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 L I E> R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 623 
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 f"' '
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 1835.
 
 
 0lo)X 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In acquiring a knowledge of the world, we are too apt to 
 lose a knowledge of self. — Few, if any, ever perfectly 
 understood both. 
 
 " You are late this morning, my dear Desbrow," 
 said Lord Arlington, as lie entered the dressing- 
 room of his friend, who had not yet exchanged 
 his robe de chambre for his morning toilette. — 
 " How jaded you look ; but no wonder, for I 
 dare be sworn you have passed the night in 
 the House of Commons." 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ^ THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 " You are correct in your surmise," replied 
 Mr. Desbrow, " I did not get away until six 
 o'clock this morning, and had the mortification 
 to find myself voting in a most discouraging 
 minority, and to have lost sleep, breath, and 
 time, for no pm-pose." 
 
 " You do not include the worst part of the 
 penalty," said Lord Arlington, " the inhaling 
 the pestiferous air of the most impure atmo- 
 sphere in London, the effects of which are even 
 now visible in your languid visage — chacun a 
 son goiit. I left Crockford's exactly at the 
 same hour that you left St. Stephen's, having 
 paired off* with Welsford, and sought my pillow 
 with the comfortable reflection of being a winner 
 of three thousand pounds, which dame Fortune 
 most opportunely sent me, when I was medi- 
 tating - the last resource of the destitute — a 
 penitential letter to my father, or an applica- 
 tion to a friend. For the Jews begin to look 
 grave at my proposals — ungrateful rascals as 
 they are — after my voting for theu' emancipa-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. O 
 
 tion. Hang the dogs, I wish they would eman- 
 cipate us." 
 
 " Will you never grow wise, Arlington?" 
 asked his friend. 
 
 " Just the question I was about to put to 
 you," replied Arlington. *' I waste my money 
 and time ; you, your time and health ; which 
 then is the more unwise ? I live in the world, 
 and am of it; you pass through it, as on a 
 forced march — your person in it, but your 
 thoughts engaged in some Utopian speculation 
 for bettering mankind; while the specimen of 
 that genus, which ought, according to worldly 
 wisdom, the most to interest and occupy you — 
 namely, yourself, is left to chance, the very 
 worst guardian a man can choose for his per- 
 sonal comfort." 
 
 " It is true," said Desbrow ; " I think, per- 
 haps, less of self, than do the generality of men. 
 But, I claim little merit for this self-abnegation ; 
 as, with my views, enjoyment of life must spring 
 from a consciousness of duties discharged, or, 
 
 B 2
 
 Af THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 at least, attempted to be discharged; and if 
 personal gratification is alone to be made the 
 guide of our actions, I fear few would attend 
 to duties, as many, if not all of them are per- 
 formed with some personal sacrifice." 
 
 " You will end by becoming a saint, my dear 
 Desbrow," said Arlington, "but saint or sinner, 
 I shall always love you, though, for my soul, I 
 can't tell why, as no two creatures can be more 
 unlike than we are. I wish I could get you 
 to come to Crockford's of a night, and become 
 one of us choice spirits." 
 
 " And I," returned Desbrow, " wish I could 
 get you to wait for divisions at the House, and 
 to go to Brooks's oftener than to White's ; in 
 short, to become one of us, I wont say choice 
 spirits, but plodding spirits, who think more of 
 country, than of self" 
 
 " When you shew me the good that results 
 from your exertions," said Arlington, " I may 
 be inclined to listen to your counsel ; but, until 
 then, I shall continue to amuse myself through
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. O 
 
 tlie journey of life, while you add to its tedi- 
 ousness by examining every obstruction in your 
 path, for the sake, forsooth, of rendering it more 
 easy to future generations. Now I, like the 
 quaint reasoner, who preferred the present to 
 the future, am inclined to ask what has pos- 
 terity done for us ? and the answer being 
 ' Nothing,' I am disposed to treat it with equal 
 disregard. Spare me, dear Desbrow, the lec- 
 ture that your grave looks and ominous shake 
 of the head indicate. I must be off, as I have 
 ten thousand places to go to, and ten thousand 
 things to do ; so adieu — au revoir — we shall meet 
 at the House, for I must shew myself there, 
 and look out for a pair, as I dine with Ellesmere 
 at eight, and would not miss being there for all 
 the questions that have been, or will be, dis- 
 cussed this session." 
 
 " One word before you go," said Desbrow, 
 " pray let me implore you to abandon 
 play." 
 
 " What! was there ever such a Goth as to
 
 b THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 make such a request, the morning after I have 
 won three thousand?" 
 
 " Better to make it after you have won, than 
 after you have lost,"said Desbrow. " Remember, 
 my dear Arlington, we are old friends: if you find 
 yourself under any pecuniary embarrassments 
 in which I can be of use, command me — rea- 
 dily, cheerfully will I assist you ; but, I should 
 be wanting in friendship, were I not to impress 
 on your mind, that play will render the aid 
 of friends useless, by drawing present distress 
 and future ruin on you, if you continue to 
 indulge in it. The pecuniary losses, which 
 must ever be the certain result of play, great as 
 are the embarrassments they lead to, are the 
 least of the evils it entails. Gaming creates 
 a moral torpedo, which palsies every noble and 
 generous feeling in the heart of him who 
 yields to it, rendering him reckless of his own 
 future happiness, and callous with regard to 
 that of those who depend on him for theirs. 
 He who wins or loses thousands, becomes care-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 7 
 
 less of hundreds ; because he believes, with the 
 credulity that ever appertains to the votaries of 
 fortune, that she changes her smiles too fre- 
 quently, not to visit him occasionally. The 
 more he loses, the more he calculates on a re- 
 action that will repay him his losses ; and his 
 expenses are incurred with a reference to his 
 possible gains, but never to his possible losses ; 
 hence, heavy debts are added to the list of his 
 troubles. If he ivins, he continues to play, 
 because it would be folly to abandon fortune 
 when she is favourable ; and if he loses, which, 
 b}'^ some unaccountable (as he calls it) fatality, 
 occurs much more frequently, he equally con- 
 tinues to gamble, because he has lost too much 
 to leave off without trying to recover some part, 
 and so plays until fortune and honour have left 
 him for ever." 
 
 " By Jove, you have read me a rare lecture," 
 said Arlington ; *' if Crocky heard it, he would 
 think himself half ruined." 
 
 " Let us be serious for this once," said
 
 8 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Desbrow. " If you have debts, I can lend you 
 sufficient to pay tbem ; but promise me to play 
 no more ; do this, dear Arlington, as a proof of 
 friendship." 
 
 '* Well, well," said Arlington, " I will com- 
 promise with you, by giving my word of honour 
 not to play for a year ; will that content you ?" 
 
 " I am satisfied," said Desbrow, shaking him 
 by the hand; " and now recollect that I am 
 your banker for the payment of all debts, and 
 do not again mortify your father by letting liim 
 know that his last year's liberahty has not 
 redeemed or reclaimed you." 
 
 " You are a strange fellow, Desbrow," said 
 Arlington, musingly. " Here you are ready to 
 lend me thousands, with but a remote prospect 
 of payment ; and yet it was only yesterday that 
 you denied yourself the two hunters that 
 tempted you at Anderson's. I have still suffi- 
 cient grace to appreciate this self-denial, though, 
 alas! not to practise it; but among the set I
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 9 
 
 live with, it would be set down as a certain 
 proof of your total want of nous — a want they 
 can as rarely pardon as understand." 
 
 " And yet, Arlington, those are the people 
 with whom you live. How can you associate, 
 day after day, with such persons ? Can you con- 
 sider those as friends, who could only be useful 
 as confederates?" 
 
 " Wliy no," replied Arlington, " I am not 
 sufficiently stupid to consider them as friends, 
 according to the real acceptation of the word. 
 I call my associates at Crockford's ' les amis de 
 hasard. I anticipate all you would say, Desbrow, 
 and feel its justice. I know the worthlessness 
 of my companions ; and if I am indulgent to 
 their heartlessness and gross selfishness, it is 
 because I am conscious of my own sins, in at 
 least that point. I sometimes think I am 
 formed for better things, mais que voulez vous ? 
 I have fallen into a certain routine, from which 
 I have not mental courage enough to disen- 
 
 b5
 
 10 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 tangle myself; and I vent my contempt of my 
 own weakness, in satirical observations on those 
 wlio have lured me into it. Now you, dear Des- 
 brow, — forgive my candour, — might have saved 
 me, had you been less Quixotic, less abstract 
 in your theories ; but the gulph between mere 
 common-place sensualists, living only for them- 
 selves, and you, who live only for others, ap- 
 peared too ^vide to be spanned by any arch that 
 1 could ever imagine ; and so, I have remained on 
 the terra ferma of positive clay, while you have 
 soared into purer regions. Apathy is my bane ; 
 and is one of the worst moral diseases, because 
 it incapacitates us from combatting the en- 
 croachments of vice, or of opening our souls to 
 the approaches of virtue." 
 
 " FeeKng this, my dear Arlington, can you 
 still submit to abandon yourself to the vortex 
 of dissipation and folly, in which you have 
 been wasting all the best faculties of your 
 mind ?" 
 
 '^ Why, I have somewhere read," said the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. IJ. 
 
 insouciant Arlington, " that tliey who have not 
 been scathed by vice, know not how to appre- 
 ciate virtue, which, hke health and wealth, are 
 never fully valued, — until — lost. Now, I have 
 bought my experience ; and no one values 
 goodness more than I do, though few practise 
 it less." 
 
 " A truce to raillery, I beg," said Desbrow ; 
 let me entreat you to gratify me by consenting 
 to give up your dinner at Ellesmere House 
 to-day. I know there will be a division." 
 
 " Yes," said Arlington, " and we, as usual, 
 shall find ourselves in an inglorious minority 
 with the fag end of the liberals. Faugh ! it 
 makes me sick, to see our names mingled with 
 those of men who owe their seats to reform, 
 and whose presence offers the strongest argu- 
 ment against a measure that has opened Par- 
 liament to such ignorant pretenders." 
 f " Ah ! there is the old leaven of aristocratic 
 prejudices peeping forth," said Desbrow ; " you 
 glory in the opinions which influence your
 
 12 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 votes, but are ashamed of tlie company in 
 which the votes are givjen. It reminds me of an 
 Irish lady, who turned Protestant because there 
 are no pews in the Catholic churches, and that 
 all ranks are mingled together without respect 
 to persons. How, with such feeling, shall you 
 aristocrats support the notion of the equality of 
 the grave, the unceremonious contact of vulgar 
 clay, and the impartial preference of the worm, 
 who leaves some high-born lord or lady to 
 banquet on some ignoble peasant." 
 
 " Spare me such hideous pictures," said 
 Arlington ; " really, Desbrow, you are too bad ; 
 but to reply to you in your own style, if we 
 are condemned to mingle our fine porcelain 
 with the vile pottery of vulgar earth in the 
 grave, it is no reason that we should mix it 
 while we have the power of selection. But 
 you have entrapped me into a discussion on 
 the future, when I have a thousand rare projects 
 for the present. I cannot give up the dinner 
 at EUesmere House. Lady Walmer is to be
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 13 
 
 there, and I would not miss meeting her for — 
 no — not even for your best commendations, 
 my dear Desbrow, though I do value them. — 
 So adieu." 
 
 " Stay one moment," said Desbrow, laying 
 his hand on the arm of his friend, " I have 
 known you to be imprudent, unthinking — a 
 gamester; but I believed not that you could 
 harbour, and unblushingly avow, an attach- 
 ment to a married v/oman, and that woman the 
 wife of one friend, and the sister of another. 
 This is dreadful." 
 
 *' I am not aware," said Arlington, coldly, 
 " that I have avowed an attachment ; but if I 
 did, I see nothing so very dreadful, as you are 
 pleased to call it, in the affair. Lady Walmer 
 is certainly the wife and sister of two men who 
 are my friends ; how the deuce else, should I 
 have gained admittance, on such a familiar 
 footing, in the house; and consequently, how 
 should I have had opportunities of knowing 
 and liking her, or of making her like me.
 
 14 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 People are blamed for betrayals of friendship 
 in such cases ; but I say that it is the friendship 
 that betrays, by giving the opportunities for 
 such betrayals." 
 
 *' This, is mere sophistry, Arlington, and 
 unworthy of you," said Desbrow. *' I cannot, 
 will not, allow myself to think that you are 
 capable of the conduct I reprehend. No, 
 unthinking as you are, you have too good a 
 heart to wish to destroy the happiness of a 
 family who have treated you with confidence 
 and friendship." 
 
 An observer might have noticed the height- 
 ened colour and embarrassed air of Arlington, 
 as his friend, in the warmth of his feelings, 
 shook him cordially by the hand, repeating 
 again that he disbelieved him capable of such 
 selfishness and deception.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 *' We are often ashamed of our friends, when it is they 
 who have cause to be ashamed of us," 
 
 Lord Arlington was right when he observed 
 that no two persons could be more unlike than 
 he and his friend, yet a very sincere friendship 
 subsisted between them ; a friendship that 
 might have given Desbrow as much power as 
 he had inclination, to draw Arlington away 
 from the futile society and pursuits which were 
 enfeebling his mental powers, and hardening his 
 heart, but that, unfortunately, the former's un- 
 compromising severity of morals was accompa-
 
 16 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 nied by a devotion to liberalism in politics, that 
 often led him into positions which exposed him 
 to the ridicule of his opponents. The " world's 
 dread laugh," which had, on more than one 
 occasion, followed a speech of his, uniting the 
 elevated moral code of a Plato, with the en- 
 thusiasm and fire of a Mirabeau, had alarmed 
 the more worldly mind of Arlington, who 
 shrank back affrighted from the influence that 
 Desbrow had hitherto exercised over his opi- 
 nions ; and the sarcastic mockery with which 
 he had heard his name assailed at the clubs, 
 though it failed to lessen his friendship, had 
 the effect of decreasing his respect for Desbrow, 
 until, by degrees, he had grown to think him a 
 mere visionary, more likely to injure than ad- 
 vance any cause he espoused, and whose counsel 
 it would be weakness to follow. 
 
 Lord Arlington was the only son of the 
 Marquis of Heatherfield, a nobleman of the old 
 school, as remarkable for high principles, as 
 for high breeding, and as strictly honourable in
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 17 
 
 practice as in theory. He was not like too many 
 of our modern men of high station, who would 
 resent the slightest imputation on their honour, 
 yet ^ commit actions which proved, that while 
 they worshipped the shadow, they were care- 
 less of the substance. Courage with lum was 
 something more than an impulse depending on 
 mere physical force, or adopted with reference 
 to conventional opinions. He had not the 
 courage, so common in our days, of tergiver- 
 sation in his politics ; he had not one opinion 
 when his party was in, and another when out 
 of office, on the plea of expediency; he could 
 not sell a friend or foe, an unsound horse, or 
 give an insincere opinion ; he could not over- 
 reach a simpleton, or compete with a rogue ; 
 in short, he was an old-fashioned gentleman, as 
 gentlemen ought ever to be, and one of the admi- 
 rable specimens that England can still boast, 
 which proves that noblemen and gentlemen may 
 be considered synonymous terms. He had horses 
 on the turf, because he thought it incumbent
 
 18 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 on persons of his station and fortune, to en- 
 courage the breed of horses ; but he was never 
 seen to come in contact with blacklegs or 
 jockeys ; he lost regularly at every Newmarket 
 meeting, to the surprise of no one but himself, 
 as he continued to pursue the same unsophis- 
 ticated system in betting that he had been 
 initiated into forty years before, and consoled 
 himself for his losses, by seeing only the most 
 distinguished names in his betting-book. Ar- 
 lington once ventured to insinuate to him, that 
 his repeated defeats on the tm'f were to be 
 attributed to his disdaining to practise the stra- 
 tcigems, or to take advantage of the information 
 to be acquired from certain persons, whose 
 extraordinary sagacity in such matters no one 
 questioned, and of which few failed to avail them- 
 selves when opportunity offered; na}^, he hinted 
 that many of the noble names who figured on 
 the creditor side of his father's book, were 
 more than suspected of a prescience with regard 
 to winning horses, that mere experience could
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 19 
 
 not furnisli ; but tlie air of oftended dignity, 
 with which the venerable nobleman repelled 
 the suspicion, so degrading to " his order," 
 precluded his recurring to it, except at the 
 risk of offending him, which Arlington was by 
 no means willing to do, as he was much at- 
 ,tached to his father. His associates at the 
 clubs, failed not to animadvert on the patri- 
 archal simplicity, as they termed it, of Lord 
 Heatherfield ; or to take advantage of it, by 
 backing horses against the favourite horse, which 
 his lordship — an admirable judge of horseflesh 
 — thought certain of winning. Many were 
 the pleasantries passed at the hazard table at 
 Crockford's, on the facility of securing hundi'eds 
 by betting against him ; nay, some went so far 
 as to advise Arlington to keep the money in 
 the family, by offering his father the long odds 
 against all his favourites : but the gravity wdth 
 which the counsel was received, prevented its 
 being renewed; as, however he might regret 
 the large and repeated losses of Lord Heather-
 
 20 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 field, he was little disposed to permit any jokes 
 at his parent's expense — at least in his presence. 
 Though young in years, Arlington was old 
 in experience ; he had not passed live seasons 
 in the artificial atmosphere of London, without 
 having experienced its chilling influence on the 
 affections, and its petrifying power on the 
 opinions which threatened to become fixed in 
 the cold rigidity of unbending selfishness ; yet, 
 there were moments when the natural warmth 
 and goodness of his nature, triumphed over his 
 acquired egotism, and left him open to better 
 feelings. In such moments, he turned from 
 the venal herd with which he associated, to 
 that honourable and high-minded father, or to 
 his generous and single-hearted, though eccen- 
 tric friend, Desbrow, and sought in their society 
 a relief from the apathetic torpor that was 
 growdng on him. But exploded maxims and 
 Quixotic sentiments from the one, and exag- 
 gerated opinions and Utopian systems of im- 
 practicable perfectibility from the other, dis-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 21 
 
 couraged his advances, and lie fell again into 
 the gay but heartless circle; where an epigram, 
 a sarcasm, or a bon mot, launched with un- 
 erring aim against all that is most respectable, 
 never failed to turn the laugh against it, and 
 to win for the authors that applause which 
 silences dissenters and gains partisans. 
 
 Worldly wisdom was considered the science 
 most necessary to be acquired in Arlington's 
 set; but their definition of the term was so 
 widely apart from the general acceptation of 
 it in other circles, that an adept in the science 
 at Crockford's, would be considered as little 
 short of a madman, among the wise men of 
 the east — of Temple Bar. For the rich, to 
 stake thousands on the chance of winning, and 
 the jpoor, to risk as much on a similar hazard, 
 but with the advantage of being unable to pay, 
 is a common every-night occurrence in the 
 gilded saloons of St. James's Street; but to 
 know how to calculate the odds, when to back a 
 caster, in or out, requires that peculiar worldly
 
 7iZ THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 wisdom, which can only be gained by a frequent 
 attendance at a place that may not be named 
 to '^ ears polite," and whence, contrary to the 
 old received opinion, the presence of its nightly 
 visitors, at all the places of fashionable resort, 
 proves that there is a redemption. 
 
 Arlington had, like all his associates, won 
 some hmidreds, and lost some thousands, still 
 he believed himself not only a lucky but a 
 scientific player. Whether he was the last, we 
 will not stop to enquire, but that, on the whole, 
 he might be considered the former, we are 
 ready to admit ; as he had, for five seasons, per- 
 severed in putting his luck to the proof, and was 
 not yet ruined ; having only exhausted one 
 year's income, and anticipated another, inde- 
 pendent of some thousands paid for him by his 
 liberal father. 
 
 Arlington's days passed in a round of vapid 
 amusement, that filled up his time, but failed 
 to afford him any rational enjoyment ; a latent 
 feeling frequently reminded him that he was
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 28 
 
 formed for better things, and there were mo- 
 ments when he turned away disgusted, if not 
 sated, from the routine of empty pleasures, 
 into whose vortex he had plunged; but habit, \ 
 that giant who enslaves even more than did the i 
 fabled giants of old, still held him in its chains : 
 and though he had learnt by experience that 
 pleasure is not happiness, he continued to act 
 as if he knew not the distinction, mentally 
 promising himself, that so?u.e day or other (that 
 indefinite epoch, referred to by all who medi- 
 tate amendment) he would shake off the inglo- 
 rious thraldom of fashion, and live a different 
 life. 
 
 Desbrow was of a different character from 
 Arlington, and his piu'suits rendered the dif- 
 ference still more apparent. Left an orphan 
 at an early age, and heir to a very large 
 fortune, he had been sent to a perpara- 
 tory school when only six years old, and 
 there the first impression of friendship was 
 stamped on his ductile heart by Arlington, a
 
 24 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 lively affectionate boy of his own age, who 
 returned it with all the warmth of childhood. 
 From this private school they were sent, nearly 
 at the same age, to Eton, where the friend- 
 ship, commenced in infancy, " grew with their 
 growth, and strengthened with their strength." 
 But even at this early period, each had disco- 
 vered that his friend was not exactly like him- 
 self, and the discovery often gave pain. Desbrow 
 was never so happy as when, during the play 
 hours, he devoured, rather than read, some 
 abridged history or romance ; and his chest 
 would expand, his cheeks glow, and his eyes 
 flash, as some trait of heroic courage, or noble 
 self-devotion, was brought before him on the 
 page. He would peruse it aloud, and with 
 enthusiasm, turn to grasp the hand of Ar- 
 lington, and claim his symj)atliy; but Arling- 
 ton's approbation was so cold and measured, 
 in comparison with his feelings, that Desbrow, 
 disconcerted and chilled, could not, at such mo- 
 ments, but grieve that his friend felt not as
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 2o 
 
 lie did. Arlington, on his side, thought that the 
 time allotted for recreation might be much 
 better employed than in reading ; yet, he often 
 remained with Desbrow, because he enjoyed 
 not play without him, though his thoughts all 
 the time were in the play-ground. 
 
 Notwithstanding that the abstraction of Des- 
 brow produced some wonder and occasional 
 sneers from his juvenile companions, his abi- 
 lities, generosity, and high courage, had won 
 their esteem. 
 
 Amongst them he was a sort of privileged 
 person, whose eccentricities, if they repelled 
 famiharity, precluded not respect ; but Arling- 
 ton was the most popular boy at Eton, and 
 used his popularity, as it is but too generally 
 used, as a means of attaining his own object, 
 which was simply amusement, Desbrow being 
 the only person who resisted his daily devised 
 plans of pleasure, though the only person whose 
 companionship in them, he cjondescended to 
 soKcit. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 The dissimilarity of their tastes and pursuits 
 chilled not the attachment that united them. 
 Desbrow had often extricated his friend from 
 pecuniary embarrassments, brought on by ex- 
 travagance, though his allowance was consider- 
 ably less than that of Arlington : and, at such 
 moments, the latter felt that to the self-denial 
 of Desbrow he owed his escape from the mor- 
 tifying necessity of appealing to a father, 
 whose liberality ought to have prevented his 
 son from being driven to such expedients. Pru- 
 dent resolutions always followed such reflec- 
 tions, but they faded away before the first tempta- 
 tion that assailed them : and the youths left Eton 
 for Cambridge nearly at the same tune, with 
 no feeling in conunon save that of friendship. 
 
 Desbrow's guardian, Mr. Beaumont, a near 
 relative, of large fortune and misanthropic 
 habits, was the most unfit person to whom 
 he could be confided. His vacations were 
 spent with him ; and the baleful influence his 
 dogmatical theories acquired over the mind of 
 his ward, was evident when he returned from
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 27 
 
 his visits, by an increased seclusion, and a more 
 unbending adherence to his own opinions. Mr. 
 Beaumont, in his youth, had been jilted by a 
 young lady, to whom he was passionately at- 
 tached, and of whose affection he thought him- 
 self secure. Of a naturally morose turn of mind, 
 this disappointment soured his nature, and he 
 visited on the whole sex, nay, on all the 
 world, the dislike that the inconstancy of the 
 lady, had engendered towards his species. To 
 the aristocracy he indulged a hatred that lie 
 missed no opportunity of betraying. This feel- 
 ing had its source in the circumstances, that 
 she who had deceived, and the rival who had 
 supplanted him, both belonged to that class; 
 and this hatred influenced his conduct, long 
 after he had ceased to reflect on its original 
 cause. With a strong bias to Tory politics, he 
 became a violent liberal, for the sole purpose, 
 as he declared, of assisting to humble the proud 
 aristocrats ; and supported many a measure in 
 direct violation of his judgment, to further this 
 desired end. How many of the most intempe- 
 
 c2
 
 28 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 rate politicians, of all parties, have been led by 
 equally futile causes, originating in selfish dis- 
 appointments or personal piques? How many 
 pseud9 patriots has the refusal of a minister 
 made ? and how many ultra Tories have sprung 
 into life from similar reasons ? Mr. Beaumont 
 had talked to Desbrow of the pride, heartless- 
 ness, and selfishness of the aristocracy, as if 
 such defects were peculiar to that class, and 
 not appertaining to the whole mass of mankind ; 
 and the ductile mind of his ward had received 
 the impression, ere reason or experience had 
 enabled him to refute the injurious fallacy. 
 
 Thus, he learned to look with suspicion on 
 those with whom his station in life had cast 
 him, and was ready to advocate any measure 
 that tended to elevate the classes which he was 
 led to consider their opponents. At Cambridge 
 the exclusiveness of a few of the scions of no- 
 bility, still foither increased Desbrow's pre- 
 conceived dishke to them; and fixed in him 
 prejudices that, if not impossible to be Radi- 
 cated, were at least difficult to be conquered.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS* 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 '* Dans un salon, I'enthousiasme est de mauvais gout, il 
 fait dissonance avec le ton froideraent poli qui est 
 d 'etiquette, comme des gants glaces ; a la tribune 
 national, I'eloquence est une conversation, les mains 
 dans les poches ; et si Mirabeau ressucite y apparaissait 
 avec les foudres de sa voix, et les passions fougueuses de 
 sa dialectique, les centres lui riraient au nez, et le 
 president le rappellerait a I'ordre." 
 
 A VISIT made at Heatherlield Castle, and an 
 intimacy formed witli its noble owner, did more 
 towards correcting the false impressions of 
 Desbrow, than all the intercourse he had yet 
 had with the aristocracy. The genuine noble- 
 ness, candour, and dignified simplicity of Lord 
 Heatherfield, soon made themselves felt, and 
 were as soon appreciated by Desbrow ; who
 
 30 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 quickly learned to respect even the prejudices 
 of the venerable nobleman, intermingled as 
 they were with so many virtues and estimable 
 qualities. Lord Heatherfield, on his side, formed 
 a high estimation of his son's friend ; in truth, 
 notvdthstanding the difference of their political 
 opinions, as well as ages, the characters of the 
 two approximated much more closely than did 
 that of either with Arhngton's ; for there was a 
 certain degree of enthusiasm in both, which 
 found a chord that vibrated in the heart of the 
 other. 
 
 If Desbrow learned to think better of the 
 aristocracy, from his intimacy vdth one of the 
 most excellent of its members, Lord Heather- 
 field was taught to judge more leniently the 
 classes who had found so warm and high-minded 
 a defender in Desbrow. The prejudices of both 
 yielded to the salutary effects produced by wit- 
 nessing the admirable qualities of each other, 
 and having arrived at esteem, they soon began 
 to respect their hitherto severely-judged oppo-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 31 
 
 nents, — the first and great step towards that 
 most desirable stage in the march of intellect — 
 conciliation. How many kind hearts and con- 
 genial natures are kept apart by political pre- 
 judices ; hearts and natures, that, if known to 
 each other, might have broken down the hi- 
 therto impregnable fortresses and ramparts of 
 prejudice that divided them. But when will men 
 cease to be governed by the tyrant Prejudice, 
 who, like all tyrants, is only powerful in the 
 weakness of his victims. Does not death, sick- 
 ness, and sorrow, vsdth all the other thousand ills 
 to which men are heirs, furnish sufficient causes 
 for embittering this mortal pilgrimage without 
 the heart-burnings, estrangements, and discords, 
 to which the indulgence of prejudices gives birth? 
 Alas ! it is from our ovm failings that our most 
 frequent, if not most painful, trials arise ! and by 
 giving way to passion and prejudice, we deprive 
 ourselves of many consolations which the sym- 
 pathy and kindness of congenial minds might 
 afford us.
 
 32 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 But to return to our story. After each 
 visit to Heatherfielcl Castle, Mr. Beaumont 
 discovered that his v^ard joined with less ani- 
 mation in his strictures against the aristocracy ; 
 nay, that he not unfrequently dissented from 
 the unqualified censures with which he assailed 
 them, even though Desbrow was more disposed 
 to make exceptions against the sweeping ana- 
 thema, than to defend the whole order from its 
 fury. Mr. Beaumont attributed this change in 
 his ward's feelings to his friendship for Lord 
 Heatherfield and ArKngton, and often taunted 
 him, on the subject of the father's weakness 
 and prejudice, and the son's sybarite love of 
 pleasure, unconscious that he himself was giving 
 way to much more blameable prejudices, while 
 unjustly decrying Lord Heatherfield. 
 
 " You will end," would the old man say to 
 his ward, " by being, — I won't say elevated, 
 but degraded, to the peerage, which will be the 
 price paid for the relinquishment of your inde- 
 pendence of opinion. I see it all : that old
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 38 
 
 courtier and his unprincipled son have made 
 an apostate of you." 
 
 ** Pardon me, my dear Mr. Beaumont," would 
 Desbrow reply, " but you quite mistake the 
 character of the Marquis of Heatherfield and 
 that of his son." 
 
 " What ! you would persuade me that the 
 father is not a pompous, ceremonious, prosing 
 nobleman of the old school; and the son, a 
 thoughtless, unprincipled, selfish voluptuary cjf 
 the new?" asked the cynical guardian. '* No, 
 no ; I know better than that ; / am not to be 
 cajoled, though you may be. I know the aris- 
 tocracy well, — too well, — and equally despise 
 the feudal tyrants of the old regime, as the 
 selfish epicureans of the new. Both are the 
 drones, yes, Desbrow, the useless drones, that 
 consume the honey of the constitutional hive, 
 to the detriment of the useful bees." 
 
 " But surely, sir, you must admit that the 
 Marquis of Heatherfield, who has never held 
 place or pension, cannot be called a drone." 
 
 c 5
 
 34 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 " He would have been glad to have held 
 both, if he could," mterrupted Mr. Beaumont ; 
 and would, if the labourer had been found 
 worthy of his hire." 
 
 ** Really, sir, you must excuse my dissenting 
 from your opinions," rephed Desbrow. " I 
 think highly of the Marquis of Heatherlield ; 
 and as to my friend Arlington, I cannot admit 
 that he is either unprincipled or selfish." 
 
 " The devil you don't," asked Mr. Beau- 
 mont, angrily. " What ! then, it is not un- 
 principled or selfish to spend double the pro- 
 fuse allowance given him by his father ; to vex 
 and harass that too indulgent father by incurring 
 enormous debts ; and then to have recourse to 
 the first easy dupe of a friend he encounters, 
 to enable him to pursue the same system? 
 This," continued the old man, " in middle, 
 or low life, would be considered unprincipled 
 and selfish ; but when the brows of the actor 
 are encircled with a coronet, it appears that it 
 ceases to be either."
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 35 
 
 To such arguments, Desbrow found it difficult 
 to reply. He could not defend Arlington; but 
 he liked him too well to abandon him to the 
 severe animadversions of his guardian, without, 
 at least, giving hhn credit for the many good 
 qualities which he knew he possessed, the 
 recapitulation of which, only served to draw 
 forth sundiy ill-natured comments. 
 
 '* He may well be generous," would the old 
 man say, " if he finds a foolish father, and a 
 thoughtless friend, to administer to his pro- 
 digality ; he may well be good-tempered, if all 
 pecuniary annoyance is saved him, by want of 
 principle or feeling to be wounded by them ; 
 and he may well be ready to sacrifice a little to 
 those who sacrifice so much to him." 
 
 Both the young men left Cambridge with 
 academical honours, and the general esteem of 
 all who knew them. Arlington had excited a 
 more lively interest amongst his companions, 
 from the hilarity and sociability of his dispo- 
 sition ; but Desbrow left an impression on the
 
 36 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 learned professors that he was a person formed 
 to make a sensation in public life, provided he 
 conquered the bias to eccentricity that was 
 visible in his character. Both the friends were 
 returned members for Parliament soon after 
 they had completed their majority ; both were 
 at first considered as staunch supporters of the 
 administration then in power. Desbrow, how- 
 ever, soon declared himself that political paradox 
 so seldom to be met with — " an independent 
 member," which was defined to mean a member 
 that could not be depended upon; and, as is 
 usual in such cases, he offended all parties. 
 His brilliant talents, which could not have 
 failed to secure him celebrity, if he had acted 
 with either of the influential parties, could not 
 screen him from the stings and arrows of ridi- 
 cule, directed at him by both, whenever his 
 eloquence was employed against the measures 
 of either. The Radicals, as they were called in 
 the House, turned with hope to what they 
 considered so promising a leader to their ranks ; 
 but were soon discouraged by the fierte and
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 37 
 
 sternness with which the uncompromising Des- 
 brow met their advances, or laid down his 
 own generous, but Utopian, political system. 
 His large fortune, ancient family, extensive 
 connections, and fine person, were passports to 
 the best society that London can boast. We 
 have placed fortune at the top of the list of his 
 claims to attention, because it is the one that 
 never fails to obtain it — an opinion warranted 
 by the fact so thoroughly established, that in 
 Christian England, a wealthy Jew, with no 
 other recommendation than his property, is 
 sure of a cordial reception in circles where 
 merit, wanting it, would be barely tolerated; 
 and he who can buy " golden opinions from all 
 sorts of men," will have little reason to com- 
 plain of '' want of all the external marks of 
 respect in London." Bacon said, that ^' know- 
 ledge is power ;" but had he lived in our days, 
 he would have been compelled to substitute 
 " riches " for " knowledge ;" so universal is the 
 homage paid to them in all ranks: and, when 
 one sees the distinctions fortune can command.
 
 38 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 one is compelled to assent to the truth of the 
 Frenchman's remark, that, L'or est comme le 
 soleil, il donne a la boue, de la consistance. 
 
 The twelve thousand a-year, landed property, 
 that Desbrow really possessed, with above a 
 hundred thousand pounds in the funds, the 
 savings of his long minority, were magnified 
 into at least twice that amount, by that most 
 generally untrue oracle, common rumour. His 
 whereabouts were prated of in the fashionable 
 newspapers ; anticipations were given of the 
 splendid mansion to be fitted up, in the style 
 of Louis Quatorze, for the rich Mr. Desbrow ; 
 new services of gilt plate were to be added 
 to the costly family plate of his ancestors ; 
 and it was more than hinted at, that the fine 
 diamonds, which attracted Queen Charlotte's 
 admiration at the drawing-rooms some thirty 
 years before, on the presentation of Mr. Des- 
 brow's mother, were only waiting until he had 
 selected, from out the parterre of aristocratic 
 beauty, some rosebud worthy of being decked
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 39 
 
 in them. For some weeks, the columns of all 
 the fashionable journals were eloquent in praise 
 of — his ivealth, and dilated with grandiloquence 
 on all the agrements it commanded. In one 
 he was styled, par exceUencej the rich Mr. 
 Desbrow; and in another, the richest commoner 
 in England. His porter had scarcely time to 
 run his eye over the morning papers, from the 
 repeated knocks at the door. Visits and cards 
 of invitation poured in for many weeks in 
 advance, counting on that upon which none can 
 calculate — life — the most precarious of all 
 our possessions, and bidding guests to feasts six 
 weeks after date, as if existence was held by a 
 fixed tenure. Pink, blue, and straw coloured 
 notes, redolent v/ith perfumes, were mingled 
 with the heterogeneous mass of letters that iiV 
 tered the hall table every day. Petitions from 
 reduced officers, whose regiments it would have 
 puzzled the War Office to discover ; from dis- 
 tressed gentlemen with large families, '' unfit 
 to work, yet not ashamed to beg ;" unfortunate
 
 40 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 young ladies, under the most dreadful embar- 
 rassment ; and elderly ones, wanting the necessa- 
 ries of life, appealed to " his well-known bene- 
 volence," to rescue them from despair. In short, 
 such shoals of applications were daily made, 
 that nothing less than the purse of Fortunatus 
 could have enabled Desbrow to comply with 
 even a tenth part of the demands made on him. 
 Silversmiths, jewellers, upholsterers, coach- 
 makers, tailors, hatters, boot and shoe makers, 
 all besieged his door, with the newest patterns 
 and chef d'oeuvres of their respective crafts, 
 begging the honour of entering his name in 
 their books. New discoveries of balsams, and 
 pomades for renovating the hair, or toupets and 
 patent spring peruques for concealing the want 
 of it, were recommended to his notice ; and 
 dentists apprised him that the finest sets of 
 teeth, emidating pearl, and far surpassing the 
 natural production, were ready to be submitted 
 for his inspection. Desbrow could not forbear 
 a smile, as he glanced in the glass, at his curly
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. *- 41 
 
 locks of rich brown, and his regular teeth of 
 pure white ; and in candour we must admit that 
 there was some portion of self-complacency in- 
 termingled with the reflection, that at least he 
 had no occasion for such substitutes. There 
 were other letters which excited frowns rather 
 than smiles : they came from the proprietors of 
 gaming-houses, designating their establishments 
 under the specious names of clubs, " having 
 the honour of informing Mr. Desbrow that the 
 
 club is open from ten at night- until four 
 
 in the morning, with the bank on the table." 
 Such notifications Desbrow 't^rew with indig- 
 nation into the fire. What! thought he, is 
 London, the first capital in the world, arrived 
 at that degree of depravity, that such invita- 
 tions are openly sent to men of character, 
 without their being considered as an insult ? 
 He was one day in the act of committing several 
 of these epistles to the flames, when Arlington 
 entered, and observing the visible emotion of 
 his friend, enquired what had so moved him.
 
 42 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 When the cause was explained, Arlington could 
 not resist a laugh, at what he called the virtuous 
 indignation of Desbrow, who became almost 
 angry that Arlington could laugh at that which 
 he considered an implied insult — the being 
 invited to a gaming-house. 
 
 *' All such letters I throw into the fire," said 
 Desbrow, suiting the action to the word." 
 
 " A sort of poetical justice," said Arlington, 
 laughing, " as you only consign them to that 
 native element supposed to be peculiar to the 
 places whence they originated. I too, like 
 you, burn them; but I am afraid, unlike you, 
 I generally look in at these pandemoniums, and 
 have often left there, not only the contents of 
 my purse, but my temper. Spare me, dear 
 Desbrow, the moral lesson that your grave face 
 portends ; all that you would^ that you could, 
 say on the subject, my own common sense has 
 said to me fifty times, and yet I have gone on — 
 well, well, le jour viendra, when I shall repent, 
 and lead a sober life, and give you the merit 
 of my conversion."
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " La civilisation actueJle est un mensonge convenu qui 
 lie trompe que les niais." 
 
 The warm reception that Desbrow experienced 
 on making his debut in London, soon subsided 
 into a coldness bordering on indifference, when 
 his soi-disant friends and acquaintances disco- 
 vered how little benefit could result to them 
 from his riches. Those who had calculated on 
 his dinners, and had even resolved to assist 
 him with their advice in choosing an artiste de 
 cuisine, were as indignant, as they were dis- 
 appointed, at what they termed his absurd 
 mode of living. Others, v/ho had kindly under-
 
 44 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 taken to select horses for liim, from the stables 
 of dealers with whom their accounts were nei- 
 ther of short date nor small amount, felt almost 
 oifended when he civilly declined their assist- 
 ance : and those, who had, from equally disin- 
 terested motives, recommended their too trust- 
 ing coachmakers, tailors, and jewellers, were so 
 loud in their censures, of his want of taste in 
 not employing them, that people were so ill- 
 natured as to suppose that they had more than 
 a common interest in their recommendations. 
 
 In proportion to Desbrow's sinking in the es- 
 timation of his fashionable young male acquaint- 
 ance, he rose in that of the elderly; he was 
 cited by fathers as a model to sons ; his prudence, 
 his abstinence from gaming, and keeping race 
 horses, were recorded not only as praiseworthy 
 omissions of extravagance, but as positive virtues ; 
 and groaning sires, at each new demand from 
 ruined and ruinous sons, wished that they had 
 such heirs as Desbrow. The ladies of a certain 
 age also honoured him with no slight portion
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 45 
 
 of esteem; and mothers and annts reposed so 
 much confidence in him, that they frequently 
 poured into his ear complaints of daughters 
 and nieces, who disliked balls, fetes, and routs 
 so much, that they were obliged to be forced 
 to appear at them ; and yet, the dear creatures 
 were so sweet-tempered, that, when at such 
 entertainments, they appeared so content, few 
 could ever have supposed they were there unwil- 
 lingly. The young ladies also shewed no disin- 
 clination towards Desbrow ; and, though some 
 persons maliciously insinuated that his thou- 
 sands and tens of thousands had some share in 
 their admiration, yet he was too good-look- 
 ing, well bred, and agreeable, to admit of its 
 being believed that his fortune was the prin- 
 cipal attraction. 
 
 We pass over five seasons in London, and 
 as many winters in the country, during which, 
 Desbrov/ pursued the even tenour of his way, 
 untempted, but not untempting, in matrimonial 
 speculations. Various had been the country
 
 46 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 houses to which he had heen mvited for the 
 shooting seasons ; and he had now become so 
 au fait of the accomplishments of the Lady 
 Mary's, Sophia's, and Augusta's, of each lordly 
 mansion, that he shrank back from the exhi- 
 bition and exhibitors, and learnt to consider 
 each reunion des grandes maisons as a bazaar, 
 where beauty and accomplishments were ex- 
 posed for sale to the highest bidder. 
 
 When appealed to by acquaintances, if he 
 did not think Lady Mary or Augusta very 
 beautiful, he assented with a coldness that re- 
 sembled more that of an anchorite, than a young- 
 man of four-and-twenty ; and when repeatedly 
 assured how clever such or such a young lady 
 was, he admitted it in a way that proved he 
 did not consider cleverness and agreeability 
 synonymous terms. An aching void was in 
 his heart; and he began to think he was 
 too fastidious to hope that it might ever be 
 filled up, as the women whose beauty attracted, 
 repelled him by their frivoHty or affectation ;
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 47 
 
 and those whose cleverness allured, disgusted 
 him by their pedantry and love of display. 
 From flirtations with matrons he was deterred, 
 not by want of encouragement, but by the 
 severity of his moral principles ; as, unlike the 
 generality of his contemporaries, he had te- 
 nets and certain established rules of conduct 
 in his mind, from which hitherto he had never 
 swerved ; and though they exposed him to the 
 ridicule of those who gloried in that which he 
 shunned, he had sufficient mental courage, not 
 only to act up to these, but not to be ashamed 
 of them — a mauvaise honte of which too 
 many are often guilty. 
 
 The experience of each session of Parliament, 
 had convinced Desbrow that there existed but 
 little chance of his seeing the adoption of the 
 changes he desired ; still he conscientiously at- 
 tended each debate, and voted on each division, 
 in support of the measures he advocated. He 
 was looked on by the tepid politicians as a 
 Quixotic theorist, and by the extreme liberals
 
 48 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 as an impracticable one. His toto-l freedom 
 from prejudice, in judging his political oppo- 
 nents, — a freedom so rare at all times, but 
 doubly so, when party feeling ran high, — had 
 preserved him from exciting or indulging angry 
 passions ; and he passed through the busy 
 scenes of life more as a spectator than an 
 actor. 
 
 A refined taste and knowledge in the fine 
 arts led to many hours of pure enjoyment : in 
 visiting the studios of the best artists, in paint- 
 ing and sculpture, and in selecting from them 
 whatever most pleased his fastidious eye to 
 grace his mansion, he found an inexhaustible 
 source of interest. 
 
 The sums that were lavished by other men 
 of his station and fortune on horses, and in 
 gaming, were expended by Desbrow in en- 
 couraging the arts ; and many a chef d'ceuvre 
 decked the walls and niches of his gallery, 
 which offered triumphant proofs of the excel- 
 lence at which our native artists have arrived.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 49 
 
 Many of 'Desbrow's hours were passed in his 
 library, which was well filled with the choicest 
 works ; and time never flew so rapidly and 
 agreeably, as when, seated in an easy chair 
 with a favourite author in his hand, he yielded 
 to the fascination of solitude, feeling *' never 
 less alone than when alone." Often did the 
 thought occur to him, of how delicious it would 
 be to have his solitude shared by some lovely 
 and amiable being ; to whom he could read 
 aloud the passages that most pleased him, and 
 in whose sympathy his pleasures would be 
 doubled. But the young ladies, whose exteriors 
 might have suited his taste, had so fatigued 
 him with the endless display of their accom- 
 plishments, that he sighed in despair at the 
 hopelessness of meeting a woman young, lovely, 
 and with a mind that could think and converse, 
 instead of exhibiting her proficiency in superficial 
 talents too often acquired at the expense of 
 the sacrifice of intellectual cultivation. Though 
 the unthinking part of the world pause not to 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 enquire into causes, whose effects amuse them, 
 those who look beyond the surface know that 
 there are no Admirable Crichtons in the world, 
 male or female, and that a young lady cannot 
 apply to music and painting alone, the number 
 of hours necessary to arrive at excellence in 
 either, without considerably deducting from 
 the time which should have been devoted to the 
 attainment of that general information and in- 
 struction, absolutely essential to the formation of 
 an intellectual and cultivated companion. Fine 
 musicians and painters can always be procured 
 by the rich, who require not artists in their 
 wives ; but rational society, conversational pow- 
 ers, and general information, cannot be bought. 
 These are the only ingredients that sweeten life 
 and cement affection among married people. 
 Accomplishments are delightful accessories, but 
 cultivation of mind is an indispensable requisite 
 in domestic happiness; yet upon this simple 
 truth few parents reflect, and young women are 
 taught arts by which they may shine in pubHc,
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 51 
 
 rather than the solid attainments that shed a 
 mild and even lustre in private life. Hence that 
 want of extraneous society, experienced by so 
 many wedded pairs in fashionable life, which 
 renders a conjugal tete-a-tete proverbial for 
 its dulness. 
 
 Such reflections were forced on the mind of 
 Desbrow, when listening to the syren tones and 
 scientific accompaniments of many of the young 
 ladies who exhibited nightly before him, on the 
 hai'p or piano, or whose portfeuilles displayed 
 sketches that would not have shamed even 
 some of the best of our artists ; but, whose 
 conversation, if conversation it might be called, 
 completely proved how such accomplishments 
 had been acquired — at the sacrifice of the cul- 
 tivation of their mental faculties. 
 
 Arlington laughed at the fastidious taste of 
 his friend ; and, when leaning over the instru- 
 ment whence some young lady was drawing 
 dulcet sounds, that " vsrapt his entranced soul 
 in elysium," he pitied the morbid feelings of 
 
 d2 
 
 RJ . >r u
 
 52 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Desbrow, which prevented his enjoyment of 
 talent, because she who dispkiyed it, had 
 bought it at the price of — mind. The 
 truth was, that Desbrow esteemed women much 
 more highly than did his friend; and was 
 grieved, when, by a perverted system of educa- 
 tion, he saw them take a lower grade in the 
 scale of utility, than, as rational beings, he 
 thought them destined to fill ; whereas Arling- 
 ton, who looked only for amusement in female 
 society, considered them as creatures formed to 
 administer to his caprices, — beautiful triflers, 
 with whom he might while away his leisure 
 hours, seek with the same nonchalance that 
 he sought his other pleasures, and leave with 
 as little regret. 
 
 The beau-ideal of woman, as she ought to be, 
 that Desbrow had created in his imagination, 
 and after which his soul aspired, made him view 
 every handsome»female with feelings of interest ; 
 which only subsided on his discovering how 
 unlike each was to the picture his fancy had
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 53 
 
 drawn. Then, like all enthusiasts, he turned 
 with disgust from what disappointed his ardent 
 expectation ; and saw with distorted vision, the 
 defects of those who had fallen short of the 
 perfection he had imagined for them. 
 
 Young men who have not had sisters, or near 
 female relations, with whom they have been 
 domesticated, are but too apt to form false 
 estimations of women. Seeing them only in 
 general society, where even the least coquettish 
 of the sex are apt to assume qualities of which 
 they have only the semblance, such men are 
 liable either to give them implicit credit for the 
 possession of these qualities, or, if sharp-sighted, 
 to condemn them too severely for their assump- 
 tion. Hence women often find dupes, or scep- 
 tics, in men of this temperament ; while in those 
 who have passed much of their early youth 
 with mothers and sisters, they meet with neither, 
 as such men know by experience that many 
 admirable qualities may exist, in combination 
 with a too great desire of attracting admiration, 
 — a fault from which few women are wholly free. 
 Vol, i. dS
 
 54 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Oui te dis-je la societe est comme une machine a vapeur 
 lancee par une force secrete et prodigieuse; c'est extra- 
 vagance que de croire I'arreter en jetant sous une de ses 
 roues, ton petit grain de sable que tu apelles principes. 
 II n'existe plus aujourd'hui qu'un seul bien d'homme 
 a homme, de societe a societe, de gouvernement a 
 gouvernenient? L'interet, I'interet lui seul." 
 
 Desbrow had observed that for several weeks 
 he had seen much less of his friend Arlington 
 than formerly; and that when they met, Ar- 
 lington appeared much more serious than he 
 had been wont to do. 
 
 Desbrow was not one of those tepid friends 
 who enquire not into the cause of any altera-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 55 
 
 tion, lest their assistance may be required, — 
 a tact in the practice of which, our young men 
 of the nineteenth century have acquired a pe- 
 culiar proficiency. He, unlike the common 
 herd, sought out his friend, and enquired, with 
 that unafiected expression of interest, which 
 never can be mistaken for mere curiosity, why 
 Arlington appeared so serious and distrait. The 
 earnestness with which he endeavoured to prove 
 that he was neither, did not convince Desbrow ; 
 but he declined urging him further, seeing that 
 the subject was disagreeable to him. 
 
 A few nights after, at a soiree at Lady 
 Ardmore's, the marked and unceasing attention 
 of Arlington to Lady Walmer, disclosed the 
 probable cause of his pre-occupation ; and Des- 
 brow saw with regret that he was not the only 
 observer of the flirtation, as all the society 
 seemed to regard the actors in it with glances, in 
 which more of mahce than charity was visible. 
 
 While standing talking to two or three men 
 of his acquaintance, one remarked that the
 
 56 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 affair between Lady Walmer and Arlington 
 seemed quite established; another said that 
 Arlington was a happy dog; and a third ob- 
 served that if Lady Walmer committed herself, 
 it might be attributed to the improper female 
 society her husband permitted her to keep. 
 
 " Fancy," said Lord Sneerwell, " letting her 
 go about with that abominable old woman, 
 Lady Bronze, who has made more marriages, and 
 assisted in giving more cause for dissolving them, 
 than all the women in England put together." 
 
 " I assure you," said Sir Edward Ponder, 
 ^' she has maiTed more marriages than she has 
 helped to make ; for many of my acquaintance 
 are afraid to marry, while old Bronze remains 
 in activity." 
 
 " How very ill-natured you are all," said 
 Lord Metcalf. " Now, I maintain that Lady 
 Bronze is the most useful person in London ; 
 for she has a heart to pity, and a house to 
 receive the pining votaries of the tender pas-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 57 
 
 sion, and one lias only to lose a few hundi'eds 
 to her at ecarte, which she has a singular 
 facility in assisting you to do, and she is your 
 friend for the season, and not only your friend, 
 but your friend's friend — pardessus le marche. 
 Arlington has taken his stray hundreds to her 
 mansion instead of Crockford's, ever since his 
 grand passion for Lady Walmer, — and you see 
 the happy result." 
 
 " You may say what you will," rejoined Lord 
 Sneerwell, " but Lady Bronze's is one of the 
 pleasantest houses in town; there, one can 
 always have flirtation, ecarte, and scandal, — 
 three of the most agreeable pastimes going; 
 and the old dame plays her cards so well, in 
 more than one sense of the word, that chez 
 elle — ' Lovers are all they ovight to be, and 
 husbands not the least alarmed.' By the by," 
 added Sneerwell, " old Bronze got off very well 
 in not being named on a certain trial, in which 
 
 the gouvernante of poor Lady was asked 
 
 D 5
 
 58 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 to name the person, she considered fashionable, 
 but not proper society. What a tale might 
 there be disclosed !" 
 
 Disgusted with this expose, Desbrow left the 
 saloon, reflecting that the vice which had been 
 thus laid bare, without shocking any of the 
 individuals who had heard it except liimself, 
 was tolerated in a class that affected to shrink 
 from contact with aught approaching to vul- 
 garity ; and yet could live on terms of intimacy 
 with a female, who practised vices that would 
 disgrace the lowest of her sex, and led the 
 weak and erring into a labyrinth of sin, ending 
 in ruin and disgrace. 
 
 When Desbrow met Arlington on the following 
 day, he told him of the conversation he had 
 heard the night previous, without naming the in- 
 terlocutors. The blush of anger, rather than of 
 shame, rose to the cheek of Arlington, when he 
 discovered hov/ openly his position with Lady 
 Walmer had been canvassed ; and, selfish as he 
 was, he felt pained, when the thought struck
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 59 
 
 him of how she would have shrunk with dismay 
 could she have heard the comments that Des- 
 brow repeated. This thought softened him ; and, 
 with more of the warmth of early years than 
 Deshrow had seen him evince since their entree 
 into fashionable life, he grasped the hand of 
 his friend, and owned that he loved, passion- 
 ately loved, Lady Walmer. 
 
 " And have you ever reflected on the pro- 
 bable results of the indulgence of this guilty 
 passion?" asked Desbrow. " Nay, has it not 
 already led to the moral degradation of her you 
 love? For the purpose of meeting her with 
 greater facility, have you not joined her in the 
 sinful and shameful league of intimacy with Lady 
 Bronze, whose dupes you both equally are ? for 
 this vile person, who assists your liaison, would 
 be the first to desert your unfortunate friend. 
 Lady Walmer, if a discovery of her guilt took 
 place ; and more, would league with her foes 
 against her, in order to screen herself from blame 
 or suspicion for the odious part she had herself
 
 60 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 taken in it. Let me implore you, my dear 
 Arlington, to conquer this unhallowed passion, 
 ere it has involved the woman you love in 
 ruin. I do not talk to you of the ruin you 
 will bring on yourself, or the misery it will 
 inflict on your excellent father, though another 
 would probably dwell on these motives more 
 strongly than the one I urge ; but, as you say 
 you love, passionately love, Lady Walmer, spare 
 her, I beseech you, the wretchedness and dis- 
 grace that must fall on her, if you succeed in 
 turning her from the path of duty. She is a 
 proud woman, accustomed to meet respect at 
 every side, and little able to support the world's 
 dread laugh, or more dread pity." 
 
 " Spare me, Desbrow, spare me," said Ar- 
 lington. " I feel all that you urge ; and if I 
 have as yet resisted the temptation to which I 
 am exposed, it is because I have thought of 
 lier happiness more than my own, and dare not 
 contemplate the possible, nay, too certain re-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 61 
 
 suits which the gratification of my passion may 
 entail on her." 
 
 '* The season is nearly over," said Desbrow, 
 " let us go to Scotland together, and remain 
 there, until the hunting commences at Melton. 
 I have hitherto declined accompanying you to 
 either place, but now I am willing to devote 
 my time to amusements, which you know are 
 little to my taste, in order to remove you 
 from a temptation that you may not always 
 have sufficient force to resist." 
 
 " But how," said Arlington, " will my de- 
 parture appear to her on whom all my move- 
 ments have depended for the last four months ? 
 Will she not have cause to think me the most 
 unworthy and volage of my sex, if at the 
 moment I have won her to avow that I am not 
 indifferent to her, — an avowal that cost her so 
 much to make, — I leave London without an 
 explanation with her ? No ! this I cannot do ; 
 a week ago it might ha^ e been ; for then, I had
 
 62 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 not told her how I loved, tliough my attentions 
 must have betrayed my feelings ; but now her's 
 are sacred to me, and must not be humihated, 
 as they ine\itably would be, were I to depart 
 without informing her that it is to save her 
 that I go." 
 
 " Do not see her then," said Desbrow, " write 
 what you feel; and if Lady Walmer be the 
 woman you take her to be, she will respect the 
 sacrifice you make to preserve her honour and 
 happiness." 
 
 It was settled that Arlington and Desbrow 
 should leave London in three days for Scot- 
 land; and the former commenced the painful 
 task of writing to Lady Walmer. 
 
 The good advice of Desbrow would have had 
 little chance of being attended to, had not Ar- 
 lington observed in the character of her he 
 loved, a natural fierte, which not even the pas- 
 sion she was reciprocating to had been able to 
 subdue ; and now, that Desbrow's representation
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 63 
 
 had brought the possible result of their attach- 
 ment more visibly before his eyes, he shrank 
 from the fearful responsibleness of involving a 
 proud and sensitive woman in a position in which 
 she would have to encounter humiliation and 
 sorrow, from which not all his devoted attach- 
 ment could screen her. The conviction that he 
 was saving her from future misery, alone en- 
 abled him to withstand seeing her again, or 
 gave him courage to write her liis adieu. 
 Perhaps the proudest moment, though far from 
 being the happiest of his life, was that when he 
 had dispatched the letter, and thus triumphed 
 over his own seliish feelings. 
 
 Lady Walmer was one of the handsomest 
 women in England, highly accomplished, and 
 possessing great fascination of manners. She 
 had married, in early youth. Lord Walmer, — a 
 man of large fortune and little mind, who de- 
 voted the slight portion of intellect he pos- 
 sessed, to field sports, during eight months in 
 the year, and the other four, were pretty equally
 
 64 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 divided between the clubs, theatres, and House 
 of Lords. Lady Walmer had been spoiled by 
 a doting mother ; as an only daughter and a 
 beauty, the vain parent had indulged all her 
 caprices. She learned only what she liked ; and 
 as she only liked music, drawing, and novel 
 reading, her studies were chiefly confined to 
 these accomplishments. Early impressed with 
 a belief of her own importance, which her great 
 personal beauty, even more than her high con- 
 nections, tended to confirm, she seemed to con- 
 sider the society into which she was introduced 
 at seventeen as a theatre, where she was to 
 enact the role of premier actress, to the general 
 satisfaction of an admiring audience. Her per- 
 sonal attraction gained her many suitors ; from 
 whom she selected Lord Walmer, because he was 
 the best looking, and best dressed man amongst 
 them. In return he was proud to call her his wife, 
 she being the most admired young belle about 
 town, whose possession all his set would conse- 
 quently envy him. They fancied that they loved
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 65 
 
 each other, and did not discover their mistake 
 until nearly two months after it was irremedi- 
 able. The discovery was made, like many similar 
 ones, after a few weeks' residence, tete-a-tete, 
 in the country, when ample time and scope is 
 provided for acquiring a knowledge of defects, 
 which, if detected before instead of after mar- 
 riage, might prevent many an indissoluble knot 
 from being ever tied, and save many an un- 
 happy couple from yawns, if not sighs, in after 
 years. Lady Walmer found that her lord was 
 very tiresome; while he felt that he was only 
 very tired of matrimony, or the country ; which 
 it was, he had not quite determined. 
 
 *' Do you not observe that the days are 
 interminably long, my dear William?" asked 
 Lady Walmer of her lord, one evening 
 during their sejour at his fine seat, as, with a 
 suppressed yawn, converted into a sigh, she 
 tried to find out the most comfortable corner 
 of the bergere, in which she was reclining." 
 
 <' Why yes, my love," replied the husband.
 
 66 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 " I have observed it ; but, pardon my frankness, 
 I tbink the fault is yours." 
 
 " Mine! mine!" repeated Lady Walmer, 
 while her heightened colour, and eyes opened 
 to their utmost extent, proved the astonish- 
 ment she felt at the accusation. ** Pray ex- 
 plain," continued she, " how /, who, a few 
 weeks, nay, days ago, could, as you said, give 
 wings to time, can so soon have discovered the 
 power of clipping them, and of applying lead 
 to his feet?" 
 
 ** Do not feel offended at my candour," said 
 Lord Walmer ; " but the truth is, it appears 
 to me that you are not formed for the country." 
 
 " By your deprecating my wrath," rejoined 
 the lady, '' it would appear that there was 
 something to be angry at, though, for my part, 
 I should have taken the observation as a com- 
 pliment." 
 
 " Why, I meant," said Lord Walmer, " that 
 you don't like walking through the grounds."
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 67 
 
 " Agreed," intermpted Lady Walmer; "but 
 I propose an amendment, — say that I hate 
 walking through neglected pleasure grounds, 
 where dead leaves are whirled over my feet at 
 every step, and thorns pierce my shoes." 
 
 ** Because," interrupted her husband, " you 
 would, in spite of my advice, persist in walking 
 in silk slippers, instead of shoes adapted to the 
 occasion." 
 
 *' I detest thick shoes !" replied the lady ; 
 " but I detest still more having your abomi- 
 nable dogs jumping up on my dress ! and, when 
 I am talking to you, to be interrupted by * So 
 ho, poor fellow ! there's a good dog '.' or ' Come 
 here, Neptune.' I like a walk similar to those 
 we used to enjoy at the Zoological Gardens on 
 a Sunday, when all your attention was given to 
 me, and when we met all our acquaintances. 
 You could then admire my dress, find out that 
 I was looking well; but now," — and here she 
 looked angry, — "you think of nothing but
 
 68 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 horses, or dogs ; and I have caught you twice 
 looking at your betting-book ; and thrice have 
 you been on the point of going to sleep, while 
 I was singing your favourite song." 
 
 ^' Well, I must say, Lady Walmer," replied 
 her husband, which was the first time he had 
 given her that title, '' that you are not very 
 good-natured. You take no interest in the 
 things I like. Every man is fond of horses 
 and dogs ; therefore, there is nothing peculiar 
 in my attachment to them." 
 
 " But does every man bore his wife with 
 them?" asked the lady. 
 
 " I am sorry I have bored you," replied the 
 husband coldly. 
 
 ''I expected," said Lady Walmer, " that you 
 would have read to me when I was tired of 
 talking, or hearing you talk. I had the most 
 amusing new French novels ; but you de- 
 clined, and sat silent opposite to me, only 
 interrupting my sombre reflections by re- 
 tailing to me some of the ' bon mots ' of 
 Crockford's, or chaste plaisanteries of White's.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 69 
 
 Now, in London, you used to read the 
 passages I had marked in all the new novels, 
 admired all that I admired, and never al- 
 lowed a moment to hang heavy on my 
 hands." 
 
 " By all means let us return then," said 
 Lord Walmer. 
 
 " Oh ! pray do," said the lady, and the 
 prospect of their approaching departure from 
 solitude was so agreeable to both, that they 
 became more cheerful than they had been for 
 the last six days ; and mutually agreed that 
 nothing was so conducive to ill-humour and 
 discontent as the country. In short, they dis- 
 covered that Walmer Hall was a most dis- 
 agreeable place, and internally vowed never to 
 return to it, except with a large party in the 
 shooting season. 
 
 Neither discovered any fault in self, though 
 the defects in the other were very visible to 
 each ; and in proportion to such discoveries, 
 was the increased appreciation of self, and de- 
 preciation of the other.
 
 70 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 With this soUd foundation for erecting the 
 brittle structure of domestic happiness, Lord 
 and Lady Walmer returned to society ; and 
 plunged into its vortex with an avidity that 
 proved how much their temporary retirement 
 had enhanced its charms. They mutually de- 
 clared to their London friends, how bored they 
 had been in the country ; and implied, by their 
 dislike of it, that their honey-moon resembled 
 not even a treacle moon, as a late celebrated 
 poet was wont to call it, but had more of 
 vinegar and opium than of sweets in it. 
 
 Both being good-tempered, and possessing 
 ample means for indulging their tastes, their 
 lives passed in a round of amusements, without 
 being embittered by the disagreements that too 
 often ensue, when Hymen has joined those 
 whom Cupid has not united. Lady Walmer, 
 content with being considered one of the reign- 
 ing belles a la mode, wished not to exchange 
 general for individual admiration ; and had, 
 until her acquaintance with Arlington, escaped
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 71 
 
 unscathed by love, or scandal. Indeed, she 
 thought herself secure from both; hut what 
 woman can defy the snares of the wily archer, 
 unless incased in the armour of religion and 
 strict moral principle ? The attentions of Ar- 
 lington had created an interest for him in her 
 breast, before she was aware that those atten- 
 tions meant more than the general assiduities 
 she was accustomed to receive : for he had 
 sufficient tact to perceive that a premature dis- 
 closure of his passion might defeat its object. 
 It was not therefore until he had so accustomed 
 her to receive his attentions, and that they be- 
 came almost necessary to her, that he dared 
 to breathe into her ear the unhallowed avowal. 
 " The woman who deliberates is lost," is a 
 received axiom ; and the wife who listens to a 
 declaration of love, has already lost the mental 
 purity, which ought to be her safeguard ; for 
 even, if she have sufficient virtue to refrain 
 from farther concessions, she must have be- 
 trayed a le\dty incompatible with her duty, or
 
 72 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 no man could have dared to hazard such a mea- 
 sure, — and " he comes too near who comes to 
 be denied." 
 
 In listening to Arlington's avowal with com- 
 placency, Lady Walmer never contemplated 
 that the passion she was thus encouraging, 
 could lead to any more serious consequences 
 than the countless similar ones she saw tole- 
 rated in the society in which she lived. But 
 who speculates upon consequences, when the 
 heart, or the vanity, are interested? She was 
 one of the innumerable instances of the fatal 
 effects of that demoralizing system, so gene- 
 rally pursued at present, of permitting, by tacit 
 acquiescence, the existence of liaisons which, 
 some years ago, would have driven a woman 
 from society, the present toleration of which 
 encourages her in a conduct that merits her 
 expulsion from it. Arlington's letter, an- 
 nouncing his departure, opened her eyes to 
 the precipice on which she stood ; and she 
 drew back aifrighted from the danger slie
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 40 
 
 had escaped; but piqued that she owed her 
 escape to the forbearance of her lover, instead 
 of, to her own \drtue and prudence. With 
 woman's vanity, she wished that she had tri- 
 umphed over the reason, as well as the heart 
 of Arlington, and that she had the power of 
 then repulsing him, — which power she flattered 
 herself she possessed, — and of proving to him 
 she was not the weak woman he believed her 
 to be. 
 
 Alas ! we are never so weak as when we 
 count most on our strength ! and Lady Wal- 
 mer, in giving way to pique, rather than gra- 
 titude, towards Arlington, proved the truth of 
 this adage. " How absurd," thought she ; " he 
 seems to have taken for granted, that in return 
 for his violent passion, I was ready to sacrifice 
 my honour and peace;" never reflecting, that in 
 countenancing that passion she had stained the 
 first, and risked the second. " How I long to 
 meet him again, if only to prove how ill he 
 judged me. I certainly liked him ; but, the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 /4^ THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 idea of abandoning my home and my station, 
 (her husband was not thought of) never en- 
 tered into my head. Wliat ! give up my bril- 
 liant position to become a divorcee, — an outcast 
 of society ! — Poor Arlington little knows me, 
 when he thinks it possible." 
 
 Thus, has reasoned many a woman in similar 
 circumstances, whose imprudence has led to the 
 terrible result she dared not contemplate, 
 until condemned to support all its misery and 
 obloquy. Vanity had seared the feelings of 
 Lady Walmer; and she could not appreciate 
 the motives that led Arlington to fly from her 
 presence, while she had tolerated his passion. 
 She determined to seek him again, and, by her 
 blandishments, bring him once more to her feet, 
 more in love than ever ; and then, she would 
 shev/ him that she could command her feehngs, 
 and either banish the love, or the lover, for 
 ever from her mind.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Le besoin d'emotions est pour nous, ce que ropium est 
 pour les Orientaux." 
 
 Desbrow and Arlington set off for Scotland, 
 the one, satisfied with himself and his friend, 
 for the sacrifice that friend had made ; and the 
 other, casting " many a longing, lingering look 
 behind," at her he had left, and left with the 
 
 consciousness of being beloved by . One 
 
 thought alone consoled him, and that was, the 
 con\'iction that she would understand and value 
 the motives of his flight. Was that flight not 
 the most indubitable proof of his love? — a 
 proof that a high-minded and delicate woman, 
 such as he believed Lady Walmer to be, could 
 
 e2
 
 76 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 not fail to appreciate ? And he gloried in the 
 idea that this sacrifice would render him 
 dearer than ever to her, to whose happiness 
 and honour it was offered up. 
 
 We will not describe the journey, which 
 passed like most journeys undertaken in a 
 luxurious travelling carriage, with a friend to 
 converse with, when the desire for conversation 
 is entertained ; and the pockets and net of the 
 carriage stored with the last new publications. 
 
 At Edinburgh they fell in with a few men of 
 fashion; who, like themselves, had anticipated 
 the close of the London, and the commencement 
 of the grouse season, and w^ere bestowing their 
 tediousness on the modern Athens, instead of 
 whiling it away in their accustomed haunts in 
 London. But the old enemy, — ennui, — fol- 
 lowed them to the North ; and they yawned 
 scarcely less there than in the metropolis from 
 which they had escaped, unconscious that loco- 
 motion only lulls it to sleep for a short time, to 
 awaken with increased force.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 77 
 
 Arlington and Desbrow proceeded to the 
 Duke of Clydesdale's, where they were engaged 
 to pass some time ; and where, they found the 
 usual assortment of political and fashionable 
 aristocrats, enlivened by the admixture of a 
 few of the neighbouring gentlemen, whose racy 
 accents, and manifold Scotticisms, added pi- 
 quancy to the dulness of conversation, so pre- 
 valent in the society of the haut ton. 
 
 The Duke of Clydesdale had no less than 
 five unmarried daughters, all as remarkable 
 for their personal attractions, as for the 
 amiable desire of displaying them, and of ren- 
 dering themselves agreeable to the unmarried 
 male visitors of their noble father, to whose 
 different tastes and characters they assimilated 
 their own, for the time being, with a tact pecu- 
 liar to untochered lassies, of noble birth, but 
 ignoble fortunes It was edifying to hear the 
 grave bachelor of a certain age, observe what a 
 sensible and charming person the Lady Made- 
 line was ; how much she liked domestic life, and
 
 78 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 was calculated to adorn it; while some young 
 peer, who had only completed his majority, 
 swore that she was the most delightful mad-cap 
 in the world, and just the sort of wife to take 
 to Melton. 
 
 Not a particle of jealousy existed between 
 the sisters; on the contrary, they played admi- 
 rably into each others' hands, considering all 
 the unmarried men who came to Clydesdale 
 Castle as fair game to try their talents on, 
 and marriage as the aim and end of all their 
 manoeuvres. They communicated their dis- 
 coveries of the tastes and dispositions of the 
 men to each other; and Lady Madeline has 
 been known to resign a conquest, half achieved, 
 to Lady Jeanet, on having found out that the 
 latter had been flirting with a man who had 
 expressed a greater admiration for herself, of 
 v/hich her sister had judiciously informed her. 
 The young ladies' powers of pleasing were how- 
 ever, tried in vain on the occupied heart of
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 79 
 
 Arlington ; and Desbrow was too well schooled, 
 to permit his being the dupe of these female 
 Proteuses, who had sufficient quickness of per- 
 ception to discover, that in neither of the 
 friends should they find a husband. 
 
 Two days after their arrival, the Marquis 
 and Marchioness of Ayrshire, with a young 
 female relative of the latter, joined the party 
 at Clydesdale Castle ; and their presence was 
 hailed, not only as an addition, but an acqui- 
 sition to the party. Lady Ayrshire, no longer 
 in the zenith of that beauty which had made 
 her the most brilliant star of the English Court, 
 for the last seventeen years, possessed a charm 
 of manner, joined to good sense and a highly- 
 cultivated mind, that rendered her a general 
 favourite in society. Mademoiselle de Bethune, 
 her relative, was the daughter of a French 
 nobleman of ancient family, who had married 
 the cousin of the marchioness ; and who, having 
 lost her while his daughter was yet an infant,
 
 80 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 at the dying request of liis wife, confided his 
 child to the care of Lady Ayrshire. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Bethune was now in her 
 seventeenth year ; beautiful as the beau-ideal of 
 the painter, or the dream of the young poet, 
 and with an unconsciousness of her beauty, 
 that lent her new charms, by leaving her un- 
 constrained, and graceful in her movements as 
 infancy itself, with the modesty that belongs to 
 innocence alone. 
 
 Cecile de Bethune was rather above than 
 below the middle stature ; her form slight, but 
 finely rounded, wdth feet and hands that might 
 have served as a model to the sculptor. Her 
 complexion was delicately fair ; her eyes large, 
 dark, and lustrous ; her hair black, and brilliant 
 as the wing of the raven, when illumined by 
 the sun ; and her teeth regular and white as 
 pearls. Wlien to these attractions are added 
 eye-brows, whose long jetty arches lent expres- 
 sion to the brilliant orbs beneath them, shaded 
 with eye-lashes, that softened but obscured not
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 81 
 
 their lustre ; and lips, whose bright colour made 
 the cheeks near them look pale, we cannot 
 wonder that Cecile de Bethune was never seen 
 without exciting admiration, nor known with- 
 out being loved. Her education had been as 
 judicious as the good sense and experience of 
 Lady Ayrshire, who superintended, was calcu- 
 lated to make it ; and the yearly visits to 
 London had allowed her to receive the lighter 
 accomplishments that London masters excel in 
 bestowing. The death of her mother had given 
 a tinge of seriousness to the character of Cecile, 
 that accorded well with the peculiar style of 
 her beauty ; while the affectionate tenderness 
 of Lady Ayrshire had awakened in her heart 
 sentiments of gratitude and love, which were 
 evinced in a thousand ways, as delightful to 
 that amiable woman, as they were spontaneous 
 in her charming ward. 
 
 Arlington was in the library at Clydesdale 
 Castle, Avhen Lord and Lady Ayrshire with 
 Mademoiselle de Bethune arrived ; and when 
 
 e5
 
 82 THE TAVO FRIENDS. 
 
 going to dress for dinner, he could not resist 
 walking into Desbrow's room, who had entered 
 late from a long ride, to inform him of the new 
 arrival, and to expatiate on the beauty and 
 grace of the young stranger. 
 
 *' Now, is the moment come," said Arlington, 
 " when your stoicism is to be conquered, and 
 by a French woman, for no disengaged heart 
 can resist the attractions of Mademoiselle de 
 Bethune." 
 
 " How little do you know me," replied Des- 
 brow, " if you imagine that I am to be caught 
 by mere beauty, and French beauty too, which 
 is that, which I least admire. No, un joli petit 
 minois clnfFonne, with lively eyes and high 
 cheek bones ; un nez a la Roxalane, and a 
 mouth determined on shewing the teeth that 
 belong to it, is not at all to my taste. I 
 no more dread the power of this belle Fran- 
 caise over my heart, than that of the five belles, 
 who have been so obstinately bent on enslaving 
 it ever since I came here."
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 83 
 
 The praises of Arlington had disposed Des- 
 brow to think lightly of the beauty of Cecile ; 
 and, when he was presented to her before 
 dinner, he scarcely allowed himself to look 
 sufficiently at her, to discover whether Arling- 
 ton's description was or was not exaggerated. 
 
 At dinner he found himself opposite to her, 
 and could not help being struck with the ex- 
 treme beauty of her countenance, and the 
 admirable form of her head. He thought her 
 however, too pale, until some observation from 
 the person next her, which he did not over- 
 hear, brought the roses to her cheek ; and he 
 then mentally acknowledged, what no man of 
 taste ought ever to doubt, — namely, that a face 
 in which the lily predominates, save when 
 animation tinges it with a faint blush, is that 
 which is to be most preferred in female beauty. 
 Her graceful and unaifected deportment, and a 
 certain dignified decorum of manner, which, 
 while it repelled familiarity, discouraged not 
 conversation, made themselves felt by Desbrow,
 
 S4 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 and ere she had left the salle-a-manger, he had 
 made up his mind that she was not only the 
 most beautiful, but the most lady-like young 
 person he had ever seen. The triumphant 
 glances with which, from time to time, Arling- 
 ton regarded him, as if to say, ^' you see I did 
 not exaggerate her charms," annoyed him, and 
 diminished the extent of his admiration. It 
 was this ill-judged pertinacity on the part of 
 Arlington, which defeated the end he wished 
 to accomplish, of leading Desbrow to admire 
 Cecile, which he could not fail to do, had he 
 been left to discover all her attractions by 
 himself, without their being obtruded on his 
 attention by the injudicious zeal of his friend. 
 
 We are always less prone to admit the per- 
 fection of those for whom our approbation is 
 demanded; and many a woman has appeared 
 comparatively plain in our eyes, from having 
 heard her charms extolled, whose beauty might 
 otherwise have been readily admitted. 
 
 When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 85 
 
 drawing-room, Desbrow remained at the corner 
 the most remote from that part which Made- 
 moiselle de Bethmie occupied. Lady Ayrshire 
 was seated near him, conversing with the Duke 
 of Clydesdale, and he unintentionally found 
 himself a listener to their conversation. 
 
 " Suppose we go into the music-room," said 
 the duke ; '* my girls generally sing for us, and 
 I make no doubt Mademoiselle de Bethune is a 
 proficient in music." 
 
 Now, be it known to our readers, that music 
 was the grand cheval de bataille, of the 
 young ladies of Clydesdale Castle; they had 
 devoted many an hour to its acquirement, and 
 as many more to its daily practice, so that they 
 rarely met any competitors whom they did 
 not far surpass in skill and science, in this 
 their favourite, and indeed, principal, accom- 
 plishment. 
 
 Hence their noble father and themselves 
 thought, or affected to think, that music was 
 the most essential part of a young lady's educa-
 
 86 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 tion, and tliat those who excelled not m it, 
 were immeasurably behind them. 
 
 " T shall be delighted to hear the Ladies 
 Urquhart sing," said Lady Ayrshire, "but 
 Mademoiselle de Bethune is not a proficient in 
 music, though she is fond of it." 
 
 *' How strange 1" replied the duke, with a 
 smile of self-complacency, "it appears to me 
 that a proficiency in music is absolutely in- 
 dispensable in a young lady, and I wonder 
 your ladyship has neglected to attend to it, in 
 Mademoiselle de Bethune's education. 
 
 " Why, to say the truth," said Lady Ayrshire, 
 " the time required for attaining a proficiency 
 alarmed me, and there are so many branches 
 of education which I consider still more essen- 
 tial than music, that I sacrificed it to them. 
 Nor have I had any reason to regret this de- 
 termination as my Cecile can sing and play- 
 quite well enough to please the few friends 
 before whom she would not object to perform." 
 
 A contemptuous smile stole across the fea-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 87 
 
 tures of tlie duke, as lie offered liis arm to 
 conduct Lady Ayrshire to the music-room ; but 
 Desbrow, who had not missed a word of the 
 conversation, turned with increased interest to 
 look at the beautiful Cecile, and felt an in- 
 creased respect for Lady Ayrshire, whose senti- 
 ments vv-ith regard to mere accomplishments 
 so exactly coincided with his o^vii. 
 
 The Ladies Urquhart favoured the company 
 with many of the most difficult duets and 
 trios of the Italian school, and even those 
 accustomed to the voice of a Pasta or Malibran, 
 might have listened with pleasure to them ; 
 though such auditors must have felt that they 
 would have compromised for less science, and a 
 little more setitimerd, in their singing, as in 
 this last desideratum they were rather deficient. 
 
 The unaffected admiration Mademoiselle de 
 Bethune betrayed at the performance of the 
 Ladies Urquhart, impressed Desbrow with a 
 favourable opinion of her disposition, and the 
 more so, as her appreciation of a science in
 
 88 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 which slie excelled not herself, proved her per- 
 fect freedom from the envy so often attributed 
 to her sex. 
 
 He drew near her, as if controlled by some 
 magnetic attraction, which he could not resist, 
 and, as he stood behind her, suffered his eyes to 
 dwell Avith a pleasure as new to him as it was 
 delightful, on her graceful form and ivory 
 shoulders. 
 
 He was startled from this contemplation by 
 observing her lovely face and bust reflected in a 
 large mirror at the opposite side, and the ex- 
 pression of her countenance varying with the 
 music, now animated, the next moment pen- 
 sive, appeared to him almost angelic. 
 
 When the Ladies Urquhart had ceased their 
 performance, they pressed Mademoiselle de 
 Bethune to sit down to the harp or piano-forte ; 
 and urged her with a perseverance almost ob- 
 stinate, in defiance of her simple reiterated de- 
 claration, that "she was so little of a profi- 
 cient in music that she never played or sang in
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 89 
 
 society, and consequently could not attempt 
 doing either after tlie admirable performance to 
 which she had been listening." 
 
 Desbrow thought the voice and accents in 
 which her refusal was uttered, was the most 
 harmonious he had ever heard, and he never so 
 cordially assented to the proverb which sayeth, 
 '' that a low and sweet voice is excellent in 
 woman," as while she was speaking.
 
 90 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 '' L'orsqu'oii gouverne des hommes, il ne faut jamais 
 penser qu'a leurs faiblesses." 
 
 Among the guests at Clydesdale Castle, were 
 Lord and Lady Arden, or as tliey were more 
 generally distinguished, Lady and Lord Arden, 
 the lady always taking precedence of her hus- 
 band, who was thrown into the back-ground, 
 not by the superiority, but the pretensions of 
 madame son epouse, — ^pretensions which his 
 love of quiet, and knowledge of the pertinacity 
 of the lady in maintaining them, prevented him 
 from ever calling into question. Lord Arden 
 was a man of highly cultivated mind, consider- 
 able abilities, and most amiable disposition..
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 91 
 
 Having been in his youth, a great admirer of 
 beauty, that of his wife, which had been of the 
 first order, captivated his fancy, and while its 
 first effects were in their zenith, she acquired an 
 influence over him, never after to be disputed. 
 
 This beauty, which had enabled her to reign 
 despotically over his heart, she looked on with 
 much the same feelings with which despotic 
 sovereigns regard the divine right of kings, 
 knowing that its basis is founded on the weak- 
 ness of their subjects. 
 
 The universal attachment which the good 
 qualities of Lord Arden excited in the breasts 
 of all his friends, extended the empire of his 
 arbitrary wife. All who wished to shew that 
 respect to him which his talents and amiability 
 merited, were compelled to submit to the ca- 
 prices of her ladyship, who took advantage of 
 the affection entertained for her husband by his 
 friends, to treat them with an imperiousness as 
 offensive as it was ill-judged. 
 
 Finding her caprices submitted to, they daily
 
 92 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 increased, and far from attributing the forbear- 
 ance sbe experienced to its real cause, she 
 viewed it as a conclusive proof of her own 
 superiority, and tyrannized still more over her 
 excellent husband. 
 
 The first evening of her arrival, the family 
 were rather surprised at seeing, in addition to 
 the usual suite of domestics, a femme de cham- 
 bre, valet de chambre, and footman, the un- 
 usual addition of a page and house-maid. The 
 former to attend to my lady's private silver case 
 of sauces, essences, salt, &c. &c. for dinner, 
 prepared by the cook at Arden House, as 
 sh^ never trusted to strange cooks or butlers. 
 
 Antonio, for so the page was named, stood 
 behind her chair at dinner, anticipated her 
 wants, with zealous tact ; served her with 
 mocha coffee after the repast, and while she en- 
 joyed her half hour's siesta on a sofa, gently 
 rubbed her feet, the motion of his hand, as she 
 was heard to observe, ''inducing that light 
 slumber which enabled her to get through the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 93 
 
 fatigues of the evening." The house-maid was 
 the only person she had ever met with, who 
 really understood making a bed, and therefore, 
 she never moved without her, for after all, as 
 Lady Arden frequently observed, "comfort was 
 the grand essential of life, and to those who 
 could contribute to it, she was willing to sub- 
 mit. This is the true secret of life," she con- 
 tinued. " Witness its workings. — Lord Arden 
 would be truly uncomfortable were I not 
 pleased ; to prevent his being so therefore, he 
 submits to me. 1 should be uncomfortable if 
 my femme de chambre was out of humour, 
 because she has a bad temper, and displays it 
 most disagreeably. Consequently, to prevent 
 my being made uncomfortable, / submit to 
 her ; and the servants are obliged to do the 
 same, — so, that you see that the love of com- 
 fort obliges us all to make sacrifices." 
 
 The morning after her arrival. Lady Arden 
 complained of a violent tooth ache ; all the re- 
 medies used on such occasions were applied, but
 
 94 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 still she found no relief. At length she decided 
 on sending to Edinburgh, a distance of fifty 
 miles from Clydesdale Castle, for a dentist, to 
 extract the suifering tooth, and, when he arrived, 
 she declared, '' that her nerves were unequal to 
 submitting to the operation unless she saw it 
 performed on some one else first." 
 
 The few friends admitted to the sanctuary of 
 her boudoir, looked aghast at this declaration, 
 each expecting to be called on ; but, after the 
 silence of a few minutes, and no one ofiering, 
 she told Lord Arden that he must have a tooth 
 out, that she might judge from Ms manner of 
 supporting the operation if she could go through 
 it. He appeared amazingly disconcerted, but 
 a few wry faces and serious expostulations 
 having failed to mollify the lady, the kind hus- 
 band submitted, and a fine sound tooth was ex- 
 tracted from his jaw, after which she declared 
 " That she had seen enough to convince her 
 that she could not undergo a similar operation." 
 
 Lord Scamper, famous at Melton, and no
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 95 
 
 where else, was another of the guests at Clydes- 
 dale Castle. 
 
 Lady Arden declared that he was unbearable, 
 his language only fit for the stable, and worse 
 than all, that he used lavender water on his 
 handkerchief; she requested that he might be 
 placed as far from her at table as possible, 
 while he whispered to Lady Madeline, that 
 *' Lady Arden seemed a very odd person, and 
 reminded him of his famous mare Juno, who 
 was shy of strangers, and would only be fed 
 from the hands of a little groom boy in his 
 stable, just as Lady Arden would only be served 
 by her page. 
 
 Some one having talked of a new poem much 
 read, Lord Scamper shook his head and said 
 " There was only one really interesting poem in 
 oui' language." Half a dozen people asked him 
 to name it, as all were curious to hear the 
 opinion of a person whose judgment on horses 
 or dogs, alone was considered sound. 
 
 ** Somerville's Chace !" was triumphantly
 
 96 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 quoted by him, as his favorite ; " indeed," 
 added he, with naivete " I never could get 
 through any other poem, as they ahvays set me 
 to sleep." 
 
 Lady Rosina Urquhart, with an insinuating 
 smile, meant to captivate Mr. Stuart, a young 
 Scotchman of large fortune, on whose heart she 
 had certain designs, and whose taste in poetry 
 she had, with the quickness of perception pe- 
 culiar to herself and sisters, already discovered, 
 observed that *'The Bride of Abydos," was, in 
 her opinion, a most exquisite poem. 
 
 " Why, as to that," said Lord Scamper, " I 
 once heard it read aloud, — that is to say, be- 
 tween whiles, — when I was awaked by the ex- 
 clamations of the ladies who were present, and 
 when it was over, and they all were moved to 
 tears, I asked them the simple question, of why 
 the poem was called Bride of Abydos ? for, as 
 far as I could discover, there was no marriage 
 at all in the case. They were all very angry at 
 my remark, but I like to be exact ; and when
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 97 
 
 I find such mistakes, I cry out against being- 
 taken in." 
 
 Lady Jeanet, who respected the rent-roll of 
 Lord Scamper, however she might despise his 
 mental qualifications, remarked, *' That it was 
 very true, — it was wrong to entitle ' Zuleika', a 
 hride, as she was not married;" and she was 
 thanked by an approving smile from Lord 
 Scamper, who, encouraged by her assent, 
 launched forth into a critique, — if critique it 
 could be called, — on the other poems of Lord 
 Byron. 
 
 " ' Childe Harolde,' " he pronounced, " to be 
 a fanciful spoiled boy, who knew not what he 
 wanted, who left England in disgust, — more 
 shame for him,^and found, in every country he 
 visited, the ennui he tried to escape from : had he 
 tried Melton, he would never have left England. 
 * The Giaour,' was a desperado, influenced 
 only by two passions, — love and vengeance^ — 
 a rascal," added Lord Scamper, " who in 
 England would have been subject for the sur_ 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 geons, instead of subject for the poet. ^ The 
 Corsair,' " continued he, " was no more or less 
 than a pirate. Now, I say that I see little good 
 in exciting sympathy for persons whose crimes 
 merit a gibbet, and whom a jury of twelve 
 honest men would exalt in a different, though 
 less poetical, way than Byron has done. 
 'Lara,' is another false hero, all mystery and 
 moonshine ; and yet our ladies weep over the 
 recital of actions and crimes, which, if told in 
 plain prose, without the charm of fine words 
 and images, would excite their detestation ; 
 and gentlemen read with admiration of actions 
 which, if called on as honest men on the bench 
 of magistrates to judge, they would punish with 
 the utmost severity of the laws, which such 
 culprits had violated." 
 
 " But will you not admit," asked Lady Ar- 
 dcn, (somewhat amused with the plain matter- 
 of-fact view Lord Scamper had taken of Lord 
 B}Ton's heroes,) '' that ' Parisina' is a tale full 
 of interest?"
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 99 
 
 *' Not more so," replied Lord Scamper, *' than 
 half the trials in actions of damages, except that 
 the heroine chooses the son of her husband for 
 her lover. Now, if I saw a wife or sister of 
 mine weep over the fate of such a jade as Pari- 
 sina, I should rate her soundly ; and the ladies 
 who do pity such jades, and in their boudoirs 
 melt over the story, would be the first to turn 
 their backs on one of their less guilty country- 
 women, nay, attack her with severity, as if to 
 prove their own purity. ' Beppo ' has less 
 humbug in it than any cf the rest of Byron's 
 poems, and therefore I like it best ; but as for 
 * Manfred,' he is the most crazy, improbable 
 personage that ever a poet took it into his head 
 to paint, — a blockhead that believes in sorcerv, 
 and speechefies to mountains and rocks, and 
 whose insinuated crimes not only ought to have 
 prevented his being made a hero of, but ought 
 to have led to his being shut up in a mad- 
 house." 
 
 " Why, as to the belief in sorcery," said
 
 100 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Mr. M^Tagart, " that is, I admit, too ridi- 
 culous. I canna eemagine, hoo a man can 
 give in to sicli superstition. If ' Manfred ' had 
 believed in the second sight, there would be 
 some sense in it." 
 
 " Oh! would to Heaven," exclaimed Lady 
 Arden, in sotto voce, " that we had some 
 Meleager here to destroy this Caledonian bore, 
 who interrupts yonder Nimrod in the midst of 
 his sapient reflections. 
 
 " But how comes it, my lord," asked Lady 
 Arden, determined not to allow M'Tagart to 
 continue, " that you, who stated that all poems, 
 except Somerville's Chace, set you to sleep, can 
 have acquired such a knowledge, — I won't say 
 an accurate one, — of Lord Byron's poems?" 
 
 " Well, as you have asked the question," 
 replied Lord Scamper, " I don't mind telling 
 you the fact. When I found wherever I went, 
 that people were always talking of Byron's 
 works, and entering into details about them, I 
 felt so cursedly foolish, knowing nothing of the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 101 
 
 subject, that I employed one of my solicitor's 
 clerks, — a clever lad, — to write me down a con- 
 cise account of the character of each hero, plain 
 matter-of-fact, leaving out all descriptions and 
 fine words. What I have told you is an abridge- 
 ment of what the lad wrote ; and when I found 
 that all England were admiring persons, whose 
 crimes our laws would have punished so se- 
 verely, 1 asked myself if it was not a shame for 
 a man, and a peer too, to lend his genius to 
 excite that sympathy for guilt which should 
 only be given to honour and virtue." 
 
 A smile of contempt played over the haughty 
 countenance of Lady Arden, which Lord 
 Scamper observing, he added, " Your ladyship 
 may smile at my opinions ; but when I tell you 
 that I got the clever lad I mentioned to draw 
 out a case for each of the characters, and to 
 submit it for counsel's opinion; and that the 
 opinion was that each of the imaginary persons 
 named would be liable to the severest penalty 
 of the laws, you will admit that I do not speak
 
 10,^ THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 without some knowledge of the matter. None 
 of us feel much pity for smugglers, poachers, 
 or murderers, in real life ; then why should we 
 sympathize so much with villains in poetry ?" 
 
 The gentlemen laughed ; the ladies, with the 
 exception of Lady Jeanet, dissented from Lord 
 Scamper's matter-of-fact opinions ; but she 
 looked approval, and he seemed satisfied with 
 her approbation. 
 
 The attention that Lady Arden engrossed 
 was extremely offensive to the Ladies Urquhart ; 
 and they gave vent to the ire it excited, in 
 expressions in which none of the peculiarities 
 of her ladyship were spared. The good-nature 
 and gentleness with which Mademoiselle de 
 Bethune endeavoured to find excuses for the 
 arbitrary lady, and to deprecate the wrath of the 
 complaining ones, increased still more strongly 
 the favourable impression she had made on 
 Desbrow. 
 
 On leaving the music-room, some of the 
 party assembled round a table covered with
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 103 
 
 aibmns, filled with drawings by the Ladies Ur- 
 quhart, and the admiration of the guests was 
 elicited for the performances of each. 
 
 Desbrow approached and offered to turn over 
 the leaves of the album for Mademoiselle de 
 Bethune, and they examined the drawings to- 
 gether, this led to a conversation, in which 
 the justness of her remarks, and the modesty 
 and gentleness with which they were made, 
 still more captivated him. The Ladies Urquhart 
 interchanged significant glances, as they ob- 
 served the attention Desbrow was paying to 
 Mademoiselle de Bethune, and Arlington en- 
 joyed it, while, at a little distance, he affected 
 to be occupied in looking over a portfolio. 
 
 A \dew of a scene in France led Desbrow to 
 ask Mademoiselle de Bethune if she had been 
 lately in her native country ; and he remarked 
 at the same time, that she spoke English so 
 perfectly, that it was only by her name that he 
 knew she was French. A blush and smile re- 
 paid him for the observation, while she added.
 
 104 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 that nearly all her life had been passed in 
 England; and having had an English mother, 
 and adopted mother, she considered herself 
 more than half English, though a dear father 
 and brother in France, often reminded her she 
 was a French woman, and called her thoughts 
 and affections to her native country. 
 
 Desbrow retired for the night, his head and 
 heart occupied by the beautiful Cecile ; and his 
 valet de chambre remarked, when assisting his 
 toilette next morning, that he had never before 
 seen his master half so fastidious. Desbrow^ 
 smiled as he detected his own attention to the 
 becoming in his dress, and rejoiced that Ar- 
 lington w^as not present to observe and banter 
 him. 
 
 A morning deshabille, that trial to female 
 beauty, and a morning sun, which so few even 
 of the fa'rest can bear, brightly beaming on her 
 countenance, increased rather than diminished 
 the charms of Mademoiselle de Bethune, which
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 105 
 
 never appeared to greater advantage than in the 
 simple white morning dress, leaving only her 
 fair throat and beautiful hands uncovered, while 
 her raven hair, in all its silken luxuriance, fell 
 in spiral ringlets round her polished temples, 
 and shaded, but hid not, the delicate rose of her 
 cheeks. Desbrow could scarcely withdraw his 
 eyes from her ; and when her mild glances met 
 his, the soft blush that suffused her face as she 
 withdrew them, betrayed that she was conscious 
 of occupying much of his attention, and not 
 displeased by it. 
 
 After breakfast, an equestrian excursion was 
 proposed ; and some of the ladies consented to 
 join it. Desbrow had decided the day before 
 on going to shoot, and had made all the neces- 
 sary arrangements with the keepers ; but when 
 he heard Mademoiselle de Bethune assent to 
 make one of the riding party, he immediately 
 determined to ride also ; and not even the arch 
 smile of Arlington had power to prevent his 
 
 F 5
 
 106 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 eagerly seeking to place himself as near Cecile 
 as he could, in the gay cavalcade that left the 
 castle. 
 
 They proceeded to view a ruined abbey, 
 whose picturesque appearance the Ladies Ur- 
 quhart loudly commended, and had perpetuated 
 in many a drawing ; and, in justice to them, we 
 must add, the view of the original proved the 
 correctness of their pencils. 
 
 Having explored the ruin, admired the deli- 
 cate tracery of its arched windows, and the \dvid 
 diaperies of ivy that adorned them, the party 
 proceeded homewards by a different route, fof- 
 lowi^i'g the windings of the river. The road was 
 narrow and uneven, being nothing more than a 
 track for horse or foot passengers, and often 
 approaching the edge of the steep bank of the 
 rapid river. The party were obliged to proceed 
 singly ; and Mademoiselle de Bethune and Des- 
 brow, who had been engaged in an interesting 
 conversation, found themselves at a little dis- 
 tance behind the others. In passing a very
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 107 
 
 abrupt turn of the path, the bank, which had 
 been, undermmed by the water, gave way, and 
 Cecile and her horse were precipitated into the 
 river, the horse plunging violently to disengage 
 himself from his rider, who, with great presence 
 of mind, maintained her seat, though the force 
 of the current, and the efforts of the struggling 
 animal, rendered it a most difficult task. To 
 thro-)!^ himself from his horse and jump into the 
 river, was the work of a moment with Desbrow ; 
 who being an expert swimmer, hoped to be 
 able to seize the bridle of Cecile's horse, and 
 turn its head to the shore, from which the cur- 
 rent was carrying it. But the violent exertions 
 it made, burst the girths, and its helpless rider 
 instantaneously overwhelmed in the eddying 
 circles of the water, was sinking to rise no 
 more, when, with a desperate effort, Desbrow 
 seized her, and bore her to the shore ; wdiere, 
 exhausted and breathless,- he placed his precious 
 burthen, and then sank nearly as lifeless as her 
 he had saved.
 
 108 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 It was some minutes ere the united efforts of 
 all the party could restore animation to Cecile, 
 during which time Desbrow, who had recovered 
 from the momentary prostration of his strength, 
 hung over her in distraction, pressing the water 
 from her streaming tresses, and chafing her 
 cold hands. By degrees her cheek assumed 
 a less deadly tint, her heart again commenced 
 its pulsations, and opening her languid eyes, 
 she fixed them for a mom.ent on Desbrow, with 
 an expression of grateful tenderness which sank 
 into his heart. She then closed them again, 
 overcome by the exertion she had made, while 
 a pearly drop escaped each snowy lid, and the 
 lips moved as if speaking, though no sound 
 escaped them. 
 
 Lord Ayrshire, in the warmth of his gratitude 
 for the safety of Cecile, pressed again and again 
 the hands of Desbrow. 
 
 " How shall I thank you? what shall we do 
 to prove our gratitude?" exclaimed he, while 
 Desbrow, returnir^g the pressure, added —
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 109 
 
 *' Am I not more than repaid in seeing her 
 again restored to life ?" 
 
 A servant was dispatched to Clydesdale Castle 
 to order a carriage, and the necessary change of 
 dress for Mademoiselle de Bethune, with strict 
 injunctions to conceal the imminent danger to 
 which she had heen exposed, as Lord Ayrshire 
 dreaded the effect it might produce on his wife, 
 even though assured of her safety. 
 
 Cecile had now recovered, and was able to 
 thank her preserver by words as well as by 
 looks, but the latter were still more expressive ; 
 and when Desbrow pressed the hand she ex- 
 tended to him to his lips, it was not withdrawn, 
 nay, he thought, but it might be only fancy, 
 that a gentle pressure returned his ardent 
 grasp. 
 
 This event, so nearly being attended l^y the 
 most fatal consequences, produced an effect on 
 the feelings of the two persons, — the saved and 
 saver, — which it might have taken months to 
 establish. Desbrow felt as if he was privileged
 
 110 THE TWO FRIENDS.. 
 
 to hope that he might protect the life he had 
 preserved ; and Cecile, the pure-minded and af- 
 fectionate Cecile, thought she was only obeying 
 the dictates of gratitude, when she suffered her 
 thoughts continually to revert to him, to whom, 
 under heaven, she owed her safety. 
 
 Lord and Lady Ayrshire's feelings of thank- 
 fulness were as warm as their expressions of 
 it, and Desbrow found himself treated by them 
 not as a new acquaintance, but as an old and 
 most valued friend, whose praises they were 
 never tired of proclaiming. Happily no illness 
 followed the accident; and a little languor, 
 which stole nothing from the charms of Cecile's 
 beautiful countenance, was all the injury she 
 sustained from it. 
 
 Lady Madeline said, that " Mademoiselle de 
 Bethune's recent accident resembled an incident 
 in a novel. When I saw Mr. Desbrow," conti- 
 nued she, " with one arm supporting Made- 
 moiselle de Bethune, and with the other cleav- 
 ing the current, v/hose force tlireatened every
 
 TPIE TWO FRIENDS. IH 
 
 moment to overwhelm them, I thought it was 
 just such a scene as one reads of." 
 
 " And I," said Lord Scamper, " was reminded 
 of the famous day we had at Melton last year, 
 when I swam the Smite on Sky Scraper, bear- 
 ing the brush triumphantly, which I had twice 
 risked my life to secure that day. It was a 
 glorious sight." 
 
 Lady Jeanet put on a look of intense in- 
 terest, and the gratified fox-hunter repaid it 
 by increased attentions to her. 
 
 When the visit of the Ayrshires drew near 
 its close, they invited Desbrow and his friend 
 to accompany them to their seat in the neigh- 
 bourhood, — an imdtation too agreeable to be 
 resisted. 
 
 The three weeks they had spent together at 
 Clydesdale Castle, had cemented an affection 
 which the brevity of the date of their acquaint- 
 ance, under other circumstances, might never 
 have achieved: and Desbrow only waited a 
 favourable opportunity to declare his sentiments
 
 112 THE TWO FKIENDS. 
 
 to the fair object who had inspired them, and 
 to demand her permission to make them known 
 to Lord and Lady Ayrshire. 
 
 " How strange," said Lady Madeline to her 
 sisters, " that Mademoiselle de Bethune, who 
 took no pains whatever to captivate Mr. Des- 
 brow, should have so completely succeeded in 
 doing so, and in so short a time. I really 
 begin to believe that it is better not to lay 
 one's self out to please, and let things take their 
 natural course ; for if successful, we have the 
 satisfaction of knowing that the success was 
 not acquired at the expense of fatiguing efforts 
 to win it; and if otherwise, one has not the 
 mortification of feeling that our efforts to 
 please have been practised in vain. 
 
 "I believe you are right," said Lady Jeanet, 
 " for after all, there is nothing so tiresome 
 as being always on the qui vi\ e to please ; 
 we have danced all night to catch some booby 
 who professed to dote on Terpsichore, and who 
 havinc^ only claimed our hands for a night, has
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 113 
 
 claimed for life that of some indolent damsel, 
 incapable of such a sacrifice. We have ridden 
 over moor and mountain, fearless as Amazons, 
 in the chase of the heart or hand of some mo- 
 dern Nimrod, who has bestowed it on some in- 
 animate southern lass, who almost trembled to 
 mount a pony. We have sung ourselves into 
 hoarseness and sore throats, to witch with music, 
 some brutes, over whom our harmonies pro- 
 duced less effect than did the sounds of Orpheus 
 on his ; and we have turned over albums of our 
 drawings, until our fingers were as tired as our 
 eyes in the operation, yet the amateurs have 
 chosen wives who could draw nothing but their 
 purse-strings. Let us then abandon all active 
 exertions to gain husbands, and leave it to 
 chance." 
 
 '' Then we. shall never get married," said 
 Lady Rosina, poutingly ; " recollect that Mr. 
 Desbrow is quite unlike the generality of young 
 men, and though Mademoiselle de Bethune cap- 
 tivated him, without any intention on her part.
 
 114 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 she might not, nay, would not, have succeeded 
 with the greater number of the men of our 
 acquaintance ; who, instead of making love, re- 
 quire to be made love to, and only bestow a 
 portion of their attention on women, in 
 gratitude for having occupied so much of theii's. 
 Men are twenty times more fond of admira- 
 tion than we are ; while we require it only for 
 our persons or accomplishments, — they demand 
 it for their fortunes, positions, dress, equipages, 
 horses, and all that is theirs, even to their ivant 
 of accomplishments, of which, many of them 
 are not a little vain, as witness hov/ often we 
 have been called on by some talentless booby, 
 to join in his derision of some man of hterary, 
 musical, or conversational powers, while he 
 thanked his stars that he ^vsiS not of such. No, 
 believe me, sister, that it is only by making men 
 in love with themselves, that we make them 
 fancy themselves in love with us." 
 
 " Suppose," said Lady MadeHne, laughing, 
 '' that we add sv/immins: to the list of our ac-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 115 
 
 complishments ; for you see, how useful a tum- 
 ble into the river can be made. But I would 
 advise a proficiency in the art of diving in 
 the watery element being acquired, before 
 the nymph tries the experiment, lest her at- 
 tendant swains possess not the prowess of Mr. 
 Desbrow." 
 
 " And so," said Lady Arden, " we have lost 
 the fair Cecile, and, pire que ccla, Lord Arling- 
 ton and Mr. Desbrow, the modern Pylades 
 and Orestes, have followed in her wake. Lord 
 Arlington is a very gifted man, as men go 
 now-a-days, and seemed to bear the absence of 
 la dame de ses pensees, with great patience and 
 resignation. Mr. Desbrow is quite an original, 
 and if he fell into the hands of a clever woman 
 something might be made of him ; but, la belle 
 Cecile, qui est douce comme un agneau, is not 
 the person to turn the caterpillar into a butter- 
 fly, though she bids fair to convert the bachelor 
 into a benedict."
 
 116 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 *• The treasures of the deep are not so precious 
 As the concealed comforts of a man 
 Locked up in woman's love." 
 
 Each day of Desbrow's stay at Lord Ayr- 
 shire's, only served to render him still more 
 attached to Mademoiselle de Bethune. His 
 affections ha\ang never been frittered away in 
 casual flirtations, were as fervent as they were 
 fresh and pure, and he loved, as those only can 
 love, who have arrived at maturity without 
 having wasted the powers of their hearts, or 
 blunted the delicacy of their feelings. 
 
 A new world opened before him ; and Cecile
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 117 
 
 was the encliantress that lent it all its charms. 
 The future blessed with her, offered him but one 
 bright vista, and without her, he dared not an- 
 ticipate it. Nor was such a painful anticipation 
 presented to him ; for Cecile, the artless and 
 pure-minded Cecile, was too unskilful in the 
 world's wiles, to conceal the preference he had 
 excited in her heart, though that preference 
 was displayed with a dehcacy that made it 
 doubly flattering. Desbrow was ever by her 
 side, her drawings were confided to him, siie 
 sang and played the simple airs, that charmed 
 away many an evening hour ; and he agreed 
 with Lord and Lady Ayrshire, that if her 
 voice wanted science, it amply compensated for 
 it, in sweetness and pathos. 
 
 Lord Arlington had joined a party at the 
 moors, for a fortnight, leaving Desbrow the en- 
 raptured guest of Lord Ayrshire ; and never 
 was there a happier circle than the party 
 quarre, at A^Tshire Abbey presented.
 
 118 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 A few days after Lord Arlington's departure, 
 Desbrow, while riding by the side of Cecile, 
 at a little distance from the Ayrshires, poured 
 into her ear the impassioned tale of his love, 
 and received her blushing consent to confide it 
 to them. But though for many da,ys she had an- 
 ticipated his avowal, it nov/ agitated her, bring- 
 ing mixed tears of pain and pleasure to her eyes, 
 and the hand she allowed Desbrow to press with- 
 in his for a moment, trembled so much in his 
 grasp, that in pity to her embarrassment, he did 
 not attempt to raise it to his lips ; and a look 
 beaming with affection, repaid him for his de- 
 licacy. 
 
 The moment Cecile found herself alone with 
 Lady Ayrshire, she threw herself into her arms ; 
 and with a shower of tears wept on the almost 
 maternal bosom, that had been through infancy 
 and girlhood, her refuge in joy or sorrow. — 
 She told her of Desbrow's declaration. She 
 wept not alone, for her kind friend, her second
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 119 
 
 mother, mingied tears with her's, as she antici- 
 pated her separation from the child of her 
 affection, even though such a separation had 
 always been inevitable; but they smiled through 
 their tears, as they looked forward to constant 
 meetings and spending many months of every 
 year together. 
 
 Desbrow lost not a moment in laying his pro- 
 posals before Lord Ayrshire, who warmly congra- 
 tulated him on the choice he had made. It was 
 agreed on that the Comte de Bethune should be 
 immediately written to. Lord Ayrshire assured 
 Desbrow, that there could be no doubt of his 
 assent, as the proposal had been accepted by 
 them; adding, that he should inform Cecile's 
 father, that her suitor was all that a prudent 
 parent could desire for his son-in-law. 
 
 The lovers being now considered affianced, 
 and at liberty to mutually reveal their feel- 
 ings, each day, each hour, added to their 
 attachment, by making known qualities that
 
 120 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 their increased intimacy developed. In Ceciie 
 de Bethune, the fastidious Desbrow found all 
 that his imagination had ever pictured, or his 
 reason approved of, in woman ; while the digni- 
 fied simplicity of his manners, and the high tone 
 of his character and mind, were truly appre- 
 ciated by her he ha-d chosen. 
 
 When Arlington returned from the moors, 
 he was no less surprised than gratified at ob- 
 serving the change in his friend and the cause 
 that led to it; and while congratulating Des- 
 brow, he could not resist demanding of him, if 
 he were not now ready to admit the empire of 
 the sly archer Love, whose shafts he had so long- 
 escaped. 
 
 In due time, a favourable answer arrived 
 from the Comte de Bethune, giving his con- 
 sent to the nuptials of his daughter, and re- 
 questing that, when they had taken place, Mr. 
 Desbrow would bring her to France to visit 
 him. 
 
 It was agreed that Desbrow should pro-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 121 
 
 ceed to London to arrange tlie settlement with 
 his lawyer, and that the Ayrshires were to 
 follow him with their fair ward, in a fortnight 
 after. But the morning of his departure an 
 express arrived, stating that Mr. Beaumont, 
 the guardian of Desbrow, was dangerously ill, 
 and urging his immediate presence. 
 
 We will not dwell on the parting scene be- 
 tween the lovers ; the sadness of which was in- 
 creased by the tidings that had clouded the 
 brow of Desbrow, who was sincerely attached 
 to his guardian, and had prepared Cecile to like 
 him. 
 
 All partings are melancholy between those 
 who have sensitive hearts ; because they are 
 felt to be the avant couriers of that final parting 
 on earth, when the survivor has the bitterest 
 portion. Desbrow was obliged to summon all 
 his self-command to his aid, when his travelling 
 carriage drove round to the door, and he saw 
 the cheek of his promised bride wear a paler 
 hue, as a pearly tear stole down it. A sweet 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 smile which struggled thi'ough tears, as does the 
 sun through the showers of the vernal April, 
 beamed on the lovely face of Cecile, as she 
 oftered her velvet cheek to the lips of Desbrow. 
 He then tore himself away from the breakfast 
 room, astonished at the depth of his emotion, 
 at quitting, for only a few days, her who was so 
 shortly to be all his o\mi. 
 
 He travelled night and day until he reached 
 the mansion of Mr. Beaumont. An old servant 
 met him in the vestibule ; and to his hurried 
 enquiry, answered that his poor master still 
 lived, and was every hour demanding if ^Ir. 
 Desbrow had arrived. Desbrow followed him 
 to the sick chamber, where, stretched on the 
 bed of death, lay the friend who had long been 
 to him as a parent : his languid eyes, over which 
 the glassy film of death was spread, tmned with 
 instinctive impulse to the door of the chamber 
 when it opened: and " is he yet come?" broke 
 from the pale lips of the dying man, as his 
 heaving heart rose with unequal movement, and
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 123 
 
 liis struggling breath almost refused to give an 
 echo to his thoughts. His attenuated hands 
 were convulsively plaiting the sheet that was 
 turned over his coverlid, and the damps of 
 death hung on his livid brow. A faint ray of 
 joy illumined, for a moment, his sunken eyes, 
 as they recognised Desbrov/ ; his cold clammy 
 hands returned the warm pressure of his young 
 friend, as he gaspingly murmured, *' I knew he 
 would come — I knev/ he would come to — close 
 my eyes — I am dying — my dear young friend 
 — I have wrestled v/ith death for the last few 
 hours — because I wished to see you before I 
 died — It is novv^ nearly over, — but I die as I 
 have lived, an advocate for civil and religious 
 liberty." — 
 
 He paused ; and a spasmodic pressure of 
 the hand, and a convulsive movement of the 
 muscles, followed by a heavy gasp, and a 
 closing of the languid eye-lids, marked that the 
 last struggle was over ; and Desbrow looked on 
 the inanimate remains of him who had, only a 
 
 g2
 
 124 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 moment before, welcomed his approach. He 
 gazed long and attentively on that pale face, on 
 which the impress of earthly passion still lin- 
 gered; and, as he slowly withdrew from the 
 chamber of death, he prayed that he might 
 never be doomed to -witness the closing scene 
 of aught dearer to him in life, since that of his 
 poor friend filled him with such regret. 
 
 When the will was opened, it was found that 
 Mr. Beaumont had left the whole of his large 
 fortune to Desbrow, with the exception of ten 
 thousand pounds to her who had clouded the 
 horizon of his life, but who had never been 
 forgotten ; hberal provisions to his servants, and 
 large sums for the endowment of a school, into 
 which only the children of persons belonging 
 to the established church were to be admitted. 
 A considerable legacy was also bequeathed for 
 the institution of a charity, into which the poor 
 of his estates were to be received, on condition 
 that they always voted for their landlord, or the 
 candidate proposed by him. Desbrow sighed,
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 125 
 
 as he read this record of the prejudices of him 
 who died professing his love of civil and reli- 
 gious liberty. 
 
 In the desk of Mr. Beaumont was found a 
 letter addressed to Desbrow, instructing him to 
 examine and destroy all his' private papers, and 
 vidth it a small parcel, labelled " Notes from 
 Frances." In lifting this parcel, a paper was 
 discovered, containing a dried rose, almost re- 
 duced to dust, with an inscription nearly 
 effaced, stating that it had been given him in 
 June, 1788, by his dear Frances. 
 
 Love, disappointed love, was the secret 
 of the misanthropy of poor Beaumont; and 
 how many cases of misanthropy might be traced 
 to similar causes, whose effects influence the 
 lives of those who yield to them, long after the 
 causes have ceased to be remembered. It is 
 only susceptible natures that are Uable to 
 this species of infirmity, — an infirmity that 
 always springs from disappointed affections, — 
 and is therefore entitled to our pity, instead of
 
 126 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 being, as it generally is, at once the source, 
 and object of censure and calumny. 
 
 Desbrow felt a tear dim his eye, as it dwelt 
 on this treasured relick of a first and only 
 love, — this only flower, — in the wintry life of 
 him who had preserved it ; and he never felt so 
 strong a sentiment of attachment towards his 
 departed friend as at this moment, when the 
 mementos of his tenderness of heart were be- 
 fore him. It is by the weaknesses, more than 
 by their strength, that Ave are drawn tov/ards 
 our fellow-creatures ; for, we not only all stand 
 so much in need of pity and forbearance, but 
 are generally so conscious of this necessity, that 
 we find a chord in our hearts, which responds 
 to that in others, when it vibrates beneath the 
 dissonant touch of misfortune. 
 
 With what compassion did Desbrow now 
 look back to the movements of misanthropy he 
 had so often witnessed in his poor friend, and 
 grieve that he had not shewn a more affectionate 
 forbearance to them ! Alas ! we often pass our
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. J 27 
 
 lives with persons whose faiUngs we should he 
 more disposed to pity than resent, could we but 
 know the causes that led to them ; but such is 
 our pride, or our mutual want of confidence, 
 that, even in the intimacy of friendship, we 
 rarely lay open our feelings, even to those who 
 could sympathize in them. 
 
 Desbrow now found himself the possessor of 
 vast wealth, as the fortune of Mr. Beaumont, 
 joined to his own, rendered him one of the 
 wealthiest commoners in England ; but his de- 
 sires were so moderate, and his former fortune 
 so free from all incumbrances, that his acces- 
 sion gave him little pleasure. He reflected 
 with deep regret that his marriage must now be 
 postponed for some time, as the respect due to 
 the memory of his guardian, who had been a 
 second father to him, demanded this sacrifice. 
 
 He wrote to Lord Ayrshire, informing him 
 of the death of Mr. Beaumont, and stating his 
 feelings. He enclosed a letter for Cecile, in 
 which, after pouring forth his whole heart to her,
 
 128 THE TWO FRIENDS, 
 
 he intreated her to reply to him immediately ; 
 and, having performed the last melancholy duty 
 to the remains of his deceased friend, he en- 
 deavoured to beguile the weary hours by ful- 
 filling, to the utmost extent of his power, the 
 intentions of Mr. Beaumont. 
 
 Arlington, who had left him on his route 
 from Scotland, had gone to pay a visit at Lord 
 Vavasour's, where the news of Mr. Beaumont's 
 death reached him. Knowing the affection that 
 Desbrow had always entertained for his guar- 
 dian, and sympathizing in the feelings of re- 
 gret which he knew his loss would occasion 
 him, he wnrote to offer Desbrow a visit : but the 
 latter dechned it for the present, as he had so 
 much business on his hands, that he wished to 
 finish it ere he left Beaumont Park ; and there- 
 fore postponed their meeting until the ensu- 
 ing month in London, where business would 
 require the presence of both. 
 
 Desbrow waited with impatience for letters 
 from Ayrshire Abbey ; but day after day passed
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 129 
 
 and not a letter arrived. At length, a week 
 after tlie due time when an answer might have 
 been expected to his letters, he was shocked 
 and alarmed by receiving one vnth black-edged 
 paper, and bearing all the insignia of death. 
 Terror for some moments prevented his having 
 the power to open it, — a thousand fearful 
 thoughts passed through his mind, — his hand 
 shook, and a presentiment of some heavy cala- 
 mity took possession of him ; and such was the 
 overpowering effect of his agitation, that when 
 he had torn open the letter, and saw the signa- 
 ture of Cecile, he clasped his hands, and uttered 
 ejaculations of joy and thankfulness that she 
 was safe. He once more took up the letter, 
 and became filled with sorrow, when he perused 
 the few lines in which the heart-stricken girl 
 informed him that she had lost her second 
 mother, — her dear and inestimable friend. Lady 
 Ayrshire, — who had been hurried to the tomb 
 by a violent cold, which, terminating in a fever, 
 had in a few days, put an end to her valuable 
 
 g5
 
 130 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 existence. Lord Ayrshire, she added, was inca- 
 pable of writing, and she felt nearly unequal to 
 the melancholy task that devolved on her. 
 
 Desbrow read the letter over and over again ; 
 it was the first he had ever received from Cecile ; 
 and a superstitious feeling which, in his present 
 depressed spirits he could not subdue, stole over 
 him, as he reflected that her first letter was to 
 announce death, — a sombre omen, thought he, 
 for the future. The grief under which it was 
 written precluded even the indications of that 
 confidential and authorized affection, which pre- 
 viously to their separation they had so frankly 
 and happily indulged. At each perusal he 
 thought the style still more frigid and re- 
 strained, and blamed her for not even by im- 
 plication referring to their position; forgetful 
 that it was written in the house of death and 
 mourning, and that grief alone occupied her 
 who sent it, chasing away, for the moment, 
 every other feehng. 
 
 Is it the presentiment of the brevity of sor-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS, 131 
 
 row that makes the mourner adhere with such 
 tenacity to the first indulgence of its violence ; 
 when turning from all the consolation that love 
 or friendship can offer, the heart and the imagi- 
 nation unite in cherishing the regret that is but 
 the more bitter because it is vain ? 
 
 Alas ! such is our weakness, that even the 
 violence of our emotions exhausts the grief they 
 evince ; and we live to feel that the very deep- 
 est, truest regret may be subdued by time, 
 though it leaves wounds whose cicatrices are 
 ineffaceable. Who that has lost an object 
 dear to the affections, but has felt the self- 
 reproach, the remorse, with which we turn from 
 the first indications of forgetfulness, as we ask 
 ourselves, if it is thus we can forget all that was, 
 and was most dear. Unstable must that mind 
 be which views not life with an altered eye, after 
 death has snatched from our circle some indivi- 
 dual who made its happiness. That confidence 
 in the possibility of the duration of earthly 
 enjoyment, which in itself is happiness, has fied
 
 132 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 for ever, when we have bent over the cold re- 
 mains of one we loved; for then, comes the 
 reflection, that so may perish every tie that 
 hinds us to life ; and the mysterious chain by 
 which memory links us to the loved dead, awa- 
 kening thoughts which they once shared, pre- 
 cludes our forgetting that the flowers of earth 
 only shade the graves that yawn beneath them. 
 
 Desbrow wi'ote to Cecile, and, from respect 
 to her feelings of grief, suppressed every senti- 
 ment foreign to them. How did he wish that 
 he was near her, to share, if not lighten her 
 sorrow! How did he desire to utter the thou- 
 sand fond condolences which he could not 
 write ! But he dared not intrude on the pri- 
 vacy of Lord Ayrshire at such a moment unbid- 
 den ; and was therefore forced to restrain his im- 
 patience. 
 
 In a few weeks, came a letter from Lord Ayr- 
 shire, informing him that the Comte de Bethune 
 was daily expected in Scotland, to take Cecile
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 138 
 
 to France ; *' so not only (wrote the bereaved 
 husband) have I lost her, who made the happi- 
 ness of my life, but I am about to lose Cecile, 
 whom I have so long considered as my daughter. 
 I could have parted wdth her to you without a 
 nmrmur; but, I confess, I like not to see her 
 carried away, even by a father, to France, before 
 that nuptial knot is tied, which is to unite for 
 ever her destiny with England. If you dread 
 not to come to the house of mourning, let us 
 see you here, as the sooner you make acquaint- 
 ance with the Comte de Bethune the better; 
 and I am sure you will wish to bid farewell to 
 Cecile before she leaves England. 
 
 " Man proposes, but God disposes, my dear 
 young friend. When we parted a few weeks 
 ago, how anxiously did we all look forward to 
 our next meeting! and she whom I have lost, 
 how did she picture a cheerful future, to be 
 passed in constant interchange^ of visits, at our 
 mutual houses. She has sought ' the narrow
 
 134 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 house,' and left me, in the winter of life, de- 
 prived of the sunshine her presence cast over 
 my existence for so many happy years." 
 
 No sooner did Desbrow receive Lord Ayr- 
 shire's letter, than he determined to set off for 
 Scotland without delay. A presentiment of 
 impending evil, connected with Cecile's return 
 to France, weighed on his spirits, which he 
 sought in vam to conquer, and he felt dissatis- 
 fied wdth himself at not being able to vanquish 
 this superstitious fancy. With what different 
 feelings did he pursue his journey to Scotland, 
 to those vrith which he left it a few weeks be- 
 fore. Death had been busy with those near and 
 deal' to him in that brief period; and though 
 love still reigned in his heart, grief had sobered 
 down his joyful anticipations, and reminded him 
 of the fearful uncertainty of their realization — 
 an uncertainty, which a few days before, he 
 could not have brought himself to even appre- 
 hend. It was impossible to have lived in tlie 
 same society with Lady Ayrshire, on the terms
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 135 
 
 of cordial intimacy with which Desbrow had 
 been received, without having formed for her 
 a sincere friendship. His love for Cecile had 
 grown beneath her eye, and had been fostered 
 by her motherly encouragement; her benign 
 presence was associated with all that he had 
 yet known of pure happiness, and his regret 
 for her loss was as deep as it was well founded.
 
 136 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Dans la lutte etablie entre I'amour et la vanite, il est 
 rare que la victoire ne reste pas a celle-ci." 
 
 While Desbrow was pursuing his route to 
 Ayrshire Abbey, his friend Arlington was 
 yielding to the fascinations of the Lady Emily 
 Vavasour, the fair daughter of his host, whose 
 beauty had attracted him, and whose talents 
 and amiability had fixed his hitherto volatile 
 heart. 
 
 For some time he was unconscious that any 
 stronger sentiment than a lively admiration, ac- 
 tuated his feelings towards her ; for so decided 
 had been his preference for Lady Walmer, and
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 137 
 
 SO frequently did the recollection of her obtrude 
 itself on his mind, that he believed his passion 
 for her was still unsubdued, till the anxiety 
 which the marked attention of Lord Mordaunt 
 to Lady Emily excited in his feehngs, soon re- 
 vealed to him the state of his heart, and he 
 now turned his whole thoughts to the endea- 
 vour of securing an interest in her's. The Lady 
 Emily Vavasour to great personal beauty, 
 united talents of no mean order, and a temper 
 as remarkable for its sweetness, as were her 
 manners for their polished elegance. Though 
 an only child, and like all such, brought up in 
 the lap of indulgence, by parents who idohzed 
 her, she ' was as totally unspoilt as if she had 
 been the seventh daughter of a Scotch laird or 
 an English curate. Fondly attached to her 
 parents, she had reached her eighteenth year 
 without having known an hour of sorrow, or a 
 wish ungratified. Her mother, a woman of 
 strong religious principles, had early instilled 
 into the mind of her child, that only sure guide
 
 138 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 to peace — religion. It was tlie basis on which 
 her conduct was founded and her hopes built ; 
 and its blessed effects were visible in the strict 
 discharge of all her duties, and the peaceful 
 tenour of her life. 
 
 The personal and mental superiority of 
 Arlington, over his would-be rival, soon won 
 for him the preference of Lady Emily ; and in 
 a short time, he was received by her and her 
 family, as her accepted suitor. He had now the 
 enviable privilege of devoting nearly all his 
 time and attention to his fair betrothed; and 
 each day rendered them mutually more dear. 
 His father approved his choice, and offered the 
 most liberal settlements; and all promised 
 happiness for the future; when, one morning 
 at the breakfast table. Lord Vavasour received 
 a letter, announcing the visit of Lord and Lady 
 Walmer, who wrote to say they were on their 
 
 route to the Duke of D 's, and would 
 
 stay a day or two, at Vavasour Hall. 
 
 Nothing could be more unwelcome to Arling-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 139 
 
 ton than this rencontre. His first impulse was to 
 leave the house under some pretence or other, 
 and so avoid a meeting with Lady Walmer; but 
 as she was to arrive that day, and that he had 
 received no letters, he could have made 
 no excuse for going away so suddenly that 
 would not have had an extraordinary ap- 
 pearance. So sincere was his attachment to 
 Lady Emily, that it had wholly triumphed over 
 his former passion for Lady Walmer, and it was 
 only from a wish of not giving the latter pain, 
 that he desired to shun an interview which he 
 now felt could no longer have any danger for 
 him. He determined to treat her with marked 
 respect, but to avoid all chances of explanation, 
 or confidential intercourse. A resolution which 
 he concluded it would be almost unnecessary to 
 form, as Lady Walmer would naturally con- 
 duct herself towards him with all that cold 
 politeness, which their relative positions re- 
 quired. Still he anticipated the meeting with 
 no pleasurable feelings : — there is always a gau-
 
 140 . THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 cherie in encountering a person once loved, 
 and to whom the strongest professions of at- 
 tachment have been made, when that love is 
 transferred to another object. A sense of 
 shame at one's own inconstancy, embarrasses 
 the person vis-a-vis to a former flame, and this 
 sentiment will aways be felt in proportion to 
 the inconstant's natural kindness of heart. 
 
 " It is strange," said Lady Emily, *' that often 
 as Lord and Lady Walmer have been invited 
 here, they never have paid us a visit before, 
 and now come unasked. We are surely more 
 than twenty miles out of the route to the 
 
 Duke of D ^ — 's, which makes their visit 
 
 more extraordinary." 
 
 " I never before heard you, my dear Emily, 
 make so inhospitable a reflection," said Lord 
 Vavasour, " and we are but the more obliged 
 to the Walmers for coming twenty miles out 
 of their way to give us their company for a day 
 or two." 
 
 Lady Emily looked as if she could have well
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. • 141 
 
 dispensed with the obHgation, though had she 
 been asked why, she could hardly have given a 
 reason. The truth was, she felt so happy, that 
 she wished for no change in the circle around 
 her, and least of all, the addition to it of 
 persons with whom she was but slightly 
 acquainted. 
 
 During the morning, Arlington felt unsettled 
 and unhinged; the society of Lady Emily 
 seemed for the first time to fail in occupying 
 his thoughts, which, in spite of him, recurred 
 continually to the expected guest. 
 
 How would she receive him ? and what would 
 be her opinion at discovering, which she could 
 not fail to do, that the passionate love, pro- 
 fessed for herself some ten weeks before, was 
 now transferred to another? And she too, com- 
 pelled to be a witness to his inconstancy ! How 
 unfortunate that she should come ! But then, 
 perhaps. Lady Walmer had as completely 
 conquered her predilection for him, as he had 
 his, for her. In that case, indeed, all would be
 
 142 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 well, and friendship and goodwill might take 
 the place of warmer feelings. But no! and 
 here vanity, that self-flatterer, whispered, that 
 her's was not a passion to be so soon cured ; — 
 and a pang of self-reproach shot through the 
 generous feelings of Arlington as he contem- 
 plated her possible chagrin, that almost atoned 
 for the egotism which led him to believe in the 
 continuance of her attachment, — a supposed 
 fidelity, which had he analyzed his sentiments, 
 he would have attributed more to the belief of 
 his own merits, than to her stability. 
 
 More than once, during the day. Lady Emily, 
 observing his abstraction, rallied him on it, and 
 it required a considerable effort to force him- 
 self to reply to her plaisanteries. 
 
 Lord and Lady Walmer arrived at the hour 
 usually chosen by people of tact to make their 
 appearance in a country house, — namely, that 
 devoted to dressing for dinner ; when an arrival 
 breaks in on no one's occupations, and the first 
 interview with the persons composing the society.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 148 
 
 is in tlie drawing-room or library, just in time to 
 permit the greetings of reception, before the 
 maitre d'hotel announces that dinner is served. 
 People then appear in fresh garments and fresh 
 looks, take their places naturally, and give just 
 enough excitement, by the mille petits riens et 
 on dit, that new comers have to communicate, 
 to render their presence not merely an addition, 
 but an acquisition to enliven the monotony of a 
 country house. Not so arrive the unsophisti- 
 cated persons, unblessed with tact, whom some 
 luckless host is compelled to invite to his 
 chateau. A fear of being too late for Lord 
 Rochfort, who is so punctual, induces them to 
 start on their journey three hours' too soon, 
 and they drive up to the door flushed and 
 heated, with uncurled locks and dresses chif- 
 fonnes, just as the hostess and her guests are 
 about to ascend the carriage for their late 
 morning drive. 
 
 The dame du chateau must give up her drive, 
 to remain and act the civil, heartily wishing
 
 144 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 the new coiners twenty miles off; — it is too 
 early for them to dress for dinner, and too late 
 to make a change in their tumbled toilettes. 
 
 They hope they do not interrupt Lady 
 Rochfort's drive, and entreat her not to stand 
 on ceremony with them, half an hour after the 
 carriages have driven away ; and the poor hostess 
 having offered them refreshments, abandons her- 
 self to the interminable and inane remarks of 
 the lady guests, while the husband looks out of 
 the window, and wonders when Lord Rochfort 
 will return from shooting, reminding his wife 
 every half hour, how unnecessary her haste had 
 been, and shevvdng how heavy the pressure of 
 time hangs on his hands, by beating a tattoo 
 on the window frame and tables by the way 
 of beguiling it. They are too tired to walk, 
 but not sufficiently so to retire to their 
 chambers to refresh and repose themselves, 
 as their considerate hostess has more than 
 once proposed; and she is only relieved from 
 her thraldom by the ringing of the first
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 145 
 
 dinner bell, when, half dead with ennui, and 
 already heartily tired of her new guests, she 
 seeks the privacy of her dressing-room, and 
 vents in yawns, suppressed during the two last 
 tedious hours, her decouragement morale. 
 
 Other visitors of the same class, sin in a dif- 
 ferent way. Afraid to arrive too soon, and be 
 in Lady Rochfort's way, they set out an hour 
 too late ; the second dinner bell has rung as they 
 drive to the door, but in rushing to their apart- 
 ments, they beg the groom of the chambers to 
 assiu'e my lady that they will be ready in fifteen 
 minutes. The message is delivered, not sotto 
 voce, and excites the dismay of all the assem- 
 bled company, who know what fifteen minutes 
 mean, when imperials, chaise seats, and bonnet 
 boxes have to be taken down from the carriage, 
 and up to the dressing-rooms, unpacked and 
 huddled on by the cold fingers of a half-frozen 
 lady's maid, nearly dislocated from the motion 
 of the dickey-box or rumble-tumble, and who 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 has forgotten where half the finery most wanted 
 has been stowed away. 
 
 Some of the guests are in horror at the an- 
 ticipation of the spoiled dinner; and others, 
 more fastidious, are shocked at the notion of 
 a fifteen minutes' toilette, after a dusty or dirty 
 road, and being shut up so many hours, when 
 the necessary ablutions alone would require 
 more than that brief period ; but all are discom- 
 posed, and put out of humour. The pendule, 
 on the chimney, is often anxiously regarded; 
 and when thrice fifteen minutes have elapsed, the 
 luckless visitors enter the library, with height- 
 ened colour, which has divided itself, with im- 
 partiality, between their noses and cheeks, 
 " making the white one red," and draperies 
 and garnitures as ruffled as their tempers. 
 But here, end not the miseries ; for, in breath- 
 less haste, Madame Mere pours forth an endless 
 volley of apologies, excuses, and demands for 
 pardon. *' She is so shocked, — so sorry, — but
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 147 
 
 the roads were so bad, the post-horses so tired, 
 and they had no idea it was so late." Another 
 quarter of an hour is thus filled up, until 
 the overpowered hostess, and hungry guests, 
 their last remnant of patience exhausted, are 
 summoned to the salle-a-manger, where, over- 
 done venison, and tepid or rechaufFees entrees, 
 keep alive the resentments of the gourmands, 
 and the displeasure of the lord and lady of the 
 banquet, to the tactless causes of their spoiled 
 dinner. 
 
 Never did Lady Walmer look more lovely, 
 than when Arlington's eyes fell on her as he 
 entered the library, and the bright colour 
 which tinged her cheek, while he offered his 
 compliments to her, added to her loveliness, 
 as well as to the interest it excited for lier 
 in his breast. When her hand touched his, 
 he thought its movement tremulous; though 
 the truth was, the tremulousness was in his 
 hand, and not in hers. But she was more 
 
 h2
 
 148 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 accurate in her judgment of this point ; and 
 from it, deduced that her power over him 
 was not yet destroyed. This behef lent a 
 greater softness to her manner ; and, when 
 their eyes met, the long and pensive look, 
 which seemed as if it would reach his in- 
 most soul, and expressed all the affection of 
 her's, made him tremble while he turned from 
 its unequivocal tenderness, to seek the mild and 
 less practised glances of his Emily. 
 
 At dinner, he was placed vis-a-\'is to Lady 
 Walmer, whose varying colour, and agitated 
 looks, whenever he addressed Lady Emily, 
 by whom he was seated, betrayed the pain 
 she felt; and the consciousness of this, im- 
 posed a degree of reserve on Arlington, that 
 rendered his position peculiarly awkward. He 
 had now the conviction that he was still beloved 
 by Lady Walmer ; and though good feeling, 
 as well as good sense, prompted the wish that 
 it had not been so ; still, vanity, that insepa-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 149 
 
 rable companion of the human breast, made 
 him feel a complacency at the conviction, and 
 a warm gratitude towards the object that admi- 
 nistered to his self-love. Had Lady Walmer 
 treated him with haughtiness, or indifference, 
 he could better have brooked her presence ; 
 but now, could he be so barbarous, so unfeel- 
 ing, as to wound the heart of a woman who 
 loved him, by attentions to another, which 
 proved the transfer of his affection ? No ! the 
 restraint could only last two days; she would 
 then depart, and, probably, the unsophisti- 
 cated Emily, in that short period, would not be 
 aware of the decrease of his attentions. 
 
 So reasoned Arlington, during the time of din- 
 ner ; and though he would have willingly risked 
 wounding Lady Walmer's feelings, in preference 
 to offending Emily, he had not courage to pay 
 the latter any of the countless and nameless 
 acts of prevenance, which she had been for 
 weeks accustomed to receive from him. Every
 
 150 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 time lie turned his eyes to the opposite side of 
 the table, and, truth to say, that was continually, 
 he found those of Lady Walmer fixed on him. 
 Emily being by his side, he could not, without a 
 movement of his head, which would have excited 
 anew the agitation and distress of Lady Wal- 
 mer, observe the sweet countenance of liis 
 affianced wife, or the changes produced in it 
 by his unwonted abstraction and coldness. 
 Had he looked on it, he would have been 
 recalled to a sense of his weakness ; but, as it 
 was, he yielded to a false sentiment of pity, 
 springing more from his own vanity, than any 
 other source. When the ladies rose from table, 
 instead of seeking the eyes of Emily, he found 
 himself reading in those of her rival, her thanks 
 for his forbearance : but turning from their too 
 eloquent expression, to catch the retreating 
 figure of Emily, whose languid movements, 
 and dejected air, spoke reproaches to his heart.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 151 
 
 he ardently pined for an opportunity of again 
 devoting all his attentions to her, free from 
 the jealous observation of Lady Walmer.
 
 152 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Half the errors attributed to love have their source 
 only in vanity ; and many a woman has made sacrifices 
 to this unworthy passion, who might have successfully 
 resisted the pleadings of affection." 
 
 Lady Walmer had perception enough to be 
 aware that her only chance of retahiing her in- 
 fluence over Arlington, was to affect a violent 
 passion for him. Bent on this pui'pose, she 
 became blind to the risks to which the fulfil- 
 ment of it would inevital)ly expose her. And 
 here, was a proof that vanity sometimes triumphs 
 over pride in woman's heart, as well as in man's.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 153 
 
 Her preference for Arlington, though the strong- 
 est, and perhaps the only permanent one she 
 had ever known, would not have injured her 
 peace of mind, had her vanity not been wounded 
 by his having had the power to fly from her, even 
 at the moment when she acknowledged that he 
 was dear to her. Had he fled in despair at her 
 coldness, she could have borne it ; but as it was, 
 it was too mortifying, and she determined, 
 coute qui coute, to win him back, if only to 
 prove to him, that when again at her feet, she 
 could banish him for ever. 
 
 Day after day, during the first month of his 
 absence, she expected a letter, breathing repent- 
 ance for his flight, and intreating to be again 
 restored to her favour; but when week after 
 week passed without a hne from him, her indig- 
 nation knew no bounds. Lady Walmer was in- 
 capable of appreciating the character or conduct 
 of Arlington, and consequently misjudged both 
 so completely, as to attribute his flight to a want 
 
 h5
 
 154 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 of affection, derogatory to the power of her fas- 
 cination ; instead of viewing it as a proof of his 
 triumph over himself, in sacrificing his feelings 
 to her peace. 
 
 Some remarks made by Lord Walmer on the 
 sudden departure of Arlington, goaded the irri- 
 table vanity of his wife ; who having been proud 
 of displaying her conquest, was humiliated that 
 even her husband should think her adorers 
 could thus easily throw off* her chains. 
 
 Such was the state of her feelings when in- 
 telligence reached London, that Arlington was 
 on the eve of marriage wdth Lady Emily Vava- 
 sour. To paint her anger, would be impossible ; 
 rage, jealousy, and a sense of humiliation filled 
 her breast, and being compelled to conceal her 
 emotions, they preyed but the more deej^ly on 
 her ill-governed mind. The emdous belles, who 
 had disputed with her the conquest of Arling- 
 ton, now flocked round to comment on his ap- 
 proaching marriage, to repeat a thousand ex-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 155 
 
 aggerated tales of his long and devoted passion 
 for Lady Emily; the immense settlements he 
 had offered, and the splendid diamonds he had 
 commanded. His attachment was represented 
 as something quite worthy of the days of ro- 
 mance ; and Lady Emily was pronounced by 
 these soi disant friends of Lady Waimer, a 
 most fortunate woman, to have gained the heart 
 of such a man, especially when it was taken into 
 consideration how many women had sought it, 
 by encouraging his attentions. None of this 
 malice lost its effect on her whom it was 
 meant to wound; she felt — poignantly felt it 
 — until it rankled in her very soul, exciting her 
 to sacrifice pride, delicacy, and every feminine 
 feeling of propriety, to the accomplishment of 
 the only scheme that promised a salve to her 
 wounded vanity, — that, of again securing Arling- 
 ton's affections, and shewing the envious wo- 
 men who taunted her, how easily she could 
 make him resume her chains.
 
 156 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 But while revolving this plan, she was not 
 forgetful that the eyes of all her clique were 
 upon her ; and this weak woman, who was inca- 
 pable of conquering the feelings of wounded va- 
 nity, concealed with a Spartan firmness, worthy 
 of a good cause, the anguish it inflicted. Nay, 
 she affected to be pleased at the marriage ; said 
 she had long known of the attachment, for that 
 Lord Arlington had made her his confidant ; an 
 assertion that excited an exchange of sundry 
 malicious glances between the ladies composing 
 her audience, none of which escaped her obser- 
 vation, though she pretended not to remark 
 them. She dwelt with exaggeration on the qua- 
 lities, mental and personal, of Lady Emily, with 
 whom she was but slightly acquainted, and, pro- 
 claimed that two such amiable and accomplished 
 persons could not fail to be happy. 
 
 This ruse imposed on no one, save Lord Wal- 
 mer, on whom it took entire effect ; and he felt 
 much gratified, as the confession of his wife's
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 157 
 
 having been Arlington's confidant, seemed now 
 to explain, most satisfactorily to him, all the 
 causes of their former long interviews and habits 
 of intimacy, which had often excited his surprise, 
 if not his jealousy. 
 
 But all was now explained ; and feeling more 
 cordially disposed towards his wife than he 
 had been for a long time, he yielded a ready 
 assent to her proposal of accepting an invitation 
 
 to the Duke of D , which he had previously 
 
 nearly determined on declining. 
 
 Lady Walmer had felt as little inclination as 
 her lord, to go to the duke's, until she recollec- 
 ted that Lord Vavasour's seat was only twenty 
 miles out of the route, which would furnish 
 her with an excuse for accepting an invitation 
 often given, of staying a few days there. She 
 frankly proposed this visit to her lord, who 
 readily agreed to it, but she determined on not 
 announcing her intention to Lord Vavasour, 
 until she was on the eve of making it, lest Ar-
 
 158 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 lington might take flight; as she guessed he 
 could feel no wish of encountering her, under 
 present circumstances. 
 
 To win back her recreant knight, and to ex- 
 hibit him to her clique, was now the end and 
 aim of all this weak woman's plans ; and she 
 never paused to ask herself if, in pursuing her 
 schemes, the happiness of the young and amiable 
 Lady Emily, as well as that of Arlington, might 
 not be sacrificed. No ! She thought not of 
 them; self, and self only, was consulted, and, 
 for the gratification of her vanity, she was ready 
 to imolate all that opposed its triumph. 
 
 Lady Walmer was not naturally a bad hearted 
 or vdcked person, and if, a few months before, 
 any one could have foretold her, that she would 
 act as she was now doing, she would have des- 
 pised the prediction and felt insulted by the 
 prophet ; but vanity, her ruling passion, she 
 had never even endeavoured to control, and so 
 long had she yielded to its empire, that it now
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 159 
 
 wholly governed her. Instigated by this mean 
 and unworthy passion, Vvhich has led more wo- 
 men to ruin than all others beside, she now 
 fearlessly obeyed its dictates ; and determined to 
 leave nothing undone to recover her empire 
 over Arlington, who, unconscious of her real 
 character, attributed that to affection, which 
 proceeded from vanity alone ; and his own 
 self-love being flattered by it, he pitied what, 
 had he known her real sentiments, he would 
 have despised. 
 
 Into how many snares does not vanity lead 
 us, and how often, for the indulgence of that 
 evil passion in ourselves, do we administer to 
 that of others ! Had he not been blinded by his 
 own fatuity, he would have seen that Lady 
 Walmer's present conduct was as inconsistent 
 with true affection as it was with female deli- 
 cacy ; and he would have at once discouraged her 
 impropriety of conduct, by continuing his atten- 
 tions to her innocent and amiable rival. But
 
 H)0 THE TWO JRIENDS. 
 
 men are as prone to believe in the force and 
 durability of the passions they inspire, as are 
 weak women ; and hence, are oftener the victims 
 of their vanity than of their aftections. 
 
 When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the 
 drawing-room, Arlington found that Lady Wal- 
 mer had established a tete-a-tete on a sofa, 
 with Lady Emily ; leaving Lady Vavasour and 
 the wife of the rector, who had joined the party, 
 to amuse themselves in a similar manner. This 
 manoeuvre precluded the possibility of Arling- 
 ton's having an opportunity of saying a word in 
 private to Lady Emily, and had been calculated 
 upon, and arranged accordingly^ by the wily 
 Lady Walmer. 
 
 Nothing could be so disadvantageous to Emily, 
 as the contrast she now afforded to her rival, 
 who, elated with the success of her glances 
 at dinner, was blooming and brilliant in 
 beauty, while Emily's cheek wore a paler hue, 
 and her eyes looked languid and heavy, as their
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 161 
 
 downcast lids tried to veil tliem from the search- 
 ing gaze of Lady Walmer, who seemed as if she 
 would have read her inmost thoughts. We must, 
 injustice to Arlington, add, that the pallid cheek 
 and hea\7 eyes of Emily, though thus brought 
 into forcible and disadvantageous contrast with 
 the blooming tint and sparkling eyes of Lady 
 Walmer, never had more attraction for him 
 than at this moment, when they disclosed how 
 deep must be the sentiment of attachment for 
 himself, which could so soon subdue her natural 
 vivacity, and shade the brilliant character of her 
 beauty. Lady Walmer was too quick sighted 
 not to observe the deep interest which the pen- 
 sive looks of Emily had awakened, and too 
 clever not to try and divert the attention of her 
 lover to some other point ; she, therefore, pro- 
 posed music, and asked Emily to sing, though 
 one glance at her countenance must have be- 
 trayed that such an exertion at the present mo- 
 ment would be impossible. A head-ache, that
 
 IG2 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 never failing apology for a lieart-aclie, was offered 
 as an excuse for Emily's refusal ; and Lady 
 Walmer proposed to accompany herself on the 
 piano, that Lady Emily might hear one or two 
 new songs, of which she spoke in high terms. 
 Arlington now hoped that while Lady Walmer 
 was singing, he might have an opportunity of 
 saying a few words in private to Emily, and, 
 therefore, expressed a desire to hear the song or 
 songs to which she alluded ; but no sooner did 
 she rise to go to the piano, than she took the 
 arm of Emily, and, at the same moment, 
 called to Arlington to place the music stool 
 for her. 
 
 This behest performed, while she was play- 
 ing the symphony, he turned to Emily, and 
 with a look, in which the whole tenderness 
 of his heart was displayed, in a low voice, 
 hoped she was not very ill, and that her head- 
 ache would soon subside. The look and manner 
 that accompanied these words, carried a balm
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 165 
 
 it, would be impossible. He felt as if every 
 eye and ear in the room must detect in it, 
 all that Lady Walmer meant him alone to 
 comprehend. Nor was he reassured when, 
 stealing a look at Emily, he saw astonishment 
 and pain depicted on every lineament of her 
 intelligent face. 
 
 When the song ended, and before Lady 
 Walmer could receive the compliments of the 
 few^ of her auditors who felt disposed to pay 
 her any, Lady Vavasour left her seat, and ap- 
 proaching her daughter, drew her arm within 
 her's, and gently led her from the room. Ar- 
 lington would have given worlds to have fol- 
 lowed them, and to have helped to support the 
 tottering steps of his beloved Emily ; but he 
 felt that were he to do so. Lady Walmer was 
 capable of making some scene, which would 
 only serve to compromise herself and him, and, 
 therefore, remained in the salon. 
 
 Lord Vavasour happily relieved him from a
 
 166 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 tete-a-tete with Lady Walmer, which she had 
 evidently resolved to effect ; and that good-na- 
 tured, hut somewhat ohtuse man, having com- 
 plimented her on her voice, lamented the in- 
 disposition of his daughter, which, he said, 
 he could in no way account for ; as, in general, 
 she was the most healthy, as well as the most 
 cheerful person, in the world; '^but," con- 
 tinued the fond father, ''all you ladies, on 
 certain occasions, are apt to be agitated," — 
 here both his listeners looked alarmed, — '' and 
 the period fixed for the marriage of Emily, 
 and my friend," — laying his hand aifection- 
 ately on the shoulder of Arlington, — " now: 
 draws so near, that one must not wonder if 
 my poor Emily, in tlie midst of all her hap- 
 piness, sometimes feels a few pangs at the 
 thoughts of leaving her doting parents. You 
 will forgive this, won't you, my dear Arling- 
 ton ? for, be assured, she who feels the most 
 regret at leaving her father's home, will be tlie
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 167 
 
 most likely to make that of lier husband a 
 scene of happmess." 
 
 Lady Walmer writhed under the emotions 
 this speech was so well calculated to call 
 forth ; and was incapable of any other reply 
 than a bow of assent ; while Arlington studi- 
 ously avoided her glance, feeling unable to 
 support the reproaches he was convinced it 
 would convey. 
 
 When Lady Vavasour returned to the salon, 
 her manner towards Lady Walmer was so 
 coldly reserved, that even Arlington, pre-oc- 
 cupied as he was, could not help being- 
 struck with it, and pitied the embarrassment it 
 evidently caused that lady. He approached 
 Lady Vavasour, and expressed his hope that 
 she left Lady Emily better ; but a stern look, 
 and freezing reply, that she was doing well, 
 discouraged liim from any further conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 The rest of the evening passed away as
 
 168 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 dully as all evenings do, between people who 
 have few ideas in common, and when no one 
 in the circle has the power or the inclination, 
 pour faire des frais, for amusing the rest.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Les femmes abandonnees par lamour, devotes par 
 necessite, mecliantes par temperament, et medisantes 
 par envie." 
 
 Mrs. Preston, the rector's wife, or lady, as 
 she loved to be called, who had been engaged 
 in private conversation with Lady Vavasour 
 during the evening, had not been an unmind- 
 ful, or unprejudiced spectatress of the conduct 
 of Lady Walmer during dinner, and the soiree 
 that followed it. She was one of those ob- 
 servant, and loquacious ladies, of which almost 
 every country town offers an example, who 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 are mucli prone to examine the actions and 
 words of those with whom they come in con- 
 tact, and to communicate the results of their 
 examinations, with all their comments there- 
 upon. An extreme activity of mind, never 
 turned to any laudable pursuit, left Mrs. Pres- 
 ton ample time and resources, for making her- 
 self au fait of all the private histories of every 
 family of her acquaintance ; and her visits 
 were received by the ladies of her neighbour- 
 hood, who happened to have gossiping pro- 
 pensities, with the same satisfaction with which 
 a certain Sunday newspaper is opened by many 
 of its readers, who are dying to see what is 
 said of their intimate friends and acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 Mrs. Preston had passed her years of maiden- 
 hood as dame de compagnie, with the Dowager 
 Marchioness of Chatterwell, where her quick 
 perception of character enabled her to fill the 
 role of critic to the guests, and admirer to the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 171 
 
 hostess and her daughter, to the full satisfaction 
 of the two latter. By a peculiarity of optics, 
 she saw nothing but defects in the visitors, and 
 naught but perfections in her protectresses ; and 
 when the clerical preceptor of the marquis, (the 
 only son of his doting mother,) was to be pre- 
 sented with the lucrative living of Chatterwell, 
 as a reward for his services, the hand of the 
 precise Miss Dunstan was the only stipulation 
 to the gift proposed by the marchioness, to 
 the luckless prelate. 
 
 The Lady Elizabeth was on the point of mar- 
 riage ; the dame de compagnie was to be got 
 rid of handsomely ; the preceptor was to be 
 provided for, and the two last points in the pro- 
 gramme of the marchioness' plans were to be 
 accomplished by making the living of the parson 
 provide a living for the toady. 
 
 They equally disliked each other, but what 
 Was to be done ? — nothing but to marry, and con- 
 tinue their mutual dislike under the small roof 
 
 i2
 
 172 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 of the rectory, as they had done under the aristo- 
 cratic one of Chatterwell during so many years. 
 The Lady Elizabeth was now Countess of 
 Elesmere, a woman of fashion, and would-be 
 beauty, who had disputed the conquest of Ar- 
 lington's heart with Lady Walmer, and who had 
 never forgiven his preference of the latter. 
 His subsequent departure from London, and 
 the news of his approaching marriage, had 
 gratified her, in the belief that both were 
 highly mortifying to her rival. She it was who 
 had taunted Lady Walmer, by repeating every 
 particular she could learn or invent, relative to 
 the intended marriage ; and, recollecting that her 
 ci-devant toady was now a near neighbour of the 
 Vavasoui's, she wrote to acquire all the infor- 
 mation she could from her Argus, in return, 
 communicating the former supposed liaison of 
 Arlington and Lady Walmer, with a prohibi- 
 tion not to mention it to Lady Vavasour, which 
 she knew would have precisely the contrary
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 173 
 
 effect, as the mischief-loving propensities of 
 Mrs. Preston were well known to her. 
 
 " I hope," (wrote Lady Elesmere,) " that 
 Lord Arlington has entirely conquered his pas- 
 sion for my coquettish friend ; but such is her 
 power over him, that I should tremble, were 
 I Lady Emily, to let him come again within 
 reach of this syren." 
 
 Lady Elesmere dispatched this letter the day 
 she had discovered the intention of the Walmers 
 to stay a few days at Vavasour Castle, on their 
 
 way to the Duke of D 's, an intention which 
 
 her lord heard Lord Walmer communicate 
 to some of his clique at Wliite's, and which 
 Lord Elesmere repeated to his wife. She felt 
 sure, that not only would Lady Walmer find a 
 severe observer in Mrs. Preston, but that all 
 she knew, guessed, or feared, would, under the 
 seal of secresy, be disclosed to Lady Vavasour ; 
 who, being a woman more remarkable for se- 
 verity of morals, than perception of character.
 
 174 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 or clearness of intellect, was precisely the per- 
 son most likely to be influenced by such a dis- 
 closure, and to make a use of it Kttle calculated 
 to administer to the happiness of the persons 
 most concerned. 
 
 All had occurred as the artful Lady Elesmere 
 had foreseen and wished. Furnished with the 
 clue sent in her letter, Mrs. Preston inter- 
 preted every glance and movement of Lady 
 Walmer and Arlington into a proof of passed 
 guilt and present attachment. " Her dear, 
 sweet, innocent Lady Emily was a victim about 
 to be offered up, and she ought, she would, 
 save her." 
 
 No sooner had she found herself tete-a-tete, 
 in a corner with Lady Vavasour, than she began 
 to animadvert on Lady Walmer, until, by de- 
 grees, she had made her hostess acquainted 
 with all she had heard, suspected, or imagined ; 
 so that when the song was given, accompanied 
 bv the tender glances, and impassioned manner
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 175 
 
 that marked its performance, it seemed, to the 
 prejudiced feelings of Lady Vavasour, a con- 
 vincing proof of the truth of all that she had 
 been hearing for the last two hours. 
 
 Observing the effect the song produced on her 
 daughter, she rose, as already related, and led 
 her from the room; and it required no little 
 self-command on her part to resist expressing 
 her sentiments to Emily ; who sought her pil- 
 low with that overpowering, though vague, 
 sense of unhappiness, which oppresses the 
 young and sensitive heart, when it first yields 
 to doubt or suspicion, and admits these insi- 
 dious passions into the sanctuary where love 
 and confidence had before only been known. 
 
 The impassioned glances of Lady Walmer, 
 fixed with such intensity on Arlington, her af- 
 fianced husband, haunted her imagination ; the 
 words of the song, so boldly, so unfemininely, 
 addressed to him, seemed still to sound in her 
 ears ; and his evident constraint ever since Lady
 
 176 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Walmer's arrival, announced even to her unso- 
 phisticated mind some understanding between 
 them, inimical to her peace. Then came the 
 recollection of the visible perturbation of her 
 mother, and the offended air with which she 
 led her from the saloon. All this must have 
 some cause, and her parent must have seen 
 nmch to disapprove ere she would have been 
 so evidently ruffled. And here, tears, the first 
 that love had ever brought into her eyes, flowed 
 in abundance. 
 
 Fondly, and entirely had she allowed herself 
 to love Arlington ; and her parents had unre- 
 servedly sanctioned the attachment, which a few 
 weeks would have seen ratified at the altar, — 
 but now — and her tears streamed afresh — it 
 was but too evident, another had claims on his 
 heart, and that other, a married woman. 
 
 The high sense of moral rectitude of Emily 
 was as much wounded as her affection ; she had 
 never mixed in any society, but of those whose
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 177 
 
 conduct was irreproachable; had never been 
 initiated into the scandalous histories, which, 
 whether true or false, equally tend to sully the 
 mind accustomed to hear them ; hence the shock 
 of seeing her betrothed husband claimed as a 
 lover, by a married woman, inflicted a deep 
 wound on her peace. 
 
 She had so often heard Arlington express 
 his abhorrence of vice, and had so frequently 
 found his moral and religious sentiments ac- 
 cordant with her own, that she now shrank 
 from the idea of contemplating him in such a 
 new, such a different point of view ; and she 
 passed the first sleepless hours of her life, in 
 weeping over her delusion. And yet, in the 
 midst of bitter thoughts, came the consoling 
 one, that he had not returned the passionate 
 glances of Lady Walmer. No ! Emily had 
 observed, with woman's instinctive quickness, 
 that he seemed to shrink from, rather than re- 
 turn them ; and this recollection was soothing. 
 
 i5
 
 1T8 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Yes ; he must love her ; he could not forget all 
 the vows they had exchanged, all the plans for 
 the future, they had arranged together. He 
 was too happy before Lady Walmer came, to 
 admit of Emily's doubting that his thoughts re- 
 verted to any one but her ; and mth this conso- 
 latory thought, she closed her weary and tearful 
 eyes in slumber. 
 
 To a deep sensibility, Emily Vavasour united 
 the rare accompaniment of a most sweet and 
 equal temper ; and, though possessed of a degi'ee 
 of feminine softness, which might lead super- 
 ficial observers to conclude that she was de- 
 ficient in firmness, she was yet, by no means 
 wanting in that essential quahty ; a quality as 
 different from its mean substitute, obstinacy, 
 as rashness is from true coiu^age, prudery from 
 virtue, and bigotry from religion. 
 
 She felt, even while her heart was agonized 
 at the thought, that she could separate herself 
 for ever from Arlington, were she convinced
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 179 
 
 that he was unworthy her affection; but she 
 prayed that this conviction might never be 
 forced on her. 
 
 First love in an elevated mind, is pure as 
 the first breath of the morning zephyr, and 
 beautiful as Hope, ere it has learnt to doubt. 
 
 Emily's purity and confidence chased away 
 the doubts that had clouded her mind, as the 
 sun dispels the vapours that would obscure 
 its brilliancy, and she slept the slumber of in- 
 nocence ; that light and peaceful sleep, whicli 
 never descends on the lids of guilt, and rarely 
 visits those on whom passion has left its burn- 
 ing trace. 
 
 Visions of ha^ppiness were present to her 
 imagination ; Arlington led her through ver- 
 dant meads, where a thousand fragrant flowers 
 courted her touch ; and his voice, uttering vows 
 of love, came to her ear, mingled with the joy- 
 inspiring notes of innumerable birds. Her 
 father smiled on her, and her mother blessed
 
 180 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 her. Thus, the pure imagination of this young 
 and charming girl presented to her even in 
 sleep, the images most dear and attractive to 
 her innocent mind. 
 
 Lady Vavasour no sooner found herself alone 
 with her lord, which happened not ere they 
 had sought their pillows, than the nuptial couch 
 was made, as it too frequently is, the bed of 
 thorns, by being chosen as the scene of do- 
 mestic jars, unpleasant disclosures, and painful 
 consultations ; hence the alarm entertained by 
 so many bachelors, who renounce the smiles of 
 the saffron-robed god from the bare apprehen- 
 sion of " curtain lectures." 
 
 All that Mrs. Preston had stated, relative to 
 Arlington's former passion for Lady Walmer, 
 was now repeated to Lord Vavasour, with the 
 high colouring given by a prudish woman and 
 an affectionate mother, alarmed for the happi- 
 ness of her only child. ^ 
 
 Lord Vavasour had lived much in the i>-ay
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 181 
 
 world in his youth, and had learned to look on 
 certain liaisons in it, with a charity, little in 
 accordance with the severity of his wife's prin- 
 ciples ; so that a difference of opinion often 
 arose between them, which, the laxity of his 
 notions, and the over-prudishness of her's, 
 rendered as dangerous to harmony, as it 
 was unavailing to carry conviction to the 
 mind of either. The first pause which the 
 volubility of Lady Vavasour allowed, was filled 
 up by her lord bursting into a laugh, and 
 exclaiming, 
 
 '' Stuft'! — nonsense! my dear; how can you 
 listen to such gossip? How like that inter- 
 fering busybody, Mrs. Preston, to come here 
 and fill your ears with tales of forgotten scan- 
 dal ! Do you suppose that Arlington, a fine, 
 handsome young man, mingling in certain 
 cliques, where certain attachments are, if not 
 openly acknowledged, at least tacitly tolerated, 
 has been livinsf like a saint ? "
 
 182 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 '^ Really, Lord Vavasour, it is quite dreadful 
 to hear you talk, — you, a husband and a 
 father, making light of conduct the most repre- 
 hensible, the most wicked !" 
 
 " Well, well, after all, my dear, recollect 
 that when you married me, I did not pass for 
 a saint ; nay, I verily believe I was considered 
 one of the greatest sinners about to\\ii ; and 
 yet, I do not think I have made a bad hus- 
 band." 
 
 This appeal touched a tender chord in the 
 feelings of Lady Vavasour; and candour ana 
 affection both led her to admit, that, if her 
 husband's theory sometimes tempted him to 
 ^' make the worse appear the better cause," 
 in practice, his conduct had been irreproach- 
 able ; and this opportune recollection somewhat 
 softened the severity of her strictures on the 
 supposed guilt of Arlington. 
 
 Her more pacific tone, produced a correspond- 
 ent effect on her lord : and he begged her not
 
 THE TV/0 FRIENDS. IS'o 
 
 to liint a word of what she had heard to Emily, 
 while he promised to keep an observant eye on 
 the conduct of their intended son-in-law. 
 
 " If it be true," said Lord Vavasour, '' that 
 Arlington has had an attachment to Lady 
 Walmer, and, as is supposed, that it was re- 
 ciprocal, there is no reason to imagine that, 
 if it still continued, he would seek the hand 
 of our daughter; and to make him now suffer 
 for passed folly, would be unreasonable." 
 
 " There now, my dear, interrupted Lady 
 Vavasour, " you do so provoke me by calling 
 guilt, — serious, dreadful guilt, — folly. Have 
 we not cause to treaible for the future happi- 
 ness of our good, our innocent child, if we 
 commit it to the keeping of a man who has 
 indulged a passion for a married woman ? " 
 
 '' But this attachment may, and, we ought 
 to hope, has been unattended with guilt," re- 
 plied Lord Vavasour ; " Arlington may have 
 seen his danger in time, and avoided it ; look
 
 184 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 at the fair side of the picture, my dear, and 
 let us believe that, in half the liaisons to 
 which guilt is attributed, the appearance only 
 exists." 
 
 Lord Vavasour tried to think as he spoke ; 
 but now, that all Mrs. Preston's tales were sup- 
 ported by the evidence of his wife's personal 
 observation, and, indeed, by his own late- 
 awakened consciousness of something strange 
 and embarrassed in Arlington, as well as some- 
 thing indescribable in Lady Walmer's manner, 
 he felt a suspicion that all was not right, 
 though he would not admit his apprehension 
 to his wife. He determined to observe them 
 narrowly, and, perhaps for the first time of 
 his life, fell asleep with the painful sensation 
 of mistrusting a person he had been accustomed 
 to esteem. 
 
 It rarely happens that even the most inno- 
 cent can escape, when their actions are viewed 
 through the medium of suspicion, which, like
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 185 
 
 jealousy, gives its own colouring to every object 
 on which it reflects. In such cases, persons 
 imagine they are only examining, when they 
 have already condemned, because they go to 
 the trial with excited susceptibilities, predis- 
 posed to find the suspected, guilty.
 
 186 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " C'est le propre des passions d'alterer le jagement; et de 
 nous faire perdre ce sens droit qui nous montre les choses 
 sous leur veritable aspect." 
 
 When tlie party met at breakfast, the next 
 morning, the marked coldness of Lady Vava- 
 sour's manner towards Lady Wahner, and the 
 embarrassment that coldness e\ddently occa- 
 sioned to her who was the object of it, enlisted 
 all the sympathy of Arlington on her side. She 
 was now an object of pity to him — a dangerous 
 position for the pityer, at least, if not for the 
 pitied, — and conscious that she had placed herself 
 in her present humiliating situation, through a
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 187 
 
 misplaced affection for him, (though he would 
 willingly, gladly have dispensed with it,) still 
 he felt himself bound to bestow more attention 
 on her, now that there was a visible diminution 
 of it on the part of her host and hostess. 
 
 The constrained politeness of the Vavasours, 
 so different to the empressment which she had 
 been accustomed to see evinced towards her, 
 piqued the pride of Lady Walmer, and a desire 
 of avenging herself on them, was soon added 
 to her selfish wish of winning Arlington again 
 into her chains : — to such lengths can vanity and 
 egoism push their heartless votaries, who begin 
 by being only weak, and end by being wicked. 
 
 Emily entered the breakfast-room, with re- 
 newed hopes of happiness, and restored confi- 
 dence in her lover. A refreshing slumber had 
 brought back the roses to her cheek, and anima- 
 tion to her countenance ; a bright sunshine illu- 
 minated every object that met her gaze, and its 
 exhilirating effects made themselves even more
 
 188 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 evident on lier youthful frame and elastic spirits, 
 than on the trees and herbage on which it shone, 
 imparting to each a thousand brilliant hues. 
 
 She smiled at her foreboding fears of the 
 evening before, and was angry with herself for 
 having yielded to them for a moment ; it was 
 an injustice to Arlington for which she longed 
 to make him amends ; and, after all, what had 
 she observed, at which she had a right to be 
 dissatisfied? Nothing. Lady Walmer, it is 
 true, kept her eyes fixed on Arlington all the 
 evening; and her manner of appearing to ad- 
 dress her song exclusively to him, was peculiar, 
 and had wounded her ; but it might be only her 
 general manner ; she was perhaps one of those 
 coquettish persons of whom Emily had read, 
 more than observed, and Arlington being the 
 only young man present, she had played ofi' 
 her propensities on him. It could be nothing 
 else ! and again she blamed herself for having 
 been made unhappy.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 189 
 
 All this passed through the pure mmd of the 
 lovely, and amiable girl, as she performed the 
 duties of her simple, but elegant toilette de 
 matin, to which she gave even more than her 
 accustomed attention ; determined, with a wo- 
 man's latent feeling of vanity, to wear her best 
 looks, as an amende to her lover, for having 
 worn her worst, the previous evening. 
 
 The pale cheek, and languid eye of Emily, 
 had often been present to Arlington's imagi- 
 nation during the night : he loved her more 
 fondly than ever, for those proofs of her af- 
 fection, and reproached himself bitterly for 
 having called them forth. He entered the 
 breakfast-room, determined to resume all his 
 wonted attention to her, and little disposed 
 to bestow any portion of it on Lady Walmer ; 
 when the ill-judged disj^lay of coldness, almost 
 amounting to incivility, of the host and hostess 
 to her, and their constrained manner towards 
 himself, completely changed the current of his
 
 190 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 feelings, and piqued him into a display of atten- 
 tion towards her, that would, otherwise, have 
 never been paid. 
 
 Lord Walmer, who appeared totally uncon- 
 scious of all that was passing around him, 
 having happened to look at his wife, observed 
 aloud, that he had never seen her look so 
 pale ; and with his habitual good-nature, hoped 
 she was not ill. This drew from the lady an 
 avowal, that she had not closed her eyes dur- 
 ing the night ; and a stolen glance at Arling- 
 ton, — which was duly noted by Lord and Lady 
 Vavasour, — implied that he was the cause ; 
 which so vexed them, that they could not 
 force themselves to utter the usual regrets, or 
 expressions of interest, always used on such 
 occasions ; — an omission, which excited the dis- 
 pleasure of Arlington, and induced him to 
 redouble his civilities. 
 
 Lady Wahuer having remarked the night 
 before, how much the paleness, and air abattu,
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 191 
 
 of Emily, had increased the interest of her 
 lover for her, determined to emulate these in- 
 dications of sensibility. With her it was easily 
 done ; she had only to leave off the rouge, 
 which daily lent her cheek its bright tint, and 
 assume a languid air, and the metamorphosis 
 was complete. It might have been lost on Ar- 
 lington, who was determined not to look at her, 
 had not the observation of Lord Walmer 
 drawn his eyes to her face, and her unusual 
 pallor struck him with pity, little judging its 
 cause. 
 
 It was at this moment that Emily entered, 
 glowing with health and beauty, animation 
 sparkling in her liquid eye, and playing on 
 her rich lips, which parted with smiles as she 
 repued to the various inquiries of interest and 
 affection, that met her at every side. 
 
 " I am quite well, thank you ; never slept 
 better ; and awoke as if I had never had a head- 
 ache :" were the answers to all ; and a sweet
 
 192 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 smile, and cordial shake-hands to Arlington, 
 set his mind at rest as to his having wounded 
 her peace the night before. 
 
 Perhaps there was a lingering feeling of 
 vanity in the sentiment of disappointment, 
 with which he heard her avowal of perfect 
 health, and marked her aj^pearance of gaiety. 
 Then, after all, she did not love him as well 
 as he had fancied, and the indisposition of 
 the night before had nothing to do with him. 
 No ! it was the unfortunate Lady Walmer, 
 who was to be pitied, and who was placed 
 in her present painful humiliating position, 
 through her uncontrolable affection for him. 
 
 All these thoughts rushed through his mind, 
 and the result was, that he shewed much 
 more attention to the unworthy coquette, than 
 his engagement with Emily ought to have 
 allowed; and the dear innocent girl, deter- 
 mining to atone for her suspicions of the pre- 
 vious evening, made an effort to maintain her
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 193 
 
 cheerfulness during the repast, and succeeded 
 so well, that she never appeared more beau- 
 tiful, or more brilliant in the eyes of all around 
 her. 
 
 Lord Walmer announced his intention, after 
 breakfast, of leaving Vavasour Castle the next 
 morning, and the faint opposition to the mea- 
 sure expressed by its owners, struck even him, 
 as being most inhospitable, though his obtuseness 
 generally prevented his remarking many things, 
 which must have been observed by others. 
 
 Much as Arlington wished them gone, — 
 and he sincerely desired it, — yet he was 
 shocked at what he considered the rudeness of 
 Lord and Lady Vavasour, and he felt increased 
 pity for Lady Walmer, at the gaucherie of 
 her position. 
 
 A drive to view some picturesque site in 
 the neighbourhood, kept the ladies together, 
 under mutual constraint, until the first dinner- 
 bell sent them to their dressing-rooms ; and a 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 dull dinner, unenlivened by a single effort at 
 gaiety, except on the part of Emily, who vainly 
 tried to dissipate the general gloom, was fol- 
 lowed by as dull an evening ; for each, and 
 all, felt under a restraint. 
 
 Lady Vavasour sent Emily to her di'essing- 
 room for her salts, to relieve a head-ache ; and 
 Arlington eagerly seized an opportunity of 
 quitting the room a moment after. He met 
 Lady Emily descending the stairs, and the 
 mutual restraint both had undergone for the 
 last two days, made them feel this meeting 
 vrith double pleasure. Arlington drew her arm 
 within his, and pressing her hand to his heart 
 and then to his lips, repeated those vows of 
 affection, which were so gratifying to the art- 
 less girl. 
 
 " Dear, dear Emily," said he, '' how long 
 have the two last days appeared to me, and 
 how blissful is it to meet you again alone, 
 even for a few minutes."
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 195 
 
 " I too, have thought them long," replied 
 Emily, as, with a look beaming with confidence 
 and affection, she fixed her m^ild eyes on his. 
 
 " Bless you, dearest ! for the avowal," said 
 Arlington ; and again and again the little 
 white hand that rested v/ithin his, was pressed 
 to his lips. " Tell me, my own Emily, that 
 you, like me, look forward with delight to the 
 happy future, when united in the indissoluble 
 bonds of marriage, we shall never be separated?" 
 
 " Yes, dearest Charles," said the blushing 
 girl, " all my wishes, — all my hopes, — are 
 centered in the happy prospect of being your 
 wife ; and except that I must leave my father 
 and mother," — and here a tear trembled in 
 her eye, — " I should be too happy. But let 
 us go to my mother ; see," — holding up the 
 flacon of salts, — " how you've made me for- 
 get her already." 
 
 Again was her hand pressed to the lips of 
 her lover, as she tried gently to disengage it ; 
 
 k2
 
 196 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 and never did he feel so passionately and 
 devotedly attached to her as at this moment, 
 vrhen hope whispered, "In a few days, this 
 charming and pure-minded creature will be 
 your wife." 
 
 When they entered the salon, the eyes of 
 Lady Walmer flashed with rage and jealousy, 
 as she marked the expression of happiness in 
 their countenances; but Arlington was too joyous 
 to think of her, or if he did for a moment, it 
 was only to rejoice that the next day she would 
 be no longer present to interrupt his felicity. 
 He felt that never had Emily been so dear to 
 him as at this moment, and his indifference to 
 Lady Walmer had grown almost into repug- 
 nance. 
 
 At length the soiree which had dragged so 
 heavily along, drew to its close ; and as the 
 ladies rose to leave the drawing-room. Lady 
 Walmer found means to slip a note into the 
 hand of Arlington.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 197 
 
 On going to his room, he read the following 
 lines, almost illegible, from the trembling of the 
 hand that traced them. 
 
 " It is necessary, for my peace of mind, that 
 we meet once more, where I can speak to you 
 without witnesses or interruption; — no place 
 offers itself, but my dressing-room ; so come 
 there, as soon as you have perused this." 
 
 The first impulse of Arlington was to decline 
 the interview ; but then, came the reflection, 
 that she would sit up expecting him ; and this 
 avoidance of her would appear ungrateful, and 
 unkind. 
 
 He reflected a quarter of an hour, his mind 
 in a chaos of agitation, when at length he 
 came to the resolution of writing to her, and 
 leaving the letter at her door. 
 
 He wrote a hurried and almost incoherent 
 letter, in which he avowed his love for, and
 
 198 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 engagement to Emily, and the impossibility, 
 under such circumstances, of having a clandes- 
 tine interview with her who demanded it. 
 
 Feeling the necessity of candour, and actu- 
 ated by the hope that his confession might 
 excite the better feelings of Lady Walmer, 
 he opened his whole soul to her, and his 
 passion for her rival was exposed with all the 
 fervour which his pen could give it. He prayed 
 her to pardon his passed folly and presumption, 
 in having sought to win her pity to a passion 
 unworthy of her purity ; and bidding her fare- 
 well, assured her of his eternal friendship, and 
 respect. 
 
 He took this letter to the door of her 
 dressing-room, tapped gently at it, intending 
 when it was opened, to place the letter in 
 her hand, and retire ; but at the moment she 
 appeared at the door, footsteps were heard ad- 
 vancing, light flashed along the corridor, and 
 Lady Walmer, grasping his arm, pulled, rather
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 199 
 
 than led him into the room, and, with trem- 
 bling hands again fastened it. 
 
 She had scarcely done so, when the 
 voice of her husband, demanding entrance 
 threw both Arlington and herself into a state 
 of agitation difficult to be imagined. To 
 push Arlington behind the window-curtain, 
 and open the door, was the work of a moment, 
 and her despair may be conceived, when she 
 saw Lord Walmer, en robe de chambre, place 
 himself at full length on a sofa, a position 
 indicating his intention of not soon quitting it. 
 
 " Well, my love, have you observed how 
 very coldly, not to say uncivilly, the Vavasours 
 have behaved to us ? " asked Lord Walmer. 
 
 " I have not paid much attention to them," 
 replied the agitated vdfe, (whose heart throbbed 
 violently, while she endeavoured to conceal her 
 emotion,) " they are very dull people, and 
 shocking bores." 
 
 " You must except Lady Emily," said Lord
 
 200 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Walmer, *' for she is as agreeable as she is 
 beautiful. Arlington is a happy dog, to get 
 such a wife ; every man in London will envy 
 him ! " 
 
 Lady Walmer felt enraged that Arlington 
 should hear such warm commendations of Emily, 
 and jealousy and envy sent their pangs to her 
 heart. ' 
 
 " How fondly attached she seems to him," 
 resumed Lord Walmer ; " T have caught those 
 beautiful eyes of her's, fixed on his face fifty 
 times since we have been here, with an ex- 
 pression of such deep tenderness as I never 
 saw before, and then vdthdrawn, as if fearful 
 of being observed." 
 
 Lady Walmer writhed at every word her 
 husband uttered. 
 
 At this moment, her lap-dog, Medore, who 
 had been asleep, awoke by the voice of Lord 
 Walmer, ran from under the sofa, and begun 
 barking violently.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. • 201 
 
 " Hang that dog ! what the deuce is the 
 matter with him ? " said Lord Walmer. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing!" replied Lady Walmer, 
 terrified lest the dog should approach the win- 
 dow ; " Medore, Medore, be quiet ! but in vain 
 were her calls to the dog; he barked still 
 louder than ever, and ran round the room, 
 continually approaching the window. Her 
 heart almost died within her when Lord Wal- 
 mer rose, and walked towards it, exclaiming, 
 *^ Don't be frightened — there is a cat or some- 
 thing here." 
 
 " No, no!" said Lady Walmer, seizing his 
 arm, " there is nothing there ; let us drive 
 Medore out of the room;" and she attempted 
 to catch the dog. 
 
 " Depend on it," said Lord Walmer, " there 
 is a cat behind that curtain, for you see Medore 
 always runs towards it — nay, I'm sure I saw 
 it move. Do not be alarmed," observing her 
 agitation, " I shall soon see what is there." 
 
 k5
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 " Oh, do not ! " said Lady Walmer, gasping 
 with terror, and holding him by the arm. 
 
 " Why, my love, this is quite childish ; I 
 never saw you nervous before," said the hus- 
 band ; but at this moment, the dog ran behind 
 the curtain, barking more violently than ever, 
 and Lord Walmer, breaking from the grasp 
 of his wife, pursued Medore, and lifting the 
 curtain — beheld Arlington ! 
 
 To convey a description of the expression 
 of the countenance of each of the trio, would 
 be impossible. Arlington attempted to speak, 
 but Lord Walmer interrupted him, by saying, 
 
 " All explanation, my lord, is now unneces- 
 sary. Your concealment behind that curtain, 
 and this lady's anxiety to prevent my approach- 
 ing it, explains all. For you, madam," casting 
 a glance of anger and contempt at his wife, 
 " you see me now for the last time ; I prohibit 
 you from ever again addressing the husband 
 you have betrayed and dishonoured ; and the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 203 
 
 laws of my country shall soon dissolve the ties 
 that unite us." 
 
 He approached the door to leave the room, 
 but Lady Walmer clung to his arm. 
 
 " Oh, leave me not ! do not abandon me, I 
 implore, I intreat of you ! " cried she in agony ; 
 '* I am innocent, indeed I am innocent ! " 
 
 " Dare you make such an assertion, after the 
 discovery I have made ? " said the enraged hus- 
 band. '* No, madam, I am no longer your 
 dupe ;" and so saying, he scornfully freed him- 
 self from her grasp, and left the chamber. 
 
 Lady Walmer sank fainting on the sofa ; and 
 Arlington, nearly as overcome as herself, was 
 almost incapable of administering her any assist- 
 ance. He felt as if in a fearful dream ; the 
 occurrences of the last few minutes seemed to 
 comprise hours of tortui-e ; and as his eyes fell 
 on the insensible form of her who had caused 
 all this mischief, he turned from her with a 
 sensation almost approaching to loathing. The
 
 204 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 future, — the gloomy, interminable future, — 
 seemed unfolded to liis prophetic gaze, and 
 Emily, his promised bride, was never loved 
 with such intense passion, as at this moment, 
 when he felt there was an impassable barrier 
 placed between them for ever. 
 
 On coming to her senses. Lady Walmer shud- 
 dered when her eyes fell on Arlington. There 
 was an expression of despair on his brow that 
 alarmed her, and she hardly dared to meet 
 his glance. 
 
 " Is there no hope ? " she at length ex- 
 claimed ; " Can you not go to him, and con- 
 vince him of my innocence ? " but the last word 
 expired on her tongue, as conscience whispered 
 her how faulty, how odious, had been her con- 
 duct. 
 
 " But how account for my being concealed 
 in this room?" asked Arlington. 
 
 " True, true," uttered she in agony, ** all, 
 all is lost, and I am wretched for life ! "
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 205 
 
 Had she said we, instead of /, he might have 
 pitied her; but, seeing her wholly engrossed by 
 self, he remembered with bitterness, that she 
 was the cause of all this wretchedness. An 
 intuitive feeling of what was passing in his 
 mind, rushed through her's, and, turning from 
 him, she exclaimed, " Leave me, leave me! 
 would that we had never met!" 
 
 Arlington seized a pen, and unable to trust 
 himself to speak, he wrote a few hasty lines, 
 saying, that though the unwilling cause of her 
 misfortune, he was willing to lighten or share 
 it, and should wait in his own room her further 
 commands. He placed this note on the table 
 before her, and silently withdrew; — being him- 
 self, and leaving her, a prey to the most bitter 
 regret for the passed, and the most fearful fore- 
 bodings for the future. 
 
 Vol. i. k7
 
 ^06 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Quand on a pu dire: J'ai un ami ! qu'il doit etre affreux 
 ee mot: Je I'ai eii ! 
 
 It is long since we left Desbrow, pursuing his 
 melancholy journey to Ayrshire Abbey , and not 
 even the anticipation of seeing his beloved 
 Cecile could cheer his depressed spirits. 
 
 He arrived late in the evening, and as he 
 looked from his carriage, while it wound through 
 the park, the leafless trees, through which the 
 wind mournfully whistled, as in fitful gusts it 
 shook their branches, or scattered the dead 
 leaves in the air, seemed in harmony with his 
 sombre feelings.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 207 
 
 How lately liad lie passed througli this park, 
 when gay in verdure, tlie trees wore their leafy 
 honours, and innumerable feathered choristers 
 sent forth their glad notes. The amiable and 
 excellent mistress of those domains was then 
 in high health, glad and gladdening all around 
 her : but where was she now ? in the grave — 
 over which the night-winds sighed her requiem. 
 The lamps threw a lugubrious gleam over the 
 train of servants in deep mourning, that lined the 
 hall ; and their serious faces shewed that their 
 mourning was not merely external. He was 
 told that the Marquis and Mademoiselle de 
 Bethune were in their dressing-rooms, and he 
 hastened to change his dress. 
 
 The duties of the toilette performed, he en- 
 tered the library, and found himself in the 
 presence of Cecile, Lord Ayrshire, and a 
 stranger, whom he concluded to be the father 
 of his betrothed. 
 
 The meeting was almost a silent one, for
 
 208 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 all were unable to express the feelings with 
 which their hearts were overflowing. The 
 thoughts of each were with the dead; and 
 they dared not trust themselves to express 
 them but by affectionate pressures of the 
 hand. 
 
 The marquis, after a few minutes had re- 
 stored him to composure, presented Desbrow 
 to the Comte de Bethune, who advanced cere- 
 moniously, and, a la francaise, offered to em- 
 brace him ; while Desbrow, unaccustomed to 
 this Gallic habit, drew back astonished, and 
 held out his hand, a I'Anglaise, wliich the 
 comte coldly touched, evidently piqued at 
 Desbrow's manque d'usage, as he considered it. 
 
 Cecile had never appeared so beautiful to the 
 eyes of her lover, as at this moment ; her deep 
 mourning, contrasted with the exquisite fairness 
 of her complexion, and the pensive expression 
 of her lovely face, had something so calm, yet 
 touching, in it, that during several minutes he
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 209 
 
 could not take his eyes from her. Grief seemed 
 to have lent her beauty a purer, higher character ; 
 and resignation rendered that grief almost holy. 
 
 When Desbrow did look from her, he was 
 struck by the change in the appearance of 
 Lord Ayrshire ; he seemed as if ten years had 
 been added to his age ; his cheeks were hollow, 
 his eyes dim and swollen, his shoulders bowed, 
 and his whole person was emaciated. 
 
 His next glance fell on the Comte de Be- 
 thune, who might have served as the type of a 
 French nobleman of I'ancien regime ; — tall and 
 thin, with great personal beauty, yet with a 
 cold and repulsive countenance, and a manner, 
 from which dignity and studied politeness 
 seemed to have excluded cordiality. 
 
 Dinner was announced, while yet Desbrow 
 was making his mental observations on the 
 comte ; and Lord Ayrshire, placing the hand of 
 Cecile within that of her lover, led the way to 
 the salle-a-manger.
 
 210 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 The now vacant place, which Desbrow had 
 seen so often filled by Lady Ayrshire, renewed 
 the feelings of all three ; — there was the same 
 room, the same plate, — servants, all was as in 
 passed times, but her presence was wanted, who 
 had been wont to spread happiness around. 
 
 The repast would have been a silent one, 
 but for the comte, who expatiated with a 
 culinary erudition, that would not have shamed 
 Grimod de laReyniere himself, on the different 
 entrees and entremets, the fumets of the gibier, 
 and the comparative merits of the grouse, ptar- 
 megan and black cock, with the coq de bruyere 
 and gelinotte, always according the preference 
 to the gibier of his own favoured country, 
 which none of the present party were disposed 
 to dispute. 
 
 The wines of France then engrossed his con- 
 versation, and he dwelt with pleasure on their 
 acknowledged superiority, naming those which 
 ought only to be tasted, in order to prepare the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 211 
 
 palate for some other still more rare vintage, 
 and those which might be drunh. 
 
 Though his incessant bavardage was a relief 
 to the circle, by preventing the necessity of 
 their conversing, an effort to which each of 
 the trio felt themselves to be incapable, yet it 
 left the impression on their minds, of how 
 obtuse must be Ms feelings who could thus 
 shew so little respect to theirs ; and Desbrow 
 saw the blush of shame mantle the pale cheek 
 of Cecile, as her timid eye turned to observe 
 the impression made on him by her father. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no situation more pain- 
 fully embarrassing, than that in which persons 
 are placed, when witnessing the display of the 
 obtuseness or want of tact of near relations, be- 
 fore those on whom they are anxious that a 
 favourable impression should be made. 
 
 Cecile felt this keenly, and the more so, as 
 her deep regret for Lady Ayrshire rendered 
 her almost indignant that her loss should be so
 
 212 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 little lamented by one who owed so mucli to 
 her kindness, and that one, her parent. 
 
 Lord Ayrshire and Desbrow sympathized too 
 truly in her feelings, not to be aware of 
 what was passing in her mind ; and both felt as 
 if drawn still more fondly towards her, by ob- 
 serving all she suffered by her father's want of 
 feeling. 
 
 When Cecile had withdrawn, and left the 
 gentlemen to themselves, the comte made what 
 he considered a complimentary speech to Des- 
 brow, on his good fortune, on having secured 
 the hand of a young lady, of whom, although 
 his daughter, he must be permitted to say, any 
 man might be proud. 
 
 Desbrow warmly assented, but when the 
 comte added, the advantages to be derived by 
 Desbrow's entering into one of the most noble 
 and distinguished families in France, his assent 
 was merely given by a bow ; which the comte 
 evidently considered a very insufficient mark
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 213 
 
 of acknowledgment, as lie quickly shewed, by 
 saying, in a tone of pique, that for his part, 
 had he only consulted his own feelings, he 
 must, notwithstanding his high opinion of 
 Monsieur Desbrow, have preferred seeing his 
 daughter allied to some one of the noble fa- 
 milies of his own country, all of whom would 
 doubtless be anxious to lay their honours at 
 her feet, than to have her married in England. 
 
 This speech merited no flattering reply, and 
 received none, for Desbrow felt that the only 
 objection which ever presented itself to his 
 mind, when he first loved Cecile, was the cir- 
 cumstance of her })eing of another country; an 
 objection that he quickly forgot, when her 
 qualities came to be known, and which he had 
 never since remembered, until it was now so 
 disagreeably obtruded on his attention. 
 
 Lord Ayrshire saw the danger of allowing 
 the comte to continue the conversation much 
 longer in the same strain ; and endeavoured to
 
 214 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 timi it, by expressing his regret that he could 
 not prevail on Comte de Bethune to pass a 
 few months with him, that the marriage of 
 Cecile, might take place in Scotland, adding, 
 " I shall be so solitary, that it would be a 
 charity to stay with me." 
 
 " It is quite impossible, my dear lord," re- 
 plied the comte ; " les convenances," — that 
 first essential in the code of a Frenchman, 
 and before which all others give way, — " pre- 
 clude my daughter remaining under your 
 roof, now that her cousin is no more ; and 
 demand that Mademoiselle de Bethune should 
 be presented at the Court of France, before 
 she changes her name. She has many rela- 
 tions, all anxious to renew their claims on her 
 attention ; and the period allotted for her 
 mourning cannot be better employed, than 
 in cultivating an acquaintance with her 
 country, and distinguished connexions. — Mon- 
 sieur Desbrow," — bowing to him, — " will, I
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 215 
 
 doubt not, see the propriety of this mea- 
 sure ; and also, that of having the nup- 
 tial knot tied in France ; as the marriage 
 of a Bethune ought not to be celebrated 
 elsewhere than in the capital where her 
 ancestors have filled such distinguished situa- 
 tions." 
 
 The pom230us airs of the comte seemed 
 equally repugnant to Lord Ayrshire, as to 
 Desbrow; both felt his presence a restraint 
 on them, and were glad when coffee was an- 
 nounced, to interrupt his harangues. 
 
 During the evening, the comte seemed de- 
 termined on saying, or doing, whatever was 
 most likely to wound the peculiarities of 
 Desbrow : on each of these occasions, Cecile 
 would cast a beseeching look at her lover, 
 who instantly checked the reply that rose to 
 his lips, and her eyes thanked him for the 
 forbearance, more eloquently than words could 
 have done.
 
 216 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Never had Desbrow passed the hours so 
 heavily at Ayrshire Abbey, as on this evening. 
 To revert uninterruptedly to passed happiness, 
 would have been luxury to the state of re- 
 straint in which he felt himself placed : but 
 at length. Lord Ayrshire, taking compassion 
 on his visible uneasiness, proposed a party of 
 picquet to the comte, which left the lovers at 
 liberty to converse together for an hour, at 
 the other side of the room. 
 
 Their first words were spent in deploring 
 the loss of Lady Ayrshire. Before them was 
 her chair, placed near the small table appro- 
 priated to her use, and which still wore its 
 wonted appearance. The vase, filled with 
 flowers ; her books, paper-knife, smelling- 
 bottle, and pencil, were all as when she had 
 used them ; as her Lord had requested that 
 they might not be touched. Her portrait, a 
 striking likeness, hung nearly over the chair, 
 she used to occupy, and seemed to wear her
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 217 
 
 own benignant smile, as if regarding the loved 
 objects around her. 
 
 Cecile pointed out all this to Desbrow, 
 knowing that he could sympathize in the feel- 
 ings they awakened ; and still further excited 
 his regret and reverence for the dead, by tell- 
 ing him how kindly and aifectionately he had 
 been named by her, in her last hours. *' I 
 know that you will bear with my father's pe- 
 culiarities," said Cecile ; "he has never lived 
 much in England, and has certain prejudices, 
 that we must rather sooth than irritate. I 
 am too EngHsh, not to feel this, and not to 
 be aw^are how it must strike you, but I hope, 
 I trust, you will bear w^ith him." 
 
 What would not Desbrow have borne with, 
 to be so intreated ! and he felt at the mo- 
 ment, the promise he repeated, that she might 
 count on his submitting to anything, or every- 
 thing, rather than give her a moment's pain. 
 
 Both felt hapj)ier after this conversation, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 and to prove its beneficial results on him, 
 Desbrow became more attentive to the Comte 
 de Bethune, and did all in his power to 
 cultivate his good opinion. 
 
 The second day, he ventured to express 
 his regret, that the brother of Cecile had 
 not accompanied his father to England ; and 
 repeated his desire to become known to 
 him. 
 
 " These are not times," repHed the comte, 
 *' mon cher Monsieur Desbrow, for a military 
 man to quit his post ; my son will be always 
 found near his sovereign, who has, alas ! but 
 too much occasion for devoted adherents, to 
 stem the tide of popular disaffection, which 
 threatens to overset his throne, and destroy 
 his kingdom." 
 
 " We must hope," said Lord Ayrshire, 
 ^' that France is not in so dangerous a state 
 as you think." 
 
 " Would that it were not!" said the comte ;
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 219 
 
 ** but daily experience proves, that unless 
 Charles X. has firmness enough to adopt 
 the measures recommended to him by those 
 who have the sense to oppose themselves to 
 the overwhelming flow of anarchy, which, under 
 the name of liberal principles, aims at over- 
 setting the throne, and the altar, all must be 
 lost. The press, must be put down. Mon- 
 sieur Desbrow, or it will put us down ; but, 
 luckily, the king has now those around him, 
 who are devoted to I'ancien regime, and de- 
 termined to oppose the encroachments of the 
 liberals." 
 
 Lord Ayrshire saw by the heightened co- 
 lour, and flashing eye of Desbrow, that he 
 was on the point of giving vent to the feel- 
 ings which the speech of Comte de Bethune 
 excited ; and giving him an expressive look, 
 to deprecate any remonstrance, he hastened 
 to change the subject. 
 
 When Desbrow found himself alone with
 
 220 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Lord Ayrshire, the latter spoke to him as 
 follows : 
 
 " I am aware, my dear friend, that such 
 is your affection for Cecile, that your happi- 
 ness depends on a union with her ; if, there- 
 fore, you wish that nothing should occur to 
 oppose this union, beware of oifending the 
 political, religious, or national prejudices of her 
 father. With many good qualities, he is full 
 of prejudices, and untolerating and unforgiv- 
 ing to those who offer any opposition to 
 them; bear with him, for argument is use- 
 less, — nay worse, — would only lead to disa- 
 greement, in which your happiness, and that 
 of Cecile, may be compromised. I wish your 
 marriage could have taken place in England ; 
 and so wished my dear lost wdfe ; for, know- 
 ing the character of Comte de Bethune, as I 
 do, I like not the idea of our dear Cecile 
 being confided to one, who, though her father, 
 is so uncongenial to her in every respect :
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 221 
 
 but it cannot be helped, and we must only 
 hope the best, and avoid every possible occa- 
 sion of offending the too-susceptible comte. 
 Cecile is ill at ease with him ; he is jealous 
 of her affection for me, and her attachment 
 to England, and all that is English : this feel- 
 ing breaks forth continually, but she bears it 
 admirably ; we, my dear friend, must take 
 care not to add to her sufferings, by excit- 
 ing his displeasure, which is but too easily 
 aroused on the most trivial subjects, where 
 his prejudices are touched, and they are con- 
 tinually on the qui vive." 
 
 Desbrow felt the justice of Lord Ayrshire's 
 counsel, and the friendship which dictated it, 
 and he promised to follow it strictly : a reso- 
 lution which it required no little self-com- 
 mand to fulfil, as scarcely an hour passed, 
 in which Comte de Bethune did not try his 
 forbearance to its utmost extent, by the dis- 
 play of illiberality, and prejudices, more suited
 
 222 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 to the feudal system of I'ancien regime, of 
 which he was always lamenting the suppression, 
 than the enlightened views of the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
 But well was Desbrow repaid for his for- 
 bearance towards the father, by the affection 
 and confidence of the charming daughter, 
 who became every hour more dear to him, 
 as her inestimable qualities became more 
 known. Her touching attention to Lord 
 Ayrshire, endeavouring to anticipate his wishes, 
 and to supply the place of her he had lost; 
 her sweetness, and patience, under all the 
 wayward humours of her father, and the tact 
 with which she soothed them ; but, above all, 
 her frank, yet modest manner of marking her 
 affection for himself, enchanted her lover, 
 and there was no personal sacrifice that he 
 would not willingly have made, to insure her 
 happiness. 
 
 Desbrow wished much, that the Comte de
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 223 
 
 Bethune should see one, or both of his estates, 
 and consulted Cecile, on the propriety of en- 
 gaging him to visit them ; but the blush that 
 rose to her cheek as she hesitated to reply, 
 told him she wished it not. 
 
 After a moment's silence, she looked affec- 
 tionately in his face, and thus addressed him : 
 ** It is painful to expose, even to the one 
 most dear to us, the foibles of a parent ; 
 but yet, you are so good, and so forbearing, 
 that I may remind you, that my poor father 
 lost an immense fortune by the Revolution ; 
 his chateaux, estates, — all were confiscated : 
 and when he sees, or is engaged to see, the 
 mansions and domains of others, he reverts 
 with bitterness to those he once possessed, 
 and becomes soured by the reminiscence. 
 He is proud, very proud, which we must 
 forgive, when we reflect that it is his pre- 
 sent comparative poverty that makes him so ; 
 for all who knew him in his splendour, de-
 
 224 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 clare that he was then, free from this weak- 
 ness. He suffers acutely at the idea of my 
 going to you a portionless bride ; and the 
 sight of your residences might only awaken 
 painful feelings." 
 
 It was thus, that Cecile each day softened 
 down the asperities of her father and lover, 
 and rendered herself each hour dearer to the 
 latter. Upon her parent too, she must have 
 produced a similar effect, but that all his affec- 
 tion, and what was still much stronger, his 
 pride, were centered in his only son, the sup- 
 porter of his ancient name, and the inheritor 
 of the titles, and the dilapidated part of the 
 fortune of his ancestors, which the indemnity 
 had restored to him. This son was his idol, the 
 constant subject of his conversation, and referred 
 to on all occasions, as one, from whose opinion 
 there was no appeal. 
 
 There is something in the natures of even 
 the best persons, which induces them to hear
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 225 
 
 with distaste, if not doubt, the continued 
 praises of some one unknown ; and when the 
 Athenians banished Aristides, because they 
 were tired of hearing him called "The Just!" 
 they were true to that alloy in human nature, 
 which turns with disgust from praise bestowed 
 on another, however well merited. A woman, 
 held up as a beauty before seen, is sure to 
 appear less handsome (however beautiful she 
 may be) to those who have been hearing exag- 
 gerated descriptions of her; and virtue and 
 talents, extravagantly praised, are apt to en- 
 gender doubt of their existence, or disinclina- 
 tion towards their possessor. 
 
 Lord Ayrshire, with all his good-nature, 
 became tired of hearing the excellence, mental 
 and personal, of Auguste de Bethune, who, if 
 his partial father was to be believed, was a 
 second Admirable Crichton ; and Desbrow too, 
 found himself, malgre lui, rather unfavourably 
 disposed towards this " faultless monster," who 
 
 l5
 
 226 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 was represented as handsomest, " wisest, 
 virtuest, best." 
 
 Cecile alone felt disposed to render her bro- 
 ther justice. She remembered with fondness, 
 the fine, impetuous, high-spirited boy, with 
 curly locks, brilliant eyes, and inexhaustible 
 gaiety, who was always either quarrelling with, 
 or kissing her, when they met as children ; and 
 though a long period had now elapsed since 
 she had seen him, she felt all a sister's parti- 
 ality, though she had sufficient tact and per- 
 ception, to wish that her father praised him less 
 frequently and extravagantly. 
 
 It was difficult for Desbrow to command his 
 temper, when he heard the Comte de Bethune 
 find fault with Cecile's deportment and mode 
 of walking, observing, "C'est bien Anglais, 
 je vous demande pardone, messieurs, mais 
 nous changerons tout cela a Paris." Her toi- 
 lette and tournure were also censured by 
 her fastidious father, who repeated his longing
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 227 
 
 desire that she might profit from the taste and 
 address of the Parisian modistes. 
 
 Now, Desbrow was justly proud of the tour- 
 nure of Cecile, which was peculiarly elegant 
 and dignified ; and her toilette, which was 
 always simple, yet well chosen and becoming, 
 fully met his approbation ; so that he could 
 with difficulty restrain his impatience, when he 
 heard the tasteless comments of the Comte. 
 But an appealing look of intreaty from her, 
 silenced the defence that was rising to his 
 lips, and which could not have failed to offend 
 her father ; and he contented himself with feel- 
 ing an increased admiration for all that the 
 Comte disapproved. 
 
 The presence of Comte de Bethune, imposed 
 a restraint on the three persons with whom he 
 was thrown, that was every hour more pain- 
 fully felt. Lord Ayrshire kindly endeavoured 
 to occupy him for an hour or two in the evening, 
 at picquet or chess, during which time Des-
 
 228 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 brow, seated by Cecile, was consoled for the 
 constraint lie had endured during the long day ; 
 but so quickly flew the moments near her, 
 that the interminable hours passed in the so- 
 ciety of her father, seemed of endless dura- 
 tion by the force of contrast, — at least, so 
 thought her lover ! 
 
 At last, the day arrived, fixed for the 
 departure of father and daughter ; and Lord 
 Ayrsliire and Desbrow, anxious to be with 
 Cecile as long as possible, determined to accom- 
 pany them to Dover. Gladly would they have 
 gone to France, to save her from being wholly 
 left to the uncongenial society of her parent, 
 but that Lord Ayrshire felt that, in his afflic- 
 tion, the gaieties of the French capital would 
 be as unbearable as inconvenantes ; and he knew 
 sufficient of Comte de Bethune, to be aware 
 that the period of Cecile's residence there, would 
 be devoted to introducing her to all his con- 
 nexions and acquaintances.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 229 
 
 Desbrow, feeling the incompatibility of his 
 character, with that of his future beau pere, 
 thought it best to avoid personal intercourse 
 with him, until the period fixed for his mar- 
 riage had arrived ; and much as he regretted 
 tearing himself away from Cecile, he submitted 
 to it, looking forward to the end of June, 
 the time named for his nuptials, with all the 
 impatience of an ardent lover.
 
 230 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " On eut dit un ange aux ailes coupees, tombe, du haut 
 des cieux sur la terre, et passe de la joie aux larmes, 
 sans transitions, sans faute, et sans chute." 
 
 The morning that was to see Cecfle leave the 
 mansion, which had been from childliood her 
 happy home, broke heavily on her weary eye- 
 lids, after a sleepless night, passed in painful 
 retrospection and gloomy anticipation. 
 
 How many thoughts of the past, the happy 
 past, rose up before her, in which her dear 
 departed friend, her more than mother, was 
 mingled . 
 
 By the little bed, on which she now re-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 231 
 
 clined, had that dear friend sat, hour after 
 hour, supporting her languid head, and pressing 
 her throbbing temples, when two years before 
 a fever had attacked her. 
 
 The noiseless step, the gentle voice, the 
 soothing words of affection, which, during the 
 long hours of illness, she had so often gratefully 
 remarked, all now returned to memory, and 
 tears of sorrow streamed from her eyes at the 
 recollection. 
 
 About to leave, perhaps for ever, the scene 
 where her happy childhood had been passed, 
 she felt as if again losing Lady Ayrshire, who 
 had been the principal source of all that happi- 
 ness. 
 
 While she remained at Ayrshire Abbey, 
 surrounded by so many objects, that every mo- 
 ment reminded her of that dear friend, she 
 seemed not totally lost to her; but now she 
 should be withdrawn from even this melancholy 
 consolation ; and a miniature, and lock of hair.
 
 232 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 were all that remained to her, of one, whose 
 unabated affection she never could forget, and 
 whose memory she reverenced. 
 
 She left her pillow at an early hour; and, 
 having made all the preparations for her jour- 
 ney, she stole silently from her chamber, and 
 sought the church, half-a-mile distant from the 
 house, where reposed the mortal remains of 
 one who had so well supplied the place of 
 mother to her. 
 
 It was one of those gloomy mornings in 
 winter, when lowering clouds and a di'izzling 
 rain add dreariness to every object around. 
 The leafless trees, stunted grass, and withered 
 shrubs, all emblems of mortality, were so in har- 
 mony with the melancholy of her feelings, that 
 as she entered the church, and sank by the side 
 of the tomb which covered the mouldering frame 
 of the loved dead, her tears and sobs could no 
 longer be suppressed, and she yielded to her 
 emotions, until their intensity subdued their
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 233 
 
 violence, and left only tliat calm feeling of re- 
 signation which religion alone can give, and 
 which is the only balm for sorrow. 
 
 The parting between Cecile and the old ser- 
 vants, who had loved her from her infancy, was 
 highly touching ; and Desbrow, as he witnessed, 
 saw in it an earnest of the happiness, she, who 
 was so beloved by the dependants of another, 
 would bring to his home. 
 
 Their journey was made in the travelling 
 coach of Lord Ayrshire, which held the four, 
 and the carriages of Comte de Bethune and 
 Desbrow followed. By this arrangement, they 
 enjoyed the presence of Cecile, though the sense 
 of that enjoyment was often interrupted by the 
 querulous observations of the comte, who found 
 out, with his accustomed national partiality, 
 that the paved roads of la belle France were 
 infinitely superior to the macadamized one, 
 over which they were gliding with an almost 
 unconscious motion ; and that the views were
 
 234 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 little, mean, and bounded, looking like those 
 in a gentleman's park, instead of glancing 
 over a vast prospect of open country, as in 
 France. 
 
 Nay, even the English carriages came in for 
 their share of his censures ; they were so much 
 too easy, the double springs prevented that 
 motion, so agreeable and healthy in French 
 carriages, which rendered a di'ive in one of 
 them as conducive to the acceleration of the 
 circulation of the blood as horse exercise. 
 But in all English vehicles, one felt as if seated 
 in an easy chair, no exercise, no movement, 
 and consequently no appetite ; though, to judge 
 from the specimen he gave of his at every inn 
 at which the party stopped, one might have 
 arrived at a different conclusion. 
 
 The trottoirs in the streets were found to be 
 most inconvenient, as they took up so much 
 space, for the accommodation of pedestrians, 
 generally composed of the canaille, which might
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 235 
 
 have been better employed, in affording place 
 for the equipages of the aristocracy. 
 
 The dinners at the inns were pronounced to 
 be detestable ; the cooking, execrable : and the 
 want of les petits vins de France, a serious 
 grievance, as the vin de Bordeaux was too 
 strong, and the other wines, trop capiteux. 
 
 Cecile seemed to suffer so much from the 
 fastidiousness and prejudices of her father, 
 that Lord Ayrshire and Desbrow endeavoured 
 to avert even the appearance of dissent from his 
 opinions ; and by this forbearance, the journey 
 passed off without any disagreeable discussion, 
 though three of the travellers felt, that to their 
 forbearance alone was this harmony to be attri- 
 buted ; the fourth was too much occupied with 
 self, to think of aught else. 
 
 A detour was made, to avoid passing through 
 London, and our party, on arriving at Dover, 
 learned that a packet was to sail for Calais next 
 morning.
 
 2S6 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 They passed a silent and sorrowful evening 
 at the inn, all, except the comte, painfully 
 occupied with the thoughts of their approach- 
 ing separation, which weighed heavily on their 
 minds. 
 
 Cecile found a few moments to converse alone 
 with Desbrow, and employed them chiefly to 
 intreat that he would devote as much of his 
 time as possible to her dear Lord Ayrshire. 
 
 " I shall no longer be near to console him," 
 said the affectionate girl ; and he will need 
 the presence of some one who was acquainted 
 with her he laments, to whom he can talk of 
 her, and know that his praises and regrets are 
 felt and reciprocated." 
 
 Desbrow promised to devote his whole time 
 and attention to him ; and this promise was a 
 new link in the chain of affection, which united 
 him to Cecile. 
 
 Before parting for the night, Cecile told 
 Desbrow, that she could give him tidings of his 
 friend Arlington, as she had found a letter from
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 237 
 
 her dear Lady Emily Vavasour, at Dover, which 
 had been forwarded from Ayrshire Abbey, an- 
 nouncing her approaching marriage with Lord 
 Arlington, and deeply regretting that the recent 
 affliction of Lord Ayrshire precluded her from 
 intreating Cecile's presence at her nuptials. 
 
 " They must be married ere this," said she, 
 " as the letter is of long date." If you knew 
 dear Emily, as I do," continued Cecile, *' how 
 you would rejoice at the happiness of your 
 friend! She is all goodness, and beautiful as 
 good; — I love her as though she were my 
 sister." 
 
 Desbrow felt highly gratified at this intelli- 
 gence, for the sincerity of his attachment made 
 him rejoice that his friend had chosen so wisely; 
 and he rejoiced the more, that their wives, by 
 a happy chance, should be such dear friends, as 
 to ensure their being able to keep up the same 
 cordial intercourse that had ever subsisted be- 
 tween them. 
 
 He communicated this sentiment to Cecile,
 
 2SS THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 who partook of it, and they dwelt, with plea- 
 sure, on the thought of their future intimacy. 
 
 At an early hour next mornii;kg, after a 
 hurried attempt at breakfast, the party left 
 the Ship Inn, to embark on board the steam- 
 boat. 
 
 Desbrow gave his arm to Cecile, and again 
 and again repeated the vows of unalterable 
 love, while he led her towards the vessel. 
 
 Partings are always painful to those who are 
 attached ; but when the sea is about to divide 
 us from those we love, the bitterness is in- 
 creased, as the distance seems extended, and a 
 vague dread of every risk, to which that fickle 
 element exposes its voyagers, steals over even 
 the manly heart, — a dread still more felt by the 
 susceptible and ductile — one of woman. 
 
 Lord Ayrshire and Desbrow entered the 
 ship, to remain with Cecile to the last moment ; 
 and both were supporting her while they en- 
 deavoured to speak that comfort to her, which
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 239 
 
 they were themselves far from feeling; when, 
 at the same moment, all three recognised Lord 
 Arlington walking towards them, sustaining on 
 his arm a lady enveloped in a shawl and mantle, 
 whose face was concealed by a deep bonnet and 
 black -lace veil which covered it. 
 
 " There is Lord Arlington, and that must be 
 my dear Emily," exclaimed Cecile ; *' oh ! how 
 fortunate to meet her, and by accident, when 
 I have such need of her consolation !" 
 
 So saying, she flew, rather than ran, towards 
 the supposed Emily, and had clasped her in her 
 arms ere she discovered that the lady was. Lady 
 Walmer ; with whom she was but slightly ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 She explained her mistake, and was rather 
 surprised at observing that lady shrink back, 
 turning alternately pale and red, and nearly 
 overcome by agitation, requesting Arlington to 
 lead her to the cabin. Wliile this scene was 
 passing between the ladies, Desbrow had ap-
 
 240 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 preached Arlington, with extended hand and 
 cordial greeting ; but, to his amazement, he 
 drew back, evidently distressed and embar- 
 rassed, waving his hand to Desbrow, as if to 
 intreat him to retire ; while he hurried Lady 
 Walmer into the cabin. 
 
 All this scene was inexplicable to Desbrow ; 
 and, to Cecile's repeated expressions of won- 
 der as to its meaning he could make no 
 reply. At this moment, a pencil note from 
 Arlington was brought to him, intreating to 
 learn the place of his destination, as he had 
 much to communicate, and wished to do so by 
 letter. 
 
 Desbrow had only time to write a line, say- 
 ing that he was returning directly to London, 
 where a letter would find him, when the packet 
 weighed anchor, and Lord Ayrshire and he, 
 having taken a hurried adieu of Cecile and her 
 father, left the ship. 
 
 It was perhaps well for Desbrow, that he had
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 241 
 
 to console Lord Ayrshire, who, in this parting 
 with her whom he had so long considered as his 
 child, felt the wound inflicted on his peace by 
 the death of his excellent wife, bleed afresh ; 
 and Desbrow tried to forget all selfish feelings, 
 in endeavouring to restore him to serenity. 
 
 The astonishment which the unaccountable 
 apparition and manner of Arlington had excited, 
 served also to divert his attention from his own 
 regrets, and he and his friend pursued their route 
 to town, there to await the promised communi- 
 cation from Arlington. A thousand vague fears 
 flitted through the mind of Desbrow. Why 
 was Arlington on board the packet, and alone 
 with Lady Walmer, when he believed him 
 married, or on the point of marriage, with 
 Lady Emily ? 
 
 All this seemed incomj)rehensible, and ap- 
 peared still more so, when, on arriving in town, 
 he found a letter from Arlington, which had 
 been forwarded to him from the country, dated 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 ten days before, announcing that all was settled 
 for his approaching nuptials, which were to 
 take place in the course of the following week. 
 A passage in this letter struck Desbrow forci- 
 bly ; it was as follows — 
 
 " You were right, my dear friend, when you 
 told me that my passion for Lady Walmer was 
 an illusion which absence could not fail to 
 destroy, as I should one day be ready to admit, 
 when my heart became really sensible of the 
 power of love. That moment has arrived, and 
 I admit that you were right, for the sentiment 
 Emily inspires, differs as wholly from the un- 
 hallowed passion I felt for Lady Walmer, as 
 does Emily from that lady. 
 
 " I feel ready to attempt all that virtue 
 could dictate, since I have loved Emily, as, 
 alas ! I was ready to execute the impulses of 
 guilty passion, when I sighed for Lady Wal- 
 mer,
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 243 
 
 " When you know Emily, you will think 
 me one of the most fortunate of mortals; and 
 you will not value her the less because she 
 is the chosen friend of your Cecile, of whom 
 she speaks nearly as warmly as you would 
 do. 
 
 " We may well congratulate each other on 
 the happy prospects that await us ; but I must 
 not forget, that to your counsel I owe my 
 escape from the inglorious thraldom which en- 
 chained me in London, and might, nay, ivould, 
 have precluded the union, which now is ready 
 to crown my wishes." 
 
 When Desbrow had perused this letter, he 
 was more than ever astonished at what even 
 before appeared so unaccountable ; and the 
 more he reflected, the less could he explain the 
 enigma. That something extraordinary had 
 occurred, he felt certain ; and that it was of a 
 disagreeable and improper nature, was scarcely 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 less doubtful. " To-morrow," thought he, 
 " must bring me a letter from Arlington, 
 explanatory of all this, and until then, let me 
 try to think as well of my friend as I can 
 under such suspicious appearances." 
 
 The pale face and agitated manner of Arling- 
 ton, were recalled to memory; and Desbrow 
 pitied him, ere he knew what he had to 
 pity.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 245 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " It is the nature of man, never to feel love so violently, 
 as when circumstances arise to oppose his passion." 
 
 We left ArKngton returning to his chamber, 
 after his luckless interview with Lady Walmer. 
 He had been but a few minutes absent from 
 it, but what had he not suffered? and what a 
 fearful effect was that brief period likely to 
 exercise over his future destiny ? 
 
 He threw himself into a chair, and looked 
 around, as if to be sure that he was not in some 
 frightful dream. There was every thing just 
 as he had left them ; a cheerful fire blazing,
 
 246 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 and the pen not yet dry, with which he had 
 written what he intended to be an eternal 
 farewell to her who had caused ail his unhap- 
 piness ; but now, that object, for which he felt 
 almost a dislike, had stepped between him and 
 happiness, and he reflected with dismay that 
 he might be condemned to the wretched fate 
 of wearing out a dreary existence with her. 
 
 He shuddered at the thought, and at that 
 moment, his glance fell on the portrait of 
 Emily, placed before him on the table. Her 
 dove-like eyes, seemed to look at him with 
 that expression of affection and softness, 
 which were their peculiar characteristic. The 
 painter had caught the speaking look of her 
 mouth, and had done justice to the extreme 
 beauty of her countenance, which never struck 
 Arlington with so profound a sense of admi- 
 ration as at this moment, when he felt he had 
 probably lost her for ever. Scattered about 
 the table, were various little gifts of her's.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 247 
 
 each, and all, endeared by some fond recollec- 
 tion. They brought a gush of tenderness to 
 his heart, and ArHngton, the hitherto gay, and 
 happy Arlington, felt unable to resist the 
 emotions that overpowered him, and for the 
 first time since his childliood, wept with un- 
 controlable anguish. 
 
 All the confidential intercourse, and happy 
 hours passed with Emily, seemed to flit be- 
 fore him; and then, came the thought, — the 
 painful, mortifying thought, — that henceforth 
 she would banish him from her heart, and 
 never think of him but with disgust and dis- 
 like. At one moment, he determined to write 
 to her, and tell her all, but after a little reflec- 
 tion, he asked himself, — Could he — dare he, 
 sully her pure mind, with the revelation of 
 his unhallowed entanglement with a married 
 woman ? — No ; it was impossible. He then 
 thought of writing to Lord Vavasour, and 
 explaining the whole business to him; but,
 
 248 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 ought lie to expose to the condemnation of 
 another, the unfortunate woman who had 
 caused all this misery by her unhappy attach- 
 ment to him ? No ! it was more his duty to 
 screen and protect her ; and painful, — wretched, 
 — as the performance of that duty must render 
 him, he would not slu-ink from it. 
 
 He attempted not to gloss over the horrors 
 of his situation ; they were all exposed to 
 his view, and bitter were his feelings, as he 
 contemplated their probable results. He ex- 
 pected every hour to receive a communica- 
 tion from Lady Walmer, and in this expec- 
 tation, remained sunk in the chair into which 
 he had thrown himself on entering the 
 chamber. 
 
 More than once he fancied he had caught 
 the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and 
 he started with all the trembling anxiety of 
 the culprit who expects to hear his doom 
 pronounced. But again the sounds died away.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 249 
 
 — all was silent, — and he sank back into his 
 previous state of benumbing torpor. 
 
 At length, a thought flashed across his mind, 
 — the letter he had written to Lady Walmer, 
 and placed in her hand, she would be sure to 
 read it, — would see how fondly, how wholly, 
 he was devoted to another ; and if she pos- 
 sessed but one spark of generosity, or femi- 
 nine delicacy, she would not, — she could not, 
 — accept the sacrifice which his being detected 
 in her chamber had forced him to oflfer. No ! 
 she would fly his presence, rather than suffer 
 him to partake her lot ; she would return to 
 her relations, and remain with them, leaving 
 him free to devote his future life to his 
 adored Emily. There was happiness, — there 
 was rapture in the thought ; and he blessed 
 his stars for having written the letter. 
 
 Hour after hour roiled heavily away ; and, at 
 length, the sound of persons moving in the 
 house was distinctly audible. In the next 
 
 M 5
 
 250 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 minute, he heard a carriage driven to the 
 door. His window commanding a view of the 
 sweep in front of the entrance to the vestibule, 
 he drew aside the curtains, and saw Lord 
 Walmer enter the travelling carriage which had 
 previously conveyed his suite ; and then his 
 valet de chambre ha\ing mounted the seat 
 behind, it was driven away as rapidly as four 
 post horses could whirl it. 
 
 This was death to his hopes, as it proved 
 that all chance of explanation, or reconcilia- 
 tion, between the husband and wife was at an 
 end. She was left, — abandoned, — deserted, — 
 and he, — he was the cause of all this. His 
 temples throbbed, and his head ached, almost 
 to bursting ; the blood seemed to recede from 
 his heart, and to mount to his brain; he felt 
 a sense of suffocation, that rendered the 
 fresh air indispensable ; and hastily chang- 
 ing his evening costume, for one more ap- 
 propriate, he descended the stairs, and
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 251 
 
 rushed, rather than walked, into the pleasure- 
 groi!fnds. 
 
 It was one of those lovely, bright clear 
 mornings, as rare as they are precious in our 
 climate in winter; the dew drops gemmed the 
 evergreen trees and shrubs, with which the 
 grounds were thickly planted, and the bright 
 hue of their verdure almost made one forget 
 that it was not spring. 
 
 The sun rose in unclouded splendour; the 
 dew drops, reflecting its rays, sent forth a 
 thousand brilliant sparkles; the birds carolled 
 their matin notes of joy, and all nature seemed 
 to put on fresh charms, as if refreshed by night. 
 
 The freshness of the morning air, which 
 fanned the forehead of Arlington, restored 
 him to some degree of calmness ; but when, 
 on looking around at the beautiful and pic- 
 turesque grounds, the thought that he was 
 viewing them for the last time, presented it- 
 self to his mind ; he felt, as did our first
 
 252 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 parent when about to be driven from Paradise, 
 and cast " bis last lingering look behind." 
 
 At a sudden turn of a walk, Arlington almost 
 ran against some person, and at a glance, 
 discovered that it was Emily. He stood 
 as if transfixed to the spot, scarcely able 
 in the confusion and agitation of the mo- 
 ment, to reply to her mild, yet cordial 
 greeting. 
 
 The gentle girl, with looks beaming with 
 affection and confidence, placed her arm within 
 his, as she had been wont to do ; and asked 
 him why he, who was in general not an early 
 riser, was abroad at that unusual hour ? 
 " But, I suppose," she continued , " this deli- 
 cious morning tempted you, as it did me, for 
 I rarely venture out so soon, yet could not 
 resist the impulse to stroll in the pleasure 
 grounds, while yet the dew hangs trem- 
 bling on the leaves and herbs. But surely 
 you are ill!" said Emily, struck with the
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 25S 
 
 change in Arlington's countenance ; " your arm 
 is tremulous, and your hand," laying her own 
 small, white and dimpled one on his, "is quite 
 feverish. I see, I know you are suffering," 
 said she, all her tenderness excited by his 
 evident indisposition ; ''let us return directly 
 to the house, for indeed, dear Arlington, you 
 are unfit to be abroad. 
 
 Her tenderness produced a violent revulsion 
 in Arlington ; his frame trembled, tears gushed 
 to his eyes, and, no longer master of him- 
 self, he grasped the hands of Emily, and fix- 
 ing his looks on her face, he passionately ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 '' Emily, dear, adored Emily ! if this, should 
 be our last meeting, let me have the consola- 
 tion, the only one that now awaits me, of 
 carrying with me the persuasion that you are 
 convinced, that you, — and you only, — have ever 
 been, can ever be, — loved by me ! Oh ! let me 
 implore you, however appearances may be
 
 254 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 against me, never to let this conviction pass 
 from your mind ! 
 
 It instantly occurred to Emily, that he re- 
 ferred to the scene of the song, two nights 
 before, wdth Lady Walmer, when she had 
 shewn that she was distressed by it. Turning 
 therefore to Arlington, she assured him, with 
 all the warmth of her gentle nature, that she 
 doubted not, never could doubt, his love ; and 
 intreated him to be convinced that he had 
 her whole confidence. 
 
 Overcome by this display of her affection, 
 and feeling how selfish, how cruel it was in 
 him, under existing circumstances, to search 
 to retain an interest in her heart, when it 
 would so soon become her duty to banish him 
 from it, he turned wildly from her, then paus- 
 ing a moment, he seized her hand, and after 
 passionately pressing it to his lips, abruptly 
 hurried away; leaving the amiable girl, shock- 
 ed and affected at his visible perturbation, which
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 255 
 
 she wholly attributed to some violent and sud- 
 den attack of fever. 
 
 Arlington flev/, rather than ran, to the house, 
 and reached his chamber without encounterinsf 
 any of the family, Lord and Lady Vavasour 
 not having yet left theirs'. On his table, he 
 found the following note, from Lady Walmer, 
 and he tore it open almost with loathing : — 
 
 "My doom is sealed; — Lord Walmer has 
 left me, and for ever ; and too well do I know 
 the hearts of those who have called themselves 
 my friends, to doubt that they will turn 
 from the disgraced and ruined wife, with 
 even more alacrity than they sought her in 
 her prosperous days. I cannot, dare not, 
 face that world, whose idol I have so long 
 been. 
 
 " I wish to quit England for ever. Am I to 
 count on you as my friend and protector ? 
 or will you, like the rest of those who have
 
 256 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 flattered and lured me to destruction, leave me 
 to tlie ruin you have brought on my head ? 
 
 I shall go to , the third post from this, 
 
 where I shall wait your presence, or your 
 answer." 
 
 Every line of this letter, excited fresh dis- 
 gust in the mind of Arlington ; the selfishness 
 of the writer was so apparent, that he groaned 
 in spirit when he reflected that the laws of 
 honour compelled him to give his protection 
 to, and to pass his future days with her. How 
 did he execrate the artificial state of society, 
 which forged such laws, — laws equally opposed 
 to religion and morality, yet the violation of 
 which, would stamp him as a man who had 
 deserted the woman he had ruined. 
 
 Had Lady Walmer read the letter he had 
 addressed to her? was the next thought of 
 Arlington. If she had, and yet could con- 
 tinue to claim his protection, she must be in-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 257 
 
 deed lost to every feeling of delicacy ; and if she 
 had not, and still counted on his affection, how 
 dreadful must be her anguish whenever she 
 chanced to discover this written proof of his 
 indifference to herself, and strong love for an- 
 other.
 
 25S THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Those who make the opinion of the world the criterion 
 of their conduct, are but too apt to neglect the dictates 
 of religion and conscience." 
 
 On entering the house, he discovered, from his 
 valet de chambre, that Lady Wahner had left 
 the house during his absence from it ; and this 
 was some relief to his feelings, but how was 
 he to leave it? and what excuse could he 
 give ? He would feign having received letters 
 demanding his immediate presence in London. 
 
 No sooner had he formed this plan, than a 
 note from Lord Vavasour, desiring to see him
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 259 
 
 in the library, again threw him into a state 
 of fresh agitation. He felt like a culprit going 
 to receive his sentence of condemnation, as he 
 entered the scene of so many happy hours ; 
 and the unusual sternness and severity de- 
 picted on the brow of Lord Vavasour, pro- 
 claimed that Arlington in him was to find no 
 unprejudiced judge. 
 
 A cold bow was the only mark of recognition 
 Arlington met; he, who had been accustomed 
 to be greeted by smiles and cordial shakes of 
 the hand by Lord Vavasour. The difference 
 shocked him, though he was prepared for 
 a painful scene, by his consciousness of the 
 thoroughly unworthy aspect under which his 
 conduct must appear to the eyes of another. 
 
 " I have sent for you, Lord Arlington, on 
 a most distressing subject," said Lord Vava- 
 sour, '^ but our relative situations render a 
 frank explanation necessary, and give me the 
 right of demanding it ; though when your lord-
 
 260 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 ship ^vill have read the letter I now place in 
 your hands, you will, perhaps, think no expla- 
 nation necessary, as, unfortunately, that seems 
 to render excuse impossible." 
 
 Thus saying, he presented to Arlington a let- 
 ter, written that morning by Lord Walmer, pre- 
 vious to his departure, detaihng the scene of the 
 night before, in the dressing-room of his wife, 
 with his determination of never more seeing 
 her ; adding, that he thought it a duty to in- 
 form Lord Vavasour of the shameful conduct 
 of the affianced husband of his daughter, who, 
 when wdthin a few days of marriage with her, 
 and beneath the same roof, could so far violate 
 all the laws of delicacy, morals, and religion, 
 as to be found concealed in the apartment of a 
 married woman ; a conduct, he asserted, which 
 left no room for doubt, or need for comment. 
 
 Lord Walmer went on to state, how much 
 he felt grieved, that this scandalous proceeding 
 should have taken place beneath the roof of
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 261 
 
 Lord Vavasour, whose hospitality and confi- 
 dence had been so shamefully abused. 
 
 Arlington perused this letter with varying 
 and conflicting emotions ; the truth of the alle- 
 gations he could not refute ; his pride and deli- 
 cacy were deeply wounded, yet he shrank from 
 even attempting to exculpate himself, at the ex- 
 pense of the woman who had caused all this 
 misery. 
 
 His silence, his agitation, and, above all, the 
 expression of deep wretchedness imprinted on 
 his countenance, excited a feeling of pity in 
 the generous heart of Lord Vavasour, which 
 quelled the angry emotions that had previously 
 reigned there. 
 
 He saw the struggle of Arlington, as he en- 
 deavoured to speak, and, in a kinder tone, he 
 suggested, that perhaps he might prefer writing. 
 Overcome by this change of manner, Arlington, 
 no longer able to suppress his feelings, stated 
 the whole case to 'Lord Vavasour ; he dwelt.
 
 262 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 with candour, on his former reprehensible pas- 
 sion for Laclj Wahner, and on the pains he had 
 taken to excite a return in her breast ; he re- 
 lated how, influenced by the counsel of Des- 
 brow, he had fled from London to avoid her, 
 and how his whole heart having become de- 
 voted to Lady Emily, she had driven every 
 other image from his mind. Here, over- 
 powered by the intensity of his feelings, the 
 big drops burst from his eyes, while Lord 
 Vavasour, touched by what he had heard, 
 and v/hat he saw, held out his hand to him, 
 and uttered a few words of kindness. 
 
 Arlington endeavoured to recover some de- 
 gree of composure, while he stated all that had 
 occurred between Lady Yf aimer and himself 
 since her arrival. He thought that on such an 
 occasion it would be no breach of confidence, 
 to shew her note, which he had forgotten to 
 destroy, and related the contents of that which
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 26S 
 
 he had written in answer, with the intention 
 of leaving it at her dressing-room door, when 
 the arrival of Lord Walmer led to the fearful 
 denoument already described. 
 
 Lord Vavasour, who had lived too long in 
 the gay world, and partaken too much of its 
 follies and vices, to feel as much shocked as 
 perhaps a father ought to have felt on such 
 an occasion, was more inclined to pity than 
 condemn Arlington. 
 
 All his censure was directed to Lady Wal- 
 mer, on whose conduct he passed a severe and 
 justly merited condemnation, but "with a gene- 
 rosity only to be appreciated, by taking into 
 consideration, the more than distaste, — the 
 positive antipathy, — with which he now re- 
 garded that unhappy woman. Arlington 
 intreated his forbearance, and reminded him 
 that it was the professions of attachment, 
 and the constant attentions, which he had
 
 264 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 lavished towards her some months before, 
 that had engaged her affection, — an affection 
 which now would be the bane of his life. 
 
 " I have brought this misery on myself," 
 said Arlington, " and if I only were to suffer, 
 I should bear it as a man ; but, when I reflect 
 how it involves the happiness of others, I sink 
 before the blow. — Lady Walmer claims my 
 protection ; it is the only amends I can make 
 her for having deprived her of fame, home, 
 and consideration. Can I, therefore, whatever 
 the effort costs me, refuse to make it ? " 
 
 " This is madness, folly," replied Lord Va- 
 vasour ; " she, and she alone, has induced this 
 catastrophe. As yet too, she is unstained, save 
 by levity and indelicacy, both of which appear 
 to me much more visible in her conduct than 
 affection. Your protection, therefore, as you 
 call it, will only plunge you both into actual 
 guilt ; and had she a particle of virtue, would 
 she not prefer enjoying the consolation of hav-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 265 
 
 ing sinned only in appearance, to claiming a 
 sacrifice from you, which must set the seal of 
 reprobation on both ? Go not to her ; let her 
 seek her family, who cannot abandon her at 
 such a crisis : with them, or even alone, she 
 will be more protected than she can be by 
 you ; for the protection which a lover offers 
 to a married woman, so far from being one, 
 only points her out as an adultress, and forfeits 
 for ever her last claim to respectability. I talk 
 not to you of the matter in a religious or 
 moral point of view," continued Lord Vava- 
 sour ; " because, unfortunately, religion and 
 morals, which ought to be our guides, in 
 such cases, are seldom considered ; and worldly 
 wisdom is the standard by which most men 
 are influenced: but, in all points of view, let 
 me intreat you not to add guilt to imprudence. 
 Avoid this woman, for her sake as well as 
 your own, and all may yet be well." 
 
 " But can I refuse the protection she 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 claims ? Can I desert her who has lost all for 
 my sake ? " 
 
 " If she had yielded to your seduction, and 
 abandoned her home for you, I grant that, 
 according to the received usage on such occa- 
 sions, — nay, more, according to humanity, you 
 could not desert the woman you had ruined. 
 But this is a totally different case, — you fled 
 from, her, to save her and yourself; — she fol- 
 lowed you, and you still resisted her arts. For 
 now that you have told me your passed position 
 with her, I must say, that her conduct since 
 she entered beneath my roof, has been as un- 
 leeling as it has been indelicate. She inveigles 
 you to her dressing-room ; you are surprised 
 there, by her husband, and the consequences 
 are, that he casts her from hhn: but are you 
 to condemn yourself to a life of misery and 
 guilt, because you have been weak enough to 
 temporize with her during the last three days ;
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 267 
 
 when, had you shewn more firmness, all this 
 esclandre would have been saved." 
 
 ** True, true," groaned, rather than said, 
 Arlington, " and never shall I forgive myself 
 for my folly, my infiituation ! Why did I not 
 openly shew her, that my whole soul was de- 
 voted to another, and thus check, at once, 
 every display or indication of her fatal par- 
 tiality ? Still I owe her reparation ; and, how- 
 ever painful is the task of making it, I must 
 submit." 
 
 *^ While you are thinking so much of what is 
 due to the feelings of this unworthy woman, 
 you seem to have totally forgotten those of my 
 daughter," said Lord Vavasour, angrily, "whose 
 affections you have engaged, and whose hand 
 would have been your's, in a few brief days. 
 What will be the feelings of my pure minded 
 and innocent child, when she learns that the 
 man with whom she hoped to pass her life, has 
 
 N 2
 
 268 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 fled with an adultress, and is living in sin and 
 shame." 
 
 " Oh ! name it not, if you would not drive 
 me mad," said Arlington ; " I see,— I feel, — 
 all the wretchedness I have caused ; and dare 
 not contemplate it." 
 
 " Can you then hesitate," asked Lord Vava- 
 sour, " which you will doom to suffer ; — the 
 yomig and spotless girl, who looks on you as 
 her affianced husband, or the practised coquette, 
 who, spider like, has spun her web round you 
 until, like a helpless fly, you are entangled and 
 destroyed. If you had a particle of affection 
 for this worthless woman, you should have no 
 remonstrances from me, as I should consider 
 you unworthy of them ; but, seeing you are only 
 actuated by a misjudged sense of honour, I would 
 save you ere yet it be too late. Write to Lady 
 Walmer, and refer her to the letter you placed 
 in her hands, for a knowledge of your real sen-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. ^69 
 
 timents ; — as those sentiments were expressed 
 before she was compromised with her husband, 
 she cannot doubt their sincerity, or expect 
 that the detection, caused by her own impro- 
 priety, ought to produce any change in them. 
 She cannot, after such a letter, demand you 
 to fly with her, and, if she could, it would 
 prove her too selfish and unworthy to be enti- 
 tled even to pity." 
 
 Arlington's heart was so wholly devoted to 
 Lady Emily, that he was ready to adopt any 
 line of conduct consistent with honour, that 
 could preserve him the inestimable boon of 
 her hand. 
 
 He, therefore, sat down to write to Lady 
 Walmer, and with all the delicacy and genero- 
 sity he so eminently possessed, after explain- 
 ing his feelings, oiFered to divide his fortune 
 with her, nay, to lay the whole of it at her feet ; 
 but that the affection he entertained for an-
 
 270 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 other, as well as his religious and moral sen- 
 timents, must, for ever, preclude his giving her 
 his personal protection. 
 
 He had nearly concluded his letter, when a 
 courier arrived, bringing him the painful intelli- 
 gence of the sudden and dangerous illness of 
 his father, who was seized by severe indisposi- 
 tion at Boulogne, on his return from a visit to 
 the French capital, whence he was hurrying, to 
 be present at the nuptials of his son. 
 
 He hastily closed his letter, adding a line, 
 to state that he was setting off to join Lord 
 Heathei-iield ; and, having dispatched it, took an 
 affectionate, but agitated, leave of Lady Emily, 
 her father, and mother; and was, in half an 
 hour from the courier's reaching him, on his 
 route to Dover. 
 
 Lady Emily believed, that the agitation Ar- 
 lington had betrayed, in their interview in the 
 pleasure grounds, had been caused by his 
 anxiety about his parent, and his regret at their
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 271 
 
 approaching separation ; and her tenderness for 
 him was enhanced by this, as she considered it 
 new proof of his affection for her. 
 
 Lord Vavasour hoped, that she might never 
 learn the scene of the night before, and care- 
 fully concealed all knowledge of it from his 
 wife.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 " En ce qu'on appelle faiitaisie, amour, passion, on sait 
 d'ou Ton part, mais on ignore toujours ou Ton arrivera." 
 
 Soon after Lady Walmer had written, as 
 already stated, to Arlington, in looking for 
 something in her writing-case, the letter he had 
 put into her hand the night before, and which, 
 from the agitation she had ever since endured, 
 had escaped her recollection, now met her 
 view. She had thrown it into the writ- 
 ing-case, when Lord Walmer knocked at the 
 door, and, now, having recognised the writing, 
 she opened it. Rage, jealousy, wounded va-
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 273 
 
 nity, all rose up at the perusal of each line. 
 Had she then compromised herself for ever, 
 for a man who thought only of another, and 
 who avowed, even to her, the deep love that 
 other had inspired? Dreadful was the hurri- 
 cane of passion that now devastated the ill- 
 governed mind of this unhappy woman ; tears, 
 burning teaxs of anger and mortification, chased 
 each other in torrents down her cheeks, as she 
 mentally vowed that her innocent rival should 
 not triumph over her; and that, if she could 
 not conunand the affection of Ai'lington, she 
 would, at least, never relinquish the right which 
 she considered the detection of her misconduct, 
 gave her to his protection ; and with the base 
 selfishness, that belongs but to the weak and 
 the wicked, she determined to exact what she 
 now knew must be the most painful sacrifice from 
 him, namely, liis accompanying her to some 
 foreign land, where she hoped her shame might 
 remain umvitnessed, at least, by those who 
 
 N 5
 
 5;>74 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 had hitherto composed her world, and whose 
 altered looks she dared not encounter. 
 
 The opinion of that world had been the 
 ordeal by which Lady Walmer had always 
 guided her own conduct, and judged that of 
 others; the impropriety, or sinfulness of an 
 action had never been taken into considera- 
 tion, and her conscience had so long slum- 
 bered, that its powers had become inert, and 
 its whispers silenced. 
 
 What will the world think of it ? was the only 
 question that ever suggested itself to her mind ; 
 and her's was not a heart to be consoled by 
 conscious innocence. If the clique, she deno- 
 minated the world, chose to turn their backs 
 on her, — a measure she knew them too well 
 to doubt could not fail to occur, the moment 
 her husband cast her from him, — her reputa- 
 tion as a woman of honour, and fashion, — 
 terms not always synonymous, — was irre- 
 trievably lost; for she felt that Lord Walmer
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 275 
 
 would not hesitate to denounce lier. All 
 therefore, she could hope was, that in case of a 
 divorce, a sense of honour might induce Lord 
 Arlington to give her his name, and that in 
 a foreign land she might take that place in 
 society, whidi in England she could no longer 
 expect to fill. All feeHng of partiality for Ar- 
 lington was now obliterated from her heart, 
 because the vanity that governed that heart, 
 had been Vvounded by his preference for an- 
 other ; but, in proportion to her indifference for 
 him, became her fixed determination to attach 
 him to her for life, by throwing herself on his 
 generosity, and high — though perhaps, false, — 
 sense of honour ; and thus, attain the end 
 which love could never have accomphshed. 
 She conned over the scene which she meant to 
 enact when he arrived ; for of his arrival, she 
 allowed herself not to doubt, as she read over 
 and over again, the few lines he had placed on 
 her table, before leaving her dressing-room.
 
 276 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 in which he offered to share the misfortune 
 he had been the unwillmg cause of drawing 
 on her. 
 
 " I will never confess to him," said this 
 heartless, and coarse-mmded woman, " that I 
 have read the letter he brought to my door ; 
 I will pretend that in the agitation of the 
 moment, I threw it into the fire ; and when 
 he comes, I will affect to take for granted 
 that he still feels for me the same tenderness 
 he professed a few months ago." 
 
 It is shocldng to reflect to how many mean- 
 nesses, — nay, crimes, — ^\^anity may urge its vo- 
 taries : to have it made apparent to the world, 
 that Lord Arlington's affection for her had 
 triumphed over his engagement to the young 
 and beautiful Lady Emily, Lady Walmer 
 stooped to deception and artifice, and quelled 
 the angry feelings of her heart to enact the 
 part of a loving and ruined woman, who had 
 sacrificed all to affection.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 277 
 
 Calculating the time that Lord Arlington 
 would arrive, she made a studied toilette for 
 his reception. Her beautiful hair was suffered 
 to fall in confusion over the fair cheeks no 
 longer tinged by rouge; her lustrous eyes were 
 taught to assume a woe-fraught expression, 
 and her graceful person lost none of its deli- 
 cate proportions, in the elegant dishabille in 
 which it was attired. 
 
 Hour after hour passed, and still Arlington 
 arrived not; at length came the letter already 
 known to our readers, the perusal of which 
 threw Lady Walmer into paroxysms of rage 
 and despair. When the first ebullitions of 
 her anger were over, she gave instant orders 
 for post horses, and set out for Dover, pur- 
 suing her route night and day, in the hope 
 of overtaking Lord Arlington. Half dead with 
 fatigue, she arrived there, at seven o'clock in 
 the morning, and learned that the steam-packet 
 was to sail at ten. Ascertaining that Arlington 
 was not at the inn where she stopped, she 
 Vol, i. n 7 .
 
 ^78 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 sent to the other, and discovered that he had 
 arrived a few hours before, and was to em- 
 bark in the vessel to sail that day. Her 
 plans were instantly formed. She ordered a 
 passage to be secured for herself and servants; 
 and sent her carriage and luggage on board imme- 
 diately. Then, having in some degree refreshed 
 herself by a bath and an hour's repose, she left 
 the inn at the appointed time, enveloped in a 
 mantle and large shawl, her face concealed 
 by a deep bonnet and veil, and, leaning on 
 the arm of her femme de chambre, proceeded 
 to the pier. In a few minutes she saw Ar- 
 lington arrive, and she contrived to enter the 
 vessel the moment after he did. 
 
 Finding a lady close to him, without any 
 male assistant to hand her over the luggage 
 that impeded her steps, he ofiered her his 
 hand, and had only touched her's when she fell 
 into his arms fainting, or rather affecting to faint. 
 He supported her, and assisted to lift her veil
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. S79 
 
 to give her air, when to his horror and dis- 
 may, he recognised in the insensible form in 
 his arms, the woman he least expected, — 
 least desired, — to behold on earth. He felt 
 as if his destiny was sealed ; he turned with 
 loathing from her, and humanity alone pre- 
 vented his leaving her to the care of her 
 maid, and the few persons around who were 
 assisting her. She soon opened her eyes, and 
 fixing them on him, exclaimed, " The surprise, 
 — the joy was too much for me ; don't leave 
 me for a moment, dear Arlington, or I shall 
 expire." 
 
 He was supporting her to the cabin, when 
 he met Desbrow and his party ; the embrace 
 of Cecile, and the being mistaken for Lady 
 Emily, was too much for the exhausted frame 
 of Lady Walmer, and she now really suffered, 
 what she had before merely affected, a faintness 
 that nearly overcame her. 
 
 To paint the feelings of Arlington would be
 
 S80 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 impossible ; he saw that his presence with Lady 
 Walmer, under existing circumstances, must 
 stamp conviction on the minds of Desbrow 
 and his party, that she was under his protec- 
 tion, and must confirm every evil report re- 
 specting them. He knew that Mademoiselle 
 de Bethune was the confidential friend of 
 Lady Emily, and he felt the blush of shame 
 mount to his cheek when he thought of her, 
 and Lord Vavasour, hearing that he was thus 
 publicly appearing with the woman to whom, 
 only a few hours before, he had written to 
 bid an eternal farewell. Wlio would — who 
 could believe that the rencontre on board 
 the packet was totally unexpected on his 
 part? 
 
 All these thoughts passed tln^ough his mind, 
 filling it by turns, with anger, indignation, tmd 
 sorrow, as he sat in his carriage on deck, 
 having refused to attend to the thrice repeated
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 281 
 
 summons of Lady Walmer to descend to the 
 cabin. 
 
 Cecile remained on deck with her father, 
 her tearful eyes often cast back to the white 
 cliffs of England, where lay all her hopes, and 
 her reflections little interrupted by the ob- 
 servations of the comte, who lamented that 
 they had not sailed in one of the French 
 packets, as their superiority over the English, 
 in all respects, was, as he said, incontestible. 
 Luckily, his observations were expressed in 
 his native language, otherwise he would have 
 found many of those around disposed to con- 
 tradict, though incapable of convincing, him ; 
 he having made up his mind that every thing 
 French must be infinitely superior to every 
 tiling English, and as unalterably determined 
 never to conceal this liberal opinion. He 
 repeatedly assured Cecile, that the nautical 
 terms he heard passing around among the
 
 282 THE TY/0 FRIENDS. 
 
 sailors, were "barbarous, and grated on his ear ; 
 whereas in French, they were sonorous and 
 harmonious. 
 
 Cecile could not resist observing, that this 
 must arise from liis ignorance of the language, 
 for, as England had ever been mistress of the 
 sea, the maritime terms must be analogous to 
 the element to which they related. 
 
 She touched on a tender subject, for the 
 comte instantly and angrily told her, that he 
 denied, and should always deny, that her fa- 
 vourite nation were masters of the sea, as the 
 French were always as ready to dispute the 
 English rule over that wide domain, as they 
 had ever been to meet them on the land, 
 where the prov/ess of his countrymen had 
 gained them such unequalled and undeniable 
 renovni. 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 E. LOWr, TLAYHOUSE YARD, CLACKFRIARS.
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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