, will you let us
 
 6*2 DEERBROOK. 
 
 have our feast here, one afternoon. We will 
 ask my cousins, without telling them anything; 
 and they will be so surprised ! " 
 
 Miss Young promised everything, engaged not 
 to tell, smoothed their hair, tied their bonnets, 
 and sent them away quite happy with their secret. 
 
 Such a holiday as this was one of Miss Young's 
 few pleasures. There were several occasions in 
 the year when she could make sure beforehand of 
 some hours to herself. Her Sundays were much 
 occupied with the Sunday-school, and with inter- 
 course with poor neighbours whom she could not 
 meet on any other day : but Christmas-day, the 
 day of the annual fair of Deerbrook, and two or 
 three more, were her own. These were, however, 
 so appropriated, long before, to some object, that 
 they lost much of their character of holidays. Her 
 true holidays were such as the afternoon of this 
 day, — hours suddenly set free, little gifts of leisure 
 to be spent according to the fancy of the moment. 
 Let none pretend to understand the value of such 
 whose lives are all leisure ; who take up a book to 
 pass the time; who saunter in gardens because 
 there are no morning visits to make ; who exagge- 
 rate the writing of a family letter into important 
 business. Such have their own enjoyments : but 
 they know nothing of the paroxysm of pleasure of 
 a really hard-working person on hearing the door
 
 DEERBROOK. 68 
 
 shut which excludes the business of hfe, and leaves 
 the delight of free thoughts and hands. The worst 
 part of it is the having to decide how to make 
 the most of liberty. Miss Young was not long in 
 settling this point. She just glanced up at her 
 shelf of books, and down upon her drawing- 
 board, and abroad through the south window, 
 and made up her mind. The acacia with its fresh 
 bunches of blossoms was wT*;ving above the window, 
 casting in flickering shadows upon the floor : the 
 evergreens of the shrubbery twinkled in the sun, 
 as the light breeze swept over them : the birds 
 were chirruping all about, and a yellow butterfly 
 alighted and trembled on the window-sill at the 
 moment. It was one of the softest and gayest 
 days of spring ; and the best thing was to do 
 nothing but enjoy it. She moved to the south 
 window with her work, and sewed or let the wind 
 blow upon her face as she looked out. 
 
 The landscape was a wide one. Far beyond, and 
 somewhat below the gardens and shrubberies in 
 which the summer-house stood, flat meadows 
 stretched to the brink of the river, on the other 
 side of which were the park woods. All was 
 bathed in the afternoon sunshine, except where a 
 tree here and there cast a flake of shadow upon 
 the grass of the meadows. 
 
 " It is a luxury," thought the gazer, " for one
 
 64 DEERBROOK. 
 
 who cannot move about to sit here and look 
 abroad. I wonder whether I should have been 
 with the party if I had not been lame. I dare say 
 something would have taken off from the pleasure 
 if I had. But how w^ell I can remember what the 
 pleasure is ! The jumping stiles — the feel of the 
 turf underfoot, — the running after every flower, — 
 the going wherever one has a fancy to go, — how 
 well I remember it all ! And yet it gives me a 
 sort of surprise to see the activity of these chil- 
 dren, and how little they are aware of what their 
 privilege is. I fancy, however, the pleasure is 
 more in the recollection of all such natural en- 
 joyments than at the moment. It is so with me, 
 and I rather think with everybody. This very 
 landscape is more beautiful to me in the dark 
 night, when I cannot sleep, than at this very 
 moment, when it looks its best and brightest : and 
 surely this is the great difference between that 
 sort of pleasures and those which come altogether 
 from within. The delight of a happy mood of 
 mind is beyond everything at the time ; it sets one 
 above all that can happen ; it steeps one in heaven 
 itself ; but one cannot recall it : one can only 
 remember that it was so. The delight of being in 
 such a place as those woods is generally more or 
 less spoiled at the time by trifles which are for- 
 gotten afterwards ; —one is hungry, or tired, or a
 
 DEERBROOK. 65 
 
 little vexed with somebody, or doubtful whether 
 somebody else is not vexed ; but then the remem- 
 brance is purely delicious. — brighter in sunshine, 
 softer in shade, — wholly tempered to what is 
 genial. The imagination is a better medium than 
 the eye. This is surely the reason why Byron 
 could not write poetry on Lake Leman, but found 
 he must wait till he got within four walls. This is 
 the reason why we are all more moved by the 
 slightest glimpses of good descriptions in books 
 than by the amplitude of the same objects before 
 our eyes. I used to wonder how that was when, 
 as a child, I read the openings of scenes and books 
 in ' Paradise Lost."* I saw plenty of summer 
 sunrises ; but none of them gave me a feeling like 
 the two lines, 
 
 * Now morn her rosy steps in the eastern cHme 
 Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl.' 
 
 If all this be so, our lot is more equalized than 
 is commonly thought. Once having received pic- 
 tures into our minds, and possessing a clear eye 
 in the mind to see them with, the going about to 
 obtain more is not of very great consequence. This 
 comforts one for prisoners suffering carcere duro, 
 and for townspeople who cannot often get out 
 of the streets ; and for lame people like me, who 
 see others tripping over commons and through 
 fields wdiere we cannot g^o. I wish there was as
 
 66 DEERBROOK. 
 
 much comfort the other way, — about such as suf- 
 fer from unhappy moods of mind, and know Httle 
 of the joy of the highest. It would be a small 
 gain to them to fly like birds, — to see like the 
 
 eagle itself. O, there are the children ! So 
 
 that is their cowslip meadow ! How like chil- 
 dren they all look together, down on the grass ! — 
 gathering cowslips, I suppose. The two in black 
 are more eager about it than Sophia. She sits on 
 the stile while they are busy. The children are 
 holding forth to their cousins, — teaching them 
 something, evidently. — How I love to overlook 
 people, — to watch them acting unconsciously, and 
 speculate for them ! It is the most tempting thing 
 in the world to contrast the little affairs one sees 
 them busy about, with the very serious ones which 
 await them,— which await every one. There are 
 those two strangers busy gathering cowslips, and 
 perhaps thinking of nothing beyond the fresh plea- 
 sure of the air and the grass, and the scent of their 
 flowers, — their minds quite filled with the spirit of 
 the spring, when who knows what may be await- 
 ing them ! Love may be just at hand. The tem- 
 pest of passion may be brewing under this soft 
 sunshine. They think themselves now as full of 
 happiness as possible ; and a little while hence, 
 upon a few words spoken, a glance exchanged, 
 they may be in such a heaven of bliss that they
 
 DEERBROOK. 67 
 
 will smile at their own ignorance in being so well 
 pleased to-day. Or — but I pray they may escape 
 the other chance. Neither of them knows any- 
 thing of that misery yet, I am confident. They 
 both look too young, too open, too free to have 
 really suffered. — I wonder whether it is foolish to 
 fancy already that one of them may be settled 
 here. It can hardly be foolish, when the thought 
 occurs so naturally : and these great affairs of life 
 lie distinctly under the eye of such as are them- 
 selves cut off from them. I am out of the game, 
 and why should not I look upon its chances I I 
 am quite alone ; and why should I not watch for 
 others f Every situation has its privileges and its 
 obligations. — What is it to be alone, and to be 
 let alone as I am ? It is to be put into a post 
 of observation on others : but the knowledge so 
 gained is anything but a good if it stops at mere 
 knowledge, — if it does not make me feel and act. 
 AVomen who have what I am not to have, — a 
 home, an intimate, a perpetual call out of them- 
 selves, may go on more safely, perhaps, without 
 any thought for themselves than I with all my 
 best consideration : but I, with the blessing of a 
 peremptory vocation, which is to stand me in stead 
 of sympathy, ties, and spontaneous action, — I may 
 find out that it is my proper business to keep an 
 intent eye upon the possible events of other peo-
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 pie's lives, that I may use slight occasions of 
 action which might otherwise pass me by. If 
 one w^ere thoroughly wise and good, this would be 
 a sort of divine lot. Without being at all wiser 
 or better than others, — being even as weak in 
 judgment and in faith as I am, — something may 
 be made of it. Without daring to meddle, one 
 
 may stand clear-sighted, ready to help. How 
 
 the children are flying over the meadow towards 
 that gentleman who is fastening his horse to the 
 gate ! Mr. Hope, no doubt. He is the oldest 
 cowslip-gatherer of them all, I fancy. If one 
 could overhear the talk in every house along the 
 village, I dare say some of it is about Mr. Hope 
 winning one of these young ladies. If so, it is only 
 what I am thinking about myself. Every one 
 wishes to see Mr. Hope married,— every one, even 
 to the servants here, who are always disputing 
 whether he will not have Miss Sophia, or whether 
 Miss Sophia is not to make a grander match. 
 Sophia will not do for him ; but it is very possi- 
 ble that one of these girls may. And the other — 
 but I will not think about that to-day. — How yel- 
 low the glow is upon those woods ! What hea- 
 venly hues hang about the world we live in I but 
 how strange is the lot of some in it ! One would 
 wonder why, when all are so plainly made to feel 
 and act too:ether, there should be anv one com-
 
 DEERBROOK. 69 
 
 pletely solitary. There must be a reason. 1 
 would fain know it ; but I can wait till we may 
 know all." 
 
 Such were some of INIaria Young^s natural and 
 unchecked thoughts. There was not much of 
 common hohday spirit in them : but to Maria, 
 liberty and peace were holiday, and her mind was 
 not otherwise than peaceful. She was serious, but 
 not sad. Any one w^ho could at the moment have 
 seen her face, would have pronounced her cheerful at 
 heart ; and so she was. She had been so long and so 
 far banished from ordinary happiness, that her own 
 quiet speculations were material enough for cheer- 
 fulness. The subject on which she would not think 
 to-day, was the possibility of one of the sisters 
 attaching Mr. Enderby. Maria Young had not 
 always been solitary, and lame, and poor. Her 
 father had not been very long dead ; and while he 
 lived, no one supposed that his only child would be 
 poor. Heryouth passed gaily, and her adversity came 
 suddenly. Her father was wont to drive her out 
 in his gig, almost every summer day. One evening, 
 the horse took fright, and upset the gig on a heap 
 of stones by the road-side. Mr. Young was taken 
 up dead, and Maria w^as lamed for life. She had 
 always known the Enderbys very well ; and there 
 had been some gossip among their mutual acquaint- 
 ance about the probability that Philip would prove
 
 70 DEERBROOK. 
 
 to be Maria's lover, when he should be old enough 
 to think of marrying. It never vi^ent further than 
 this, — except in Maria's own heart. She had, 
 indeed, hoped — even supposed — that in Philip's 
 mind the affair had at least been entertained thus 
 far. She could never settle to her own satisfaction 
 whether she had been weak and mistaken, or whe- 
 ther she had really been in any degree wronged. 
 There had been words, there had been looks, — but 
 words and looks are so easily misinterpreted ! The 
 probability was that she had no one to blame but 
 herself, — if fault there was. Perhaps there was 
 no fault anywhere : but there was misery, intense 
 and long. During her illness, no tidings came of 
 Philip. He was in another part of the country 
 when the accident happened ; and it was not till 
 long after it had been made known that Mr. 
 Young had died insolvent, — not till after Maria 
 had recovered, as far as recovery was possible, — 
 not till she had fallen into the habit of earning her 
 bread, that Philip re-appeared, and shook hands 
 with her, and told her with how much concern he 
 had heard of her sufferings. This interview gave 
 her entire possession of herself: — so she beheved. 
 She got through it calmly, and it left her with one 
 subject at least of intense thankfulness, — that her 
 mind was known only to herself. Whatever might 
 be her solitary struggles, she might look without
 
 DEERBROOK. 7l 
 
 sh<ame into the face of every human being. She 
 coukl bear being pitied for her poverty, for her 
 lameness, for her change of prospects, when the 
 recollection of this came across any of her acquaint- 
 ance. If it had been necessary, she could proba- 
 bly have borne to be pitied for having loved without 
 return ; but she could not be too thankful that it 
 was not necessary. 
 
 ^laria was right in her supposition that the 
 village was speculating upon the newly- arrived 
 young ladies. The parish-clerk had for some years, 
 indeed ever since the death of the late stationer 
 and dispenser of letters, carried on a flirtation with 
 the widow, notwithstanding the rumours which 
 were current as to the cause to v/hich her late 
 husband owed his death. It was believed that 
 poor Harry Plumstead died of exhaustion from his 
 wife's voice ; for she was no other than the village 
 scold, of whose existence Margaret had been warned 
 by Mr. Enderby. Some thought that Owen was 
 acting a politic part in protracting this flirtation, — 
 keeping her temper in check by his hold upon her 
 expectations ; and such had little doubt that the 
 affair w^ould linger on to the end, without any other 
 result than Owen's exemption meanwhile from the 
 inflictions of her tongue to w^hich, in the discharge 
 of his office, he might otherwise become frequently 
 liable. Others wished to see them married, behev-
 
 72 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ing that in Owen, a Welshman sufficiently irasci- 
 ble, Mrs. Plumstead would at last meet her match. 
 This afternoon, an observer would have thought 
 the affair was proceeding to this point. Mrs. 
 Plumstead, looking particularly comely and gra- 
 cious, was putting up an unclaimed letter at the 
 window for display, when Owen stopped to ask if 
 she had seen the pretty young ladies who had come 
 to Deerbrook. He remarked that, to be sure, they 
 might have gone to some place where they were 
 more wanted, for Deerbrook was not without pretty 
 faces of its own before : and, as he said so, he 
 smiled hard in the widow's face. He should not 
 wonder if some work for the rector should rise up 
 before long, for, where there were pretty faces, 
 weddings might be looked for. He even asked 
 Mrs. Plumstead if she did not think so ; and added 
 something so ambiguous about his own share in the 
 work for the rector which was to arise, that the 
 widow could not make out whether he spoke as her 
 admirer or as parish- clerk. In the milliner's work- 
 room, there was a spirited conversation between 
 Miss Nares and her assistant, on the past wedding- 
 dresses of Deerbrook, arising out of the topic of 
 the day, — the Miss Ibbotsons. Mrs. Howell, who, 
 with her shop- woman, Miss Miskin, dispensed the 
 haberdashery of the place, smiled winningly at 
 every customer who entered her shop, and talked of
 
 DEERBROOK 73 
 
 deliglitful acquisitions, and what must be felt about 
 Mr. Hope, in the midst of such charming society, 
 and what it must be hoped would be felt ; and how 
 gay the place was likely to be with riding parties, 
 and boating parties, and some said, dances on the 
 green at Mrs. Enderby's ; and how partners in a 
 dance have been known to become partners for 
 life, as she had been jocosely told when her poor 
 dear Howell prevailed on her to stand up with 
 him, — the first time for twenty years, — at his 
 niece's wedding. Hester's beauty, and what Mrs. 
 Grey had said about it to her maid, were discussed, 
 just at the moment when Hester, passing the shop, 
 was entreated by Sophia to look at a new pattern 
 of embroidery which had lately arrived from Lon- 
 don, and was suspended at the window. Mrs. 
 Howell and her gossips caught a glimpse of the 
 face of the young lady, through the drapery of 
 prints and muslins, and the festoons of ribbons ; 
 and when the party proceeded down the street, 
 there was a rush to the door, in order to obtain 
 a view of her figure. She was pronounced beau- 
 tiful; and it was hoped that some gentleman 
 in the village would find her irresistible. It was 
 only rather strange that no gentleman was in 
 attendance on her now. 
 
 If the gossips could have followed the party with 
 their eyes into the meadow, they would soon have 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 DEERBROOK. 
 
 been satisfied ; for it was not long before Mr. Hope 
 joined them there. On leaving Mr. Grey's table, 
 he was as little disposed to go and visit his patient, 
 as medical men are when they are called away 
 from the merriest company, or at the most interest- 
 ing moment of a conversation. The liability to this 
 kind of interruption is one of the great draw- 
 backs of the profession to which Mr. Hope 
 belonged ; another is, the impossibility of travel- 
 ling, — the being fixed to one place for life, without 
 any but the shortest intervals of journeying. Mr. 
 Hope had been settled for five years at Deerbrook; 
 and, during that time, he had scarcely been out of 
 sight of its steeple. His own active and gladsome 
 mind had kept him happy among his occupations. 
 There was no one in the place with whom he could 
 hold equal converse ; but, while he had it not, he 
 did not feel the pressing want of it. He loved his 
 profession, and it kept him busy. His kind heart 
 was ever full of interest for his poorer patients. 
 Seeing the best side of everybody^ he could be 
 entertained, though sometimes vexed, by his inter- 
 course with the Greys and Rowlands. Then there 
 was the kindly-tempered and gentlemanly rector ; 
 and Philip Enderby often came down for a few 
 weeks ; and Mr. Hope had the chief management 
 of the book-society, and could thus see the best 
 new books ; and his professional rides lay through
 
 DEERBROOK. 75 
 
 a remarkably pretty country. He kept up a 
 punctual and copious correspondence with the 
 members of his own family, — with his married 
 sisters, and with his only brother, now with his 
 regiment in India, — relating to them every im- 
 portant circumstance of his lot, and almost every 
 interesting feeling of his heart. With this variety 
 of resources, life had passed away cheerily, on the 
 whole, with ^Ir. Hope, for the five years of his 
 residence at Deerbrook ; though there were times 
 when he wondered whether it was to be always 
 thus, — whether he was to pass to his grave without 
 any higher or deeper human intercourses than he 
 had here. If it had been possible, he might, 
 like other men as wise as himself, have invested 
 some one of the young ladies of Deerbrook with 
 imaginary attributes, and have fallen in love with 
 a creature of his own fancy. But it really was not 
 possible. There was no one of the young ladies of 
 Deerbrook who was not so far inferior to the 
 women of Hope's own family, — to the mother he 
 had lost, and the sisters who were settled far 
 away, — as to render this commonest of all delu- 
 sions impossible to him. 
 
 To such a man, so circumstanced, it may be 
 
 imagined how great an event was the meeting with 
 
 Hester and Margaret. He could not be in their 
 
 presence ten minutes without becoming aware of 
 
 e2
 
 76 DEERBROOK. 
 
 their superiority to every woman he had seen for 
 five years past. The beauty of the one, the sin- 
 cerity and unconsciousness of the other, and the 
 general elevation of both, struck him forcibly the 
 first evening. His earliest thought the next 
 morning was of some great event having taken 
 place ; and when he left Mr. Grey''s door after 
 dinner, it was with an unwillingness which made 
 him spur himself and his horse on to their business, 
 that he midit the sooner return to his new-found 
 pleasure. His thoughts already darted forward to 
 the time when the Miss Ibbotsons would be leaving 
 Deerbrook. It was already a heavy thought how 
 dull Deerbrook would be without them. He was 
 already unconsciously looking at every object in 
 and around the familiar place with the eyes of the 
 strangers, speculating on how the whole would 
 appear to them. In short, his mind was full of 
 them. There are, perhaps, none who do not know 
 what this kind of impression is. All have felt it, 
 at sometime or other,— many have' felt it often, — 
 about strangers whom they have been predisposed 
 to like, or with whom they have been struck at 
 meeting. Nine times out of ten, perhaps, the im- 
 pression is fleeting ; and when it is gone, there is 
 an unwillingness to return to it, from a sense of 
 absurdity in having been so much interested about 
 one who so soon became indifferent : but the fact
 
 DEERBROOK. 77 
 
 is not the less real and general for this. When it 
 happens between two young people who are pre- 
 viously fancy-free, and circumstances favour the 
 impression till it sinks deeper than the fancy, it 
 takes the name of love at first sight. Otherwise it 
 passes away without a name, without a record : — 
 for the hour it is a secret : in an after time it is 
 forgotten. 
 
 Possessed unconsciously with this secret, Hope 
 threw himself from his horse at the entrance of the 
 meadow where the cowslip-gatherers were busy, 
 fastened his steed to the gate, and joined the 
 party. The children ran to him with the glean- 
 ings of intelligence which they had acquired since 
 he saw them last, half an hour before : — that it was 
 well they did not put off their gathering any longer, 
 for some of the flowers were beginning to dry up 
 already : that cousins had never tasted cowslip- 
 tea; — (was not this very odd?) — that cousin Hester 
 would not help to pick the flowers for drying, — 
 she thought it such a pity to pull the blossom out 
 of the calyx : that Sophia would not help either, 
 because it was warm : that cousin Margaret had 
 gathered a great many, but she had been ever so 
 long watching a spider's nest, — a nasty large 
 spider's nest that Matilda was just going to break 
 into when cousin Margaret asked her not to 
 spoil it !
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Margaret was indeed on her knees, prying into 
 the spider's nest. When duly laughed at, she 
 owned to having seen cobwebs before, but main- 
 tained that cobwebs in a closet were a very different 
 aifair from a spider's nest in a field. 
 
 " I rather think, however," said she, " the word 
 ' nest' itself has something to do with my liking 
 for what I have been looking at. Some of your 
 commonest country words have a charm to the ear 
 and imagination of townspeople that you could not 
 understand."" 
 
 " But," said Mr. Hope, " I thought nests were 
 very common in Birmingham. Have you not nests 
 of boxes, and nests of work-tables V 
 
 " Yes, and so we have stacks of chimneys ; but 
 yet we do not think of hay-making when we see the 
 smoke of the town. — I rather think country words 
 are only captivating as relating to the country ; 
 but then you cannot think how bewitching they 
 are to people who live in streets." 
 
 " The children might have found you a prettier 
 sort of nest to indulge your fancy with, I should 
 think. There must be plenty of creatures besides 
 spiders in this wide meadow." 
 
 JNIr. Hope called out to the little girls that who- 
 ever should find any sort of a nest in the meadow, 
 for Miss Margaret Ibbotson, should have a ride on 
 his horse. Away flew the children; and Hester
 
 DEERBROOK. 79 
 
 and Sophia came from the water-side to know what 
 all the bustle was about. Fanny returned to 
 inquire whether the nests must be in the meadow, 
 whether just outside would not do. She knew there 
 was an ants'* nest in the bank, just on the other 
 side of the hedge. The decision was that the ants'* 
 nest would do only in case of her not being able to 
 find any other within bounds. Sophia looked on 
 languidly, probably thinking all this very silly. It 
 put her in mind of an old schoolfellow of hers who 
 had been called very clever before she came to 
 school at nine years old. Till she saw her, Sophia 
 had believed that town-children were always clever : 
 but no later than the very first day, this little girl 
 had got into disgrace with the governess. Her 
 task was to learn by heart Goldsmith's Country 
 Clergyman, in the ' Deserted Village.' She said 
 it quite perfectly, but, when questioned about the 
 meaning, stopped short at the first line, — " Near 
 yonder copse where once a garden smiled."" She 
 persisted that she did not know what a copse was : 
 the governess said she was obstinate, and shut 
 her up in the play hours between morning and 
 afternoon school. Sophia never could make out 
 whether the girl was foolish or obstinate in persist- 
 ing that she did not know what a copse was : but 
 her cousin Margaret now put her in mind of this
 
 80 
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 girl, with all her town feelings, and her fuss about 
 spiders' nests. 
 
 " How is old Mr. Smithson to-day V Sophia 
 inquired of Mr. Hope, by way of introducing 
 something more rational. 
 
 " Not better : it is scarcely possible that he 
 should be," was the reply. 
 
 *' Papa thought last night he must be dying." 
 
 " He is dying." 
 
 " Have you just come from a patient who is 
 dying V asked Hester, with a look of anxiety, with 
 which was mixed some surprise. 
 
 " Yes : from one who cannot live many days." 
 
 Sophia observed that Mr. James had been sent 
 for early this morning — no doubt to put the finish 
 to the will : but nobody seemed to know whether 
 the old gentleman would leave his money to his 
 nephew or his step- son, or whether he would 
 divide it between them. Hester and Margaret 
 showed no anxiety on this point, but seemed so 
 ready to be interested about some others as to 
 make Mr. Hope think that they were only re- 
 strained by delicacy from asking all that he could 
 tell about his patient's state. They knew enough 
 of the profession, however, to be aware that this 
 kind of inquiry is the last which should be addressed 
 to a medical man.
 
 DEERBROOK, 81 
 
 '' You are surprised," said he, " that I am come 
 from a dying patient to play with the children in 
 the fields. Come, acknowledge that this is in your 
 minds." 
 
 " If it is, it is an unreasonable thought," said 
 Margaret. " You must see so many dying people, 
 it would be hard that in every case you should be 
 put out of the reach of pleasure."" 
 
 " Never mind the hardship, if it be fitting," said 
 Hope. "Hard or not hard, is it natural,— is it 
 possible V 
 
 " I suppose witnessing death so often does lessen 
 the feelings about it," observed Hester. " Yet I 
 cannot fancy that one's mind could be at liberty 
 for small concerns immediately after leaving a 
 house full of mourners, and the sight of one in 
 pain. There must be something distasteful in 
 everything that meets one's eyes, — in the sunshine 
 itself." 
 
 " True. That is the feeling in such cases : but 
 such cases seldom occur. — Yes : T mean what I say. 
 Such cases are very rare. The dying person is 
 commonly old, or so worn out by illness as to make 
 death at last no evil. When the illness is shorter, 
 it is usually found that a few hours in the sick- 
 room do the work of months of common life in 
 reconciling the minds of survivors," 
 
 " I am sure that is true," observed Margaret. 
 e3
 
 S2 DEEKHROOK. 
 
 "It is SO generally the case that I know no set 
 of circumstances in which I should more confidently 
 reckon on the cpJmness, forethought, and composure 
 of the persons I have to deal with than in the 
 family of a dying person. The news comes sud- 
 denly to the neighbours : all the circumstances rush 
 at once into their imaginations : all their recollec- 
 tions and feelings about the sufferer agitate them 
 in quick succession ; and they naturally suppose the 
 near friends must be more agitated, in proportion 
 to their nearness." 
 
 " The watchers, meanwhile," said Hester, " have 
 had time in the long night to go over the past and 
 the future, again and again ; and by morning all 
 seems so familiar, that they think they can never 
 be surprised into grief again." 
 
 " So familiar," said Mr. Hope, " that their 
 minds are at liberty for the smallest particulars of 
 their duty. I usually find them ready for the 
 minutest directions I may have to give." 
 
 "Yes: the time for surprise, — for consterna- 
 tion, — is long afterwards," said Hester, with some 
 emotion. "When the whole has become settled 
 and finished in other minds, the nearest mourners 
 begin to wake up to their mourning." 
 
 " And thus," said Margaret, " the strongest 
 agitation is happily not witnessed." 
 
 " Happily not," said Mr. Hope. " I doubt
 
 DEERBROOK. Q6 
 
 whether anybody's strongest agitations ever are 
 witnessed. I doubt whether the sufferer himself 
 is often aware of what are really his greatest suf- 
 ferings ; and he is so ashamed of them that he hides 
 them from himself, when it is possible. I cannot 
 but think that any grief which reveals itself is very 
 endurable." 
 
 " Is not that rather hardr"* asked Margaret. 
 
 " How does it seem to you hard ? Is it not 
 merciful that we can keep our worst sorrows, — 
 that we are disposed, as it were, forced, to keep 
 them from afflicting our friends V 
 
 " But is it not saying that bereavement of friends 
 is not the greatest of sorrows, while all seem to 
 agree that it is V 
 
 " Is it, generally speaking, the greatest of sor- 
 rows ? I think not, for my own part. There are 
 cases in which the loss is too heavy to bear being 
 the subject of any speculation, almost of observa- 
 tion ; for instance, when the happiest married 
 people are separated, or when a first or only child 
 dies : but I think there are many sorrows greater 
 than a separation by death of those who have 
 faith enough to live independently of each other, 
 and mutual love enough to deserve, as they hope, 
 to meet again hereafter. I assure you I have 
 sometimes come away from houses unvisited, and 
 unlikely to be visited by death, with a heart so
 
 84 DEERBROOK. 
 
 heavy as I have rarely or never brought from a 
 death-bed." 
 
 " I should have thought that would be left for 
 the rector to say," observed Hester. " I should 
 have supposed you meant cases of guilt or remorse."" 
 
 " Cases of guilt or remorse,'' continued Mr. 
 Hope, " and also of infirmity. People may say 
 what they will, but I am persuaded that there is 
 immeasurably more sufi*ering endured, both in 
 paroxysms and for a continuance, from infirmity, 
 tendency to a particular fault, or the privation of 
 a sense, than from the loss of any friend upon 
 earth, except the very nearest and dearest ; and 
 even that case is no exception, when there is the 
 faith of meeting again — which almost every mourner 
 has, so natural and welcome as it is." 
 
 " Do you tell your infirm friends the high 
 opinion you have of their sufferings?" asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Why, not exactly ; that would not be the 
 kindest thing to do, would it ? What they want 
 is, to have their trouble lightened to them, not 
 made the worst of; — lightened, not by using any 
 deceit, of course, but by simply treating their case 
 as a matter of fact." 
 
 " Then surely you should make light of the case 
 of the dying too : make light of it even to the 
 survivors. Do you do this I "
 
 DEERBROOK. 85 
 
 " In one sense I do ; in another sense no one 
 can do it. Not regarding death as a misfortune, 
 I cannot affect to consider it so. Regarding the 
 change of existence as a very serious one, I cannot, 
 of course, make hght of it." 
 
 *' That way of looking at it regards only the 
 dying person ; you have not said how you speak of 
 it to survivors." 
 
 " As I speak of it to you now, or to myself when 
 I see any one die ; with the added consideration 
 of what the survivors are about to lose. That is a 
 large consideration certainly ; but should not one 
 give them credit for viewing death as it is, and for 
 being willing to bear their own loss cheerfully, as 
 they would desire to bear any other kind of loss ? 
 especially if, as they say, they believe it to be only 
 for a time." 
 
 '^ This is looking on the bright side," observed 
 Hester, in a low voice ; but she was overheard by 
 Mr. Hope. 
 
 " I trust you do not object to the bright side of 
 things," said he, smiling, " as long as there is so 
 much about us that is really very dark."" 
 
 " What can religion be for," said Margaret, 
 " or reason, or philosophy, whichever name you 
 may call your faith by, but to show us the bright 
 side of everything— of death among the rest? I 
 have often wondered why we seem to try to make
 
 S6 DKERBROOK. 
 
 the most of that evil, (if evil it be,) while we think 
 it a duty to make the least of every other. I had 
 some such feeling, I suppose, when I was surprised 
 to hear that you had come hither straight from a 
 death-bed ; I do not wonder at all now." 
 
 " Mr. Smithson will not be much missed,'' ob- 
 served Sophia, who felt herself relieved from the 
 solemnity of the occasion by what had passed, and 
 at liberty to speak of him as freely as if he was no 
 nearer death than ever. " He has never been a 
 sociable neighbour ; I always thought him an odd 
 old man, from the earliest time I can remember." 
 
 " Some few will miss him," said Mr. Hope, 
 '' He is a simple-hearted, shy man, who never did 
 himself justice, except with two or three who saw 
 most of him. Their aifection has been enough for 
 him — enough to make him think now that his life 
 has been a very happy one. There ! '' cried Hope, 
 as a lark sprang up almost from under the feet of 
 the party — " There is another member of Deer- 
 brook society, ladies, who is anxious to make your 
 acquaintance." There were two or three larks 
 hovering above the meadow at this moment, and 
 others were soaring further off. The air was full 
 of lark music. The party stood still and listened. 
 Looking up into the sunny sky, they watched one 
 little warbler, wheeling round, falling, rising again, 
 still warbling, till it seemed as if it could never be ex-
 
 DEERBROOK. 87 
 
 haiisted. Sophia said it made her headache to look 
 up so long ; and she seemed impatient for the bird 
 to have done. It then struck her that she also 
 might find a nest, like her sisters ; and she examined 
 the place whence the lark had sprung. Under a 
 thick tuft of grass, in a little hollow, she found a 
 family of infant larks huddled together, and pointed 
 them out to her cousins. 
 
 The children came upon being called. They 
 were damped in spirits. They did not see how they 
 were to find any nests, if the ants' nest would not 
 do ; unless, indeed, Mr. Hope would hold them up 
 into the trees or hedges to look ; but they could not 
 climb trees, Mr. Hope knew. They were some- 
 what further mortified by perceiving that they 
 might have found a nest by examining the ground, 
 if they had happened to think of it. Margaret 
 begged they would not be distressed at not finding 
 nests for her ; and Mr. Hope proposed to try his 
 luck, saying, that if he succeeded, every one who 
 wished should have a ride on his horse. 
 
 To the surprise of the children, he turned to- 
 wards the water, and walked along the bank. The 
 brimming river was smooth as glass ; and where it 
 stood in among the rushes, and in every tiny inlet, it 
 was as clear as the air, and alive with small fish, 
 which darted at the flies that dimpled the surface. 
 A swan, which had been quietly sailing in the
 
 88 DEERRROOK. 
 
 middle of the stream, changed its deportment as 
 the party proceeded along the bank. It ruffled 
 its breast-feathers, arched back its neck till the 
 head rested between the erect wings, and drove 
 through the water with a speed which shivered the 
 pictures in it as a sweeping gale would have done. 
 
 " What is the matter with the creature I" asked 
 Margaret ; " I never saw a swan behave so." 
 
 The children seemed rather afraid that the bird 
 would come on shore and attack them. Mr. Hope 
 took the opportunity of its being at some little 
 distance, to open the rushes, and show where a fine 
 milk-white egg lay in a large round nest. 
 
 " 0, Mr. Hope, you knew," cried the children, 
 " you knew there was a swan's nest near." 
 
 " Yes ; and did not you, when you saw how the 
 swan behaved ? But I was aware of this nest 
 before. Tom Creach has the care of the park 
 swans ; he made this nest, and he told me where 
 it was. Let your cousins have a peep ; and then 
 we will go, before the poor swan grows too much 
 frightened. And now, who will have a ride on my 
 horse ?" 
 
 All the children chose to ride ; and, while Mr. 
 Hope was coursing with them in turn, round and 
 round the meadow, the young ladies proceeded 
 along the bank. A quarter of a mile further on, 
 they fell in with Sydney Grey and his friend Mr.
 
 DEERBROOK. 89 
 
 Philip. They hadbeen successful in their sport. Mr. 
 Enderby had had enough of it, and was stretched 
 on the grass reading, while Sydney stood on the 
 roots of an old oak, casting his line into the pool 
 beneath its shadow. 
 
 " So, here you are, quite safe ! '' said Sophia ; 
 " George Rowland might have come, after all. 
 Poor boy ! I am glad he is not with us, he would 
 be so mortified to see all the fish you have caught 
 without him ! " 
 
 " How many times have we been in the river, 
 Sydney? Can you remember?" asked Mr. 
 Enderby. 
 
 " I have seen no fish big enough to pull us in," 
 said Sydney ; " and I do not know any other way 
 of getting a wetting at this sport. Mrs. Rowland 
 should have seen George and me climbing the old 
 oak at the two-mile turning. I dared George to it, 
 and there he hung over the water, at the end of 
 the branch, riding up and down like a see-saw. She 
 would think nothing of letting him go fishing after 
 that." 
 
 " If the branch had broken," said Mr. Enderby, 
 " what would you have done then V 
 
 " O, it is not often that a branch breaks." 
 
 " Old oaks are apt to break, sooner or later ; 
 and, the next time you dare George to see-saw
 
 90 DEERBROOK. 
 
 over the river, I would advise you to consider 
 beforehand how you would get him out, in case of 
 his dropping in." 
 
 " O, he is not afraid. One day lately, when 
 the water was low, he offered to cross the weir at 
 Dingleford. I did not persuade him to that; 
 but he pulled .off his shoes and stockings, and got 
 over and back, safe enough." 
 
 " Indeed ! and you tried it too, I suppose V 
 
 " Yes; it would be a shame if I could not do 
 what George can. It was almost as easy as walk- 
 ing along this bank." 
 
 " I shall talk to Master George, however, be- 
 fore he goes to Dingleford again, or he may chance 
 to find it easier some day to miss his footing than 
 to hold it." 
 
 " I wonder Mrs. Rowland is afraid to let George 
 go out with you," said Sophia, " considering what 
 things he does when you are not with him." 
 
 " She does not know of these pranks, or she 
 would feel as you do ; and I hope every one here 
 will be kind enough not to tell her. It would only 
 be making her anxious to no purpose, whenever 
 the boy is out of her sight. It would be a pity to 
 make a coward of him ; and I think I can teach 
 him what is mischief and what is not, without disr 
 turbing her. Come, ladies, suppose you rest your-
 
 DEERBROOK. 91 
 
 selves here ; you will find a pleasant seat on this 
 bank : at least, I fell asleep on it just now, as if I 
 had been on a sofa." 
 
 " I wish you would all. go to sleep, or else walk 
 off," said Sydney. " You make so much noise I 
 shall never catch any fish." 
 
 " Suppose you were to go somewhere else," 
 said Mr. Enderby — " Would not that be rather 
 more civil than sending us all away ? " 
 
 Sydney thought he would find another place : 
 there were plenty along the bank. He gathered 
 up bait and basket, and trudged off. There was 
 an amusement, however, which he liked better even 
 than fishing; and for which he now surrendered it. 
 He was presently seen cantering round the meadow 
 on Mr. Hope's horse. 
 
 Mr. Enderby hoped the Miss Ibbotsons were 
 able to say "No" with decision. If not, he did 
 not envy them their supper this evening; for 
 Sydney would certainly ask them to eat all the fish 
 he had caught — bream and dace and all. The 
 first pleasure of young anglers is to catch these 
 small fry ; and the next is, to make their sisters 
 and cousins eat them. Sophia solemnly assured 
 her cousins that mama never allowed Sydney's 
 fish to come to table, at least in the house. If the 
 children liked to get the cook to boil them for their 
 dolls' feasts in the school-room, they might.
 
 92 DEERBROOK. 
 
 "And then Miss Young is favoured with a share, 
 I suppose V said Margaret. 
 
 " Have you made acquaintance with Miss Young 
 yet V inquired Mr. Enderby. 
 
 " O, yes ! I had the pleasure of knowing -Miss 
 Young long before I knew you." 
 
 " Long ! how long ? I was not aware that you 
 had ever met. Where did you meet ? "" 
 
 "In the school-room, before breakfast, — full 
 four hours before you called this morning." 
 
 " O, that is all you mean ! I wondered how you 
 should know her." 
 
 Sophia asked whether Margaret and Miss Young 
 were not going to study together ; Margaret as- 
 sented. Miss Young was kind enough to promise 
 to help her to read German. 
 
 " And you?" said Mr. Enderby to Hester. 
 " Why, no ; I am rather afraid of the under- 
 taking." 
 
 " And you, Miss Grey V 
 
 " No. Mama says, I have enough to do with 
 my history and my music ; especially while my 
 cousins are here. I began German once, but 
 mama thought I was growing awry, and so I left 
 it off. I find Mrs. Rowland means Matilda to 
 learn German." 
 
 " We are all disposed to have my little nieces 
 learn whatever Miss Young will be kind enough to
 
 BEERBROOK. 98 
 
 teach them ; they will gain nothing but good from 
 her." 
 
 " She is very learned, to be sure," observed 
 Sophia. 
 
 " And something more than learned, I should 
 think,'"* said Hester ; " I fancy she is wise." 
 
 " How can you have discovered that already V 
 asked Mr. Enderby, whose fingers were busy dis- 
 secting a stalk of flowering grass. 
 
 " I hardly know ; I have nothing to quote for 
 my opinion. Her conversation leaves a general 
 impression of her being very sensible." 
 
 " Sensible, as she is a woman," observed Mar- 
 garet ; "if she were a man, she would be called 
 philosophical." 
 
 " She is very superior," observed Sophia. " It 
 was mama's doing that she is the children's gover- 
 ness." 
 
 " Philosophical !" repeated Mr. Enderby. " It 
 is a happy thing that she is philosophical in her 
 circumstances, poor thing ! " 
 
 ''As she happens to be unprosperous," said 
 Margaret, smiling. " If she were rich, and strong, 
 and admired, her philosophy would be laughed at ; 
 it would only be in the way." 
 
 Mr. Enderby sighed, and made no answer. Be- 
 fore any one spoke again, Mr. Hope and his Httle 
 companions came up.
 
 94 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " How quiet you all are ! " exclaimed Sydney. 
 ^Tve a good mind to come and fish here again, if 
 you will only go on to be so drowsy.'"* 
 
 Sophia declared that they had been talking up 
 to the last minute, about Miss Young, and learn- 
 ing German, and being philosophical. 
 
 " And which of the party have you made out to 
 be the most philosophical ? " inquired Mr. Hope. 
 
 " We have not so much as made out what 
 philosophy is for," said Hester ; " can you tell 
 us?" 
 
 As she looked up at Mr. Hope, who was stand- 
 ing behind her, Sydney thought her question was 
 addressed to him. Swinging his fishing-rod round, 
 he replied doubtfully that he thought philosophy 
 was good to know how to do things. What sort 
 of things ? Why, to make phosphorus lights, and 
 electrify people, as Dr. Levitt did, when he made 
 Sophia jump off" the stool with glass legs. Sophia 
 was sure that any one else would have jumped off 
 the stool as she did. She should take good care 
 never to jump on it again. But she wondered 
 Sydney did not know any better than that what 
 philosophy was for. Her cousins said Miss Young 
 was philosophical, and she had nothing to do with 
 phosphorus or electrical machines. 
 
 Mr. Enderby explained to Mr. Hope that he 
 had said what he was ready to maintain ; that it
 
 DEERBROOK. 95 
 
 was a happy thing for any one who, like Miss 
 Young, was not so prosperous as she had been, to 
 be supported by philosophy. 
 
 " And, granting this," said Margaret, " it was 
 next inquired whether this same philosophy would 
 have been considered equally admirable, equally a 
 matter of congratulation, if Miss Young had not 
 wanted it for solace." 
 
 "A question as old as the brigg at Stirling,'' 
 replied Mr. Hope ; " older, older than any bridges 
 of man's making." 
 
 " Why Stirling brigg ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean — do not you know the story? — that an 
 old woman wanted to cross the Forth, and some 
 ferrymen would have persuaded her to go in their 
 boat when she was confident that a tempest was 
 coming on, which would have made the ferry un- 
 safe. They told her at last that she must trust to 
 Providence. ' Na, na,' said she, ' I will ne'er trust 
 to Providence while there is a brigg at Stirling.' 
 The common practice is, you know, with the old 
 woman. — We will not trust to the highest support 
 we profess to have, till nothing else is left us. AVe 
 worship philosophy, but never think of making use 
 of it while we have prosperity as well." 
 
 '' The question is whether such practice is wise," 
 said Margaret : "we all know it is common." 
 
 " For my part," said Mr. Enderby, " I think
 
 96 DEERBROOK. 
 
 the old Scotch woman was right; Providence 
 helps those that help themselves, and takes care of 
 those who take care of themselves."" 
 
 " Just so," said Hope. " Her error was in sup- 
 posing that the one course was an alternative from 
 the other, — that she would not be trusting in Pro- 
 vidence as much in going by the bridge as in brav- 
 ing the tempest. I think we are in the same error 
 when we set up philosophy and prosperity in op- 
 position to each other, taking up with the one 
 when we cannot get the other, as if philosophy 
 were not over all, compassing our life as the blue 
 sky overarches the earth, brightening, vivifying, 
 harmonizing all, whether we look up to see whence 
 the light comes or not." 
 
 '* You think it a mistake then," said Margaret, 
 "not to look up to it till all is night below, and there 
 is no light to be seen but by gazing overhead I " 
 
 " I do not see why we should miss seeing the 
 white clouds and blue depths at noon because we 
 may reckon upon moon and stars at midnight. 
 Then again, what is life at its best without philo- 
 sophy l " 
 
 " I can tell you, as well as anybody," said Mr. 
 Enderby, "for I never had any philosophy, — no, 
 neither wisdom, nor the love of wisdom, nor pa- 
 tience, nor any of the things that philosophy is 
 understood to mean."
 
 DEERBROOK. 97 
 
 " O, Mr. Enderby ! "' cried Sydney, '• what 
 pains you took to teach me to fish, and to make 
 me wait patiently for a bite ! You say you are 
 not patient !*" 
 
 " My account of life without philosophy," said 
 Mr. Enderby, proceeding as if he did not hear 
 the children testifying to his patience with them, — 
 " my account of life without philosophy is, that it 
 slips away mighty easily, till it is gone, you scarcely 
 know where or how." 
 
 '* And when you call upon philosophy at last to 
 give an account of it, what does she say I" asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " I do not understand how life can sHp away 
 so," said Hester. " Is there ever a day without its 
 sting ? — without doubt of somebody, disappoint- 
 ment in oneself or another, dread of some evil, 
 or weariness of spirit ? Prosperity is no more of 
 a cure for these than for sickness and death. If 
 philosophy is- — " 
 
 ''Well!"*'' exclaimed Mr. Hope, with strong in- 
 terest, " if philosophy is " 
 
 " Happy they that have her, for all need her." 
 
 " Hear a testimony at least as candid as your 
 own, Enderby. If you really find life steal away 
 as easily as you now fancy, depend upon it you 
 are more of a philosopher than you are aware of." 
 
 " What is philosophy 2 " asked Matilda of Syd-
 
 98 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ney in a loud whisper, which the boy was not in 
 any hurry to take notice of, ao Httle was there in 
 the conversation which seemed to bear upon phos- 
 phorus and electricity. 
 
 '^ A good question,""* observed Mr. Enderby. 
 *' Hope, will you tell us children what we are 
 talking about,— what philosophy is, all this while V 
 
 '^ You gave us a few meanings just now, which 
 I should put into one. Call it enlargement of 
 views, and you have wisdom, and the love of wis- 
 dom, and patience, all at once : ay, Sydney, and 
 your kind of philosophy too : — it was by looking far 
 and deep into nature that men found electricity."''' 
 
 '• Did Dr. Levitt find it out V asked Matilda : 
 *' he is so very short-sighted ! I don"'t believe he 
 would see those fish snapping up the flies, if he sat 
 where I do. What was that that fell on my bon- 
 net I Is it raining ? " 
 
 Sydney, tired of fishing, had chmbed into the 
 oak, and was sending down twigs and leaves upon 
 the heads of the party. Sophia desired him to 
 come down, and even assured him that if he did 
 not, she should be angry. He replied, that he 
 would only stay to see whether she would be angry 
 or not. The experiment was cut short by the 
 whole party rising, and moving homewards. The 
 sun was setting, and the picked cowslips must not 
 have any dew upon them.
 
 PEERBROOK. 99 
 
 As the group passed up the street, Sydney in 
 advance, with his rod and basket, on Mr. Hope^^s 
 horse, ISIr. Hope himself following with Hester, 
 and the tall Mr. Enderby, with Sophia and Mar- 
 garet on either arm, all, like the little girls, laden 
 with cowslips, the gossips of Deerbrook were satis- 
 fied that the stranger ladies must have enjoyed 
 their walk in the meadows. 
 
 p2
 
 100 DEERBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 THE SCHOOL-ROOM, 
 
 Mrs. Rowland was mortified that the Greys 
 had been beforehand with her in the idea of a 
 cowsHp-gathering. From the moment of Matilda's 
 asking leave to accompany them, she resolved to 
 have such an expedition from her house as her 
 neighbours should not be able to eclipse. Like 
 Lear, she did not yet know what her deed was to 
 be ; but it should be the wonder and terror of the 
 place : she would do such things as should strike 
 the strangers with admiration. When she heard 
 an account of it from her little daughter, she 
 found this had been a very poor beginning, — a 
 mere walk in the meadows, and home again to 
 tea; — no boiling the kettle in the woods, — ^not even 
 a surprise of early strawberries. She could not 
 call this being forestalled ; it could not give the 
 young ladies any idea of a proper country excur- 
 sion, with four or five carriages, or a boat with an 
 awning. As soon as Mr. Rowland came home in 
 the evening, she consulted him about the day,
 
 DEERBROOK. 101 
 
 the place, the mode, and the numbers to be 
 invited. Mr. Rowland was so well pleased to find 
 his lady in the mood to be civil to her neighbours, 
 that he started no difficulties, and exerted himself 
 to overcome such as could not be overlooked. All 
 the planning prospered so well, that notes to the 
 Grey family and. to the Miss Ibbotsons lay on 
 Mr. Grey's breakfast- table the next morning, 
 inviting the whole party to dine with Mrs. Row- 
 land in Dingleford woods, that day week, — the 
 carriages to be at the door at ten o'clock. 
 
 The whole village rang with the preparations 
 for this excursion ; and the village was destined 
 to ring with other tidings before it took place. 
 Mrs. Rowland often said that she had the worst 
 luck in the world ; that it seemed as if all small 
 events fell out so as to plague her. She had an 
 unusual fertility in such sensible suppositions and 
 reasonable complaints ; and her whole diversity of 
 expressions of this kind was called into play about 
 this expedition to Dingleford woods. The hams 
 were actually boiled, and the chicken-pies baked, 
 when clouds began to gather in the sky ; and on 
 the appointed morning, pattens clinked in the 
 \dllage street. Miss Young's umbrella was wet 
 through in the mere transit from the farrier's 
 gate to the school-room ; the gravel-walk before 
 Mr. Grey's house was full of vellow pools, and the
 
 102 DEERBROOK. 
 
 gurgling of spouts or drip from the trees was 
 heard on every side. The worst of it was, this 
 rain came after a drought of many weeks, which 
 had perilled the young crops, and almost destroyed 
 the hopes of hay; the ladies and children had 
 been far from sufficiently sorry to hear that some 
 of the poorer wheat lands in the county had been 
 ploughed up, and that there was no calculating 
 what hay would be a ton the next winter. 
 They were now to receive the retribution of their 
 indifference ; rain had set in, and the farmers 
 hoped that it might continue for a month. It 
 would not be wise to fix any country excursion for 
 a few weeks to come. Let the young people enjoy 
 any fine afternoon that they might be able to turn 
 to the account of a walk, or a drive, or a sail on 
 the river ; but pic-nic parties must be deferred 
 till settled weather came. There was every hope 
 that the middle of the summer would be fine and 
 seasonable, if the rains came down freely now. 
 
 This course of meteorological events involved two 
 great vexations to Mrs. Rowland. One was, that 
 the neighbours who could pretend to entertain the 
 strangers only in a quiet way at home took the op- 
 portunity of the rainy weather to do so, hoping, as 
 they said, not to interfere with any more agreeable 
 engagements. Mrs. Rowland really never saw 
 anything so dissipated as the Greys ; they were out
 
 DEERBROOK. 103 
 
 almost every evening when they had not company 
 at home. It was impossible that Sophia's studies 
 uould go on as they ought to do. What with 
 taking a quiet cup of tea with one acquaintance, 
 and being at a merry reading party at another's, 
 and ]Mrs. Enderby's little dance, and dinner at 
 the Levitts', there were few evenings left ; and on 
 those few evenings they were never content to be 
 alone. They were always giving the young men 
 encouragement to go in. Mr. Hope made quite a 
 home house of Mr. Grey's ; and as for Philip, he 
 seemed now to be more at Mr. Grey's than even 
 at his own mother's or sister's. Mrs. Grey ought 
 to remember how bad all this was for a girl of 
 Sophia's age. It would completely spoil the ex- 
 cursion to Dingleford woods. The young people 
 knew one another so well by this time, that the 
 novelty was all worn off, and they would have 
 nothing left to say to each other. It was provok- 
 ing that Mr. Rowland had promised that the 
 excursion should take place whenever the weather 
 should be settled enough. It might so fairly have 
 been given up ! and now it must be gone on with, 
 when every one was tired of the idea, and the 
 young people must almost be weary of one another, 
 from being always together ! 
 
 The other vexation was, that there were fre- 
 quent short intervals of fine weather, which vvcre
 
 104 
 
 BEERBROOK. 
 
 immediately taken advantage of for a drive, 
 or a walk, or a sail; and it came out one day 
 from the children, who had learned it in the 
 school-room, that the Miss Ibbotsons had been in 
 Dingleford woods. There had been no such inten- 
 tion when the party set out : they had not de- 
 signed to go nearly so far ; but they had been 
 tempted on by the beauty of the evening and of 
 the scenery, till they had found it the shortest 
 way to come home through the Dingleford woods. 
 Mrs. Rowland pronounced this abominable ; and 
 she was not appeased by hearing that her brother 
 had been the proposer of this mode of return, and 
 the guide of the party. Philip forgot everything, 
 she declared, in his fancy for these girls ; it was 
 always his fault that he was carried away by the 
 people he was with : he had got the name of a 
 flirt by it, and a flirt he was ; but she had never 
 known him so possessed as he seemed to be by 
 these strangers. She must speak to Mr. Rowland 
 about it; the matter might really be becoming 
 serious ; and if he should ever be entrapped into 
 marrying into the Grey connexions, among people 
 so decidedly objectionable, it would be a terrible 
 self-reproach to her as long as she lived, that she 
 had not interfered in time. She should speak to 
 Mr. Rowland. 
 
 Meanwhile she kept a watchful eye on her bro-
 
 DEERBROOK. 105 
 
 ther's proceedings. She found from the children 
 that their uncle Philip had fulfilled his promise of 
 going to see the school-room, and had been so 
 much better than his word, that he had been 
 there very often. When he went, it was always 
 when the Miss Ibbotsons were there, learning 
 German, or drawing, or talking with Miss Yomig. 
 It was impossible to pick a quarrel with Miss 
 Young about this ; for she always sent her visitors 
 away the moment the clock struck the school- 
 hour. The summer-house was Mr. Grey's pro- 
 perty, too ; so that Mrs. Rowland could only be 
 angry at the studies which went on in it, and had 
 no power to close the doors against any of the 
 parties. 
 
 The rainy weather had indeed been very pro- 
 pitious to the study of German. For a fortnight, 
 Margaret had spent some hours of each day with 
 Miss Young ; and over their books they had 
 learned so much of one another's heart and mind, 
 that a strong regard had sprung up between them. 
 This new friendship was a great event to Miss 
 Young; — how great, she herself could scarcely 
 have believed beforehand. Her pupils found 
 that Miss Young was now very merry some- 
 times. Mr. Grey observed to his wife that the 
 warmer weather seemed to agree with the 
 poor young woman, as she had some little colour 
 f3
 
 1 06 DEERBROOK* 
 
 in her cheeks at last ; and Margaret herself ob- 
 served a change in the tone of the philosophy she 
 had admired from the beginning. There was some- 
 what less of reasoning in it, and more of impulse ; 
 it was as sound as ever, but more genial. While 
 never forgetting the constancy of change in human 
 affairs, she was heartily willing to enjoy the good 
 that befell her, while it lasted. It was well that 
 she could do so ; for the good of this new friend- 
 ship was presently alloyed. 
 
 She was not aware, and it was well that she was 
 not, that Hester was jealous of her, almost from 
 the hour of Margaret's learning what a vast num- 
 ber of irregular verbs there is in the German. 
 Each sister remembered their conversation by the 
 open window, on the night of their arrival at 
 Deerbrook. Remembering it, Margaret made 
 Hester a partaker in all her feelings about Maria 
 Young; her admiration, her pity, her esteem. 
 Reserving to herself any confidence which Maria 
 placed in her (in which, however, no mention 
 of Mr. Enderby ever occurred), she kept not a 
 thought or feeling of her own from her sister. 
 The consequence was, that Hester found that 
 Maria filled a large space in Margaret's mind, 
 and that a new interest had risen up in which 
 she had little share. She, too, remembered the 
 conversation, but had not strength to act up to
 
 DEERBROOK. 107 
 
 the spirit of it. She had then owned her weakness, 
 and called it wickedness, and fancied that she 
 could never mistrust her sister again. She was 
 now so ashamed of her own consciousness of beinof 
 once more jealous, that she strove to hide the fact 
 from herself, and was not therefore likely to tell it 
 to Margaret. She struggled hourly with herself, re- 
 buking her own temper, and making appeals to her 
 own generosity. She sat drawing in the little blue 
 parlour, morning after morning, during Sophia's 
 reading or practising, telling herself that Margaret 
 and Miss Young had no secrets, no desire to be 
 always tete-d-tete ; that they had properly invited 
 her to learn German : and that she had only to 
 go at any moment, and offer to join them, to be 
 joyfully received. She argued with herself, — how 
 mean it would be to do so ; to agree to study at 
 last, in order to be a sort of spy upon them, to 
 watch over her own interests ; as if Margaret — 
 the most sincere and faithful of living beings — 
 were not to be trusted with them. She had often 
 vowed that she would cure the jealousy of her 
 temper; now was the occasion, and she would 
 meet it ; she would steadily sit beside Sophia or 
 Mrs. Grey every morning, when Margaret was 
 not with her, and never let her sister know how 
 selfish she could be. 
 
 This was all very well ; but it could not make
 
 108 T)EERBROOK. 
 
 Margaret suppose her sister happy when she was 
 not. She could not be certain what was the mat- 
 ter, but she saw that something was wrong. At 
 times, Hester"'s manner was so unboundedly affec- 
 tionate, that it was impossible to suppose that 
 unkind feelings existed towards herself, though a 
 few pettish words were at other times let drop. 
 Hester*'s moods of magnanimity and jealousy were 
 accounted for in other ways by her sister. Mar- 
 garet believed, after a course of very close obser- 
 vation, that she had discovered, in investigating 
 the cause of Hester's discomposure, a secret which 
 was unknown to her sister herself. Margaret was 
 not experienced in love, nor in watching the signs 
 of it ; but here was the mind she understood best, 
 discomposed without apparent cause — more fond, 
 more generous to herself than ever, yet not reposing 
 its usual confidence in her — and subject to those 
 starts of delight and disappointment which she had 
 heard and could understand to be the moods of 
 love. She was confirmed in her suspicion by 
 observing that the merits of Mr. Hope were be- 
 coming daily a less common subject of conversation 
 between them, while it was certain that he had in 
 no degree lost favour with either. They had been 
 charmed with him from the beginning, and had 
 expressed to each other the freest admiration of 
 his truth, his gaiety, his accomplishments, and
 
 DEER BROOK. 109 
 
 great superiority to the people amidst whom he 
 lived. He was now spoken of less every day, while 
 his visits grew more frequent, longer, and, Mar- 
 garet could not but think, more welcome to her 
 sister. The hours when he was sure not to come 
 happened to be those which she spent with Miss 
 Young — the hours in which gentlemen are devoted 
 to their business. Margaret thus witnessed all 
 that passed ; and if her conjecture about Hester 
 was right, she could have wished to see Mr. Hope's 
 manner rather different from what it was. He 
 was evidently strongly attracted to the house ; and 
 there was some reason to think that Mrs. Grey 
 believed that Hester was the attraction. But 
 Margaret had no such impression. She saw that 
 Mr. Hope admired her sister's beauty, listened to 
 her conversation with interest, and was moved at 
 times by the generosity of her tone of moral feel- 
 ing ; but this, though much, was not enough for 
 the anxious sister's full satisfaction ; and the one 
 thing: besides which she would fain have discerned 
 she could not perceive. These were early days 
 yet, however ; so early that, in the case of any one 
 whom she knew, except her sister, she should have 
 supposed her own conjectures wild and almost 
 improper ; but Hester's was one of those natures 
 to which time and circumstance minister more 
 speedily and more abundantly than to the gene-
 
 110 DEERBROOK. 
 
 rality. By the strength of her feelings, and the 
 activity of her affections, time was made more com- 
 prehensive, and circumstance more weighty, than to 
 others. A day would produce changes in her which 
 the impressions of a week would not effect in less pas- 
 sionate natures ; and what were trifling incidents 
 to the minds about her, were great events to her. 
 
 Margaret began to consider what was to be done. 
 The more she thought, the more plainly she per- 
 ceived that there was nothing to be done but to 
 occupy Hester, simply and naturally, with as many 
 interests as possible. This was safe practice, be 
 the cause of her occasional discomposure what 
 it might. It was particularly desirable that 
 she should not continue the habit of sitting in 
 silence for a considerable part of every morning. 
 
 One day, just after the voices of the children 
 had been heard in the hall, giving token that school 
 was over, Hester, sitting in the little blue parlour 
 alone, with her head on her hand, was apparently 
 contemplating the drawing on her board, but really 
 considering that Margaret was now beginning to 
 be happy with her friend, and asking why Mar- 
 garet should not be happy with her friend, when 
 Margaret herself entered. 
 
 " Do you want Sophia V said Hester. " She is 
 up stairs." 
 
 " No ; I want you."
 
 DEERBROOK. Ill 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 There was an ironical tone of surprise in the one 
 word she spoke, which let a weight drop upon 
 Margaret's heart; — an old feeling, but one to 
 which she had made no progress towards being 
 reconciled. 
 
 '' I cannot help you with your German, you 
 know. How can you pretend to want me V 
 
 '' It is not about German at all that I want you. 
 Maria has found up a Spenser at last, and I am 
 going to read her the ' Hymn of Heavenly Beauty.' 
 I know you never can hear that often enough ; so 
 come ! " 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Young had rather not. I should 
 be sorry to intrude myself upon her. But, how- 
 ever," continued she, observing Margaret's look of 
 surprise, " I will come. Do not wait for me, 
 dear. I will come the moment I have put up my 
 drawing." 
 
 Margaret did wait, running over the keys of the 
 open piano meanwhile. 
 
 "Shall I call Sophia too?" asked Hester, as 
 she took up her work-bag. " I dare say she never 
 read any of Spenser." 
 
 " I dare say not," replied Margaret ; " and she 
 would not care about it now. If you think we 
 ought, we will call her. If not" — 
 
 Hester smiled, nodded, and led the way to the
 
 112 DEERBROOK. 
 
 school-room without calling Sophia. She had not 
 been two minutes in the cordial presence of her 
 sister and Maria, before she felt the full absurdity 
 of the feelings which had occupied her so lately, 
 and was angry with herself to her own satisfaction. 
 Her companions looked at each other with a 
 smile as they observed at the same moment the 
 downcast attitude of her moistened eyes, the 
 beautiful blush on her cheek, and the expression 
 of meek emotion on her lips. They thought that 
 it was the image of heavenly beauty which moved 
 her thus. 
 
 Before they had quite finished the Hymn, fche 
 door was burst open, and the children entered, 
 dragging in Mr. Enderby. Mr. Enderby rebuked 
 them, good-naturedly, for introducing him with so 
 little ceremony, and declared to the ladies that 
 Matilda had promised to knock before she opened 
 the door. Hester advised Mary and Fanny to be 
 more quiet in their mode of entrance, observing 
 that they had made Miss Young start with their 
 hurry. 
 
 Matilda was glad her uncle remembered to come 
 sometimes. He had promised it several weeks 
 before he came at all ; even when he said he was 
 going away in a fortnight. 
 
 " And if I had gone away in a fortnight," said 
 he, '• I should not have seen your school-room.
 
 DEERBROOK. 113 
 
 But this is not the first time I have seen it, as 
 you remember very well. I have been here often 
 lately." 
 
 " But you never attend to me here, uncle ! And 
 I want so to show you my desk, where I keep my 
 copy-book, and the work-box you gave me on my 
 birth-day." 
 
 " Well, you can show me now, cannot you ! 
 So, this is your desk I It seems convenient enough, 
 whatever we may think of its beauty. I suppose 
 it will hold all the knowledge you will want to 
 have put into your head for some time to come. 
 Now show me which is George's desk, and which 
 Fanny's ; and now Mary's, — a nice row of desks ! 
 Now," whispering to her, " can you show me 
 which is Miss Margarets desk?" 
 
 The little girl giggled as she answered, that 
 Miss Margaret was too old to be a school-girl. 
 
 " So she is : but she learns of Miss Young, and 
 I know she keeps some of her books here. Can 
 you show me where T' 
 
 There was a desk rather larger than the rest, 
 the lid of which now happened to be standing 
 open. IMatilda slyly pointed to it. While the 
 ladies were engaged with the other children, Mr. 
 Enderby cast a glance into this desk, saw a book 
 which he knew to be Margaret's, laid something 
 upon it from his pocket, and softly closed the lid ;
 
 114 DEERBROOK. 
 
 the whole passing, if it was observed at all, as a 
 survey of the children's desks. He then pretended 
 to look round for the rod. 
 
 " No rod ! " said he, to the laughing children. 
 " O, I should like to learn here very much, if 
 there is no rod. Miss Margaret, do you not find 
 it very pleasant learning here?" 
 
 The children were shouting, " Miss Young, 
 Miss Young, do let uncle Philip come and learn 
 with us. He says he will be a very good boy, — 
 won'fc you, uncle Philip I Miss Young, when may 
 uncle Philip come and learn his lessons T' 
 
 Margaret saw that there was constraint in the 
 smile with which Maria answered the children. 
 Little as she knew, it struck her that in his fun 
 with the children, Mr. Enderby was relying quite 
 sufficiently on the philosophy he had professed to 
 admire in Miss Young. Mr. Enderby drew a 
 chair to the window round which the three ladies 
 were sitting, and took up the volume Margaret 
 had just laid down. 
 
 " Go, go, children ! " said he ; " run away to your 
 gardens ! I cannot spare you any more play to-day.'' 
 
 " O, but uncle, we want to ask you a question." 
 
 " Well, ask it." 
 
 " But it is a secret. You must come into the 
 corner with Fanny, and Mary, and me." 
 
 For peace and quiet he went into the corner
 
 DEERBROOK. 115 
 
 with them, and they whispered into each ear a 
 question how many burnt almonds and gingerbread- 
 buttons, and how much barley-sugar, two shillings 
 and three-pence halfpenny would buy. The cowslips 
 were now ready to make tea of, and the feast on 
 the dolls' dishes might be served any day. Mr. 
 Enderby promised to inquire at the confectioner's, 
 and not to tell anybody else ; and at last the chil- 
 dren were got rid of. 
 
 *" Now that we have done with mysteries," said 
 he, as he resumed his seat by the window, — " that 
 is, with children's mysteries that we can see to the 
 bottom of, let us look a little into the poet's mys- 
 teries. What were you reading ? Show me, and 
 I will be your reader. Who or what is this 
 Heavenly Beauty ? We have not done with mys- 
 teries yet, I see." 
 
 " I was wondering," said Margaret smiling, 
 " whether you take up Spenser because you are 
 tired of mysteries. In such a case, some other 
 poet might suit you better." 
 
 "What other?" 
 
 " Some one less allegorical, at least." 
 
 " I do not know that," said Hester. " The most 
 cunning allegory that ever was devised is plain and 
 easy in comparison with the simplest true story, 
 — fully told : and a man is a poet in proportion 
 as he fully tells a simple true story."
 
 116 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " A story of the mind you mean,'" said Mr. 
 Enderby, " not of the mere events of the life ?'* 
 
 " Of the mind, of course, I mean. Without 
 the mind the mere life is nothing.'' 
 
 " Is not allegory a very pretty way of telling 
 such a story of the mind, under the appearance of 
 telling a story of a life I '' 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret ; " and that is the rea- 
 son why so many like allegory. There is a pleasure 
 in making one's way about a grotto in a garden ; 
 but I think there is a much higher one in exploring 
 a cave on the sea-shore, dim and winding, where 
 you never know that you have come to the end, — a 
 much higher pleasure in exploring a life than 
 following out an allegory.'' 
 
 '• You are a true lover of mystery. Miss Mar- 
 garet. You should have lived a thousand years 
 ago." 
 
 " Thank you : I am very glad I did not. But 
 why so long ago ? Are there not mysteries enough 
 left ? " 
 
 " And will there not be enough a thousand 
 years hence ? " said Hester. 
 
 " I am afraid not. You and I cannot venture 
 to speak upon what the Germans may be doing. 
 But these two ladies can tell us, perhaps, whether 
 they are not clearing everything up very fast ; — 
 making windows in your cave. Miss Margaret,
 
 DEERBROOK. Il7 
 
 till nobody will be afraid to look into every cranny 
 of it." 
 
 " And then our complaint/' said Miss Young, 
 *' will be like JNIrs. HowelFs, when somebody told 
 her that we were to have the Drummond light on 
 every church steeple. ' dear, ma'am i' said she, 
 ' we shall not know how in the world to get any 
 darkness." 
 
 " You speak as if you agreed that the Germans 
 really are the makers of windows that Mr. En- 
 derby supposes them," observed Margaret ; " but 
 you do not think we are any nearer the end of 
 mysteries than ever, do you ? " 
 
 " O no ; not till we have struck our stone to the 
 bottom of the universe, and walked round it : and 
 I am not aware that the Germans pretend to be 
 able to do that, any more than other people. 
 Indeed I think there are as many makers of 
 grottoes as explorers of caves among them. \Yhat 
 do you want, my dear ? '"■ 
 
 This last was addressed to George, whose 
 round face, red with exertion, appeared at a back 
 window. The little girls were hoisting him up, 
 that he might call out once more, " Uncle Philip, 
 be sure you remember not to tell." 
 
 " It would be a pity that mysteries should come 
 to an end," observed Mr. Enderby, " when they 
 seem to please our human taste so well. See there,
 
 118 DEERBROOK. 
 
 how early the love of mystery begins I and who 
 can tell where it ends ? Is there one of your 
 pupils, Miss Young, in whom you do not find it ?" 
 
 " Not one ; but is there not a wide difference 
 between the love of making mysteries and a taste 
 for finding them out ? " 
 
 " Do you not find both in children, and up into 
 old age I " 
 
 " In children, one usually finds both ; but I think 
 the love of mystery-making and surprises goes on 
 as people grow wiser. Fanny and Mary were 
 plotting all last week how to take their sister 
 Sophia by surprise with a piece of India-rubber, a 
 token of fraternal affection, as they were pleased to 
 call it ; and you see George has a secret to-day : 
 but they will have fewer hidings and devices every 
 year ; and, if they grow really wise, they will find 
 that, amidst the actual business of life, there is so 
 much more safety, and ease, and blessing in perfect 
 frankness than in any kind of concealment, that 
 they will give themselves the liberty and peace of 
 being open as the day-light. Such is my hope for 
 them. But all this need not prevent their delight- 
 ing in the mysteries which are not of man's making." 
 
 " They will be all the more at leisure for them," 
 said Margaret, "from having their minds free from 
 plots and secrets." 
 
 " Surely you are rather hard upon arts and
 
 DEERBROOK. 119 
 
 devices/' said Philip. " Without more or iewer 
 of them, we should make our world into a Palace 
 of Truth, — see the Veillees du Chateau, which 
 Matilda is reading with Miss Young. Who ever 
 read it, that did not think the Palace of Truth the 
 most disagreeable place in the world f' 
 
 "And why r' asked Margaret. " Not because 
 the people in it spoke truth ; but because the facts 
 which they spoke were hatred, and malice, and 
 selfishness." 
 
 " And how much better,'" inquired Hester, "is 
 the truth that we should speak, if we were as true 
 as the day-light 1 I hope we shall always be allowed 
 to make mysteries of our own selfish and unkind 
 fancies. There would be little mutual respect left 
 among us, if these things were told." 
 
 " I think there would be more than ever," said 
 i>Iargaret, carefully avoiding to meet her sister's 
 eye. "I think so many mistakes would be explained, 
 so many false impressions set right, on the instant 
 of their being made, that our mutual relations 
 would go on more harmoniously than now." 
 
 " And what would you do with the affairs now 
 dedicated to mystery V asked Mr. Enderby. 
 " How would you deal with diplomacy, and govern- 
 ment, and with courtship ? You surely would not 
 overthrow the whole art of wooing ? You would 
 not doom lovers'* plots and devices f
 
 120 DEERBROOK. 
 
 The ladies were all silent. Mr. Enderby, how- 
 ever, was determined to have an answer. He 
 addressed himself particularly to Margaret. 
 
 " You do not disapprove of the little hidden 
 tokens with which a man may make his feelings 
 secretly known where he wishes them to be under- 
 stood ; — tokens which may meet the eye of one 
 alone, and carry no meaning to any other ! You 
 do not disapprove of a more gentle and mysterious 
 way of saying, ' I love you,' than looking full in 
 one another's face, and declaring it like a Quaker 
 upon affirmation. You do not disapprove '' 
 
 "As for disapproving," said Margaret, who 
 chanced to perceive that Maria's hand shook so 
 that she could not guide her needle, and that she 
 was therefore apparently searching for something 
 in her work-box, — " as for disapproving, I do not 
 pretend to judge of other people " 
 
 She stopped short, struck with the blunder she 
 had made. Mr. Enderby hastened to take advan- 
 tage of it. He said, laughing, 
 
 " Well, then, speak for yourself. Never mind 
 other people's case." 
 
 " What I mean," said Margaret, with grave 
 simplicity, " is, that all depends upon the person 
 whose regard is to be won. There are silly girls, 
 and weak women, who, liking mysteries in other 
 affairs, are best pleased to be wooed with small
 
 DEERBROOK. ^ 121 
 
 artifices ; — with having their vanity and their 
 curiosity piqued with sly comphments " 
 
 " Sly compliments ! What an expression !" 
 
 " Such women agree, as a matter of course, in 
 the old notion, — suitable enough five centuries ago, 
 — that the life of courtship should be as unlike as 
 possible to married life. But I certainly think 
 those much the wisest and the happiest, who look 
 upon the whole affair as the solemn matter that it 
 really is, and who desire to be treated, from the 
 beginning, with the sincerity and seriousness which 
 they will require after they are married.^' 
 
 " If the same simplicity and seriousness were 
 common in this as are required in other grave 
 transactions," said Hester, " there would be less 
 of the treachery, delusion, and heart-breaking, 
 which lie heavy upon the souls of many a man 
 and many a woman." 
 
 ^Ir. Enderby, happening to be looking out of the 
 window here, as if for something to say, caught 
 the eye of his sister, who was walking in her garden. 
 She beckoned to him, but he took no notice, not 
 desiring to be disturbed at present. Turning again 
 to Margaret, he said, 
 
 " But you would destroy all the graces of court- 
 ship : you would " 
 
 " Nay," said Hester, " what is so graceful as 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 DEERBROOK. 
 
 the simplicity of entire mutual trust ? — the more 
 entire, the more graceful." 
 
 " I wish you had left out the word ' trust.' 
 You have spoiled something that I was going on 
 to say about the simplicity of drawing lots like 
 the Moravians, — the most sincere courtship of 
 all : but that word ' trust ' puts my illustration 
 aside. — You need not protest. I assure you I 
 am not so dull as not to understand that you think 
 love necessary to the wooing which seems grace- 
 ful in your eyes : — O yes, love, and mutual know- 
 ledge, and mutual reverence, and perfect trust ! O 
 yes, I understand it all."' 
 
 " Philip !" cried a soft, sentimental voice under 
 the window : " Brother, I want your arm for a 
 turn in the shrubbery." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland's bonnet was visible as she looked 
 up to the window. She saw the braids of the hair 
 of the young ladies, and her voice was rather less 
 soft as she called again, '' Philip, do you hear? I 
 want you."" 
 
 It was impossible to seem not to hear. Mr. 
 Enderby was obliged to go : but he left his hat 
 behind him, as a sort of pledge that he meant to 
 limit himself to the single turn proposed. 
 
 For various reasons, the young ladies were all 
 disinclined to speak, after he had left them. Miss 
 Young was the first to move. She rose to go to
 
 deerhrook. 123 
 
 her desk for something, — the desk in which Mar- 
 garet kept the books she used in this place. Ever 
 on the watch to save Maria the trouble of moving 
 about, which was actual pain to her, Margaret 
 flew to see if she could not fetch what was wanted : 
 but Miss Young was already looking into the desk. 
 Her eye caught the pretty new little volume which 
 lay there. She took it up, found it was a volume 
 of Tieck, and saw on the fly-leaf, in the well-known 
 handwriting, " From P. E." One warm beam of 
 hope shot through her heart : — how could it be 
 otherwise, — the book lying in her desk, and thus 
 addressed? But it was only one moment's joy. 
 The next instant's reflection, and the sight of 
 Margaret's German exercise, on which the book 
 had lain, revealed the real case to her. In sick- 
 ness of heart, she would, upon impulse, have put 
 back the book, and concealed the incident : but 
 she was not sure but that Margaret had seen the 
 volume, and she icas sure of what her own duty 
 was. With a smile and a steady voice she held 
 out the book to Margaret, and said, 
 
 " Here is something for you, Margaret, which 
 looks a little like one of the hidden, and gentle, 
 and mysterious tokens Mr. Enderby has been talk- 
 ing about. Here it is, lying among your books ; 
 and I think it was not with them when you last 
 left your seat." 
 
 G 2
 
 1 24 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 Margaret blushed with an emotion which 
 seemed to the one who knew her best to be too 
 strong to be mere surprise. She looked doubtful 
 for a moment about the book being meant for her. 
 Its German aspect was conclusive against its being 
 designed for Hester : but Miss Young, — was it 
 certain that the volume was not hers I She asked 
 this; but Maria replied, as her head was bent over 
 her desk, 
 
 *' There is no doubt about it, I am sure. It is 
 nobody's but yours." 
 
 Some one proposed to resume the reading. The 
 ' Hymn to Heavenly Beauty ' was finished, but no 
 remark followed. Each was thinking of something 
 else. More common subjects suited their present 
 mood better. It was urged upon Hester that she 
 should be one of the daily party ; and, her lonely 
 fancies being for the hour dispersed, she agreed. 
 
 " But," she observed, " other people's visits alter 
 the case entirely. I do not see how study is to go 
 on if any one may come in from either house, as 
 Mr. Enderby did to-day. It is depriving Miss 
 Young of her leisure, too, and making use of her 
 apartment in a way that she may well object to."" 
 
 " I am here, out of school-hours, only upon suf- 
 ferance," replied Miss Young. " I never call the 
 room mine without this explanation." 
 
 "Besides," said Margaret, " it is a mere acci-
 
 DEERBROOK. 125 
 
 dent Mr. Enderby's coming in to-day. If he 
 makes a habit of it, we have only to tell him that 
 we want our time to ourselves." 
 
 Miss Young knew better. She made no reply ; 
 but she felt in her inmost soul that her new-born 
 pleasures were, from this moment, to be turned 
 into pains. She knew Mr. Enderby ; and, know- 
 ing him, foresaw that she was to be a witness of 
 his wooiiigs of another whom she had just begun 
 to take to her heart. This was to be her fate if 
 she was strong enough for it, — strong enough to 
 be generous in allowing to Margaret opportunities 
 which could not without her be enjoyed, of fixing 
 the heart of one whom she could not pronounce to 
 have been faulty tovvards herself. His conversation 
 to-day had gone far to make her suppose him 
 blameless, and herself alone in fault ; so complete 
 had seemed his unconsciousness with regard to 
 her. Her duty then was clearly to give them up 
 to each other, with such spirit of self-sacrifice as 
 she might be capable of. If not strong enough 
 for this, the alternative was a daily painful retreat 
 to her lodging, whence she might look out on the 
 heaps of cinders in the farrier's yard, her spirit 
 abased the while with the experience of her own 
 weakness. Neither alternative was very cheering.
 
 126 DEERBKOOK. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FAMILY CONFIDENCE. 
 
 " When do you leave us, Philip V inquired 
 Mrs. Rowland, putting her arm within her bro- 
 ther's, and marching him up the gravel-walk. 
 
 " Are you in a hurry for me to go ?" replied he, 
 laughing. " Is this what you were so anxious to 
 say?" 
 
 " Why, we understood, six weeks since, that 
 you meant to leave Deerbrook in a fortnight : that 
 is all." 
 
 " So I did : but my mother is kind enough to be 
 pleased that I am staying longer ; and since I am 
 equally pleased myself, it is all very weU. I rather 
 think, too, that the children consider uncle Philip 
 a good boy, who deserves a holiday." 
 
 *' My mother ! O, she always supposes every- 
 thing right that you do; and that is the reason 
 why Mr. Rowland and I ^' 
 
 " The reason why Rowland and I agree so well," 
 interrupted the brother. " Yes, that is one reason,
 
 DEERBROOK. 127 
 
 among many. Rowland's wish is to see the old 
 lady happy ; and she is naturally happiest when 
 she has both her children with her ; and for every 
 merry hour of hers, your good husband looks the 
 more kindly upon me." 
 
 " Of course ; all that is a matter of course ; 
 though you are not aware, perhaps, of the fatigue 
 it is to my mother to have any one with her too 
 long at a time. She will not tell you ; but you 
 have no idea how low she is for some time after 
 you go away, if you have staid more than a few 
 days, from exhaustion — from pure exhaustion. 
 Ah ! you do not perceive it, because the excite- 
 ment keeps her up while you are here ; and she 
 naturally makes an effort, you know. But if you 
 were to see her as we do, after you are gone ; — 
 you cannot think how it sets the Greys talking 
 about her low spirits." 
 
 " Poor soul ! I wish I could be always with her. 
 I will try whether I cannot, for some time to come 
 at least. But, sister, how does it happen that 
 neither you nor Rowland ever told me this before V 
 
 " O, we would not distress you unnecessarily. 
 We knew it was an unavoidable evil. You cannot 
 always be here, and you must " 
 
 " Yes, I must sometimes come : that is an, 
 unavoidable evil ; and always will be, sister, while 
 I have a good old mother living here.""
 
 128 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " My dear Philip, how you do misunderstand 
 one ! I never heard anything so odd." 
 
 ^' Why odd ? Have you not been giving me to 
 understand, all this time, that you do not wish to 
 have me here, — that you want me to go away? 
 If not this, I do not know what you have been 
 talking about." 
 
 '' What an idea ! My only brother I What 
 ean you be thinking of ? Why upon earth should 
 I wish you anywhere else V 
 
 " That you may manage my mother and her 
 affairs all your own way, I imagine." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland had nothing to oppose to this 
 plain speech but exclamations. When she had 
 exhausted all she could muster, she avowed that 
 the only consideration which could reconcile her 
 to the sacrifice of her dear brother's society was 
 anxiety for his happiness. 
 
 " Then, supposing I am happiest here, we are 
 all satisfied." And uncle Philip would have made a 
 diversion from the path to give George his favour- 
 ite swing, quite up to the second branch of the 
 great pear-tree. 
 
 " Pray let George swing himself for once, 
 brother. Hold your tongue, George ! You are 
 a very troublesome boy, and your uncle and I 
 are busy. It is about your own affairs, brother, 
 that I want to open my mind to you. As for your
 
 DEERBROOK. 1 29 
 
 always remaining here, as you kindly hinted just 
 now " 
 
 " I did not mean to hint," said PhiHp ; " I thought 
 I had spoken quite plainly.'"* 
 
 " Well, well. AVe all know how to appreciate 
 the kindness of your intentions, I am sure : but 
 your happiness must not be sacrificed to the good 
 of any of us here. We can take care of one 
 another : but, as it is impossible that you should 
 find a companion for life here, and as it is time 
 you were thinking of settling, we must not be 
 selfish, and detain you among us when you should 
 be creating an interest elsewhere. Mr. Rowland 
 and I are extremely anxious to see you happily 
 married, brother ; and indeed we feel it is time 
 you were thinking about it." 
 
 " I am glad of that, sister. I am somewhat of 
 the same opinion myself." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it," replied the lady, in a 
 rather uneasy tone. " We have been delighted 
 to hear of these frequent visits of yours to the 
 Buchanans'. There is a strong attraction there, 
 I fancy, Phihp." 
 
 " Joe Buchanan is my attraction there. If you 
 mean Caroline, she has been engaged these three 
 years to her brother's friend Annesley." 
 
 •'• You do not say so ! But you did not know it ! " 
 
 " I have known it these two years, under the 
 G 3
 
 130 DEERBROOK. 
 
 seal of secrecy. Ah ! sister, I have had many an 
 hour's amusement at your schemes on my behalf 
 about Caroline Buchanan." 
 
 '' I have been quite out, I see. When do you 
 go to the Bruces', to make the visit you were dis- 
 appointed of at Christmas V 
 
 '' When they return from the Continent, where 
 they are gone for three years. Miss Mary is out 
 of reach for three years, sister." 
 
 " Out of reach ! You speak as if Paris, — or 
 Rome, if you will, — was in Australia. And even in 
 Australia one can hardly speak of people being out 
 of reach." 
 
 " If one wishes to overtake them," said Mr. 
 Enderby : " whereas, I can wait very well for the 
 Bruces till they come home again. Now, no more, 
 sister ! I cannot stand and hear the young ladies 
 of my acquaintance catalogued as a speculation for 
 my advantage. I could not look them in the face 
 again after having permitted it." 
 
 " There is somebody in the school-i:oom, I de- 
 clare !" cried the lady, as if astonished. And she 
 stood looking from afar at the summer-house, in 
 which three heads were distinctly visible. 
 
 " Were you not aware of that before ? Did you 
 suppose I was asleep there, or writing poetry all 
 alone, or what ? The Miss Ibbotsons are there, 
 and Miss Young."
 
 DEERBROOK. LSI 
 
 *' You remind me," said the lady, " of something 
 that I declared to Mr. Rowland that I would speak 
 to you about. My dear brother, you should have 
 some compassion on the young ladies you fall in 
 with." 
 
 " I thought your great anxiety just now was 
 that the young ladies should have compassion 
 upon me." 
 
 " One, Philip ; the right one. But you really 
 have no mercy. You are too modest to be aware 
 of the mischief you may be doing. But let me 
 entreat you not to turn the head of a girl whom 
 you cannot possibly think seriously of." 
 
 '* Whom do you mean?" 
 
 " You may be making even more mischief than 
 flattering the poor girl with vain hopes. If you 
 once let it get into the heads of the Greys that 
 any one belonging to us could think of marrying 
 into their connexion, you do not know the trouble 
 you will impose upon Mr. Rowland and me." 
 
 " Does Rowland say so?" 
 
 "Does he say so ? one would think Dear 
 
 me ! brother, there is nothing one might not think 
 from your manner. You terrify me." 
 
 " Have you a pocket-mirror about you V asked 
 Philip. " I should like to see what this terrible 
 manner of mine is like." 
 
 " Now, pray, no joking, Philip. I declare my
 
 132 DEERBROOK. 
 
 nerves will not bear it. But I will tell you what, 
 Philip : if you let your old admiration of beauty 
 carry you away, and make you forget yourself so 
 far as to dream of marrying into that connexion, you 
 will repent it as long as you live. I shall never for- 
 give you ; and you will kill our poor dear mother." 
 
 " I will ask her whether she thinks so," said 
 Philip, " and I give you my word of honour that 
 I will not kill my mother.' 
 
 " Girls seem to think that beauty is everything," 
 continued the angry lady, " and so do their con- 
 nexions for them. I declare Mrs. Grey sits wink- 
 ing at my mother when Miss Ibbotson has a colour, 
 as if nobody ever saw a good complexion before. 
 I declare it makes me sick. Now, Philip, you have 
 been fairly warned ; and if you fall into the trap, 
 you will not deserve any consideration from me." 
 
 " I have let you lay dowTi the law to me, sister, 
 in yonr own way, because I know your way. Say 
 what you please to me of myself and my affairs, and 
 a joke is the worst that will come of it. But I tell 
 you gravely, that I will not hear of traps — I will 
 not hear imputations like those you have just spoken 
 against these young ladies or their connexions, 
 without rebuke. You can know nothing of the Miss 
 Ibbotsons which can justify this conversation." 
 
 " I shall soon believe you are in love," cried the 
 lady, in high resentment.
 
 DEERBROOK. 133 
 
 " Only take care what grounds you go upon 
 before you speak and act, sister. In my turn, I 
 give you fair warning how you take any measures 
 against them, even in your own inmost mind, with- 
 out being quite sure what you are about." 
 
 " You do not say now that you do not mean to 
 have that girl?"' cried Mrs. Rowland, fixing her 
 fiery eyes upon her brother's face. 
 
 " Why should I ? You have not set about 
 obtaining my confidence in any way which could 
 succeed. If I am in love, it would not be easy to 
 o^vn it upon such unwarrantable pressure. If I am 
 not in love -" 
 
 "Ah! If you are not " 
 
 " In that case I am disinclined to make my not 
 caring for them the condition on which those young 
 ladies may receive your civilities. These civilities 
 are due to them, whatever I may feel or intend ; 
 and my respect for them is such that I shall keep 
 my mind to myself." 
 
 " At least," said the lady, somewhat humbled, 
 " do not be so much with them. For my sake, do 
 not go into the school-room again." 
 
 " I am sorry I cannot oblige you," said he, smil- 
 ing, " but I must go at this moment :~not to sit 
 down, — not to speak five words, however, — but only 
 to get my hat. I have to go into the village, on
 
 134 DEERBROOK. 
 
 an errand for the children. Can 1 do anything 
 for you in the village ? " 
 
 ' She thinks only of Hester, it is plain,' thought 
 he. ' If I am to have any more lectures and 
 advice, I hope they will proceed on the same sup- 
 position : it will make my part easier, and save my 
 being driven to assert my own will, and so plung- 
 ing poor Priscilla into hysterics. I can bear her 
 interference, as long as Margaret's name is not on 
 her lips. The moment she casts an evil eye on her, 
 I shall speak to Rowland ; which I had much 
 rather avoid. It would be delicious, too, to be her 
 protector, without her knowing it, — to watch over 
 her as she walks in her bright innocence, — to shield 
 her — but from whom I From my own sister ? No ! 
 no ! better keep her out of suspicion : better let 
 it pass that it is really Hester. Hester has plenty of 
 friends to stand by her. The Greys are so proud 
 of her beauty, they have no eyes or ears but for 
 her. People who meddle with concerns they have 
 no business with, are strangely blind, — they make 
 odd mistakes, from running away with notions of 
 their own, prepared beforehand. Here is every- 
 body determined that we shall all fall in love with 
 Hester. Priscilla has jumped to her conclusion at 
 once, — perhaps in emulation of Mrs. Grey. Mrs. 
 Grey has clearly given Hester to Hope, in her own
 
 DEERBROOK. 185 
 
 mind. I rather think Hope would be obhged to 
 her if she would not show so plainly what is in her 
 thoughts. I fear so, —I may be jealous, — but I am 
 afraid Hope and I are too much of the same mind 
 about these girls. I will stand up for Mrs. Grey, 
 as long as I live, if she proves right here. She shall 
 wink and nod for evermore, and I will justify her, 
 if Hope turns out to be in love with Hester. I will 
 be the first to congratulate him, if he succeeds with 
 her : and really he would be a happy fellow. She 
 is a lovely creature ; and how she will love when- 
 ever she does love ! She would be a devoted wife. 
 Why cannot he see the matter so, and leave my 
 
 Margaret to me ? Now, how will she look up as I 
 
 • 1 
 go m i 
 
 His vision of Margaret's looks remained a vision. 
 No one was in the school-room but Miss Young, 
 writing a letter. 
 
 " They are not here !" said Mr. Enderby, 
 
 " No, they are gone with Mrs. Grey into the 
 village, I believe." 
 
 " O, well: I only came for my hat. — You are 
 in the children's secret, of course, Miss Young V 
 
 " About their feast. Yes, I believe I know all 
 about it." 
 
 " I am going to ask some important questions 
 for them at the confectioner's. You will not object 
 to my bringing them a few good things V
 
 J. 36 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " I ? O no." 
 
 " I would not act in so serious a matter without 
 asking you. Can I be of any use to you in the 
 village ? Or perhaps you may want some pens 
 mended before I go ? '"* 
 
 " No, I thank you." 
 
 "Then I will not interrupt your letter any longer. 
 Good morning."' 
 
 It was a wonder that the letter was written at 
 all. When Maria had done leaning back in her 
 chair, and had taken up her pen again, she was dis- 
 turbed by painful sounds from Mrs. Rowland's gar- 
 den. The lady's own Matilda, and precious George, 
 and darling Anna, were now pronounced to be 
 naughty, wilful, mischievous, and finally, to be com- 
 bined together to break their mama's heart. It 
 was clear that they were receiving the discharge of 
 the wrath which was caused by somebody else. 
 Now a w^ail, now a scream of passion, went to 
 Maria's heart. She hastened on with her letter, 
 in the hope that Mrs. Rowland would presently go 
 into the house, when the little sufferers might be 
 invited into the school-room, to hear a story, or 
 have their ruffled tempers calmed by some other 
 such simple means. 
 
 'What a life of discipline this is !' thought Maria. 
 ' We all have it, sooner or later. These poor chil- 
 dren are beginning early. If one can but help them
 
 DEERBROOK. 187 
 
 through it ! There ! she goes in, and shuts the 
 door behind her ! Now I may call them hither, 
 and tell them something or another about Una and 
 her lion.' 
 
 At the well-known sound of Miss Young's lame 
 step, the little ones all came about her. One 
 ashamed face was hid on her shoulder ; another 
 was relieved of its salt tears, and the boy's pout 
 was first relaxed, and then forgotten.
 
 138 DEERBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 FAMILY CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 From the time of the great event of the arrival 
 of the Miss Ibbotsons, Mr. Hope had longed to 
 communicate all connected with it to his family. 
 As often as Hester looked eminently beautiful, he 
 wished his sisters could see her. As often as he 
 felt his spirit moved and animated by his conver- 
 sations with Margaret, he thought of Frank, and 
 wished that the poor fellow could for a day ex- 
 change the heats and fatigues, and vapid society, of 
 which he complained as accompaniments of service 
 in India, for some one of the wood and meadow 
 rambles, or garden frolics, which were the summer 
 pleasures of Deerbrook, now unspeakably enhanced 
 by the addition lately made to its society. Frank 
 wrote that the very names of meadows and kine, of 
 cowslips, trout, and harriers, were a refreshment to 
 a soldier's fancy, when the heats, and the solitude of 
 spirit in which he was compelled to live, made him 
 weary of the novelties which had at first pleased
 
 DEERBROOK. 139 
 
 him in the East. He begged that Edward would 
 go on to write as he did of everything that passed 
 in the village, — of everything which could make him 
 for a whole evening fancy himself in Deerbrook, 
 and repose himself in its shades and quietness. 
 Mr. Hope had felt, for a month past, that one of 
 his letters in this kind, was by this time due to 
 Frank, and that he had, for once, failed in punc- 
 tuality : but he now, for the first time, found it 
 difficult to get time to write. He never dreamed 
 of sending Frank letters which would be esteemed 
 by others of a moderate length. When he did 
 \mte, it was an epistle indeed ; and during this 
 particular May and June, there was always some- 
 thing happening which prevented his having his 
 hours to himself. In other words, he was always 
 at the Greys', when not engaged in his professional 
 duties. The arrival of a letter from Frank one day 
 gave him the necessary stimulus, and he sat down 
 on the instant to open his heart to his brother. 
 
 Frank was his younger and only brother, and 
 the person in the world most deeply indebted to 
 him. Their parents being dead, it was Edward 
 who had been Frank's dependence as he grew up. 
 It was Edward who had, at great cost and pains, 
 gratified his wish to go into the army, and had 
 procured him the best educational advantages in 
 preparation for a military life. It was Edward
 
 140 DEERBROOK. 
 
 who had always treated him with such familiar 
 friendship, that he had scarcely felt as if he wanted 
 any other intimate, and who seemed to forget the 
 five years' difference of age between them at all 
 times but when it afforded a reason for pressing 
 kindness and assistance upon him. The confidence 
 between them was as familiar and entire as if they 
 had been twin-brothers. The epistle which Frank 
 was to have the benefit of, on the present occasion, 
 was even longer than usual, from the delay which 
 had caused an accumulation of tidings and of 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Deerbrook, Jane 20th, 18 — . 
 
 " Dear Frank, — Your letter of Dec. last has 
 arrived to remind me how far I am past my time 
 in writing to you. I make no apologies for my 
 delay, however, and I do not pretend to feel any 
 remorse about it. We never write to one another 
 from a mere sense of duty ; and long may it be 
 before we do so ! Unless we write because we 
 cannot help it, pray let us let it alone. As for the 
 reasons why my inclination to talk to you has not 
 overpowered all impediments till now, — you shall 
 have them by-and-by. Meanwhile, here, before 
 your eyes, is the proof that I cannot but spend 
 this June evening with you. 
 
 Youaskabout your grandfather ; and I have some-
 
 DEERBROOK. 141 
 
 what to say to you about him. He is still living, — 
 very infirm, as you may suppose, but, I think, as clear 
 in mind as I have ever known him. He sent for me 
 two months ago, as you will have heard from the 
 letter I find he caused to be WTitten to you about the 
 business w^hich then occupied his mind. My share 
 in that business he would represent to you as it 
 appeared to him : but I must give you an account of 
 it, as it appears to myself. He sent for me to take 
 leave of me, as he said ; but, in my opinion, to 
 receive my acknowledgments for his latest dispo- 
 sition of his property by will. The new arrange- 
 ments did not please me at all ; and 1 am confident 
 that you would have liked them no better than I ; 
 and I w^ished not a little that you w^ere nearer, 
 that we might have acted together. I know that 
 he once intended to divide his property equally 
 among us four ; but of late, from some unaccount- 
 able feeling of indifference about Emily and Anne, 
 or, as is more likely, from some notion about 
 women not wanting money, and not knowing how 
 to manage it, he has changed his mind, and des- 
 tined his money for you and me, leaving my sisters 
 only a hundred pounds each as a remembrance. 
 He informed me of this, as soon as I arrived. I 
 thought him quite well enough to hear reason, and 
 I spoke my mind plainly to him. I had no right 
 to answer for you, any further than for your sense
 
 142 BEERBROOK. 
 
 of justice, and your affection for your sisters. The 
 Avay in which the matter was settled at last, there- 
 fore, with great pains and trouble, was, that you 
 and our sisters share equally, and that I have the 
 legacy of ]00/., wdiich was destined for one of 
 them. The reasons why I declined a fourth part 
 of the property were sufficient to my mind, and 
 will be so, I doubt not, to yours. Out of this 
 property I have had my professional education, 
 while you and my sisters have received nothing at 
 all. This professional education has enabled me 
 to provide sufficiently for myself, so far, and this 
 provision will in all probability go on to increase ; 
 while my sisters want as much as can fairly be put 
 into their hands. Their husbands are not likely 
 ever to be rich men, and will probably be poor for 
 some years to come. Their children have to be 
 educated ; and, in short, there is every reason 
 why Emily and Anne should have this money, and 
 none why I should. I am afraid the old gentle- 
 man is not very well pleased with my way of receiv- 
 ing wiiat he intended for kindness ; but that cannot 
 be helped. If he falls back into his previous state 
 of mind, and leaves the whole, after all, to you and 
 me, I shall set the matter right, as far as I can, 
 by dividing my portion between my sisters ; and I 
 feel confident that you will do the same ; but I 
 earnestly hope this will not happen. It will be
 
 DEEUnROOK. 143 
 
 a very different thing to my sisters receiving this 
 money by their grandfather's will as their due, and 
 from our hands as a gift— (the way in which they 
 will look at it). The letter to you was sent off 
 without delay, in order that, in case of any dissa- 
 tisfaction whatever on your part, your wishes might 
 have the better chance of being made known to us 
 during the old gentleman's life. I doubt not that 
 your thoughts, whatever they may be, will be on the 
 way to me before this reaches you ; and I can have 
 as httle doubt what they are. You know Mr. 
 Blunt says, that men are created to rob their sis- 
 ters, — a somewhat partial view of the objects and 
 achievements of mortal existence, it must be owned, 
 and a statement which I conceive the course of your 
 life, for one, will not go to confirm : but a man 
 must have had a good deal of experience of what 
 he is talking of before he could make so sweeping 
 a generalization from the facts of life ; and I am 
 afraid Mr. Blunt has some reason for what he 
 says. Medical men receive many confidences in 
 sick rooms, you know ; and some, among others, 
 which had better be reserved for the lawyer. 
 What I have seen in this way leads me to ima- 
 gine that my grandfather's notion is a very com- 
 mon one, — that women have little occasion for 
 monev, and do not know how to manao^e it ; afid
 
 144 DEERBROOK. 
 
 that their property is to be drawn upon to the 
 very last, to meet the difficulties and supply the 
 purposes of their brothers. On the utter injus- 
 tice and absurdity of such a notion there can be 
 no disagreement between you and me ; nor, I ima- 
 gine, in our actions with regard to it. 
 
 " I heard from Emily yesterday. The letter is 
 more than half full of stories about the children, 
 and accounts of her principles and plans with 
 regard to them. She writes on the same subjects 
 to you, no doubt, for her heart is full of them. 
 Her husband finds the post of consul at a little 
 Spanish port rather a dull affair, as we anticipated, 
 and groans at the mention of Bristol or Liverpool 
 shipping, he says. But I like the tone of his post- 
 script very welL He is thankful for the honest 
 independence his office affi^rds him, and says he 
 can tolerate his Spanish neighbours, (though they 
 are as ignorant as Turkish ladies,) for the sake of 
 his family, and of the hope of returning, sooner or 
 later, to live in his own country, after having dis- 
 charged his duty to his children. Theirs must be 
 an irksome life enough, as much of it as is passed 
 out of their own doors : but they seem to be find- 
 ing out that it is not so much the lohere and the 
 hou\ as the ichat people are, that matters to their 
 peace of mind ; and I suppose those who love each
 
 DEERBROOK. 145 
 
 Other, and have settled what they are living for, 
 can attain what they most want, nearly as well in 
 one place as another. 
 
 " Poor Anne wrote to you, I know, after the 
 death qf her infant, — her little Highlandman, as 
 she proudly called him in her last letter before she 
 lost him. Gilchrist talked last year of bringing 
 her and his boy south this summer, and I had some 
 hopes of seeing them all here : but I have not 
 been able to get them to speak again of travelling, 
 and I give it up for this year. I hope your letters 
 and theirs fall due seasonably ; that your reports 
 of all your devices to cool yourself, reach them in 
 the depth of their Caithness winter ; and that all 
 they say to you of their snow-drifts and freshets, is 
 acceptable when you are panting in the hottest of 
 your noons. Anne writes more cheerfully than 
 she did, and Gilchrist says she is exerting herself 
 to overcome her sorrow. Their love must be 
 passing strange in the eyes of all such as despised 
 Anne's match. It is such as should make Anne's 
 brothers feel very cordially towards Gilchrist. 
 W^e have drifted asunder in life rather strangely, 
 when one comes to think of it ; and our anchorage 
 grounds are pretty far -apart. Who would have 
 thought it, when we four used to climb the old 
 apple-tree together, and drop down from the gar- 
 den Weill i I wonder wiiether we shall ever contrive 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 DEERBROOK. 
 
 to meet in one house once more, and whether I 
 may be honom^ed by my house being the place ? 
 It is possible ; and I spend certain of my dreams 
 upon the project. Do you not find that one effect 
 of this wide separation is, to make one fancy the 
 world smaller than one used to think it ? You, on 
 the other side of it, probably waked up to this 
 conviction long ago. It is just opening upon me, 
 shut up in my nook of our little island. When I 
 have a letter from you, like that which lies before 
 me, spiced with an old family joke or two, and a 
 good many new ones of your own, all exactly like 
 yourself, I am persuaded you cannot be very far 
 off; and I should certainly call you from my 
 window to come in to tea, but for a disagreeable 
 suspicion that I should get no answer. But do tell 
 me in your next whether our globe has not been 
 made far too much of to children, and whether its 
 oceans do not look very like ponds, when you cast 
 your eye back over them to that same old apple- 
 tree I mentioned just now. 
 
 " But you want news, — this being the place of 
 all others to send to from the other side of the 
 world for news. Deerbrook has rung with news 
 and rumours of news since winter. The first report 
 after the ice broke up in March was, that I was 
 going to be married to Deborah Giles. ' Who is 
 Deborah Giles T you will ask. She is not going
 
 DEERBROOK. 147 
 
 to be a relation of yours, in the first place. Se- 
 condly, she is the daughter of the boatman whose 
 boats Enderby and I are wont to hire. The young 
 lady may be all that ever woman was, for aught I 
 know, for I never spoke to her in my life, except 
 that I one day asked her for something to bale the 
 boat with : but I heard that the astonishment of 
 Deerbrook was, that I was engaged to a woman 
 who could not read and write. So you see we of 
 Deerbrook follow our old pastime of first inventing 
 marvels, and then being scarcely able to believe 
 them. I rather suspect that we have some wag 
 among us who fabricates news, to see how much 
 will be received and retailed : but perhaps these 
 rumours, even the wildest of them, rise ' by natural 
 exhalation' from the nooks and crevices of village 
 life. My five years' residence has not qualified me 
 to pronounce absolutely upon this. 
 
 " Old Smithson is dead. You could not have 
 seen him half-a-dozen times when you were here ; 
 but you may chance to recollect him, — a short old 
 man, with white hair, and deep-set grey eyes. He 
 is less of a loss to the village than almost any other 
 man would be. He was so shy and quiet, and kept 
 so much within his own gate, that some fancied he 
 must be a miser : but, though he spent little on 
 himself, his mcmey made its way abroad, and his 
 heirs are rather disappointed at finding the pro- 
 h2
 
 148 DEERBROOK. 
 
 perty no larger than when he came into it. He is 
 much missed by his household, and, I own, by 
 myself. I was not often with him : but it was 
 something to feel that there was one among us who 
 was free from ambition and worldly cares, content 
 to live on in the enjoyment of humble duties and 
 simple pleasures, — one who would not have changed 
 colour at the news of a bequest of ten thousand 
 pounds, but could be very eager about his grand- 
 nephew's prize at school, and about the first forget- 
 me-not of the season beside his pond, and the first 
 mushroom in his meadow. During the fortnight 
 of his illness, the village inquired about him ; but 
 when it was all over, there was not much to forget of 
 one so little known, and we hear of him no more. 
 
 " The Greys and Rowlands go on much as 
 usual, the gentlemen of the family agreeing very well, 
 and the ladies rather the reverse. The great griev- 
 ance this spring has been, that Mrs. Rowland has 
 seen fit to enlarge her hall, and make a porch to her 
 door. Her neighbours are certain that, in the 
 course of her alterations, every principal beam of 
 her house has been cut through, and that the 
 whole will fall in. No such catastrophe has yet 
 occurred, however. I have not been called in to 
 set any broken bones ; and I have not much expec- 
 tation of an accident, as Mr. Rowland understands 
 building too well to allow his house to be cut down
 
 DEERBROOK. 1 49 
 
 over liis head . As for the porch, I do not perceive 
 what can be alleged to its disadvantage, but that 
 some people think it ugly. 
 
 "Here I must cease my gossip. I regularly 
 begin my letters with the intention of telling 
 you all that I hear and see out of my profession : 
 but I invariably stop short, as I do now, from 
 disgust at the nonsense I should have to write. 
 It is endurable enough to witness ; for one thing 
 quickly dismisses another, and some relief occurs 
 from the more amiable or intellectual qualities 
 of the parties concerned : but I hate detail in 
 writing ; and I never do get through the whole 
 list of particulars that I believe you would like to 
 have. You must excuse me now, and take my 
 word for it, in the large, that we are all pretty much 
 what we were when you saw us three years ago, — 
 except, of course, being three years older, and some 
 few of us three years wiser. It will be a satisfaction 
 to you also to know that my practice has made a 
 very good growth for the time. You liked my 
 last year's report of it. It has increased more 
 since that time than even during the preceding 
 year ; and I have no further anxiety about my worldly 
 prospects. I am as well satisfied with my choice 
 of an occupation in life as ever. Mine has its 
 anxieties, and desagremens^ as others have ; but I 
 am convinced I could not have chosen better.
 
 150 DEERBROOK. 
 
 You saw, when you were with me, something of 
 the anxiety of responsibihty ; what it is, for instance, 
 to await the one or the other issue of a desperate 
 case : and I could tell you a good deal that you do 
 not and cannot know of the perils and troubles 
 attendant upon being the depository of so much 
 domestic and personal confidence as my function 
 imposes upon me the necessity of receiving. I 
 sometimes long to be able to see nothing but what 
 is apparent to all in society ; to perceive what is 
 ostensible, and to dream of nothing more, — not 
 exactly like children, but like the members of large 
 and happy families, who carry about with them the 
 purity and peace of their homes, and therefore take 
 cognizance of the pure and peaceful only whom they 
 meet abroad ; but it is childish, or indolent, or 
 cowardly, to desire this. While there is private 
 vice and wretchedness, and domestic misunder- 
 standing, one would desire to know it, if one can 
 do anything to cure or alleviate it. Dr. Levitt 
 and I have the same feeling about this ; and I 
 sometimes hope that we mutually prepare for and 
 aid each other's work. There is a bright side to our 
 business, as I need not tell you. The mere exercise 
 of our respective professions, the scientific as well 
 as the moral interest of them, is as much to us as 
 the theory of your business to you ; and that is say- 
 ing a great deal. You will not quarrel with the
 
 DEERBROOK. 151 
 
 idea of the scientific interest of Dr. Levitt's profes- 
 sion in his hands ; for you know how learned he is 
 in the complex science of Humanity. You remem- 
 ber the eternal wonder of the Greys at his liberality 
 towards dissenters. Of that liberality he is uncon- 
 scious ; as it is the natural, the inevitable result of 
 his knowledge of men, — of his having been ' hunt- 
 ing the waterfalls' from his youth up, — following up 
 thought and prejudice to their fountains. When 
 I see him bland and gay among us, I feel pretty 
 confident that his greatest pleasure is the same as 
 mine, — that of reposing in the society of the inno- 
 cent, the single-hearted, the unburdened, after 
 having seen what the dark corners of social life are. 
 It is like coming out of a fetid cave into the evening 
 sunshine. Of late, we have felt this in an extraor- 
 dinary degree. But I must tell you in an orderly 
 way what has happened to us. I have put off 
 entering upon the grand subject, partly from the 
 pleasure of keeping one's best news for the last, 
 and partly from shyness in beginning to describe 
 what it is impossible that you should enter into. 
 I am well aware of your powers of imagination 
 and sympathy : but you have not lived five years 
 within five miles of a country village ; and you can 
 no more understand our present condition than we 
 can appreciate your sherbet and your mountain 
 summer-house.
 
 152 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " There are two ladies here from Birmingham, 
 so far beyond any ladies that we have to boast of, 
 that some of us begin to suspect that Deerbrook is 
 not the Athens and Arcadia united that we have 
 been accustomed to believe it. You can have no 
 idea how our vanity is mortified, and our pride 
 abased, by finding what the world can produce out 
 of the bounds of Deerbrook. We bear our humili- 
 ation wonderfully, however. Our Verdon woods 
 echo with laughter ; and singing is heard beside 
 the brook. The voices of children, grown and un- 
 grown, go up from all the meadows around; and 
 wit and wisdom are wafted over the surface of our 
 river at eventide. The truth is, these girls have 
 brought in a new life among us, and there is not 
 one of us, except the children, that is not some 
 years younger for their presence. Mr. Grey deserts 
 his business for them, like a school-boy ; and Mr. 
 Rowland watches his opportunity to play truant in 
 turn. Mrs. Enderby gives dances, and looks 
 quite disposed to lead off" in person. Mrs. Plum- 
 stead has grown very giddy about sorting the 
 letters, and her voice has not been heard further 
 than three doors off since the arrival of the 
 strangers. Dr. Levitt is preaching his old sermons. 
 Mrs. Grey is well nigh intoxicated with being the 
 hostess of these ladies, and has even reached the 
 point of allowing her drawing-room to be used
 
 DEERBROOK. 153 
 
 every afternoon. Enderby is a fixture while they 
 are so. Neither mother, sister, friend, nor froHc 
 ever detained him here before for a month to- 
 gether. He was going away in a fortnight when 
 these ladies came : they have been here six weeks, 
 and Enderby has dropped all mention of the ex- 
 ternal world. If you ask, as you are at this moment 
 doing in your own heart, how I stand under this 
 influence, I really cannot tell you. I avoid inquir- 
 ing too closely. I enjoy every passing day too 
 much to question it, and I let it go; and so must you. 
 " ' But who are they V you want to know. They 
 are distant cousins of Mr. Grey's, — orphans, and 
 in mourning for their father. They are just over 
 twenty, and their name is Ibbotson. ' Are they 
 handsome?' is your next question. The eldest, 
 Hester, is beautiful as the evening star. Margaret 
 is very different. It does not matter what she is 
 as to beauty, for the question seems never to have 
 entered her own mind. I doubt whether it has 
 often occurred to her whether she can be this, or 
 that, or the other. She is, and there is an end of 
 the matter. Such pure existence, without question, 
 without introspection, without hesitation or con- 
 sciousness, I never saw in any one above eight years 
 old. Yet she is wise; — it becomes not me to 
 estimate how wise. You will ask how I know this 
 already. I knew it the first day I saw them ; I 
 h3
 
 154 
 
 DEERBKOOKr 
 
 knew it by her infinite simplicity, from which all 
 selfishness is discharged, and into which no folly 
 can enter. The airs of heaven must have been 
 about her from her infancy, to nourish such health 
 of the soul. What her struggle is to be in life I 
 cannot conceive, for not a morbid tendency is to be 
 discerned. I suppose she may be destined to make 
 mistakes, — to find her faith deceived, her affections 
 rebuked, her full repose delayed. If, like the 
 rest of us, she be destined to struggle, it must be 
 to conflict of this kind ; for it is inconceivable that 
 any should arise from herself. Yet is she as truly 
 human as the weakest of us, — engrossed by affec- 
 tion, and susceptible of passion. Her affection for 
 her sister is a sort of passion. It has some of the 
 features of the serene guardianship of one from on 
 high; but it is yet more like the passionate servitude 
 — of the benefited to a benefactor, for instance — 
 which is perhaps the most graceful attitude in which 
 our humanity appears. Where are the words that 
 can tell what it is to witness, day by day, the course 
 of such a life as this I — to see, living and moving 
 before one's eyes, the very spirit that one had 
 caught glimpses of, wandering in the brightest 
 vistas of one's imagination, in the holiest hours of 
 thought I Yet is there nothing fearful, as in the 
 presence of a spirit ; there is scarcely even a sense of 
 awe, 60 child-like is her deportment. I go, grave and
 
 DEERBROOK. 155 
 
 longing to listen: I come away, and I find I have been 
 talking more than any one ; revealing, discussing, 
 as if I were the teacher and not the learner, — you 
 wall say the worshipper. Say it, if you will. Our 
 whole little world worships the one or the other. 
 Hester is also well worthy of worship. If there 
 were nothing but her beauty, she would have 
 a wider world than ours of Deerbrook at her feet. 
 But she has much more. She is what you would 
 call a true woman. She has a generous soul, strong 
 affections, and a susceptibility which interferes 
 with her serenity. She is not exempt from the 
 trouble and snare into which the lot of women 
 seems to drive them, — too close a contemplation of 
 self, too nice a sensitiveness, which yet does not 
 interfere with devotedness to others. She will be 
 a devoted wife : but Margaret does not wait to be 
 a wife to be devoted. Her life has been devoted- 
 ness, and will be to the end. If she were left the 
 last of her race, she would spend her life in wor- 
 shipping the unseen that lay about her, and would 
 be as unaware of herself as now. 
 
 " What a comfort it is to speak freely of them ! 
 This is the first relief of the kind I have had. 
 Every one is praising them ; every one is following 
 them : but to whom but you can I speak of them ? 
 Even to you, I filled my first sheet with mere sur- 
 face matter. I now wonder how I could. As for 
 the ' general opinion"* of Deerbrook on the en-
 
 156 DEERBROOK. 
 
 grossing subject of the summer, you will antici- 
 pate it in your own mind, — concluding that Hester 
 is most worshipped on account of her beauty, and 
 that Margaret's influence must be too subtle and 
 refined to operate on more than a few. This is 
 partly, but not wholly the case. It has been taken 
 for granted from the beginning, by the many, that 
 Hester is to be exclusively the adored ; and 
 Enderby has, I fancy, as many broad hints as 
 myself of this general conclusion. But I question 
 whether Enderby assents, any more than myself. 
 Margaret's influence may be received as uncon- 
 sciously as it is exerted ; but it is not, therefore, 
 the less real, while it is the more potent. I 
 see old Jem Bird raise himself up from the 
 church-yard bench by his staff", and stand uncovered 
 as Hester passes by ; I see the children in the 
 road touch one another, and look up at her ; I see 
 the admiration which diff'uses itself like sunshine 
 around her steps : all this homage to Hester is 
 visible enough. But I also see Sydney Grey 
 growing manly, and his sisters amiable, under 
 
 Margaret's eye. I fancy I perceive Enderby 
 
 but that is his own affair. I am sure I daily 
 witness one healing and renovating process which 
 Margaret is unconsciously effecting. There is no 
 one of us so worthy of her, so capable of appre- 
 ciating her, as Maria Young : they are friends, 
 and Maria Young is becoming a new creature.
 
 DEERBROOK. 157 
 
 Health and spirit are returning to that poor 
 girl's countenance : there is absolutely a new tone 
 in her voice, and a joyous strain in her sparing 
 conversation, which I, for one, never recognized 
 before. It is a sight on which angels might look 
 down, to see Margaret, with her earnest face, listen- 
 ing humbly, and lovingly serving the infirm and 
 much-tried friend whom she herself is daily lifting 
 up into life and gladness. I have done with listen- 
 ing to abuse of life and the world. I will never 
 sit still under it again. If there are two such as 
 these sisters, springing out of the bosom of a 
 busy town, and quietly passing along their path of 
 life, casting sanctity around them as they go, — if 
 there are two such, why not more ? If God casts 
 such seed of goodness into our nook, how do we 
 know but that he is sowing the whole earth with 
 it ; I will believe it henceforth. 
 
 " You will wonder, as I have wondered, many 
 a time within the last six weeks, what is to be- 
 come of us when we lose these strangers. I can 
 only say, ' God help us ! ' But that time is far 
 off. They came for several months, and no one 
 hints at their departure yet. They are the most 
 unlearned creatures about country life that you can 
 conceive, with a surpassing genius for country plea- 
 sures. Only imagine the charm of our excursions ! 
 They are never so happy as when in the fields, or 
 on the river ; and we all feel ourselves only too
 
 158 DEERBROOK. 
 
 blest in being able to indulge them. Our morn- 
 ings are all activity and dispatch, that our after- 
 noons may be all mirth, and our evenings repose. 
 I am afraid this will make you sigh with mingled 
 envy and sympathy ; but whatever is that can be 
 told, you may rely upon it that I shall tell you, 
 trusting to your feeling both pleasure and pain 
 in virtuous moderation. 
 
 I have done my story ; and now T am going to 
 look what o'clock it is— a thing I have refrained 
 from, in my impulse to tell you all. The house is 
 quite still, and I heard the church clock strike some- 
 thing very long just now ; but I would not count. 
 It is so. It was midnight that the clock struck. 
 I shall seal this up directly. I dare not trust my 
 morning — my broad daylight mood with it. Now, 
 as soon as you have got thus far, just take up your 
 pen, and answer me, telling me as copiously of your 
 affairs as I have written of ours. Heaven bless you ! 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " Edward Hope." 
 
 It was not only Mr. Hope's broad daylight 
 mood which was not to be trusted with this letter. 
 In this hour of midnight a misgiving seized upon 
 him that it was extravagant. He became aware, 
 when he laid down his pen, that he was agitated. 
 The door of his room opened into the garden. He 
 thought he would look out upon the night. It
 
 DEERBROOK. ] 59 
 
 was the night of the full moon. As he stood in 
 the doorway, the festoons of creepers that dangled 
 from his little porch waved in the night breeze ; 
 long shadows from the shrubs lay on the grass ; 
 and in the depth of one of these shadows glimmered 
 the green spark of a glow-worm. It was de- 
 liciously cool and serene. Mr. Hope stood leaning 
 against the door-post, with his arms folded, and 
 was not long in settling the question whether the 
 letter should go. 
 
 ' Frank will think that I am in love," he con- 
 sidered. ' He will not understand the real state 
 of my feeling. He will think that I am in love. 
 I should conclude so in his place. But what 
 matters it what he infers and concludes ? I have 
 written exactly what I thought and felt at the 
 moment ; and it is not from such revelations that 
 wrong inferences are usually drawn. What I have 
 written is true ; and truth carries safely over land 
 and sea — more safely than confidence compounded 
 with caution. Frank deserves the simplest and 
 freshest confidence from me. I am glad that no 
 hesitation occurred to me while I wrote. It shall 
 go — every word of it.' 
 
 He returned to his desk, sealed and addressed 
 the letter, and placed it where it was sure to be 
 seen in the morning, and carried to the post-office 
 before he rose.
 
 160 
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CHILD S PLAY. 
 
 The afternoon arrived when the children were 
 to have their feast in the summer-house. From 
 the hour of dinner the Httle people were as busy 
 as aldermen's cooks, spreading their table. Sydney 
 thought himself too old for such play. He was 
 hard at work, filling up the pond he had dug in 
 his garden, having tried experiments with it for 
 several weeks, and found that it never held water 
 but in a pouring rain. While he was occupied 
 with his spade, his sisters and the little Rowlands 
 were arranging their dishes, and brewing their 
 cowslip tea. 
 
 " Our mama is coming,'"* said Fanny to Matilda : 
 *' is yours V 
 
 '' No ; she says she can't come — but papa will." 
 
 " So will our papa. It was so funny at dinner ! 
 Mr. Paxton came in, and asked whether papa 
 would ride with him ; and papa said it was out of 
 the question ; it must be to-morrow ; for he had an 
 engagement this afternoon."
 
 DEERBROOK. 161 
 
 '' A very particular engagement, he said," 
 observed Mary : " and he smiled at me so, I 
 could not help laughing. Fanny, do look at 
 ^latilda's dish of strawberries ! How pretty !" 
 
 *' There's somebody coming," observed little 
 Anna, who, being too young to help, and liable to 
 be tempted to put her fingers into the good things, 
 was sent to amuse herself with jumping up and 
 down the steps. 
 
 "• There now ! That is always the way, is not 
 it, Miss Young ?" cried Fanny. " Who is it, 
 George ? Mr. Enderby ? O, do not let him 
 come in yet ! Tell him he must not come this 
 half-hour." 
 
 Mr. Enderby chose to enter, however, and all 
 opposition gave way before him. 
 
 " Pray don't send me back," said he, " till you 
 know what I am come for. Now, who will pick 
 my pockets ? " 
 
 Little Anna was most on a level with the coat 
 pocket. She almost buried her face in it as she 
 dived, the whole length of her arm, to the very 
 bottom. George attacked its fellow, while the 
 waistcoat pockets were at the mercy of the taller 
 children. A number of w^iite parcels made their 
 appearance, and the little girls screamed with 
 delight. 
 
 " Miss Young ! '' cried Fanny, " do come and
 
 162 DEERBROOK. 
 
 help US to pick Mr. Enderby's pockets. See what 
 I have got, — the very largest of all ! " 
 
 When every pocket had been thoroughly picked 
 without Miss Young's assistance, the table did 
 indeed show a goodly pile of white cornucopiae, — 
 that most agitating form of paper to children's 
 eyes. When opened, there was found such a store 
 of sweet things as the little girls had seldom before 
 seen out of the confectioner's shop. Difficulties 
 are apt to come with good fortune ; and the anxi- 
 ous question was now asked, how all these dainties 
 were to be dished up. Miss Young was, as usual, 
 the friend in need. She had before lent two small 
 china plates of her own ; and she now supplied the 
 further want. She knew how to make pretty 
 square boxes out of writing-paper ; and her nimble 
 scissors and neat fingers now provided a sufficiency 
 of these in a trice. Uncle Philip was called upon, 
 as each was finished, to admire her skill ; and ad- 
 mire he did, to the children's entire content. 
 
 "Is this our feast, Mr. Enderby?" inquired 
 Mary, finally, when Anna had been sent to i9um- 
 mon the company. " May we say it is ours \ '' 
 
 " To be sure," cried Fanny. " Whose else 
 should it be \ " 
 
 " It is all your own, I assure you,"' said Mr. 
 Enderby. " Now, you two should stand at the 
 head of the table, and Matilda at the foot."
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 163 
 
 *' I think I had better take this place," said 
 Sydney, who had made his appearance, and who 
 thought much better of the affair now that he saw 
 Mr. Enderby so much interested in it. " There 
 should always be a gentleman at the bottom of the 
 table." 
 
 " No, no, Sydney," protested Mr. Enderby ; 
 "not when he has had no cost nor trouble about 
 the feast. March off. You are only one of the 
 company. Stand there, Matilda, and remember 
 you must look very polite. I shall hide behind 
 the acacia there, and come in with the ladies." 
 
 A sudden and pelting shower was now falling, 
 however ; and instead of hiding behind a tree, Mr. 
 Enderby had to run between the house and the 
 school-room, holding umbrellas over the ladies' 
 heads, setting clogs for them, and assuring Mrs. 
 Grey at each return that the feast could not be 
 deferred, and that nobody should catch cold. Mr. 
 Grey was on the spot to give his arm to Mrs. En- 
 derby, who had luckily chanced to look in, — a 
 thing which " she really never did after dinner." 
 Mr. Hope had been seen riding by, and Mrs. Grey 
 had sent after him to beg he w^ould come in. 
 Mr. Rowland made a point of being present : 
 and thus the summer-house was quite full, — really 
 crowded. 
 
 " I am glad Mrs. Rowland keeps away," whis-
 
 164 DEERBROOK. 
 
 pered Mrs. Grey to Sophia. " She would say it 
 is insufferably hot." 
 
 " Yes ; that she would. Do not you think we 
 might have that window open ? The rain does not 
 come in on that side. Did you ever see such a 
 feast as the children have got ? I am sure poor 
 Elizabeth and I never managed such a one. It is 
 really a pity Mrs. Rowland should not see it. 
 Mr. Rowland should have made her come. It 
 looks so odd, her being the only one to stay 
 away ! " 
 
 The room resounded with exclamations, and 
 admiration, and grave jokes upon the children. 
 Notwithstanding all uncle Philip could do, the 
 ingenuous little girls answered to every compli- 
 ment — that Mr. Enderby brought this, and that 
 that and the other came out of uncle Philip^s 
 pocket. They stood in their places, blushing and 
 laughing, and served out their dainties with hands 
 trembling with delight. 
 
 Maria's pleasure was, as usual, in observing all 
 that went on. She could do this while replying, 
 quite to the purpose, to Mrs. Enderby's praise of 
 her management of the dear children, and to 
 George's pressing offers of cake ; and to Mr. 
 Rowland's suspicions that the children would never 
 have accomplished this achievement without her, 
 as indeed he might say of all their achievements ;
 
 DEERBROOK. J 65 
 
 and to Anna's entreaty that she would eat a pink 
 comfit, and then a yellow one, and then a green 
 one ; and to Mrs. Grey's wonder where she could 
 have put away all her books and things, to make 
 so much room for the children. She could see Mr. 
 Hope's look of delight when Margaret declined 
 a cup of chocolate, and said she preferred tasting 
 some of the cowslip tea. She saw how he helped 
 Mary to pour out the tea, and how quietly he took 
 the opportunity of getting rid of it through the 
 window behind ^largaret, when she could not pretend 
 to say that she liked it. She observed Mr. Row- 
 land's somewhat stiff politeness to Hester, and Mr. 
 Enderby's equal partition of his attentions between 
 the two sisters. Sl*e could see Mrs. Grey watching 
 every strawberry and sugar-plum that went down 
 the throats of the little Rowlands, and her care, 
 seconded by Sophia's, that her own children should 
 have an exactly equal portion of the good things. 
 She believed, but was not quite sure, that she saw 
 Hester's colour and manner change as Mr. Hope 
 came and went, in the course of his service about 
 the table ; and that once, upon receiving some slight 
 attention from him, she threw a hasty glance 
 towards her sister, and turned quite away upon 
 meeting her eye. 
 
 The rain had not prevented the servants f'*om 
 trying to amuse themselves with witnessing the
 
 166 DEERBROOK. 
 
 amusement of the family. They were clustered 
 together under umbrellas at the window nearest the 
 stables, where they thought they should be least 
 observed. Some commotion took place among 
 them, at the same moment that an extraordinary 
 sound became audible, from a distance, above the 
 clatter of plates, and the mingling of voices, in the 
 summer-house. 
 
 " What in the world is that noise '' asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Only somebody killing a pig," replied Sydney, 
 decidedly. 
 
 " Do not believe him,'' said Mr. Enderby. " The 
 Deerbrook people have better manners than to kill 
 their pigs in the hearing of ladies on summer after- 
 noons." 
 
 " But what is it ? It seems coming nearer."" 
 
 " I once told you,'' said Mr. Enderby, " that we 
 possess an inhabitant, whose voice you might know 
 before her name. I suspect it is that same voice 
 which we hear now." 
 
 " A human voice ! Impossible !" 
 
 " What is the matter, AHce V Mrs. Grey asked 
 of her maid, out of the window. 
 
 '' O, ma'am, it is Mrs. Plumstead ! And she is 
 coming this way, ma'am. She will be upon us 
 before we can get to the house. O, ma'am, what 
 shall we do I "
 
 DEERBROOK. 167 
 
 Mrs. Grey entreated permission of the ladies to 
 allow the maid-servants to come into the summer- 
 house. Their caps might be torn from their heads, 
 before they could defend themselves, she said, if 
 they remained outside. Of course, leave was given 
 instantly, and the maids crowded in, with chatter- 
 ing teeth, and many a tale of deeds done by Mrs. 
 Plumstead, in her paroxysms of rage. 
 
 The children shared the panic, more or less : 
 and not only they. Mr. Grey proposed to put up 
 the shutters of the windows nearest to the scene of 
 action ; but it was thought that this might draw 
 on an attack from the virago, who might let the 
 party alone if she were left unnoticed by them. 
 She was now full in sight, as, with half Deerbrook 
 at her heels, she pursued the object of her rage 
 through the falling shower, and amidst the 
 puddles in front of the stables. Her widow's cap 
 was at the back of her head, her hair hanging from 
 beneath it, wet in the rain : her black gown was 
 splashed to the shoulders; her hands were clenched; 
 her face was white as her apron, and her vocifera- 
 tions were dreadful to hear. She was hunting a 
 poor terrified young countrywoman, who, between 
 fright and running, looked ready to sink. 
 
 " We must put a stop to this," cried Mr. Grey 
 and Mr. Rowland, each speaking to the other. 
 It ended with their issuing forth together, look-
 
 168 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ing as dignified as they could, and placing them- 
 selves between the scold and her victim. It would 
 not do. They could not make themselves heard ; 
 and when she shook her fist in their faces, they 
 retired backwards, and took refuge among their 
 party, bringing the victim in with them, however. 
 Mr. Enderby declared this retreat too bad, and was 
 gone before the entreaties of his little nieces could 
 stop him. He held his ground longer ; and the 
 dumb show he made was so energetic as to cause a 
 laugh in the summer-house, in the midst of the 
 uneasiness of his friends, and to call forth shouts 
 of mirth from the crowd at the virago's heels. 
 
 " That will not do. It will only exasperate her 
 the more," said Mr. Hope, pressing his way to 
 the door. " Let me pass, will you ! " 
 
 " O, Mr. Hope ! O sir ! " cried Alice, " don t 
 go ! Don't think of going, sir ! She does not 
 mind killing anybody, I assure you, sir.**' 
 
 '• 0, Mr. Hope, don't go ! " cried almost 
 everybody. Maria was sure she heard Hester's 
 voice among the rest. The young countrywoman 
 and the children grasped the skirts of his coat ; 
 but he shook them off, laughing; and went. Little 
 Mary loved Mr. Hope very dearly. She shot out 
 at the door with him, and clasped her hands before 
 Mrs. Plumstead, looking up piteously, as if to im- 
 plore her to do Mr. Hope no harm. Already,
 
 DEEUBROOK. 169 
 
 however, the vixen's mood had changed. At the 
 first gHmpse of Mr. Hope, her voice sank from 
 being a squall into some resemblance to human 
 utterance. She pulled her cap forward, and a 
 tinge of colour returned to her white lips. Mr. 
 Enderby caught up Ijttle Mary and carried her to 
 her mama, crying bitterly. Mr. Hope might safely 
 be left to finish his conquest of the otherwise uncon- 
 querable scold. He stood still till he could make 
 himself heard, looking her full in the face ; and 
 it was not long before she would listen to his re- 
 monstrance, and even at length take his advice, to 
 go home and compose herself. He went with her, 
 to ensure the good behaviour of the neighbours, 
 and had the satisfaction of seeing her lock her- 
 self into her house alone before he returned to his 
 party. 
 
 "It is as you told me," said Margaret to Mr. 
 Enderby : " Mr. Hope's power extends even to 
 the temper of the Deerbrook scold. How she 
 began to grow quiet directly ! It was like magic."" 
 
 Mr. Enderby smiled ; but there was some un- 
 easiness in his smile. 
 
 The countrywoman was commended to the ser- 
 vants, to be refreshed, and dismissed another way. 
 There was no further reason for detaining her 
 when it appeared that she really could give no 
 account of how she had offended Mrs. Plumstead 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 DEERBROOK. 
 
 in selling her a pint of butter. It remained to 
 console little Mary, who was still crying, — more 
 from grief for Mrs. Plumstead thati from fear, 
 ^laria thought, though Mrs. Grey was profuse in 
 assurances to the child that Mrs. Plumstead should 
 not be allowed to frighten her any more. All 
 the children seemed so depressed and confounded 
 that their guests exerted themselves to be merry 
 again, and to eflPace, as far as was possible, the 
 impression of the late scene. When Mr. Hope 
 returned, he found Mr. Grey singing his single 
 ditty, about Dame Dumshire and her crockery-> 
 ware, amidst great mirth and unbounded applause. 
 Then Mrs. Enderby was fluttered, and somewhat 
 flattered, by an entreaty that she would favour the 
 company with one of the ballads for which she 
 had been famous in her time. She could not re- 
 fuse on such an occasion, — if indeed she had ever 
 been able to refuse what she was told would give 
 pleasure. She made her son choose for her what she 
 should sing ; and then followed a wonderful story 
 of Giles Collins who loved a lady : Giles and the 
 lady both died of true love ; Giles was laid in the 
 lower chancel, and the lady in the higher ; from 
 the one grave grew a milk-white rose, and from the 
 other a brier, both of which climbed up to the 
 church top, and there tied themselves into a true- 
 lover s knot, which made all the parish admire.
 
 DEERBROOK. l7l 
 
 At this part, Anna was seen looking up at the 
 ceihng ; but the rest had no eyes but for Mrs. 
 Enderby, as she gazed full at the opposite wall, 
 and the shrill, quavering notes of the monotonous 
 air were poured out, and the words were as distinct 
 as if they were spoken. 
 
 " Is that true, grandmamaf asked Anna, when 
 all was over. 
 
 " You had better ask the person who made the 
 song, my dear. I did not make it.'' 
 
 " But did you ever see that church with the 
 brier growing in it, before the sexton cut it 
 do^TiT 
 
 " Do not let us talk any more about it," said 
 Philip, solemnly. " I wonder grandmama dares 
 sing such a sad song.'' 
 
 " Why, you asked her, uncle Philip." 
 
 " O, ay, so I did. Well, we are much obliged 
 to her ; and now we will have something that is 
 not quite so terrible. — Miss Grey, you will favour 
 us with a song f 
 
 Sophia's music-books were all in the house, and 
 she could not sing without. Mr. Enderby would 
 fetch some, if she would give him directions what 
 to bring. No; she could not sing without the 
 piano. As it was clearly impossible to bring that, 
 Philip feared the company must wait for the 
 pleasure of hearing Miss Grey till another time. 
 i2
 
 172 
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ^Ir. Grey would have Hester and Margaret sing ; 
 and sing they did, very simply and sweetly, and 
 much to the satisfaction of all present. One thing 
 led on to another ; they sang together, — with Mr. 
 Grey, — with Mr. Enderby; Mr. Hope hstening 
 with an unlearned eagerness, which made Mrs. 
 Grey wink at her husband, and nod at Sophia, 
 and exchange smiles with Mrs. Enderby. They 
 proceeded to catches at last ; and when people 
 really fond of music get to singing catches in a 
 summer-house, who can foresee the end I 
 
 '' ' Fair Enslaver V '' cried Mr. Enderby. " You 
 must know ' Fair Enslaver :' there is not a sweeter 
 catch than that. Come, Miss Ibbotson, begin ; 
 your sister will follow, and I " 
 
 But it so happened that Miss Ibbotson had 
 never heard ' Fair Enslaver.' Margaret knew 
 it, she beheved; but she did not. With a gay 
 eagerness, Mr. Enderby turned round to Maria, 
 saying that he knew she could sing this catch ; 
 and everybody was aware that when she had the 
 power of doing a kindness, she never wanted the 
 will : — he remembered that she could sing ' Fair 
 Enslaver.' He might well remember this, for 
 often had they sung it together. While several 
 of the company were saying they did not know 
 that Miss Young could sing, and the children 
 were explaining that she often sang at her work.
 
 DEERBROOK. . 173 
 
 Mr. Enderby observed some signs of agitation in 
 Maria, and hastened to say, — 
 
 " You had rather not, perhaps. Pray do not 
 think of it. I will find something else in a mo- 
 ment. I beg your pardon : I was very inconside- 
 rate/' 
 
 But Maria thought she had rather not accept 
 the consideration ; and besides, the children were 
 anxious that she should sing. She bore her part 
 in a way which made Mr. Rowland and Mrs. 
 Grey agree that she was a very superior young 
 woman indeed; that they were singularly fortu- 
 nate to have secured her for their children ; and 
 that she was much to be pitied. 
 
 " I think Miss Young has got a little cold, 
 though," observed Sydney. " Her voice is not in 
 the least husky when she sits singing here by 
 herself. — Father ! look there ! there are all the 
 servants huddled together under the window again, 
 to listen to the singing." 
 
 This was true ; and the rain was over. It was 
 presently settled that the school-room should be 
 evacuated by the present party ; that the children 
 should be allowed to invite the servants in, to 
 dispense to them the remains of the feast ; and 
 that Miss Young must favour Mrs. Grey with her 
 company this evening. 
 
 Mr. Rowland was obliged to return home to
 
 174 DEERBROOK. 
 
 business ; but, before his friends dispersed, he 
 must just say that Mrs. Rowland and he had 
 never, for a moment, given up the hope of the 
 pleasure of entertaining them at dinner in the 
 Dingleford woods; and, as the rains were now 
 daily abating, he might perhaps be allowed to 
 name Wednesday of the next week as the day of 
 the excursion. He hoped to see the whole of the 
 present company, from the oldest to the youngest, 
 — ^bowing, as he spoke, to Mrs. Enderby and to 
 his own little daughter Anna. This was one of 
 Mr. Rowland's pieces of independent action. His 
 lady had given him no commission to bring the 
 afiair to an issue ; and he returned home, involun- 
 tarily planning what kind of an unconcerned face 
 and manner he should put on, while he told her 
 what he had done.
 
 DKERBROOK. l7o 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 Mr. Rowland hoped " to see the whole of the 
 present company, from the oldest to the youngest/' 
 This was the best part of his speech to the ears of 
 the children ; it made an impression also upon 
 some others. Two or three days afterwards, 
 Sydney burst, laughing, into the dining-room, 
 where his mother and her guests were at work, to 
 tell them that he had seen Mr. Hope riding a pony 
 in the oddest way, in the lane behind his lodgings. 
 He had a side-saddle, and a horse-cloth put on 
 like a lady's riding-habit. He rode the pony in 
 and out among the trees, and made it scramble 
 up the hill behind, and it went as nicely as could 
 be, wherever he wanted it to go. Mr. Hope's new 
 way of riding was easily explained, the next time 
 he called. Miss Young was certainly included in 
 the invitation to Dingleford woods : it was a pity 
 she should not go ; and she could not walk in wild 
 places : — the pony was training for her. Mrs.
 
 176 
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Grey quite agreed that Miss Young ought to go, 
 but thought that Mr. Hope was giving himself 
 much needless trouble ; there would be room 
 made for her in some carriage, of course. No 
 doubt : but no kind of carriage could make its 
 way in the woods ; and, but for this pony. Miss 
 Young would have to sit in a carriage, or under a 
 tree, the whole time that the rest of the party 
 were rambling about ; whereas, this quiet active 
 little pony would take care that she was nowhere 
 left behind. It could do everything but climb 
 trees. It was to be taken over to Dingleford the 
 evening before, and would be waiting for its rider 
 on the verge of the woods, when the party should 
 arrive. 
 
 Miss Young was touched, and extremely pleased 
 with Mr. Hope's attention. In the days of her 
 prosperity she had been accustomed to ride much, 
 and was very fond of it ; but since her misfortunes 
 she had never once been in the saddle — lame as she 
 was, and debarred from other exercise. To be on 
 a horse again, and among the woods, was a de- 
 licious prospect ; and when a few misgivings had 
 been reasoned away — misgivings about being 
 troublesome, about being in the way of somebody''s 
 pleasure or convenience — Maria resigned herself 
 to the full expectation of a most delightful day, if the 
 weather would only be fine. The children would
 
 DEERBROOK. 177 
 
 be there ; and they were always willing to do any^ 
 thing for her. Sydney would guide her pony in 
 case of need, or show her where she might stay 
 behind by herself, if the others should exhibit a 
 passion for impracticable places. She knew that 
 Margaret would enjoy the day all the more for 
 her being there ; and so would Mr. Hope, as he 
 had amply proved. Maria was really delighted to 
 be going, and she and the children rejoiced to- 
 gether. 
 
 This great pleasure involved some minor enjoy- 
 ments too, in the way of preparation. On Sunday 
 Mr. Hope told her, that he believed the pony was 
 now fully trained ; but he should like that she 
 should try it, especially as she had been long out 
 of the habit of riding. She must take a ride with 
 him on Monday and Tuesday afternoons, for 
 practice. The Monday's ride' was charming; 
 through Verdon woods, and home over the heath 
 from Crossley End. The circuit, which was to 
 have been three miles, had extended to ten. She 
 must be moderate, she said to herself, the next 
 day, and not let Mr. Hope spend so much of his 
 time upon her ; and besides, the pony had to be 
 sent over to Dingleford in the evening, after she 
 had done with it, to be in readiness for her on 
 Wednesday morning. 
 
 The ride on Tuesday was as happily ac- 
 i3
 
 178 DEERBROOK. 
 
 complishecl as that of Monday ; but it was much 
 shorter. Mr. Hope agreed that it should be short, 
 as he had a patient to visit on the Dingleford road, 
 so near the hamlet that he might as well take the 
 pony there himself. It would trot along beside 
 his horse. Sydney saved him part of the charge. 
 Sydney would at all times walk back any distance 
 for the sake of a ride out, on whatever kind of 
 saddle, or almost any kind of quadruped. He was 
 in waiting at the farrier's gate, when Miss Young 
 returned from her ride ; and having assisted her 
 into the house, he threw himself upon her pony, 
 and rode three miles and a half on the Dingleford 
 road before he would dismount, and deliver his 
 bridle into Mr. Hope's hand. Tea was done, and 
 the tea-things removed, before he appeared at home, 
 heated and delighted with his expedition. He ran 
 to the dairy for a basin of milk, and declared that 
 his being hot and tired did not matter in the least, 
 as he had no lessons to do — the next day being a 
 holiday. 
 
 It was about two hours after this, when Hester 
 and Margaret were singing to Sophia's playing, 
 that Mr. Grey put his head in at the door, and 
 beckoned Mrs. Grey out of the room. She remained 
 absent a considerable time ; and when she returned, 
 the singers were in the middle of another duet. 
 She wandered restlessly about the room till the
 
 DEERBROOK. 179 
 
 piece was finished^ and then made a sign to Sophia 
 to follow her into the store-room, the double door 
 of which the sisters could hear carefully closed. 
 They were too much accustomed to the appearanc ^ 
 of mystery among the ladies of the Grey family, 
 to be surprised at any number of secret conferences 
 which might take place in the course of the day. 
 But evening was not the usual time for these. 
 The family practice was to transact all private 
 consultations in the morning, and to assemble 
 round the work-table or piano after tea. The 
 sisters made no remark to each other on the 
 present occasion, but continued their music, each 
 supposing that the store-room conference related 
 to some preparation for the next day's excursion. 
 
 It was too dusky to distinguish anything in the 
 room before their hostess re-entered it. Margaret 
 was playing quadrilles ; Hester w^as standing at the 
 window, watching the shadows which the risen 
 moon was flinging across the field, and the lighting 
 up of Mrs. Enderby's parlour behind the blinds ; 
 and Sydney was teazing his twin sisters with rough 
 play on the sofa, when Mrs. Grey returned. 
 
 " You are all in the dark," said she, in a par- 
 ticularly grave tone. " Why did you not ring for 
 hghts, my dears?" and she rang immediately. 
 " Be quiet, children ! I will not have you make so 
 much noise."
 
 180 DEERBROOK. 
 
 The little girls seemed to wish to obey; but 
 their brother still forced them to giggle ; and their 
 struggling entreaties were heard — " Now don't, 
 Sydney ; now pray, Sydney, don't ! " 
 
 " Mary and Fanny, go to bed,"' said their mother, 
 decidedly, when lights were brought. " Sydney, 
 bid your cousins good-night, and then come with 
 me ; I want to ask you a question."" 
 
 " Good-night already, mother? Why, it is not 
 time yet this half-hour." 
 
 "It is enough that I choose you to go to bed. 
 Wish your cousins good-night, and come with me." 
 
 Mrs. Grey led the way once more into the store- 
 room, followed, rather sulkily, by Sydney. 
 
 " What can all this be about T' whispered 
 Hester to Margaret. " There is always something 
 going on which we are not to know.'"* 
 
 " Some affair of fruit, or wine, or bonbons, 
 perhaps, which are all the better for making their 
 appearance unexpectedly." 
 
 At this moment Sophia and her mother entered 
 by opposite doors. Sophia's eyes were red ; and 
 there was every promise in her face that the 
 slightest word spoken to her would again open the 
 sluices of her tears. Mrs. Grey's countenance was 
 to the last degree dismal : but she talked — talked 
 industriously, of everything she could think of. This 
 was the broadest possible hint to the sisters not to
 
 DEERBROOK. 181 
 
 inquire what was the matter ; and they therefore 
 went on sewing and conversing very dihgently till 
 they thought they might relieve Mrs. Grey by 
 offering to retire. They hesitated only because 
 Mr. Grey had not come in ; and he so regularly 
 appeared at ten o'clock, that they had never yet 
 retired without having enjoyed half an hour's chat 
 with him. 
 
 " Sophia, my dear," said her mother, " are the 
 night candles there ? Light your cousins' candles. 
 — I am sure they are wishing to go ; and it is get- 
 ting late. You will not see Mr, Grey to-night, 
 my dears. He has been sent for to a distance." 
 
 At this moment, the scrambling of a horse's feet 
 was heard on the gravel before the front door. 
 Sophia looked at her mother, and each lighted a 
 candle precipitately, and thrust it into a hand of 
 each cousin. 
 
 '' There, go, my dears," said Mrs. Grey. " Never 
 mind stopping for Mr. Grey. I will deliver your 
 good-night to him. You will have to be rather 
 early in the morning, you know. Good-night, 
 good-night." 
 
 Thus Hester and Margaret were hurried up- 
 stairs, while the front door was in the act of being 
 unbarred for Mr. Grey's entrance. Morris was 
 despatched after them, with equal speed, by Mrs. 
 Grey's orders, and she reached their chamber door 
 at the same moment that they did.
 
 182 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Hester set down her candle, bade Morris shut 
 the door, and threw herself into an arm-chair with 
 wonderful decision of manner, declaring that she 
 had never been so treated ; — to be amused and sent 
 to bed like a baby, in a house where she was a 
 guest ! 
 
 " I am afraid something is the matter," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 " What then? they might have told us so, and 
 said plainly that they had rather be alone." 
 
 " People must choose their own ways of managing 
 their own affairs, you know : and what those ways 
 are cannot matter to us, as long as we are not 
 offended at them." 
 
 " Do you take your own way of viewing their 
 behaviour, then, and leave me mine," said Hester, 
 hastily. 
 
 Morris feared there was something amiss ; and 
 she believed Alice knew what it was : but she had 
 not told either cook or housemaid a syllable about 
 it. By Morris's account, Alice had been playing 
 the mysterious in the kitchen as her mistress had 
 in the parlour. Mr. Grey had been suddenly sent 
 for, and had saddled his horse himself, as his people 
 were all gone, and there was no one on the pre- 
 mises to do it for him. A wine-glass had also 
 been called for, for Miss Sophia, whose weeping 
 had been overheard Master Sydney had gone to
 
 DEERBROOK. 183 
 
 his room very cross, complaining of his mother's 
 having questioned him overmuch about his ride, 
 and then sent him to bed half an hour before his 
 usual time. 
 
 A deadly fear seized upon Margaret's heart, 
 when she heard of Sydney's complaint of being 
 overmuch questioned about his ride, — a deadly 
 fear for Hester. If her suspicion should prove 
 true, it was out of pure consideration that they 
 had been " amused and sent to bed like babies."" 
 A glance at Hester showed that the same apprehen- 
 sion had crossed her mind. Her eyes were closed 
 for a moment, and her face was white as ashes. It 
 was not for long, however. She presently said, 
 w^ith decision, that whatever was the matter, it 
 must be some entirely private affair of the Greys'. 
 If any accident had happened to any one in the 
 village, — if bad news had arrived of any common 
 friend, — there would be no occasion for secrecy. 
 In such a case, Mrs. Grey would have given her- 
 self the comfort of speaking of it to her guests. It 
 must certainly be some entirely private, some family 
 
 affair. Hester was sincere in what she said. 
 
 She knew so little of the state of her own heart, 
 that she could not conceive how some things in it 
 could be divined or speculated upon by others. 
 Still only on the brink of the discovery that she 
 loved Mr. Hope, she could never have imagined
 
 18i DEERBROOK. 
 
 that any one else could dream of such a thing, — 
 much less act upon it. She was angry with herself 
 for letting her fears now point for a moment to 
 Mr. Hope ; for, if this bad news had related to 
 him, her sister and she would, of course, have heard 
 of it the next moment after the Greys. Margaret 
 caught her sister's meaning, and strove to the 
 utmost to think as she did ; but Sydney's com- 
 plaint of being " overmuch questioned about his 
 ride '" was fatal to the attempt. It returned upon 
 her incessantly during the night ; and when, to- 
 wards morning, she slept a little, these words 
 seemed to be sounding in her ear all the while. 
 Before undressing, both she and Hester had been 
 unable to resist stepping out upon the stairs to 
 watch for signs whether it was the intention of the 
 family to sit up or go to rest. All had retired to 
 their rooms some time before midnight ; and then 
 it was certain that nothing more could be learned 
 before morning. 
 
 Each sister believed that the other slept ; but 
 neither could be sure. It was an utterly wretched 
 night to both, and the first which they had ever 
 passed in misery, without speaking to each other. 
 Margaret's suffering was all from apprehension. 
 Hester was little alarmed in comparison ; but she 
 this night underwent the discovery which her sister 
 had made some little time ago. She discovered
 
 DEEBBROOK. 185 
 
 that nothing could happen to her so dreadful as 
 any evil befalling ^Ir. Hope. She discovered that 
 he was more to her than the sister whom she could 
 have declared, but a few hours before, to be the 
 dearest on earth to her. She discovered that she 
 was for ever humbled in her own eyes ; that her 
 self-respect had received an incurable wound : for 
 Mr. Hope had never given her reason to regard 
 him as more than a friend. During the weary 
 hours of this night, she revolved every conversation, 
 every act of intercourse, which she could recall ; and 
 from all that she could remember, the same impres- 
 sion resulted, — that Mr. Hope was a friend, a kind 
 and sympathising friend, — interested in her views 
 and opinions, in her tastes and feelings; — that he 
 was this kind of friend, and nothing more. He 
 had in no case distinguished her from her sister : 
 she had even thought, at times, that Margaret had 
 been the more important of the two to him. That 
 might be from her own jealous temper, which, she 
 knew, was apt to make her fancy every one pre- 
 ferred to herself: but she had thought that he 
 liked Margaret best, as she was sure !Mr. Enderby 
 did. Whichever way she Iqoked at the case, it 
 was all wretchedness. She had lost her self-suffi- 
 ciency and self-respect, and she was miserable. 
 
 The first rays of morning have a wonderful 
 power of putting to flight the terrors of the dark-
 
 186 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ness, whether their causes lie without us or within. 
 When the first beam of the midsummer sunshine 
 darted into the chamber, through the leafy limes 
 which shaded one side of the apartment, Hester''s 
 mood transiently changed. There was a brief 
 reaction in her sp^i^^its. She thought she had been 
 making herself miserable far too readily. The 
 mystery of the preceding evening might turn out 
 a trifle : she had been thinking too seriously about 
 her own fancies. If she had really been discovering 
 a great and sad secret about herself, no one else 
 knew it, or need ever know it. She could command 
 herself ; and, in the strength of pride and duty, 
 she would do so. All was not lost. Before this 
 mood had passed away, she fell asleep, with prayer 
 in her heart, and quiet tears upon her cheek. Both 
 sisters were roused from their brief slumbers by a 
 loud tapping at their door. All in readiness to be 
 alarmed, Margaret sprang up, and was at the door 
 to know who was there. 
 
 " It is us — it is we, Fanny and Mary, cousin 
 Margaret,*' answered the twins, " come to call you. 
 It is such a fine morning, you can't think. Papa 
 does not believe we shall have a drop of rain to-day. 
 The baker's boy has just carried the rolls, — such a 
 basket-full ! — to Mrs. Rowland's : so you must get 
 up. Mama is getting up already.'*" 
 
 The sisters were vexed to have been thrown into
 
 DEERBROOK. 187 
 
 a terror for nothing ; but it was a great relief to 
 find Mr. Grey prophesying fine weather for the 
 excursion. Nothing could have happened to cast 
 a doubt over it. Margaret, too, now began to think 
 that the mystery might turn out a trifle ; and she 
 threw up the sash, to let in the fresh air, with a 
 gaiety of spirits she had little expected to feel. 
 
 Another tap at the door. It was Morris, with 
 the news that it was a fine morning, that the whole 
 house was astir, and that she had no further news 
 to tell. 
 
 Another tap, before they were half dressed . It 
 was Mrs. Grey, with a face quite as sorrowful as on 
 the preceding evening, and the peculiar nervous 
 expression about the mouth which served her 
 instead of tears. 
 
 " Have you done with Morris yet, my dears ?" 
 
 " Morris, you may go," said Hester, steadily. 
 
 Mrs. Grey gazed at her with a mournful inquisi- 
 tiveness, while she spoke ; and kept her eyes fixed 
 on Hester throughout, though what she said 
 seemed addressed to both sisters. 
 
 " There is something the matter, Mrs. Grey,'" 
 continued Hester, calmly. " Say what it is. You 
 had better have told us last night.'' 
 
 " I thought it best not to break your sleep, my 
 dears. We always think bad news is best told in 
 the morning."
 
 188 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Tell US,**' said Margaret. Hester quietly seated 
 herself on the bed. 
 
 " It concerns our valued friend, Mr. Hope," said 
 Mrs. Grey. Hester's colour had been going from 
 the moment Mrs. Grey entered the room : it was 
 now quite gone ; but she preserved her calmness. 
 
 " He was safe when Sydney lost sight of him, 
 on the ridge of the hill, on the Dingleford road ; 
 but he afterwards had an accident." 
 
 " What kind of accident V inquired Margaret. 
 
 " Is he killed ?" asked Hester. 
 
 " No, not killed. He was found insensible in 
 the road. The miller's boy observed his horse, 
 without a rider, plunge into the river, below the 
 dam, and swim across ; and another person saw 
 the pony Sydney had been riding, grazing with a 
 side-saddle on, on the common. This made them 
 search, and they found Mr. Hope lying in the road 
 insensible, as I told you." 
 
 " What is thought of his state ?" asked Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " Two medical men were called immediately 
 from the nearest places, and Mr. Grey saw them 
 last night ; for the news reached us while you were 
 at the piano, and we thought . . ." 
 
 " Yes ; but what do the medical men say 2" 
 
 '* They do not speak very favourably. It is a 
 concussion of the brain. They declare the case is
 
 DEERBROOK. 189 
 
 not hopeless, and that is all they can say. He has 
 not spoken yet ; only just opened his eyes : but we 
 are assured the case is not quite desperate ; so we 
 must hope for the best." 
 
 " I am glad the case is not desperate," said 
 Hester. " He would be a great loss to you all." 
 
 ^Irs. Grey looked at her in amazement, and 
 then at ^largaret. ^Margaret's eyes were full of 
 tears. She comprehended and respected the effort 
 her sister was making. 
 
 " O, Mrs. Grey!'"* said Margaret, "must we 
 go to-day ? Surely it is no time for an excursion 
 of pleasure." 
 
 " That must be as you feel disposed, my dears. 
 It would annoy Mrs. Rowland very much to have 
 the party broken up ; so much so, that some of us 
 must go : but my young people will do their best 
 to fill your places, if you feel yourselves unequal to 
 the exertion." She looked at Hester as she spoke. 
 
 " (), if anybody goes, w^e go, of course,"" said 
 Hester. " I think you are quite right in supposing 
 that the business of the day must proceed. If 
 there was anything to be done by staying at 
 home. — if you could make us of any use, Mrs. 
 Grey, it would be a different thing : but . . . ." 
 
 " Well, if there is nothing in your feelings which 
 .... If you believe yourselves equal to the 
 exertion . . . ."
 
 190 
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Margaret now interposed. "One had rather 
 stay at home and be quiet, when one is anxious 
 about one's friends : but other people must be 
 considered, as we seem to be agreed, — Mr. and 
 Mrs. Rowland, and all the children. So we will 
 proceed with our dressing, Mrs. Grey. But can 
 
 you tell us, before you go, how soon how 
 
 soon we shall know ? — when this case will probably 
 be decided V 
 
 It might be a few hours, or it might be many 
 days, Mrs. Grey said. She should stay at home 
 to-day, in case of anything being sent for from 
 the farm-house where Mr. Hope was lying. He 
 was well attended, — in the hands of good nurses, — 
 patients of his own : but something might be 
 wanted ; and orders had been left by Mr. Grey 
 that application should be made to his house for 
 whatever could be of service : so Mrs. Grey could 
 not think of leaving home. Mr. Grey would make 
 inquiry at the farm-house as the party went by to 
 the woods ; and he would just turn his horse back 
 in the middle of the day, to inquire again : and 
 thus the Rowlands' party w^ould know more of Mr. 
 Hope's state than those who remained at home. 
 Having explained this, Mrs. Grey quitted the 
 room, somewhat disappointed that Hester had 
 received the disclosure so well. 
 
 The moment the door was closed, Hester sank
 
 DEERBROOK. 191 
 
 forward on the bed, her face hidden, but her 
 trembhng betraying her emotion. 
 
 " I feared this," said Margaret, looking mourn- 
 fully at her sister. 
 
 "You feared what?" asked Hester, quickly, 
 looking up. 
 
 '' I feared that some accident had happened to 
 Mr. Hope." 
 
 " So did I." 
 
 " And if," said Margaret, " I feared something 
 else . . . Nay, Hester, you must let me speak. 
 We must have no concealments, Hester. You 
 and I are alone in the world, and we must comfort 
 each other. We agreed this. Why should you 
 be ashamed of what you feel ? I believe that you 
 have a stronger interest in this misfortune than 
 any one in the world ; and why . . . ." 
 
 " How do you mean, a stronger interest T' asked 
 Hester, trying to command her voice. " Tell me 
 what you mean, Margaret.'' 
 
 " I mean,'' said Margaret, steadily, " that no 
 one is so much attached to Mr. Hope as you are." 
 
 "Is that all?" said Hester. Hiding her face on 
 her sister's shoulder, she whispered, " You say you 
 feared this for me. What do you think — have you 
 observed his manner to me ? What do you think ?" 
 
 " I think," said Margaret, after a pause, " that 
 Mr. Hope has a high respect and strong regard for
 
 192 DEERBROOK. 
 
 you/' She paused again, and then added, " If I 
 believed anything more, I would tell you." 
 
 When Hester could speak again, she said, 
 gently and humbly, " I assure you, Margaret, I 
 never knew the state of my own mind till this last 
 night. If I had been aware — " 
 
 "■ If you had been aware, you would have been 
 unlike all who ever really loved, if people say true. 
 Now that you have become aware, you will act 
 as you can act — nobly — righteously. You will 
 struggle with your feelings till your mind grows 
 calm. Peace will come in time." 
 
 " Do you think there is no hope V 
 
 " Consider his state." 
 
 " But if he should recover ? O Margaret, how 
 wicked all this is ! While he lies there, we are 
 grieving about me ! What a selfish wretch I am !" 
 
 Margaret had nothing to reply, there seemed 
 so much truth in this. Even she reproached her- 
 self with being exclusively anxious about her 
 sister, when such a friend might be dying ; when 
 a life of such importance to many was in jeopardy. 
 
 " I could do anything, I could bear anything,^"* 
 said Hester, "if I could be sure that nobody 
 knew. But you found me out, Margaret, and 
 perhaps — "" 
 
 ''- 1 assure you, I believe you are safe,""* said 
 Margaret. '* You can hide nothing from me.
 
 DEERBROOK. 193 
 
 But Mrs. Grey — and nobody, except myself, has 
 watched you hke Mrs. Grey — has gone away, I 
 am certain, completely deceived. But, Hester, my 
 own precious sister, bear with one word from me ! 
 Do not trust too much to your pride." 
 
 " I do trust to my pride, and I will," replied 
 Hester, her cheeks in a glow. " Do you suppose 
 I will allow all in this house, all in the village, to 
 be pitying me, to be watching how I suffer, when 
 no one supposes that he gave me cause — ? It is 
 not to be endured, even in the bare thought. No. 
 If you do not betray me — " 
 
 " I betray you V 
 
 " Well, well ! I know you will not : and then I 
 am safe. My pride I can trust to, and I will." 
 
 " It will betray you," sighed Margaret. " I do 
 not want you to parade your sorrow, God knows ! 
 It will be better borne in quiet and secrecy. 
 What I wish for you is, that you should receive 
 this otherwise than as a punishment, a disgrace in 
 your own eyes for something wrong. You have 
 done nothing wrong, nothing that you may not 
 appeal to God to help you to endure. Take it as 
 a sorrow sent by Him, to be meekly borne, as 
 what no earthly person has any concern with. Be 
 superior to the opinions of the people about us, 
 instead of defying them. Pride will give you no 
 peace : resignation will." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " I am too selfish for this," sighed Hester. " I 
 hate myself, Margaret. I have not even the grace 
 to love him^ except for my own sake ; and while 
 he is dying, I am planning to save my pride ! I 
 do not care what becomes of me. Come, Marga- 
 ret, let us dress and go down. Do not trouble 
 your kind heart about me : I am not worth it." 
 
 This mood gave way a little to Margaret's grief 
 and endearments; but Hester issued from her 
 chamber for the day in a state of towering pride^ 
 secretly alternating with the anguish of self- 
 contempt. 
 
 It was a miserable day, as wretched a party of 
 pleasure as could be imagined. Mrs. Rowland 
 was occupied in thinking, and occasionally saying, 
 how strangely everything fell out to torment her, 
 how something always occurred to cross every 
 plan of hers. She talked about this to her mother, 
 Sophia, and Hester, who were in the barouche 
 with her, till the whole cavalcade stopped, just 
 before reaching the farm-house where Mr. Hope 
 lay, and to which Mr. Grey rode on to make 
 inquiries. Margaret was with Mr. Rowland in 
 his gig. It was a breathless three minutes till 
 Mr. Grey brought the news. Margaret wondered 
 how Hester was bearing it : it would have pleased 
 her to have known that Mrs. Rowland was holding 
 forth so strenuously upon her disappointment
 
 DEERBROOK. 195 
 
 about a dress at the last Blickley ball, and about 
 her children having had the measles on the only 
 occasion when JNIr. Rowland could have taken her 
 to the races in the next county, that Hester might 
 sit in silence, and bear the suspense unobserved. 
 Mr. Grey reappeared, quite as soon as he could 
 be looked for. There might have been worse 
 news. Mr. Hope was no longer in a stupor : he 
 was delirious. His medical attendants could not 
 pronounce any judgment upon the ease further 
 than that it was not hopeless. They had known 
 recovery in similar cases. As Mr. Grey bore his 
 report from carriage to carriage, every one strove 
 to speak cheerfully, and to make the best of the 
 case ; and those who were not the most interested 
 really satisfied themselves with the truth that the 
 tidings were better than they might have been. 
 
 The damp upon the spirits of the party was most 
 evident, when all had descended from the car- 
 riages, and were collected in the woods. There 
 was a general tremor about accidents. If one of 
 the gentlemen had gone forward to explore, or the 
 children had lagged behind for play, there was a 
 shouting, and a general stop till the missing party 
 appeared. Miss Young would fain have declined 
 her pony, w^hich was duly in waiting for her. It 
 was only because she felt that no individual could 
 well be spared from the party that she mounted at 
 k2
 
 196 DEERBROOK. 
 
 all. Mr. Hope was to have had the charge of her; 
 and though she had requested Sydney to take his 
 place, as far as was necessary, Mr. Enderby insisted 
 on doing so ; a circumstance which did not add to 
 her satisfaction. She was not altogether so heart- 
 sick as her friends, the Ibbotsons ; but even to her, 
 everything was weariness of spirit : — the landscape 
 seemed dull; the splendid dinner on the grass 
 tiresome ; the sunshine sickly ; and even the chil- 
 dren, with their laughter and practical jokes, 
 fatiguing and troublesome. Even she could easily 
 have spoken sharply to each and all of the little 
 ones. If she felt so, what must the day have been 
 to Hester ? She bore up well under any observa- 
 tion that she might suppose herself the object of, 
 but Margaret saw how laboriously she strove, and 
 in vain, to eat ; how welcome was the glass of 
 wine ; how mechanical her singing after dinner ; 
 and how impatient she was of sitting still. The 
 strangest thing was to see her walking in a dim 
 glade, in the afternoon, arm-in-arm with Mrs. 
 Rowland, — as if in the most confidential conversa- 
 tion, — Mrs. Rowland apparently offering the con- 
 fidence, and Hester receiving it. 
 
 " Look at them ! "' said Mr. Enderby. " Who 
 would believe that my sister prohibited solitary 
 walks and tete-d-tetes^ only three hours ago, on the 
 ground that everyone ought to be sociable to-day? 
 I shall go and break up the conference."
 
 DEERBROOK. 197 
 
 *' Pray do not,"' said Margaret. " Let them 
 forget rules, and pass their time as they hke best." 
 
 " O ! but here is news of Hope. Mr. Grey has 
 now brought word that he is no worse. I begin to 
 think he may get through, which, God knows ! I 
 had no idea of this morning." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? But do not tell other 
 people, unless you are quite confident that you 
 really mean what you say." 
 
 " I may be wrong, of course : but I do think 
 the chances improve with every hour that he does 
 not get worse ; and he is certainly not worse. I 
 have a strong presentiment that he will struggle 
 throuojh/' 
 
 " Go, then ; and tell as many people as you 
 choose : only make them understand how much is 
 presentiment.^' 
 
 The ttte-d-tete between the ladies, being broken 
 off by Mr. Enderby with his tidings, was not 
 renewed. Hester walked beside Miss Young's 
 pony, her cheek flushed, and her eye bright. Mar- 
 garet thought there was pride underneath, and not 
 merely the excitement of renewed hope, so feeble 
 as that hope must yet be, and so nearly crushed 
 by suspense. 
 
 Before the hour fixed for the carriages to be in 
 readiness, the party had given up all pretence of 
 amusing themselves and each other. They sat on
 
 198 DEERBROOK. 
 
 a riclge, watching the spot where the vehicles were 
 to assemble ; and message after message was sent 
 to the servants, to desire them to make haste. 
 The general wish seemed to be, to be getting home, 
 though the sun was yet some way from its setting. 
 When the first sound of wheels was heard, Hester 
 whispered to her sister, 
 
 " I cannot be in the same carriage with that 
 woman. No — you must not either. I cannot now 
 tell you why. I dare say Miss Young would take 
 my place, and let me go with the children in the 
 waggon." 
 
 " I will do that ; and you shall return in Mr. 
 Rowland's gig. You can talk or not as you please 
 with him ; and he is very kind. He is no more to 
 be blamed for his wife's behaviour, you know, than 
 her mother or her brother. It shall be so. I will 
 manage it.'' 
 
 Margaret could manage what she pleased, with 
 Maria and Mr. Enderby both devoted to her. 
 Hester was off with Mr. Rowland, and Margaret 
 with one child on her lap, and the others rejoicing 
 at having possession of her, before Mrs. Rowland 
 discovered the shifting of parties which had taken 
 place. Often during the ride she wanted to speak 
 to her brother : three times out of four he was not 
 to be had, so busy was he joking with the children, 
 as he trotted his horse beside the waggon ; and
 
 DEERBROOK. 199 
 
 when he did hear his sister's call, he merely answered 
 her questions, said something to make his mother 
 laugh, and dropped into his place beside the wag- 
 gon again. It struck Maria that the waggon had 
 not been such an attraction in going, though the 
 flowers with which it was canopied had then been 
 fresh, and the children more merry and good- 
 humoured than now. 
 
 The report to be carried home to Deerbrook 
 was, that Mr. Hope was still no worse : it was 
 thought that his delirium was somewhat quieter. 
 Mrs. Grey was out on the steps to hear the news, 
 when the carriages approached. As it happened, 
 the gig arrived first, and Hester had to give the 
 relation. She spoke even cheerfully, declaring Mr. 
 Enderby's opinion, that the case was going on 
 favourably, and that recovery was very possible. 
 Mrs. Grey, who had had a wretchedly anxious day 
 by herself, not having enjoyed even the satisfaction 
 of being useful, nothing having been sent for from 
 the farm-house, was truly cheered by seeing her 
 family about her again. 
 
 " I have been watching for you this hour,'*'* said 
 she ; " and yet I hardly expected you so soon. As 
 it grew late, I began to fancy all manner of acci- 
 dents that might befall you. When one accident 
 happens, it makes one fancy so many more ! I 
 could not help thinking about Mr. Grey's horse.
 
 200 DEERBROOK, 
 
 Does that horse seem to you perfectly steady, 
 Hester ? Well, I am glad of it : but I once saw 
 it shy from some linen on a hedge, and it was in 
 my mind all this afternoon. Here you are, all safe, 
 however ; and I trust we may feel more cheerfully 
 now about our good friend. If he goes on to grow 
 better, I shall get Mr. Grey to drive me over soon 
 to see him. But, my dears, what will you have 
 after your ride ? Shall I order tea, or will you 
 have something more substantial 1" 
 
 " Tea, if you please," said Hester. Her tongue 
 was parched : and when Margaret followed her up- 
 stairs, she found her drinking water, as if she had 
 been three days deep in the Great Desert. 
 
 " Can you tell me now," asked Margaret, " what 
 Mrs. Rowland has been saying to you V 
 
 " No, not at present : better wait. Margaret ! 
 what do you think now?" 
 
 " I think that all looks brighter than it did this 
 morning : but what a wretched day it has been ! " 
 
 " You found it so, did you? O Margaret, I 
 have longed every hour to lie down to sleep in that 
 wood, and never wake again !" 
 
 " I do not wonder : but you will soon feel better. 
 The sleep from which you will wake to-morrow 
 morning will do nearly as well. We must sleep 
 to-night, and hope for good news in the morning." 
 
 " No good news will ever come to me again," 
 sighed Hester. " No, no ; I do not quite mean
 
 DEERBROOK. 201 
 
 that. You need not look at me so. It is un- 
 grateful to say such a thing at this moment. 
 Come : I am ready to go down to tea. It is 
 really getting dark. I thought this day never 
 would come to an end." 
 
 The evening was wearisome enough. Mrs. 
 Grey asked how Mrs. Rowland had behaved, and 
 Sophia was beginning to tell, when her father 
 checked her, reminding her that she had been 
 enjoying Mrs. Rowland's hospitality. This was 
 all he said, but it was enough to bring on one of 
 Sophia's interminable fits of crying. The children 
 were cross with fatigue : JNIrs. Grey thought her 
 husband hard upon Sophia ; and, to complete the 
 absurdity of the scene, Hester's and Margaret's 
 tears proved uncontrollable. The sight of Sophia's 
 set them flowing; and though they laughed at 
 themselves for the folly of weeping from mere 
 sympathy, this did not mend the matter. Mrs. 
 Grey seemed on the verge of tears herself, when she 
 observed that she had expected a cheerful evening 
 after a lonely and anxious day. A deep sob from 
 the three answered to this observation, and they 
 all rose to go to their apartments. Hester was 
 struck by the peculiar tender pressure of the hand 
 given her by Mr. Grey, as she offered him her mute 
 good-night. It caused her a fresh burst of grief 
 when she reached her own room. 
 k3
 
 202 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Margaret was determined not to go to rest 
 without knowing what it was that Mrs. Rowland 
 had said to her sister. She pressed for it now, 
 hoping that it would rouse Hester from more 
 painful thoughts. 
 
 " Though I have been enjoying that woman''s 
 hospitality, as Mr. Grey says,'' declared Hester, 
 " I must speak of her as I think, to you. O, she 
 has been so insolent ! " 
 
 " Insolent to you ! How ? Why V 
 
 " Nay : you had better ask her why. Her 
 confidence was all about her brother. She seems 
 to think, — she did not say so, or I should have 
 known better how to answer her, but she seems to 
 think that her brother is — (I can hardly speak it 
 even to you, Margaret !) — is in some way in danger 
 from me. Now, you and I know that he cares no 
 more for me than for any one of the people who 
 were there to-day; and yet she went on telhng 
 me, and I could not stop her, about the views of 
 his family for him !" 
 
 "What views?" 
 
 " Views which, I imagine, it by no means fol- 
 lows that he has for himself. If she has been 
 impertinent to me, she has been even more so to 
 him. I wonder how she dares meddle in his con- 
 cerns as she does." 
 
 " Well, but what views V persisted Margaret,
 
 DEERBROOK. 203 
 
 *' O, about his marrying : — that he is the darHng 
 of his family, — that large family interests hang 
 upon his marrying, — that all his relations think it 
 is time he was settling, and that he told her last 
 week that he was of that opinion himself: — and 
 then she went on to say that there was the most 
 delightful accordance in their views for him ; —that 
 they did not much value beauty, — that they should 
 require for him something of a far higher order 
 than beauty, and which indeed was seldom found 
 with it . . . r 
 
 " Insolent creature ! Did she say that to you ?" 
 
 " Indeed she did : and that her brother's wife 
 must be of a good family, with a fortune worthy 
 of his own ; and, naturally, of a county family." 
 
 " A county family !" said Margaret, half laugh- 
 ing. " What matters county or city, when two 
 people are watching over one another for life and 
 death, and for hereafter ?" 
 
 " With such people as Mrs. Rowland," said 
 Hester, " marriage is a very superficial affair. If 
 family, fortune, and equipage are but right, the 
 rest may be left to Providence. Temper, mind, 
 
 heart, . The worst of all, however, was her 
 
 ending — or what was made her ending by our 
 being interrupted." 
 
 " Well ! what was her finish ?" 
 
 " She put her face almost under my bonnet, as
 
 204 DEERBROOK. 
 
 she looked smiling at me, and said there was a 
 young lady — she wished she could tell me all about 
 it— the time would come when she might — there 
 was a sweet girl, beloved by them all for many 
 years, from her very childhood, whom they had 
 hopes of receiving, at no very distant time, as 
 Philip^s wife." 
 
 " I do not believe it," cried Margaret. After 
 a pause, she added, *' Do you believe it, Hester?" 
 
 *' I am sure I do not know. I should not rate 
 Mrs. Rowland's word very highly : but this would 
 be such a prodigious falsehood ! It is possible, 
 however, that she may believe it without its being 
 true. Or, such a woman might make the most, 
 for the occasion, of a mere suspicion of her own." 
 
 " I do not believe it is true," repeated Margaret. 
 
 " At all events," concluded Hester, " nothing 
 that Mrs. Rowland says is worth regarding. I 
 was foolish to let myself be ruffled by her." 
 
 Margaret tried to take the lesson home, but it 
 was in vain. She was ruffled ; and, in spite of every 
 effort, she did believe in the existence of the name- 
 less young lady. It had been a day of trouble ; and 
 thus was it ending in fresh sorrow and fear. 
 
 Morris came in, hesitated at the door, was told 
 she might stay, and immediately busied herself in the 
 brushing of hair and the folding of clothes. Many 
 tears trickled down, and not a word was spoken,
 
 DEERBROOK. 205 
 
 till all the offices of the toilet were finished. 
 Morris then asked, with a glance at the book-shelf, 
 whether she should go or stay. 
 
 " Stay, Morris," said Hester, gently. " You shall 
 not suffer for our being unhappy to-night. Mar- 
 garet, will you, can you read V 
 
 Margaret took the volume in which it was the 
 sisters' common practice to read together, and 
 with Morris at night. While Morris took her 
 seat, and reverently composed herself to hear, 
 Margaret turned to the words which have stilled 
 many a tempest of grief, from the moment when 
 they were first uttered to mourners, through a long 
 course of centuries. " Let not your heart be 
 troubled." " Believe in God ; believe in me."" 
 Morris sometimes spoke on these occasions. She 
 loved to hear of the many mansions in the House 
 of the Father of all ; and she said that though it 
 might seem to her young ladies that their parents 
 had gone there full soon, leaving them to undergo 
 trouble by themselves, yet she had no doubt they 
 should all be at peace together, sooner or later, 
 and their passing troubles would seem as nothing. 
 Even this simple and obvious remark roused courage 
 in the sisters. They remembered what their father 
 had said to them about his leaving them to encounter 
 the serious business and trials of life by themselves, 
 and how they had promised to strive to be wise
 
 206 DEERBROOK. 
 
 and trustful, and to help each other. This day 
 the serious business and trials of life had manifestly 
 begun ; and they must strengthen themselves and 
 each other to meet them. They agreed upon 
 this, and in a mood of faith and resolution fell 
 asleep.
 
 DEERBROOK. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MEDIATION. 
 
 Mr. Hope's case turned out more favourably 
 than any of his attendants and friends had ven- 
 tured to anticipate. For some days the symptoms 
 continued as alarming as at first; but from the 
 hour that he began to amend, his progress towards 
 recovery was without drawback, and unusually rapid. 
 Within a month, the news circulated through the 
 village, that he had been safely brought home to 
 his own lodgings; and the day after, the ladies at 
 Mr. Grey's were startled by seeing him alight from 
 a gig at the door, and walk up the steps feebly, 
 but without assistance. He could not stay away any 
 longer, he declared. He had been above a month 
 shut up in a dim room, without seeing any faces 
 but of doctor, nurse, and Mrs. Grey, and debarred 
 from books ; now he was well enough to prescribe 
 for himself ; and he was sure that a little society, 
 and a gradual return to his usual habits of life, 
 would do him more good than anything.
 
 208 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Mrs. Grey kept all her own children out of sight 
 during this first visit, that Mr. Hope might not 
 see too many faces at once. She admitted only 
 Hester and Margaret, and Alice, who brought him 
 some refreshment. The girl made him a low 
 curtsey, and looked at him with an expression of 
 awe and pleasure, which brought tears into the eyes 
 of even her mistress. Mr. Hope had been a bene- 
 factor to this girl. He had brought her through 
 a fever. She had of late little expected ever to 
 see him again. Mr. Hope replied to her mute 
 looks, 
 
 " Thank you, Alice, I am much better. I hope 
 to be quite well soon. Did not you make some of 
 the good things Mrs. Grey has been kind enough 
 to bring me I — I thought so. Well, I am much 
 obliged to you ; and to everybody who has been 
 taking pains to make me well. I do not know how 
 it is," he continued, when Alice had left the room, 
 " but things do not appear as they used to do. 
 Perhaps my eyes are dim still ; but the room 
 does not seem bright, and none of you look well 
 and merry." 
 
 Mrs. Grey observed that she had drawn the 
 blinds down, thinking he would find it a relief 
 after the sunshine. Margaret said ingenuously — 
 
 " We are all well, I assure you ; but you should 
 not wonder if you find us rather grave. Much
 
 DEERBROOK. 209 
 
 has happened since we met. We have been 
 thinking of you with great anxiety for so long, 
 that we cannot, on a sudden, talk as lightly as 
 when you used to come in every day." 
 
 " Ah !" said he, " I little thought, at one time, 
 that I should ever see any of you again in this 
 world.'"* 
 
 " We have thought of you as near death," said 
 Margaret ; " and since that, as having a sick-room 
 experience, which we respect and stand in awe 
 of; and that is reason enough for our looking 
 grave." 
 
 " You feel as if you had to become acquainted 
 with me over again. Well, we must lose no time ; 
 here is a month gone that I can give no account of." 
 
 Hester felt how differently the case stood with 
 her. The last month had been the longest she had 
 ever known, — tedious as to the state captive, 
 serving his noviciate to prison life. She would 
 have been thankful to say that she could give no 
 account of the past month. She inquired how 
 the accident happened ; for this was still a mys- 
 tery to everybody. Mr. Hope could not clear 
 up the matter : he remembered parting with 
 Sydney, and trotting, with the bridle of the pony 
 in his hand, to the top of the ascent, —the point 
 where Sydney lost sight of him : he had no distinct 
 remembrance of anything more, — only a sort of
 
 210 DEERBROOK. 
 
 impression of his horse rearing bolt upright. He 
 had never been thrown before ; and his supposition 
 was, that a stone cast from behind the hedge might 
 have struck his horse : but he really knew no 
 more of the affair than any one else. The ladies 
 all trusted he would not ride the same horse 
 again ; but this he would not promise : his horse 
 was an old friend ; and he was not in a hurry to 
 part with old friends. He was glad to find that 
 Miss Young had not laid the blame on the pony, 
 but had ridden it through the woods as if nothing 
 had happened. 
 
 " Not exactly so," said Margaret, smiling. 
 
 " The young folks did not enjoy their excursion 
 
 very much, I fancy," said Mrs. Grey, smiling also. 
 
 " Mrs. Rowland was quite put out, poor soul ! 
 
 You know she thinks everything goes wrong, on 
 
 purpose to plague her." 
 
 " I think she had some higher feelings on that 
 
 occasion," said Mr. Hope, gently, but gravely. 
 
 " I am indebted to her for a very anxious concern 
 
 on my account, and for kind offices in which 
 
 perhaps none of my many generous friends have 
 
 surpassed her." 
 
 Mrs. Grey, somewhat abashed, said that Mrs. 
 
 Kowland had some good qualities : it was only a 
 
 pity that her unhappy temper did not allow them 
 
 fair play.
 
 DEERBROOK. 211 
 
 *' It is a pity," observed Mr. Hope ; " and it is, 
 at the same time, an appeal to us to allow her the 
 fair play she does not afford herself. — That sofa 
 looks delightfully comfortable, Mrs. Grey." 
 
 " O, you are tired ; you are faint, perhaps V 
 
 "Shall I ring?" said Hester, moving to the 
 bell. 
 
 " No, no," said he, laughing ; " I am very well 
 at present. I only mean that I should like to 
 stay all day, if you will let me. I am sure that 
 sofa is full as comfortable as my own. I may stay, 
 may I not ?" 
 
 "No, indeed you shall not, this first day. If 
 you will go away now before you are tired, and if 
 I find when I look in upon you this evening, that 
 you are not the worse for this feat, you shall 
 stay longer to-morrow. But I assure you it is 
 time you were at home now. — My dears, just see 
 whether the gig is at the door." 
 
 " So I only get sent away by begging to stay," 
 said Mr. Hope. " Well, I have been giving 
 orders to sick people for so many years, that I 
 suppose it is fairly my turn to obey now. May I 
 ask you to send to Widow Rye's to-day? I 
 looked in as I came ; and her child is in want of 
 better food, better cooked, than she is able to give 
 him." 
 
 " I will send him a dinner from our table. You
 
 212 DEERBROOK. 
 
 are not going to see any more patients to-day, I 
 hope." 
 
 " Only two that He quite in my road. If you 
 send me away, you must take the consequences. 
 Farewell, till to-morrow." 
 
 " Mr. Grey and I shall look in upon you this 
 evening. Now, do not look about you out of 
 doors, to catch anybody's eye, or you will be visit- 
 ing a dozen patients between this house and your 
 own." 
 
 There were, indeed, many people standing about, 
 within sight of Mr. Grey's door, to see Mr. Hope 
 come out. All Mr. Grey's children and servants 
 were peeping through the shrubbery, Mrs. Enderby 
 waved her hand from a lower, and her two maids 
 looked out from an upper window. The old man 
 of a hundred years, who was sunning himself on the 
 bank, as usual, rose and took off his hat : and the 
 little Reeves and their school-fellows stood whis- 
 pering to one another that Mr. Hope looked rarely 
 bad still. Mrs. Plumstead dropped a low curtsey, 
 as she stood taking in the letter -bag, at her distant 
 door. Mrs. Grey observed to Hester on the re- 
 spect which was paid to Mr. Hope all through the 
 place, as if Hester was not feeling it in her heart 
 of hearts at the moment. 
 
 Mrs. Grey flattered herself that Mr. Hope was 
 thinking of Hester when he said his friends did
 
 DEERBROOK. 21 3 
 
 not look well. She had been growing thinner and 
 paler for the last month, and no doubt remained 
 in Mrs. Grey's mind about the cause. Hester had 
 commanded herself to her sister's admiration ; but 
 she could not command her health ; and that was 
 giving way under perpetual feelings of anxiety and 
 humiliation. Mrs. Grey thought all this had gone 
 quite far enough. She was more fond and proud 
 of Hester every day, and more impatient that she 
 should be happy, the more she watched her. She 
 spoke to Margaret about her. Margaret was pre- 
 pared for this, having foreseen its probability ; and 
 her answers, while perfectly true and sincere, were 
 so guarded, that Mrs. Grey drew from them the 
 comfortable inference that she alone penetrated 
 the matter, and understood Hester's state of mind. 
 She came to the resolution at last of making the 
 young people happy a little sooner than they could 
 have managed the affiiir for themselves. She 
 would help them to an understanding, but it should 
 be with all possible delicacy and regard to their 
 feelings. Not even Mr. Grey should know what 
 she was about. 
 
 Opportunities were not wanting. When are 
 opportunities wanting to match-makers ? If such 
 do not find means of carrying their points, they 
 can construct them. Few match-makers go to 
 work so innocently and securely as Mrs. Grey ;
 
 214 DEERBROOIC. 
 
 for few can be so certain of the inclinations of the 
 parties as she beUeved herself. Her own admira- 
 tion of Hester was so exclusive, and the supe- 
 riority of Hester's beauty so unquestionable, that 
 it never occurred to her that the attraction which 
 drew Mr. Hope to the house could be any other 
 than this. About the state of Hester's affections 
 she felt justly confident ; and so, in her view, 
 nothing remained to be done but to save her from 
 further pining by bringing about an explanation. 
 She was frequently with Mr. Hope at his lodgings, 
 during his recovery, seeing that he took his after- 
 noon rest, and beguiling a part of his evenings ; in 
 short, watching over him as over a son, and de- 
 claring to Hester that he was no less dear to 
 her. 
 
 One evening, when she was spending an hour in 
 Mr. Hope's parlour, where Mr. Grey had deposited 
 her till nine o'clock, when he was to call for her, 
 she made the same affectionate declaration to Mr. 
 Hope himself, — that he was as dear to her as if he 
 had been her own son ; " and," she continued, " I 
 shall speak to you with the same freedom as I 
 should use with Sydney, and may, perhaps, ten 
 years hence." 
 
 " Pray do," said Mr. Hope. " I shall be glad 
 to hear anything you have to say. Are you going 
 to find ault with me I "
 
 DEERBROOK. 215 
 
 " O dear, no ! What fault should I have to 
 find with you ? unless, indeed, it be a fault or a 
 folly to leave your own happiness and that of 
 another person in needless uncertainty."''' 
 
 Mr. Hope changed colour, quite to the extent 
 of her wishes. 
 
 " I know," continued she, " that your illness has 
 put a stop to everything ; and that it has left you 
 little nerve for any explanation of the kind : but 
 you are growing stronger every day now, and the 
 case is becoming so serious on the other side that 
 I own I dread the consequences of much further 
 delay. You see I speak openly." 
 
 She had every encouragement to do so, for Mr. 
 Hope's countenance was flushed with what ap- 
 peared to her to be delight. " You observed, 
 yourself, you know, that Hester did not look well; 
 and indeed the few weeks after your accident were 
 so trying to her, — the exertions she made to con- 
 ceal her feelings were so ... . But I must 
 spare her delicacy. I trust you are quite assured 
 that she has not the most remote idea of my speak- 
 ing to you thus. Indeed no human being is in the 
 least aware of it." 
 
 " Hester ! Miss Ibbotson ! Pray, Mrs. Grey, do 
 not say another word. Let us talk of something else." 
 
 " Presently ; when I have finished. You must
 
 216 DEERBROOK. 
 
 have seen that I love this dear girl as a daughter ; 
 and there is not a thought of her heart that she 
 can conceal from me, though her delicacy is so 
 great that T am confident she thinks me unaware 
 of her state of mind at this moment. But I saw 
 how the affair was going from the very beginning ; 
 and the failure of her health and looks since your 
 accident, have left me no doubt whatever, and 
 have made me feel it my duty to give you the 
 encouragement your modesty requires, and to 
 confide to you how wholly her happiness lies in 
 your hands/** 
 
 '' Hester ! Miss Ibbotson ! I assure you, Mrs. 
 Grey, you must be completely mistaken." 
 
 " I beg your pardon : I am not so easily mis- 
 taken as some people. There is Mrs. Rowland, 
 now ! I am sure she fancies that her brother is in 
 love with Hester, when it is plain to everybody but 
 herself that he and my other young cousin are 
 coming to a conclusion as fast as need be. How- 
 ever, I know you do not like to hear me find fault 
 with Mrs. Rowland ; and, besides, I have no right 
 to tell Margaret's secrets ; so we will say no more 
 about that." 
 
 Mr. Hope sighed heavily. These remarks upon 
 Enderby and Margaret accorded but too well with 
 his own observations. He could not let Mrs. Grey
 
 DEERBROOK. 217 
 
 proceed without opposition; but all he was capable 
 of was to repeat that she was entirely mistaken. 
 
 " Yes, that is what men like you always say, — 
 in all sincerity, of course. Your modesty always 
 stands in the way of your happiness for a while : 
 but you are no losers by it. The happiness is all 
 the sweeter when it comes at last." 
 
 " But that is not what I mean. You have made 
 it difficult for me to explain myself. I hardly 
 know how to say it; but it must be said. — You 
 have mistaken my intentions, — mistaken them 
 altogether." 
 
 It was now Mrs. Grey's turn to change colour. 
 She asked, in a trembling voice, 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Mr. Hope, that you have 
 not been paying attentions to Hester Ibbotson ?" 
 
 " I do say so ; that I have paid no attentions 
 of the nature you suppose. You compel me to 
 speak plainly." 
 
 " Then I must speak plainly too, Mr. Hope. If 
 any one had told me you would play the part you 
 have played, I should have resented the imputation 
 as I resent your conduct now. If you have not 
 intended to win Hester's affections, you have be- 
 haved infamously. You have won her attachment 
 by attentions wliich have never varied, from the very 
 first evening that she entered our house, till this 
 afternoon. You have amused yourself with her,
 
 218 DEERBROOK. 
 
 it seems; and now you are going to break her 
 
 heart." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Mrs. Grey ! I cannot hear this." 
 '^ There is not a soul in the place that does not 
 
 think as I do. There is not a soul that will not 
 
 " Let us put aside what people may say. If, by 
 any imprudence of my own, I have brought blame 
 upon myself, I must bear it. The important point 
 
 is surely, Mrs. Grey, it is possible that you 
 
 may be in error about Miss Ibbotson's Miss 
 
 Ibbotson's state of mind." 
 
 " No, Mr. Hope, it is not possible." And being 
 in for it, as she said, Mrs. Grey gave such a detail 
 of her observations, and of unquestionable facts, as 
 left the truth indeed in little doubt. 
 
 " And Margaret,'' said Mr. Hope, in a troubled 
 voice : "do you know anything of her views of my 
 conduct V 
 
 " Margaret is not so easily seen through as 
 Hester,'' said Mrs. Grey : an assertion from which 
 Mr. Hope silently dissented ; Margaret appearing 
 to him the most simple-minded person he had ever 
 known ; lucid in her sincerity, transparent in her 
 unconsciousness. He was aware that Mrs. Grey had 
 been so occupied with Hester as not to have been 
 open to impression from Margaret. 
 
 "Margaret is not so easily seen through as
 
 DEERBROOK. 219 
 
 Hester, you know; and she and I have never 
 talked over your conduct confidentially : but if 
 Margaret does not perceive the alteration in her 
 sister, and the cause of it, it can only be because 
 she is occupied with her own concerns." 
 
 ' That is not like Margaret,' thought Mr. 
 Hope. 
 
 '* However, she does see it, I am sure ; for she 
 has proposed their return to Birmingham, — their 
 immediate return, though their affairs are far from 
 being settled yet, and they do not know what they 
 will have to live upon. They promised to stay till 
 October, too ; and we are only half through August 
 yet. Margaret can hardly have any wish to leave 
 us on her own account, considering whom she must 
 leave behind. It is for Hester's sake, I am 
 confident. There is no doubt of the fact, Mr. 
 Hope. Your honour is involved. I repeat, you 
 have won this dear girl's affections ; and now you 
 must act as a man of conscience, which I have 
 always supposed you to be." 
 
 Mr. Hope was tempted to ask for further con- 
 firmation, from the opinions of the people who were 
 about Hester ; but be would not investigate the 
 degree of exposure which might have taken place. 
 Even if no one agreed with Mrs. Grey, this would 
 be no proof that her conviction was a wrong 
 one ; it might happen through Hester s successful 
 l2
 
 220 DEERHROOK. 
 
 concealment of what she must be striving to 
 suppress. 
 
 ^Irs. Grey urged him about his honour and 
 conscience more closely than he could bear. He 
 faintly begged her to leave him. He obtained from 
 her a promise that she would inform no person of 
 what had been said ; and she again assured him 
 that neither Hester, nor any one else, had the 
 remotest idea of her speaking as she had done this 
 evening. On his part, Mr. Hope declared that he 
 should reflect on what had passed, and act with the 
 strictest regard to duty. As, in Mrs. Grey's eyes, 
 his duty was perfectly clear, this declaration was 
 completely satisfactory. She saw the young peo- 
 ple, with her mind's eye, settled in the corner 
 house which belonged to Mr. Rowland, and was 
 delighted that she had spoken. As soon as she 
 was gone, Mr. Hope would discover, she had little 
 doubt, that he had loved Hester all this time with- 
 out having been conscious what the attraction had 
 really been ; and in a little while he would be 
 thankful to her for having smoothed his way for 
 him. With these thoughts in her mind, she bade 
 him good-night, just as Mr. Grey drove up to the 
 door. She whispered once more, that he was as 
 dear to her as a son, and that this was the reason 
 of her having spoken so plainly. 
 
 " How are you, this evening, Hope T said Mr.
 
 DEERBROOK. 221 
 
 Grey, from the door-way. " On the sofa, eh ? 
 don't rise for me, then. Rather done up, eh I Ah ! 
 I was afraid you were for getting on too fast. Bad 
 economy in the end. You will be glad to be rid of 
 us ; so I shall not come in. Take care of yourself, I 
 beg of you. Good-night." 
 
 In what a state of mind was Hope left ! His 
 plain-speaking, motherly friend little guessed what 
 a storm she had raised in a spirit usually as calm 
 as a summer s morning. There was nothing to 
 him so abhorrent as giving pain; nothing so 
 intolerable in idea as injuring any human being : 
 and he was now compelled to believe that 
 through some conduct of his own, some im- 
 prudence, in a case where imprudence is guilt, 
 he had broken up the peace of a woman 
 whom, though he did not love, he respected 
 and warmly regarded ! His mi1id was in too 
 tumultuous a state for him to attempt to settle 
 with himself the degree of his culpability. He 
 only knew that he was abased in his own sense of 
 deep injury towards a fellow-creature. In the 
 same breath came the destruction of his hopes, — 
 hopes, of which, till the moment, he had been 
 scarcely conscious, — with regard to the one on 
 whom his thoughts had been really fixed. He had 
 pledged himself to act strictly according to his 
 sense of duty. His consolation, his refuge in
 
 222 DEERBROOK. 
 
 every former trial of life, since the days of child- 
 hood, had been in resolving to abide faithfully by 
 the decisions of duty. In this he had found 
 freedom ; in this he had met strength and repose, 
 so that no evil had been intolerable to him. 
 But what was his duty now ? Amidst the contra- 
 dictions of honour and conscience in the present 
 case, where should he find his accustomed refuge ? 
 At one moment he saw clearly the obligation to 
 devote himself to her whose affections he had 
 gained, — thoughtlessly and carelessly, it is true, 
 but to other eyes purposely. At the next moment, 
 the. sin of marrying without love, — if not while 
 loving another, — rose vividly before him, and 
 made him shrink from what, an instant before, 
 seemed clear duty. The only hope was in the 
 possibility of mistake which might yet remain. 
 The whole couM not be mistake, about Hester, 
 and Enderby, and Margaret, and all Mrs. Grey's 
 convictions. Some of all this must be true. The 
 probability was that it was all true : and if so, — 
 he could almost repine that he had not died when 
 his death was expected. Then he should not 
 have known of all this injury and woe ; then he 
 should not have had to witness Margaret's love for 
 another : then Hester s quiet grief would have 
 melted away with time, unembittered by reproach 
 of him. No one had, till this hour, loved and
 
 DEERBROOK. 223 
 
 relished life more than he ; yet now this gladsome 
 being caught himself mourning that he had sur- 
 vived his accident. He roused himself from this ; 
 but all was fearful and confused before him. He 
 could see nothing as it was, and as it ought to be : 
 he could decide upon nothing. He must take 
 time : he must be deliberate upon this, the most 
 important transaction of his life. 
 
 Thus he determined, as the last remains of twi- 
 light faded away in his apartment, and the night 
 air blew in chill from the open window. He 
 was so exhausted by his mental conflict as to be 
 scarcely able to rise to close the window, and 
 retire to rest. There was one hope, familiar as 
 the sunshine to his eyes, but unusually feeble, still 
 abiding in his mind for comfort, — that he should, 
 sooner or later, clearly discern what it was his 
 duty to do. All was at present dark; but this 
 light might flow in. He would wait : he would 
 not act till it did. 
 
 He did wait. For many days he was not seen 
 in any of the haunts to which he had begun to 
 return. The answer to inquiries was that Mr. 
 Hope was not so well, and wished for entire quiet. 
 Every one was anxious. Hester was wretched^ 
 and Mrs. Grey extremely restless and uneasy. 
 She made several attempts to see him ; but in no 
 instance did she succeed. She wrote him a private
 
 224 DEERBROOK. 
 
 note, and received only a friendly verbal answer, 
 such as all the world might hear. 
 
 Mr. Hope did wait for his duty to grow clear 
 in the accumulating light of thought. He decided 
 at length how to act ; and he decided wrong ; — 
 not for want of waiting long enough, but because 
 come considerations intruded themselves which 
 warped his judgment, and sophisticated his feel- 
 ings. He decided upon making the great mistake 
 of his life. 
 
 Nothing had ever been clearer to his mind than 
 the guilt of marrying without love. No man could 
 have spoken more strongly, more solemnly than 
 he, on the presumption, the dishonourableness, the 
 profligacy, of such an act : but he was unaware 
 how a man may be betrayed into it while he has 
 neither presumption, nor treachery, nor profligacy, 
 in his thoughts. Hope went through a world of 
 meditation during the days of his close retirement; 
 some of his thoughts were superficial, and some 
 deceived him. He considered Margaret lost to 
 him : he glanced forwards to his desolation when 
 he should lose the society of both sisters — an event 
 likely to happen almost immediately, unless he 
 should so act as to retain them. He dwelt upon 
 Hester's beauty, her superiority of mind to every 
 w^oman but one whom he had known, her attach- 
 ment to himself, her dependence upon him. He
 
 DEERBROOK. 225 
 
 pondered these things till the tone of his mind 
 was lowered, and too many superficial feelings 
 mingled with the sacredness of the transaction, 
 and impaired its integrity. Under their influence 
 he decided what to do. 
 
 He had no intention, all this while, of taking 
 Mrs. Grey's word for the whole matter, without 
 test or confirmation. From the beginning, he was 
 aware that his first step must be to ascertain that 
 she was not mistaken. And this was his first step. 
 
 There were two obvious methods of proceeding. 
 One was to consult Mr. Grey, who stood in the 
 place of guardian to these girls, as to the proba- 
 bility of his success with Hester, in case of his 
 proposing himself to her. The other was to ask 
 the same question of Margaret. The advantage 
 of speaking to Mr. Grey was, that he might not be 
 bound to proceed, in case of Mr. Grey differing 
 from his lady's view of the case ; but then, Mr. 
 Grey was perhaps unaware of the real state of 
 Hester's mind. From Margaret there was cer- 
 tainty of hearing nothing but the truth, however 
 little of it her feelings for her sister might allow 
 her to reveal ; but such a conversation with her 
 would compel him to proceed : all retreat would 
 be cut off after it ; and he naturally shrank from 
 conversing with Margaret, of all people, on this 
 subject. But Hope was equal to any effort which 
 l3
 
 226 DEEKBROOK. 
 
 he thought a matter of duty ; and he resolved not 
 to flinch from this. He would speak first to Mr. 
 Grey; and if Mr. Grey did not undertake ta 
 answer for Hester's indifference, he w^ould seek an 
 interview with Margaret. If Margaret should 
 encourage his advances on her sister's behalf, the 
 matter was decided. He should have a wife who 
 might be the pride of any man, — whom it would 
 be an honour to any man to have attached. If, 
 as was still just possible, Margaret should believe 
 that her sister felt no peculiar regard for him, he 
 thought he might intimate so much of the truth 
 as, without offending her feelings on her sister's 
 account, would secure for him freedom to re-con- 
 sider his purposes. No man disliked more than he 
 so circuitous a method of acting in the most im- 
 portant affair of . life. He had always believed 
 that, in the case of a genuine and virtuous attach- 
 ment, there can or ought to be nothing but the 
 most entire simplicity of conduct in the parties, — 
 no appeal to any but each other, — no seeking of 
 an intervention, where no stranger ought to inter- 
 meddle with the joy : but the present affair^ 
 though perpetually brightening before Hope's 
 fancy, could not for a moment be thought of as of 
 this kind : and here the circuitous method, which 
 had always appeared disgusting to his imagination, 
 was a matter of necessity to his conscience.
 
 DEERBROOK. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A TURN IN THE SHRUBBERY. 
 
 Mr. Grey looked extremely pleased when asked 
 whether he supposed Hester might be won. His 
 reply was simple enough. He was not in his young 
 cousin's confidence : he could not undertake to 
 answer for the state of mind of young ladies ; but 
 he knew of no other attachment, — of nothing 
 which need discourage his friend Hope, who would 
 have his hearty good wishes if he should persevere 
 in his project. Yes, yes ; he fully understood : it 
 was not to be spoken of, — it was to rest entirely 
 between themselves till Hope should have felt 
 his way a little. He knew it was the fashion in 
 these days to feel the way a little more than was 
 thought necessary or desirable in his time : but 
 he liked that all should follow their own method 
 in an affair which concerned themselves so much 
 more than any one else : so the matter should be 
 a perfect secret, as Mr. Hope desired ; though 
 he did not fancy it would have to be kept 
 so close for any great length of time.
 
 228 DEERBROOK. 
 
 This was over. Now for the interview with 
 Margaret, which had become necessary. 
 
 His re-appearance in the family party at Mr. 
 Grey's, under the inquisitive eyes of Mrs. Grey 
 herself, must be an awkward business at the 
 best, while he remained in uncertainty. The 
 only way was to put an end to the uncertainty 
 as soon as possible. He would go this very after- 
 noon, and ascertain his fate before the day was 
 over. He went boldly up to the door and rang. 
 " The family were all out in the garden after 
 dinner," Alice said : " would Mr. Hope join them 
 there, or would he rest himself while she told them 
 he had arrived V Alice's anxiety about his looks 
 was not yet satisfied. 
 
 " I will step in here,"" said he, the door of the 
 blue parlour being open. " Send Morris to me," 
 Morris at that moment crossing the hall. " Morris, 
 I want to see Miss Margaret. Will you just tell 
 her that some one wishes to speak with her 1 I 
 know she will excuse my asking the favour of her 
 to come in." 
 
 " Miss Margaret, sir T' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I am sure, sir, you look more fit to sit here 
 than to be gathering apples with them all in the 
 orchard. Did you say Miss Margaret, sir?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Whatever else may be in Morris's mind,'
 
 DEERBROOK. 229 
 
 thought Hope, ' it is clear that she is surprised at 
 my wanting to see Margaret. — Here she comes/ 
 
 He was not sorry that the step paused in the 
 hall, — that there was a delay of some seconds 
 before Margaret appeared. He felt as weak at 
 the moment as on first rising from his bed after 
 his accident ; but he rallied his resolution before 
 he met her eye, — now timid and shrinking as he 
 had never seen it before. Margaret was very 
 grave, and as nearly awkward as it was possible 
 for her to be. She shook hands with him, how- 
 ever, and hoped that he was better again. 
 
 " I am better, thank you. Will you sit down, 
 and let me speak to you for a few minutes V 
 
 It was impossible to refuse. Margaret sank 
 down, while he shut the door. 
 
 " I hear," said he, " that you are already think- 
 ing of returning to Birmingham. Is this true f 
 
 " Yes : we shall go home in a few days." 
 
 " Then, before you leave us, will you allow me to 
 ask your advice . . . .1" 
 
 At the word ' advice ' a glow of pleasure passed 
 over Margaret's face, and she could not quite sup- 
 press a sigh of relief. She now looked up, freely 
 and fearlessly. All this was good for Mr. Hope : 
 but it went to his heart, and for a moment checked 
 his speech. He soon proceeded, however. 
 
 " I want your advice as a friend, and also some
 
 230 DEERBROOK. 
 
 information which you alone can give me. What 
 
 I have to say relates to your sister." 
 
 Margaret's ecstacy of hope was scarcely control- 
 lable. For her sister's sake she hung her head 
 upon her bosom, the better to conceal her joy. It 
 was a bitter moment for him who could not but 
 note and rightly interpret the change in her coun- 
 tenance and manner. 
 
 " I wish to know, if you have no objection to tell 
 me, whether your sister is disengaged." 
 
 '' I have no objection to say," declared Marga- 
 ret, looking up cheerfully, " that my sister is not 
 engaged." 
 
 " That is the information I wished for. Now 
 for the opinion which I venture to ask of you, as 
 of the one to whom your sister's mind is best 
 known. Do you believe that, if I attempt it, I 
 am likely to win her ? " 
 
 Margaret was silent. It was diiSicult to answer 
 the question with perfect truth, and with due con- 
 sideration to her sister. 
 
 " I see," said Hope, " that you do not approve 
 my question : nor do I myself. Rather tell me 
 whether you suppose that she prefers any one to 
 me, — that she had rather I should not seek her, — 
 whether, in short, you would advise me to with- 
 draw." 
 
 " By no means," said Margaret. " I cannot
 
 DEERBROOK. 231 
 
 say anything tending to deter you. I know of 
 nothing which need discourage you ; and I assure 
 you, you have my best wishes that you may succeed." 
 
 She looked at him with the bright expression of 
 sincerity and regard which had touched his heart 
 oftener and more deeply than all Hester's beauty. 
 He could not have offered to shake hands at the mo- 
 ment ; but she held out hers, and he could not but 
 take it. The door burst open at the same instant, 
 and ^Ir. Enderby entered. Both let drop the 
 hand they held, and looked extremely awkward 
 and grave. A single glance was enough to send 
 Mr. Enderby away, without having spoken his 
 errand, which was to summon Margaret to the 
 orchard, for the final shake of the apple-tree. 
 When he was gone, each saw that the face of the 
 other was crimson : but while Hope had a look of 
 distress which Margaret wondered at, remembering 
 how soon Mr. Enderby would understand the nature 
 of the interview, she was struggling to restrain a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Thank you for your truth," said Mr. Hope. 
 " I knew I might depend upon it from you." 
 
 " I have told you all I can," said Margaret, 
 rising ; " and it will be best to say no more at pre- 
 sent. It is due to my sister to close our conversa- 
 tion here. If she should choose," continued she, 
 gaily, " to give us leave to renew it hereafter, I
 
 232 DEERRBOOK. 
 
 shall have a great deal to say to you on my own 
 part. You have done me the honour of calling 
 me ' friend.' You have my friendship, I assure 
 you, and my good wishes." 
 
 Hope grasped her hand with a fervour which 
 absolved him from the use of words. He then 
 opened the door for her. 
 
 " I must return to the orchard/' said she. 
 " Will you go ? or will you repose yourself here 
 till we come in to tea?" 
 
 Mr. Hope preferred remaining where he was. 
 The die was cast, and he must think. His hour 
 of meditation was salutary. He had never seen 
 
 ^largaret so he dared not dwell upon it : 
 
 but then, never had her simplicity of feeling to- 
 wards him, her ingenuous friendship, unmixed with 
 a thought of love, been so clear. He had made 
 no impression upon her, except through her sister, 
 and for her sister. He recalled the stiffness and 
 fear with which she had come when summoned to a 
 tete-d-tete ; her sudden relief on the mention of her 
 sister ; and her joyous encouragement of his project. 
 
 " I ought to rejoice — I do rejoice at this," thought 
 he. " It seems as if every one else would be made 
 happy by this affair. It must have been my own 
 doing ; there must have been that in my manner and 
 conduct which authorized all this expectation and 
 satisfaction, — an expectation and satisfaction which
 
 DEERBROOK. 233 
 
 prove to be no fancy of Mrs. Grey''s. I have 
 brought upon myself the charge of Hester's hap- 
 piness. She is a noble woman, bound to me by 
 all that can engage my honour, my generosity, my 
 affection. She shall be happy from this day, if 
 my most entire devotion can make her so. Mar- 
 garet loves Enderby : I am glad I know it. I 
 made him dreadfully jealous just now; I must 
 relieve him as soon as possible. I do not know 
 how far matters may have gone between them ; 
 but ^Margaret is not at liberty to explain what he 
 saw till I have spoken to Hester. There must be 
 no delay : I will do it this evening. I cannot 
 bring myself to communicate with Mrs. Grey. If 
 Mr. Grey is at home, he will make the* opportunity 
 for me." 
 
 ^Ir. Grey was at home, and on the alert to take 
 a hint. " I guessed how it was," said he. " Mar- 
 garet has been trying to keep down her spirits, 
 but not a child among them all flew about the 
 orchard as she did, when Mr. Enderby had been 
 to look for her, and she followed him back. I 
 thought at first it was something on her own 
 account ; but Enderby looked too dull and sulky 
 for that. I have no doubt he is jealous of you. 
 He found you together, did he ? Well, he will 
 soon know why, I trust. O, you have a hearty 
 well-wisher in Margaret, I am sure ! — Now, you
 
 234 DEERBROOK. 
 
 see they are getting Sophia to the piano ; and I 
 think I can find for you the opportunity you want, 
 if you really wish to bring the business to a con- 
 clusion this evening. I will call Hester out to 
 take a turn with me in the shrubbery, as she and 
 I often do, these fine evenings ; and then, if you 
 choose, you can meet us there." 
 
 Hester was not at all sorry to be invited by 
 Mr. Grey to the turn in the shrubbery, which was 
 one of the best of her quiet pleasures, — a solace 
 which she enjoyed the more, the more she became 
 attached to kind Mr. Grey : and she did much 
 respect and love him. This evening she was glad 
 of any summons from the room. Margaret had 
 fully intended not to speak to her of what had 
 passed, thinking it best for her sister's dignity, 
 and for Mr. Hope's satisfaction, that he should 
 not be anticipated. All this was very wise and 
 undeniable while she was walking back to the 
 orchard : but it so happened that Hester's hand 
 hung by her side, as she stood looking up at 
 the apple-tree, unaware that Margaret had left 
 the party. Margaret could not resist seizing the 
 hand, and pressing it with so much silent emotion, 
 such a glance of joy, as threw Hester into a state of 
 wonder and expectation. Not a syllable could she 
 extort from Margaret, either on the spot or after- 
 wards, when summoned to tea. Whether it was
 
 DEERBROOK. 2S5 
 
 on account of Mr. Hope's return to the house, she 
 could not satisfy herself. She had sat, conscious 
 and inwardly distressed, at the tea-table, where 
 nothing remarkable had occurred ; and was glad to 
 escape from the circle where all that was said 
 appeared to her excited spirit to be tiresome, or 
 trifling, or vexatious. 
 
 How different was it all when she returned to 
 the house ! How she loved the whole world, and 
 no one in it was dull, and nothing was trifling, and 
 it was out of the power of circumstances to vex her ! 
 Life had become heaven : its doubts, its cares, its 
 troubles, were gone, and all had given place to a 
 soul-penetrating joy. She should grow perfect now, 
 for she had one whom she believed perfect to lead 
 her on. Her pride, her jealousy, W'Ould trouble her 
 no more : it was for w ant of sympathy — perfect 
 sympathy always at hand — that she had been a prey 
 to them. She should pine no more, for there was 
 one who was her own. A calm, nameless, all-per- 
 vading bliss had wrapped itself round her spirit, 
 and brought her as near to her Maker as if she 
 had been his favoured child. There needs no other 
 proof that happiness is the most wholesome moral 
 atmosphere, and that in which the immortality of 
 man is destined ultimately to thrive, than the ele- 
 vation of soul, the religious aspiration, which attends 
 the first assurance, the first sober certainty, of true
 
 236 DEERBROOK. 
 
 love. There is much of this reHgious aspiration 
 amidst all warmth of virtuous affections. There is 
 a vivid love of God in the child that lays its cheek 
 against the cheek of its mother, and clasps its arms 
 about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps uncon- 
 sciously) for the brightness of his earth, on sum- 
 mer evenings, when a brother and sister, who have 
 long been parted, pour out their heart-stores to 
 each other, and feel their course of thought bright- 
 ening as it runs. When the aged parent hears of 
 the honours his children have won, or looks round 
 upon their innocent faces as the glory of his decline, 
 his mind reverts to Him who in them prescribed the 
 purpose of his life, and bestowed its grace. But, 
 religious as is the mood of every good affection, none 
 is so devotional as that of love, especially so called. 
 The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of 
 faith, of holy purity, of heroism, of charity. At 
 such a moment the human creature shoots up into 
 the angel : there is nothing on earth too defiled for 
 its charity — nothing in hell too appalling for its 
 heroism — nothing in heaven too glorious for its 
 sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified by 
 that most mysterious power, union with another 
 spirit, it feels itself set well forth on the way of 
 victory over evil, sent out conquering and to con- 
 quer. There is no other such crisis in human life. 
 The philosopher may experience uncontrollable
 
 DEERBROOK. 237 
 
 agitation in verifying his principle of balancing 
 systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he actually 
 saw the creative hand in the act of sending the 
 planets forth on their everlasting way ; but this 
 philosopher, solitary seraph as he may be regarded 
 amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment 
 no emotions so divine as those of the spirit becom- 
 ing conscious that it is beloved — be it the peasant 
 girl in the meadow, or the daughter of the sage, 
 reposing in her father's confidence, or the artisan 
 beside his loom, or the man of letters musing by 
 his fire-side. The warrior, about to strike the 
 decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however 
 impressed with the solemnity of the hour, is not in 
 a state of such lofty resolution as those who, by 
 joining hearts, are laying their joint hands on the 
 whole wide realm of futurity for their own. The 
 statesman who, in the moment of success, feels that 
 an entire class of social sins and woes is annihilated 
 by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so inti- 
 mate a thankfulness as they who are aware that 
 their redemption is come in the presence of a new 
 and sovereign affection. And these are many — 
 they are in all comers of every land. The states- 
 man is the leader of a nation — the warrior is the 
 grace of an age — the philosopher is the birth of a 
 thousand years ; but the lover — where is he not ? 
 Wherever parents look round upon their children,
 
 238 DEERBROOK. 
 
 there he has been — wherever children are at play 
 together, there he will soon be — wherever there 
 are roofs under which men dwell, wherever there 
 is an atmosphere vibrating with human voices, 
 there is the lover, and. there is his lofty worship 
 going on, unspeakable, but revealed in the bright- 
 ness of the eye, the majesty of the presence, and 
 the high temper of the discourse. Men have been 
 ungrateful and perverse ; they have done what 
 they could to counteract, to debase, this most 
 heavenly influence of their life ; but the laws of 
 their Maker are too strong, the benignity of their 
 Father is too patient and fervent, for their oppo- 
 sition to withstand : and true love continues, and 
 will continue, to send up its homage amidst the 
 meditations of every eventide, and the busy hum 
 of noon, and the song of the morning stars. 
 
 Hester, when she re-entered the house, was full 
 of the commonest feeling of all in happy lovers, — 
 wonder that such intense happiness should be per- 
 mitted to her. Margaret was lingering about the 
 stair-head in the dusk, and met her sister at the 
 door of their own apartment. 
 
 " May I come in V said she. 
 
 " May you come in I O Margaret ! I want 
 you." 
 
 " All is right : all is well ; is it, Hester ? And 
 I was quite wrong throughout. I grieve now that
 
 DEERBROOK. 239 
 
 I helped to nicake you miserable : but, indeed, I was 
 miserable myself. I saw no hope ; I was com 
 pletely mistaken." 
 
 " We were both mistaken," said Hester, resting 
 her head on Margaret's shoulder. " Mistaken in 
 judgment,— blinded by anxiety. But all that is 
 over now. Margaret, what have I done that I 
 should be so happy I" 
 
 '* You have loved one who deserves such a love 
 as yours," said Margaret, smiling. " That is what 
 you have done : and you will have the blessings of 
 all who know you both. You have mine, dearest." 
 
 " What an ungrateful wretch shall I be, if I do 
 not make every one happy that is within my reach I" 
 cried Hester. " Margaret, I will never grieve his 
 heart as 1 have grieved yours. I will never grieve 
 yours again." 
 
 " But how is it V asked Margaret. " You have 
 not told me yet. Is it all settled ?" 
 
 A silent embrace told that it was. 
 
 " I may shake hands with you upon it, then. — O 
 Hester, after all our longings for a brother, you 
 are going to give me one ! We are not alone in 
 the world. My father, — our mother, — where are 
 they I Do they know ? Have they foreseen while 
 we have been suffering so ? Do they now foresee 
 for us V 
 
 "■ There was not one word of his," said Hester,
 
 240 DEERBROOK. 
 
 *' that I should not have gloried in their hearing. 
 So gentle, Margaret ! so noble ! so calm I"" 
 
 " And you V said Margaret, softly. " Did you 
 speak — speak openly T' 
 
 " Yes : it was no time for pride. With him I 
 have no pride. I could not have believed how I 
 should tell him all : but he was so noble, — spoke 
 so gloriously, — that it would have been an insult to 
 use any disguise. He knows all that you know, 
 Margaret, and I am not ashamed." 
 
 " I honour you," said Margaret. " Thank God, 
 all is right ! But where is Mr. Hope all this 
 time r 
 
 " He went away when I came in. You will see 
 him in the morning."''' 
 
 " Can you go down this evening ? If you think 
 you can " 
 
 " Go down ! Yes : — this moment. I feel as if 
 I could face the whole world." 
 
 " Let me ask one thing. May I tell Maria in 
 the morning ? She will be so pleased ! and no one 
 but you understands my feelings so well. Every- 
 body will rejoice with me ; but I can say anything 
 to her. May I tell her all in the morning ?" 
 
 " Dear Maria ! O yes : tell her from me, with 
 my love. I know I shall have her blessing. Now 
 let us go down." 
 
 " But we must just settle how matters are to
 
 DEERBROOK. 241 
 
 proceed," said Margaret. " Are the family to 
 knowor not ?" 
 
 " O, let all that take its chance !" said Hester. 
 " I am sure I do not care. Let it be as it hap- 
 pens, for to-night at least." 
 
 " For to-night at least,"' agreed Margaret. 
 
 All was going on as usual below-stairs. The 
 working of collars and of rugs was proceeding, as 
 the family sat round the lamp. On the appearance 
 of Hester and Margaret, the book, with the So- 
 ciety's cover on it, was produced ; and it was 
 requested that some one would read aloud, as it 
 was necessary that forty pages a-day should be 
 gone through, to get the volume done by the time 
 it must be sent to Mrs. Enderby. Sophia asked 
 whether some one else would be so good as to read 
 this evening, as she thought she could finish her 
 collar by keeping steadily to it till bed-time. 
 
 Margaret took the book, and was surprised to 
 find how easy a process it is to read aloud passably 
 without taking in a word of the sense. Fortunately 
 the Greys were not much given to make remarks 
 on what they read. To have gone through the 
 books that came from the Society was enough ; and 
 they could not have accomplished the forty pages 
 an evening if they had stopped to talk. The only 
 words spoken during the lecture, therefore, were 
 occasional remarks that the reader seemed hoarse, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 DEERBROOK. 
 
 and that some one else had better take the book ; 
 and whispered requests across the table for scissors, 
 thread, or the adjustment of the light. Such 
 being the method of literary exercise in the family, 
 Hester and Margaret were able to think of any- 
 thing they pleased with impunity. 
 
 " There ! here comes papa ! " said Sophia ; 
 " and I do not believe we have read nearly forty 
 pages. Where did you begin, Margaret ?" 
 
 Margaret resigned the volume to her to have 
 the place found, and was told that she should not 
 have shifted the marker till the evening reading 
 was done, unless she at once set it forward forty 
 pages : it made it so difficult to find the place. 
 Sophia was detained only five minutes from her 
 collar, however, before she discovered that they 
 had read only eight-and-twenty pages. Mrs. Grey 
 observed that Mr. Grey was coming in rather 
 earlier than usual to-night ; and Sophia added, 
 that her cousins had been a good while in their 
 own room. 
 
 Hester was conscious that Mr. Grey cast a rapid, 
 penetrating glance upon her as he drew his chair, 
 and took his seat at her elbow. 
 
 " What a clever book this is !" said Mrs. 
 Grey. 
 
 " Very entertaining,'" added Sophia. 
 
 " What is your opinion of it 2" asked Mr. Grey 
 of Hester.
 
 DEERBROOK. 243 
 
 She smiled, and said she must read more of it 
 before she could judge. 
 
 " It is such a relief,"" said Mrs. Grey, " to have 
 a book like this in hand after the tiresome things 
 Mr. Rowland orders in ! He consults Mrs. Row- 
 land's notions about books far too much ; and she 
 always takes a fancy to the dullest. One would 
 almost think it was on purpose." 
 
 Sydney liked the sport of knocking on the head 
 charges against the Rowlands. He showed, by a 
 reference to the Society's list, that the book just 
 laid down was ordered by the Rowlands. 
 
 " Dear me ! Sophia," said her mother, " you 
 made quite a mistake. You told us it was ordered 
 in by Mr. Hope. I am sure, I thought so all this 
 time." 
 
 " Well, I dare say we shall not be able to finish 
 it,'' said Sophia. " We have read only eight-and- 
 twenty pages this evening. Papa ! how shockingly 
 Mr. Hope looks still, does not he ? I think he 
 looks worse than when he was here last." 
 
 " And I trust he will look better when we see 
 him next. I have the strongest hopes that he 
 will now gain ground every day." 
 
 " I am sure he seems to have gained very little 
 yet." 
 
 " O yes, he has ; as Itrust you will soon see." 
 Sophia was about to bewail Mr. Hope's sickly
 
 244 DEERBROOK. 
 
 looks again, when her mother trod on her foot 
 under the table ; and, moreover, winked and 
 frowned in a very awful way, so that Sophia felt 
 silenced, she could not conceive for what reason. 
 Not being able to think of anything else to say, 
 to cover her confusion, she discovered that it was 
 bed-time, — at least for people who had been 
 gathering apples. 
 
 Once more Mrs. Grey gazed over her spectacles 
 at her husband, when the young people were 
 gone. 
 
 " My dear," said she, " what makes you think 
 that Mr. Hope is gaining ground every day V 
 
 " My dear, what made you tread on all our toes 
 when I said so V 
 
 " Dear me ! I only gave Sophia a hint, to pre- 
 vent her saying dismal things before people. One 
 does not know what may be passing in their minds, 
 you know." 
 
 " And so you kindly show what is passing in 
 yours. However, these young ladies may soon be 
 able, perhaps, to tell us more about Hope than we 
 can tell them." 
 
 " My dear, what do you mean?" 
 
 " I saw a glance between them, a smile, when 
 you were silencing Sophia. I believe you may 
 prepare yourself for some news, my dear." 
 
 " I have no doubt of Hester's state of mind — "
 
 DEERBROOK. 245 
 
 " And I feel pretty confident of Hope''s ; so 
 here is the case, pretty well made out between 
 us." 
 
 Mrs. Grey was in raptures for a moment ; but 
 she then resumed her system of mysterious tokens. 
 She shook her head, and owned that she had 
 reason to think her husband was mistaken. 
 
 " Well, just observe them, the next time they 
 are together ; that is all." 
 
 " And my poor Hester looks wretchedly, Mr. 
 Grey. It really makes my heart ache to see 
 her." 
 
 " How differently people view things ! I was 
 just thinking that I never saw her so lovely, with 
 such a sprightliness, such a glow in her face, as 
 five minutes ago." 
 
 " Just this evening, she does not look so pale ; 
 but she is sadly altered — grievously changed 
 indeed. Seeing this, is the only thing which recon- 
 ciles me to parting witl> her. Now, Mr. Grey, 
 I should like to know what sets you smiling in that 
 manner at the poor girl." 
 
 " I was smiling to think how, as young ladies 
 have been known to change their minds, it may be 
 possible that we may have the pleasure of seeing 
 Hester pick up her good looks again here, in spite 
 of all that Morris says about her native air. I 
 should not wonder that we may persuade her to 
 stay yet."
 
 246 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Mrs. Grey shook her head decisively. She 
 should have been very glad, a little while since, 
 to hear her husband's opinion that Mr. Hope's 
 views were fixed upon Hester ; but now — • But 
 men were always so positive ; and always the 
 most positive where they knew the least ! A 
 deep sigh from the one party, and a broad smile 
 from the other, closed the conversation.
 
 DEERBROOK. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SOPHIA IN THE VILLAGE. 
 
 Deerbrook was not a place where practical affairs 
 could be long kept secret, even where the best rea- 
 sons for secrecy existed. About Hester's engage- 
 ment, there was no reason whatever for conceal- 
 ment ; and it was accordingly made known to every 
 one in Deerbrook in the course of the next day. — 
 Margaret shut herself up with Maria before break- 
 fast, and enjoyed an hour of hearty sympathy from 
 her, in the first place. As they were both aware that 
 this communication was a little out of order, — Mr. 
 and Mrs. Grey having a clear title to the earliest 
 information, — Maria had to be discreet for nearly 
 three hours, — till she heard the news from another 
 quarter. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Hope called 
 on Mr. Grey at the office, and informed him. Mr. 
 Grey stepped home, and found Margaret enlight- 
 ening his wife. Sophia was next called in, while 
 Morris was closeted with her young ladies. Sophia
 
 248 DEERBROOK. 
 
 burst breathless into the summer-house to tell Miss 
 Young, which she did in whispers so loud as to be 
 overheard by the children. Matilda immediately 
 found she had left her slate-pencil behind her, and 
 ran into the house to give her mama the news, just 
 at the moment that Mr. Grey was relating it to 
 his partner in the office. On returning, Sophia 
 found her mother putting on her bonnet, having 
 remembered that it was quite time she should be 
 stepping across the way to hear how poor Mrs. 
 Enderby was, after the thunder-storm of three days 
 ago. This reminded Sophia that she ought to be 
 inquiring about the worsteds which Mrs. Howell 
 must have got down from London by this time, to 
 finish Mrs. Grey's rug. Mrs. Grey could not 
 trust her eyes to watch shades of worsteds ; and 
 Sophia now set out with great alacrity to oblige 
 her mother by doing it for her. On the way she 
 met Dr. Levitt, about to enter the house of a sick 
 parishioner. Dr. Levitt hoped all at home were 
 well. — All very well indeed, Sophia was obliged to 
 him. Her only fear was that the excitement of 
 present circumstances might be too much for 
 mama. — Mama was so very much attached to 
 cousin Hester, and it would be such a delightful 
 thing to have her settled beside them ! Perhaps 
 Dr. Levitt had not heard that Hester and Mr. 
 Hope were going to be married. — No, indeed he
 
 DEERBROOK. 249 
 
 had not. He wondered his friend Hope had not 
 told him of his good fortune, of which he heartily 
 wished him joy. How long had this happy affair 
 been settled? Not long, he fancied. — Not very 
 long ; and perhaps Mr. Hope did not consider that 
 it was quite made public yet : but Sophia thought 
 that Dr. Levitt ought to know. — Dr. Levitt thanked 
 her, and said he would try and find Hope in the 
 course of the morning, to congratulate him : and 
 he and Mrs. Levitt would give themselves the 
 pleasure of calling on the ladies, very shortly. 
 
 *' Ritson, how is your wife ? "" said Sophia, cross- 
 ing over to speak to a labourer who was on his 
 way up the street. 
 
 " A deal better, Miss. She''s comin' about right 
 nicely.'" 
 
 •' Ah ! that is Mr. Hope's doing. He attends 
 her, of course." 
 
 '• O yes. Miss : he's done her a sight o' good." 
 
 " Ah ! so he always does : but Ritson, if he 
 should not be able to attend to her quite so closely 
 as usual, just now, you will excuse it, when 3'ou 
 hear how it is." 
 
 " Lord, !Miss ! the wonder is that he has come 
 at all, so ill as he has been hisself." 
 
 '' I don't mean that : you will soon see him very 
 well now. He is going to be married, Ritson . . " 
 
 '' What, is he ? Well . . ." 
 M 3
 
 250 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " To my cousin, Miss Ibbotson. He will be more 
 at our house, you know, than anywhere else." 
 And with a wink which was a very good miniature 
 of her mother's, Sophia passed on, leaving Ritson 
 to bless Mr. Hope and the pretty young lady. 
 
 She cast a glance into the butcher's shop as she 
 arrived opposite to it ; and her heart leaped up 
 when she saw Mrs. James, the lawyer's wife, 
 watching the weighing of a loin of veal. 
 
 " You will excuse my interrupting you, Mrs. 
 James," said she, from the threshold of the shop ; 
 " but we are anxious to know whether Mr. James 
 thinks Mrs. Enderby really altered of late. We 
 saw him go in last week, and we heard it was to 
 make an alteration in her will." 
 
 " I often wonder how things get abroad," said 
 Mrs. James. " My husband makes such a par- 
 ticular point of never speaking of such affairs ; and 
 I am sure no one ever hears them from me." 
 
 " I believe Mrs. Enderby told mama that about 
 the will herself." 
 
 " Well, that is as she pleases, of course," said 
 Mrs. James, smiling. " What is the weight with 
 the kidney, Mr. Jones V 
 
 '' We should like so to know," resumed Sophia, 
 " whether Mr. James considers Mrs. Enderby 
 much altered of late." 
 
 " I should think you would be better able to
 
 DEERBROOK. 251 
 
 judge than he, Miss Grey; I believe you see her 
 ten times to his once." 
 
 " That is the very reason : we see her so often 
 that a gradual change would be less likely to 
 strike us." 
 
 " Mr. Hope will give you satisfaction : he must 
 be a better judge than any of us." 
 
 " O, yes ; but we cannot expect him to have 
 eyes for any person but one, at present, you 
 know." 
 
 " O, so he is going to marry Deborah Giles, 
 after all." 
 
 '' Deborah Giles T 
 
 " Yes ; was he not said to be engaged to her, 
 some time ago r 
 
 " Deborah Giles ! the boatman's daughter ! I 
 declare I never heard of such a place as this for 
 gossip ! Why, Deborah Giles can barely read and 
 write; and she is beneath Mr. Hope in every 
 way. I do not believe he ever spoke to her in his 
 Hfe." 
 
 "0, well ; I do not pretend to know. I heaht 
 something about it. — Eleven and threepence. 
 Can you change a sovereign, Mr. Jones? And 
 pray send home the chops immediately." 
 
 " It is my cousin. Miss Ibbotson, that Mr. 
 Hope is engaged to," said Sophia, unable to re- 
 frain from disclosures which she yet saw were not
 
 252 DEERBROOK. 
 
 cared for : — " the beautiful Miss Ibbotson, you 
 know." 
 
 " Indeed : I am sure somebody said it was 
 Deborah Giles. — Then you think, Mr. Jones, we 
 may depend upon you for game, when the season 
 begins f 
 
 Mr. Jones seemed more interested in the news 
 than his customer ; he wished Mr. Hope all good 
 luck with his pretty lady. 
 
 Sophia thought herself fortunate when she saw 
 Mr. Enderby turn out of the toy-shop with his 
 youngest nephew, a round-faced boy, still in petti- 
 coats, perched upon his shoulder. Mr. Enderby 
 bowed, but did not seem to heed her call: he 
 jumped through the turnstile, and proceeded to 
 canter along the church lane, amidst the glee of 
 the child, so rapidly, that Sophia was obliged to 
 give up the hope of being the first to tell him the 
 news. It was very provoking : she should have 
 liked to see how he would look. 
 
 She was sure of a delighted listener in Mrs. 
 Howell, to whom no communication ever came 
 amiss : but there was a condition to Mrs. Howell's 
 listening, — that she should be allowed to tell her 
 own news first. When she found that Sophia 
 wanted to match some worsteds, she and her shop- 
 woman exchanged sympathetic glances — Mrs. 
 Howell sighing with her head on the right side.
 
 DEERBROOK. 253 
 
 and Miss Miskin groaning with her head on the 
 left side. 
 
 " Are you ill, ^Mrs. Howell f asked Sophia. 
 
 " It shook me a little, I confess, ma'am, hearing 
 that you wanted worsteds. We have no relief, 
 ma'am, from ladies wanting worsteds."" 
 
 '' No relief, day or night," added Miss Miskin. 
 
 '' Day or night ! Surely you do not sell worsteds 
 in the night-timer"* said Sophia. 
 
 *' Not sell them, ma'am ; only match them. The 
 matching them is the trial, I assure you. If you 
 could only hear my agent, ma'am, — the things he 
 has to tell about people in my situation, — how they 
 are going mad, all over the country, with inces- 
 santly matching of worsteds, now that that kind 
 of work is all the fashion. And nothing more 
 likely, ma'am, for there is no getting one's natural 
 rest. I am for ever matching of worsteds in my 
 dreams ; and when I wake, I seem to have had no 
 rest : and, as you see, directly after breakfast, ladies 
 come for worsteds." 
 
 " And Miss Anderson's messenger left a whole 
 bundle of skeins, to be matched for her young 
 ladies, as early as eight this morning," declared 
 Miss Miskin : " and so we go on." 
 
 *' It will not be for long, I dare say, Mrs. 
 Howell. It is a fashionable kind of work, that we 
 may soon grow tired of."
 
 254 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Dear me, ma'am, think how long former gene- 
 rations went on with it ! Think of our grand- 
 mothers'* work, ma'am, and how we are treading in 
 their steps. We have the beautifullest patterns 
 now, I assure you. Miss Miskin will confirm that 
 we sold one, last week, the very day we had it, — 
 the interior of Abbotsford, with Sir Walter, and 
 the furniture, and the dogs, just like life, I assure 
 
 you." 
 
 " That was beautiful," said Miss Miskin, " but 
 not to compare " 
 
 " O dear, no ! not to compare, Miss Grey, with 
 one that we were just allowed the sight of, — not a 
 mere pattern, but a finished specimen, — and I never 
 saw anything so pathetic. I declare I was quite 
 affected, and so was Miss Miskin. It was ' By the 
 Rivers of Babylon," most sweetly done ! There 
 were the harps all in cross-stitch, ma'am, and the 
 willows all in tent-stitch, — I never saw anything so 
 touching." 
 
 " I don't think mama will trouble you for many 
 more worsteds for some time to come, Mrs. 
 Howell. When there is going to be a wedding in 
 the family, there is not much time for fancy-work, 
 you know." 
 
 " Dear me, a wedding !" smiled Mrs. Howell. 
 
 " A wedding ! Only think !" simpered Miss 
 Miskin.
 
 DEERBROOK. 255 
 
 " Yes : Mr. Hope and my cousin Hester are 
 going to be married. I am sure they will have 
 your best wishes, Mrs. Howell." 
 
 '' That they will, ma'am, as I shall make a point 
 of telling Mr. Hope. But, Miss Grey, I should 
 think it probable that your mama may think of 
 working a drawing-room screen, or perhaps a set 
 of rugs for the young folks ; and I assure you, she 
 will see no such patterns anywhere as my agent 
 sends down to me ; as I have no doubt you will tell 
 her. And pray, ma'am, where are Mr. Hope and 
 his lady to live ? I hope they have pleased their 
 fancy with a house ?" 
 
 " That point is not settled yet. It is a thing 
 which requires some consideration, you know." 
 
 " O dear, ma'am ! to be sure it does : but J. did 
 not mean to be impertinent in asking, I am sure. 
 Only you mentioned making wedding-clothes. Miss 
 Grey." 
 
 " I did not mean that we have exactly set about 
 all that yet. I was only looking forward to it." 
 
 " And very right too, ma'am. My poor dear 
 Howell used to say so to me, every time he found 
 so much difficulty in inducing me to listen to future 
 projects, — about the happy day, you know, ma'am. 
 He was always for looking forward upon principle, 
 dear soul ! as you say, ma'am. That is the very 
 brown, ma'am, — no doubt of it. Only two skeins, 
 ma'am 2"
 
 256 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Here ended Sophia's pleasures in this kind. 
 She could not summon courage to face Mrs. 
 Plumstead, without knowing what was the mood 
 of the day ; and the half-door of the little sta- 
 tionery shop was closed, and no face was visible 
 within. All her father''s household, and all whom 
 she had told, were as busy as herself; so that by 
 the time she walked down the street again, nobody 
 remained to be informed. She could only go home, 
 put off her bonnet, and sit with her mother, 
 watching who would call, and planning the external 
 arrangements which constitute the whole interest 
 of a wedding to narrow minds and passive hearts. 
 
 No one in Deerbrook enjoyed the news more 
 than Mr. Enderby. When he evaded Sophia in 
 the street, he little knew what pleasure she had it 
 in her power to afford him. It was only deferred 
 for a few minutes, however ; for, on his return- 
 ing his little nephew to mama's side, he found his 
 mother and sister talking the matter over. Mrs. 
 Grey's visit to Mrs. Enderby had been unusually 
 short, as she could not, on so busy a day, spare 
 much time to one person. The moment she was 
 gone, the old lady rang for her calash and shawl, 
 and prepared to cross the way, telling the news 
 meanwhile to her maid Phoebe. It was a disap- 
 pointment to find Mrs. Rowland already informed : 
 but then came Philip, ignorant and unconscious 
 as could be desired.
 
 DEERBROOK. 257 
 
 The extreme graciousness of his sister guided 
 him in his guess when he was desired to say who 
 was going to be married ; but there was a trem- 
 bhng heart beneath his light speech. It was more 
 difficult to disguise his joy when he heard the 
 truth. He carried it off by romping with the 
 child, who owed several rides from corner to corner 
 of the room to the fact that Mr. Hope was going 
 to be married to Hester. 
 
 ^* I am delighted to see PhiHp take it in this 
 way," observed Mrs. Rowland. 
 
 " I was just thinking the same thing," cried 
 Mrs. Enderby ; ' ■ but I believe I should not have 
 said so if you had not. I was afraid it might be 
 a sad disappointment to poor Philip ; and this 
 prevented my saying quite so much as I should 
 have done to Mrs. Grey. Now I find it is all rights 
 I shall just call in, and express myself more warmly 
 on my way home." 
 
 " I beg Philip's pardon, I am sure," said Mrs. 
 Rowland, " for supposing for a moment that he 
 would think of marrying into the Grey connexion. 
 I did him great injustice, I own." 
 
 " By no means," said Philip. " Because I did 
 not happen to wish to marry Miss Ibbotson, it 
 does not follow that I should have been wrong if 
 I had. It was feeling this, and a sense of justice 
 to her and myself, which made me refuse to
 
 258 DEERBROOK. 
 
 answer your questions, some weeks ago, or to make 
 any promises." 
 
 " Well, well : let us keep clear of Mrs. Grey's 
 connexions, and then you may talk of them as you 
 please," said the sister, in the complaisance of the 
 hour. 
 
 Philip repiembered his pledge to himself to up- 
 hold Mrs. Grey as long as he lived, if she should 
 prove right about Mr. Hope and Hester. He 
 began immediately to discharge his obligations 
 to her, avowing that he did not see why her con- 
 nexion was not as good as his own; that Mrs. 
 Grey had many excellent points; that she was 
 a woman of a good deal of sagacity; that she 
 had shown herself capable of strong family at- 
 tachments ; that she had been gracious and kind 
 to himself of late in a degree which he felt he 
 had not deserved ; and that he considered that all 
 his family were obliged to her for her neigh- 
 bourly attentions to his mother. Mrs. Enderby 
 seized the occasion of her son's support to say 
 some kind thing of the Greys. It gave her fre- 
 quent pain to hear them spoken of after Mrs. 
 Rowland's usual fashion ; but when she was alone 
 with her daughter, she dared not object. Under 
 cover of Mr. Rowland's presence occasionally, and 
 to-day of Philip's, she ventured to say that she 
 ^:hought the Greys a very fine family, and kind 
 neighbours to her.
 
 DEERBROOK. 259 
 
 " And much looked up to in Deerbrook," added 
 Philip. 
 
 " And a great blessing to their poor neigh- 
 bours," said his mother. 
 
 " Dr. Levitt respects them for their conscien- 
 tious dissent," observed Philip. 
 
 " And Mr. Hope, who knows them best, says 
 they are a very united family among themselves," 
 declared Mrs. Enderby. 
 
 Mrs. Rowland looked from one to the other as 
 each spoke, and asked whether they were both out 
 of their senses. 
 
 "By no means,*" said Philip ; "I never was 
 more in earnest in my life." 
 
 " I have always thought just what I now say," 
 protested Mrs. Enderby. 
 
 " Yes, my dear ma'am," said the daughter, 
 scornfully, " we are all aware of your ways of 
 thinking on some points, — of your . . . ." 
 
 " Of my mother's love of justice and neigh- 
 bourly temper," said Philip, giving his little 
 nephew a glorious somerset from his shoulder. 
 " I believe, if we could find my mother's match, 
 the two would be an excellent pair to put into 
 Eddystone lighthouse. They would chat away for 
 a twelvemonth together, without ever quarrelling." 
 
 " Philip, do let that poor boy alone," said 
 mama. " You are shaking him to pieces."
 
 260 DEERBROOK. 
 
 *' We have both had enough for the present, 
 hey, Ned ? Mother, I am at your service, if you 
 are going to call at the Greys.**"' 
 
 Mrs. Enderby rose with great alacrity. 
 
 " Come to me, my pet,"' cried mama. " Poor 
 Ned shall rest his. head in mama's lap. There, 
 there, my pet ! " 
 
 Mama's pet was not the most agreeable compa- 
 nion to her when they were left alone : he was 
 crying lustily after uncle Philip, for all mama 
 could say about uncle Philip always tiring him to 
 death.
 
 DEERBROOK. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 PREPARING FOR HOME. 
 
 The affair proceeded rapidly, as such affairs 
 should do where there is no reason for delay. 
 There was no more talk of Birmingham. The 
 journey which was to have been taken in a few 
 days was not spoken of again. The external 
 arrangements advanced well, so many as there 
 were anxious about this part of the matter, and 
 accomplished in habits of business. Mr. Rowland 
 was happy to let the corner-house to Mr. Hope, 
 not even taking advantage, as his lady advised, of 
 its being peculiarly fit for a surgeon's residence, 
 from its having a door round the corner (made to 
 be a surgery-door !) to raise the rent. Mr. Row- 
 land behaved handsomely about everything, rent, 
 alterations, painting, and papering, and laying out 
 the garden anew. ^Ir. Grey bestirred himself to 
 get the affairs at Birmingham settled ; and he 
 was soon enabled to inform Mr. Hope that Hester's 
 fortune was ascertained, and that it was smaller than
 
 262 DEERBROOK. 
 
 could have been wished. He believed his cousins 
 would have seventy pounds a-year each, and no 
 more. It was some compensation for the mortify- 
 ing nature of this announcement, that Mr. Hope 
 evidently did not care at all about the matter. 
 He was not an ambitious, nor yet a luxurious man: 
 his practice supplied an income sufficient for the 
 ease of young married people, and it was on the 
 increase. 
 
 No one seemed to doubt for a moment that 
 Margaret would live with her sister. There was 
 no other home for her ; she and Hester had never 
 been parted ; there seemed no reason for their 
 parting now, and every inducement for their 
 remaining together. Margaret did not dream of 
 objecting to this : she only made it a condition 
 that fifty pounds of her yearly income should go 
 into the family-stock, thus saving her from obliga- 
 tion to any one for her maintenance. Living was 
 so cheap in Deerbrook, that Margaret was assured 
 that she would render herself quite independent 
 by paying fifty pounds a-year for her share of the 
 household expenses, and reserving twenty for her 
 personal wants. 
 
 Both the sisters were surprised to find how much 
 pleasure they took in the preparations for this 
 marriage. They could not have believed it, and, 
 but that they were too happy to feel any kind of
 
 DEERBROOK. 263 
 
 contempt, they would have despised themselves for 
 it. But such contempt would have been misplaced. 
 All things are according to the ideas and feelings 
 with which they are connected ; and if, as old 
 George Herbert says, dusting a room is an act of 
 religious grace when it is done from a feeling of 
 religious duty, furnishing a house is a process of 
 high enjoyment when it is the preparation of a 
 home for happy love. The dwelling is hung all 
 round with bright anticipations, and crowded with 
 blissful thoughts, spoken by none, perhaps, but 
 present to all. On this table, and by this snug 
 fireside, will the cheerful winter breakfast go for- 
 ward, when each is about to enter on the gladsome 
 business of the day; and that sofa will be drawn out, 
 and those window-curtains will be closed, when the 
 intellectual pleasures of the evening — the rewards 
 of the laborious day — begin. Those ground- windows 
 will stand open all the summer noon, and the flower- 
 stands will be gay and fragrant ; and the shaded 
 parlour will be the cool retreat of the wearied 
 husband, when he comes in to rest from his pro- 
 fessional toils. There will stand the books destined 
 to refresh and refine his higher tastes ; and there 
 the music with which the wife will indulge him. 
 Here will they first feel what it is to have a home 
 of their own — where they will first enjoy the privacy 
 of it, the security, the freedom, the consequence
 
 264 DEERBROOK. 
 
 in the eyes of others, the sacredness in their own. 
 Here they will first exercise the graces of hospi- 
 tality, and the responsibility of control. Here will 
 they feel that they have attained the great resting- 
 place of their life — the resting-place of their indi- 
 vidual lot, but only the starting-point of their 
 activity. Such is the work of furnishing a house 
 once in a lifetime. It may be a welcome task to 
 the fine lady, decking her drawing-room anew, to 
 gratify her ambition, or divert her ennui — it may be 
 a satisfactory labour to the elderly couple, settling 
 themselves afresh when their children are dispersed 
 abroad, and it becomes necessary to discard the 
 furniture that the boys have battered and spoiled — 
 it may be a refined amusement to the selfish man 
 of taste, wishing to prolong or recall the pleasures 
 of foreign travel ; but to none is it the conscious 
 delight that it is to young lovers and their sympa- 
 thising friends, whether the scene be the two rooms 
 of the hopeful young artisan, about to bring home 
 his bride from service ; or the palace of a nobleman, 
 enriched with intellectual luxuries for the lady of 
 his adoration ; or the quiet abode of an unambi- 
 tious professional man, whose aim is privacy and 
 comfort. 
 
 Margaret's delight in the process of preparation 
 was the most intense of all that was felt, except 
 perhaps by one person. Mrs. Grey and Sophia
 
 DEERBROOK, 265 
 
 enjoyed the bustle, and the consequence, and the 
 exercise of their feminine talents, and the gossip 
 of the village, and the spitefulness of Mrs. Row- 
 land's criticisms, when she had recovered from 
 her delight at her brother's escape from Hester, 
 and had leisure to be offended at Mr. Hope's 
 marrying into the Grey connexion so decidedly. 
 The children relished the mystery of buying their 
 presents secretly, and hiding them from their 
 cousins, till the day before the wedding. Sydney 
 was proud to help Margaret in training the chry- 
 santhemums, putting the garden into winter trim, 
 and in planting round the walls of the surgery 
 with large evergreens. Mr. Grey came down 
 almost every evening to suggest and approve ; 
 and ^lorris left her needle (now busy from morn- 
 ing till night in Hester's service), to admire, and 
 to speak her wishes, when desired, about the pre- 
 parations in her department. Morris, another 
 maid, and a footboy, were the only servants ; and 
 Morris was to have everything as she liked best 
 for her own region. But Margaret was as eager 
 and interested as all the rest together. Her heart 
 was light for her sister ; and, for the first time 
 since she was capable of thought, she believed that 
 Hester was going to be happy. Her own gain 
 was almost too great for gratitude : a home, a 
 brother, and relief from the responsibility of her 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 DEERBROOK. 
 
 eister^s peace — as often as she thought of these 
 blessings, she looked almost as bright as Hester 
 herself. 
 
 How was Mr. Hope, all this while ? Well, and 
 growing happier every day. He believed himself 
 a perfectly happy man, and looked back with 
 wonder to the struggle which it had cost him to 
 accept his present lot. He was not only entirely 
 recovered from his accident before the rich month 
 of October came in, but truly thankful for it as 
 the means of bringing to his knowledge, sooner at 
 least, the devoted affection which he had inspired. 
 It cannot but be animating, flattering, delightful 
 to a man of strong domestic tendencies, to know 
 himself the object of the exclusive attachment of 
 a strong-minded and noble-hearted woman : and 
 when, in addition to this, her society affords the 
 delight of mental accomplishment and personal 
 beauty, such as Hester's, he must be a churl 
 indeed if he does not greatly enjoy the present, 
 and indulge in sweet anticipations for the future. 
 Hope also brought the whole power of his will to 
 bear upon his circumstances. He dwelt upon all 
 the happiest features of his lot ; and. In his admi- 
 ration of Hester, thought as little as he could of 
 Margaret. He had the daily delight of seeing 
 how he constituted the new-born happiness of her 
 whose life was to be devoted to him : he heard of
 
 DEERBROOK. 267 
 
 nothing but rejoicings and blessings, and fully 
 believed himself the happy man that every one 
 declared him. He dwelt on the prospect of a 
 home full of domestic attachment, of rational pur- 
 suit, of intellectual resource ; and looked forward 
 to a life of religious usefulness, of vigorous devoted- 
 ness to others, of which he trusted that his first 
 act of self-sacrifice and its consequences were the 
 earnest and the pledge. He had never for a mo- 
 ment repented what he had done ; and now, when 
 he hastily recurred to the struggle it had cost him, 
 it was chiefly to moralise on the short-sightedness 
 of men in their wishes, and to be grateful for his 
 own present satisfaction. A few cold misgivings 
 had troubled him, and continued to trouble him, 
 if Hester at any time looked at all less bright and 
 serene than usual : but he concluded that these 
 were merely the cloud-shadows which necessarily 
 chequer all the sunshine of this w-orld. He told 
 himself that when two human beings become closely 
 dependent on each other, their peace must hang 
 upon the variations in one another's moods ; and 
 that moods must vary in all mortals. He per- 
 suaded himself that this was a necessary conse- 
 quence of the relation, and to be received as a 
 slight set-off against the unfathomable blessings of 
 sympathy. He concluded that he had deceived 
 himself about his feelings for Margaret : ho must 
 N 2
 
 268 DEERBROOK. 
 
 have been mistaken ; for he could now receive 
 from her the opening confidence of a sister ; he 
 could cordially agree to the arrangement of her 
 living with them ; he could co-operate with her in 
 the preparation for the coming time, without any 
 emotion which was inconsistent with his duty to 
 Hester. With unconscious prudence, he merely 
 said this to himself, and let it pass, reverting to 
 his beautiful, his happy, his own Hester, and the 
 future years over which her image spread its sun- 
 shine. The one person who relished the task of 
 preparation more than Margaret herself was Hope. 
 Every advance in the work seemed to bring him 
 nearer to the source of the happiness he felt. 
 Every day of which they marked the lapse ap- 
 peared to open wider the portals of that home 
 which he was now more than ever habituated to 
 view as the sanctuary of duty, of holiness, and of 
 peace. All remarked on Mr. Hope's altered looks. 
 The shyness and coldness which which he had 
 seemed to receive the first congratulations on his 
 engagement, and which excited wonder in many, 
 and uneasiness in a few, had now given place to a 
 gaiety only subdued by a more tender happiness. 
 Even Mrs. Grey need no longer watch his coun- 
 tenance and manner, and weigh his words with 
 anxiety, and try to forget that there was a secret 
 be: ween them.
 
 DEERBROOK. 269 
 
 One ground of Mr. Hope's confidence was Hes- 
 ter's candour. She had truly told her sister she 
 felt it was no time for pride when he offered him- 
 self to her. Her pride was strong ; but there was 
 something in her as much stronger in force than 
 her pride as it w^as higher in its nature; and she 
 had owned her love with a frankness which had 
 commanded his esteem as much as it engaged his 
 generosity. She had made a no less open avowal 
 of her faults to him. She had acknowledged the 
 imperfections of her temper (the sorest of her 
 troubles), both at the outset of their engagement, 
 and often since. At first, the confession was made 
 in an undoubting confidence that she should be 
 reasonable, and amiable, and serene henceforth for 
 ever, while she had him by her side. — Subsequent 
 experience had moderated this confidence into a 
 hope that by his example, and under his guidance, 
 she should be enabled to surmount her failings. 
 He shared this hope with her ; pledged himself to 
 her and to himself to forbear as he would be for- 
 borne, to aid her, and to honour her efforts ; and 
 he frequently declared, for his own satisfaction and 
 hers, that all must be safe between them while 
 such generous candour was the foundation of their 
 intercourse, — a generosity and candour in whose 
 noble presence superficial failings of temper were 
 as nothing. He admitted that her temper was
 
 270 DEERBROOK. 
 
 not perfect ; and he must ever remember his own 
 foreknowledge of this : but he must also bear in 
 mind whence this foreknowledge was derived, and 
 pay everlasting honour to the greatness of soul to 
 which he owed it. 
 
 An early day in December was fixed for the 
 marriage, and no cause of delay occurred. There 
 happened to be no patients so dangerously ill as to 
 prevent Mr. Hope's absence for his brief wedding 
 trip ; the work-people were as nearly punctual as 
 could be expected, and the house was all but ready. 
 The wedding was really to take place, therefore, 
 though ^Irs. Rowland gave out that in her opinion 
 the engagement had been a surprisingly short one ; 
 that she hoped the young people knew what they 
 were about, while ?J1 their friends were in such a 
 hurry ; that it was a wretched time of year for a 
 wedding, and that, in her opinion, it would have 
 been much pleasanter to wait for fine spring 
 weather. 
 
 As it happened, the weather was finer than it 
 had been almost any day of the preceding spring. 
 The day before the wedding was sunny and mild 
 as an October morning, and the fires seemed to 
 be blazing more for show than use. When Mr. 
 Hope dropped in at the Greys"*, at two o'clock, he 
 found the family dining. It was a fancy of Mrs. 
 Grey's to dine early on what she considered busy
 
 DEERBROOK. 271 
 
 days. An ecirly dinner was, with her, a specific 
 for the despatch of business. On this day, the 
 arrangement was rather absurd ; for the great evil 
 of the time was, that everything was done, except 
 what could not be transacted till the evening ; and 
 the hours were actually hanging heavy on the 
 hands of some members of the family. Morris 
 had packed Hester's clothes for her little journey, 
 and put out of sight all the mourning of both 
 sisters, except what they actually had on. Sophia's 
 dress for the next morning was laid out, in readi- 
 ness to be put on, and the preparations for the 
 breakfast were as complete as they could be twenty 
 hours beforehand. It only remained to take a 
 final view of the house in the evening (when the 
 children's presents were to be discovered), and to 
 cut the wedding-cake. In the interval, there was 
 nothing to be done. Conversation flagged ; every 
 one was dull ; and it was a relief to the rest when 
 ^Ir. Hope proposed to Hester to take a walk. 
 
 Mrs. Rowland would have laughed at the idea 
 of a walk on a December afternoon, if she had 
 happened to know of the circumstance ; but others 
 than lovers might have considered it pleasant. 
 The sun was still an hour from its setting; and 
 high in the pale heaven was the large moon, ready 
 to shine upon the fields and woods, and shed a 
 milder day. No frost had yet bound up the earth ;
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 it had only stripped the trees with a touch as 
 gentle as that of the fruit-gatherer. No wintry 
 gusts had yet swept through the woods ; and 
 all there was this day as still as in the autumn 
 noon, when the nut is heard to drop upon the 
 fallen leaves, and the light squirrel is startled at 
 the rustle along its own path. As a matter of 
 course, the lovers took their way to the Spring in 
 the Verdon woods, the spot which had witnessed 
 more of their confidence than any other. In the 
 alcove above it they had taken shelter from the 
 summer storm and the autumn shower ; they had 
 sat on its brink for many an hour, when the pure 
 depths of its rocky basin seemed like coolness 
 itself in the midst of heat, and when falling leaves 
 fluttered down the wind, and dimpled the surface 
 of the water. They now paused once more under 
 shelter of the rock which overhung one side of the 
 basin, and listened to the trickle of the spring. 
 If " aside the devil turned for envy " in the pre- 
 sence of the pair in Paradise, it might be thought 
 that he would take flight from this scene also ; 
 from the view of this resting of the lovers on their 
 marriage eve, when the last sun of their separate 
 lives was sinking, and the separate business of their 
 existence was finished, and their paths had met 
 before the gate of their paradise, and they were 
 only waiting for the portal to open to them. But
 
 DEERBROOK. 278 
 
 there was that on Hester's brow which would have 
 made the devil look closer. She was discomposed, 
 and her replies to what was said were brief, and 
 not much to the purpose. After a few moments' 
 silence, Mr. Hope said gaily, 
 
 " There is something on our minds, Hester. 
 Come, what is it V 
 
 " Do not say ' our minds.' You know you 
 never have anything on yours. I believe it is 
 against your nature ; and I know it is against your 
 principles. Do not say ' our minds.' " 
 
 " I say it because it is true. I never see you 
 look grave but my heart is as heavy .... But 
 never mind that. What is the matter, love ?" 
 
 " Nothing," sighed Hester. " Nothing that 
 any one can help .... People may say what they 
 will, Edward; but there can be no escape from 
 living alone in this world, after all.'* 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean what no one, not even you, can gain- 
 say. I mean that ' the heart knoweth its own 
 bitterness ;' that we have disappointments, and 
 anxieties, and remorse, and many, many kinds of 
 trouble that we can never tell to any human being 
 — that none have any concern with — that we should 
 never dare to tell. We must be alone in the world, 
 after all." 
 
 " Where is your faith, while you feel so T' asked 
 N 3
 
 274 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Edward, smiling. " Do you really think that con- 
 fidence proceeds only while people believe each 
 other perfect, — while they have not anxieties, and 
 disappointments, and remorse ? Do you not feel, 
 that our faults, or rather our failures, bind us 
 together V 
 
 " Our faults bind us together !" exclaimed Hes- 
 ter. " O how happy I should be, if I could think 
 that !" 
 
 " We cannot but think it. We shall find it so, 
 love, every day. When our faith fails, when we 
 are discouraged, instead of fighting the battle with 
 our faithlessness alone, we shall come to one an- 
 other for courage, for stimulus, for help to see the 
 bright, the true side of everything." 
 
 " That supposes that we can do so," said Hes- 
 ter, sadly. " But I cannot. I have all my life 
 intended to repose entire confidence, and I have 
 never done it yet." 
 
 " Yes : you have in me. You cannot help it. 
 You think that you cannot, only because you mean 
 more by reposing confidence than others do. Your 
 spirit is too noble, too ingenuous, too humble for 
 concealment. You cannot help yourself, Hester : 
 you have fully confided in me, and you will go on 
 to do so." 
 
 Hester shook her head mournfully. *' I have 
 dene it hitherto with you, and with you only," said
 
 DEERBROOK. 275 
 
 she : " and the reason has been 'you know the 
 
 reason the same which made me own all to you, 
 
 that first evening in the shrubbery. Ah ! I see 
 you think that this is a lasting security ; that, as 
 you will never change, I never shall : but you do 
 not understand me wholly yet. There is some- 
 thing that you do not know, — that I cannot make 
 you believe : but you will find it true, when it is 
 too late. No good influence is permanent with 
 me ; many, all have been tried ; and the evil that 
 is in me gets the better of them all at last." 
 
 She snatched her hand from her lover's, and 
 covered her face to hide her tears. 
 
 " I shall not contradict you, Hester, ""^ said he, 
 tenderly, " because you will only abase yourself the 
 more in your own eyes. But tell me again — where 
 is your faith, while you let spectres from the past 
 glide over into the future, to terrify you ? I say 
 ' you,' and not ' us,"* because I am not terrified. 
 I fear nothing. I trust you, and I trust Him who 
 brought us together, and moved you to lay open 
 your honest heart to me." 
 
 " My sick heart, Edward. It is sick with fear. 
 I thought I had got over it. I thought you had 
 cured it ; and that now, on this day, of all days, I 
 should have been full of your spirit,— of the spirit 
 which made me so happy, a few weeks ago, that I 
 was sure I should never fall back again. But I
 
 276 DEERBROOK. 
 
 am disappointed in myself, Edward, — wholly disap- 
 pointed in myself. I have often been so before, 
 but this time it is fatal. I shall never make you 
 happy, Edward." 
 
 " Neither God nor man requires it of you, Hes- 
 ter. Dismiss it ." 
 
 " O hear me !" cried Hester, in great agitation. 
 " I vowed to devote myself to my father's happi- 
 ness, wlien my mother died ; I promised to place 
 the most absolute confidence in him. I failed. I 
 fancied miserable things. I fancied he loved Mar- 
 garet better, and that I was not necessary to him ; 
 and I was too proud, too selfish, to tell him so : 
 and when he was dying, and commended Margaret 
 and me to each other — O so solemnly ! — I am sure 
 it was in compassion to me, — and I shrank from 
 it, even at that moment. When we came here, 
 and Margaret and I felt ourselves alone among 
 strangers, we promised the same confidence I 
 vowed to my father. The next thing was, — per- 
 haps you saw it, — I grew jealous of Margaret's 
 having another friend, though Maria was as ready to 
 be my friend as hers, if I had only been worthy of it. 
 Up to this hour, — at this very moment, 1 believe 
 1 am jealous of Maria, — and with Margaret before 
 my eyes, — Margaret who loves me as her own soul, 
 and yet has never felt one moment's jealousy of 
 you, I am certain, if her heart was known."
 
 DEERBROOK. 277 
 
 " We will rejoice then, in Margaret'*s peace of 
 mind, the reward of her faith." 
 
 " O, so I do ! I bless God that she is rewarded, 
 better than by me. But you see how it is. You 
 see how I poison every one^s life. I never made 
 anybody happy ! I never shall make any one 
 happy !" 
 
 " Let us put the thought of making happiness 
 out of our minds altogether," said Hope. " I am 
 persuaded that half the misery in the world comes 
 of straining after happiness." 
 
 " After our own,"" said Hester. " I could give 
 up my own. But yours ! I cannot put yours out 
 of my thoughts." 
 
 " Yes, you can ; and you will when you give 
 your faith fair play. Why cannot you trust God 
 with my happiness as well as your own ? And why 
 cannot you trust me to do without happiness, if it 
 be necessary, as well as yourself?"" 
 
 " I know," said Hester, "that you are as willing 
 to forego all for me as I am for you ; but I cannot, 
 I dare not, consent to the risk. O, Edward ! if 
 ever you wished to give me ease, do what I ask 
 now ! — Give me up ! — I shall make you wretched. 
 Give me up, Edward ! " 
 
 Hope's spirit was for one instant wrapped in 
 storm. He recoiled from the future, and at the 
 moment of recoil came this oifer of release. One
 
 278 DEERBROOK. 
 
 moment'*s thought of freedom, one moment's thought 
 of Margaret, convulsed his soul; but before he could 
 speak, the tempest had passed away. Hester'^s face, 
 frightfully agitated, was upraised : his countenance 
 seemed heavenly to her when he smiled upon her, 
 and replied — 
 
 " I will not. You are mine ; and, as I said 
 before, all our failures, all our heart-sickness, 
 must bind us the more to each other." 
 
 " Then you must sustain me — you must cure 
 me — you must do what no one has ever yet been 
 able to do. But above all, Edward, you must 
 never, happen what may, cast me off." 
 
 " That is, as you say, what no one has ever been 
 able to do,'' said he, smiling. " Your ftither's ten- 
 derness was greatest at the last; and Margaret 
 loves you, you know, as her own soul. Let us 
 avoid promises, but let us rest upon these truths. 
 And now," continued he, as he drew nearer to 
 her, and made his shoulder a resting-place for her 
 throbbing head, " I have heard your thoughts for 
 the future. Will you hear mine ?" 
 
 Hester made an effort to still her weeping. 
 
 " I said just now, that I believe half the misery 
 in our lives is owing to straining after happiness ; 
 and I think, too, that much of our sin is owing to 
 our disturbing ourselves too much about our duty. 
 Instead of yielding a glad obedience from hour to
 
 DEERBROOK. 279 
 
 hour, it is the weakness of many of us to stretch 
 far forward into the future, which is beyond our 
 present reach, and torment ourselves with appre- 
 hensions of sin, which w€ should be ashamed of if 
 they related to pain and danger." 
 
 " O, if you could prove to me that such is my 
 weakness ! '' cried Hester. 
 
 " I believe that it is yours, and I know that it 
 is my own, my Hester. We must watch over one 
 another. Tell me, is it not faithless to let our 
 hearts be troubled about any possible evil which 
 we cannot, at the moment of the trouble, prevent? 
 And are we not sacrificing what is, at the time, of 
 the most importance — our repose of mind, the 
 holiness, the religion of the hour \ " 
 
 " I know I have defiled the holiness of this hour," 
 said Hester, humbly. " But as my thoughts were 
 troubled, was it not better to speak them? I 
 could not but speak them." 
 
 " You cannot but do and speak what is most 
 honourable, and true, and generous, Hester ; and 
 that is the very reason why I would fain have you 
 trust, for the future as well as the present, to the 
 impulse of the hour. Surely, love, the probation 
 of the hour is enough for the strength of every one 
 of us." 
 
 " Far, far too much for me." 
 
 *' At timeS; too much for all. Well, then, what
 
 280 DEERBROOK. 
 
 have we to do ? To rest the care of each other''s 
 happiness upon Him whose care it is : to be ready 
 to do without it, as we would hold ourselves ready 
 to do without this, or that, or the other comfort, 
 or supposed means of happiness. Depend upon it 
 this happiness is too subtle and too divine a thing 
 for our management. We have nothing to do with 
 it but to enjoy it when it comes. Men say of it — 
 ' Lo ! it is here !' — ' Lo ! there V — but never has 
 man laid hold of it with a voluntary grasp." 
 
 " But we can banish it," said Hester. 
 
 " Alas ! yes : and what else do we do at the 
 very moment when we afflict ourselves about the 
 future ? Surely our business is to keep our hearts 
 open for it — holy and at peace, from moment to 
 moment, from day to day." 
 
 "And yet, is it not our privilege, — said at 
 least to be so — to look before and after ? I am 
 not sure, however, that I always think this a privi- 
 lege. I long sometimes to be any bird of the air, 
 that I might live for the present moment alone." 
 
 " Let us be so far birds of the air, — free as 
 they, neither toiling nor spinning out anxious 
 thoughts for the future : but why, with all this, 
 should we not use our human privilege of looking 
 before and after, to enrich and sanctify the pre- 
 sent 1 Should we enjoy the wheat-fields in June 
 as we do if we knew nothing of seed-time, and
 
 DEERBROOK. 281 
 
 had never heard of harvest ? And how should you 
 and I feel at this moment, sitting here, if we had 
 no recollection of walks in shrubberies, and no 
 prospect of a home, and a lifetime to spend in it, 
 to make this moment sacred I Look at those red- 
 breasts : shall we change lots with them l '' 
 
 " No, no: let us look forward; but how? We 
 cannot persuade ourselves that we are better 
 than we are, for the sake of making the future 
 bright." 
 
 " True : and therefore it must be God's future, 
 and not our own, that we must look forward to." 
 
 " That is for confessors and martyrs," said 
 Hester. " They can look peacefully before and 
 after, when there is a bright life and a world 
 of hopes lying behind ; and nothing around and 
 before them but ignominy and poverty, or prison, 
 or torture, or death. They can do this : but not 
 such as I. God's future is enough for them, — 
 the triumph of truth and holiness ; but . ." 
 
 " And I believe it would be enough for you in 
 their situation, Hester. I believe you could be a 
 martyr for opinion. Why cannot you and I brave 
 the suffering of our own faults as we would meet 
 sickness or bereavement from Heaven, and torture 
 and death from men I " 
 
 " Is this the prospect in view of which you 
 marry me I "
 
 282 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " It is the prospect in view of which all of us 
 are ever living, since we are all faulty, and must 
 all suffer. But marriage brings other things into 
 anticipation. The faults of human beings are tem- 
 porary features of their prospect : their virtues are 
 the firm ground under their feet, and the bright 
 arch over their heads. Is it not so I *" 
 
 " If so, how selfish, how ungrateful have I been 
 in making myself and you so miserable ! But I do 
 so fear myself ! " 
 
 " Let us fear nothing, but give all our care to 
 the day and the hour. I am confident that this is 
 the true obedience, and the true wisdom. If the 
 temper of the hour is right, nothing is wrong." 
 
 " And I am sure, if the temper of the hour is 
 wrong, nothing is right. If one could always re- 
 member this ....*" 
 
 " If we could always remember this, we should 
 perhaps find ourselves a little above the angels, 
 instead of being, like the serene, the Fenelons of 
 our race, a little below them. We shall not always 
 remember it, love ; but we must remind each other 
 as faithfully as may be." 
 
 " You must bring me here, when I forget," said 
 Hester. " This spring will always murmur the 
 truth to me, — ' If the temper of the hour is right 
 nothing is wrong.'— How wrong has my temper 
 been within this hour ! "
 
 DEERBROOK. 283 
 
 " Let it pass, my Hester. We are all faithless 
 at times, and without the excuse of meek and 
 anxious love. Is it possible that the moon casts 
 that shadow ? " 
 
 " The dark, dark hour is gone," said Hester, 
 smiling as she looked up, and the moon shone 
 on her face. " Nothing is wrong. Who would 
 have believed, an hour ago, that I should now say 
 so?" 
 
 " When you would have given me up," said 
 Hope, smiling. 
 
 '• O, let us forget it all ! Let us go somewhere 
 else. Who will say this is winter ? Is it Octo- 
 ber, or ' the first mild day of March ? ' It might be 
 either." 
 
 *' There is not a breath to chill us ; and these 
 leaves, — what a soft autumn carpet they make ! 
 They have no wintry crispness yet." 
 
 There was one inexhaustible subject to which 
 they now recurred, — Mr. Hope's family. He told 
 over again, what Hester was never weary of hear- 
 ing, how his sisters would cherish her, whenever 
 circumstances should allow them to meet, — how 
 Emily and she would suit best, but how Anne 
 
 would look up to her. As for Frank . But his 
 
 representation of what Frank would say, and think, 
 and do, w.s somewhat checked and impaired by 
 the recollection that Frank was just about this
 
 284 
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 time receiving the letter in which Margaret's supe- 
 riority to Hester was pretty plainly set forth. 
 The answer to that letter would arrive, some time 
 or other, and the anticipated awkwardness of that 
 circumstance caused some unpleasant feelings at this 
 moment, as it had often done before, during the 
 last few weeks. Nothing could be easier than to 
 set the matter right with Frank, as was already 
 done with Emily and Anne ; the first letter 
 might occasion some difficulty. Frank was passed 
 over lightly, and the foreground of the picture of 
 family welcome was occupied by Emily and Anne. 
 
 It was almost an hour from their leaving the 
 Spring before the lovers reached home. They 
 were neither cold nor tired ; they were neither 
 merry nor sad. The traces of tears were on Hes- 
 ter's face ; but even Margaret was satisfied when 
 she saw her leaning on Edward's arm, receiving 
 the presents of the children where alone the chil- 
 dren would present them, — in the new house. 
 There was no fancy about the arrangements, no 
 ceremony about the cake and the ring, to which 
 Hester did not submit with perfect grace. Not- 
 withstanding the traces of her tears, she had 
 never looked so beautiful. 
 
 The same opinion was repeated the next morn- 
 ing by all the many who saw her in church, or who 
 caught a glimpse of her, in her way to and from it.
 
 DEERBROOK. 285 
 
 No wedding was ever kept a secret in Deerbrook ; 
 and ]\Ir. Hope's was the one in which conceahiient 
 was least of all possible. The church was half-full, 
 and the path to the church-door was lined with 
 gazers. Those who were obliged to remain at 
 home looked abroad from their doors ; so that all 
 were gratified more or less. Every one on Mr. 
 Grey's premises had a holiday, — including Miss 
 Young, though ]\Irs. Rowland did not see why her 
 children should lose a day's instruction, because a 
 distant cousin of Mr. Grey's was married. The 
 marriage was made far too much a fuss of for her 
 taste ; and she vowed that whenever she parted 
 with her own Matilda, there should be a much 
 greater refinement in the mode. — Every one else 
 appeared satisfied. — The sun shone; the bells rang ; 
 and the servants drank the health of the bride and 
 bridegroom. Margaret succeeded in swallowing 
 her tears, and was, in her inmost soul, thankful 
 for Hester and herself. The letters to ^Ir. Hope's 
 sisters and brother, left open for the signatures of 
 Edward and Hester Hope, were closed and de- 
 spatched ; and the news]was communicated to two 
 or three of the Ibbotsons' nearest friends at Bir- 
 mingham. Mr. and Mrs. Grey agreed, at the end 
 of the day, that a wedding was, to be sure, a most 
 fatiguing affair for quiet people like themselves ; 
 but that nothing could have gone off" better.
 
 286 DEERBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MARIA AND MARGARET. 
 
 Mr. Hope^s professional duties would not permit 
 liim to be long absent, even on such an occasion 
 as his wedding journey. The young couple went 
 only to Oxford, and were to return in a week. 
 Margaret thought that this week never would be 
 over. It was not only that she longed for rest in 
 a home once more, and was eager to repose upon 
 her new privilege of having a brother : she was 
 also anxious about Hester, — anxious to be con- 
 vinced, by the observation of the eye and the 
 hearing of the ear, that her sister was enjoying 
 that peace of spirit which reason seemed to declare 
 must be hers. It would be difficult to determine 
 how much Margaret's attachment to her sister was 
 deepened and strengthened by the incessant solici- 
 tude she had felt for her, ever since this attach- 
 ment had grown cut of the companionship of their 
 childhood. She could scarcely remember the time 
 when she had not been in a state of either hope or
 
 DEERBROOK. 287 
 
 fear for Hester; — hope that, in some new circum- 
 stances, she would be happy at last ; or dread lest 
 these new circumstances should fail, as all preceding 
 influences had failed. If Hester had been less 
 candid and less generous than she was, her sister's 
 affection might have given way. under the repeated 
 trials and disappointments it had had to sustain ; 
 and there were times when Margaret's patience 
 had given way, and she had for a brief while 
 wished, and almost resolved, that she could and 
 would regard with indifference the state of mind 
 of one who was not reasonable, and who seemed 
 incapable of being contented. But such resolu- 
 tions of indifference dissolved before her sister's 
 next manifestations of generosity, or appeals to the 
 forgiveness of those about her. Margaret always 
 ended by supposing herself the cause of the evil ; 
 that she had been inconsiderate ; that she could 
 not allow sufficiently for a sensitiveness greater 
 than her own ; and, above all, that she was not 
 fully worthy of such affections as Hester's — not 
 sufficient for such a mind and heart. She had 
 looked forward, with ardent expectation when she 
 was happiest, and with sickly dread when she was 
 depressed, to the event of Hester's marriage, as 
 that which must decide whether she could be 
 happy, or whether her life was to be thrqughout 
 the scene of conflict that its opening years had
 
 288 DEEREROOK. 
 
 been. Hester's connexion was all that she could 
 have desired, and far beyond her utmost hopes. 
 This brother-in-law was one of a thousand — one 
 whom she was ready to consider a good angel sent 
 to shed peace over her sister's life : and during the 
 months of their engagement, she had kept anxiety 
 at bay, and resigned herself to the delights of 
 gratitude, and of sweet anticipations, and to the 
 satisfaction of feeling that her own responsibilities 
 might be considered at an end. She had delivered 
 Hester's happiness over into the charge cJf one who 
 would cherish it better and more successfully than 
 she had done ; and she could not but feel the relief 
 of the freedom she had gained : but neither could 
 she repress her anxiety to know, at the outset, 
 whether all was indeed as well as she had till now 
 undoubtingly supposed that it would be. 
 
 Margaret's attachment to her sister would have 
 been in greater danger of being worn out but for 
 the existence of a closer sympathy between them 
 than any one but themselves, and perhaps Morris, 
 was aware of. Margaret had a strong suspicion 
 that in Hester's place her temper would have 
 been exactly what Hester's was in its least happy 
 characteristics. She had tendencies to jealousy ; 
 and if not to morbid self-study, and to dissatisfac- 
 tion with present circumstances, she was indebted 
 for this, she knew, to her being occupied with her
 
 DEERBROOK. 289 
 
 sister, and yet more to the perpetual warning held 
 up before her eyes. This conviction generated no 
 sense of superiority in Margaret, — interfered in 
 no degree with the reverence she entertained for 
 Hester ; a reverence rather enhanced than impaired 
 by the tender compassion with which she regarded 
 her mental conflicts and sufferings. Every move- 
 ment of irritability in herself (and she was con- 
 scious of many) alarmed and humbled her, but, 
 at the same time, enabled her better to make 
 allowance for her sister : and every harsh word 
 and unreasonable mood of Hester''s, by restoring 
 her to her self-command and stimulating her mag- 
 nanimity, made her sensible that she owed much 
 of her power over herself to that circumstance 
 which kept the necessity of it perpetually before 
 her mind. For the same reason that men hate 
 those whom they have injured, Margaret loved 
 with unusual fervour the sister with whom she had 
 to forbear. For the same reason that the children, 
 even the affectionate children, of tyrannical or lax 
 parents, love liberty and conscientiousness above 
 all else, Margaret was in practice gentle, long- 
 suffering, and forgetful of self. For the same 
 reason that the afflicted are looked upon by the 
 pure-minded as sacred, Margaret regarded her sister 
 with a reverence which preserved her patience from 
 being spent, and her attachment from wasting away. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 DEER BROOK. 
 
 The first letter from her brother and sister had 
 been opened in great internal agitation. All was 
 well, however. It was certain that all was well ; 
 for, while Hester said not one word about being 
 happy, she was full of thought for others. She 
 knew that INlargaret meant to take possession of 
 the corner-house, to "go home,'*' a few days before 
 the arrival of the travellers, in order to make all 
 comfortable for them. Hester begged that she 
 would take care to be well "amused during these 
 few days. Perhaps she might induce Maria Young 
 to waive the ceremony of being first invited by the 
 real house-keepers, and to spend as much time as 
 she could with her friend. " Give my kind regards 
 to Maria," said the letter, " and tell her T like to 
 fancy you two passing a long evening by that fire- 
 side where we all hope we shall often have the 
 pleasure of seeing her." Six months ago Hester 
 would not have spoken so freely and so kindly of 
 Maria : she would not have so sanctioned Margaret's 
 intimacy with her. All was right, and Margaret 
 was happy. 
 
 Maria came, and, thanks to the holiday spirit 
 of a wedding week, for a long day. Delicious are 
 the pleasures of those whose appetite for them is 
 whetted by abstinence. Charming, wholly charm- 
 iiig, was this day to Maria, spent in quiet, free 
 from the children, free from the observation of
 
 DEERBROOK. 291 
 
 other guests, passed in all external luxury, and in 
 sister-like confidence with the friend to whom she 
 had owed some of the best pleasures of the last 
 year. Margaret was no less happy in indulging 
 her, and in opening much more of her heart to her 
 than she could to any one else since Hester married, 
 — which now, at the end of six days, seemed a long 
 time ago. 
 
 !Miss Young came early, that she might see the 
 house, and everything in it, before dark ; and the 
 days were now at their shortest. She did not mind 
 the fatigue of mounting to the very top of the 
 house. She must see the view from the window of 
 Morris's attic. Yesterday's fall of snow had made 
 the meadows one sheet of white ; and the river 
 looked black, and the woods somewhat frowning 
 and dismal : but those who knew the place so well 
 could imagine what all this must be in summer ; 
 and Morris was assured that her room was the 
 pleasantest in the house. Morris curtseyed and 
 smiled, and did not say how cold and dreary a wide 
 landscape appeared to her, and how much better 
 she should have liked to look out upon a street, if 
 only Mr. Hope had happened to have been settled 
 in Birmingham. She pointed out to Maria how 
 good Miss Hester had been, in thinking about the 
 furnishing of this attic. She had taken the trouble 
 to have the pictures of Morris's father and mother, 
 o2
 
 292 DEERBROOK. 
 
 which had always hung opposite her bed at Bir- 
 mingham, brought hither, and fixed up in the same 
 place. The bed-hangings had come, too ; so that, 
 except for its being so much lighter, and the 
 prospect from the window so different, it was 
 almost like the same room she had slept in for 
 three -and -twenty years before. When Maria 
 looked at " the pictures," — silhouettes taken from 
 shadows on the wall, with numerous little deform- 
 ities and disproportions incident to that method 
 of taking likenesses, she appreciated Hester's 
 thoughtfulness ; though she fully agreed in what 
 Margaret said, — that if Morris was willing to leave 
 a place where she had lived so many years, for the 
 sake of remaining with Hester and her, it was the 
 least they could do to make her feel as much at 
 home as possible in her new abode. 
 
 Margaret's own chamber was one of the prettiest 
 rooms in the house, with its light green paper, its 
 French bed and toilet at one end, and the book- 
 case, table and writing-desk, footstool and arm- 
 chair, at the other. 
 
 " I shall spend many hours alone here in the 
 bright summer mornings," said Margaret. " Here 
 I shall write my letters, and study, and think.'' 
 
 " And nod over your books, perhaps," said 
 Maria. " These seem comfortable arrangements 
 for an old or infirm person; but I should be
 
 DEERBROOK. 293 
 
 afraid they would send you to sleep. You have 
 had little experience of being alone : do you know 
 the strong tendency that solitary people have to 
 napping?" 
 
 Margaret laughed. She had never slept in the 
 day-time in her life, except in illness. She could 
 not conceive of it, in the case of a young person, 
 full of occupation, with a hundred things to think 
 about, and twenty books at a time that she wanted 
 to read. She thought that regular daily solitude 
 must be the most delightful, the most improving 
 thing in the world. She had always envied the 
 privilege of people who could command solitude ; 
 and now, for the first time in her life, she was going 
 to enjoy it, and try to profit by it. 
 
 " You began yesterday, I think," said Maria. 
 How did you like it?" 
 
 " It was no fair trial. I felt restless at having 
 the house in my charge ; and I was thinking of 
 Hester perpetually ; and then I did not know 
 but that some of the Greys might come in at any 
 moment : and besides, I was so busy considering 
 whether I was making the most of the precious 
 hours, that I really did next to nothing all day." 
 
 " But you looked sadly tired at night, Miss Mar- 
 garet," said Morris. *' I never saw you more fit 
 for bed after any party or ball." 
 
 Maria smiled. She knew something of the
 
 29 4? DEERBROOK. 
 
 fatigues, as well as the pleasures, of solitude. Mar- 
 garet smiled too ; but she said it would be quite 
 another thing when the family were settled, and 
 when it should have become a habit to spend the 
 morning hours alone; and to this Maria fully agreed. 
 
 Morris thought that people's liking or not liking 
 to be alone depended much on their having easy 
 or irksome thoughts in their minds. Margaret 
 answered gaily, that in that case, she was pretty 
 sure of liking solitude. She was made grave by a 
 sigh and a shake of the head from Morris. 
 
 " Morris, what do you mean?" said Margaret, 
 apprehensively. " Why do you sigh and shake 
 your head ? Why should not I have easy thoughts 
 as often as I sit in that chair ? " 
 
 " We never know, Miss Margaret, my dear, how 
 things will turn out. Do you remember Miss Ste- 
 venson, that married a gentleman her family all 
 thought a great deal of, and he turned out a 
 swindler, and V 
 
 The girls burst out a laughing, and Maria 
 assured Morris that she could answer for no acci- 
 dent of that kind happening with regard to Mr. 
 Hope. Morris laughed too, and said she did not 
 mean that, but only that she never saw anybody 
 more confident of everything going right than Miss 
 Stevenson and all her family ; and within a month 
 after the wedding, they were in the deepest dis-
 
 DEERBROOK. 295 
 
 tress. That was what she meant : but there were 
 many other ways of distress happening. 
 
 " There is death, my dears," she said. " Re- 
 member death, Miss Margaret.'"* 
 
 " Indeed, ^lorris, I do," said Margaret. " I 
 never thought so much of death as I have done 
 since ^Ir. Hope's accident, when I behoved death 
 was coming: to make us all miserable ; and the 
 more I have since recoiled from it, the oftener has 
 the thought come back."' 
 
 " That is all right, my dear ; all very natural. 
 It does not seem natural to undertake any great 
 new thing in life, without reminding one's-self of 
 the end that must come to all our doings. How- 
 ever, I trust my master and mistress, and you, have 
 many a happy year to live." 
 
 " I like those words, Morris. I like to hear you 
 speak of your master and mistress, it has such a 
 domestic sound ! Does it not make one feel at 
 home, ^laria ? Yes, Morris, there I shall sit, and 
 feel so at ease ! so at home, once more !" 
 
 " But there may be other " Morris stopped, 
 
 and changed her mood. She stepped to the closet, 
 and opened the door, to show Miss Young the pro- 
 vision of shelves and pegs ; and pointed out the 
 part of the room where she had hoped there would 
 be a sofa. She should have liked that Miss Mar- 
 garet should have had a sofa to lie down on when
 
 296 DEERBROOK. 
 
 she pleased. It seemed to her the only thing want- 
 ing. Margaret gaily declared that nothing was 
 wanting. She had never seen a room more entirely 
 to her taste, though she had inhabited some that 
 were grander. 
 
 By the time the little breakfast-room had 
 been duly visited, and it had been explained that 
 the other small parlour must necessarily be kept 
 for a waiting-room for Mr. Hope's patients, and 
 the young ladies had returned to the drawing- 
 room, Maria was in full flow of sympathy with the 
 housekeeping interests and ideas which occupied, 
 or rather amused, her companion. Women do 
 inevitably love housekeeping, unless educational or 
 other impediments interfere with their natural 
 tastes. Household management is to them the 
 object of their talents, the subject of their interests, 
 the vehicle of their hopes and fears, the medium 
 through which their affections are manifested, and 
 much of their benevolence gratified. If it be. true' 
 as has been said, that there is no good quality of a 
 woman's heart and mind which is not necessary to 
 perfect housekeeping, it follows that there is no 
 power of the mind or affection of the heart which 
 may not be gratified in the course of its discharge. 
 As Margaret and her guest enjoyed their pheasant, 
 their table drawn close to the sofa and the fire, 
 that Maria might be saved the trouble of moving.
 
 DEERBROOK. 297 
 
 their talk was of tradespeople, of shopping at 
 Deerbrook, and the market at Birmingham ; of the 
 kitchen and store-room, and the winter and summer 
 arrangements of the table. The foot-boy, whom 
 Margaret was teaching to wait, often forgot his 
 function, and stood still to listen, and at last left 
 the room deeply impressed with the wisdom of his 
 instructor and her guest. When the dinner and 
 the wine were gone, they sang, they gossiped, 
 they quizzed. The Greys were sacred, of course ; 
 but many an anecdote came out, told honestly and 
 with good-nature, of dear old Mrs. Enderby, and 
 her talent for being pleased ; of Mrs. Rowland's 
 transactions abroad and at home — all regulated by 
 the principle of eclipsing the Greys ; and of Mrs. 
 HowelFs and Miss Miskin's fine sentiments, and 
 extraordinary pieces of news. Margaret produced 
 some of her brother-in-law's outlines, which she 
 had picked up and preserved — sketches of the 
 children, in the oddest attitudes of children — of 
 Dr. Levitt, resting his book on the end of his nose, 
 as he read in his study-chair — of Mrs. Plumstead, 
 exasperated by the arrival of an illegible letter — 
 of almost every oddity in the place. Then out 
 came the pencils, and the girls supplied omissions. 
 They sketched ^Mr. Hope himself, listening to an 
 old woman's theory of her own case ; they sketched 
 each other. Mr. Enderby was almost the only 
 o3
 
 298 DEERBROOK. 
 
 person omitted altogether, in conversation, and on 
 paper. 
 
 "Where can I have hidden my work-bag?"" 
 asked Maria, after tea. 
 
 " You laid it beside you, and I put it away," 
 said Margaret. " I wanted to see whether you 
 could spend a whole afternoon without the feel of 
 your thimble. You shall have it again now, for 
 you never once asked for it between dinner and 
 tea." 
 
 " I forgot it : but now you must give it me. I 
 must finish my collar, or I shall not duly honour 
 your sister in my first call. We can talk as well 
 working as idle." 
 
 " Cannot I help you ? Our affairs are all in 
 such dreadfully perfect order, that I have not a 
 stitch of work to do. I see a hole in your glove : 
 let me mend it." 
 
 " Do ; and when you have done that, there is 
 the other. Two years hence, how you will wonder 
 that there ever was a time when you had not a 
 stitch of work in the house ! Wedding-clothes 
 last about two years, and then they all wear out 
 together. I wish you joy of the work you will 
 have to do then — if nothing should come between 
 you and it." 
 
 " What should come between us and it?" said 
 Margaret, struck by the tone in which Maria spoke
 
 DEERBROOK. 299 
 
 the last words. " Are you following Morris's lead? 
 Are you going to say — ' Remember death, Miss 
 Margaret ? ' " 
 
 " O no ; but there are other things which happen 
 sometimes besides death. I beg your pardon, 
 ^largaret, if I am impertinent . . . ." 
 
 '' How should you be impertinent ? You, the 
 most intimate friend but one that I have in the 
 world ? You mean marriage, of course ; that 
 I may marry within these same two years. Any 
 one may naturally say so, I suppose, to a girl 
 whose sister is just married : and in another per- 
 son's case it would seem to me probable enough : 
 but I assure you, Maria, I do not feel as if it was 
 at all likely that I should marry." 
 
 " I quite believe you, Margaret. I have no 
 doubt you feel so, and that you will feel so till . . 
 .... But, dear, you may one day find yourself 
 feeling very differently without a moment's warn- 
 ing ; and that day may happen within two years. 
 Such thino^s have been known." 
 
 "If there was any one ....'' said Margaret, 
 simply — " if I had ever seen any one for whom I 
 could fancy myself feeling as Hester did . . . ." 
 
 "If there was any one!" — repeated Maria, 
 looking up in some surprise. " My dear Margaret, 
 do you mean to say there is no one ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do ; I think so. I know what you
 
 300 DEERBROOK. 
 
 mean, Maria. I understand your face and your 
 voice. But I do think it is very hard that 
 one cannot enjoy a pleasant friendship with any- 
 body without seeing people on the watch for 
 something more. It is so very painful to have 
 such ideas put into one's mind, to spoil all one's 
 intercourse — to throw restraint over it — to mix up 
 selfishness with it ! It is so wrong to interfere 
 between those who might and would be the most 
 useful and delightful companions to each other, 
 without having a thought which need put constraint 
 between them ! Those who so interfere have a 
 great deal to answer for. Tliey do not know what 
 mischief they may be doing — what pain they may 
 be giving while they are gossiping, and making 
 remarks to one another about what they know 
 nothing at all about. I have no patience with such 
 meddling ! " 
 
 " So I perceive, indeed," replied Maria, some- 
 what amused. " But, Margaret, you have been 
 enlarging a good deal on what I said. Not a 
 syllable was spoken about any remarks, any obser- 
 vations between any people ; or even about refer- 
 ence to any particular person. I alone must be 
 subject to all this displeasure, and even I did 
 not throw out a single hint about any friend of 
 yours." 
 
 " No, you did not ; that is all very true," said
 
 DEERBROOK. 301 
 
 Margaret, blushing : " but neither was I vexed 
 with you ; — at least, not so much as with some 
 others. I was hasty." 
 
 " You were, indeed,'' said Maria, laughing. *' I 
 never witnessed such an out-burst from you before." 
 
 " And you shall not see such another ; but I 
 was answering less what you said than what I 
 have reason to suppose is in the minds of several 
 other people." 
 
 " In their minds ? They have not told you 
 their thoughts, then. And several other people, 
 too ! Why, Margaret, I really think it is not 
 very reasonable in you to find fault with others for 
 thinking something which they have not troubled 
 you to listen to, and which is so natural, that it 
 has struck ' several"* of them. Surely, Margaret, 
 you must be a little, just a very little, touchy upon 
 the matter." 
 
 " Touchy ! What should make me touchy 2" 
 
 "Ay, what?" 
 
 '* I do assure you, Maria, nothing whatever has 
 passed between that person and me which has any- 
 thing more than the commonest .... No, I will 
 not say the commonest friendship, because I believe 
 ours is a very warm and intimate friendship ; but in- 
 deed it is nothing more. You may be sure that, if 
 it had been otherwise, I should not have said a word 
 upon the whole matter, even to you ; and I would
 
 302 DEERBROOK. 
 
 not have allowed even you to speak ten words to 
 me about it. Are you satisfied now ?" 
 
 " I am satisfied that you say what you think." 
 
 " O, ^laria ! what a sigh ! If you have no 
 objection, I should like to know the meaning of 
 that sigh." 
 
 " I was thinking of ' the course of true love.' " 
 
 " But not that it ' never does run smooth.' 
 That is not true. Witness Hester's." 
 
 " Dear Margaret, be not presumptuous ! Con- 
 sider how early the days of that love are yet." 
 
 " And that love in their case has only just 
 leaped out of the fountain, and can hardly be said 
 to have begun its course. Well ! may Heaven 
 smile on it 1 But tell me about that course of 
 love which made you sigh as you did just now."' 
 
 " What can I tell you about it 1 And yet, you 
 shall know, if you like, how it appears to me." 
 
 " O tell me ! I shall see whether you would have 
 understood Hester's case." 
 
 " The first strange thing is, that every woman 
 approaches this crisis of her life as unawares as if 
 she were the first that ever loved." 
 
 " And yet all girls are brought up to think of 
 marriage as almost the only event in life. Their 
 minds are stuffed with thoughts of it almost before 
 they have had time to gain any other ideas." 
 
 " Merely as means to ends low enough for their
 
 DEERBROOK. 303 
 
 comprehension. It is not marriage,— wonderful, 
 holy, mysterious marriage,- — that their minds are 
 full of, but connexion with somebody or something 
 which will give them money, and ease, and station, 
 and independence of their parents. This has 
 nothing to do with love. I was speaking of love, 
 — the grand influence of a woman's life, but whose 
 name is a mere empty sound to her till it becomes, 
 suddenly, secretly, a voice which shakes her being 
 to the very centre, — more awful, more tremendous, 
 than the crack of doom." 
 
 " But why ? Why so tremendous V 
 " From the struggle which it calls upon her to 
 endure, silently and alone ; — from the agony of a 
 change of existence which must be wrought with- 
 out any eye perceiving it. Depend upon it, Mar- 
 garet, there is nothing in death to compare with 
 this change ; and there can be nothing in entrance 
 upon another state which can transcend the expe- 
 rience I speak of. Our powers can but be taxed 
 to the utmost. Our being can but be strained till 
 not another effort can be made. This is all that 
 we can conceive to happen in death ; and it hap- 
 pens in love, with the additional burden of fearful 
 secrecy. One may lie down and await death, with 
 sympathy about one to the last, though the passage 
 hence must be solitary ; and it would be a small 
 trouble if all the world looked on to see the part-
 
 304 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ing of soul and body : but that other passage into 
 a new state, that other process of becoming a new 
 creature, must go on in the darkness of the spirit, 
 while the body is up and abroad, and no one must 
 know what is passing within. The spirit's leap 
 from heaven to hell must be made while the smile 
 is on the lips, and light words are upon the tongue. 
 The struggles of shame, the pangs of despair, must 
 be hidden in the depths of the prison-house. Every 
 groan must be stifled before it is heard : and as for 
 tears, — they are a solace too gentle for the case. 
 The agony is too strong for tears." 
 
 " Is this true love V asked Margaret, in agita- 
 tion. 
 
 " This is true love ; but not the whole of it. As 
 for what follows — " 
 
 " But is this what every woman has to undergo 1" 
 " Do you suppose that every woman knows what 
 love really is ? No ; not even every unmarried 
 woman. There are some among them, though I 
 believe but few, who know nothing of what love is; 
 and there are, undoubtedly, a multitude of wives 
 who have experienced liking, preference, affection, 
 and taken it for love ; and who reach their life's 
 end without being aware that they have never 
 loved. There are also, I trust, a multitude of 
 wives who have really loved, and who have reaped 
 the best fruits of it in regeneration of soul."
 
 DEERBROOK. 305 
 
 " But how dreadful is the process, if it be as 
 you say !" 
 
 " I said I had alluded to only a part of it. As 
 for what follows, according as it is prosperous or 
 unreturned love, heaven ensues upon this purga- 
 tory, or one may attain a middle region, somewhat 
 dim, but serene. You wish me to be plainer." 
 
 " I wush to hear all you think — all you know. 
 But do not let us go on with it if it makes you 
 sigh so." 
 
 " What woman ever spoke of love without sigh- 
 ing f said Maria, with a smile. "You sighed 
 yourself, just now." 
 
 " I was thinking of Hester, I believe. How 
 strange, if this process really awaits women, — if it 
 is a region through which their path of life must 
 stretch, — and no one gives warning, or preparation, 
 or help !" 
 
 " It is not so strange as at first sight it seems. 
 Every mother and friend hopes that no one else 
 has suffered as she did— that her particular charge 
 may escape entirely, or get off more easily. Then 
 there is the shame of confession which is involved : 
 some conclude, at a distance of time, that they 
 must have exaggerated their own sufferings, or 
 have been singularly rebellious and unreasonable. 
 Some lose the sense of the anguish in the subse- 
 quent happiness ; and there are not a few who,
 
 306 DEERBROOK. 
 
 from constitution of mind, forget altogether ' the 
 things that are behind.' When you remember, too, 
 that it is the law of nature and providence that 
 each should bear his and her own burden, and 
 that no warning would be of any avail, it seems no 
 longer so strange that while girls hear endlessly of 
 marriage, they are kept wholly in the dark about 
 love." 
 
 " Would warning really be of no avail?" 
 
 " Of no more avail than warning to a pilgrim in 
 the middle of the desert that he will suffer from 
 thirst, and be deluded by the mirage before he 
 gets into green fields again. He has no longer 
 the choice whether to be a pilgrim in the desert 
 or to stay at home. No one of us has the choice 
 to be or not to be ; and we must go through with 
 our experience, under its natural conditions." 
 
 " ' To be or not to be,' " said Margaret, with a 
 grave smile. " You remind one that the choice 
 
 of suicide remains ; and I almost wonder, 
 
 surely suicide has been committed from dread of 
 lighter woes than you have described." 
 
 " I believe so : but in this case there is no 
 dread. We find ourselves in the midst of the 
 struggle before we are aware. And then — " 
 
 " Ay, and then—" 
 
 " He, who appoints the struggles of the spirit, 
 Ljupplies aids and supports. I fully beheve that
 
 DEERBROOK. 307 
 
 this time of conflict is that in which rehgion first 
 becomes to many the reality for which they ever 
 afterwards Hve. It may have been hitherto a 
 name, a fancy, a dim abstraction, or an intermit- 
 ting tliough bright influence : and it may yet be 
 resorted to, merely as a refuge for the spirit which 
 can find no other. But there is a strong proba- 
 bility that it may now be found to be a wonderful 
 reality ; not only a potent charm in sorrow, but the 
 life of our life. This is with many the reason 
 why, and the mode in which, the conflict is 
 endured to the end." 
 
 " But the beginning," said Margaret ; " what 
 can be the beginning of this wonderful experi- 
 ence i 
 
 " The same with that of all the most serious 
 of our experiences, — levity, unconsciousness, con- 
 fidence. Upon what subject in the world is there 
 a greater accumulation of jokes than upon love 
 and marriage ; and upon what subject are jokes 
 so indefatigably current ? A girl laughs at her 
 companions, and blushes or pouts for herself, as 
 girls have done for thousands of years before her. 
 She finds, by degrees, new, and sweet, and elevated 
 ideas of friendship stealing their way into her 
 mind, and she laments and wonders that the range 
 of friendship is not wider, — that its action is not 
 freer,— that girls may not enjoy intimate friend-
 
 308 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 ship with the companions of their brothers, as well 
 as with their own. There is a quick and strong 
 resentment at any one who smiles at, or speculates 
 upon, or even observes the existence of such a 
 friendship." 
 
 *' O, Maria!" exclaimed Margaret, throwing 
 down her work, and covering her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 " This goes on for a while," proceeded Maria, 
 as if she did not observe her companion, " this goes 
 on for a while smoothly, innocently, serenely. 
 Mankind are then true and noble, the world is 
 passing fair, and God is tender and bountiful. All 
 evil is seen to be tending to good ; all tears are 
 meant to be wiped away ; the gloom of the gloomy 
 is faithless ; virtue is easy and charming ; and the 
 vice of the vicious is unaccountable. Thus does 
 young life glide on for a time. Then there comes 
 a day, — it is often a mystery why it should be that 
 day of all days, — when the innocent, and gay, and 
 confident young creature finds herself in sudden 
 trouble. The film on which she lightly trod has 
 burst, and she is in an abyss. It seems a mere 
 trifle that plunged her there. Her friend did not 
 come when she looked for him, or he is gone some- 
 where, or he has said something that she did not 
 expect. Some such trifle reveals to her that she 
 depends wholly upon him — that she has for long
 
 DEEHBROOK. 309 
 
 been Imng only for him. and on the unconscious 
 conclusion that he has been livinor onlv for her. 
 At the image of his dwelling anywhere but by her 
 side, of his having any interests apaii: from hers, 
 the universe is, in a moment, shrouded in ofloom. 
 Her heart is sick, and there is no rest for it, for 
 her self-respect is gone. She has been reared in a 
 maidenly pride, and an innocent confidence : her 
 confidence is wholly broken down : her pride is 
 wounded, and the agony of the wound is intolerable. 
 We are wont to sav, Mar^raret. that evervthins: is 
 endurable but a sense of guilt. If there be an 
 exception, this is it. This wounding of the spirit 
 ought not perhaps to be, but it is, ver^- like the 
 sting of guilt ; and • a wounded spirit who can bear • ' " 
 
 ** How is it borne, — so many as are the sufiTerers, 
 and of a class usually thought so weak ■ " 
 
 '• That is a mistake. There is not on earth a 
 being stronger than a woman in the concealment 
 of her love. The soldier is called brave who cheer- 
 fully bears about the pain of a laceration to his 
 dying day ; and criminals who, after years of 
 struggle, unbosom themselves of their secret, give 
 tremendous accounts of the suflTerings of those 
 years ; but I question whether a woman whose 
 existence has been burdened with an unrequited 
 love, will not have to unfold in the next world a 
 more harro^Ning tale than either of these."
 
 310 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " It ought not to be so."' 
 
 " It ought not, where there is no guilt. But 
 how noble is such power of self-restraint ! Though 
 the principle of society may be to cultivate our 
 pride to excess, what fortitude grows out of it ! 
 There are no bounds to the horror, disgust, and 
 astonishment expressed when a woman owns her 
 love to its object unasked — even urges it upon him ; 
 but I acknowledge my surprise to be the other 
 way — that the cases are so rare. Yet, fancying 
 the case one's own . . . ." 
 
 " O, dreadful !" cried Margaret. 
 
 *' No woman can endure the bare thought of the 
 case being her own ; and this proves the strong 
 natural and educational restraint under which we 
 all lie : but I must think that the frequent and 
 patient endurance proves a strength of soul, a 
 vigour of moral power, which ought to console and. 
 animate us in the depth of our abasement, if we 
 could but recall it then when we want support and 
 solace most." 
 
 " It can be little estimated, — little understood," 
 said Margaret, " or it would not be sported with 
 as it is." 
 
 " Do not let us speak of that, Margaret. You 
 talk of my philosophy sometimes ; I own that that 
 part of the subject is too much for any philosophy 
 I have."
 
 DEERBROOKa 311 
 
 " I see nothing philosophical," said Margaret, 
 " in making light of the deepest cruelty and 
 treachery which is transacted under the sun. A 
 man who trifles with such affections, and abuses 
 such moral power, and calls his cruelty flirta- 
 tion . . . r 
 
 " Is such an one as we will not speak of now. 
 Well ! it cannot be but that good, — moral and intel- 
 lectual good, — must issue from such exercise and 
 discipline as this ; and such good does issue often, 
 perhaps generally. There are sad tales sung and 
 told everywhere of brains crazed, and graves dug 
 by hopeless love : and I fear that many more sink 
 down into disease and death from this caufee, than 
 are at all suspected to be its victims : but not a 
 few find themselves lifted up from their abyss, and 
 set free from their bondage of pride and humilia- 
 tion. They marry their loves, and stand amazed 
 at their own bliss, and are truly the happiest peo- 
 ple upon earth, and in the broad road to be the 
 wusesL In my belief, the happiest are ever so." 
 
 " Bless you for that, for Hester's sake ! And 
 what of those who are not thus released ? "" 
 
 " They get out of the abyss too ; but they have 
 to struggle out alone. Their condition must de- 
 pend much on what they were before their conflict 
 befell them. Some are soured, and live restlessly. 
 Some Jire weak, and come out worldly, and sacri-
 
 SI 2 DEERBROOK. 
 
 fice themselves, in marriage or otherwise, for low 
 objects. Some strive to forget, and to become as 
 like as possible to what they were before ; and of 
 this order are many of the women whom we meet, 
 whose minds are in a state of perpetual and incu- 
 rable infancy. It is difficult to see the purpose of 
 their suffering, from any effects it appears to have 
 produced : but then there is the hope that their 
 griefs were not of the deepest." 
 
 " And what of those whose griefs are of the 
 deepest V 
 
 " They rise the highest above them. Some of 
 these nmst be content with having learned more or 
 less of what life is, and of what it is for, and with 
 reconciling themselves to its objects and condi- 
 tions." 
 
 " In short, with being philosophical," said Mar- 
 garet, with an inquiring and affectionate glance at 
 her friend. 
 
 " With being philosophical," Maria smilingly 
 agreed. " Others, of a happier nature, to whom 
 philosophy and religion come as one, and are wel- 
 comed by energies not wholly destroyed, and affec- 
 tions not altogether crushed, are strong in the new 
 strength which they have found, with hearts as 
 wide as the universe, and spirits the gayest of the 
 
 gay." 
 
 " You never told me anything of all this before,""
 
 DKERBROOK. S13 
 
 said Margaret. " Yet it is plain that you must 
 have thought much about it, — that it must have 
 been long in your mind." 
 
 " It has ; and I tell it to you, that you may 
 share what I have learned, instead of going without 
 the knowledge, or, alas ! gathering it up for 
 yourself." 
 
 *' O, then, it is so, — ^it is from your own " 
 
 " It is from my own experience that I speak," said 
 Maria, without looking up. " And now, there is 
 some one in the world who knows it besides myself." 
 
 " I hope you do not, — I hope you never will 
 repent having told me," said Margaret, rising, and 
 taking her seat on the sofa, beside her friend. 
 
 " I do not, and I shall not repent," said Maria. 
 " You are faithful : and it will be a relief to me to 
 have sympathy, — to be able to speak sometimes, 
 instead of having to deny and repress my whole 
 heart and soul. But I can tell you no more, — not 
 one word." 
 
 " Do not. Only show me how I can comfort, — 
 how I can gratify you." 
 
 " I need no special comfort now," said Maria, 
 smiling. " I have sometimes grievously wanted a 
 friend to love and speak with, — and, if I could, to 
 serve. Now I have a friend." And the look with 
 which she gazed at her companion brought the 
 tears into Margaret's eyes. 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 su 
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 '' Come, let us speak of something else," said 
 Maria, cheerfully. " When do you expect your 
 friend, Mr. Enderby, at Deerbrook again V 
 
 "His sister says nobody knows; and I do not 
 think he can tell himself. You know he does not 
 live at Deerbrook." 
 
 " I am aware of that ; but his last visit was such 
 a long one- " 
 
 " Six days," said Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " Ah ! I did not mean his last week's appearance, 
 or any of his pop visits. I was thinking of his 
 summer visitation. It was so long, that some peo- 
 ple began to look upon him as a resident." 
 
 " If his mother does not grow much better soon, 
 we shall see him again," said Margaret. " It is 
 always her illness that brings him. — Do you not 
 believe me, Maria?" 
 
 " I believe, as before, that you say what you 
 think. Whether you are mistaken is another 
 question, which I cannot pretend to answer." 
 
 " I hope, Maria, that as you have placed so much 
 confidence in me, you will not stop short at the 
 very point which is of the greatest importance to 
 me." 
 
 " I will not, dear. What I think on the subject 
 of Mr. Enderby, in relation to you, is, that some 
 of your friends believe that you are the cause of his 
 stay having been so long in the summer, and of his
 
 DEERBROOK. 315 
 
 coming so often since. I know no more than this. 
 How should I r 
 
 " Then I will tell you something more, that I 
 might as well have mentioned before. When Mrs. 
 Rowland had an idea that Mr. Enderby might 
 think of Hester, she told Hester, — that miserable 
 day in Dingleford woods, — that his family expected 
 he would soon marry a young lady of family and 
 fortune, who was a great favourite with all his con- 
 nexions." 
 
 '' Who may this young lady be ? " 
 " O, she did not say ; — some one too high for 
 our acquaintance, if we are to believe what Mrs. 
 Rowland declared.'' 
 
 " And do you believe it V 
 
 " Why Do you V 
 
 " I dare say Mrs. Rowland may believe it her- 
 self; but she may be mistaken." 
 
 " That is exactly what Hester said," observed 
 Margaret, eagerly. "And that was more than 
 five months ago, and we have not heard a syllable 
 of the matter since." 
 
 " And so intimate a friendship as yours and Mr. 
 Enderby's is," said Maria, smiling, — " it is scarcely 
 probable that his mind should be full of such an 
 affair, and that he should be able to conceal it so 
 perfectly from you.'' 
 
 " I am glad you think so," said Margaret inge- 
 p 2
 
 SI 6 DEERBROOK. 
 
 nuously. " You cannot imagine how strange it is 
 to see Mrs. Grey and others taking for granted that 
 he is free, when Hester and I could tell them in a 
 moment what Mrs. Rowland said. — But if you 
 think Mrs. Rowland is all wrong, what do you 
 really suppose about his coming so much to Deer- 
 brook r 
 " I have little doubt that those friends of yours 
 
 — Mrs. Grey and the others — are right. But " 
 
 "But what r' 
 
 '' Just this. If I might warn you by myself, I 
 would caution you, not only against dwelling much 
 upon such a fact, but against interpreting it to 
 mean more than it possibly may. This is my rea- 
 son for speaking to you upon the matter at all. I 
 do it because you will be pretty sure to hear how 
 the fact itself is viewed by others, while no one else 
 would be likely to give you the caution. — Mr. En- 
 derby ma?/ come, as you suppose, entirely to see his 
 mother. He may come to see you : but, supposing 
 he does, if he is like other men, he may not know 
 his own mind yet: and, — there is another possible 
 thing, — a thing which is possible, Margaret, though 
 he is such a dear and intimate friend, — that he may 
 not know yours, — all its strength of affection, all 
 its fidelity, — all its trust and power of self- control." 
 " O, stop ; pray stop,'"* said Margaret. " You 
 frighten me with the thoughts of all you have been
 
 DEERBROOK. 317 
 
 saying this evening, — though I could so entirely 
 satisfy you as to what our intercourse has been, — 
 though I know Mr. Enderby so much better than 
 you do. You need warn me no more. I will 
 thmk of what you have said, if I find myself 
 doubting whether he comes to see his mother, — if 
 I find myself listening to what others may suppose 
 about his reasons. Indeed, I will remember what 
 you have said." 
 
 " Then I am glad I ventured to say it, particu- 
 larly as you are not angry with me this time.'^ 
 
 " I am not at all angry : how could I be so 2 
 but I do not agree with you about the fact." 
 
 " I know it, and I may be mistaken." 
 
 " Now tell me," said Margaret, " what you 
 suppose Morris meant when she said what you 
 heard about the pleasure of solitude depending on 
 one's thoughts being happy or otherwise. I know 
 it is a common old idea enough ; but Morris does 
 not know that ; and I am sure she had some par- 
 ticular instance in view. Morris does not make 
 general propositions, except with a particular case 
 in her mind's eye ; and she is a wise woman ; and 
 we think her sayings are weighty." 
 
 '•' It struck me that she had a real probability 
 in her mind; but I did not think it related to 
 Mr. Enderby, or to anything so exclusively your 
 own concern."
 
 318 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " No ; I hope not : but what then T 
 
 " I think that Morris knows more of life and 
 the world than you, and that she does not antici- 
 pate quite so much happiness from Hester's mar- 
 riage as you do. Do not be distressed or alarmed. 
 She means no mistrust of anybody, I imagine; 
 but only that there is no perfect happiness in this 
 life, that nobody is faultless ; and no home, not 
 even where her young ladies live, is quite free from 
 care and trouble. It would not hurt you, surely, 
 if she was to say this outright to you V 
 
 " O no ; nor a good deal more of the same tend- 
 ency. She might come much nearer to the point, 
 good soul ! without hurting me. Suppose I ask 
 her what it was she did mean, to-night or to-mor- 
 row, when she and I are alone V 
 
 '^ Well ! if she is such a wise woman But I 
 
 doubt whether you could get her nearer to the 
 point without danger of hurting her. Can she 
 bring herself to own that either of you has faults I" 
 
 " O yes : she has never spared us, from the 
 time we were two feet high." 
 
 " What can make you so anxious as to what 
 she meant V 
 
 " I really hardly know, unless it be that where 
 one loves very much, one fears — O, so faithlessly ! 
 I know I ought to fear less for Hester than ever ; 
 and yet "
 
 DEERBROOK. *M <^> 
 
 The door burst open, and the footboy entered 
 with liis jingling tray, and news that the sedan for 
 Miss Young was at the door. — What sedan? — 
 Margaret had asked Mrs. Grey for hers, as the 
 snow had fallen heavily, and the streets were not 
 fit for Maria's walking. Maria was very thankful. 
 
 Here was an end of Maria's briglit holiday. 
 Mr. Grey's porters must not be kept waiting. The 
 friends assured each other that they should never 
 forget this day. It was little likely that they 
 should .
 
 320 DEERBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Margaret had an unconscious expectation of 
 seeing her sister altered. This is an irresistible 
 persuasion in almost every case where an intimate 
 friend is absent, and is under new influences and 
 amidst new circumstances. These accessories alter 
 the image of the beloved one in our minds ; our 
 fancy follows it, acting and being acted upon in 
 ways in which we have no share. Our sympathy 
 is at fault, or we conceive it to be so ; and doubt 
 and trouble creep over us, we scarcely know why. 
 Though the letters which come may be natural 
 and hearty, as of old, breathing the very spirit of 
 our friend, we feel a sort of surprise at the hand- 
 writing being quite familiar. We look forward 
 with a kind of timidity to meeting, and fear there 
 may be some restraint in it. When the hour of 
 meeting comes, there is the very same face, the 
 line of the cheek, the trick of the lip, the glance 
 of the eye ; the rise and fall of the voice is the
 
 DEERBROOK. 321 
 
 same ; and the intense familiarity makes our very 
 spirit swim in joy. We are amazed at our previous 
 fancy — we lau^h at the solemn stiffness in which 
 our friend stood before our mind's eye, and to 
 relieve which we had striven to recall the ludicrous 
 situations and merry moods in which that form 
 and that face had been seen ; and perhaps we 
 have no peace till we have acknowledged to the 
 beloved one the ingenuity of our self-tormentings. 
 Is there a girl, whose heart is with her brother at 
 college, who does not feel this regularly as the 
 vacation comes round ? Is there a parent, whose 
 child is reaping honours in the field of life, and 
 returning childlike from time to time, to rest in 
 the old country-home — is there such a parent who 
 is not conscious of the misgiving and the re- 
 assurance, as often as the absence and the re- 
 union occur ? Is there even the most trustful of 
 wives, whose husband is on the other side of the 
 globe, that is wholly undisturbed by the transmu- 
 tation of the idol in her mind ? When the husband 
 is returning, and her hungry heart is feasting on 
 the anticipation of his appearance, she may revel 
 in the thought — 
 
 " And will I see his face again, 
 And will I hear him speak?" 
 
 But it is not till that vivid face and that piercing 
 p3
 
 322 DEERBROOK. 
 
 voice thrill her sight and her ear again that all 
 misgiving vanishes. There is nothing in life that 
 can compensate for long partings. There ought 
 to be few or no insurmountable obstacles to th 
 frequent meetings, however short, of those who 
 love each other. No duties and no privileges can 
 be of more importance than the preservation, in 
 all their entireness, of domestic familiarity and 
 faith. 
 
 A very short separation will afford the expe- 
 rience of a long one, if it be full of events, or if the 
 image of the absent one be dwelt upon, from hour 
 to hour, with laborious strivings of the fancy. It 
 has been said that this week of Hester s absence 
 was the longest that Margaret had ever known. 
 Besides this, she felt that she had forgotten her 
 sister further than she could have supposed possible 
 after a ten years' separation. On the evening 
 when she was expecting the travellers home, her 
 heart was sick with expectation ; and yet she was 
 conscious of a timidity which made her feel as if 
 alone in the world. Again and again she looked 
 round her, to fancy what would be the aspect of 
 everything to Hester's eye. She wandered about 
 the house to see once more that all was in its right 
 place, and every arrangement in due order. She 
 watched the bright drawing-room fire nervously, 
 and made herself anxious about the tea-table, and
 
 DEERBROOK. 
 
 S'2:^ 
 
 sat upright on the sofa, listening for the sound of 
 liorses' feet in the snowy street, as if it had been a 
 solemn stranger that she was expecting, instead of 
 her own sister Hester, with whom she had shar d 
 all her heart, and spent all her days. But a small 
 part of this anxiety was given to Mr. Hope : she 
 retained her image of him unperplexed, as a 
 treasure of a brother, and a man with a mind so 
 healthy that he w^as sure to receive all things 
 rightly, and be pleased and satisfied, happen what 
 might. 
 
 They came ; and Hester s spring from the car- 
 riage, and her husband's way of rubbing his hands 
 over the fire, put all Margaret's anxieties to flight. 
 How sw^eet was the welcome ! How delicious the 
 contest about which was to give the welcome to 
 this, the lasting home of the three — whether she 
 who had put all in order for them, or they who 
 claimed to have the charge of her ! Margaret's 
 eyes overflowed when Hester led her to Edward 
 for his brotherly kiss. Mr. Hope's mind was dis- 
 turbed for one single moment that he had not 
 given this kiss with all the heartiness and simplicity 
 of a brother ; but the feeling was gone almost 
 before he was conscious of it. 
 
 The fire crackled, the kettle sang, Hester took 
 her own place at once at the tea-board, and her 
 husband threw himself on the sofa, after ascer-
 
 324 DEERBROOK. 
 
 taining that there were no family letters for hini. 
 He knew that it was impossible that there should 
 be any in answer to the announcement of his 
 marriage. Even Anne's could not arrive these 
 four or five days yet. He desired Margaret not 
 to tell him at present if there were any mes- 
 sages for him ; for, if all Deerbrook had colds, 
 he had no inclination to go out to-night to cure 
 them. There was a long list of messages, Mar- 
 garet said, but they were in the surgery ; and the 
 pupil there might bring them in, if he thought 
 proper : they should not be sent for. This one 
 evening might be stolen for home and comfort. 
 Their journey had been dehglitful. Oxford was 
 more splendid than Hester had had an idea of. 
 Every facility had been afforded them for seeing it, 
 and Mr. Hope's acquaintances there had been 
 as kind as possible. The fall of snow had not 
 put them in any danger, and the inconveniences it 
 had caused were rather stimulating to people who 
 had travelled but little. Hester had had to get 
 out of the carriage twice ; and once she had 
 walked a mile, when the driver had been uncertain 
 about the road ; but as Mrs. Grey had had the 
 foresight to cause a pair of snow boots to be put 
 into the carriage at the last moment, no harm had 
 happened, — not even to the wetting of feet ; only 
 enough inconvenience to make them glad to be
 
 DEERBROOK. S25 
 
 now by their snug fireside. Hester was full of 
 mirth and anecdote. She seemed to have been 
 pleased with everybody, and awake to every- 
 thing. As her sister looked upon her brow, now 
 open as a sleeping child's, upon the thick curl of 
 glossy brown hair, and upon the bright smile which 
 lighted up her exquisite face, she was amazed at 
 herself for having perplexed such an image with 
 apprehensive fancies. 
 
 How had JMargaret spent her week ? Above all, 
 it was to be hoped she had not fatigued herself in 
 their service. There were four days' grace yet for 
 preparation, before they should receive their com- 
 pany. Margaret should not have worked so hard. 
 Had Maria Young come yesterday ? Dear Maria ! 
 she must often come. Should not the Greys be 
 asked to dine in a quiet way, before any one else 
 was admitted into the house I Was it not due to 
 them ? But could the foot-boy wait at table i 
 Would it be possible to bring him into such train- 
 ing as would prevent Mrs. Grey's being too much 
 shocked at their way of getting through dinner ? 
 Or was there any one in Deerbrook who went out 
 as a waiter ? Morris must be consulted ; but they 
 must have the Greys to dinner before Monday. 
 How was Mrs. Enderby I Was her illness really 
 thought serious, or was it only Mrs. Rowland's 
 way of talking, which was just the same, whether
 
 326 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Mrs. Enderby had a twinge of rheumatism, or one 
 of her frightful attacks l Was Mr. Enderby 
 coming? — that was the chief point. If he did not 
 appear, it was certain that he could not be feeling 
 uneasy about his mother. Margaret blushed when 
 she repHed that she had not heard of Mr. Enderby's 
 being expected. She could not but blush; for the 
 conversation with Maria came full into her mind. 
 Mr. Hope saw the blush, and painfully wondered 
 that it sent trouble through his soul. 
 
 How were Morris and the new maid hkely to 
 agree ? Did Morris think the girl promising i 
 Surely it was time to take some notice of the ser- 
 vants. Edward would ring the bell twice, the 
 signal for Morris ; and Morris should introduce 
 the other two into the parlour. They came, Mor- 
 ris in her best gown, and with her wedding ribbon 
 on. When she had shaken hands with her master 
 and mistress, and spoken a good word for her 
 fellow- servants, as she called them, the ruddy- 
 faced girl appeared, her cheeks many shades deeper 
 than usual, and her cap quillings standing off like 
 the rays on a sign-post picture of the sun. Fol- 
 lowing her came the boy, feeling awkward in his 
 new clothes, and scraping with his left leg till the 
 process was put a stop to by his master's entering 
 into conversation with him. Hesters beauty was 
 r3ally so striking as, as with a blushing bashful-
 
 DEERBROOK. 327 
 
 ness, she for the first time enacted the mistress 
 before her husband's eyes, that it was impossible 
 not to observe it. Margaret glanced towards her 
 brother, and they exchanged smiles. But the effect 
 of Margaret's smile was that Mr. Hope's died away, 
 and left him grave. 
 
 '' Brother!'' said Margaret; '* what is the true 
 story belonging to that great book about the 
 Polar Sea, that you see lying there ?" 
 
 ''How do you mean i Is there any story be- 
 longing to it at all ?" 
 
 " Three at least ; and Deerbrook has been so 
 hot about it " 
 
 " You should send round the book to cool them. 
 It is enough to freeze one to look at the plates of 
 those polar books." 
 
 " Sending round the book is exactly the thing 1 
 wanted to do, and could not. Mrs. Rowland in- 
 sists that Mrs. Enderby ordered it in ; and Mrs. 
 Grey demands to have it first ; and Mr. Rowland 
 is certain that you bespoke it before anybody else. 
 I was afraid of the responsibility of acting in so 
 nice a case. An everlasting quarrel might come 
 out of it : so I covered it, and put in the list, all 
 ready to be sent at a moment's warning ; and then 
 I amused myself with it while you were away. — 
 Now, brother, what will you do I " 
 
 " The truth of the matter is, that I ordered it 
 in myself, as Mr. Rowland says. But Mrs. Enderby
 
 S28 DEERBROOK. 
 
 shall have it at once, because she is ill. It is a fine 
 large type for her ; and she will pore over the 
 plates, and forget Deerbrook and all her own ail- 
 ments, in wondering how the people will get out 
 of the ice." 
 
 " Do you remember, Margaret," said Hester, 
 " how she looked one summer day, — like a ghost 
 from the grave, — when she came down from her 
 books, and had even forgotten her shawl V 
 
 " O, about the battle ! " cried Margaret, laughing. 
 
 "What battler' asked Hope. "A historical 
 one, I suppose, and not that of the Rowlands and 
 Greys. Mrs. Enderby is of a higher order than 
 the rest of us Deerbrook people : she gets most of 
 her news, and all her battles, out of history.*" 
 
 " Yes : she alighted among us to tell us that such 
 a great, such a wonderful battle had been fought, 
 at a place called Blenheim, — by the duke of Marl- 
 borough, who really seemed a surprisingly clever 
 man :— it was such a good thought of his to have 
 a swamp at one end of his line, and to put some of 
 his soldiers behind some bushes, so that the enemy 
 could not get at them ! and he won the battle." 
 
 " This book will be the very thing for her," said 
 Margaret. " It is only a pity that it did not come 
 in at midsummer instead of Christmas. I am 
 afraid she will sympathise so thoroughly that 
 Phoebe will never be able to put on coals enough 
 to warm her."
 
 DEERBROOK. 329 
 
 " Nay," said Mr. Hope, *' it is better as it is. 
 She must be cold, now, at all events : whereas, if 
 this book came to her at midsummer, it would chill 
 her whole month of July. She would start every 
 time she looked out of her window, and saw the 
 meadows green." 
 
 " I hope she is not really very ill," said Hester. 
 
 " You were thinking the same thought that I 
 was," said her husband, starting up from the sofa. 
 " It is certainly my business to go and see her to- 
 night, if she wishes it. I will step down into the 
 surgery, and learn if there is any message from 
 her." 
 
 " And if there is not from her, there will be from 
 some one else," said Hester, sorrowfully. " What 
 a cold night for you to go out, and leave this warm 
 room ! " 
 
 Mr. Hope laughed as he observed what an inno- 
 cent speech that was for a surgeon's wife. It was 
 plain that her education in that capacity had not 
 begun. And do\vn he went. 
 
 '■' Here are some things for you, — cards and 
 notes," said Margaret to her sister, as she opened 
 a drawer of the writing-table : — " one from Mrs. 
 Grey, marked ' Private.'' I do not suppose your 
 husband may not see it ; but that is your affair. 
 My duty is to give it you privately." 
 
 " One of the Grey mysteries, I suppose," said 
 Hester, colouring, and tearing open the letter with
 
 330 DEERBROOK. 
 
 some vehemence. "These mysteries were foolish 
 
 enough before ; they are ridiculous now. So^ 
 
 you are going out ! " cried she, as her husband 
 came in with his hat on. 
 
 " Yes ; the old lady will be the easier for my 
 seeing her this evening ; and I shall carry her the 
 Polar Sea. Where is pen and ink, Margaret? 
 We do not know the ways of our own house 
 yet." 
 
 Margaret brought pen and ink ; and while 
 Mr. Hope wrote down the dates in the Book 
 Society's list, Hester exclaimed against Mrs. 
 Grey for having sent her a letter marked ' pri- 
 vate,"* now that she was married. 
 
 " If you mean it not to be private, you shall tell 
 me about it when I come back," said her husband, 
 " If I see Mrs. Enderby to-night, I must be gone." 
 
 It was not twenty minutes before he was seated 
 by his own fireside again. His wife looked dis- 
 turbed ; and was so ; she even forgot to inquire 
 after Mrs. Enderby. 
 
 " There is Mrs. Grey's precious letter ! " said 
 she. " She may mean to be very kind to me : I 
 dare say she does : but she might know that it is 
 not kindness to me to write so of my husband." 
 
 "I do not see that she writes any harm of me, 
 my dear," said he, laying the letter open upon the 
 table. " She only wants to manage me a little : and 
 that is her way, you know."
 
 DEERBROOK. 331 
 
 " So exceedingly impertinent ! " cried Hester, 
 turning to Margaret. " She wants me to use my 
 influence, quietly, and without betraying her, to 
 make my husband ," she glanced to her hus- 
 band's face, and checked her communication. "In 
 short," she said, " Mrs. Grey wants to be meddling 
 between my husband and one of his patients." 
 
 " Well, what then ? said Margaret. 
 
 " What then ! " Why, if she is to be interfering 
 already in our affairs, — if she is to be always fan- 
 cying that she has anything to do with Edward, — 
 and we living so near, — I shall never be able to 
 bear it."" 
 
 And Hester's eyes overflowed with tears. 
 , " My dear ! is it possible ! " cried Edward. 
 " Such a trifle '' 
 
 " It is no trifle," said Hester, trying to com- 
 mand her voice ; "it can never be a trifle to me 
 that any one shows disrespect to you. I shall 
 never be able to keep terms with any one who 
 does." 
 
 Margaret believed that nothing would be easier 
 than to put a stop to any such attempts, — if indeed 
 they were serious. Mrs. Grey was so fond of Hes- 
 ter that she would permit anything from her ; and 
 it would be easy for Hester to say that, not wish- 
 ing to receive any exclusively private letters, she 
 had shown Mrs. Grey's to her husband, though to 
 no one else : and that it was to be the principle of
 
 332 DEERBROOK. 
 
 the family not to interfere, more or less, with Mr. 
 Hope's professional affairs. 
 
 " Or, better still, take no notice of the matter 
 in any way whatever, this time," said Mr. Hope. 
 *' We can let her have her way while we keep our 
 own, cannot we? So, let us put the mysterious 
 epistle into the fire, — shall we I I wait your leave," 
 said he, laughing, as he held the letter over the 
 flame. "It is your property." 
 
 Hester signed to have it burned ; but she could 
 not forget it. She recurred to Mrs. Grey, again 
 and again. " So near as they lived," she said, — 
 " so much as they must be together . . . ." 
 
 " The nearer we all live, and the more we must 
 be with our neighbours," said her husband, " the 
 more important it is that we should all allow each 
 other our own ways. You will soon find what it 
 is to live in a village, my love ; and then you will 
 not mind these little trifles." 
 
 " If they would meddle only with me," said 
 Hester, " I should not mind. I hope you do not 
 think I should care so much for anything they 
 could say or do about me. If they only would let 
 you alone . . . ." 
 
 " That is the last thing we can expect," said 
 Margaret. " Do they let any public man alone ? 
 Dr. Levitt, or Mr. James ?" 
 
 " Or the parish clerk ?" added Mr. Hope. " It 
 was reported lately that steps were to be taken to
 
 DEERBROOK. 333 
 
 intimate to Owen, that it was a constant habit of 
 his to congh as he took his seat in the desk. I 
 was told once myself, that it was remarked through- 
 out Deerbrook that I seemed to be half whistling 
 as I walked up the street in the mornings ; and 
 that it was considered a practice too undignified 
 for my profession/'' 
 
 Hester's colour rose again. Margaret laughed, 
 and asked, 
 
 " What did you do r' 
 
 " I made my best bow, and thought no more 
 about the matter, till events brought it to mind 
 again at this moment. So, Hester, suppose we 
 think no more of Mrs. Grey's hints." Seeing that 
 her brow did not entirely clear, he took his seat by 
 her, saying, 
 
 " Supposing, love, that her letter does not show 
 enough deference to my important self to satisfy 
 you, still it remains that we owe respect to Mrs. 
 Grey. She is one of my oldest, and most hos- 
 pitable and faithful friends here; and I need 
 say nothing of her attachment to you. Cannot 
 we overlook in her one little error of judgment ?" 
 
 " O, yes, certainly," said Hester, cheerfully. 
 " Then I will say nothing to her unless she asks ; 
 and then tell her, as lightly as I may, what Mar- 
 garet proposed just now. So be it." 
 
 And all was bright and smooth again — to all 
 appearance. But this little cloud did not pass
 
 334 DEERBROOK. 
 
 away without leaving its glooman more hearts than 
 one. As Margaret set down her lamp on her own 
 writing-table, and sank into the chair of whose ease 
 she had bidden Maria make trial, she might have 
 decided, if she had happened at the moment to 
 remember the conversation, that the pleasure of 
 solitude does depend much on the ease of the 
 thoughts. She sat long, wondering how she could 
 have overlooked the obvious probability that 
 Hester, instead of finding the habit of mind of a 
 lifetime altered by the circumstances of love and 
 marriage, would henceforth suffer from jealousy for 
 her husband in addition to the burden she had 
 borne for herself. Long did Margaret sit there, 
 turning her voluntary musings on the joy of their 
 meeting, and the perfect picture of comfort which 
 their little party had presented ; but perpetually 
 recurring, against her will, to the trouble which 
 had succeeded, and following back the track of 
 this cloud, to see whether there were more in the 
 wind, — whether it did not come from a horizon of 
 storm. 
 
 Yet hers was not the most troubled spirit in the 
 house. Hester's vexation had passed away, and 
 she was unconscious, as sufferers of her class usually 
 are, of the disturbance she had caused. She pre- 
 sently slept and was at peace. Not so her hus- 
 band. A strange trouble — a fearful suspicion had 
 seized upon him. He was amazed at the return of
 
 DEERBROOK. 33 O 
 
 his feelings about Margaret, and filled with horror 
 when he thought of the days, and months, and 
 years of close domestic companionship with her, 
 from which there was no escape. There was no 
 escape. The peace of his wife, of Margaret, — his 
 own peace in theirs depended wholly on the deep 
 secrecy in which he should preserve the mistake 
 he had made. It was a mistake. He could 
 scarcely endure the thought ; but it was so. For 
 some months, he had never had a doubt that he 
 was absolutely in the road of duty ; and, if some 
 apprehensions about his entire happiness had chilled 
 him, from time to time, he had cast them off, as 
 inconsistent with the resolution of his conscience. 
 Now he feared, he felt he had mistaken his duty. 
 As, in the stillness of the night, the apprehension 
 assailed him, that he had thrown away the oppor- 
 tunity and the promise of his life, — that he had 
 desecrated his own home, and doomed to withering 
 the best affections of his nature, he for the moment 
 wished himself dead. But his was a soul never 
 long thrown off its balance. He convinced him- 
 self, in the course of a long sleepless night, that 
 whatever might have been his errors, his way was 
 now clear, though difficult. He must devote him- 
 self wholly to her whose devotion to him had 
 caused him his present struggles; and he must 
 trust that, if Margaret did not, ere long, remove 
 from the daily companionship which must be his
 
 S3 6 DEERBROOK. 
 
 sorest trial, he should grow perpetually stronger 
 in his self-command. Of one thing he was certain 
 — that no human being suspected the real state of 
 his mind. This was a comfort and support. Of 
 something else he felt nearly certain, — that Mar- 
 garet loved Philip. This was another comfort, if 
 he could only feel it so ; and he had little doubt 
 that Philip loved her. He had also a deep con- 
 viction which he now aroused for his support, — 
 that no consecration of a home is so holy as that 
 of a kindly, self-denying, trustful spirit in him who 
 is the head and life of his house. If there was in 
 himself a love which must be denied, there was also 
 one which might be indulged. Without trammel- 
 ling himself with vows, he cheered his soul with 
 the image of the life he might yet fulfil, shedding 
 on all under his charge the blessings of his activity, 
 patience, and love ; and daily casting off the burden 
 of the day, leaving all care for the morrow to such 
 as, happier than himself, would have the future the 
 image of the present. 
 
 END OF VOLUME I 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND BVANS, PRINTERS WHITEFRIARS.
 
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