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 THE TUTOR'S WAED.
 
 THE TUTOR'S WARD 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 WAYFARING SKETCHES," " USE AND ABUSE," ETC. 
 
 "Implora eterna pace." 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREKT. 
 1851.
 
 PRINTED BY HARRISON AND SON, 
 
 t.ONDON GAZETTE OFFICE, ST. MAKTIN's LANK; 
 
 AND 
 
 OKCHAEn STRKKT, WKSTMI^STEK.
 
 8£3 
 
 THE TUTOR'S WARD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The life of almost every human being is 
 governed by one master thought — the life, 
 we say, of human beings, not human 
 : vegetables, of which many flourish in our 
 soil, making a very goodly show, notwith- 
 standing their respectable unconsciousness 
 of all but their material existence. Every 
 thinking mortal has a sovereign thought, to 
 which all others are subservient. Some- 
 times its nature causes it to be as a guardian 
 angel to the man, one that walks, serene 
 and bright, side by side with his soul 
 through the tempests and the turmoil of 
 life ; on through the dark valley where the 
 
 VOL. I, B
 
 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 great shadow lies, and beyond it, perhaps, 
 where our eyes follow not. 
 
 Sometimes its mission seems to be that 
 of a demon, and its foul presence follows 
 the spirit through the glittering joys and 
 the sunshine of life on to the dark valley — 
 and — with what a dread power beyond it, 
 perhaps I 
 
 Now, the thought which had ruled the 
 life and soul of John Forde for many years 
 past, looked very like an angel, not only 
 long ago when it was clothed with the 
 beauty and brightness of hope, but even 
 now when it came in its mourning gar- 
 ments to brood over his heart that was as 
 the grave of a dream long dead. It was 
 angel-like still — for what is so bridit or 
 so fair of all the fair things of earth, as 
 sweet human love ? and it was all the more 
 lovely to his soul that it had been so vain. 
 We know how much more beautiful in death 
 the treasures seem to grow which we have 
 cherished for their living beauty. Yes, the 
 deep love which was the master thought of
 
 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 Ms existence, had ever seemed to him an 
 angel, but had he looked a little closer, he 
 would have found that the demon's mark 
 was upon it — for had it not taken his life 
 and made it as sad, and useless, and aimless 
 as though it were a gift but given to be 
 squandered awaj ; and had it not absorbed 
 every higher faculty, and feeling, and desire 
 of his mind so entirely, that he lived exactly 
 like a man who had never heard that there 
 was any other world than this, or any other 
 existence save that which was passing for 
 him in such a dull, cold apathy. 
 
 What a strange, dreamy-looking indivi- 
 dual he seemed as he sat there gazing in- 
 tently on the fire which he had forgotten to 
 replenish, and watching how the flame ap- 
 peared to feed even upon the ashes. There 
 was a strong likeness between himself and 
 his Newfoundland dog, who was also en- 
 gaged in a meditative manner in looking at 
 the dying embers ; the expression and the 
 colour of their eyes was at least precisely 
 the same, and the resemblance was height-
 
 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 ened by the long, black hair which hung in 
 much disorder round John Forde's plain, 
 but not inexpressive, countenance. 
 
 He was yerj tall and ungainly, his great 
 ill-shaped hands and feet seemed not to fit 
 him properly, and his head was set uncom- 
 fortably on his shoulders. He was wont to 
 go about the world as if he could not con- 
 ceiye for what reason he had been brought 
 into it. He lived quite alone, holding no 
 intercourse with any one, and seeking the 
 acquaintance of none : to all appearance he 
 had no occupation whatever, and he seemed 
 always half asleep. In reality, however, he 
 had a most engrossing employment, which 
 absorbed him entirely. From morning till 
 night did he sit day-dreaming, weaving 
 golden visions of an impossible joy — none 
 knew better than himself how impossible it 
 ^as ; but that bright ideal was all that 
 life could give him of happiness now, and 
 he learnt to lose himself in these glowing 
 fancies so completely, that he had well 
 nigh forgotten the truth of his existence.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 The reality was cold and objectless and 
 dark, for lie had known no other sunshine 
 save the light of one sweet smile, and that 
 had passed away, and therefore he ever 
 fled from it to (the visionary world he had 
 made, where he could call back that va- 
 nished brightness from the far vista of the 
 past, and in the inner chambers of his soul 
 he had built, as it were, a dwelling for the 
 fair image which was his idol, and there 
 night and day he communed with her. 
 
 It was strange to what an extent his 
 abstraction from the things of sense had 
 arrived ; he was scarce conscious of external 
 circumstances, and long habit had so in- 
 creased his power of imagination, that he 
 would carry on the same series of ideal 
 scenes for days together, living over again 
 in his dreams by night what he fancied in 
 his visions of the day, and only waking 
 from them to give a sort of sobbing sigh 
 for their untruth, and then straightway 
 relapsing into their false enchantment. 
 
 He had lived for the last ten years in his
 
 6 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 present abode, wliicli was a small and com- 
 fortable bouse, placed in one of tbe quietest 
 streets in London. It bad come into his 
 possession, along witb a moderate fortune 
 wbicb be bad inherited from an uncle, 
 whose death bad thns rendered him inde- 
 pendent, and had saved him from the life 
 of toil and drudgery to which be seemed 
 destined. 
 
 Preyiouslj to this event, John Forde had 
 been private tutor in a family of much 
 respectability. 
 
 The night was chill and dark, for it was 
 late in the month of October, and wild gusts of 
 wind and rain drove past the windows, whilst 
 the decaying light upon the hearth served 
 only to render tbe room more cheerless ; but 
 although tbe great dog occasionally looked 
 wistfully round when the blast howled with 
 increasing violence, John Forde seemed un- 
 conscious of all that was passing ; his bodily 
 presence was there, but his soul was far 
 away. The song of summer birds was in his 
 ears, the scent of summer flowers in the air,
 
 THE TUTORS WAED. 7 
 
 the light of a laughing eye was shining on 
 his spirit, and his heart was beating high 
 with the ardour of a long-departed youth. 
 An old, well-worn Latin Grammar lay open 
 on his knees, and from its pages he had beea 
 gleaning with the strange power of associa- 
 tion many a record of the bright days when 
 he had studied that same book with his 
 young pupil ; now in the deepening shadow 
 the lines had grown indistinct, and he had 
 abandoned himself to a fair vision where 
 she who had looked with him upon those 
 pages was seated by his side once more, and 
 the holy bonds of an indissoluble union had 
 melted avray in his day-dream as though 
 they had neyer been, while the wife and 
 mother listened as a young girl, fancy free, 
 to his own pleading voice. 
 
 Suddenly, as he sat there, the bell of the 
 outer door was rung, apparently by an im- 
 patient hand; for it sent a quick, sharp peal 
 through the house. John started involun- 
 tarily; he had literally not a friend in the 
 world, so far as he knew at least, and it was
 
 8 THE tutor's WAED. 
 
 an unusual liour for any tradesman to have 
 left his home. He did not more, however: 
 it could be nothing to interest him, for whom 
 life had no interest, and he listened quietlj. 
 He heard the door opened ; — after a few- 
 minutes' parley, in which he distiuguished 
 only his servant's voice, it closed again ; and 
 then there came a sound of steps upon the 
 stair : they fell heavily, but rapid and hurried, 
 as of one upon an urgent errand, yet at in- 
 tervals they ceased entirely, as though the 
 person were unable to proceed. 
 
 What was there in that step, so heavy and 
 uncertain, that brought back to him with 
 vivid startling power the remembrance of a 
 day — one of the gladdest in his life — when 
 bounding along the green grass with feet 
 light as the fleetest fawn, he had seen a bright 
 form come dancing towards him, and the 
 sweet ringing voice that now for ever was 
 echoing deep in his soul, called him gaily to 
 come with her far into the woods, where she 
 feared to stray alone? What was there in 
 the footfall on the stairs that night which
 
 THE TUTORS WARD. 9 
 
 made him think of this *? — why did he grow 
 pale, and shiver from head to foot, as though 
 something unearthly were at hand'? 
 
 His hands grasped the table for support ; 
 his head turned round mechanically, his eyes 
 fixed themselves upon the door ; some one 
 had paused behind it; he could hear the 
 quick breathing, the deep-drawn sigh, as if 
 the person were utterly exhausted; a hand 
 was placed upon the lock; he verily ex- 
 pected to see a ghost come in, and was it 
 not a ghost which entered'? The ghost of 
 youth, and hope, and beauty, the ghost of a 
 life that had been so full of promise, and 
 now was perishing in such dark night. It 
 was a woman of some thirty years of age. 
 She looked as if she had just arisen from her 
 dying bed ; and so in truth she had. Her 
 face was ghastly livid, the fever spot burning 
 on her cheek, and the cold dew gathering on 
 her brow. It seemed extraordinary that she 
 should have had strength to come there. 
 She had been beautiful — how beautiful the 
 throbbing heart of poor John Forde could
 
 10 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 best have told, but it was all gone now. The 
 large ejes were sunk in their hollow cavities, 
 the features so thin and sharp, the mouth so 
 drawn and distorted with continued pain. 
 
 Yet he knew her at once. It was more 
 than ten years since he had looked upon that 
 face, but still had he not seen it in his 
 dreams every day, nay, every hourl He 
 saw no change in her; he only felt it was 
 herself; he saw not that some terrible disease 
 was killing her — that some strange event 
 must have brought her there at such an 
 hour — that some great agony must have 
 nerved her to leave her couch of sickness 
 and come hither through the dark night with 
 the tempest raging round her; he thought 
 nothing of all this ; he forgot all, save that he 
 saw before him the living reality of that fair 
 image which was the star of all his visions. 
 
 He forgot who she was, and what he was 
 himself, and all the changes which these 
 ten years had wrought for her, if not for 
 him. He forgot that his dreams were 
 dreams, and he thought that the truth had
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 11 
 
 been a falsity, and that his own dear 
 falsehood was the truth. He thought that 
 she had come to realize it all now, to 
 reward him for his deep, long, patient love ; 
 he wondered he had never seen it must 
 end thus, and that none could love so well 
 and be for ever hated, — his heart grew 
 faint with joj, he stretched out his trem- 
 bling hands towards her, his voice faltered 
 like that of a child when it proffers some 
 request which it desires intensely — but he 
 murmured only, " Millicent, my Millicent, 
 have you come at last V 
 
 And she answered with her sobs, deep, 
 bursting sobs, that seemed as if they would 
 have carried away the little life that still 
 was lingering in her sinking frame. She 
 wept for that faithful love, so despised and 
 so rejected — for her own past scorn in the 
 pride of her happiness. She wept for the 
 days that were to come no more, when her 
 heart was so full of hope she had no 
 thought for his despair, when the love she 
 had chosen from the many hearts offered to
 
 13 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 her seemed so pure and so true ; she wept for 
 the memories that crowded upon her — how 
 she stood a happy bride and cared nought 
 for his anguish — and no\Y, like the stricken 
 bird with the Yulture pursuing, she came 
 mourning to him for pity and help. Oh, 
 her youth and her bloom, her hope and 
 her joy, where were they ! The friends that 
 were round her had vanished away, and 
 the husband that was more than the world 
 together, what had he become ! She wept 
 so bitterly she could not stand, — all this 
 time she had held in her arms a child, who 
 was peacefully sleeping, — she staggered 
 towards a sofa, and laid it down ; when 
 he saw her movement, he thought that 
 she was going to leave him, that, as she 
 had ever done in the unreal visions where 
 he had dwelt with her, she was about to 
 pass suddenly from before his eyes, and 
 abandon him to his waking reality of hope- 
 less solitude. 
 
 He bounded towards her, but his feet 
 were powerless to support him, so bewil-
 
 THE tutor's ward. 13 
 
 dered and overcome was he witli intense 
 emotion ; he fell down, and grasping her 
 dress, he clung to it as an infant terrified 
 to be left alone in the darkness clings to 
 a mother's hand ; — truly, it is a very awful 
 thing, as well as a deadly sin, for an 
 immortal soul to deliver up its whole self 
 to such love as this for any earthly being. 
 
 " Do not leave me I" he gasped out. 
 " Oh, you know not what days and nights 
 I have passed waiting for this hour — you 
 know not the chill and the gloom of this 
 world without you. I deserve that you 
 should stay with me, if ever patient, long- 
 ing, and bitter watching by the grave of 
 the past where your image lay entombed, 
 and such faithfulness of heart as chose this 
 solitude with one deep thought of you, 
 rather than all the pleasures life could give, 
 deserved compassion ! Do not leave me ! 
 It cannot be that any human heart should 
 be so cruel as thus to come and thus to 
 pass away.'' His words were incoherent, 
 as he poured forth his entreaties, but
 
 14 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 still with his clinging hands he held her 
 frantically. 
 
 She bent over him with a look intensely 
 mournful, and murmured soothingly, " My 
 230or John — my poor, faithful friend !" 
 
 She did not remember that once before 
 she had uttered these words in his hearing, 
 these very words. It was on the morning 
 of her wedding day ; — as she came down the 
 stairs in her bridal dress to enter the carriage 
 that was to take her to the church, — her eye 
 caught a glimpse of the pale, tear-stained 
 face of the poor, despised tutor, whose mad 
 and pertinacious attachment to herself had 
 hitherto only called forth her scorn and even 
 ridicule. He was cowering down amongst 
 the crowd of servants and dependants who 
 had assembled to see her pass ; he had hid 
 himself behind them, that, unnoticed in this 
 his bitter hour, he might look for the last 
 time on the face of his worshipped idol — 
 his worshipped idol! What words are these 
 to be used from human clay to human clay ! 
 Who shall say what judgment they will not
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 15 
 
 call down 1 who shall say what curse thej 
 will not carry on to the third or fourth 
 generation 1 yet will any affirm that no 
 such feeling was ever cherished for a fellow 
 mortal 1 Let men look to it who would so 
 scorn the making of graven images and the 
 exalting of carved idols to worship them ! — 
 let them look to it whether the love of any 
 earthly thing hath not set itself up supreme 
 in their affections, so that their spirit bows 
 before it, forgetting all other adoration. 
 
 He was there shivering from head to foot, 
 his hands clasped tightly over his heaving 
 breast, his head bent forward, and his eyes, 
 through gushing tears, fixing on the young 
 bride their most wistful gaze; for the first 
 time she was touched. She had ever treated 
 him with the utmost haughtiness and con- 
 tempt, but she could not look unmoved on 
 this extremity of anguish. Perhaps some 
 sympathetic chord was wakened by the latent 
 power of suiFering not yet developed in her 
 own young heart; but whatever prompted 
 her, as she passed him walking over the
 
 16 THE TUTOE's ward. 
 
 flowers the J bad strewn beneath her feet, she 
 held out her band to bioi, and said, " Mj 
 poor John — mj poor faithful friend." He 
 could not touch her hand, he trembled too 
 much ; so she passed on, and be saw her face 
 no more ; but the words rang on his ears with 
 an indestructible sound ; thej had lived with 
 him through these ten long years ; he had 
 heard them in his dreams last night, and 
 now he heard them again in actual reality. 
 
 They brought back the truth to his 
 bewildered mind ; the mists and the clouds 
 which his long habit of visionary life had 
 gathered on his spirit, seemed to clear away 
 as that voice came sounding on his ear ; 
 the utter confusion which her sudden ap- 
 pearance had caused in his thoughts, passed 
 suddenly from him. He knew and remem- 
 bered all. He raised himself up, and with a 
 shaking hand brushed the tears from his 
 eyes, and then he looked on her ; he saw and 
 understood who she was. These many years 
 she had been the wife of another man, of 
 one whom she had loved as he loved her !
 
 THE tutor's ward. 17 
 
 and jet more, — had none other ever come to 
 gain the precious gift of her dear love, it 
 had availed him nothing. Those conven- 
 tional, unrighteous laws which men have 
 made as barriers, raised to ward off from 
 them their kind, had placed a gulf between 
 the proud, beautiful heiress and himself. 
 He knew and felt it all ; he had boldlj won 
 her to himself in his sweet dreams ; he had 
 chosen to forget that ever she was other 
 than the fair, joung girl of his early days, 
 but in actual life he knew how it must be — 
 the requirements of the world's code of 
 virtues exacted from him an outward con- 
 formity to the circumstances of their out- 
 ward position ; this it required, that in ap- 
 pearance he should seek no part in the 
 existence of that wedded wife, but with 
 this much it would be well content ; — it 
 would ask no reason of a ten years' longing 
 for an unpermitted lot, of a ten years' 
 coveting of a happiness denied ; of a ten 
 years' cherishing of an unauthorized affec- 
 tion. It was enough if, in the sight of men, 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 he had resigned himself to his appointed 
 destiny ; if outwardly he had made no mur- 
 muring for the treasure taken from him ; 
 if he had never so much as sought to look 
 again on that which never could be his ; not 
 only would men say this was enough, but 
 they would talk with admiration, possibly, 
 of his long, patient, silent, hopeless love. 
 They would say it was a noble thing to see 
 how true a human heart could be, how con- 
 stant, even in despair ! Oh, false teaching 
 of a most unholy world ! And was the 
 love permitted '^ And what availed the 
 conformity of outward seeming when the 
 heart was thus rebellious ; and because John 
 Forde had never breathed a word or moved 
 a step to gain the idol of his life, was it 
 less in him a heavy sin so to crave for a 
 happiness refused, and not alone refused by 
 distinct and high decree, but made a thing 
 he had no right to crave for ? and because 
 he was so patient and so humble, and so 
 quiet, was he less an arrogant, presump- 
 tuous rebel who gave the soul and heart
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 1^ 
 
 that should have worshipped nought on 
 earth, to be an offering to such human dust! 
 Ah ! that fair outward veil of a world's 
 virtue — veiling what hideousness ! — it may 
 serve right well to clothe the flesh until we 
 reach the grave-door, but there, where the 
 flesh itself must be stripped off', woe to the 
 soul that has no better garment for the 
 covering of its unholiness than this ! But 
 John Forde remembered with the words she 
 had uttered, what the Millicent of his early 
 love was to him in the world's sight, and 
 mechanically he drew back and murmured, 
 hesitatingly, "Mrs. Grey/' 
 
 She sighed heavily. " Yes, it is even so, 
 it is I — myself; but the hour is passing, 
 and my time is short, how short, alas ! alas ! 
 in every way. I came here with an earnest 
 purpose, and it must be fulfilled, and I have 
 little strength, and much, so much to say ; 
 will you listen, patiently, my good, dear 
 John, as in that happy, olden time 1" 
 
 "Oh, Millicent, Millicent!" he said, and 
 trembled violently. 
 
 2
 
 20 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " Do you remember," she went on, mih. a 
 smile more sad than ever dying sunbeam on 
 a fading autumn sky, " you called me your 
 queen in those bright days ! and all I ever 
 wished for was done by you, almost before 
 I knew my own thoughts had desired it/' 
 
 "And so it shall be still," he said. "All 
 that I was to you when we last met, I still 
 must be, not now alone, but ever while I 
 live and breathe. I am unchanged, most 
 miserable that I am, unchanged I " 
 
 " I knew it," she answered, sadly ; 
 " some instinct told me so, but I must tell 
 you why I came, and my strength is failing. 
 There is One waiting for me who will admit 
 of no delay. And Death himself must not 
 stop the words upon my lips till you have 
 heard my one petition and granted it, if for 
 the dying woman you indeed can feel what 
 once was felt for the blooming girl ; sit 
 there," she continued, " and I must be at 
 your feet, for I am come a suppliant." 
 
 He took the chair to which she pointed, 
 apparently scarce knowing what he did, for
 
 THE tutor's ward. 21 
 
 he was stunned bj the events of the last 
 half hour, and truly such an interview, 
 breaking in upon the solitude and silence of 
 so many years, might well have bewildered 
 a stronger mind than his ; he seemed now 
 to have no power but to look upon her face 
 and listen to her voice. She took a low 
 seat and placed herself upon it at his feet.
 
 22 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The firelight gleamed on the face of the 
 dying woman as she sat there, and showed 
 how yerj near death she really was. She 
 had fortified herself with some powerful 
 stimulant for this exertion, but it was clear 
 that its efi*ect would not last long ; she 
 had taken ofi" her bonnet, and her hair 
 falling loosely round her denoted that she 
 had risen in much haste from her sick bed. 
 The large cloak with which she had sought 
 to screen herself from the wind and rain 
 was of some coarse material, evidently
 
 THE tutor's ward. 23 
 
 chosen as a disguise ; she held it with one 
 hand folded over her breast, that rose and 
 fell with the convulsive heavings of fever. 
 What a contrast she was to the bright and 
 joyous bride John Forde last recollected 
 her ! Then she stood so radiant and so 
 blooming in her fair white robes, on the 
 threshold of a life of promise, with sunny 
 hope and joy as handmaids at her side, — 
 now she stood on the threshold of another 
 life unto whose promise she dared not 
 look, and her attendants were in mourning 
 garments — deep penitence and deep re- 
 morse. 
 
 She sat leaning her head on her hand, 
 looking up into his face with her mournful 
 eyes — mournful as are only the eyes of the 
 dying, or of those who, living, weep that 
 they have not died more utterly to all the 
 evil they abhor. The sight of John Forde 
 seemed to have recalled so many memories 
 of her happy youth, that when she spoke 
 it was musingly, as though she were but 
 communing with hqrself.
 
 24 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " How true it has all prored, how 
 strangely, sadly true — your words have 
 proved, dear father ! You said we had 
 no right to take our life into oui' own 
 hands and say, * I am free ; I will make 
 of it what I please. I will play what 
 game with it I will — it is for myself alone. 
 I will seek happiness in my own way, and 
 if I fail I alone shall suffer/ You said, 
 one might perhaps with impunity risk 
 suffering, but not sin, — and I risked both 
 and have escaped from neither ; poor 
 father, you strove to struggle then with 
 my heart's deep love — you might as well 
 have striven to fathom or to stem the wild 
 waters of the sea. You said that noble, 
 talented, fair to all eyes, as was my lover, 
 William Grey, it never would prosper me 
 to be his wife ; for that he was one who 
 scoffed at holy things, who only sought 
 to drink deep draughts of this life's pleasure, 
 w^hose heart was full of idols— and himself 
 unto himself the chief. You said that 
 none could touch the burning flame and
 
 THE tutoe's ward. 25 
 
 be unscathed — none be wedded to corruption 
 and remain unsullied ; and I said that 
 because be scoiFed I need not scoff — because 
 be sinned I need not sin — but rather I 
 would lead him right. Alas, alas ! and 
 where has he led me V' She bowed her 
 head upon her hands for a few minutes, and 
 then suddenly looked up. 
 
 " John, I would not have you think I 
 love him, my husband, less than in that 
 hour when I told my poor, fond father, 
 in all the pride of my rebellious, selfish 
 will, that I would be his wife, or never 
 that of mortal man. No, I will say, as 
 you said even now, I am unchanged, most 
 miserable that I am, unchanged ; nor yet 
 would I have you think he led me wilfully 
 to any evil. My outward life has been 
 unstained and bright ; the world will tell 
 you I have been a blameless wife and 
 mother, most assiduous in my little pleasing 
 duties, most courteous, most benevolent ; 
 and it is very true — I have been all 
 this, and more — I never injured any, I
 
 26 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 have striven to relieve and comfort some ; 
 I never murmured when he slighted and 
 neglected me ; but if jou would know the 
 crime for which I suffer now in bitter 
 penitence, it was but this — I forgot there 
 was a heaven or a hell. He loved the 
 world so fondly, he taught me to love it 
 fondly too ; and it is a jealous world, it 
 must have the whole heart or none at all — 
 it had all mine ! He arranged our plan 
 of life, that it should be one ever varying 
 scene of pleasure and amusement. We 
 had wealth at our command, surrounding 
 us with every luxury, making us forget 
 that there was suffering] or evil anywhere. 
 Ah, that prosperity, how terrible a snare 
 it is !" 
 
 She had spoken these last sentences in 
 a dreamy, musing tone, rolling herself to 
 and fro as if in pain, and John Forde sat 
 listening to her with large tears, of which 
 he was all unconscious, stealing down his 
 cheeks ; her voice was so very sad, so like 
 to the rise and fall of the sighing wind on
 
 THE tutor's ward. 2? 
 
 a dreary night, none could have heard it un- 
 moved — how far less could he ! Suddenly 
 the little child who lay sleeping on the sofa, 
 moved in its slumber, and slightly moaned. 
 
 The mother started at the sound, as if a 
 voice had called her angrily ; her pale cheek 
 crimsoned ; her eye sparkled with a sudden 
 energy ; she clasped her hands like one who 
 asks forgiveness. 
 
 " My child, my child ! that any thought 
 of other days, that any memory of departed 
 hope, sweet though it be, should lead me to 
 forget how on this hour hangs your whole 
 life's destiny ! Alas, to think that one 
 could be so weak as thus to sit dreaming by 
 the side of her own yawning grave !" She 
 turned and raised herself so that she was 
 almost kneeling before him. 
 
 "John, I need not tell you that I am 
 sinking under a mortal disease — that the 
 grasp of death is tightening on my heart 
 most rapidly — that a few days must ter- 
 minate my life. It is therefore the petition 
 of a dying woman that I beseech of you to
 
 28 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 grant — of one who never will live to ask 
 another. Listen, then, while I tell you 
 briefly, as those must speak for whom the 
 worms await, what is my heart's desire — the 
 desire you alone can grant. To explain it, 
 you must know that my husband, not con- 
 tent with luxury and dissipation, and a life 
 wherein no master was acknowledged but 
 his own corrupt and lawless will, soon passed 
 to deeper shades of crime. There is no 
 standing still, no passive inaction for the 
 soul! On, on, by the steep ascent and the 
 toilsome path, from a longing after purity 
 unto the purity itself, or downward by the 
 smooth alluring way from indifference to 
 forgetfulness, from forgetfulness to hate ; and 
 it was so Avith him. He hates now all that 
 is not evil. Gambling, revelry, and the 
 allurements of sin in every shape, have 
 gotten him in their possession. My house 
 from day to day is filled with those who live 
 but for the pleasures of the world ; and 
 there is one among them with a face as fair 
 as her hidden soul is black, to whom he will
 
 THE tutor's ward. 29 
 
 give mj place when I am gone. I know it — 
 know it well." She bowed her head, and 
 the deep sobs burst forth again ; but soon 
 driving back the burning tears, she went on: 
 " I took pleasure in that society ; I made 
 my joy and my delight in that brilliant life 
 of gaiety for many years ; I never thought 
 of looking what depths might be beneath 
 that sparkling surface ; I never thought of 
 saying to my spirit, Is all well with thee '? 
 art thou ready when the dark-winged angel 
 comes ? But at last he did come whose 
 office is to strip the covering of beauty from 
 all deceitful things. Death came, and then 
 I learnt to know what I had been so long, 
 and am. I must not tell you of myself — 
 he leaves me not the time. I must not tell 
 you all that I would give to stand once more 
 beside you as I stood upon my wedding 
 morning, a bride, not yet a wife ; knowing so 
 little evil, an innocent girl in an honourable, 
 quiet home, with that good old father ward- 
 ing off unhallowed things. Plow would I 
 tear away the bridal veil, and fling aside the
 
 30 ^HE tutor's ward. 
 
 bridal robe, and betake me to the sackcloth 
 and the ashes, if beneath them I could keep 
 mj heart in purity. No, I must tell jou 
 only of one deep thought that came as it 
 were hand in hand with death, and that has 
 eaten into my very soul since then. It is 
 for my child — my little angel child — pure 
 as the stainless lily, guileless and sportive as 
 the tender lamb — it is for her — that she 
 may never, never live as I have lived, and 
 never come to be what I now am. But I 
 am dying. Who will watch her? — who will 
 guard her? — who will save her — save her 
 from her father ! — yes, from him ! Do you 
 know what he once said ? It was one day 
 after I knew that I was going fast where the 
 soul can make to itself no fair deception, 
 that suddenly my love for him, unquench- 
 able, came swelling so strongly through my 
 heart, I could not bear that he should risk 
 such perishing, and I flung my arms round 
 him, and besought him, with many an im.- 
 ploring word and truthful argument, to think 
 on all that was to come ; but oh ! with what
 
 THE tutor's ward. 31 
 
 bitter anger did he fling me from him, and 
 ask if I were mad, to speak such hateful follj 
 in his ears ; and then — he well knew how best 
 to be revenged on me. He took my child, my 
 little child, and held her in his arms, as 
 though for a witness to his oath, and 
 swore that in her, at least, he would have 
 no canting hypocrite, that she should never 
 so much as hear the things that were so 
 odious to him. A merry life should she 
 lead — no fear of aught before her eyes ! 
 And she to whom he will give my place 
 when I am gone, she, too, was there, and 
 said, with such a smile, it were well, in 
 truth, for once to educate a child free from 
 the foolish trammels and the needless 
 burden of a faith and a required duty; — 
 and I helpless in my shroud, what should 
 Idol 
 
 " Oh, John, dear John, my agony was 
 very great for many days, and then the 
 thought of you came like a sunbeam to 
 my soul — of you, my faithful, truest friend ; 
 for you must save her, you must take her,
 
 32 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 jou must guard her from her father. Yes, 
 mj child must be stolen from her father ; 
 there is no other means. Whole days and 
 nights I have lain and thought upon it, 
 racking my yerj soul to find a method of 
 escape for her — and there is none save 
 this. I know not if it be not in itself a 
 crime to steal a child from its survivins: 
 parent — I have no power now to discern 
 between right and wrong; I only know 
 slie must not stay with him, he would 
 fulfil his impious oath! for his soul's ease 
 he would, — that none might ever warn him. 
 Oh, she must not stay with him ; she must 
 never breathe the atmosj^here of that 
 unhappy house, my most unhallowed home ; 
 she must be taken now in her young 
 innocence, and reared as the spotless 
 snowdrop in some hidden nook, where no 
 polluting breath shall ever stain my snow- 
 white flower ; and you must take her, John, 
 dear John, — there is none other who could 
 conceal her from her father. I have 
 arranged it all — you shall have no trouble
 
 THE tutor's ward. 33 
 
 — my fortune is secured to her — and I will 
 leave a letter for her aunt, a letter to be 
 given when I am buried, — for none refuse 
 the dead who cry to them, — telling her all 
 the truth, and praying her to watch, though 
 at a distance, over my sweet child, and never 
 to reveal her residence until her father's 
 death — then she will take her from you, 
 John, and you shall be free again, — only 
 that my spirit will continue still to bless 
 you. Oh, I scarce can speak with the 
 intensity of my desire ; say that you will 
 grant my prayer, dear John, my dying 
 prayer, speak peace to my poor aching 
 heart ; you know not how I love that 
 child. They say the dead will rest whatever 
 be ; I think that I could rest whatever 
 passed on earth, excepting it were that 
 little one in danger. Ah, tempt me not 
 to take her witli me, to brand my soul 
 undying with the stain of murder, and 
 thus to save hers from contamination; 
 tempt me not to this, but take her, take 
 her now this night — to-morrow, go with 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 her across the sea, to some far distant 
 country, where her father and her father's 
 wife shall never hear of her. There guard 
 her in innocence, in holiness, in peace, and 
 such blessings as a mother's heart alone 
 could conceive in recompense shall, with 
 jnj dying breath, be yours/' 
 
 She had spoken with such exceeding 
 vehemence, her abrupt and rapid utterance 
 had gained such energy from the fever 
 raging in her veins, that now the false 
 strength went from her utterly: she sank 
 down breathless, panting, and exhausted. 
 
 As for John Forde, his whole frame was 
 shaking with emotion ; that she should 
 have been so wretched, that she should 
 come praying to him for succour, that 
 she should doubt his willingness to die for 
 her — all these thoughts filled his heart to 
 bursting, and he could not speak. At 
 length she lifted up her face ; slie knew 
 not what his silence meant, and the anguish 
 of suspense was most unbearable. Her 
 countenance showed that the exertions of
 
 THE tutor's ward. 35 
 
 tliis niglit liad greatly shortened lier brief 
 remaining life ; her ejes had brightened as 
 though all the soul had gathered there, but 
 the pale lips could scarcely articulate. 
 
 " Speak — say — will you — will you grant 
 my prayer, and save my child 1'^ She 
 joined her hands, and lifted them in sup- 
 plication ; " for the sake of the dear love 
 wherewith you loved me in brighter 
 days 1" 
 
 The look which he gave her was in- 
 describable ; there was in it such a world 
 of unutterable affection, of mournful re- 
 proach, of anguish for her suffering mosc 
 intense, but because of the very depth and 
 strength of the feelings struggling in his 
 heart, his answer was very simple, " Are 
 you not, Millicent V^ 
 
 It was enough, quite enough ; she rose at 
 once, and going to the sofa she knelt down 
 beside her child and laid her pale brow, 
 damp with the dews of death, upon the 
 little, soft hands folded in that sleep of 
 guilelessness ; and then no sound was heard 
 
 J> 2
 
 36 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 save the infant's gentle breathing, that 
 sounded not as if this life could ever make 
 it swell out to a bitter sigh. When she 
 rose she was very calm, but spent and worn, 
 she spoke with difficulty. 
 
 " I am so feeble, I think death is at 
 hand, and the little strength I have, must 
 now be given to take me home ; they must 
 not know I ever left it. I said I would be 
 alone, that I wished to sleep a few hours 
 quietly; I bade them come again at midnight, 
 and so they went, and I stole softly out and 
 came on wandering hither. Thankful I am 
 I came to find such peace — oh, thankful as 
 no words can say ; but now I must return, 
 that they may find me when they come — 
 her they will not find, and never shall. Oh, 
 joy unspeakable ! — Her old nurse is below, a 
 faithful creature, whom I trust entirely ; she 
 loves me well, and she will go with you 
 wherever you may take my child. She 
 will tell you all, better far than I can now. 
 My words must be few, for he is devouring 
 the breath upon my lips ; say once again.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 37 
 
 dear John, that you will take her from this 
 city and this land to-morrow." 
 
 And he answered at once, " To-morrow !" 
 but as he saw her raise those eyes so peace- 
 ful, now that they were beautiful once more, 
 with a long, fixed gaze of thankfulness, and 
 then move slowly to depart, he suddenly 
 rose with convulsiye energy from his place. 
 His breath came thick and fast from his 
 labouring chest, his eyes were wild with 
 their look of terror. The concentrated 
 anguish of that moment could scarcely find 
 vent in words ; he only said, '' Millicent, do 
 not go," but he grasped her arm at the 
 same time with a strength of which he was 
 unconscious. She saw at once, that unless she 
 had power to overcome his overwhelming 
 emotion, a scene would ensue which must 
 kill her; gently she took his hand, calmly 
 she looked into his face, and the mild gaze 
 of her dear eyes soothed him. Softly she 
 spoke in a low, sweet voice, " John, I know 
 it is a sad thing for you that I should go, 
 very sad that I should die, but you have
 
 Sa THE tutor's ward. 
 
 deepest comfort in knowing how strangelj 
 Lapp J you liave made that death, and you 
 can make it happier still, you can brighten 
 yet more the dark way for me — you will, I 
 know you will, when I have told you how. 
 Dear John, when we last parted I went 
 with a smile and you with tears, and often 
 since, those tears of yours have fallen on my 
 spirit very bitterly; their recollection filled 
 me with remorse, and now, to-night, I have 
 wept many such, and your kind hand has 
 wiped them all away ; let me see you smile 
 then as I go forth. Let me think no more 
 with vain regret upon your bitter weeping 
 for my scorn and cruel neglect ; let me 
 carry with me the remembrance of your 
 smile, because to-day I have acknowledged 
 all your faithfulness and truth, and thanked 
 and blessed you for it ; it will lighten the 
 shadows deepening round me in mysterious 
 gloom, if I can remember the last look of 
 your face in gladness. Smile on me, good, 
 dear John, and so shall be our kind fare- 
 well.^'
 
 THE tutor's ward. 39 
 
 He had never disobeyed her, nor did he 
 now, but there are no words to saj what 
 that obedience cost him. He looked on 
 her and smiled; her own face brightened 
 strangely as she met his gaze — she stooped 
 till her cold lips touched his hand, then 
 pointed to the sleeping child, and so going 
 forth she left them both and went her way. 
 He never looked upon her face again.
 
 40 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A summer's evening in Provence — what 
 a bright, sweet vision these words bring up 
 before the memory of those who know that 
 smiling land ! such a breathless, cloudless 
 beauty over earth and sky, such a softness 
 in the breeze that steals along, wandering 
 to find the orange flowers and rob them of 
 their fragrance ; such a brightness in the 
 lingering of the sunset and in the dawning 
 of the moon and stars, and over all so calm 
 and soothing a repose ; an intensity of rest
 
 THE tutor's ward. 41 
 
 and quiet best suited to those who, in the 
 decline of life, are fain to take their ease in 
 stillness after the long, sore journey, or 
 who, in the decline of hope, are wearj of 
 the world's tumult, and would be alone to 
 see if their own heart can tell them nothing 
 better ; that evening's quietude, however, 
 was by no means congenial to the gay, 
 young girl who sat there beneath the olive- 
 trees. It was in a large garden attached to 
 one of the best houses in the quaint old 
 town of Aix, a pleasant spot, not far from 
 the noble church, whose deep bell, toll- 
 ing nightly, failed not to send its solemn 
 echoes through those quiet bowers. 
 
 Millicent Grey had never known another 
 home ; at least she remembered none save 
 this, and every object which surrounded her 
 was most familiar ; her great, restless eyes, 
 sparkling with the first ardour of youth and 
 hope, went ranging impatiently from side to 
 side as if in search of something new. At 
 last she turned and fixed them on the old 
 French bonne who sat in state before her as
 
 42 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 her appointed companion. There was some- 
 thing irresistibly attractiye in this little old 
 woman : she was so neat, so trim, in her 
 pretty Proyencal costume. Her small, pierc- 
 ing black eyes twinkled with an expression 
 of such comical merriment, though set in a 
 countenance which certainly was uncom- 
 monly ugly, whilst her wide mouth, with its 
 range of splendid white teeth, gave evidence 
 of the most determined good humour. She 
 sat knitting some indescribable piece of work 
 with extraordinary speed, and every now 
 and then looked up at her young charge 
 with a gay, happy smile, which had in it no 
 particular meaning, but was only designed 
 to express her perfect contentment with the 
 world in general. Millicent looked at her 
 for a long time : then suddenly starting from 
 her seat she threw herself down on the 
 grass at her feet, and taking her by the two 
 hands, exclaimed — 
 
 " Oh, Nanette, Nanette, — how I wish you 
 would change your face !'' 
 
 "Ma cherieT^ said the old woman in
 
 THE TUTOH'S WARD. 4S 
 
 astonishment, and then laughed merrily ; 
 " and why r 
 
 "Because it is always the same face, 
 every day the same, it never tells me any- 
 thing new — nothing ever does ; everything 
 goes on the same." 
 
 "Ah bien^ mais que veux tu? I would 
 do anything to amuse you, but as to this — " 
 She shrugged her shoulders with a comical 
 grimace. 
 
 "No, no," said Millicent, putting her 
 arms round her. " I was joking, good Na- 
 nette, I would not change your dear, old 
 face, not even if I could, I lave it much too 
 well — no — but I know what I do wish," she 
 added, with a sigh. 
 
 " And what is it V asked Nanette, " be 
 sure you shall have it if it is not quite so 
 impossible as the last." 
 
 " That I am sure it is," said Millicent, " so 
 I need not think about it ; but what I should 
 like would be that some one should come 
 here, some one very grave and wise and 
 good, — some one from England, I fancy
 
 44 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 they are very wise there — that such a per- 
 son should come and answer all the ques- 
 tions I would put to him/^ 
 
 " And what would you ask 1" said Na- 
 nette. 
 
 " What would I ask ? Oh, everything ; 
 there is so much that bewilders and con- 
 fuses me. I want to find out the meaning 
 of the whole world, and the reason and 
 purpose of all that goes on in it. You do 
 not understand me, Nanette, and I do not 
 think I quite understand myself ; but I go on 
 living here all alone, so to speak, from day 
 to day with such strange, restless thoughts 
 working in me, that I scarce can bear it. 
 Uncle Forde never talks to me, and I know 
 all you could tell me, Nanette dear, which is 
 not much ; and everything I read and see 
 only shows me the outward surface, it tells 
 me that things are so, such life and death, 
 and joy and sorrow, but it never tells me 
 will/! I am sure, in all existence, there is a 
 hidden reason which I cannot penetrate." 
 
 " And why should you, my mignonne ? At
 
 THE tutor's waed. 45 
 
 sixteen one ought to find out onlj the best 
 way to amuse one's self. Ah, ^vhen I was 
 sixteen " 
 
 " You liked singing and dancing as well 
 as I do now, did jou not, chere Nanette ? 
 Well, but one cannot dance and sing all 
 one's life ; one did not come into the world 
 for that alone, because then what would be 
 the use of all the old, stiff people. Now, 
 that is precisely what puzzles me, that is the 
 very first question I should like to ask my 
 wise man if he would only come ; I want to 
 know what we are all living for ! What is 
 the use of life ? What are we to do with it 
 now we have got it 1" 
 
 "Ah bien," said Nanette, looking quite 
 bewildered ; " and what does every one do 
 with it r 
 
 « What do they do with it ? Why, they 
 eat, and they drink, and they sleep, and 
 they take a great deal of trouble to keep 
 themselves alive now they are living, but 
 then I say, what for 1 pourquoi 1 what is the 
 use of living only to keep ourselves alive V*
 
 46 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 "Sais-je moi/^ said Nanette, shrugging 
 her shoulders ; " but no, mj petite, we do 
 more than eating and sleeping; look, I am 
 knitting!" 
 
 " Verj well, so jou are ; now then, let us 
 analyze the knitting. I am not going to 
 touch it, don't be afraid, I am only going to 
 pull it morally to pieces. This piece of 
 knitting, what is it V' 
 
 " Why, a stocking, and that is very useful, 
 I am sure ; it will keep my feet warm/' 
 
 " Yes, but you are obliged to keep your 
 feet warm, because you are aliye ; you don't 
 live to keep your feet warm." 
 
 This sort of reasoning was quite bewilder- 
 ing to Nanette : she looked comically at her 
 work for a few minutes as if she ought to be 
 disgusted with it, but its hold on her affec- 
 tions was far too firm. She gave a careless 
 smile, seeming to intimate that, however 
 unworthy, her knitting must ever be dear to 
 her, and taking it up again, plied her 
 needles vigorously. Millicent went on, " It 
 is the same^in everything; now when M. le
 
 THE tutor's ward. 47 
 
 Roux died last year, bis wife came here 
 making such lamentations. Oh, he was such 
 a loss, what would the world do without 
 him ; a man of such taste, such an elegant 
 mind, and always busy, never idle a moment ; 
 he had built that great house and laid out 
 those beautiful grounds ; he had superin- 
 tended the placing of every stone himself. It 
 had taken him ever so many years, but it 
 was a charming place to live in when it was 
 done, and then he had grown so used to the 
 occupation, that after the house was finished 
 he kept adding room upon room only for 
 employment. Well, M. le Roux spent all 
 his life there in making himself a place to 
 live in, and died of old age when it was 
 about ready ; his wife married and they 
 sold the house, and even M. le Roux's bones 
 did not get a comfortable grave there. So 
 I just ask you, Nanette, don't you think M. 
 le Roux might quite as well not have lived 
 at all r' 
 
 ''Ah, poor M. Le Roux!" said Nanette, 
 deprecatingly.
 
 48 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 " Bien ! but there was also young M. 
 Adolphe, who was thrown from his horse 
 and killed ; what a state every one was 
 in about him, how they all said it was such 
 a misfortune, such a fine young man, any 
 one could have been better spared ; but 
 what did M. Adolphe oyer do, excepting 
 play billiards and try to valser a deux 
 temps 1 What was the good of his living 1 
 What was the use of him 1" 
 
 " My dear," said Nanette, imposingly, 
 with the air of a person who is sure of her 
 position ; " the pere Andre has often told 
 me nothing was ever made without a use." 
 
 " Then I wish some one would tell me 
 my use," said Millicent, with a sigh ; " for 
 here I go on eating and sleeping and living, 
 for no purpose that I can see." 
 
 " I will tell you what," said Nanette, 
 briskly ; " the use of living is that we may 
 be happy, which we could not be unless we 
 wxre alive. I am sure it is that; I am 
 convinced of it." 
 
 "Well, I could understand that," ex-
 
 THE tutor's ward. 49 
 
 claimed Millicent, " for it is such a charming 
 thing to feel so happy as T do sometimes. 
 But then every one is not happy — nor any 
 one always, not even you and I, Nanette ; 
 and look at Uncle Forde, what a wretched 
 man he is. And then, again, to be happy, 
 there is a something wanting, I don't know 
 what it is, a something which one's inmost 
 heart requires, and which nothing external 
 can procure. One cannot sit down and 
 say — now I am going to be so happy, I 
 am determined to be so very happy — you 
 may be sure one would feel terribly dis- 
 contented if one did. There is a vacancy, 
 a restlessness in one's spirit, which is not 
 satisfied with only a pleasant aspect to the 
 outer world. I cannot understand it." 
 
 She turned suddenly, and raising her 
 bright young face, to which some earnest 
 thought had given a look of gravity quite 
 foreign to her usual expression, she said, 
 in a low tone : — 
 
 " Nanette, I am certain of this ; there 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE TUTOE's ward. 
 
 is a secret in life which I do not compre- 
 hend, and perhaps never shall." 
 
 Nanette stooped to kiss her fondly, and 
 then smoothing the flowing hair that shaded 
 the young girl's face, she said : — 
 
 '' I cannot bear that you should not 
 know everything you want to know, my 
 darling. Why don't you ask M. Forde 1 
 Perhaps he could tell you. He must surely 
 grow very wise, sitting so silent, thinking 
 all day long. It makes me go to sleep to 
 look at him ; so he must be very learned, 
 for I always go to sleep when I read a 
 grave book. I should ask him, if I were 
 you ; perhaps he could explain it all.'^ 
 
 "Perhaps he could," said Millicent, 
 thoughtfully. "It is worth the trial, at 
 all events. I will go to him." 
 
 She returned the embrace of the old 
 bonne with warm affection, and bounding 
 across the garden, entered the house : then 
 very gently and quietly she opened the 
 door, and stole into the room where she 
 knew she should find her guardian.
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 51 
 
 His hands folded on his knee, his eyes 
 fixed, his head drooping on his breast, 
 John Forde sat in exactly the same attitude 
 as we saw him fourteen years before, when 
 the dying mother of the young girl who 
 now stood by his side, came, in her last 
 extremity, to implore the succour of him 
 she had so despised. 
 
 The singular plan which she had adopted 
 in order to save her child from that most 
 unnatural misfortune, a father's evil in- 
 fluence, had been strangely successful ; at 
 least, in so far as that Millicent Grey had 
 been conyeyed from England the very next 
 day, and had remained at Aix ever since, 
 without having held the slightest commu- 
 nication with Mr. Grey. The letter which 
 Mrs. Grey had written to Mrs. Egerton, her 
 half-sister, on behalf of the child over 
 whom she could watch no more, had pro- 
 duced its full effect, as she expected. Mrs. 
 Egerton was not a person to lend her 
 assistance willingly to any project that 
 looked romantic, or to burden herself with 
 
 E 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY,
 
 52 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 any more duties than tliose which her posi- 
 tion in life imposed upon her, and which 
 she most ably performed, at least so she 
 was wont to certify herself by many signi- 
 ficant hints. But an appeal from the grave 
 is never unheeded : there are scarce any 
 who could dare to slight it, albeit uncon- 
 scious of the motive which constrains them 
 so scrupulously to perform to the very letter 
 the last wishes of the departed. They be- 
 lieve that they are thus careful because they 
 consider it a sacred duty (how sacred in 
 truth they little know), but were they to 
 analyze their feelings a little more closely, 
 they would find that they were chiefly 
 actuated by a superstitious dread, an 
 unacknowledged terror that their midnight 
 rest would be disturbed by the pale phan- 
 tom, whose wishes they had neglected, 
 coming to gaze on them with reproachful 
 eyes, because they had no compassion for 
 the great helplessness of death. 
 
 "Whatever might have been Mrs. Egerton's 
 motives, however, she was determined rigidly
 
 THE tutor's ward. 53 
 
 to follow the instructions of her dying sister 
 with regard to Millicent Grey. The letter 
 informed her that Aix was to be the place 
 of the child's abode, and charged her most 
 carefully to conceal all knowledge of the 
 fact from her father. There was to be a 
 regular correspondence between John Forde 
 and Mrs. Egerton, so that she might always 
 be certain that the child was well cared 
 for, and at the death of Mr. Grey, when- 
 ever that might occur, she was entreated 
 to receive Millicent into her own home. 
 Should she die herself first, another relation 
 was to be appointed to undertake the 
 charge, for which the fortune secured to 
 the young girl could give an ample remu- 
 neration. But Mrs. Grey plainly foresaw 
 that a life so dissipated and reckless as 
 that of her husband could not be greatly 
 prolonged. She herself survived only a 
 few days after her interview with John 
 Forde, and it was some time before Mr. 
 -Grey rightly understood that she had 
 leally taken means to place the child out
 
 54 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 of his reach. His anger was at first ex- 
 cessive ; but having ascertained, as he was 
 enabled to do without much difficulty, that 
 she had been established somewhere on the 
 continent, he found it would be a great 
 deal of trouble to have her restored to 
 himself, and gradually he ceased to wish 
 it. The care of a young child was by no 
 means a duty congenial to his tastes, and 
 in process of time he almost forgot her 
 existence, excepting to wish, when he found 
 himself a ruined man, that he could obtain 
 possession of the fortune Millicent inherited 
 from her mother. He married again, as 
 the instinct of the neglected wife's affection 
 had prophesied, and his bride was even 
 less than himself disposed to undertake the 
 burden of a step-daughter's education. 
 
 Thus John Forde remained perfectly un- 
 molested with his young charge ; and no 
 change whatever had occurred in their posi 
 tion since the first day that he established 
 himself at Aix with the little infant whom 
 lie diplomatically called his niece.
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 55 
 
 For the first few years he imagined him- 
 self exonerated from making any attempt to 
 educate her. He left her entirely to the 
 motherly care of Nanette, who had replaced 
 the English nurse soon after their arrival, 
 and only took measures every day to ascer- 
 tain that she was alive, and likely to live. 
 He had recourse to various extraordinary 
 expedients in order to convince himself of 
 this fact, sometimes making the most horrible 
 grimaces, in order that the frightened child 
 might attest to the strength of her lungs by 
 loud screams of terror, or else giving vent to 
 an unearthly howl, that he might have the 
 comfort of seeing her run vigorously awp.y. 
 With some one such effort made every day 
 he acquitted himself to his own satisfaction 
 of his duties as guardian for a considerable 
 time. At last, however, several startling 
 remarks made by Millicent began to awaken 
 him to the fact that she was fast advancing 
 out of infancy, and that it was absolutely 
 necessary to give her some instruction. It 
 was now that John was sorely perplexed;
 
 56 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 he was nearly certain that something ought 
 to come before all the Latin and mathe- 
 matics with which he proposed to enlighten 
 her ultimately, but he vainly endeavoured 
 to discover what was the first branch of 
 science in which young ladies were usually 
 instructed. To his infinite relief, however, 
 when he came to examine into the matter, 
 he found that Nanette had taken it into her 
 own hands, and that she had already taught 
 the child to read and write, to embroider, 
 and to sing with a voice sweet and clear as 
 the notes of a wild spring bird. 
 
 Soon after, he was also further relieved 
 from his responsibility by the intervention 
 of a very clever and amiable French lady, 
 whose little daughter was Millicent's play- 
 mate, and who, compassionating the neg- 
 lected condition of the clever English child, 
 proposed to John that his niece should 
 take lessons along with her own little girls 
 from the various masters whose services 
 she considered necessary. He was too 
 happy to agree to this plan, and the result
 
 THE tutor's ward. 57 
 
 was, that Millicent, at sixteen, had all the 
 accomplishments which the world requires 
 from persons in her station, and withal a 
 great deal of curious information in the ab- 
 struser sciences, for which she was indebted 
 to the teaching of John himself. She was 
 naturally clever : and with a fund of viyacit j 
 and light-heartedness she also combined 
 great depth of thought, and an actiye pene- 
 trating mind; but there was one peculiarity 
 in her education which was destined to have 
 a most powerful influence on her whole 
 future destiny. "Whilst ample learning was 
 given her to supply her intellectual wants as 
 an inhabiter of this world, her young earnest 
 soul was altogether shut out from the vast 
 range of spiritual knowledge. 
 
 A fitting teacher truly, in the faith of an 
 immortal soul, would John Forde have been, 
 who had never known any other worship 
 save the idolatry of heart wherewith he 
 bowed himself before the creature of clay ; 
 for it mattered not what he professed him- 
 self — of professors we have enough; and 
 very fair and angel-like this race of man
 
 58 THE tutoe's waed. 
 
 ^yould be if only the hidden spirit, sullied 
 and dust-cleaving, had some little affinity 
 with that universal profession ; but we do 
 not make poison into wine by putting a 
 label on the bottle to that effect. It had 
 never occurred to John Forde to think what 
 he really was in this respect himself; his 
 soul chained to its human idol had no 
 power to look around or upward; but in 
 considering the education of Millicent Grey, 
 it did strike him that the faith of her 
 fathers was one of the things she must be 
 taught. Well, he would teach it to her. 
 This was easily done. It should take its 
 course along with other sciences. 
 
 There were several standard works which 
 gave her the various doctrines in their regular 
 order; and he had found her so apt a scholar, 
 when he instructed her in the rudiments of 
 chemistry and astronomy, that he doubted 
 not she would learn religion without much 
 trouble. He taught it to her as a species 
 of moral mathematics ; and so soon as she 
 w^as thoroughly conversant with the leading 
 principles — accurate in her knowledge of
 
 THE tutor's ward. 59 
 
 the more important facts — and quite clear, 
 especially respecting dates and localities, 
 he conceived he had abundantly done his 
 duty, and recurred to the subject no more. 
 
 To Millicent Grey it was therefore what 
 it is to three parts of the world, an abstract 
 theory, which had no more to do with the 
 hidden life of her spirit, than those as- 
 tronomical calculations in which she was 
 often engaged, and a matter as completely 
 external from herself as the code of virtues 
 which she was taught to admire in the 
 heathen philosophers of old. Like the 
 millions who have gone before her and the 
 millions who will come after, she treated it 
 as a manual of useful knowledge not likely 
 to be immediately in requisition, and there- 
 fore to be laid aside with much respect till 
 such time as she should reach the Gate of the 
 Tomb, when it would serve as a passport to 
 that other life in which she duly believed, 
 and of which she never thought. It is not 
 natural to the young heart to look beyond 
 this present world, this palpable, visible
 
 60 THE TUTOR S WAED. 
 
 reality, with its manifold attractions, be- 
 cause no bitter experience lias ever taught 
 them that it can never, with all its bright 
 things, fill their own immensity of longing. 
 The cloudless eyes for whom no tears of dis- 
 appointment have dimmed the brightness of 
 this mortal home, turn not easily from the 
 fair, ideal future in which they hope on earth. 
 
 Youth has a faith and a worship of its 
 own; the worship is the adoration of happi- 
 ness, and they imagine this god of their 
 idolatry to be enthroned among the sunny 
 bowers of this world, which is so beautiful, 
 so sorrowful, (but beautiful only to their 
 trusting innocence,) little dreaming that a 
 mild, pure angel, distant as angels are, it 
 wanders even now in far greener pastures. 
 The faith is in life, this mortal life in which 
 they believe as containing the sure promise 
 of all the joy which their imagination pic- 
 tures, and for which their living spirit craves. 
 
 It was so with Millicent Grey ; there was a 
 restlessness in that fresh untamed nature, a 
 questioning in that warm, loving heart, a
 
 THE tutor's ward. 61 
 
 stumbling even in the spring time of her 
 days at the mystery of life, but she sought 
 its solution only in the narrow compass of 
 the visible ; it never occurred to her that 
 one mystery might unlock the other, and 
 the problem of death solve that of life. 
 
 And so the bright-eyed, sunny-hearted 
 girl stole up to the old, way-worn man and 
 stood looking at him. John Forde was still 
 the same weary traveller into the unattain- 
 able regions of the past, the same hapless 
 dweller in a land of shadows ; day by day 
 and night by night had only witnessed the 
 deepening madness of his soul. 
 
 One would have thought that when his 
 idol crumbled into dust he would have 
 ceased to worship it, but it was not so. 
 When the news of her death first reached 
 him, he was stunned and bewildered, like a 
 man stricken with sudden blindness. Her 
 ideal presence, in which he had so long 
 dwelt, had been to him all in all ; he had 
 learnt to concentrate therein every joy of 
 which the various faculties of the heart are
 
 62 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 capable. Now, in Lis visions, she was the 
 embodiment of hope to him ; now hope 
 realized ; now sympathy, when in fancy he 
 told her all he had suffered and she wept for 
 and witli him ; now happiness, full and com- 
 j)lete, when he saw her stealing towards him 
 with the sweet promise on her lips that she 
 would never leave him more ! and when he 
 heard that she was gone from earth, all this 
 seemed to have past away with her — he 
 suddenly found himself alone as in a desert 
 where no light was, a rayless, silent waste. 
 
 The spirit cannot rest on vacancy, and this 
 mental solitude was unendurable ; he knew 
 not where to turn for relief ; shut out from 
 that enchanted land where he had taught 
 his soul to dwell more fondly than it would 
 have done perhaps in joys that were real, he 
 seemed lost in some dark immensity. For 
 days and nights he wandered about like one 
 beside himself, seeming as though his wild, 
 staring eyes were ever in search of some 
 lost treasure. At length utterly exhausted 
 with the very bewilderment of his sorrow,
 
 THE tutor's ward. 63 
 
 he laid liimself down on tlie floor and slept ; 
 in that sleep he dreamt one night, and 
 dreamt of her. She came to him radiant 
 and blooming as though no death hue were 
 on the cheek of the shrouded corpse whose 
 representative she was ; again her smile lit 
 up the boundless world of his fancy, and life 
 became once more a glad possession ! 
 
 And when he awoke from this sweet vision, 
 he could not bear to part from it. He buried 
 his face in his hands and went on dreaming, 
 and soon he found that for his strange, ideal 
 life, it mattered little whether the image, 
 which was the sun in that world of his crea- 
 tion, were the phantom likeness of one living 
 and absent, or of a cold and coffined corpse. 
 Where all was most unreal, the actual truth 
 could have no influence, and his imagination 
 could lift her out of her dark grave, rigid 
 and helpless as she was, and deck her 
 mouldering form in hues of youth and 
 health, filling her marble hands with the 
 flowers she was wont to love, as easily as 
 once it drew her from her husband's side
 
 64 THE tutor's WARD. 
 
 and from the cradle of her child, to pass 
 before his eyes a playful, merry girl. 
 
 From that hour he relapsed into his former 
 visionary state, and the excess of this men- 
 tal enjoyment seems to have deadened his 
 other faculties completely. He lived as 
 though he "were a stranger among men, 
 having no share in the common existence. 
 He was ever listening so intently to the 
 sweet voice murmuring deep within his soul, 
 that most often he heard nought of what 
 was passing round him ; and the one image 
 on which his longing eyes were ever fixed, 
 shut out from his sight all things more pal- 
 pable and real. 
 
 Millicent had stood by his side sometime 
 quite unobserved, gazing at him with her 
 bright, restless eyes. Of all the problems 
 which life seemed to ofi*er for her great be- 
 wilderment, none was so completely inexpli- 
 cable to her as the existence of John Forde. 
 The knitting of stockings did give a certain 
 interest to Nanette's life, but her strange, 
 old uncle had not even the excitement of
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 65 
 
 dropping a stitcli occasionally. There seemed 
 nothing in the whole world for which he 
 wished to liye, and jet he took just as much 
 trouble to preserve existence, by due sup- 
 plies of nourishment, as others did. Some 
 one great thought certainly occupied him 
 entirely, and she had a vague conviction, in 
 her own mind, that if she could discover it 
 she would gain some insight into that secret 
 use of life which was as yet such a mystery 
 to her. She sat down at his feet and 
 taking his listless hand, looked up into his 
 face. 
 
 " Dear uncle, please to wake up : I want 
 to speak to you.'' 
 
 Millicent was somewhat of a spoilt child. 
 John Forde had never dreamt of controlling 
 her, and Nanette had but one wish in the 
 world, which was to see her look happy. 
 The good little woman would have put her- 
 self to the extremest torture rather than have 
 darkened, in any way, the smile upon the 
 sunny face she loved so well. Fortunately, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 however, Millicent's generous disposition and 
 most unselfish, loving heart, had saved her 
 from many of the evils such indulgence is 
 apt to produce. John turned at the sound 
 of her voice, and was going to ask her what 
 she wanted, but as he looked on her face, 
 he began, dreamily, to trace out the likeness 
 between herself and her dead mother, and 
 soon forgot all else. She pressed his hand 
 somewhat impatiently. 
 
 " Would you try to hear me only for one 
 moment ? There is something I want so very 
 much to know, and I have no one but your- 
 self to ask, or indeed I would not trouble 
 
 you." 
 
 Millicent was really in earnest, and there 
 was something plaintive in the tone of her 
 voice which stung him with a sort of re- 
 morse. He roused himself at once. 
 
 " My dear child, tell me all you would 
 say. You are not unhappy, Millicent ; surely, 
 surely you are not unhappy ! What should 
 I do, most wretched that I am, if there 
 were any sorrow in your heart ? She said
 
 THE tutor's ward. 67 
 
 she could not rest if there were evil near 
 yon V' 
 
 " No, no ! do not look distressed, dear 
 uncle ; how wrong I was to disturb jou so. 
 I am not unhappy 1 I do not well know 
 what sorrow means, only I have been be- 
 wildered about many things of late, and 
 you are so wise I am sure you can explain 
 them all. I will tell you how it is, I am 
 passing out of childhood now, and I feel 
 that the days are flitting on without my 
 having found out for what purpose they are 
 given me. Until now I have been happy 
 whenever the day was bright and the sun- 
 beams sparkling, when the birds were merry 
 and the flowers blooming ; and only sad 
 and weary when the rain came down and 
 crushed my poor, sweet blossoms to the 
 ground, and sent the nightingales all flutter- 
 ing to their nests. But now I feel somehow 
 that there must be another sunshine for our 
 lives than only the sunshine of the sky ; my 
 mind is restless, and I know not why. I 
 have a wish, a longing, and I cannot tell 
 
 F 2
 
 C8 THE tutor's ^YARD. 
 
 for what ; I feel convinced that there is 
 some great good, some happiness in life 
 which must be the reason of our living; 
 and each morning I think — perhaps I shall 
 know of it to-day, and when I go to sleep 
 at nidit, I think — will it not come to me 
 to-morrow '? Now tell me what it is." 
 
 " Alas, mj child,'^ said John, as he stroked 
 her waving hair, " and can it be that already 
 you are seeking that which men chase from 
 the cradle to the grave, that unattainable — 
 the spirit's rest !" 
 
 " The spirit's rest ! " said Millicent, while 
 a sort of fear crept over her, she knew not 
 why. " Uncle, what is that V 
 
 " It is the good which all are seeking, 
 and 1 know not if any find. I can but tell, 
 I sought and found it not, long ago, 
 Millicent, when all my thoughts were not 
 devoured by one thought, and all my mind 
 was not absorbed by one idea. I could 
 have told you of the various shapes in which 
 this desire of all hearts appears to human 
 eyes, and how men struggle panting after it,
 
 THE tutor's ward. 69 
 
 many fainting by the \^''ay; but now mine 
 own eyes, looking ever inward on the great 
 darkness that is on my soul, have grown 
 as it were blind to all other sights ; and I 
 can only tell you what a shipwreck I have 
 made, who freighted all my life upon one 
 hope." 
 
 " And where did you seek it, then V said 
 Millicent, with a trembling voice. 
 
 " In her love \" he answered, almost 
 fiercely. He gazed for a moment fixedly 
 into vacancy, then, pushing her from him, 
 buried his face in his hands. 
 
 " Child, child, why have you come to 
 awaken me out of that enchantment, the 
 very surpassing sweetness of whose delusion 
 makes the knowledge of its falsity so bitter"? 
 Why have you come to remind me that it 
 was a shipwreck truly, and that the ocean 
 of vain delights on which I seek to keep that 
 shattered bark afloat does hide indeed most 
 hideous depths, where I must sink and be 
 engulfed one day. Go — what can I do for 
 you 1 If the universal restlessness has
 
 ?0 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 fastened on jour heart already, I cannot 
 save jou from its fruits. Thej may not be 
 poisonous for jou — I cannot tell. You 
 must abide jour destinj. You will soon 
 go out into the world, and jour unpractised 
 ejes will not so readily perhaps pierce the 
 mask of outward calm which instinct teaches 
 men to wear. It will seem to you that life 
 is a gay and tranquil thing for many, when 
 you see them dwell at ease in happy homes, 
 but, trust my words, their spirit resteth not : 
 wearily, wcarilj^ to and fro, it wandereth, 
 seeking repose. Soon yours Avill go roam- 
 ing sadly with the others; it may be for 
 weal or woe. I cannot guide or help you. 
 I can but counsel you out of the bitter 
 knowledge of my own experience : take heed 
 how you make your rest on the hard rock 
 of a human heart/' He laid back his head 
 and wept in silence, for he had grown well- 
 nigh childish, through long-indulgence of his 
 feelings. 
 
 Millicent dared not further trouble him ; 
 she crept away far more thoughtful than
 
 THE TUTOR^S WARD. 71 
 
 befitted sixteen summers. He liad done a 
 cruel thing in flinging that fear into lier 
 mind; jet it seemed to lier that she had 
 gained the knowledge of one great fact from 
 this strange conversation with lier incom- 
 prehensible guardian. 
 
 She had gathered from it this conviction, 
 that the repose in which her whole being 
 was to rest, and be as it were absorbed, the 
 mysterious repose for which her spirit craved 
 with a longing that deepened every day, was 
 to be found in human love. It was natural 
 that she should come to this conclusion, as 
 it must necessarily seem to her that there 
 could be no greater good than that for 
 which John Forde mourned with the mourn- 
 ing of his whole existence. 
 
 Thus Millicent Grey prepared to begin 
 life with one great mistake.
 
 72 THE tutok's ward. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Some three years later a letter arrived 
 one morning at the house Rue St. Michel, in 
 the bonne ville d'Aix, where Millicent Grej 
 had dwelt for so long a period. It was 
 one of no small importance to her, for it 
 announced the death of her father, and 
 further contained the request, or rather the 
 commands, of Mrs. Egerton that she should 
 forthwith repair under suitable escort to 
 England, there to take up her abode in 
 the family of her aunt, according to the 
 request of her dying mother.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 73 
 
 There was now, however, an additional 
 reason for such an arrangement, as Mr. 
 Egerton had bj this event become her 
 lawful guardian, which John Forde was 
 not. Mr. Grej, remembering on his death- 
 bed the child on whom he had bestowed 
 no thought in life, had sent for his brother- 
 in-law, and entreated him to repair some- 
 what of his own neglect towards his 
 daughter by undertaking the care of her 
 and her fortune, at least until she should 
 be of age. Mr. Egerton therefore added 
 a few lines to his wife's letter, to saj that 
 she would be expected as soon as possible 
 at Rookcliffe, his country residence in 
 shire. 
 
 In compliance with these instructions 
 Millicent Grey found herself, on a fine 
 evening in the month of May, after a rapid 
 journey through France, on board of tlie 
 steamer which was to convey her from 
 Havre to London. 
 
 John Forde was not with her — he could 
 not have accompanied her to her uncle's
 
 74 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 house, and his task was, in fact, completely 
 over — he had fulfilled his promise — he need 
 fear no mournful reproaching gaze from 
 the eyes that \Yere ever looking at him 
 out of that grave — -neither the dead nor the 
 living Millicent would claim more from him 
 than he had done ; and he was well pleased 
 that now that joung, ardent life should 
 be separated from his own apathetical and 
 cold existence. He felt little affection for 
 her, most loveable as she certainly was, 
 so warm-hearted and full of noble generous 
 feeling, but he could spare no love from the 
 buried mother for the blooming daughter, 
 and his mind had become so completely 
 enervated by his long indulgence that he 
 was incapable of the smallest exertion. 
 Human sounds grated powerfully on his ear, 
 human sights were hateful to him, he de- 
 sired an entire solitude, and such he knew 
 he should have at Aix, when Millicent 
 left him. He roused himself to wish her 
 well through a world where he himself had 
 been taken in a snare so perilous, and then
 
 THE tutor's ward. 75 
 
 turned awaj to tliink of her and of all 
 other living forms no more. 
 
 Millicent herself wept much at parting 
 with him. She kissed his unresisting 
 hands again and again, and almost felt as 
 if the delight of going at last to visit this 
 wonderful world, of which she had dreamt 
 so long, were sadly lessened by the separa- 
 tion from her childhood's guardian. 
 
 Yet Nanette remarked, somewhat ma- 
 liciously, that her tears flowed quite as 
 freely when they passed the grande statue 
 in the Place on their way out of the town. 
 In fact, at Millicent's age, and with her 
 loving disposition, it was impossible for her 
 not to attach herself to the only person 
 with whom she had shared her home be- 
 sides her bonne, — but it could not possibly 
 be a deep-rooted afi'ection, or a lasting 
 regret ; for John Forde had been nothing 
 in her existence, monotonous as it was. 
 After the first natural pang of separation 
 was over it could make little difference that 
 her eyes no longer turned occasionally on
 
 76 THE tutor's wakd. 
 
 the dull motionless figure of her silent 
 guardian. 
 
 As for Nanette, despite her feeling of 
 extreme mental helplessness after she quit- 
 ted Pere Andre, — despite her dread of 
 English heretics and coal fires, and her 
 invincible horror for some creature of her 
 imagination which she was wont to denomi- 
 nate bif staiks, she would as soon have 
 thought of changing her faith as of quitting 
 her well-beloved charge. Her warm attach- 
 ment was fullj reciprocated bj Millicent, 
 and it was really a touching thing to see 
 those two, so different in age and station 
 and in every circumstance of life, yet linked 
 so closely by this tender friendship. So 
 they stood together on board of the London 
 packet as it smoked and panted prepara- 
 tory to starting from the shores of France. 
 As usual, humanity in its least fascinating 
 aspect was to be found on deck. It is mar- 
 vellous how speedily the atmosphere of 
 refinement and polished courtesy, which 
 counterfeits so admirably the virtues men
 
 THE TUTORS WAED. 77 
 
 ought to possess, will evaporate from 
 around a party of individuals, entire 
 strangers to one another, who find them- 
 selves huddled together in an uncomfortable 
 steamer, with the prospect of a stormy 
 night. Nowhere, perhaps, does human 
 nature appear with so little disguise. 
 There is no occasion here for the universal 
 and never-failing politeness which is so apt 
 a representation of a pure and generous 
 unselfishness ; every one feels at liberty to 
 occupy themselves solely with the real 
 object of their solicitude, and one by one 
 they are seen to ensconce themselves in 
 their own cloaks and their own sulkiness, 
 each man drawing on his travelling cap in 
 its own peculiar style of hideousness. 
 
 There was the usual assemblage to-night. 
 There stands the young Englishman who 
 might have been seen, a few days since, 
 stalking like any heathen through the pros- 
 trate groups of kneeling worshippers in St. 
 Peter's, his spy-glass in his eye, and his 
 hands in his pockets. At his side yawns
 
 78 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 another of our enliglitened countrymen, who 
 lately made an excursion to Athens for the 
 purpose of shooting Greek owls ; a happy 
 expedient of which he bethought himself 
 when he had exhausted the usual Britannic 
 excitements of shaving his head, dressing 
 like a Turk, and otherwise astonishing the 
 natives, and who in that renowned city 
 having been induced by the earnest en- 
 treaties of his valet-de-place to visit the 
 Parthenon, looked around him on these 
 ruins of mournful beauty, and taking his 
 cigar from his mouth, listlessly inquired 
 what they called this place. 
 
 Further on is the brisk young clergyman, 
 who, with his aristocratic pupil, spent two 
 months not long since in the Holy City, and 
 employed the interval in falling in love with, 
 and marrying the daughter of a missionary 
 there established ; the sentimental preli- 
 minaries having been carried on during an 
 excursion to Bethlehem, and the declaration 
 and acceptance having taken place at the 
 foot of the Mount of Olives, such beino: the
 
 THE tutor's ward. 79 
 
 habits of the clerical pilgrims of modern 
 times. That sharp cross looking man witli 
 green spectacles and a huge note-book 
 under his arm, has been visiting the Syrian 
 monasteries, where he has been treated with 
 the utmost kindness and hospitality, having 
 been nursed through a six weeks' fever by 
 the good brethren on Mount Oarmol. He 
 is now returning to England, where he pro- 
 poses to enlarge the public mind with a 
 volume of travels, which is to contain a 
 sneering denunciation of the monkish super- 
 stition of his late venerable hosts ; and 
 further, such an account of their theory and 
 practice as a total ignorance of all lan- 
 guages, save his native guttural, and a fund 
 of deeply rooted prejudice, shall enable him 
 to produce. 
 
 In the midst of these various individuals 
 it was a pleasant sight to see young Millicent 
 Grey, as she stood at the side of the vessel, 
 looking over the foaming water towards the 
 yet unseen shores of England, braving, with 
 child-like pleasure, the rough visiting of the
 
 80 THE tutor's AVARD. 
 
 fresh breeze that blew ujDon her bright 
 face, whilst her sparkling eye and glow- 
 ing cheek told how high her heart was 
 beating with its ardent ho^De, and with what 
 energy and vigour she was preparing for 
 the life-struggle to which she was now 
 advancing fast. She was at this time some- 
 where between nineteen and twenty years 
 of age, and notwithstanding that she had 
 great depth and intensity of feeling, as well 
 as a shrewd penetrating mind, she was still 
 guileless and simple as when we saw her 
 listening to the mournful words, never 
 afterwards forgotten, of poor John Forde. 
 
 No one was prepared to enter on the 
 world with less idea of the consequences 
 than Millicent Grey ; in fact, her peculiar 
 education had been of a nature to render 
 her well nigh incapable of understanding 
 the whole artificial frame-work of society. 
 Slie was essentially truthful, — it never oc- 
 curred to her to speak otherwise than she 
 thought, although her due share of womanly 
 timidity and reserve prevented her from
 
 THE tutor's ward. 81 
 
 communicating much of what she felt; and 
 above all, she was accustomed to see things 
 exactly as thej were, without being in any 
 degree influenced by popular fallacies or 
 received opinion. She was joyous and light- 
 hearted now, as those are only who have 
 not tried their strength in the sore strife 
 and conflicts that await them, — yet haply 
 none would exchange the tempered gladness 
 which falls on all, who have seen their 
 guardian hope make itself wings and fly 
 up into heaven, for that first sparkling 
 buoyancy which hath no abiding charm : 
 the one is like the dazzling lustre of the 
 sunbeams, that fades before the clouds, — 
 the other, less brilliant but more pure, is 
 like the sweet, tranquil light of the stars on 
 a clear cold night. 
 
 She stood, casting her free glance over 
 the sea, and already in imagination her 
 bounding feet were treading the golden 
 plains of her ideal future, — strange ! if any 
 one had suddenly mapped out before her 
 eyes then, what that future was to be. Ah ! 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 who, in the dawn of life, could look on 
 such a sight and not turn sickening from 
 it 1 Who that could foresee the process of 
 their discipline would have the heart to 
 turn and live? When the actual trial 
 comes the strength comes with it to endure ; 
 when the piercing wound is made then 
 flows the healing balm ; and when the 
 earth flowers fade, that lure us from the 
 homeward path, how sweetly spring to life 
 the blossoms of celestial bloom, whose 
 fragrance penetrates the soul with a 
 soothing power, so that backward looking, 
 when the journey's ended, we can see how 
 each sharp arrow has been winged by love. 
 But in that hour of hope and bright ex- 
 pectancy, had it been given to Millicent 
 Grey to look upon her future years, she 
 had found it hard to resist the temptation 
 of plunging with one bound into those 
 boiling waters to hide herself within their 
 breast from the wilder tempests and the 
 colder blasts that soon would meet her in 
 her life's career.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 83 
 
 Slie was not long allowed to stand in- 
 dulging in her brilliant fancies ; the bustle 
 of starting was just over, and the steamer 
 fairly under way, when Nanette came rush- 
 ing up to her in a state of great excite- 
 ment, exclaiming, — 
 
 " Ma cherie, we must be coming near to 
 England now, for there is a g7vs Anglais 
 come on board, and he is making inquiries 
 for roast beef' 
 
 " Yes," said Millicent, " we shall be there 
 to-morrow. Oh, Nanette!" she added, 
 turning round her beaming face, "life is 
 going to begin now.'' 
 
 " My dear young lady, I sincerely hope 
 you may not be heartily tired of it before 
 it is done," said a strange voice at her side. 
 She looked round hastily, and found that 
 the speaker was an old gentleman, sup- 
 ported on crutches, who had been watching 
 her animated looks with much interest for 
 some time past. He raised his hat cour- 
 teously as her eyes met his. 
 
 " I really beg your pardon," he said, 
 
 a 2
 
 84 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " for liaying taken tlie liberty of addressing 
 you. It was quite involuntary, I assure 
 you, but I was struck by your remark, 
 which contrasted so yividly with my own 
 state of feeling/' 
 
 He was an aristocratic looking old man, 
 who had once been handsome, but he was 
 entirely crippled by palsy ; his countenance, 
 which was by no means unpleasing, had 
 an expression of great firmness, accompa- 
 nied by a slight degree of irritability ; he 
 looked as if he were thoroughly accustomed 
 to have his own way in all things, and his 
 long-protracted state of suffering had no 
 doubt rendered him somewhat capricious in 
 his desires. On the whole, however, he 
 looked thoroughly estimable and benevolent, 
 and for the moment seemed very anxious 
 that Millicent should not take offence at his 
 unceremonious speech. 
 
 She hastened to assure him that such 
 was not the case, and feeling convinced, by 
 the sort of freemasonry which exists in a 
 certain class of society, that he was a
 
 THE tutor's wakd. 85 
 
 person with whom she might very safely 
 associate, she readily entered into conver- 
 sation with him. They sat down amicably 
 together, and although of course, being such 
 entire strangers, they could only talk on 
 indifferent topics, yet the old man was 
 soon altogether charmed with Millicent, — 
 there was such a freshness and simplicity 
 in her impressions of England, the new 
 country she was going to explore, and at 
 the same time so much depth in her obser- 
 vations, whilst her frank manner and ready 
 smile were of themselves really very capti- 
 vating. 
 
 " Why, you talk of visiting England and 
 its natives as if you were going to inquire 
 into the manners and customs of the 
 Chinese," said the old man, at last, smiling 
 at her animation. 
 
 "Well, it is pretty much like visiting 
 China or Kamschatka, or any other foreign 
 country, to me. I have never been there 
 since I was quite a little child ; of course it 
 is my native land, and I am quite ready to
 
 86 THE TUTOK'S WARD. 
 
 love it very miicli beforehaud, but at the 
 same time I am rather curious to see it, 
 because I expect it will explain to me a great 
 many things which I don't understand in 
 the world. There is an immense deal of 
 good sense in England, is there not V 
 
 " Why, I believe there is upon the whole ; 
 and yet people do foolish things enough 
 there. I could tell you of a few," he 
 added, shrugging his shoulders with a 
 comical smile. 
 
 " Oh, I should not like it if they did 
 not," said Millicent ; " but what I expect 
 will prove so instructive to me is, that I am 
 told the English all live upon system. In 
 France, you know, they live pour passer h 
 temjps ; and in Italy, I believe, their existence 
 is one of impulse ; but in England, I hear, 
 they all think very seriously, and make up 
 their minds what they ought to do, and do 
 it. I believe there is system in everything — 
 great systems for legislation, national edu- 
 cation, and so on — and little private systems 
 for the life of each person. Is it so V
 
 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " Well, I declare I can scarcely tell. Like 
 M. Jourdain, who was not aware he had 
 been talking de la prose, I hardly know 
 whether I have been living on system or 
 not ; and yet now I think of it, I certainly 
 have ; and, what is more, I can tell you very 
 distinctly the nature of it. My system un- 
 doubtedly is, to make myself as comfortable 
 as 1 possibly can, at all times and in all 
 places. With these withered limbs of mine 
 it is not very easy ; and yet, by the help of 
 a good cook and pleasant society, I manage 
 pretty well. Yes, that is clearly my prin- 
 ciple. I must thank you for making it 
 known to me.'' 
 
 " Ah, the system of making one's self com- 
 fortable is very common in England, I be- 
 lieve," said Millicent, musingly ; " but now, 
 pray excuse me for asking it, I should like 
 so much to know why you thought I should 
 tire of life before it was done." 
 
 "Simply because I am very tired of it 
 myself," said the old gentleman, laughing; 
 " not that I want to be rid of it however,
 
 88 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 oh dear, no ! '' and he looked round with a 
 sort of terror, as if he was afraid some one 
 would take him at his word, and relieve 
 him of what was clearly a beloved burden ; 
 " But the truth is, that in early life I made 
 one very great mistake, and I have suffered 
 for it ever since/' 
 
 Millicent gave a timid glance of inquiry, 
 but he shook his head, smiling. 
 
 " No, really I dare not, on so short an 
 acquaintance, make you acquainted with all 
 the secrets of my history. Should we meet 
 again, as I trust, or rather, to tell you the 
 truth, as I am determined we shall, I have 
 no doubt I should be inclined to make you 
 wise by my past experience." 
 
 ''Ma climel' put in Nanette, at this 
 juncture, who saw that Millicent was gain- 
 ing some information from her new friend, 
 "Ask Monsieur if that is the way in 
 which Englishmen amuse themselves % " She 
 pointed to where two of the passengers 
 were engaged over a game at chess. "I 
 heard them say, let us amuse ourselves ;
 
 THE tutor's ward. 89 
 
 but if that is their amusement, ma foil c'est 
 que dest hien luguhre ; thej have not 
 spoken one word, or smiled one smile, since 
 they began, but they have shaken their 
 heads, and nodded to one another with, oh, 
 such a solemnity!" 
 
 Millicent and her new friend laughed 
 heartily at Nanette's look of horror, who 
 clearly thought that the most serious of 
 affairs in France was merrier than amuse- 
 ments in England. They continued to 
 converse together with much satisfaction, 
 till the arrival of a tall servant, laden with 
 cloaks and plaids, interrupted them. He 
 ventured to hint that the night air was 
 dangerous to his master, and the old 
 gentleman was obliged to confess it was 
 somewhat imprudent in him to remain so 
 late on deck. He therefore took leave of 
 Millicent with all the courtier-like politeness 
 of former days, and having been duly 
 wrapped up in various mufflings, allowed 
 himself to be carried off like a stout bundle, 
 by the powerful footman.
 
 90 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 We all know how speedily acquaintances 
 are made in travelling ; the frigid barriers 
 which society raises between man and man 
 are so completely thrown down when all 
 are alike exposed to the same inconyeni- 
 ences, and it may be dangers. Who has 
 not known what it is to swear an eternal 
 friendship to the charming individual whose 
 society has enlivened a ten days' voyage in 
 a wretched steamer, or to feel as unhappy 
 as though one had lost one's nearest rela- 
 tions, when the termination of a fortnight's 
 quarantine separates us from the family 
 who shared its miseries with us 1 Milliceut 
 and the old gentleman met next morning as 
 though they had been acquainted for years, 
 and cordially shook hands with mutual 
 pleasure. 
 
 They had a bad passage, and did not 
 arrive at their destination until several 
 hours beyond the usual time. There was 
 considerable confusion on board, and the 
 tall servant was fully occupied in taking 
 charge of numerous packages belonging to
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 91 
 
 his master, iu the course of which proceed- 
 ings he tumbled several times over the 
 active little Nanette, who invariably begged 
 his pardon, and hoped, in an audible 
 whisper, that all Englishmen were not to 
 be so tall and so stiff. It thus happened 
 that the poor old gentleman, whose in- 
 firmity rendered him quite helpless, would 
 have been wholly without the attendance of 
 which he stood so much in need, had not 
 Millicent taken on herself the task of minis- 
 tering to his comforts. She brought him 
 his breakfast, put on his cloak^ and ran 
 after his hat, when the wind blew it away ; 
 in short, she made herself not only so 
 useful, but so agreeable to him, that he 
 looked as if he could not bear to part with 
 her when the moment of separation came. 
 He detained her for some time, when she 
 rose to take leave of him previous to land- 
 ino- and seemed uncertain whether he mioht 
 venture to say what he wished. At lastc 
 summoning courage, he said, — 
 
 "I have a great favour to ask, and I
 
 92 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 must beg you to excuse me if it seems an 
 impertinent request. I trust mj motive, 
 which jou shall most certainly know here- 
 after, will quite exonerate me. Will you 
 tell me your destination in England ^ In 
 short, will you give me your address at 
 your new abode V 
 
 Millicent was too completely ignorant of 
 the ways of the world to imagine that 
 there could be any reason to prevent her 
 doing as he wished, especially as Nanette, 
 whose bright imagination had already con- 
 jured up visions of splendid cadeaiix which 
 this dear, sensible old milord was to bestow 
 on her darling, was inciting her, by many 
 significant looks and signs, to tell him 
 immediately. Millicent, therefore, gave 
 him her address at Mr. Egerton's, and so 
 took her leave of him, never recollecting till 
 she had left the steamer, that she herself 
 had failed to obtain any information as to 
 the name or position of her newly acquired 
 friend.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 93 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RooKCLiFFE, the future abode of Millicent 
 Grej, lay at a distance of some five miles 
 from the nearest railway station, and it 
 was late in the eveniug before she found 
 herself in the carriage which her uncle 
 had sent to convey her over the inter- 
 vening space. Nanette, quite fatigued with 
 the number of reverences she had made, 
 with most unappreciated politeness, to the 
 stoical gentlemen in glazed hats who had 
 handed her out and in of the railway 
 carriages, composed herself to sleep in a
 
 94 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 corner, whilst Millicent, leaning eagerly 
 towards the window, gazed out into the 
 darkness, and tried to distinguish the 
 different objects on which the light of the 
 lamps flashed rapidly as they whirled 
 along. 
 
 She felt, as she had done throughout this 
 journey, that she was being carried on to 
 her destiny, that she was travelling, as it 
 were, oyer the first stage of life, and there 
 was a feeling almost of rapture in the 
 excitement which thrilled eyery nerye, as 
 she thought of the unknown future to 
 which she looked with such anxiety. She 
 little knew how, somewhat later, with most 
 ineffable calm, we learn to lay ourselves 
 down on the breast of that dark stream, 
 and, with hands all humbly crossed upon 
 the bosom, scarred with many a half-closed 
 wound, let the quick current bear us on 
 and on, without an effort to direct its 
 course, thinking only how deep, and clear, 
 and smooth is the boundless ocean, to whose 
 placid rest it bears us rapidly. Even the
 
 THE TUTORS WARD. 95 
 
 locality of her future abode was full of 
 interest to Millicent, and she experienced 
 an almost child-like pleasure in tracing the 
 indistinct features of the landscape througli 
 which she was passing. 
 
 There is at all times a strange sensation 
 in travelling by night through a peopled 
 country ; the contrast is so great between 
 the lucid sky, where alone the remains of 
 light are gathered, and the dark heavy 
 earth, seeming to lie in sullen silence 
 beneath its pall of shadows. The sight of 
 those huge masses of building, whence no 
 sound arises, but which we know to be so 
 teeming with life, sentient, suffering, and 
 mysterious, fills us with a sense of awe, and 
 we fain wdth our dim eyes would pierce the 
 outward matter to discern what manner of 
 spirit is within. 
 
 How awful were a voice to come forth 
 from each one of these dark piles of 
 habitation, and proclaim the hidden truth 
 of the living mysteries within, saying, 
 " Here human love is agonizing ; there
 
 96 THE tutor's ward, 
 
 infamy and vice walk rampant ; here des- 
 pair is writhing in the dust ; there cankering 
 want hath torn affection even from a 
 mother's heart, and the child that asked 
 not life from her is praying for its passing." 
 
 But no such voice is heard, at least, 
 except we question it ; and so, through 
 scenes which, could we witness them, would 
 make us turn away heart-sick to Aveep 
 as it were tears of blood for our hap- 
 less brethren, we pass, — dreaming golden 
 dreams, as Millicent did now ! 
 
 The first mile or two carried her 
 through a colliery district, and even in 
 the dim light she could discern the 
 miserable appearance of the miners' habi- 
 tations, which were in fact but a set of 
 wretched hovels crowded together ; their 
 numbers were, however, so great that she 
 rightly estimated the population as being 
 very considerable. A bleak common cf no 
 great extent divided this uninviting part 
 of the county from a tract of land where 
 the scenery was of a totally opposite
 
 THE tutor's waed. 97 
 
 character. Tiiougli still flat, it was richly 
 Avooded, and beautifully undulating ; in 
 bright daylight it presented that fair, 
 peaceful aspect so peculiar to the English 
 landscape, and to which the heart of the 
 traveller returns with such a longing fond- 
 ness amid all the magnificence of other 
 climes. Not gorgeous Eastern skies, or 
 Alpine mountains in their savage splendour, 
 can ever be as lovely or as dear as the 
 waving woods of England, so bright in 
 their green luxuriance, with those quiet 
 fields whose golden corn seems to have 
 robbed the sunshine, and the voices wildly 
 musical of rushing stream and sighing 
 wind. 
 
 Even by night Millicent could distinguish 
 some of the beauty of this scene, as the 
 tall trees seemed to sweep past her, 
 assuming a thousand fantastic shapes, and 
 often obscuring the sky altogether with 
 their thick branches. One object, however, 
 before entering the wood, attracted her 
 attention forcibly ; it was a small church, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 situated on the borders of the common 
 nearest the mines, in a very dreary and 
 desolate position, and which to her aston- 
 ishment was lighted up even at that hour. 
 She was the more surprised as, on ap- 
 proaching the village adjoining Rookcliffe, 
 she passed another, of far more imposing 
 appearance, which was entirely in darkness. 
 Very picturesque this village seemed to 
 be ; very captivating the pictures of homely, 
 peaceful life, revealed through the half- 
 open cottage doors, whence the fire-light 
 streamed out upon the dark road. 
 
 This village being Mr. Egerton's own 
 property, and all these simple villagers, 
 peering from their lattice windows as the 
 travellers pass, being also Mr. Egerton's 
 dependents, the coachman, sympathizing 
 with that gentleman's feelings, now causes 
 the well appointed carriage to take a some- 
 what more aristocratic pace, and whirls it 
 with noisy ostentation to the gate. The 
 woman at the lodge is all ready to give 
 it free entrance, and she curtsies in the
 
 THE tutor's ward. 99 
 
 dark with due respect to the wheels, which 
 grind past her feet with so close a shave 
 that she is not very sure for ten minutes 
 afterwards whether she has them all safe. 
 On it sweeps down the long avenue ; and 
 a sudden feeling of timidity and of terror, 
 she knows not for what, strikes Millicent 
 Grey as she catches a glimpse of the 
 stately house, that rises up massive and 
 gloomy before her. She grasps Nanette's 
 little warm hand, and in another moment 
 the carriage sweeps with an artistic flourish 
 to the portico, and she finds herself at 
 Rookcliffe. The door stood hospitably 
 open to receive her, and on the threshold, 
 in the centre of the blaze of light which 
 streamed from the hall, Mr. Egerton was 
 placed ready to welcome her to his house. 
 
 It was a happy and striking coincidence, 
 if this estimable individual was unaware of 
 the pleasing picture which he presented in 
 his benevolent attitude on the threshold, 
 with his opaque person coming out darkly 
 against the back-ground of glowing light, 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 and the door^YaJ forming a suitable frame- 
 work around him. 
 
 He was a perfect type of the English 
 country gentleman. There was such bland 
 respectability teeming from his large glow- 
 ing countenance, which seemed as though 
 it were always reflecting the light of 
 the fire after dinner, and such warmth 
 and comfort diffused oyer the whole outer 
 man, whilst his expression and general 
 appearance gave ample evidence of the 
 entire self-approbation and complacency 
 which reigned within. He welcomed Milli- 
 cent with precisely the proper amount of 
 cordiality, and folded her in an embrace 
 systematically paternal ; then releasing her, 
 he offered his hand with that hospitable 
 flourish peculiar to individuals in his posi- 
 tion, and with a cheerful countenance, 
 which seemed to say — " Behold with what 
 self-forgetting generosity I admit my friends 
 to the bosom of my family ! " — he conducted 
 her towards Mrs. Egerton, who advanced 
 from the drawing-room to meet her.
 
 THE tutor's WAKD. 101 
 
 This ladj was the personification of 
 dignified propriety, and of composed, reso- 
 lute acceptance of all the advantages and 
 privileges, physical and moral, which were 
 to be derived from her station in society. 
 Stately looking, well dressed, never varying 
 one hair's breadth from the routine of life, 
 easy and luxurious, which is the settled 
 system of existence for persons of her for- 
 tune and position, everything in her house, 
 her person, her manners, and her religion, 
 were arranged to meet the approving eye 
 of the world. 
 
 Whether she were the urbane hostess, 
 the careful mother, the mildly-reproving, 
 silently-determined wife, or the benevo- 
 lent dispenser of soup and blankets at 
 Christmas-tide, (these benefits being trans- 
 mitted to her awe-struck tenantry through 
 the hands of a housekeeper in black 
 satin and pink ribbons, who wore kid 
 gloves in case she should accidentally 
 touch any of the recipients of her bounty,) 
 Mrs. Egerton still acted up to the one 
 principle which guided her in all things,
 
 102 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 of making a faultless appearance in the 
 sight of her fellow men, and obeying to the 
 very letter all the requirements of estab- 
 lished custom, according to her rank and 
 circumstances. If there were any one 
 quality peculiarly prominent in Mrs. Eger- 
 ton's character, it was what is commonly 
 called "proper pride," that mysterious 
 virtue belonging we know not to what 
 faith or to what tenets, which is held in 
 such esteem by those who not the less, 
 through some subtle calculation of their 
 own accommodating mind, firmly expect 
 that inheritance of the meek which is pro- 
 mised in the doctrines they profess. 
 
 Millicent received another measured 
 English embrace from this stiff but comfort- 
 able looking representative of good feehng, 
 dignity, and respectability, who was further 
 remarkable for a serenity of aspect peculiar 
 to herself, and which emanated, no doubt, 
 from the pleasant conviction that every 
 thing she had ever done, said, or thought, 
 was exactly as it ought to have been. She 
 as then ushered into the drawing-room,
 
 THE tutor's ward. 103 
 
 having just caught a glimpse of poor 
 Nanette, hurried off, with despairing looks, 
 bj three or four gigantic footmen, to the 
 care of a housekeeper, awful in satins and 
 statehness, who appeared dimlj in the far 
 perspective. The drawing-room seemed to 
 Millicent blazing with light and full of 
 people. She clung involuntarily to her 
 uncle's arm, and stood looking round from 
 under the masses of her long brown hair, 
 with the shy, timid glance of a startled 
 deer. 
 
 Mr. Egerton presented her in due form 
 to the various members of his family ; three 
 daughters, Anne, Fanny, and Sophia ; two 
 sons, Charles and Arthur. 
 
 Anne, tall and frigid, looking by no 
 means so young as she could have wished ; 
 unpleasantly handsome, having bold features 
 and hawk's eyes, haughty and supercilious 
 in manner, as though she had discovered 
 some excellent reason why she was to con- 
 sider herself superior to every one around 
 her, and that, duly pious and Christianized
 
 104 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 as slie was, she had received a special 
 license for giving pain to others by coldness 
 and contempt. This young lady was wont 
 to delight herself solely in matters alto- 
 gether beyond a woman's province, for she 
 talked politics and philosophy with an 
 assurance which had its desired effect on 
 the majority of her acquaintances. We 
 may further add, that Miss Anne Egerton 
 also fully expected to reap the reward of all 
 the virtues, such as humility, gentleness, 
 and self-denial, inculcated by the creed she 
 professed with much Sunday ostentation. 
 
 Fanny, with indistinct hair and indefinite 
 features, a small mind and a small voice, 
 loving to sing small songs and to entrap 
 unwary individuals into swearing an eternal 
 friendship ; all nerves and sensibility, con- 
 tinually declaring she must have sympathy ; 
 that she could not exist without it ; that 
 she was entirely dependent on her friends 
 for happiness, and therefore, though she was 
 sorry to be troublesome to them, yet really, 
 constituted as she was, she must entreat of
 
 THE TUTORS WARD. 105 
 
 them to sacrifice tliemselves to her ; she 
 must really claim all their time and atten- 
 tion ; whatever their avocations might be, 
 thej could never be so important as the 
 necessity that she, in her highly-wrought 
 state of mind, should have some one to 
 whom she could tell her feelings: — Fanny 
 fell into the common snare of imagining that 
 she established a legitimate excuse for her 
 caprice, self-indulgence, and thorough ego- 
 tism, (qualified, of course, by far daintier 
 names,) when she affirmed that they were 
 inherent to her nature, and therefore indis- 
 pensable evils, not to be resisted. 
 
 Sophia, decidedly plain, short, thick-set, 
 and able-bodied, having a worthy look, 
 which was a species of moral livery to the 
 peculiar line she had chosen ; for this 
 young lady had discovered that her espe- 
 cial vocation was the improvement of man- 
 kind, and to this end she laboured with a 
 noisy zeal, no detail of which was ever 
 allowed to pass unobserved by her nume- 
 rous acquaintance. She pursued her call-
 
 106 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 ing without the slightest references to 
 established principles or authorities ; for, 
 as she loved to saj, when setting at defiance 
 those before whose grej hairs she should 
 have bowed in reverent silence, she had a 
 thoroughly independent mind, and acted in 
 all cases on theories of her own. Her 
 conversation never was of the most lively 
 description, for as she was fully convinced 
 apparently that no one would be so much 
 acquainted with her own merits as herself, 
 she habitually undertook the task of doing 
 herself justice, and discharged the duty with 
 extraordinary fidelity. She was at all 
 times to be heard quietly detailing ^her own 
 meritorious acts, never dreaming that any 
 merit they might have possessed was turned 
 to veriest poison by such an open display, 
 and in her daily descent on the village, 
 armed with medicines and tracts, and 
 stocked with severe, overbearing admo- 
 nitions, she gathered up material for much 
 complacent haranguing at her father's luxu- 
 rious table.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 107 
 
 And thus she took to herself without 
 misgiving the name of Charity; — that holy 
 one, who with veiled face and noiseless steps 
 glides unseen in the shadow of all who 
 suffer ; — fearing not, though snow-white are 
 her garments, to steal into polluted haunts ; 
 appearing, as though warned by some tender 
 instinct, wherever tears are falling, or aching 
 hearts are wearying to rest ; through long 
 dark nights making a pillow of her gentle 
 arm for the throbbing head, and over many 
 a rough and distant path, speeding with the 
 angel words of pity or of comfort ; but ever 
 voiceless, silent, having no name, save in the 
 prayers of the fatherless and widow. 
 
 Very charitable Sophia was pronounced 
 to be ; very estimable she was by all con- 
 sidered, and of late she had established her- 
 self as an authoress, by the publication of 
 certain articles on the education of the aged 
 ignorant, and one small volume, entitled 
 " Hints to Bishops," which, as Rookcliffe 
 was a pleasant house to visit in, obtained 
 some little circulation in the neighbouring. 
 
 The woman who writes is always in an^
 
 108 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 anomalous position; liowever powerful the 
 motive which compels her to authorship, she 
 has quitted her own sphere, and has taken 
 to herself a vocation for which she is neither 
 fitted nor intended, for her reasoning powers 
 are weak, her knowledge limited, and her 
 judgment swayed by her feelings ; when 
 once she becomes an object of public 
 comment, she loses all claim to the con- 
 sideration and delicacy due to her very 
 name ; but she does not lose the modest 
 timidity, the natural reserve, which causes 
 her a bitter pang each time that she is 
 dragged before the public gaze. 
 
 She has gone beyond her own province, 
 and therefore she must consent to belie her 
 own nature. It would be a mockery to talk 
 of shrinking from observation, when of her 
 own will she has met the rude stare of 
 strange eyes ; absurd to say that she 
 trembles to trust her own judgment or to 
 guide her own faltering steps, when she 
 who should have done the bidding of 
 others, has come forth to govern and 
 influence the minds of many. She has
 
 THE tutor's ward. 109 
 
 quitted the stronghold of her womanly 
 reserve and privileges, and henceforth she 
 dare not turn, with all the revolting of 
 heart she feels, from the personal remarks, 
 the fulsome flattering, and the impertinent 
 scrutiny, to which she has exposed herself ; 
 she has given herself as fair game to be 
 hunted down for the public amusement, and 
 she has no right to complain if the noise and 
 turmoil of the chase fills her with terror, 
 and with a weary longing for the unnoticed 
 retirement which is her rightful sphere. 
 
 Sophia, however, had a fund of self-suf- 
 ficiency, which enabled her to pass through 
 this ordeal with great equanimity ; in fact, 
 to sum up her character in a word, she 
 was one of those persons who constrain 
 free-born Englishmen to wish most heartily 
 that a little of the Turkish discipline were 
 established in their country, and that the 
 ladies, even without yellow slippers and the 
 fear of sacks before their eyes, should be 
 restricted to such spheres of action, and 
 such topics of conversation, as are within
 
 110 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 tlie bounds of their capacity and suitable 
 attainments. 
 
 Millicent's bright visions of a loving com- 
 panionship with her cousins began to melfc 
 awaj very rapidly after she had received 
 Anne's chilling welcome, accompanied by 
 a scrutinizing look which enveloped her 
 whole person, and subsided into a sneer, and 
 had also been subjected to Sophia's hard 
 impressive shake of the hand, who already 
 perceived in her a victim for future im- 
 provement ; whilst Fanny declared that she 
 had been put into such a flutter of spirits 
 by the stranger's arrival, that she required 
 the attention of all present for some time 
 in order to restore her to composure. 
 
 But the introductions were not yet over. 
 Mr. Egerton next presented his two sons. 
 Charles, the eldest, was tall, rather ["good- 
 looking, and studiously elegant. He was 
 refined, exclusive, and supercilious, and, as a 
 matter of course, always absurd, and often 
 disagreeable. He was one of those men 
 who render life an intolerable burden by
 
 THE tutor's ward. Ill 
 
 maintaining that all the customs and rules 
 of society, down to the most minute of 
 unnecessary " convenances," must be rigidly 
 obeyed at all times and in all places. His 
 favourite amusements were fishing and 
 shooting, and otherwise endangering the 
 peace and health of many innocent crea- 
 tures ; and he was further much addicted 
 to the pastime of morally dissecting his 
 neighbours, whose faults and follies he 
 would skilfully expose and ingeniously dis- 
 cuss, with an air and manner which seemed 
 to intimate that he did not in any degree 
 partake of the same nature as themselves. 
 Arthur, the last of Millicent's new relations, 
 was very slow in obeying his father's sum- 
 mons to come forward and make her ac- 
 quaintance. He advanced towards her, 
 evidently with no good will, and he bent 
 down his head so much that she could not 
 distinguish his features, though she was 
 struck with his peculiarly ungainly and 
 clumsy figure. Arthur merely gave his 
 hand in silence, and was turning away,
 
 112 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 when Charles called out to liim tauntingly, 
 " Come, Arthur, this will never do ; Miss 
 Grey expects to see all her cousins to-night, 
 and you are leaving her to speculate mys- 
 teriously on the probable peculiarities of 
 the countenance you are hiding so assidu- 
 ously. Perhaps she thinks you are afraid 
 to dazzle her by the brilliancy of your 
 appearance ; let me recommend you to 
 prevent her forming too glowing a picture 
 by allowing her to see that expressive face 
 of yours at once." 
 
 Millicent saw that the frame of the young 
 man shook, she knew not with what emo- 
 tion, as his brother spoke, but the next 
 moment he slowly turned his head towards 
 her, and she was startled by seeing a coun- 
 tenance more entirely devoid of all beauty 
 than any she had ever looked upon ; — a 
 face so painfully and strikingly plain she 
 could not have imagined, and she no longer 
 wondered that her cousin shrank from 
 observation. It was not possible that his 
 appearance should fail to excite a feeling of
 
 THE tutor's ward. 113 
 
 repugnance in tlie minds of all who saw 
 him ; and that he was fully aware of this 
 was plain from the look of hopeless despon- 
 dency with whicli he turned away. Milli- 
 cent was full of generous feeling, and she 
 inwardly determined that she would show 
 him the utmost cordiality and consideration 
 in all her intercourse with him ; but in the 
 meantime she had to follow her aunt to the 
 sofa, where she was to spend the remainder 
 of the eyening in great state by her side. 
 Here she was provided with some very 
 strong tea, which she felt herself constrained 
 to accept, in case she should distress the fat 
 butler, who had brought it expressly for 
 her ; and then commenced a dull, heavy, 
 commonplace conversation, of that aimless, 
 unprofitable species which seems the only 
 legitimate and established occupation for 
 the long hours after dinner, and which 
 always has seemed to us the dreariest waste 
 of time. 
 
 Most tliankful was Millicent when the 
 punctual Mr. Egerton, who never varied 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 half a minute from the appointed hours, 
 announced that it was time to retire. She 
 bade her new friends good night with sus- 
 picious alacrity, and the feeling of depres- 
 sion and timidity which hung around her 
 all the evening, was for the first time dis- 
 sipated, when she found herself clasped in 
 the ready embrace of her dear old honne. 
 
 Ah! blessed human sympathy, — gentle, 
 loying, kindly human sympathy, — what a 
 marvellous treasure it is, without which, 
 truly, we were poor indeed. It is a beau- 
 tiful thing to think that to every living 
 soul is given the power to alleviate suffer- 
 ing by that one heaven-taught influence! 
 too many ignore their high calling in this 
 respect, — too many forget what a noble 
 power they possess, and that the weakest, 
 the most unworthy, the poorest amongst us, 
 may be, as a minister of consolation, wear- 
 ing to the eyes all dim with weeping the 
 form of a very angel. For even if we have 
 only words and looks to give, we must still 
 let the look be one of tenderness and pity,
 
 THE tutor's ward. 115 
 
 and the words, of loying kindness ; and the 
 aching heart shall throb less madlj, the 
 heavy eyes shall turn to the light again. 
 
 We are so closely knit together in this 
 world, dust so clings to dust, that the lightest 
 token of a fellow creature's dear compassion 
 is strangely precious to us. Shame on the 
 nigs^ard hearts that seek not to dispense this 
 costly gift, and leave it withering beneath 
 the cold, sullen influence of their indifie- 
 rence or their pride ! They know not what 
 an angel they are driving from their side 
 when their selfish carelessness destroys the 
 power of sympathy in their own breasts, for 
 it is the one only joy this earth can give 
 which nought can ever take away. They 
 themselves may be most sad and lonely, the 
 light of love and hope departed from before 
 their eyes, and only that quiet gloom re- 
 maining which spreads itself upon this 
 mortal life like some funereal pall, when 
 the desire of earthly happiness is dead. 
 Yet still more blessed far is so to pity and 
 console than to enjoy the fond afiection or 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE tutor's WAKD. 
 
 the care of others, and they may make them- 
 selves a sunshine brighter than the sunshine 
 of their youthful hopes, in the returning 
 smiles of those whom they have cheered in 
 sorrow, whilst in their sinking hearts the 
 tears of gratitude shall fall more sweet than 
 dew, refreshing flowers that droop at even. 
 
 Let us not mistrust our gift, however 
 weak we feel ourselves to be ; there never 
 yet walked one on earth whose path was not 
 darkened with the shadows of many sorrows 
 not his own, and to these he has power to 
 minister, were it but with the kindly pres- 
 sure of his hand, or the murmured blessing, 
 or the voice of tenderness, that soothes the 
 troubled spirit like the soft wind breathing 
 on the stormy ocean. 
 
 Poor little Nanette had nothing to offer 
 for her darling's consolation, save a few 
 cheerful words and a bright look of afi*ec- 
 tion, but it was quite enough to dispel 
 Millicent's passing depression, and she was 
 soon laughing merrily at the details of her 
 bonne's reception in the housekeeper's room.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 117 
 
 She was left alone at last, and feeling 
 that irresistible desire for a few minutes of 
 quiet thought, which so often takes pos- 
 session of us at night, she drew back the 
 curtain from the window, and sat down to 
 gaze out on the still, fair landscape. 
 
 No one jet ever looked up into the 
 midnight heavens, so intensely pure, so 
 awfully serene, where the great stars abide 
 in changeless beauty, like the glorious hopes 
 that float through the calm soul of a saint, 
 without feeling the rising up within them of 
 a strange desire, — a terror, an uneasiness, — 
 which they can neither explain nor define ; 
 no one, at least, who is yet chained by a 
 single thought, or hope, or wish to this 
 world, and the things of it. Some there 
 have been, and are, who have so learned to 
 fling aside the clogging weight of earth's 
 afiections, that already their enfranchised 
 spirit hath sought and found a home within 
 those fields of light so far ofi* and so 
 peaceful. 
 
 Not so with Millicent, however ; she was
 
 118 THE tutor's WAED. 
 
 still seeking the solution of life's problem 
 among the havens of this world, and as 
 she gazed into the lucid skies, and on the 
 dark earth stretching out before her, there 
 crept oyer her that strange sense of loneli- 
 ness which is an indwelling instinct in the 
 heart, and which we feel most often in a 
 crowd, in the presence of our fellow men, 
 for it is the mysterious solitude of the spirit 
 that nought material can ever fill. 
 
 It is this void and craving of the mind 
 which causes men so to labour and to toil 
 for the realization of their various hopes 
 and visions ; for they are ever seeking 
 madly to hew out from the dust and clay 
 around them an aliment for that vast spiri- 
 tual hunger and desire. 
 
 Millicent had always felt most strongly 
 the longing for that unknown good which 
 she believed was to be found in life, else she 
 knew not why the life had been given to 
 her, and to-night it seemed to come upon 
 her with an overwhelming power ; for she 
 had, she scarce knew why, been disap-
 
 THE tutor's WAKD. 119 
 
 pointed with her first evening in her new 
 home. During the long, monotonous years 
 she had spent at Aix, she had ever looked 
 forward to her arrival in England as the 
 event which was to open up for her the 
 treasure-house of existence, where she might 
 go in and find the mysterious riches that 
 were to satisfy her heart's desire ; and now 
 she had come, and it did not seem to her 
 that the elements of which the Egerton 
 family were composed, were likely to afford 
 her much insight into the uses and purposes 
 of life. Already, with the vivid imagination 
 of youth, she pictured to herself a daily 
 routine of inoffensive occupations, similar 
 to those which had oppressed her in France, 
 and her thoughts flew back to the conver- 
 sation she had held with John Forde, when 
 he told her that the thing she longed for 
 was the spirit's rest, and led her, by his 
 ominous words, to believe that this rest, for 
 which the soul feels such a dire necessity, 
 was to be found only in human affection. 
 This conviction now returned with re-
 
 120 THE tutor's WAKD. 
 
 doubled strength, as she felt the chill of 
 that dreary solitude of mind ; it seemed to 
 her that to live in the life of another was 
 a necessary law of her being, — that, in fact, 
 the very power of existence must decay 
 within her unless there were some outer 
 life to which she might link herself, and in 
 which she might exist. 
 
 There was the foreshadowing of a great 
 truth in this belief of Millicent Grey's ; it 
 was the stirring within her of the instinctive 
 knowledge that her soul could not subsist 
 alone, — that, except in union with a Being 
 not her own, even that immortal essence 
 would expire and fade away. She was 
 struggling with the inborn necessity of ado- 
 ration and worship which filled her spirit, 
 and she prepared to seek an object for it in 
 some form of human dust, frail and erring 
 as herself. 
 
 She believed that her rest was only to 
 be found in daily, hourly toil for the peace 
 of some other, — that, in the entire devotion 
 of her soul to the chosen friend of earth
 
 THE tutor's ward. 121 
 
 would be its entire satisfaction, and, like all 
 women, the craving was strong within her 
 to find a support and defence for her great 
 weakness and helplessness in some stronger 
 arm and firmer heart. 
 
 So Millicent Grey lay down that night 
 with a bright dream in her mind of some 
 such loving protection and repose of self- 
 devotion ; but she little thought how, by 
 thus concentrating her whole faith and 
 hope upon it, she was, in fact, preparing 
 to stake her life at a single venture.
 
 122 THE tutor's ward, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " My dear Millicent," said Mrs. Egerton, 
 the next morning, as she sailed into the 
 room with an air of consequential satisfac- 
 tion, as though she were aware that an in- 
 visible herald had preceded her in the 
 minds of all present, announcing to them 
 the exalted position she ought to hold in 
 their esteem, "jou will have little diffi- 
 culty in becoming acquainted with our 
 mode of life, for when jou have passed 
 one day with us, you will know our habi- 
 tual routine of existence as completely as
 
 THE tutor's ward. 123 
 
 though you had lived with us for a 
 year/' 
 
 "Do you mean that every day in the 
 year is exactly the same in this house : is 
 there never a variety of any kind whatever T 
 exclaimed Millicent, in some alarm. 
 
 "Not any, I think, in the external 
 arrangements, or what I would call the 
 outward machinery of our existence," said 
 Mrs. Egerton, pompously ; " each hour 
 seems to have its natural and fitting occu- 
 pation, from which we seldom vary. Of 
 course life is chequered at all times, and 
 with us, as with others, there are occasional 
 circumstances which create change, though 
 without materially altering the ordinary 
 course to which I alluded just now. For 
 instance, an event will occur in our family 
 next autumn, which will cause us all a very 
 pleasing excitement.'' 
 
 Next autumn ! no events until next 
 autumn. This was dreary news to Milli- 
 cent. Mrs. Egerton waited to be asked 
 what this occurrence was, before she spoke ;
 
 124 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 for she held it to be highly unprofitable to 
 do anything gratuitously, and she loved 
 that eyen her words should be demanded 
 as a favour, and graciously accorded. 
 
 Millicent was not slow to gratify her; 
 she was much interested in hearing what 
 was her first prospect of excitement. 
 
 "It is the arrival of my fourth daughter, 
 Juliet, from the Continent,^' said Mrs. 
 Egerton. 
 
 "I did not know you had another 
 daughter,^^ said Millicent ; " I thought I had 
 seen all the family." 
 
 " All but this ^one, who is the youngest, 
 and who has been passing some months in 
 Italy with a friend. Until you have seen 
 her, Millicent, you cannot understand how 
 much reason, as a mother, I have to be 
 proud. All my daughters are greatly 
 above par ; I am quite aware of that, but 
 Juliet is something indeed remarkable, and 
 totally unlike her sisters." 
 
 " Is she, then, very handsome V asked 
 Millicent.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 125 
 
 " You innocent cousin V said Charles, 
 laughing heartily, "how very plainly you 
 have told us what you think of those you 
 have already seen/' 
 
 Millicent felt she had done so, and 
 coloured with annoyance at her own im- 
 prudent speech. Mrs. Egerton was content, 
 however, with the implied compliment to 
 her favourite daughter, and continued at 
 once : — 
 
 " Handsome is not the word I should 
 apply to her ; she is much beyond that — 
 she is strikingly beautiful. Charles, I 
 appeal to you, if this is not the case, and 
 you may rely on his opinion, Millicent, as 
 he is peculiarly fastidious on the subject of 
 beauty." 
 
 " There can be no question that Juliet 
 is singularly beautifuV said Charles ; " she 
 is a remarkable person in every way : ex- 
 cessively clever, with an indomitable will, 
 and the most consummate selfishness, — the 
 whole concealed under a winning fascination 
 of manner which I really believe has never
 
 126 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 been surpassed. I have always thought 
 there was a good deal of the tiger in 
 Juliet. The smooth, sleek, beautiful coat, 
 and the cold heart beating with its cruel 
 purpose beneath it, is a very apt simile for 
 that captivating softness and most fair 
 appearance which gain Juliet the hearts of 
 all who see her, and which hide the most 
 subtle calculations for her own continual 
 gratification." 
 
 Charles piqued himself on his talent for 
 analyzing and describing character in a 
 graphic and energetic manner ; he liked to 
 treat individuals as a species of complex 
 machinery which he was skilled in explain- 
 ing, and he was rather pleased than other- 
 wise when he had an opportunity of com- 
 menting on his nearest relations with the 
 same supreme indiflPerence which he was 
 accustomed to manifest to the whole race 
 of man. He merely slightly elevated his 
 eyebrows in reply to his mother's vehe- 
 ment protestation against the extraordinary 
 manner in which he had thought fit to
 
 THE tutor's ward. li? 
 
 qualifiy his sister, and sauntered away to 
 receive his letters from Mr. Egerton^s hand, 
 who was unlocking the post-bag with a 
 solemn and mysterious air, as though it 
 were a matter of the first importance. All 
 the family were now assembled, with the 
 exception of Arthur; and Millicent began 
 to watch their proceedings with the utmost 
 anxiety, for Mrs. Egerton's intimation as to 
 the uniformity of their habits had invested 
 the most insignificant of their acts with an 
 awful importance in her eyes. 
 
 She marvelled at the pertinacity with 
 which Mr. Egerton kept them all waiting 
 for their letters, whilst he carefully exa- 
 mined the address of each one, and at the 
 vivacity with which he literally threw him- 
 self upon the bell and rung it, as soon as 
 the clock began to strike the hour appointed 
 for the family prayers. 
 
 " Pray wait a moment before you ring,'* 
 exclaimed Fanny, already too late with her 
 request ; " Arthur is just coming across the 
 lawn ; he will be here immediately."
 
 128 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " I never wait for any one," replied Mr. 
 Egerton, shouldering a huge commentary 
 (with which he daily confused the intellects 
 of his servants,) and taking his accustomed 
 seat. It afforded him the most exquisite 
 pleasure to make this speech, for he shared 
 in common with many estimable individuals 
 a peculiarity of temper, which rendered it 
 intensely pleasant to him to make little 
 disagreeable speeches, which were often very 
 cutting and humiliating to those whom he 
 addressed, and which he flung at them from 
 the high ground of his own superiority as 
 the advocate of duty and propriety. 
 
 Punctuality was one of those virtues by 
 which he succeeded in sinning comfortably 
 every day, inasmuch as by his excessive 
 punctiliousness on that head he caused the 
 greatest discomfort and annoyance to his 
 family. 
 
 Millicent walked to the window when 
 prayers were over ; and as it opened down 
 to the ground, she went out a few steps to 
 breathe the sweet morning air. She found
 
 THE tutor's WxVRD. 129 
 
 Arthur standing moodily near it. He 
 seemed to shrink from meeting her, and she 
 was again most forcibly struck with his 
 forbidding appearance, which was the more 
 evident in the blaze of the sunlight ; yet 
 there was a soft and mournful expression, in 
 his eyes which touched her, and a certain 
 thoughtfulness in his countenance that is 
 the sure indication of mental powers. 
 
 She went up to him with a kind smile 
 and a winning cordiality to which he 
 seemed little accustomed, for a flush of 
 delight passed over his pale face. 
 
 "You have been taking a long walk, I 
 think," she said. "I quite envy you, it 
 must have been so pleasant in these sunny, 
 green fields, this morning.'^ 
 
 " It was indeed," said Arthur, earnestly ; 
 "such an hour as I have passed might 
 almost give one courage for -the bitterness 
 which the long dull day brings with it, at 
 least to me," he went on, seeming to speak 
 to himself, and not to her. " I have been 
 deep in the woods, where there was not a 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 Sight or a sound save those of the fair 
 nature, so glad and bright in its summer 
 loTeliness. I could breathe the fresh air 
 with delight, feeling it was untainted with 
 the sighs which, from a thousand bursting 
 hearts, will have gone up to load it before 
 the day is done, and brush away the dew 
 without fearing that I was trampling over 
 the spot, where some unnoticed agony had 
 been poured out in secret tears/' 
 
 Milicent looked at him in astonishment ; 
 such bitterness of feeling was quite inex- 
 plicable to her, for whom the existence , of 
 suffering was a mere matter of faith ; but 
 Arthur continued like one thinking aloud, 
 and well nigh unconscious of her presence : — 
 
 " I could not help thinking, as I walked 
 through those green paths this morning 
 what a glorious world this would be if only 
 the human mind were in analogy to that sweet 
 nature ; were it pure, and in hope serene as 
 those unclouded skies, bright with the light 
 of truth as that calm sunshine ; giving forth 
 its fragrance in thoughts and words, gentle
 
 THE tutor's ward. 131 
 
 and lovely as tlie odours breathing from 
 the flowers ; dispensing its refreshing sym- 
 pathy and intellectual aid upon the parched 
 and drooping souls around, like the cool 
 stream wandering with its life-giving waters 
 among the forest trees, — and so that Spirit, 
 which is beauty in the material world, shine 
 forth as goodness in the man. But how 
 far otherwise in actual fact ! There was 
 but one mortal footstep in the woodland 
 path this morning, and yet a very load of 
 bitterness was carried even then, through 
 that pure atmosphere !" 
 
 He paused, and Millicent stood silent, 
 fixing her large wondering eyes on the 
 speaker ; but suddenly she was roused by 
 the voice of Charles, who had approached 
 unnoticed. 
 
 " Miss Grey, I see you are mute in 
 astonishment, from which I infer that 
 Arthur has been imparting to you some 
 of his peculiar theories ; I therefore con- 
 sider it my duty, for your future peace of 
 mind in all intercourse with him, to 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE tutor's ayard. 
 
 announce to you that our respected brother 
 is a poet. If 3^011 knew the world a little 
 better, you would understand that this fact 
 accounts for the yery sombre hue of his 
 existence, and for the fund of most melan- 
 choly information which it will be his 
 delight to convey to you. For poet, in 
 the present day, read — a well-fed, well- 
 clothed, and highly discontented individual, 
 who, having nothing to complain of, com- 
 plains of everything, who conceives himself 
 to be surrounded with the most bitter 
 enemies in the bosom of his affectionate 
 family, and feels himself desperately alone 
 w^hen seated at the tea-table, where his 
 anxious mother is handing him a plate of 
 muffins. Awful instances of the world's 
 hoUowness are to be found in the society 
 of his unsympathetic maiden aunts, and 
 the early duplicity of some of his school- 
 fellows leaves rankling wounds which time 
 cannot efface.'' 
 
 Charles was an adept in the sneering 
 coldness and contempt with wliich, in these
 
 THE tutoe's ward. 133 
 
 our times, it is much the fashion to trample 
 on the very souls of our fellow creatures. 
 We doubt if many burdens will serve to 
 weigh men down in their coffins so ablj as 
 the load of that murderous carelessness 
 with which they wound the feelings of 
 others, casting the blight of ridicule over 
 things lovely and of good report, and 
 destroying ofttimes in their fellow men that 
 faith in the beautiful which they themselves 
 have abandoned, in conformity with their 
 levelling and sophistical creed. Millicent, 
 however, with her fresh enthusiastic mind, 
 was by no means disposed to adopt Charles's 
 views on the subject, and she turned to 
 Arthur with sparkling eyes. 
 
 '' A poet ! Oh, I nm so glad ! Are you 
 indeed a poet V 
 
 " I am so unfortunate,'^ he replied, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Unfortunate ! That is not the word 
 to use. How can you so mistake your 
 calling "? Oh, it is a glorious thing to be 
 a poet. I know nothing of the world;
 
 134 THE tutoe's ward, 
 
 but this, at least, I do believe aud know : 
 it is a noble thing to make jour way into 
 the hearts of thousands, and find an echo 
 there to jour own thoughts ; a noble 
 thing to be a conqueror, more than ever 
 warrior with his armed force, and that bj 
 jour sweet words onlj. Think what an 
 empire of souls a poet wins to himself ! " 
 
 " Miss Grej, jou are rash, verj rash,'' 
 said Charles ; " jou little know how 
 extremelj dangerous the writing species 
 are, or how slight an imprudence will 
 place JOU in their power. I can see 
 alreadj, with prophetic foresight, the dailj 
 arrival of Arthur, with a long roll of MS. 
 under his arm, to which he will hold jou 
 bound to listen, after this incautious speech. 
 I remember once to have mentioned that 
 I took some interest in scientific experi- 
 ments before the author of a treatise on 
 chemistrj, and the consequences were 
 awful." 
 
 Arthur turned hastilj awaj as his 
 brother spoke, but Millicent, whose gentle
 
 THE tutor's ward, 135 
 
 heart was pained for him, called him 
 anxiously to her. 
 
 "Do not go," she said, "your brother 
 does not at all understand what an intense 
 charm there is for me in beautiful poetry. 
 In fact, how can it be otherwise with any 
 one ! I am sure you do not yourself feel 
 as you would have us think/' she" continued, 
 turning with a bright smile to Charles ; 
 " not to appreciate poetry is to undervalue 
 one of the sweetest things^ this world has 
 to offer us, — it is the very music of the 
 mind/' 
 
 " My poor cousin," said Charles, com- 
 passionately ; " what a very uncomfortable 
 life you are preparing for yourself, if you 
 continue in this unhealthy state of feeling. 
 Let me exhort you to reflect that an 
 inordinate interest in any thing or person, is 
 wholly incompatible with that calm equa- 
 nimity with which we can alone, at all 
 times, attend to our own peace of mind, 
 and constantly promote that condition of 
 placid enjoyment which is quite attainable
 
 136 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 in this world if we know how to take 
 proper care of ourselves ; for instance, 
 enthusiasm on anj subject whatever is 
 altogether a work of supererogation. It 
 is most desirable to divest ourselves of it 
 entirely, or it may be the cause of infinite 
 trouble.*' 
 
 " You are not a believer in your own 
 creed,'' said Millicent, laughing ; " or if you 
 are, you must feel exactly like a fish." 
 
 " Like a fish !" exclaimed Charles, startled 
 out of his elegant repose of manner. 
 
 " Yes," said Millicent, " the analogy 
 may not have occurred to you, but it 
 strikes me forcibly, that peculiarly tempe- 
 rate state of mind to which you think 
 it advisable to reduce yourself is extremely 
 similar to the remarkable coolness of the 
 atmosphere which pervades the whole exist- 
 ence of a fish. You will admit that they 
 are essentially cool, externally and inter- 
 nally. I think we might even define the 
 exact species which such a character as you 
 have described would most resemble, I
 
 THE tutor's ward. 137 
 
 should say, now, an oyster — very calm, 
 very cool — an oyster must be safely incased 
 in his own shell, indifferent, we may be- 
 lieve, to the proceedings of the pikes and 
 the turbots around ; not likely, I should 
 imagine, to be very enthusiastic, if even a 
 mermaid were to sing by his side/^ 
 
 During this speech, which Millicent de- 
 livered with much gravity, Charles turned 
 slowly round, and fixed his eyes full upon 
 her. He met in return only a glance of 
 quiet merriment, and an involuntary smile 
 passed over his own face. 
 
 " Talking of fish," he said, " I think I 
 shall go to breakfast.'' 
 
 "And now," said Millicent to Arthur, 
 when they were left alone, "you will not 
 say again it is unfortunate to Lye a poet." 
 
 "'And is it no misfortune," exclaimed 
 Arthur energetically, " to feel within you 
 the stirring of a higli and lofty gift, and to 
 know of no channel or outlet whereby you 
 may make it available for aught that is 
 worth the seeking ! Is it nothing to know
 
 138 THE tutor's wakd. 
 
 that you have a living power within you, 
 which might subdue the minds of other 
 men and mould them to your pleasure, and 
 to know of no principle for whose uphold- 
 ing jou would care to make the offering of 
 your intellect, — or, rather, to have so little 
 love for men, that you woidd never give the 
 noble energies you feel within you, the 
 needless effort of rousing them from the 
 egotism and frivolity which makes them so 
 pitiable in your sight? — Is it nothing for 
 me to know that because of dire necessity 
 my appearance, — my outward appearance 
 only, — is most repulsive in their eyes, they 
 have so shut their hearts against me, that I 
 would rather my name were for ever for- 
 gotten ; than they should insult my grave 
 with the honour due even to the highest fame, 
 when they made my life so desolate of all 
 affection ? Oh, Millicent ! is it nothing to feel 
 on all points more acutely than tongue can 
 ever tell ! to have an unhappy susceptibility, 
 a miserable sensitiveness, which causes the 
 light word carelessly spoken to fall upon
 
 THE TUTOES WAKD. 139 
 
 tlie soul like molten lead, and the cold look 
 unconscioiislj given to cliill, as with tlie 
 bleak wind of some desert, and to know 
 that if ever jou sought to make these feel- 
 ings known, and to obtain that sympathy, 
 which is to the heart what dew is to the 
 flower, they would but mock, and could not 
 understand you ?— This is to be a poet, and 
 this is what I am ; therefore I said well 
 that I am unfortunate/' 
 
 Millicent had no time to answer, for 
 Sophia appeared at the window with a 
 request that Arthur would no longer detain 
 his cousin from breakfast, which desire she 
 expressed to him with all the harshness 
 and ungentleness which is so common an 
 accompaniment of that peculiar species of 
 worth, — most especially understood and 
 appreciated by the possessor thereof 
 
 Arthur moved quickly on at the sound of 
 her voice, but as he passed Millicent she 
 showed him a flower, which she had just 
 gathered, laden with the bright tears of the
 
 140 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " Look/' she said, " how heavy it is with 
 these refreshing drops ; so plentifully, while 
 I life, the dew you spoke of shall fall upon 
 your soul" He thanked her with a look of 
 gratitude, and they returned into the 
 dining-room together. 
 
 Now, both Millicent and Arthur were 
 right ; the one when she said it was a 
 noble thing to be a poet, and the other that 
 it was a great misfortune, for one or the 
 other it will be to all who receive that 
 perilous distinction at their birth, — either a 
 most glorious gift, or a most fearful curse. 
 
 It has not always been a noble thing to 
 be a poet ; it has been a most debasing, a 
 most despicable thing, when the rare talent 
 and the winning power have been given as 
 ministers to falsity and vice, — when they 
 have ignored their high calling, their most 
 glorious vocation, and for the exaltation of 
 sophistry or scepticism, have used that harp 
 of angels, which was placed in their hands, 
 that with it they might echo in men's ears 
 the songs angelic, and lure their souls with
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 141 
 
 telling the surpassing beauty of celestial 
 spheres, — when, in a word, the intellect of 
 the poet has been made a slave to the pas- 
 sions of the man. 
 
 And again, it is in one sense a bitter 
 misfortune to be a poet, for Arthur spoke 
 truly when he said that others of tempera- 
 ment less highly wrought, can never under- 
 stand the acuteness of their feelings, the 
 intensity of their affections ; so that it ever 
 seems to them as though they fell among 
 rocks and stones when they seek to make 
 themselves a rest in the friendships or the 
 love of earth. They are cast in a finer 
 mould than most men, and therefore is the 
 world too rough and hard for them ; their 
 imagination is too ardent, their tenderness 
 too deep, their susceptibility too keen ; the 
 evils that are trifles light as air to others, 
 wound them to the very soul ; and because 
 their subtle shades of feeling and of suffer- 
 ing can never be conceived or shared, their 
 existence is a continual solitude. 
 
 But from this misfortune, for doubtless in
 
 142 THE tutor's WAED. 
 
 itself it is sucli, tliey may, if tliej will, 
 extract a wondrous blessing. Since thej 
 cannot find repose in this world's treasures, 
 and truly never shall, let them up, and 
 betake them to that high path, where they 
 shall meet and hold companionship with the 
 Seraphim, rich in love, and the Cherubim 
 in wisdom, and let them make it their right 
 joyous task to draw after them, with their 
 alluring voice of melody, the souls of many 
 that else would struggle on amid clouds and 
 shadows here, and never find that Way of 
 Light ! 
 
 Millicent was so deeply impressed with 
 her aunt's remarks as to the extreme regu- 
 larity of life at Rookcliffe, that she devoted 
 herself to the task of watching the proceed- 
 ings of the family on this day with much 
 energy and zeal. In fact, Fanny declared 
 it made her perfectly nervous to have those 
 great brown eyes fixed .on her at every 
 moment, and to see them wandering from 
 one to another with a glance of such ani- 
 mated scrutiny. Her abrupt remarks were
 
 THE tutor's ward. 143 
 
 also decidedly startling to those wlio had 
 led a common -place, monotonous, objectless 
 life for so many years Tvith the utmost 
 complacency. 
 
 It was not long before Millicent's atten- 
 tion was forcibly attracted by the en- 
 tire devotion of Mrs. Egerton and her 
 daughters to the manufacture of worsted- 
 work, during the whole of that period of the 
 day when they were not out of doors. 
 They were somew^hat confused by her 
 earnest entreaties that they would tell her 
 for what purpose, they were preparing those 
 uncouth representations of bandits, with 
 eyes of floss silk and all those flowers of 
 unnatural dimensions and impossible hues. 
 She seemed to think that since they plainly 
 devoted the greater part of their existence 
 to this delectable employment, they must 
 surely have some hidden end in view which 
 would render it quite worth while, that they 
 should have been born, educated, and care- 
 fully kept alive, by regular supplies of food, 
 for this purpose only. 
 
 When their answers failed to give her
 
 144 THE TUTORS WAED. 
 
 any definite information as to the ulte- 
 rior use of their embroidered brigands, 
 she remained lost in thought, with her 
 eyes fixed on the basket containing the 
 materials for this arduous labour, which 
 caused them, as it were, to work their way 
 through the ocean of life, like so many ships 
 under press of canvass, and inwardly pon- 
 dered whether the mysterious use of exist- 
 ence which so bewildered her was really to 
 be found in that basket. 
 
 The gentlemen had disappeared alto- 
 gether, but they met again at luncheon, and 
 Mill] cent by a few well-timed remarks 
 succeeded in eliciting the nature of their 
 employments in the interval. Mr. Egerton 
 had been reading the newspapers, Charles 
 had been seeing his horses fed, and Arthur 
 had been wandering in the woods. At the 
 usual stated hour the carriage came round 
 to take the ladies for their drive ; for as Mrs. 
 Egerton informed Millicent, after luncheon, 
 the remainder of the day was always 
 devoted to relaxation. What they were to 
 relax from, her niece could not imagine, nor
 
 THE tutor's ward. 145 
 
 jet the exact aim and object of the two 
 hours' drive which she took with her aunt 
 and cousins along the turnpike road. It 
 was not certainly to give them exercise, as 
 thej did not walk a step ; nor jet in order 
 to breathe the fresh air, as the carriage was 
 closed ; and if it was an amusement it 
 seemed to her even more luguhre than the 
 game of chess which had so astonished her 
 merrj little bonne. 
 
 Millicent looked much astonished when 
 Anne told her, as thej passed through the 
 hall, that the dinner hour was seven o'clock. 
 
 " Do jou dine twice everj daj," she said, 
 with much simplicitj. 
 
 " What do JOU meanl" said Anne; "did 
 JOU think we dined at luncheon time 1" 
 
 " AVhj we certainlj had enough to eat 
 to serve us for the whole daj," replied 
 Millicent. Anne onlj answered bj shrug- 
 ging her shoulders contemptuouslj. It is 
 one of the singular facts of the present state 
 of societj, that the qualities which in theory 
 we hold to be most lovelj and desirable 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 are precisely those which in practice we 
 treat with the greatest contumely and dis- 
 dain. If one comes amongst us ignorant of 
 the world's ways, innocent because uncon- 
 taminated by the knowledge of many eyil 
 things, unlearned in the artificial laws and 
 observances of conventionalism, — with what 
 contempt and sneering ridicule are they 
 met by those whose supposed superiority 
 consists in the fact that they drag after' 
 them, through the crowds they love so well, 
 garments soiled with the dust they have 
 gathered on them in a many years' contact 
 with the world ! 
 
 Millicent sat next Charles Egerton at 
 dinner, and she was at first somewhat silent, 
 not having been long enough in England to 
 know what a very important and prominent 
 place in society has been assumed by young 
 ladies, — and how impossible it would seem, 
 by their own showing, that the affairs of 
 the Church, or the nation, should be con- 
 ducted without their able interference. 
 She might have been .^jomewhat enlightened
 
 THE tutor's ward. 147 
 
 in this respect by Sophia, who was in the 
 habit of deliyering a course of lectures to 
 Mr. Egerton at meal times, which nothing 
 but his deep pre-occupation on such occa- 
 sions could haye enabled him to have en- 
 dured. Charles, however, who had observed 
 his cousin's eyes glancing with their look of 
 bright intelligence from side to side, at last 
 endeavoured to draw from her the nature 
 of her thoughts, which he saw was likely to 
 afford him some amusement. 
 
 "Pray tell us, Miss Grey, what pecu- 
 liarity in our manners and customs is now 
 attracting your attention. You should re- 
 member that you have especial advantages 
 for working at least a theoretic reform in 
 our social system, since all is entirely new 
 to you, which is a second nature to us, and 
 consequently you are capable of analyzing 
 many of those anomalies which we skould 
 never observe." 
 
 " Indeed,'' said Millicent, laughing, " it 
 would be an immense relief to me if I 
 might talk openly of all I see, if I might 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 be as impertinent as I please, in sliort ; and 
 after all, you know, it is I who ought to 
 be laughed at, for it is only my ignorance 
 which causes me to be so astonished at 
 English customs ; consider me as a savage, 
 and then I will tell you all I think." 
 
 " Very like a savage,'' said Charles, glanc- 
 ing at her sweet young face. 
 
 " But indeed, Millicent," said Mr. Egerton, 
 benignly, " I hope you will make your 
 comments on all you see. I like to hear 
 your fresh, unsophisticated remarks." 
 
 Poor Mr. Egerton ! he little knew all 
 he was to suffer hereafter from the excessive 
 bewilderment caused by these same un- 
 tutored reflections which he thus encouraged 
 in his niece. Millicent, however, had an 
 instinctive deference for her elders, and she 
 preferred addressing herself to Charles. 
 
 " Well, I must tell you that I am par- 
 ticularly astonished at all this machinery, 
 merely for the sake of eating." 
 
 " What machinery?" asked Charles. 
 
 " Why, the whole aff'air ; the wliole ela-
 
 THE tutor's wakd. 149 
 
 borate pageant, arranged with so much 
 time and trouble. Look at those men, 
 with immortal souls, for instance, going 
 round the table with so manj intricate 
 evolutions, to which thej are giving their 
 entire intellect and thoughts." 
 
 " Do jou mean the servants V he said. 
 
 " Yes, the servants ; but they have souls, 
 and intellects, and capacities, jou know. 
 Now, it is clear to me that their lives are 
 devoted, as well as all their mental faculties, 
 to the task of helping us to eat according 
 to an elegant system. Just think what 
 previous calculation and forethought they 
 must have given to that symmetrical display 
 of forks and spoons on the sideboard there. 
 Who can tell what important discoveries 
 in science they might not have gained for 
 their fellow-creatures with the same exercise 
 of their mind otherwise directed 1 " 
 
 " It is rather a new view of the case,'' 
 said Charles. 
 
 " Then you know, it is not their time 
 and life only, but ours also, that seems
 
 150 THE tutor's WAED. 
 
 to me, in this country, to be absorbed by 
 the business of keeping in life. In reality, 
 you know, it requires a very Short time. 
 In Provence, the peasants, when they are 
 hungry, take a piece of bread and a 
 bunch of cherries, and sit down under a 
 tree to eat them ; it does not occupy them 
 much more than ^ye minutes ; but here it 
 is really extraordinary how much time we 
 employ in preparing to live. I have been 
 counting — an hour to breakfast, another to 
 luncheon, two or three, at least, for dinner, 
 and coffee after it, another for tea and 
 biscuits and wine and water at night, so 
 that it is about six hours altogether ; now, 
 if there are twelve hours in the day, that 
 is just half of it given to eating ; seven 
 days in the week, three and a half occupied 
 in feeding our bodies ; threescore years and 
 ten for a man's life, and he eats incessantly 
 during thirty-five of them.'' 
 
 " What an extraordinary calculation," 
 said Charles. 
 
 " True, nevertheless, you see. I am very
 
 THE TUTOES WARD. 151 
 
 untaught, very unlearned, and I am obliged 
 to try to analyze life for myself. Life, 
 that is, as it is understood in my own 
 country, and by persons of my own station. 
 I cannot let my existence slip away without 
 ascertaining the truth of those occupations 
 which absorb it. But in order to do so, 
 one must see things as they really are, strip 
 them of all borrowed clothing, and look at 
 them in their true colours. Now it does 
 seem to me that we are for ever making- 
 ready to live and never living. I have 
 spoken only of eating ; but when you add 
 to that, the time given to dressing and 
 sleeping, I do not think you will find that 
 there is much left of a life-time after the 
 preliminaries are attended to. It is like 
 continually reading the preface, and never 
 coming to the book itself — always getting 
 into the carriage for a journey, and never 
 driving anywhere." 
 
 Mr. Egerton looked bewildered, and 
 Charles laughed ; he glanced at his father, 
 and then said:
 
 152 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 " But you forget that you would deprive 
 us of one of the greatest pleasures ^Ye have, 
 if you denied us our comfortable repasts. 
 Just fancy my father's feelings, dining upon 
 a bunch of cherries under a tree instead 
 of sitting down to fiYe courses and a 
 dessert ; you must remember that to enjoy 
 is to live/' 
 
 " Oh, now you have reduced it to the 
 very lowest level," exclaimed Millicent. 
 
 " Reduced what ?" asked Charles. 
 
 " The business of life ! What, do you mean 
 to say that this noble creation of man, this 
 wonderful existence given to him, this fine 
 intellect, this vast capacity, this power of 
 thought — that all this is intended for no 
 other purpose than that he, as an isolated 
 being, should experience a [personal and 
 solitary enjoyment in the gratification of 
 his appetite, — the very lowest and meanest 
 qualification of his nature V 
 
 " My dear Miss Grey, pray be cautious ; 
 you really alarm me. My nerves are scarcely 
 equal to such startling denunciations. I
 
 THE tutor's ward. 153 
 
 tliouglit my remark very innocent and sen- 
 sible ; I can hardly imagine how you have 
 drawn from it such a wholesale condem- 
 nation." 
 
 " Simply because, if you would test the 
 real nature of a principle, you must carry it 
 on to the extremest verge to which it could 
 ever reach, you must judge of it in all its 
 bearings, and work it out to the very utter- 
 most. I think we are very apt to hold 
 principles in themselves intrinsically evil, 
 but which, up to a certain point, seem to 
 be innocuous, and because we are too well 
 bred, or too indifferent, to go beyond that 
 limit we never consider what is their true 
 tendency, and so freely indulge them. You 
 distinctly said that we were to spend half 
 our short lives in eating, because it is a 
 pleasant occupation, and I only put that 
 sentiment into other words." 
 
 "Sophia, my dear, how do you feel?" 
 exclaimed Charles, evidently anxious to 
 escape giving an answer; "' Othello's occu- 
 pation ' seems to me to be gone into other
 
 154 THE TUTOR'S WARD. 
 
 hands; the ^Yig and gown with which me- 
 taphorically you have iuvested yourself for 
 the last few years, in order to sit in judg- 
 ment on us all, has clearly been transferred 
 to the head and shoulders of our merry 
 cousin here. Your essays on moral im- 
 provement were nothing to her pithy re- 
 marks." 
 
 " Millicent's ideas seem to me to be re- 
 markably confused/' said Sophia sharply. 
 
 "Indeed they are," said Millicent, very 
 humbly ; " I become more and more con- 
 fused with every thing 1 see and hear." 
 
 " But you have sufficiently proved to 
 what miserable things our lives are "given," 
 said Arthur, who sat on the other side of 
 her; " will you not now say to what they 
 should be devoted ? how should the time we 
 might redeem from the corrupt usages of 
 society be occupied by us all^" 
 
 "Ah, that is the very difficulty which 
 weighs upon me like the heaviest burden," 
 said Millicent, her eyes filling with tears from 
 the intensity of lier feelings ; " I can see the
 
 THE tutor's ward. 155 
 
 wrong, but I cannot find the right. It is I 
 who should ask that question ; for I feel my- 
 self, more than any other, ignorant and help- 
 less ; I feel the evil so deeply that I know, 
 were I to die now, I should have been useless 
 in the world as any clod of earth, into which 
 no mysterious flame of life had ever passed. 
 Only in one sense do I seem at times to 
 have a dim comprehension of what man 
 might perform and might be. I know this 
 world is full of misery, of want, of suiFering, 
 of deadly guilt. There must be a reason for 
 it all, — there must be some dire evil at the 
 root of it. The effect is dark and dreadful, 
 the cause must be more dark and dreadful 
 still ; but be it what it may, it can be 
 overcome, or at least combatted, because 
 good is more powerful than evil. It seems 
 to me, though I know not how it should be 
 done, that it were a noble task for the rich, 
 for those who need not to labour for their 
 daily bread, the intellectual and educated 
 class, to rise up and make themselves a 
 work in the succourinir of their fellow men.
 
 156 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 — It must be such an awful thing to suffer ! 
 Surely to labour for the removal of the load 
 of suffering from this earth were a nobler 
 system of life, than that which quenches the 
 spirit, in a continued provision for bodily 
 comfort." 
 
 She paused, quite ashamed of her own 
 vehemence, and no one seemed inclined to 
 answer. After an awkward silence of a 
 few minutes, Mrs. Egerton rose to go to the 
 drawing-room, muttering to Anne, as Milli- 
 cent passed her, — 
 
 " That girl's extraordinary education has 
 rendered her totally unfit for reasonable 
 society, or for ordinary life." 
 
 " You will have some trouble with her, I 
 can tell you," was Anne's reply ; " I should 
 not be surprised if she brought discredit on 
 the family by some unheard of proceedings. 
 She has no idea of the commonest rules of 
 society." 
 
 Millicent meanwhile went to sit down 
 musingly, pondering within herself, as usual, 
 how she could best reduce to practice the
 
 THE tutor's waed. 157 
 
 theory she had just started, that it were 
 a fitting object for life to wrestle with 
 human miserj; and still it seemed, as it 
 had ever done, that for her, a weak woman, 
 young and heljDless as she was, there was 
 but one means whereby she could haye a 
 part in so glorious a battle, and that it 
 would be by concentrating all her energy on 
 some one life, — a life beloved, — and devoting 
 herself to banish from it, by her faithful ten- 
 derness, every shade of evil, and every cloud 
 of sorrow. She knew not then that there are 
 other ways and means by which, in all ages, 
 timid women have come forth as dauntless 
 soldiers to battle with mortal suffering, that 
 universal foe ; and how by self-devotion 
 they have found a wondrous strength and 
 power, most foreign to their nature, and 
 have gone to court the strife, in noisome 
 haunts where most it rages, fiercely braving 
 the pestilence, and all the fouler diseases of 
 moral ills. 
 
 Millicent Grey knew nothing of all this, 
 nor would she have been equal to it ; for in
 
 158 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 truth the sweet dream of human love, to 
 which she had given up her whole power of 
 hope, had fascinated her so completely that 
 her eyes could discern no other light in 
 life.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 159 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Several days had passed awaj, and 
 Millicent, who was thoroughly grateful for 
 the real kindness with which she was 
 treated by the Egerton family, was now 
 quite at home amongst them, and as gay 
 as ever. It is true, they did not seem to 
 her to take any very animated or very 
 profound view of existence, but they never 
 interfered either with her ideas or her 
 actions, and left her quite free to choose 
 her own mode of life. She also found no 
 small pleasure in the society of Arthur,
 
 160 THE tutor's WAED. 
 
 notwithstanding the morbid and unnatural 
 state of feeling into which he had fallen, 
 from a total misapprehension of his con- 
 dition on this earth. 
 
 He was as much bewildered as she was 
 by the false lights and strange shadows 
 that surround us in the w^orld, and on 
 which alone his eyes were fixed ; but it 
 was at least a mutual satisfaction to them 
 both, to speculate together on all the deep 
 questions which they most yainly sought 
 to penetrate with their unassisted intellect. 
 Truly for poor Arthur, misunderstood and 
 little cared for in his own family, it was as 
 though the whole earth had become full of 
 sunshine and brightness when, day [after 
 day, he met the sweet smile of his gentle- 
 hearted cousin, and knew that he should 
 hear her kind words of sympathy. 
 
 " I find we have a new neighbour,'' said 
 Mr. Egerton, walking into the drawing- 
 room, where the whole party were assem- 
 bled one morning. " I have just received 
 a letter from a friend, introducing to me
 
 THE tutor's ward. 161 
 
 a gentleman who lias taken Milton Lodge 
 for the summer." 
 
 " Oh, do tell us all about him," exclaimed 
 Fannj, the onlj one of the family suffi- 
 ciently natural to give vent to the curiosity 
 which all felt alike. 
 
 " Lord tells me," replied Mr, Eger- 
 
 ton, " that he is an intimate friend of his, 
 a man of excellent family and large fortune. 
 His name is Bentley — Colonel Bentley — he 
 acquired no small reputation in his pro- 
 fession ; but, poor fellow, he is quite dis- 
 abled now. I have a note from him, 
 saying that he is too great an invalid ever 
 to leave home, but that he begs me to call 
 upon him." 
 
 " He is a married man, probably ?" sug- 
 gested Mrs. Egerton, carelessly. 
 
 " On the contrary, he ncA^er had a wife. 
 I believe his nephew is his heir, and he will 
 have a very handsome income." 
 
 " Is he an old man V asked Anne. 
 
 ^' Why, not exactly what I should call old; 
 about my standing, I should say." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 " Oh r Anne made no other answer 
 than this significant monosjllable. 
 
 " He is, then, old enough to come into 
 the list of those whose age entitles them 
 to the benefit to be derived from my 
 * Tracts for the Elderly,' " said Sophia, in 
 her calm, measured voice ; " I am glad of 
 it/^ 
 
 "Mj dear Sophia," said Charles, "you 
 don't suppose the man to be without edu- 
 cation ; I thought your essays were for 
 the ignorant." 
 
 " You are right as to my intention in the 
 publication," replied Sophia, " but I can 
 assure you that nowhere have I found such 
 ignorance of the peculiar principles I wish 
 to inculcate, as amongst those whose station 
 in life would have led one to hope better 
 things." She turned her eyes, as she spoke, 
 full upon her father; Mr. Egerton, however, 
 endured the glance without wincing, being 
 hardened into indifference to the schooling 
 most plentifully bestowed upon him by his 
 youngest daughter.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 163 
 
 "How I should like to see this old 
 geutleman," exclaimed Millicent ; " he would 
 be somethiug new \" 
 
 "Well, my dear, I know of no reason 
 why you should not be gratified," said Mr. 
 Egerton. " Colonel Bentley is accompanied 
 by his widowed sister, Mrs. Hartley, on 
 whom Mrs. Egerton must call to-day, and 
 you had better go with us." 
 
 Millicent agreed, although she had 
 hitherto always eschewed the daily fune- 
 real drive in the family hearse, when it 
 seemed to her that they ever went with 
 much pomp, to bury their superfluous time. 
 She met Arthur's glance of disappointment, 
 who appeared to think there would be a 
 sunbeam less in the woods if she did not 
 go with him to wander through them, as 
 was their wont nearly every day, and she 
 murmured, as she past him, a few of those 
 gentle, kindly words that come like sweet 
 music into the life of those to whom is 
 given that intensity of tenderness, which 
 is a gift so beautiful and yet so perilous. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 A short drive brought Millicent, with her 
 uncle and aunt, to Milton Lodge. Mrs. 
 Hartley was alone in the drawing-room 
 when they went in. She was a very old 
 widow lady, most simple in manner and 
 appearance, but with a face which to look 
 on was to love. The mild blue eyes, full 
 of that calm look of sorrow which the 
 many tears of widowhood alone can give, 
 and the sweet expression lingering round 
 the placid mouth, all spoke so eloquently 
 of the truthful simplicity and perfect 
 unselfishness of her character. Very child- 
 like was her gentle spirit, for to her no 
 gift of intellect or power of mind was given, 
 but the far richer portion, of humility and 
 willing submission, and a heart that ever 
 beat with warmest sympathy towards her 
 fellow-creatures. The deep, unclianging 
 grief which, with the passing of her hus- 
 band's spirit, had entered into hers, had 
 been, during the long years of solitude that 
 followed, as a blessed angel sitting by her 
 side, and talking to her ever with words of
 
 THE tutor's ward. 165 
 
 She welcomed her new acquaintance with 
 much cordiality, but Millicent was at a loss 
 to account for the peculiar smile which 
 passed over her face as she took the young 
 girl's hands ; her astonishment soon ceased, 
 however, — there was a sound of some one 
 coming along the passage on crutches, and 
 Colonel Bentley entered, followed hy a very 
 tall servant. Mr. and Mrs. Egerton met 
 him with all due formality, but their 
 amazement was great when Millicent, bound- 
 ing from her seat, flew towards him, and 
 expressed the utmost delight at seeing him 
 again. 
 
 " I told you we should meet in England," 
 said he ; " why you fairly bewitched me. 
 Miss Grey ! I think you will admit I have 
 lost no time in establishing myself as near 
 to you as I could.'' He then detailed to 
 her uncle and aunt the acquaintance they 
 had made on board of the French steamer, 
 and further declared positively, that he had 
 €ome to settle in this neighbourhood for the 
 sole purpose of being near her. He said he
 
 166 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 had just left tlie Continent, where he had 
 vainly been seeking to recover his health, 
 and finding his efforts quite fruitless, he had 
 resolved on making a home to himself in 
 his own country, which he designed to quit 
 no more. 
 
 " I had no tie, however, to any particular 
 locality,'' he continued, " and after having 
 met with this, — excuse me, I must speak 
 plainly, — this charming little witch here, it 
 seemed to me that life would be so greatly 
 improved by the addition of her society, 
 that I determined on making my new abode 
 as near to her as I could." 
 
 Colonel Bentley stumbled a good deal 
 over the latter part of this speech, as if he 
 were quite aware that he was not telling all 
 his motives, to say tbe least of it, and Mrs. 
 Hartley smiled gently whilst she looked 
 with evident interest on Millicent. Tbe 
 Egertons were, however, extremely well 
 pleased that their niece should have gained 
 the friendsliip of an old gentleman so 
 exceedingly comfortable, in every sense of
 
 THE TUTOR^S WARD. 167 
 
 the word, as Colonel Bentlej, and expressed 
 themselves miicli gratified thereby. The 
 same thought was on the minds of both, 
 that it is not in novels only, that attractive 
 young ladies receive unexpected bequests 
 from elderly gentlemen of easy and pliant 
 dispositions ; such things they reflected 
 have been in every-day life, and might be 
 again. Perhaps Colonel Bentley guessed 
 the idea that was working in their minds, 
 for there was considerable merriment in the 
 meaning glance which he cast at his sister, 
 but he proceeded to follow up what was 
 evidently a settled purpose with him. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Egerton, since I have been 
 very frank in avowing the attraction which 
 has brought me here, I hope you will kindly 
 allow me as much of your niece's society as 
 she will consent Jio bestow on an infirm old 
 man." 
 
 ''And an old lady scarce less infirm," 
 added Mrs. Hartley, with a smile. " I am 
 afraid your invitation is not very tempting, 
 brother, to such a spring flower as this."
 
 168 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " Perhaps not, but I am yerj selfish ; I 
 sliould like to see this bright face every 
 day, if I could." 
 
 " And so you shall,'' exclaimed Millicent 
 warmly ; " I know I may come." She 
 looked appealingly to her aunt, who gra- 
 ciously signified her assent. "I will come 
 wheneyer you will let me, it will make me 
 so happy." She pressed Mrs. Hartley's 
 hand involuntarily as she spoke, for the 
 gentle old lady, with her simple quiet 
 words, had greatly prepossessed her. 
 Colonel Bentley, however, was not yet 
 content ; telling Mrs. Egerton he had still a 
 request to make, he begged her to allow 
 Millicent to remain with him now, whilst 
 they proceeded to pay some other visits 
 they had in view, and they could return 
 for her on their waf home. To this they 
 also agreed, and Millicent soon found her- 
 self, greatly to her delight, alone with her 
 kind old friend, whom she seemed to have 
 known for years. He was in the greatest 
 glee, and looked as if he could have
 
 THE tutor's ward. 169 
 
 danced round her, crutches and all. Had 
 Millicent been somewhat less guileless, she 
 might have seen yerj clearly that Colonel 
 Bentlej had certainly some purpose in view 
 respecting her, which had induced him thus 
 to seek her out, and now determinately 
 monopolize her society ; but she only 
 thought of the pleasure of renewing the 
 friendship which had sprung up so rapidly, 
 and of the great relief it would be to her to 
 escape to Milton Lodge, when the ponderous 
 vacancy of the respectable and harmless 
 existence at RookcliiFe became intolerable. 
 
 They had sat talking some little time, 
 when Colonel Bentley rose and summoned 
 Millicent to come with him to the library, 
 where he said there was a treasure he 
 wished to show her. She followed as he 
 led the way, and opening the door he stood 
 back to let her pass. She paused one 
 moment on the threshold ; one moment she 
 stood there, turning round upon that old 
 way-worn man her cloudless eyes, with their 
 candid, confiding gaze, telling so eloquently
 
 170 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 of a spirit that, child-like, knew nothing as 
 jet, either of the deep joys or the deep 
 sorrows of this life, whose depths had never 
 been stirred to tell what mighty power of 
 feeling and of suffering was there, over whose 
 clear surface the wings of time had passed 
 as over a calm limpid sea, where no blast of 
 destiny, swift and viewless, had roused the 
 lurking storms and called the human pas- 
 sions like foaming waves to life. 
 
 Thus stood she, — though she knew it 
 not, — on the threshold of her youth's sweet 
 spring, from which she was about to pass 
 for ever, into that first summer of the soul, 
 when the sunshine of earthly love shines in 
 upon it, and calls forth every latent power 
 of thought and feeling, even as the warm, 
 glowing beams draw out the fragrance from 
 the flowers. She turned and entered the 
 room, and with that one step she passed 
 into a new era in her existence, where she 
 never more could be, as she had been. 
 
 The first object which attracted her atten- 
 tion was a large oil painting, seemingly fresh
 
 THE tutor's ward. 171 
 
 from the hands of the artist, which stood on 
 an easel near the window ; and as her eye 
 fell upon it, immediately on entering the 
 room, it seemed to her so strikingly beau- 
 tiful, that, without looking to the right or 
 left, she hurried forward to examine it. 
 The subject which it represented was some- 
 what singular, but so ably executed, that 
 Millicent stood transfixed with admiration. 
 
 It was evidently the production of a 
 mind of high refinement, and great purity 
 of taste, whilst every line bore the incon- 
 testable stamp of genius. The scene repre- 
 sented a wild and frowning landscape, a 
 very desert of savage mountains, where 
 huge rocks rose menacing through mist and 
 clouds, while deep precipices and chasms 
 were lost in a portentous darkness. In 
 the very midst of this abode of gloom and 
 terror, stood one solitary female figure of 
 the most exquisite grace and beauty ; her 
 robes of purest white, her fair head, veiled 
 with her waving golden hair, her calm, 
 and clear blue eyes, turning with a gaze
 
 172 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 evidently of deepest tenderness on some 
 unseen object, afforded a most striking 
 contrast with the dark and terrible nature 
 all around. That stern solitude with its 
 inaccessible heights, and fearful depths, 
 offered to the mind only the most dismal 
 images of utter loneliness and gloom ; but 
 when the gaze turned on that radiant 
 figure, on whose half-parted lips the glowing 
 smile told of joy and gladness, as eloquently 
 as the soft eyes spoke of fond affection, all 
 the promise and the hopes of life seemed 
 embodied there, and she looked like the 
 representative and dispenser of the whole 
 rich happiness which earth is believed to 
 offer man. 
 
 The picture was painted in the style of 
 some of the old Italian masters, but it pos- 
 sessed none of that devotional character 
 which mostly hallows those divine works of 
 art, many of which were consecrated and 
 inspired by prayer ; — far other was the 
 spirit breathing through this splendid paint- 
 ing. Ethereal-looking and lovely as was that
 
 THE tutor's ward. 173 
 
 figure, standing forth so wliite and fair 
 amid the gloom — it was no angel, but a 
 mere woman, beautiful with the beauty at 
 which the expectant worms mock, — radiant 
 with the ardour of earthly hopes, and on 
 some earthly object fixing that tender and 
 speaking glance. 
 
 Millicent gazed at it long, silent, and 
 motionless, then, drawing a long breath, 
 she exclaimed, — 
 
 " How wonderfully beautiful I" 
 
 Instantly there was a slight movement 
 behind her, as of one drawing near ; she 
 turned, and her gaze fell upon that face 
 whose image was to pass before her spirit 
 when her eyes were closing for ever on the 
 light of day, — and a voice, whose echo was 
 to linger on her heart, when already with a 
 dull faint beating it was fluttering beneath 
 the hand of death, came sounding on 
 her ear. 
 
 " So sincere a tribute as yours is worth 
 a world's praise." 
 
 "Why, Stephen, I did not know you
 
 174 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 were here when I brought mj charming 
 little friend to see your picture, but I am 
 glad jou have had such an honest proof of 
 the admiration it deserves," said Colonel 
 Bentlej. "And now. Miss Grej, I must 
 introduce the artist to jou as my nephew, 
 Stephen Ajlmer ; he is my sole surviving 
 relative, besides my sister, so I must pray 
 you to be very friendly with him." 
 
 Millicent offered her hand to xiylmer with 
 her usual frankness, and again looked up 
 into the noble face that was bent down to 
 her, thinking as she did so that she had 
 never seen a countenance which bore so 
 plainly the impress of a fine mind, and an 
 elevated character, and wondering at the 
 singular charm of the sweet smile that 
 tempered so well his gravity of thought. 
 
 Stephen Aylmer had received many rare 
 gifts wherewith to make himself a noble 
 destiny on earth, if so he willed it. Of 
 these the most powerful was, perhaps, 
 the great fascination which he possessed 
 over the minda of others. His personal
 
 THE tutor's ward." 175 
 
 appearance, his genius, his kind and 
 generous disposition, all united to give him 
 an irresistible ascendancy with whomsoever 
 he would. He was a man of great talent 
 and of strong feelings. In this age, when 
 knowledge is around us like the blaze of the 
 noonday sun, the light of truth fails not to 
 pass before the eyes of all ;— it passes 
 immutable, unchanging ; and the influence 
 of its pure beams on the soul of each is 
 either like the power of the sun-rays when, 
 stealing over the kindly grateful soil, they 
 cause its hidden treasures to germinate, and 
 bear much fruit, and many fragrant flowers ; 
 or like those same rays sweeping over the 
 cold deceitful waters of the sea, that gather 
 not from them a spark of warmth or of life. 
 Now the proud, strong spirit of Stephen 
 Aylmer had met the flood of light divine as 
 the chill waters of the ocean meet the sun. 
 He acknowledged the glory and the sur- 
 passing beauty of that moral brightness ; he 
 no more doubted whence came those livino: 
 beams, than men could doubt that the
 
 176 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 sunsliine streams from heayen. Yet it 
 penetrated not deeper into his life and 
 heart, than the eartlilj light beneath the 
 cold dark billows. He held the faith as an 
 hereditary possession like his name, or the 
 unstained honour of his family, but he 
 yielded obedience to none, save his own will ; 
 he ruled himself solely by the dictates of his 
 own understanding. He abhorred vice, not 
 because the voice of truth had proclaimed it 
 abhorrent, but because he himself conceived 
 it low and degrading, unworthy the possible 
 elevation of the human nature. Never- 
 theless the soul of man demands a worship ; 
 it cannot exist without adoring, and if it 
 bow not to the Supreme Perfection, it will 
 prostrate itself before some outward expres- 
 sion of that Unseen Power. Now, that 
 which to Stephen Aylmer supplied the 
 place of a legitimate adoration was the 
 worship of the Beautiful ; — he gave up his 
 life to seek and cherish it, wherever it 
 might be found, — in the scenes of nature, in 
 the human face, and in the higher works of
 
 THE tutor's ward. 1T7 
 
 art. He adored also the moral beauty 
 of goodness ; he sought it in others, he 
 cultivated it in himself, but he rested in his 
 own proud independence of mind alone for 
 the attainment of all yirtue and excellence. 
 He would not be degraded, he would not 
 be corrupted by evil, and therefore he 
 would be generous, honourable, unstained 
 by any vice ; not because he was so com- 
 manded, but because he so willed. He had 
 lived nearly thirty years when he first 
 looked on Millicent Grey, and as yet his 
 unsound theory had apparently upheld him 
 in all rectitude and goodness ; — no un- 
 worthy action had ever sullied his fair 
 fame. He was honoured and beloved for 
 his rectitude, and for his amiable and noble 
 disposition, whilst the admiration excited 
 by his talents and genius seemed only to 
 render him more kind and gentle to all. 
 
 He believed himself very secure on the 
 high ground he had chosen, but he knew 
 not what ungovernable passions lay hid in the 
 depth of his soul, which no human will, not 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 even liis who called himself master of his 
 own spirit, could restrain. It was strange 
 that these had never been called forth in 
 any shape ; but his life had been very bright 
 and tranquil. He had devoted his time 
 almost entirely to the cultivation of the fine 
 arts ; he had lived much in Italy, enjoying 
 the free poetical existence of the artist, 
 which is too wandering and gay to admit 
 the exercise , of any very strong feelings. 
 Aylmer had never felt a deep or powerful 
 affection, not because he had not the 
 capacity for it, but because he had it too 
 intensely, — his ideal had never yet been 
 found. Many a fair face had haunted his 
 dreams from time to time, but no attach- 
 ment had ever taken root in his heart. He 
 knew not what it was either to hate or to 
 love, therefore had he easily maintained 
 that calm dignity of excellence. But too 
 surely, yet a little while, and some rushing 
 wind would come to blow to flame the 
 smouldering fire of his soul's deep passions, 
 and then would he find that the fair 
 structure he had built up, the noble
 
 THE tutor's ward. 179 
 
 character and blameless life, were set on a 
 foundation of shifting sand. 
 
 Aylmer was altogether dependent on 
 Colonel Bentlej, being the only child of his 
 sister, who had married a ruined man, and 
 died in the same year as her husband, 
 whilst he was quite a child. They left 
 nothing but debts to a large amount, which 
 Colonel Bentley paid, and adopted his 
 nephew, designing to make him his heir. 
 This was, however, entirely a matter of 
 choice ; he could dispose of his fortune as 
 he would, and Stephen had no legal claim 
 upon him. This state of utter dependence 
 would doubtless have been very galling to 
 the young man but for the excessive 
 affection shown him by his uncle ; their 
 wishes were never in opposition, for Colonel 
 Bentley so habitually indulged him in 
 everything, that Aylmer was always ready 
 on his part to make occasional sacrifices to 
 his uncle's desires. 
 
 In the present instance, Stephen had 
 returned from the Continent to reside at 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 Milton Lodge, in accordance with Colon.el 
 Bentley's request, although he had only 
 partially revealed to him his reasons for 
 requiring it. He had told him, what was 
 the case, that he was exceedingly anxious 
 he should marry, but he had not com- 
 municated the more important fact, that he 
 had already fixed on the person he should 
 wish him to choose. 
 
 Colonel Bentley had never ceased to 
 regret his own deficiency in this respect ; 
 as a young man, being fond of a free and 
 merry life, he had rather avoided any family 
 incumbrances, but when, later, he found 
 himself a helpless cripple, condemned almost 
 entirely to solitude, and delivered over to 
 the care of hired attendants, it was tlien 
 that he longed for some gentle wife to be 
 his faithful companion, ministering to all 
 his wants and comforts. The one great 
 mistake wliich he told Millicent he had 
 made in youth, was simply his having 
 failed to marry when it was in his power. 
 And certainly his lamentations were not
 
 THE tutor's ward. 181 
 
 •without reason, as Stephen was mucli absent, 
 and Mrs. Hartley could only leave Iier 
 children, who were dispersed in the world, 
 at rare intervals, in order to be with him. 
 
 It was not unnatural, under these cir- 
 cumstances, that he should feel very anxious, 
 since he could no longer remedy his own 
 mistake, to prevent his nephew falling into 
 the same, both because he really believed 
 it essential to Aylmer^s happiness that he 
 should marry, and also because, as he fully 
 intended that his favourite nephew should 
 always reside with him, he would secure in 
 his new niece, a useful companion, whose 
 duty it would be to perform for him all 
 those little offices, which belong especially 
 to a woman's province. 
 
 Stephen Aylmer possessed much of the 
 old chivalrous feeling respecting women, 
 and his bearing towards them was full of 
 grace and gentleness, although no one could 
 be more essentially manly in his habits and 
 address. Millicent felt the charm of his 
 manner during the conversation which en-
 
 182 THE tutoe's ward. 
 
 sued between them, and lie seemed pleased 
 and amused at the lively and novel view 
 she took of most subjects. 
 
 Thej had advanced considerably in their 
 acquaintance when Mr. and Mrs. Egerton 
 arrived to reclaim their niece. They did 
 not alight, and as Millicent rose to go to 
 the carriage, she paused once again before 
 the picture, and gazed intently on it : then 
 she looked up with a bright smile to 
 Aylmer, and quoted the words of the poet : 
 
 " Oh, that a desert were my dwelling-place, 
 With one fair spirit for my minister." 
 
 His smile answered hers. 
 
 " You are quite right, — you have caught 
 the idea. I have endeavoured to embody 
 on that canvass my ideal of beauty, — of 
 such beauty as, beaming from one human 
 face, could make the savage desert, indeed, a 
 dwelling place of light and joy." 
 
 " I doubt, however, if anything so beau- 
 tiful does exist in human shape." 
 
 " I almost begin to fear it, — at least, I
 
 THE tutor's ward. 183 
 
 fear that mj ideal exists not, — for I do not 
 consider this in any degree a successful 
 expression of my own vision/' 
 
 " What must your ideal be, if this is not 
 beautiful enough?" exclaimed Millicent. 
 
 " Ideals indeed ! " shouted Colonel Bent- 
 ley, shaking his crutch impatiently. "I 
 have no patience with your visionary pieces 
 of perfection ; they are all very well in 
 theory, but I can tell you they would 
 be most useless, uncomfortable companions. 
 Just fancy asking that ethereal-looking in- 
 dividual in the white gown, whom you have 
 painted there, to come and shake up one's 
 cushion, or bring one a footstool ? Take my 
 word for it, Stephen, if your seraphic 
 vision were to come flying in just now, for 
 she certainly could not walk, along with 
 some active, merry, sweet tempered little 
 being, of nature's own making, you would 
 soon bow your ideal out, and tell the foot- 
 man to show her the window, that she 
 might make a poetical exit, while you sat 
 dov/u to your dinner with a good honest
 
 184 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 bit of flesh and blood. No, no, — I have 
 no fancy for jour ideals. I dare saj you 
 have got one, too, Miss Grey, — a very fierce 
 and interesting brigand, with black hair 
 and a mystery over his birth ; but, my dear 
 little love, let me assure you, you would 
 not be at all comfortable, making tea for a 
 brigand, especially if he took it with his 
 mask on." 
 
 " I don't think I should, indeed," said 
 Millicent, laughing heartily ; " I am not 
 famous for courage ; but, in the meantime, 
 I have an uncle and aunt waiting for me, 
 who are very real and substantial, and not 
 at all visionary ; so I fear I must go." 
 " Well, promise to come back every day." 
 " I will, indeed, if I can," said Millicent ; 
 and she went to the carriage, accompanied 
 by Aylmer. Mr. and Mrs. Egerton were 
 extremely gracious to him, and hoped to 
 see him often ; and so terminated the visit 
 to which Millicent Grey looked back when 
 on her death bed, as the crisis of her 
 destiny.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 185 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mr. Aylmer called at RookclifFe next 
 day, and having paid a visit of considerable 
 length, he was about to take leave, when 
 the horses were brought round for the 
 Egertons and their cousin, who were going 
 to ride ; and Mrs. Egerton proposed, as he 
 had come on horseback, that he should join 
 the party. To this he willingly agreed, and 
 they were soon on their way to the common, 
 through which Millicent had passed on the 
 night of her arrival. They were all there
 
 186 THE tutoe's ward. 
 
 excepting, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Egerton, 
 and Sophia, who had passed ORt of the 
 hall-door, in the most elaborate manner, 
 with a basket of Tracts, just as the others 
 were preparing to mount ; and having 
 anxiously waited to be asked where she was 
 going, which she at last happily accom- 
 plished, she replied that the curate of the 
 Tillage had greatly unsettled the mind of 
 one of her flock, and that she was now 
 going to warn him that he must on no 
 account attend to that gentleman's advice, 
 but to her own instructions only. 
 
 Millicent Grey had never been face to 
 face with the poor — that dark, that awful, 
 that mysterious portion of this world's vast 
 system had never passed before her eyes, — 
 that one black page in earth's history, which 
 changes not from age to age, bearing ever 
 the same record in the single word Misery, 
 had not as yet been unrolled to her gaze. 
 She was like many others, who live and
 
 THE tutor's WARD. 187 
 
 die in this country, with its millions of 
 paupers, without ever having looked on 
 poverty. 
 
 They would think you mocked them if 
 you told them so. They would say that 
 surely they had often seen the wretched 
 beggars in the street, and that yearly they 
 gave a large portion of their income to 
 charitable institutions. It may be so ; yet 
 they know not what is poverty. Have 
 they ever gone to pass days and nights in 
 attendance on the sick and dying, amongst 
 those crowds of miserable wretches who 
 herd together in damp, black cellars, to 
 watch there all the various shapes and 
 stages of the agony of want 1 
 
 Have they seen them seeking to forget 
 in sleep the raging pangs of hunger, — 
 dreaming of food, and waking to curse life, 
 and weep for death ? 
 
 Have they heard that cry, simple, fami- 
 liar, daily ascending — but into which is
 
 188 THE tutor's "WARD. 
 
 gathered the extreme of mortal anguish — 
 " My children are perishing for want of 
 food, and I have none to give V 
 
 Have they seen parents blessing the 
 pestilence which sweeps awaj the babes 
 they have carried on their bosom 1 or bend- 
 ing over them when dying in the lingering 
 horror of starvation, and feeling all the 
 strong love retm^ning, so that they would 
 yet retain them even to their life of misery, 
 well knowing one morsel — one little morsel 
 — might redeem them from the jaws of 
 death — and yet that morsel is unattainable, 
 and they expire ? 
 
 Have they seen the man with the strong 
 life struggling in him, lying before the stores 
 of food, where all that could tempt the 
 appetite is separated from him by the frail, 
 clear glass 1 — have they thought on his 
 superhuman virtue, who stretches not out 
 his hand to take the means of life, when 
 his nature was revolting against the death
 
 THE tutor's ward. 189 
 
 of exhaustion 1 It were a crime, no doubt, 
 for which men who fare sumptuously every 
 day would sit in judgment on him and 
 condemn him, with stern rebuke, to punish- 
 ment. A crime, truly ; but in whom 1 In 
 those, surely, who withhold, as much as in 
 the maddened wretch who steals. 
 
 They have not known poverty, they have 
 not seen it, till they have so felt it that 
 they turn in horror from their own luxu- 
 rious boards and look in fear on the 
 comfort of their homes — asking themselves 
 by what right they enjoy one item of 
 superfluity whilst at the door of their very 
 souls a million fellow creatures stand 
 knocking, saying, " Give us food, give us 
 food, we perish !" 
 
 Millicent knew nothing of all this, yet 
 she had learned theoretically that there was 
 want and sorrow in this world, and she 
 often wondered what it was that she felt 
 so repugnant in Sophia Egerton's charity.
 
 190 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 She had a vision of Oharitj such as we 
 have spoken of already, one whose feet 
 she would have kissed, could she have met 
 her stealino^ in secret throuo^h the dark 
 haunts of wretchedness, so gentle, so hum- 
 ble, so loving — none knowing whither she 
 goes, or whence she comes — braving the 
 contagious sickness of all the noisome 
 atmosphere, cold and heat, fatigue and 
 long unrest, if only her presence can give 
 comfort ; enduring the rude, unholy words 
 of evil men, the sights and sounds of 
 blasphemy and vice, nor heeding that the 
 delicately nurtured might shun her after, 
 lest she suffer by the contact. Some such 
 vision as this had Millicent ; yet she was 
 always angry at herself for not sufficiently 
 appreciating Sophia's exertions. 
 
 The truth was, that Millicent Grey, quick- 
 sighted as she certainly was in detecting 
 many of the popular fallacies and familiar 
 little sins which, like so many respected
 
 THE TUTORS WARD. 191 
 
 family friends, are everywhere received and 
 cherished in society, had not yet distin- 
 guished between the meek, voiceless, all- 
 enduring charity which, heaven be praised, 
 has a wide though hidden dominion in our 
 land, and a certain species of convivial 
 benevolence, quite peculiar to England, and 
 most universal there. 
 
 There is a whole system of sociable, 
 open-mouthed alms-giving, which is most 
 intensely pleasant to human nature, and 
 especially to that nature as developed in 
 the inhabitants of Great Britian. 
 
 Religion being essential to respectability 
 among us, we are obliged to dress up our 
 pleasures in a monk's cowl and gown, before 
 we can go out walking with them in the 
 eyes of the world. 
 
 Now nothing looks the religious so well 
 as that busy, excited, talkative charity 
 that drives to cottage doors in a carriao^e 
 filled with sympathizing friends, and holds
 
 192 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 meetings to discuss soup kitchens and 
 blanket clubs, ever comparing notes with 
 others equally zealous, as to the amount 
 of good that has been done, — promoting in 
 every possible way the public performance 
 of that duty, which is to be accomplished 
 by the left hand unknown to the right, 
 and talking as openly of their charitable 
 prowess as if they were recounting their 
 misdoings in self-imposed penance. 
 
 Millicent had not quite understood this as 
 yet, so she looked thoughtfully after Sophia 
 and her basket, till the voice of Aylmer at 
 her side recalled her from her reflections. 
 
 Ay Imer's conversation was striking and full 
 of talent : he waged war against all common 
 places, and when he was conversing with any 
 one who could understand him, he invariably 
 chose subjects of some depth and importance, 
 on which he could exercise the powers of his 
 fine mind. This was great enjoyment to 
 Millicent, who could never be content with
 
 THE tutor's ward. 193 
 
 tlie surface of things. She was perpetually 
 diving to the bottom of wells in search of 
 truth, and she was quite happy when she 
 found any one willing to dive along with 
 her, instead of passing by on the beaten 
 path, as most of her present friends did, who 
 were content, as she said, to cast a glance 
 of pity on her so perplexed in her well, 
 whilst they themselves followed the road, 
 right or wrong, which others chalked out 
 for them, and wondered what made her take 
 so much trouble. 
 
 Aylmer was pleased with her frank 
 simple manner, and amused by her lively 
 remarks. The conversation was so in- 
 teresting that it was not until they had 
 ridden several miles that Millicent remem- 
 bered she had not addressed a word to 
 Arthur, who was riding silently by her side. 
 
 There was a great change in Arthur 
 Egerton, since the sweet face of his cousin 
 had come beaming in upon his dark life like 
 
 VOL I.
 
 194 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 a star : the immense ambition wliich so 
 long had sounded in his heart like thunder, 
 still was echoing there, for it was the voice 
 of the divine gift within him, that cried 
 out to be employed on the high mission for 
 which alone the poetic spark of heavenly 
 fire was ever sent to dwell in mortal clay ; 
 but it had changed its nature. We have 
 said that this young poet had never under- 
 stood his calling, because he had not com- 
 prehended man's immortal destiny, wherein 
 lies the solution of all this life's bewilder- 
 ment, and he was still in the mist of his 
 sorrowful ignorance ; but it often happens 
 to those who have never filled the void of 
 their own spirit with the great name of truth, 
 that when, for the first time, a strong affection 
 of earth comes swelling up into their soul, 
 they conceive that their whole being shall 
 be content therewith, and that around this 
 alone, may revolve all their thoughts, and 
 longings, and desires. The conviction of this
 
 THE tutoe's ward. 195 
 
 error comes best and soonest in the full 
 accomplishment of their desires, for satiety 
 is the deepest test of the true value of 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Whilst the treasure is unattainable, how- 
 ever, it seems mostly to suffice for the heart 
 of man, — and it was so now with Arthur. 
 He had never yet stilled the raging fire of 
 his ambitious yearnings, by giving the fruit 
 of his great gifts to the world, for he did 
 not sufficiently love mankind either to de- 
 vote his genius to benefit them, or to gain 
 their applause for himself ; but now at this 
 time it seemed to him that he would readily 
 employ all his rare talent to conquer one 
 gentle heart. 
 
 He had the consciousness of his own 
 genius, as all must have who possess it, — 
 and at times the wild hope came across him 
 that the young soul of Millicent, which ever 
 seemed to him limpid and clear as a stream 
 at its source, would so meet his own with it& 
 
 2
 
 196 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 treasures of poetry, that she would overlook 
 his unsightly appearance. Millicent would 
 have been overwhelmed with astonishment 
 had she discovered the nature of his feelings. 
 In France she had been taught to look on 
 first-cousins as brothers, and she had no 
 intention of doing otherwise in England. 
 Even had this idea been removed, however, 
 poor Arthur, with his repulsive looks and 
 his morbid gloomy disposition, would never 
 have inspired her with any other feeling than 
 that of compassion. 
 
 Arthur now recalled her to a recollection 
 of his presence, by telling her that he was 
 convinced her horse had cast a shoe, and that 
 she had better stop and have it ascertained. 
 This was done, and his supposition was 
 found to be correct. She was obliged to 
 dismount while the groom galloped off to a 
 blacksmith's which was fortunately near, and 
 the rest of the party assembled round her. 
 Aylmer suggested that they should all take
 
 THE tutor's ward. 197 
 
 a walk until tlie liorse was ready, but Anne 
 and Fannj exclaimed against this idea, 
 bidding him look in what part of the country 
 they were before he proposed it. 
 
 In truth, Millicent and Aylmer had been 
 talking too earnestly to observe the scene 
 through which they were passing, — they 
 were now in the very midst of the colliery 
 district, surrounded on all sides by the 
 miserable hovels in which the miners dwelt. 
 It was certainly a most uninviting spot, — 
 those cheerless, half-ruined huts, rising but a 
 little way above the black naked ground, 
 had every appearance of the most squalid 
 wretchedness ; whilst the few ragged women 
 and starved-looking children who were 
 crawling about, wore the stamp of abject 
 poverty in every feature. 
 
 Aylmer was not surprised that the Miss 
 Egertons did not choose to walk: he wished as 
 they did that they had stopped anywhere else. 
 He had a horror of suffering either in him-
 
 198 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 self or in others, — he liked sunnj landscapes 
 and smiling faces, and he shrank from the 
 very thought of sorrow for himself, although 
 as jet he had known little of it. He was • 
 bj no means an unfeeling man : on the con- 
 trary, there was much depth and warmth in 
 his character, but he felt, as many persons 
 do with regard to the awful mass of poverty 
 which overwhelms this vast country, that 
 it was an evil quite beyond his reach, and 
 therefore, since he could not remedy it, he 
 would avoid all occasions of making himself 
 unhappy by contemplating it. So thought 
 and so acted the man under the influence of 
 the world's schooling, — not so felt Millicent 
 Grey, who was as yet guided solely by 
 natural impulse. She gazed round on the 
 gloomy scene, with great astonishment for, as 
 we have said, she had never looked poverty 
 in the face. " What a dismal place this is!" 
 she said ; " surely it cannot be, that human 
 beings live in those wretched abodes ?"
 
 THE tutor's WARD. 199 
 
 " I fear tliej do/' said Ajlmer. " It is sad 
 to think what misery is around us, but we 
 cannot help it/' 
 
 " We cannot help it ! " She hardly under- 
 stood what he meant : some impulse seemed 
 to moYO her, and she walked towards the 
 nearest hut, — Aylmer followed her. As they 
 approached, they could distinguish a low 
 moaning sound proceeding from within. 
 
 " Some one is in distress here," exclaimed 
 MilHcent, and hastily pushing aside the door 
 which was swinging half off its hinges, she 
 entered the cottage. She found herself in a 
 dark miserable room devoid of all furniture, 
 and containing only some heaps of straw, 
 serving apparently as beds to the wretched 
 inmates. Close to the hearth, where not a 
 spark of fire lingered among the black cin- 
 ders, a woman sat crouching, her face buried 
 in her hands, and her continual moaning 
 seeming to indicate that she was in pain. Two 
 half-naked children lay sleeping at her feet.
 
 200 THE TUTOH'S WARD. 
 
 Millicent shivered as she cast a rapid glance 
 on the cheerless aspect of the place, — then 
 going up to the woman, she laid her hand 
 softly on her shoulder, and asked if anything 
 was the matter with her. The poor crea- 
 ture looked up and gazed for a moment in 
 her face, with a sort of vacant astonishment, 
 but soon resuming her former position, she 
 began to rock herself to and fro with many 
 heavy sighs. 
 
 " Are you ill?'' said Millicent, in a gentle 
 voice. 
 
 " 111 enough," replied the woman, with 
 the sort of dogged sullenness which almost 
 invariably takes possession of the pauper, 
 who has long ceased to hope or expect 
 relief. 
 
 " But then you surely have a doctor to 
 attend you 1 — can he do you no good V said 
 Millicent, who never supposed it possible 
 that any one could have to suffer, either 
 morally or physically, without the means of 
 relief.
 
 THE TUTORS WAED. 201 
 
 Again the woman lifted her head, and 
 looked at her ; she evidently thought that 
 the " lady " mocked her. Millicent repeated 
 her question ; a bitter smile passed over 
 the woman's face, — " Oh, aj, — we've a 
 doctor, sure enough, — he puts us out of 
 pain, any how : there's my child, in the 
 corner, see what he has done for her." She 
 pointed to what Millicent had fancied was 
 only a bundle of rags : she now saw it was 
 a tattered counterpane, covering a little 
 child. She went and lifted it up, but 
 started back appalled and almost fright- 
 ened ; the white rigid face which met her 
 gaze, wore that expression of sternness and 
 of indomitable calm, which is so strangely 
 sublime when stamped on an infant brow. 
 The majesty of death shone forth on the 
 innocent countenance of the pauper's little 
 child, and filled her soul with awe. She 
 let the covering fall over it with silent 
 respect, and crept back to the poor mother.
 
 202 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " This is very sad ; I feel so much for 
 joii; poor little child! How did jow 
 lose it r' 
 
 " Do jou mean, what was it killed mj 
 baby V said the woman, not yet softened by 
 Millicent's gentle sympathy. "You may 
 know that soon enough : it was starva- 
 tion/' 
 
 Millicent actually screamed, " Starvation ! 
 Oh, you do not mean it. Oh, how dread- 
 ful. Surely it is not possible ; and to 
 think of that loaded table yesterday ! Oh, 
 we did not know it, — we did not know it, 
 indeed!" she exclaimed, ready almost to 
 fall on her knees, to ask forgiveness of 
 this woman, for the luxury in which she 
 lived. 
 
 " Ay, like enough," said the woman, 
 bitterly ; " what should such as you know 
 of us poor creatures !" And then passed 
 through the mind of the starving pauper, a 
 vision of that awful history, on which the
 
 THE tutor's ward. 203 
 
 very souls of tlie poor do feed, finding 
 therein a terrible consolation and a savasre 
 hope. It was the parable of Lazarus and 
 the beggar. 
 
 " Oh, but if we had known it, we never 
 would have let this happen,^' said Millicent, 
 trembling with agitation ; " and at least 
 you shall suffer no more now, — take this, 
 take all this," and she emptied her purse 
 into the woman's lap ; " and I will bring 
 you more, much more, to-morrow,— every 
 thing you want." 
 
 For the first time the woman seemed to 
 feel that her visitor's compassion was ge- 
 nuine. She bowed her head, and burst 
 into a passion of tears. 
 
 "Oh, my little baby, my poor, weeny 
 baby ! If I had had this, she need not 
 have died ; it is too late for her — too 
 late !" 
 
 " But not for the otliers," said Millicent, 
 eagerly. " Oh, take comfort ; I will never
 
 204 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 let jou want again. Indeed, indeed, we 
 could not have lived in all our comforts 
 had we known your suffering. But how 
 was it ? Surelj some terrible misfortune 
 caused it. What can have made you so 
 very poor V 
 
 "It is nothing strange, anyhow," said 
 the woman ; " many and many's the one 
 I have seen worse off nor I have been. 
 My husband's a miner ; from year's end 
 to year's end he never comes out of them 
 black mines ; it's work, work, in the dark, 
 all day, and little pay ; but it's all one to 
 me what he gets, I never sees a penny of 
 it. He's taken to drinking, that he may 
 drive out care, and the parish won't allow 
 us nothing so long as he is in work — so 
 here we may sit and starve." 
 
 " It is a most extraordinary case," said 
 Millicent, " I never heard anything so sad. 
 How strange that your condition was not 
 known."
 
 THE tutor's waed. 205 
 
 The woman looked surprised ; slie well 
 knew there was nothing uncommon in her 
 case. 
 
 " Well, mj lady, indeed it's not me only ; 
 there's scarce a family in the place that's 
 not as bad off nearly. I will speak up for 
 them, poor creatures, for they have done 
 what they could for me : many a time 
 they've given me a bit of bread when not 
 another soul's come a-nigh me." 
 
 " Every family in the place as wretched !" 
 
 Millicent felt her brain almost reeling ; 
 she could not conceive the possibility of so 
 many human beings in want of the neces- 
 saries of life within a few miles of those 
 who were plunged in its luxuries ; it was 
 the horror of the contrast that overcame 
 her. For the first time the great problem 
 of want and superfluity was before her ; 
 to think of Rookcliffe and Milton Lodge, 
 and half-a-dozen similar houses not five 
 miles distant, with their abundance, their
 
 206 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 comforts, their elegancies — and then these 
 damp, naked walls, that child dead of 
 hunger, that mother, sullen, hardened, mis- 
 trustful, losing the very woman's heart 
 within her, because of her unpitied anguish. 
 Millicent stood with flushed cheek and 
 trembling hands thinking on tliese things : 
 the voice of Ajlmer roused her — he had 
 remained at the door watching her, and 
 it interested him to see how those social 
 evils, which have grown old and hackneyed 
 amongst us, struck that fresh, penetrating 
 mind, so clear-sighted and so full of depth, 
 even whilst ignorant of the commonest 
 truths of daily life. He now told her, for 
 the second time, that her horse was ready, 
 and her cousins impatient to return home. 
 She started, and, telling the woman she 
 would send to her next day, abruptly left 
 the hut. Here she paused, and, looking 
 with a dismayed and anxious glance to the 
 other cottages, she exclaimed :-^
 
 THE tutor's ward. 207 
 
 "We cannot go home jet ; I must go 
 into those houses, and tell them we will 
 help them. She told me thej were all 
 equally wretched — starving ! '' 
 
 " Nonsense. Millicent !" exclaimed Anne, 
 " jou can't be going into those hovels just 
 now. If the people are in want, papa will 
 send to relieve them — but I've no doubt 
 the J are imposing on you.'' 
 
 " At all events, jou really must not go," 
 said Charles ; " you are by no means the 
 proper person for such a task. You don't 
 understand these things, my dear little 
 cousin, or they would not astonish you so 
 much ; there must be beggars everywhere, 
 and we cannot help them all." 
 
 Aylmer was pained by her look of dis- 
 tress as her cousins spoke, and he said to 
 her, in a low voice: 
 
 " It is really better you should not go now, 
 but I will come here to-morrow and do all 
 and everything you could wish."
 
 208 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 Millicent thanked him war ml j, and at 
 once mounted without another word. She 
 rode on in front with Ajlmer, for Arthur 
 seemed anxious this time not to join them, 
 and for a few minutes both were silent ; at 
 length, she turned to him with a look of 
 deep agitation. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, " in one word, is it 
 a common spectacle which I have this day 
 seen 1 — is it one isolated case ; or has 
 England many such V 
 
 " Many thousands,'' replied Aylmer. " It 
 is best, in my opinion, not to know the 
 fearful extent of the misery we cannot 
 relieve; but if you insist on the plain truth, 
 I must tell it. What you have seen is 
 indeed a sight too sadly universal, and, in 
 fact, what we witnessed to-day is nothing 
 compared with the awful amount of want 
 and wretchedness which prevail in London 
 and the great manufacturing towns.'' 
 
 She could not speak to answer him :
 
 THE tutor's ward. 209 
 
 we are too familiar with the great truth 
 his words had convejed, to conceive how 
 appalling such a statement was, to one 
 who had never dreamt of such things 
 before. 
 
 Heavily did the first knowledge of the 
 great dark tragedy for ever enacted by the 
 poor, come over that young spirit. The 
 sense of her own utter helplessness became 
 insupportable : she bowed her face on her 
 hands and wept aloud. Aylmer felt a 
 pang of remorse at sight of those pure 
 tears falling for the sorrows of others. 
 How far gone was the time when he could 
 so have mourned with unselfish pity? 
 Truly, had there ever been such a time 
 for him 1 So early had the natural sym- 
 pathies, the first quick impulses been 
 deadened by habit and education, chilled 
 by custom and experience ; he felt that he 
 was looking on the fresli dews that well 
 forth only, in the spring and morning of 
 
 YOL. I. p
 
 210 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 the heart, and the sight inspired him with 
 an involuntary reverence. 
 
 Millicent was ashamed of her emotion, 
 and she soon conquered it . 
 
 " Jt is the terrible, the unnatural con- 
 trast between our own condition, and that 
 of these hapless beings, which overpowers 
 me so much ; if all suffered alike, — if such 
 were the destiny of man, then all might 
 submit and endure with faith and patience ; 
 but that some should have, not abundance 
 only, but a hundred fold more than they 
 can use, not personal luxuries alone, but the 
 most costly ornaments to the rich homes in 
 which they dwell, to the very floors on 
 which they tread, — and others, meanwhile, 
 perish, actually perish in cold and hunger ; 
 it is this that seems to me so appalling, — 
 how can we dare to live as we do V 
 
 " But, my dear Miss Grey," said Aylmer, 
 soothingly, for he saw she was strongly 
 excited, " you must reflect that you are now
 
 THE tutor's WAED. 211 
 
 for the first time looking on that great na- 
 tional and social evil, which occupies the 
 whole thoughts and attention of legislators 
 and political economists. You have been 
 laying bare the most deep wound which the 
 best and wisest of men so long have sought 
 in vain to heal. All sec the evil, all deplore 
 it, — but who shall suggest a remedy ? It 
 seems to be an imperative law of nature 
 that these widely-contrasted positions should 
 exist r' 
 
 "Doubtless,'' exclaimed Millicent, "I know 
 that equality is as impossible as it is unde- 
 sirable. I have discovered that, in read- 
 ing history. I remember to have noted 
 in the records of nations how, when rank 
 Was abolished, the aristocracy of talent or of 
 power straightway took its place. No! 
 ignorant as 1 feel myself, I have read enough 
 to have imbibed the most deep-rooted hor- 
 ror for all levelling and republican prin- 
 ciples. The distinction of rank and station 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 is clearly a divine as well as a necessary 
 principle, and even for the sake of the lower 
 classes one would not have it otherwise. 
 We should do a great evil, I am sure, if 
 we sought to change the condition of the 
 merry French peasant, or the contented 
 English labourer. I went with Sophia to 
 one of their cottages yesterday, and I was 
 so charmed with the scene, — but I did not 
 think there were any much poorer than 
 these. I never dreamt of people actually 
 starving ; and it is the violent extreme of 
 the contrast between rich and poor which 
 strikes me so painfully ; the palace-houses, 
 and the wealth expended, on a thousand 
 costly frivolities which have not even an 
 intrinsic value, (being altogether useless ; the 
 devices of fashion for the employment of 
 superfluous riches,) and then the utter desti- 
 tution with its daily, hourly agony. Many 
 grades in our social system there must and 
 ought to be, but surely it is a fearful thing
 
 THE tutor's ward. 21 S 
 
 that there should be within a few yards of 
 each other men reyelling even to satiety in 
 the full sunshine blaze of prosperity, and 
 others lost in the darkest depths of misery, 
 barren even of hope V 
 
 '' No doubt it is a fearful thing, and you 
 cannot suppose you are the first to have dis- 
 covered it. Believe me, the noblest intel- 
 lects in our own land have been devoted to 
 the task of seeking a remedy for it, — but 
 they have found none as yet any more than 
 you could ; it is an evil, passing man's power 
 to compass/' 
 
 " But that is surely no reason why we 
 should be indifferent to it," said Millicent 
 very gently ; " I think it is taking a dreary 
 and enervating view of the case to say that 
 because we cannot remedy it, we will not 
 think of it at all. I see your remark con- 
 veyed to me a strong reproof for my pre- 
 sumption in attempting to discuss such a 
 deep subject, and certainly it was deserved,
 
 gl4 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 and would be more so, if I reallj pretended 
 to give an opinion on matters with which 
 women have nothing to do, and which ought 
 to occupy the wise heads of statesmen only, 
 — and indeed I do not even know what is 
 meant bj political economy. But, Mr. Ayl- 
 mer, my eyes have looked on the face of a 
 fellow creature who died of starvation, and 
 I think had even the veriest child stood and 
 gazed on such a sight, it would have asked 
 if there was no remedy, and would have 
 thought upon the matter." 
 
 " Unquestionably," said Aylmer, " they 
 are thoughts which force themselves on every 
 mind, and I can perfectly understand, after 
 the hermit-life you have led, that these 
 great evils strike you in a new and appalling 
 light, which we who are too much accustomed 
 to them, could not conceive. But still I can 
 but repeat what I said before, — the deadly 
 wound is there, but who shall find the sooth- 
 ing balm wherewith to heal it V
 
 THE TUTOKS WARD. 215 
 
 "I am very fond of Utopia/' said Milli- 
 cent, suddenly turning her bright face to 
 him, "I like wandering there in visions 
 which, though I well know they can never 
 be realized, still do one's heart good to 
 fancy they warm one into hope. Now 
 my Utopia for the poor, would be, that 
 each man to whom is given as his station, 
 the advantages of material and intellectual 
 wealth, should instead of living for himself, 
 live for those, his sorrowing brethren, and 
 devote his life's energy to ameliorate their 
 condition, — if all did this, might not their 
 universal efforts compass, so far as the 
 world's predestined fate permits, a universal 
 evil 1 " 
 
 " Utopia, indeed," said Aylmer smiling; 
 but he had not time to add more, for Charles 
 rode up at that moment. 
 
 "Millicent," he said, "I can stand this no 
 longer ; ever since we had the misfortune to 
 let you go into that cottage you have had
 
 216 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 an expression on jour face, which has chilled 
 me, as if we were in the month of December. 
 Pray restore us to that very Italian summer 
 which you brought with you into the dull 
 old house at Rookcliffe. You introduced 
 yourself among us as a most merry and 
 amusing companion, and really you will have 
 gained all our hearts on false pretences if 
 you assume any other character now." 
 
 Millicent saw that Charles was talking 
 much more earnestly than was his wont, and 
 as her spirits were far too light and elastic 
 to remain long depressed, she readily ac- 
 cepted his challenge, and made the old 
 woods ring with her clear merry laugh, as 
 they rode homewards.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 217 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was quite impossible for Millicent Grey 
 to remain long in a desponding humour, 
 yet she could not forget the scene she had 
 witnessed, and when the family assembled 
 before dinner, she began describing it to her 
 imcle as he stood with his capacious person 
 benevolently protecting the fire from any 
 intrusive approaches. 
 
 "Well, my dear," he answered, "this is no 
 doubt very sad, but you would find the same 
 poverty in manj parts of the kingdom ;
 
 218 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 these tilings really cannot be helped. I was 
 quite aware that there was much wretched- 
 ness in the mining district, where jou un- 
 fortunately went to-day ; but it is far 
 beyond the power of any single individual 
 or party of individuals to relieve it ; you 
 may rest assured, Millicent, that T would 
 willingly do what I could for them." 
 
 Millicent had a spice of mischief in her 
 disposition, and since her residence in Eng- 
 land, she had often found no small amuse- 
 ment in reducing the respectable theories 
 which pervade our atmosphere, to the test 
 of practice. 
 
 " I am sure you would, dear uncle, you 
 would do all you could for these starving 
 people, even though it involved a little self- 
 sacrifice, would you not V 
 
 "I trust, Millicent, when you have lived 
 some time longer in this house, you will not 
 require to ask such a question: you will then 
 learn that those who feel the most, say the
 
 THE tutor's waed. 219 
 
 least.'' — " And do the least, also," muttered 
 Charles, sotto voce. 
 
 "I beg that jou will not suppose that 
 jou are the onlj person who deplores the 
 condition of these paupers," continued Mr. 
 Egerton, with no small testiness ; " the 
 Egertons, from time immemorial, have 
 laboured for the good of their tenantry." 
 ("And the improvement of their lands," 
 continued Charles, with his running accom- 
 paniment,) " And that in a manner which 
 would prove to you that they do not shrink 
 from self-sacrifice." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure of it," said Millicent, 
 " and in this instance also, as well as in 
 others." 
 
 " Certainly, if there were anything to be. 
 done, but we have often talked it over at 
 our parochial meetings, and it is a case 
 beyond our efforts." 
 
 " Well, you are so indulgent, you know, 
 uncle, in letting me tell out all my wild
 
 220 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 fancies, now do forgive my boldness, but 
 even for this affair — I have an idea " 
 
 She hesitated, and laughed at what she 
 inwardly qualified as her own cool pre- 
 sumption. 
 
 " Let us have it, mj dear,'^ said Mr. 
 Egerton, condescendingly patting her 
 shoulder. " Curious results have often 
 arisen,'^ he continued, addressing his wife, 
 "from the innocent remarks of children 
 and young persons ; their very ignorance 
 causes them to take such novel views of the 
 subject as often produce very valuable sug- 
 gestions." 
 
 " I wonder whose remarks are innocent 
 now," murmured Charles, as he looked at 
 the contrast between his father's bland and 
 stolid countenance, where beamed not a 
 ray of any fire more ethereal than that at 
 which he was slowly roasting, and Millicent's 
 inteUigent face, her clear eyes sparkling 
 with all the vigour of a young, fresh in- 
 tellect.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 221 
 
 " Then I have leave to say an jthing I 
 please, however presumptuous V asked she. 
 
 Mr. Egerton waved his hand encourag- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Pray tell me, then, supposing that two 
 thousand pounds could be yearly distri- 
 buted for the support of the miners' 
 families, or for increasing the pay of the 
 men themselves, to such an amount as 
 should prevent the possibility of want for 
 their children, would it not go far to 
 relieve the distress even of that whole 
 district?" 
 
 " Of course it would, any child might 
 know that ; but where is such a sum to 
 come from?" 
 
 Millicent cast a sly glance at the old 
 gentleman's pockets, which suddenly en- 
 lightened Charles as to the nature of her 
 ideas on the subject ; she took care, how- 
 ever, that her words should not seem quite 
 so crude as were her thoughts.
 
 222 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " Why jou know, uncle, joii told me when 
 joii were describing many of the English 
 customs to me, that an establishment like 
 yours could not be kept up under three 
 thousand a-year, and that the rest of your 
 income went to the improvement of your 
 estate." 
 
 " Very true/' Mr. Egerton began to look 
 uneasy. 
 
 " Then, if all persons situated like yourself 
 were to feel that they would like to make 
 any sacrifice to save the starving people, you 
 might all determine to give up, at least, a 
 whole two thousand a-year to them ; and it 
 could be easily done by changing the style 
 of living entirely, and reducing the family 
 expenses to somewhere about eight hundred 
 a-year. It would be quite riches, you know, 
 in comparison to what half the population 
 have." 
 
 " Easily done ! — riches !" Mr. Egerton was 
 so astonished that he could only ejaculate a
 
 THE tutor's ward. 223 
 
 few fragmentary portions of his great indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " Yes, we should all have to give up our 
 comforts, of course — carriages, horses, all 
 that ; but then what could be compared to the 
 luxury of knowing that never again should 
 any one die of starvation so near ; and we 
 might be immensely happy and comfortable 
 on the income you still would have left. 
 We should live in a very different way, and 
 being so large a family, perhaps we should 
 not have much more than the necessaries of 
 life ; but these necessaries would be shared 
 by hundreds of families, who have them not 
 at all just now." 
 
 " Shared, indeed ! " said Mr. Egerton, 
 "It might not be possible to live at Rook- 
 cliffe on that pittance," continued Millicent, 
 warming with her subject, " but as it is not 
 an old family place, and only lately bought by 
 yourself, you could complete the good work
 
 224 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 bj selling it, and so gaining another 
 enormous sum for the poor/' 
 
 " Now, thanks to mj good fortune, the 
 place is entailed," muttered Charles. 
 
 " Millicent, jou are talking the most 
 consummate nonsense," suddenly shouted 
 her uncle, having recovered his voice and 
 his breath, which had been fairly taken 
 away by her unexpected proposal. "You 
 don't know what you are saying, and I 
 wish to goodness you would keep qniet, — I 
 never heard such arrant folly in my life." 
 Millicent was frightened into silence fast 
 enough by this tremendous burst of 
 indignation, and she retreated behind her 
 cousins, who were all laughing heartily. 
 
 "I've one comfort," said Mr. Egerton, 
 beginning to cool down, and addressing his 
 wife, who was the picture of rigid disap- 
 probation, "that mad girl's own fortune is 
 safe in my hands till she is of age, and I
 
 THE TUTORS WARD. 225 
 
 hope bj that time we may find some 
 sensible man to take care of it for her/' 
 Mrs. Egerton shook her head ominously, 
 and they all felt relieved when dinner was 
 announced. 
 
 Mr. Aylmer dined with them next day, 
 and Millicent found that he had amply 
 fulfilled his promise with respect to the 
 poor people she had seen. He had 
 awakened Colonel Bentley's compassion for 
 them, who, like many other good people, 
 was most liberal whenever his attention 
 was drawn to the subject, but who never 
 thought it could be at all necessary for him 
 to rise out of his usual apathetic indifference 
 unless an actual appeal were made to him. 
 His nephew had, however, spent the day 
 among the miners, and he brought Millicent 
 such a report of the relief they were to 
 receive, as filled her with gratitude towards 
 him. 
 
 The party at Rookcliffe was further 
 
 VOL. I Q
 
 226 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 enlivened on this day by the curate of the 
 parish and his pretty wife. lie was a very 
 comfortable curate indeed. His good 
 fortune had procured for him in his present 
 subordinate position that prosperous ease, 
 which is the usual perquisite of rectors 
 only. Being very good looking and of 
 pleasant manners, he had won for his 
 companion not only a handsome and ele- 
 gant woman, but an heiress to boot, through 
 which means he was now enabled to live in 
 a splendid house, whose luxurious apart- 
 ments it must have been rather difficult to 
 quit, on the cold nights when the sick peo- 
 ple sent for him. He was a very cheerful 
 young man ; just the sort of person to swell 
 the number of those clerical Bluebeards, 
 who are perpetually rising, as phoenix bride- 
 grooms, from the ashes of the widower state, 
 and of whom England possesses so many, 
 happy in the affections of their third or 
 fourth wife. He had two great leading
 
 THE tutor's ward. 227 
 
 principles, which chiefly goYcrned his exist- 
 ence ; the first was a strong abhorrence and 
 avoidance of non-essentials, of which he had 
 a very large list, and an equally great dis- 
 like to what he termed " morbidness,'^ under 
 which head he qualified all acute feeling, 
 sensitiveness, and fervour, whether in mat- 
 ters theological or domestic. There were 
 also two or three young ladies of that 
 species, who love to look at other young 
 ladies through their eye-glasses, and whose 
 object is to exalt themselves, by an exclusive- 
 ness, which shuts out from the charity of 
 their sympathy, all but the very few who 
 have attained the fashionable nonchalance 
 that professes to require none of it. 
 
 Millicent found herself seated between 
 Charles Egerton and the curate, with Aylmer 
 sufficiently near to join in the conversation. 
 Charles had been talking with him, of his 
 extreme impatience for the arrival of the 
 hunting season, which was in his estimation 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 the only period of the year worth living 
 for. 
 
 " That is a noble sight you have yet to 
 see, Miss Grey," said the curate ; " of course 
 you have never witnessed an English fox- 
 hunt, — I quite envy you the first impression, 
 you will be so delighted.'' 
 
 " Don't calculate on Miss Grey being 
 delighted with anything that delights other 
 people, my dear Reverendissimo," said 
 Charles. " With all due respect, Millicent, I 
 may be allowed to mention, that your tastes 
 and ideas are slightly peculiar. I have no 
 doubt, if you would favour us now with 
 your views on fox-hunting, you would prove 
 to us that we had been labouring under 
 some great mistake respecting it." 
 
 " You really make me feel," said Milli- 
 cent, laughing, "as if I had some mental 
 peculiarity, which deserves a less gentle 
 name ; but what can I do ? I come to 
 England, and I look straight at everything,
 
 THE tutor's ward. 229 
 
 and I see what it is, and then, if you ask 
 me, I must tell you. One can't help distin- 
 guishing between black and white; if it is 
 black I must say so." 
 
 " Exactly ; but that is just the thing. All 
 our innocent customs seem to you so very 
 black,'' replied Charles. " Pray tell us now, 
 however, what you think of hunting. Where 
 is our error 1 Perhaps it is not a fox we run 
 after at all." 
 
 " Very true," said Millicent, composedly, 
 " it is not the fox, it is his tail, and that is 
 just what surprises me, — to think of ever so 
 many intellectual men, all very learned, 
 having had classical educations and the 
 highest grade of instruction, giving them- 
 selves so much trouble and expense, and 
 putting themselves into a violent heat, all 
 for the sake of getting the simple tail of 
 a fox." 
 
 " But we don't call it a tail," exclaimed 
 Charles, " it is the brush."
 
 230 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 " You can call it what you like, but it is 
 the tail all the same, jou know, neither the 
 fox himself nor anybody else can doubt 
 that; and I must say, few things astonish 
 me more than the extraordinary love you all 
 seem to have for it. You keep up horses 
 and hounds at an enormous expense; you 
 have a whole establishment for the purpose, 
 and actually a sort of uniform, as if you 
 were going to conquer an army instead of 
 gaining only a wretched little tail. You 
 long for the hunting season all the year 
 round, and then, when the happy time does 
 come, you all assemble together, ever so 
 many full-grown men, in the pride of your 
 intellect and strength, and you ride ofif at 
 the risk of your lives, all struggling who is 
 to gain the precious piece of goods, and 
 every one hating the man who gets it, when 
 he rides back in triumph with his tail." 
 
 " Millicent, you are really too absurd," 
 said Charles, "it is not the brush, or the
 
 THE tutor's ward. 231 
 
 tail as you will persist in calling it, that is 
 our object in hunting, — we only take it as a 
 proof that we came in at the death. It is 
 the excitement and amusement of the chase 
 that we like." 
 
 " The amusement of seeing a fox die, — of 
 watching it straining and panting, with its 
 poor heart bursting, as thej say it does some- 
 times, in the effort, — flying in the torture of 
 pursuit, with the open-mouthed dogs at its 
 heels, making the most incredible exertions 
 to escape, and then sinking exhausted and 
 quivering, to feel the teeth of the hound in 
 its throat. No, I would rather think it was 
 the love of the tail, than believe that men of 
 feeling and mind should make their plea- 
 sure in the death-agonies of a poor helpless 
 animal.^' 
 
 " But, Millicent, you do use such extraor- 
 dinary terms. It is not the actual pleasure of 
 seeing the fox die, though they do a great 
 deal of mischief, and must be destroyed, but
 
 232 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 it is the£ne bracing exercise, and the oppor- 
 tunity of trying one's courage, that is really 
 of use to the health and the mind as well/' 
 
 " If the foxes must be destroyed, let the 
 farmers destroy them, or the butchers who 
 perform the same office for the oxen and 
 sheep. You never think of kindly relieving 
 them of their task, although I don't in the 
 least see why you should not just as well 
 assemble to kill the mutton and beef. A s to 
 exercise, you can gallop on horseback quite 
 as fast without having a fox in an agony 
 running before you ; and for the display, or 
 the testing of valour, considering that this 
 world, is very full of such things, as the 
 oppression of the helpless, and the wronging 
 of the innocent, I think some nobler means 
 might be found for the trial of your 
 courage." 
 
 " Miss Grey, it seems extraordinary to 
 hear you talking, against what has always 
 been considered quite an honour to England
 
 THE tutor's ward. 233 
 
 and peculiar to the country, such a fine 
 manly sport/' said the curate. 
 
 " I cannot think it manly to take a plea- 
 sure in the torture of a poor dumb victim, 
 and that any one should find sport in it is 
 beyond my conception. No, Charles, I am 
 certain if you analyze the especial charm of 
 fox-hunting, you will find it is the intrinsic 
 value of the tail, unless, as I said before, 
 you choose to admit that it is the delight of 
 seeing the unhappy brute killed before your 
 eyes, — in which case if humanity has fallen 
 thus far, the sooner they give up fostering 
 so cruel a taste the better, to ray mind." 
 
 " Only you must remember. Miss Grey," 
 said Aylmer, "that the same argument 
 applies to all field-sports ; shooting, and 
 fishing, and everything of the kind." 
 
 " Well, I can only say of these as of fox- 
 hunting, I do think it degrading to man 
 that he should find his pleasure and amuse- 
 ment, in the pain of any created thing.
 
 234 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 Since tliej must be put to death that they 
 may serve as food, let it be done by hired 
 people, as of necessity ; but do not let their 
 expiring struggles form the systematic de- 
 light of a set of amateur butchers. If only 
 each one of them would make their chosen 
 pursuit in the relief of pain, and the giving 
 of happiness to others, instead of this 
 contrary principle, what a strange bright 
 world this soon might be made/' 
 
 " Well, Miss Millicent, I declare I have 
 you there !" exclaimed Charles. " You do 
 give a great pleasure to others in hunting; 
 for the hounds like it extremely : they take 
 a real pleasure in it/' 
 
 " Then, do you mean me to suppose that 
 Englishmen are so very tender-hearted, and 
 so considerate of the feelings of the lower 
 animals, that they actually take all this 
 trouble, and devote themselves, at the risk 
 of their lives, for the sole purpose of pleas- 
 ing their dogs 1 How extraordinarily kifid !
 
 THE tutor's ward. 235 
 
 but if their motives are so very disinterested, 
 it strikes me that there is a slight error in 
 their judgment, for of course you would not 
 wish to give a preference, in your sympathy 
 to any one species of the brute creation in 
 particular : so that whilst you are carefully 
 providing for canine gratification, you over- 
 look altogether, the necessity of consulting 
 the feelings of the fox himself." 
 
 " There is no use in arguing with you, 
 most pertinacious cousin," said Charles, 
 " but really it is incredible that you should 
 composedly give forth a sweeping condem- 
 nation of all field sports, the old well-estab- 
 lished amusements of England." 
 
 " You must lay all the blame on my de- 
 fective education," said Millicent, laughing. 
 " I am quite aware that I have never learned 
 my catechism." 
 
 "Come, that is in my province. Miss 
 Grey," said the curate ; " I will undertake 
 you as a pupil."
 
 236 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 " Oh, no, I do not mean what you would 
 be bound to teach me," said Millicent. " I 
 mean that theoretic catechism, unacknow- 
 ledged but universallj learned, which teaches 
 the popular and received meaning of those 
 things that are not destined to be called 
 by their right names. It seems to me 
 that, in this country, every one is duly 
 instructed in a set of useful principles — 
 little systems for the rule of social life, 
 which are all ticketed and labelled with 
 the finest possible sounding names, and 
 these, when once impressed upon the young 
 mind, can never again be separated from 
 tlie fallacy they protect. I dare say the 
 children have picture-books full of practical 
 illustrations, and their nurses show them 
 two men shooting at each other, and say, 
 ' Now, my dear, this is honour ;' (for you call 
 a duel the vindication of your honour, don't 
 you V) and a gentleman watching the worry- 
 ing of a fox, Charles, and say, ' This is a
 
 THE tutor's ward. 237 
 
 healthy amusement for mind and body/ with 
 a variety of other scenes, representing pru- 
 dence, and proper pride, and self-respect, 
 and charity which begins and finishes at 
 home. Now, you see, never having learned 
 these technical terms, all things present 
 themselves to me in their natural true form, 
 without any disguise whatever, and of course 
 I talk of them as I see them ; but now, I 
 have been quite impertinent enough for one 
 day, so I shall not speak another word ; but 
 I mean to listen to that grave discussion, 
 which my uncle is holding with the old lady, 
 in the purple face and turban.'^ 
 
 Aylmer brought Millicent a most pressing 
 request from Mrs. Hartley and her brother, 
 that she would spend the following day 
 with them, to which she willingly agreed; 
 and from that time forward, it became a 
 sort of tacit arrangement that she should 
 be with them every day when it was pos- 
 sible for her to walk to Milton Lodge.
 
 238 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Three months had passed awaj : autumn 
 had come with its sighing winds, so like the 
 voice of the decaying year lamenting its 
 departed brightness ; and, outwardly, there 
 seemed little more of change, in the inhabi- 
 tants of Rookcliffe, than in the old walls 
 themselves. And, yet, if we had power to 
 see it, strange Avild dramas are enacted day 
 by day in the silent souls of those around 
 us ; they walk beside us unchanged in aspect, 
 and we dream not of the dark shadows that
 
 THE tutor's ward. 239 
 
 may be stealing over the heart we still be- 
 lieve so light and joyous ; we fancy that to be 
 reserve which is the instinct of deep feeling ; 
 and that bitter pride, which folds over deep 
 gnawing wounds the quiet hands that 
 tremble not, to be the calm of a contented 
 mind, and yet there may be working in that 
 tranquil breast, the seeds of mortal anguish 
 which have driven many to insanity or 
 death. Outwardly, no change at Rook- 
 cliife, but for two of those who dwelt beneath 
 its roof, it was as though the earth on which 
 their youthful steps had trodden, with all 
 its lights and shadows, its joys and sorrows, 
 had passed away for ever, and there was a 
 new world with a new state of existence. 
 Yet, not in the same region were these 
 spirits wandering now. When the winds of 
 destiny are unbound from their hid cavern, 
 and set forth on their appointed mission, 
 the same blast wliich sweeps away the 
 hopes from the soul of one, like withered
 
 240 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 leaves from a tree, bears the seeds of sweet 
 flowers to the heart of another, where 
 they germinate and flourish to fill the whole 
 being with fragrance. It was so with Milli- 
 cent and Arthur. The one was in a land 
 of light and gladness now, where the sun of 
 hope had risen, and shone unsetting, so that 
 there was no night there; and the whole 
 air was filled with melody, whose music was 
 from one voice alone, and all things were 
 made lovely, with the presence of that per- 
 fect beauty, which is ever in the face of one 
 beloved. 
 
 And the other was far away, in a chill 
 and frozen region, where the sun of hope 
 had sunk, as beneath the deep waters of 
 despair, so that there was no day there, 
 and no melody, because the voice that made 
 sweet music gave all its gentle tones unto 
 another, and no beauty, because the face 
 beloved, was radiant only with the joy, that 
 came from other love than his.
 
 THE TUTORS WARD. 241 
 
 It may be, that if some observed, bow the 
 tread of Arthur Egerton, was slower and 
 heavier than of old, and his eyes dim, as 
 though, not sleep alone, but dreams, had 
 fled from him, they thought the chill 
 weather, and the gloom of decaying nature 
 subdued the poet's fiery soul; but they 
 never dreamt that these were tokens of the 
 cold dead winter of the heart, where all the 
 sweet blossoms of his spring of hope, lay 
 mouldering away, blasted by the freezing 
 winds of disappointment ; and little did 
 they think, when calmly he moved amongst 
 them, that he had passed through that 
 convulsion of the mind, which is like to the 
 shock of death itself, for it is the rending 
 away of the very life hope, from the being 
 that seems to fall a dull inert mass of clay 
 without it. 
 
 But if they noted the change that had 
 passed on Millicent Grey, they could, in 
 some sense, understand it; for they knew 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 that she was the promised wife of Stephen 
 Ajlmer. Great was the change, in truth, 
 that had come upon her, — none greater in 
 the phases of a purely earthly existence, — 
 it was as though a new being had been 
 given to her, for it was life, animated by a 
 new principle. 
 
 She had done that thing, the most 
 perilous, the most awful which any can do 
 in this mere mortal life. She had delivered 
 up her whole heart and soul to the love of 
 one human idol. We have seen how her 
 young, ardent spirit had flown forth into 
 life, to seek that object for its worship, 
 which, exiled from its own true home by 
 ignorance and misconception, it sought in 
 earth alone ; and how she was led to the 
 belief, that the intense indefinite longing, 
 the aching void of her soul could, only find 
 a rest in one deep human affection, — in the 
 entire devotion of her life to the happiness 
 of another. Before ever she liad learnt to
 
 THE tutor's ward. 243 
 
 feel, she already held in theory, what was 
 the natural impulse of her woman's heart. 
 
 And now, with her, that surrender of 
 every faculty of the being, to one absorbing 
 thought, was entire ; for she had no ties of 
 blood, no childhood's affection to draw her 
 heart's deep tenderness in other channels, 
 nor had she ever yet effected an entrance 
 into that bright and holy life, within whose 
 pure atmosphere no god of dust and clay 
 can find a throne. 
 
 Once in a life-time, only, is such an 
 affection felt, as that which bound Millicent 
 Grey to Stephen Aylmer. All was bright 
 and prosperous around her now ; a few 
 short months, as she believed, would see her 
 linked to him by holiest ties ; yet not 
 because of present hope and joy, was this 
 deep, earnest friendship so intense. If in 
 the future, storms and clouds should come 
 upon the sunshine of her happiness, — if 
 even he who was her idol, should bj 
 
 £ 2
 
 244 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 unworthy deeds, or chilled affection, fall 
 from the high pedestal where she had 
 placed him in her great esteem, it could 
 not change or lessen her attachment for 
 him. It seemed to have taken root in the 
 very principle of life itself, and with the 
 life alone could now expire. 
 
 And she was changed. The free inde- 
 pendence of mind, the quick energetic 
 scrutiny of life, were over. Much more 
 thoughtful, more still and silent ; every 
 look and tone told how her spirit was 
 subdued to his. She thought as he 
 thought, loved what he loved, and could 
 have even learned to hate what he hated. 
 Her eyes no longer wandered restlessly, 
 seeking a hope in life, but ever rested on 
 him, in whom all joys were bound up ; her 
 feet no longer strayed, searching a path 
 that should give the promise of an aim on 
 earth, but meekly journeyed where he trod, 
 content to make it her life's mission, to
 
 THE tutor's ward. 245 
 
 clear away the stones and thorns before his 
 steps. 
 
 And Stephen Ajlmer ? —was she all in all 
 to him, as he to her ? No one ever made 
 a plot so palpably manifest, or flattered 
 himself that he concealed it so ably, as did 
 Colonel Bentley, when, having set his heart 
 on effecting a marriage between Aylmer and 
 his favourite Millicent. he commenced, by a 
 series of the most glaring manoeuvres, the 
 task of accomplishing his purpose. Colonel 
 Bentley was a singular old man ; if once an 
 idea took possession of him, however unex- 
 pectedly or wildly, it was utterly impossible 
 for himself or others to eradicate it. Already 
 when he quitted MilHcent, at the Tower 
 Stairs, on their arrival, had he made up his 
 mind that she was the very person he desired 
 to be the wife of his favourite nephew, as 
 well as a satisfactory niece to himself, and 
 he never from that moment lost sight of his 
 object. For this reason he came to Milton
 
 246 THE TUTOli'S WARD. 
 
 Lodge — for tliis reason lie monopolized 
 Millicent's society, and while his wish and 
 his purpose strengthened every day, he 
 failed not to give Stephen the strongest 
 possible intimations that if his will were 
 thwarted on this point, he might go so far as 
 to transfer his property from so refractory 
 an individual to the young girl herself. 
 
 But Aylmer had no desire to disappoint 
 his uncle's wishes, if by any means he could 
 accommodate himself to them, and this, after 
 a short acquaintance with Millicent, he found 
 himself willing to do. He had not the 
 shghtest attachment for her — he never yet 
 had felt a strong affection for any one, and she 
 had failed to effect any change in this respect. 
 He had, in fact, come to the conclusion that 
 he never was to find his ideal, or feel deeply 
 for any living being. But it was impossible 
 to know Millicent Grey, so frank, so generous, 
 so warm-hearted, without loving her in some 
 dogree ; and he did like her, quite well enough
 
 THE tutor's ward. 247 
 
 to make her his life's companion, with a hearty 
 good will. He did not attempt to conceal 
 from himself, that she was not in the least, 
 what he had always resolved, his wife should 
 be. His ideal had ever been one of sm-pas- 
 sing beauty ; for, as we have said elsewhere, 
 he worshipped the Beautiful with all the 
 fervency and devotion which men offer to 
 the self-elected gods to whom they cause 
 their souls to bow, in order to satisfy the 
 craving of their nature for adoration ; and 
 the sweet face of Millicent Grey had none of 
 that perfection or symmetry which would 
 win the artist's heart, although it was very 
 pleasing from its charming expression, especi- 
 ally of late, when softened by the reflection 
 of the deep, generous tenderness that filled 
 her heart. 
 
 In short, it had not been given to her to 
 call to life the strong affections that lay hid 
 in the heart of that proud man ; waiting 
 only, till the crisis of his destiny, to rise up
 
 248 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 like billows from the ocean of deceitful 
 calm, and swell out in their ungoTernable 
 might, till thev well nigh made shipwreck of 
 his soul, Aylmer was little aware of the 
 intense power of attachment, which lurked 
 in his own nature, or, if he were, he never 
 expected to meet any one who would call it 
 forth ; and meanwhile he was well content to 
 secure to himself, so faithful and devoted a 
 companion, as he saw that Millicent would be 
 to him. It was a pleasant thing to think 
 that this pure, boundless love would breathe 
 such warmth into his whole life — that he 
 would be ministered unto day by day with 
 such earnest watchful care. 
 
 He could not but love her too, in some 
 degree, now that the near approach of the 
 time fixed for their marriage had put an end 
 to reserve between them, and that he saw 
 how generously and devotedly her whole 
 heart was given to him. His warm sympa- 
 thy for the poor, and active exertions on
 
 THE tutor's ward. 249 
 
 their behalf, had been the first things which 
 had caused her to distinguish him, from all 
 around her, and her vivid imagination had 
 soon invested him with an ideal character 
 of almost perfect moral beauty, to which his 
 many really good qualities gave a strong 
 semblance of reality ; and now, she had not 
 an idea how poor was the return he made 
 her for the vast wealth, of the whole death- 
 less affection she had bestowed upon him ; 
 or if at times she was constrained to feel 
 how she was but a very small part in his 
 existence — whilst his own image had shut 
 out the world for her, she conceived it 
 but the natural result of the great superi- 
 ority, which she was convinced he possessed 
 over herself. 
 
 She felt that he had given her the 
 highest proof of esteem, in choosing her from 
 all the world, to be his first and best friend 
 until death, and she asked no more, since 
 this gave her a right to minister even to 
 his faintest wish.
 
 250 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 Moreover, her attacliment had that enth^e 
 disinterestedness, which is inherent to the 
 very nature of all deep and intense affec- 
 tion. She no longer thought of herself at 
 all, save as the privileged guardian of his 
 existence on earth ; nor had she now any 
 wish, or hope, or object, except his hap- 
 piness. This was the star of her life, which 
 was to guide her every thought, and word, 
 and deed, — it was the desire of her heart, 
 the one absorbing thought of her soul ; his 
 happiness, not her own ; nor yet his only, 
 as united to hers, but his, by any means in 
 which it could be procured for him, either 
 by the offering of her whole life's devotion 
 with him, or the sacrifice of her whole life's 
 joy without him. 
 
 They stood together now, side by side, 
 on a rising ground, within the park, at 
 Rookcliffe, where they had been walking. 
 They were returning home, and paused 
 here, to look at the fair, peaceful scene that
 
 THE tutor's ward. '251 
 
 was spread out before them, in the faint 
 light of the autumn evening. He looked, 
 with his free, proud glance, on the land- 
 scape, — but she, on him, with a timid, 
 wistful gaze in her earnest ejes, as though 
 the poor, trembling soul within her were 
 whispering, "I have done a fearful thing, 
 I have given jou my whole existence, my 
 whole capacity for happiness, — I have given 
 you my life. Oh, what will you make of 
 it 1 Will you deal tenderly with it, and 
 be merciful to it, — will you fill it with 
 light and joy, as you may do so easily, 
 by a little loving kindness, or will you 
 be rude and careless with it, and cast it 
 from you, to perish in some desert waste?" 
 It might have been the melancholy season 
 of the year, the sight of nature in her 
 mourniug garments, as though it were her 
 time of widowhood for the summer, — the 
 whisperings of decay and death that went 
 forth in the rustle of the falling leaves, and
 
 252 THE TUTOR'S WARD. 
 
 the rough wantouing of the wind with the 
 naked branches, — but certain it is, the heart 
 of Millicent was full of a strange terror, and 
 a sad foreboding. She crept close to the 
 side of Aylmer, — he looked round kindly 
 at her. 
 
 " How silent you are, dear Millicent, — 
 almost sad, I think." 
 
 The sound of his Yoice made her smile. 
 
 " No, not sad, I could not be so now, I 
 am too deeply, really happy. But to-day, 
 I do not know how it is, — I fear you will 
 think me fanciful, — only I feel such a 
 terror." 
 
 " A terror of what V he asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Of life, I think," she answered ; " it 
 seems to me such a fearfully precarious 
 thing, — its entire happiness or utter misery 
 hangs on so slender a thread. Often, — the 
 living or dying of one single hope, can make 
 it a beautiful and blessed gift, or a crush- 
 ing, intolerable burden. Its destinies are
 
 THE tutor's ward.] 253 
 
 so irretrieYable, if once the soul has been 
 
 wrecked on its treacherous waves, where it 
 
 wanders, seeking joj, then the perishing of 
 
 its peace is beyond all recall, and it is 
 
 borne on by the tide through tempests and 
 
 gloom, dead to all earthly bliss, as the 
 
 corpse drifting down to its grave in the 
 
 deep. I feel just now as if it required 
 
 such courage to live, it is such a perilous 
 
 venture : to-day we are happy, — to-morrow, 
 
 but one step more in our mortal journey, 
 
 may have plunged us into a hopelessness of 
 
 sorrow, from which we never rise again. 
 
 The life once doomed, can never return to 
 
 the days of its hope and freedom. Though 
 
 its ruin may have been worked in our 
 
 youth, and that of our own very hands, yet 
 
 the one chance is gone, and the game lost 
 
 for us, — we cannot go back to mould it 
 
 anew. Cheerless and dark as we made it, 
 
 it drags with us on to old age and to 
 
 death."
 
 254 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 *' Dear Millicent, these are dark words, 
 indeed ! I hardly know you, speaking thus. 
 All you say is perfectly true, no doubt, but 
 it should only make us rejoice the more 
 that our venture in the great game of life 
 has been so fortunate. Our prospects are 
 bright enough, are they nof? You have 
 nothing to fear for yourself : so far as one 
 may judge the future, there is only calm 
 enjoyment before you." 
 
 " I do not think it can be for myself I 
 fear, though, in truth, I hardly know what 
 it is that terrifies me to-night, — but it 
 cannot be any thought of myself; for, 
 Stephen, you do not know, I never can tell 
 you, how all my hopes, and wishes, and 
 feelings, have become absorbed in one in- 
 tense, unutterable longing for your hap- 
 piness. It is my one dream, my one 
 thought, — I can seek, I can strive for 
 nothing else. I almost fear it must be 
 wrong, to be so given up to this one
 
 THE tutor's ward. 255 
 
 thought, I cannot even praj for anything 
 besides." 
 
 He was touched by these words, the tone 
 of her Yoice told how they came from her 
 very heart. He spoke to her with a grateful 
 tenderness, and soon soothed the passing 
 agitation into which she had allowed herself 
 to be betrayed ; then, anxious to divert her 
 thoughts from the dark misgivings which 
 seemed unaccountably to have taken pos- 
 session of her, he continued, with greater 
 cheerfulness, — 
 
 " Now I shall not let you think any more 
 of these dismal forebodings. Tell me rather 
 what is that black shadow passing along 
 the avenue down there 1 It looks, at this 
 distance, like a great spider creeping on 
 towards the house." 
 
 " It is the carriage, I have no doubt, 
 coming home with my cousin Juliet. You 
 know she is to arrive to-day from Italy, 
 and this is just the hour when she was 
 expected."
 
 256 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 " True, — I remember ! I am rather 
 anxious to see this same cousin of jours ; 
 I heard of her often at Milan, but never 
 chanced to meet her. You have never seen 
 her yourself, have you ^ " 
 
 " Oh, no ; she has been absent ever since 
 I was at Rookcliffe — but they speak of her 
 constantly. I have heard her described 
 many times." 
 
 " And always as a wonderfully beautiful 
 person, have you not 1 At least, that was 
 the reputation she had in Italy, and my 
 artist friends were by no means easy to 
 please on that subject." 
 
 " I suppose there were never two opinions 
 as to Juliet's beauty; even Charles was 
 enthusiastic about her. She must be a 
 strange person, from his account ; he de- 
 scribed her to me, as having a very subtle, 
 powerful mind, hid beneath a great outward 
 appearance of frankness." 
 
 " Well, excuse me if I seem rather un-
 
 THE tutok's ward. 257 
 
 gallant, but I confess I liave no faith in 
 any woman possessing, tliat sort of depth 
 of character, which has the Machiavelian 
 talent of concealing great power under 
 apparent simplicity. They have intensity 
 of feeling, but rarely are capable of pro- 
 found calculations. One can read them right 
 easily, and pleasant reading it is, too, Milli- 
 cent dear, at least in some cases.^' 
 
 " I hope you mean that as a compliment, 
 for I shall certainly appropriate it,'' said 
 Millicent, laughing. " But I trust you are 
 right about Juliet, for I feel rather afraid 
 of her, after all I have heard." 
 
 " On the contrary, you must try to make 
 a friend of her. It annoys me to see you 
 meeting with so little sympathy among 
 those Egertons — Anne freezing you, Sophia 
 lecturing, and Fanny worrying. I hope 
 Juliet will be more companionable." 
 
 " I doubt it ; but we must go and see 
 her now, for I have a vision of my uncle 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 undergoing, all those tremendous moral con- 
 sequences, which are the inyariable result 
 of his haying to wait for his dinner. First, 
 he falls entirely from the dignity of human 
 nature, and loses command of his temper, 
 for a matter of ^Ye minutes' delay, in a 
 material enjoyment ; then he lowers his 
 intellectual being, altogether below the level 
 of the earthly, and shows himself a slave to 
 bodily wants ; next, he perverts and wastes 
 one of the noblest gifts given to man, the 
 power of administering to the pleasure of 
 others, by tormenting every one round him, 
 and horribly reproaching the delinquent 
 who causes the delay; then, as to his duties 
 as a husband and a father, he of course 
 fails, — but I will not go on, for I see you 
 are laughing, Stephen.'' 
 
 " As I always do at your extraordinary 
 system of analysis. However, let us hurry 
 home, by all means, and prevent the dete- 
 rioration of Mr. Egerton's moral nature."
 
 THE tutor's ward. 259 
 
 They met Fanny in the hall at Rook- 
 clifFe, where Aylmer was at present staying. 
 
 " Juliet is arrived ! " she exclaimed ; " she 
 has been asking for you, Millicent, but now 
 you must wait till she comes down to 
 dinner, for she has gone to dress/' 
 
 Millicent went to her room, and the 
 Indescribable gloom which had for the 
 time been dispelled by Aylmer's gay con- 
 yersation, returned upon her with redoubled 
 force. When she rose to go to the drawing- 
 room she paused a moment ere she passed 
 the large mirror which reflected her figure ; 
 her cheek was pale, and her countenance 
 devoid, for the time, of the bright, lively 
 expression which formed its great charm. 
 She still wore mourning for her father, and 
 the peculiar truthfulness of her character 
 made her at all times dress with a severe 
 simplicity, which, just as she intended, 
 did not enhance her beauty. She could 
 not endure to use any art or forethought 
 
 S 2
 
 260 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 in order to make herself seem other than 
 she was ; and now, as she looked at her 
 own unpretending appearance, she sighed, 
 wliile she murmured — 
 
 " Avlmer would surely have wished for 
 a fairer bride !" 
 
 She did not know how much, at that 
 very moment, was lovely in her face as its 
 expression shadowed forth the feelings of 
 her generous heart, nor even how pleasing 
 in the sight of all were those large brown 
 eyes and the soft hair, almost of the same 
 colour, shading the pale, quiet brow. Yet, 
 certainly, there was a strange contrast 
 between herself and the radiant figure that 
 met her gaze as she entered the drawing- 
 room. She started back almost terrified at 
 the sight which presented itself — either she 
 was dreaming, or there was before her the 
 exact counterpart, the living embodiment 
 of the pictured figure in which Aylmer had 
 represented his ideal — the countenance was 
 not the same, but the dress, the attitude,
 
 THE tutor's ward. 261 
 
 the flowing hair, the head turned round 
 with the same studied grace, all combined 
 to render the resemblance most striking. 
 In the midst of that half-darkened room 
 she stood, the dark oak furniture and heavy 
 crimson curtains forming an admirable 
 background, clothed in a dress of the 
 purest white, falling in soft folds around 
 her — no ornament except her own magni- 
 ficent hair, which was allowed to wave in 
 golden masses, so as almost to veil the fair 
 face, with a defiance of all ordinary customs 
 which seemed quite admissible in one so 
 beautiful. And the countenance, (alone 
 unlike the bright vision of the artist's 
 dreams,) how marvellously lovely it was ! 
 a beauty not to be described, it dwelt so 
 much in the softness and sweetness of her 
 expression, and the dazzling brilliancy of 
 her large beaming eyes. Then the perfect 
 grace of her slightest movement, were it 
 but the gentle falling of the delicate hand
 
 262 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 and arm, or the singular lightness of the 
 step, with which she glided forward, seeming 
 to carry light and beauty wherever she 
 went — the whole effect was so perfect, that 
 it never conveyed the idea of what was, in 
 fact, the truth, that her every attitude, and 
 look, and action, were the result of the 
 most studied calculation. 
 
 A terrible snare to Juliet Egerton had been 
 her great loveliness. She had delivered her- 
 self up to the evil influence, it has the power 
 to exercise without a struggle. The one sole 
 object of her life, was to gain all the fair gifts 
 of this world which beauty had the power to 
 procure for her, — universal admiration — the 
 praise of men — the love of many hearts. 
 Self was with her all in all. So soon as an 
 idea, a wish, a feeling rose in her mind, it 
 must straightway be gratified at any cost ; 
 the consequences to others were never to be 
 thought of, and her great natural talent, 
 her subtle, intriguing mind ably assisted
 
 THE tutoe's ward. 263 
 
 her in carrying out whatever she designed 
 to accomplish. 
 
 Her present return to Rookcliffe was, she 
 well knew, most opportune for the execution 
 of a design, which had for some time been 
 powerfully agitating her mind, and which, 
 in a singular manner, affected the interests 
 of those now present with her. 
 
 It was only for a few brief instants that 
 Millicent Grey looked upon her in silence, 
 but in that space she had time to observe 
 that the meaning look, in the splendid eyes 
 of Juliet Egerton, which so remarkably imi- 
 tated the expression in the fair face of Ayl- 
 mer^s ideal, was turned upon her own future 
 husband, whilst his gaze was rivetted upon her 
 cousin's countenance in evident admiration. 
 
 Quickly, however, the picture full of life 
 and interest which they presented thus 
 grouped, dissolved away at the sound of Mr. 
 Egcr ton's voice. 
 
 " Come, Millicent, and make acquaintance
 
 264 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 with jour new cousin. — Juliet, this is our 
 dear Millicent." 
 
 " Pro tempore, Miss Grey, — hientot, Mrs. 
 Aylmer," said Charles. 
 
 Juliet instantly passed from her striking 
 attitude to another no less graceful, with arms 
 outstretched to embrace her new relation. 
 She glided towards her ; — in the softest 
 and sweetest of tones expressed her delight 
 at meeting her, and when the first few sen- 
 tences had passed between them, wound her 
 arm round her neck, and drew her gently 
 back to the spot where Aylmer stood. 
 Millicent could not account for it, but she 
 felt that she infinitely preferred the Siberian 
 shake of Anne's elegant fingers, or the stern 
 grasp of Sophia's hand, to the warm embrace 
 of Juliet. She answered gently and kindly 
 to her enthusiastic expressions of pleasure, 
 and then slipping from the soft twining arms, 
 took refuge at Aylmer's side. He scarcely 
 heeded her, so intent was his gaze on Juliet,
 
 THE tutor's ward. 265 
 
 who now stood bending over a table, appa- 
 rently engaged in examining some object 
 that lay upon it. 
 
 " Is it not extraordinary how she re- 
 sembles the picture of your ideal?" said 
 Millicent to Aylmer, " and yet you never 
 saw her '? '' 
 
 " The likeness has struck you also, then," 
 exclaimed Aylmer, quickly ; " it is indeed 
 most remarkable. What a strange coinci- 
 dence !" 
 
 " Perhaps no coincidence," said the soft 
 musical voice . They could hardly tell who 
 spoke, for Juliet had not turned her head, 
 yet the tones were hers, and her hearing 
 must have been singularly acute to have 
 caught the words of their whispered remark. 
 Aylmer looked bewildered, and Millicent felt 
 a strange terror, as though she had suddenly 
 been brought in contact with one of those 
 dangerous magicians of whom we read in the 
 German tales, who are so wonderfully beau- 
 tiful, and so full of subtle wickedness.
 
 266 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 Ajlrner had no time to ask an explana- 
 tion, for they now went to dinner. Juliet 
 sat opposite to him, and engaged his whole 
 attention, as in truth that of all others. 
 She monopolized the conversation, and 
 spoke well and brilliantly. She talked 
 only of Italy and the fine arts, — of mu- 
 sic, but chiefly of painting, and that 
 with a wild enthusiasm which lit up her 
 charming face with redoubled beauty, and 
 kindled the very souls of her hearers. 
 
 " You talk so like an artist, Juliet," said 
 Charles, " that I begin to be suspicious of 
 the contents of some large boxes I saw 
 among your packages. Pray, do they con- 
 tain your own performances as a pittrice ^" 
 
 " Yes, my own despair that is embodied 
 on canvas,'' she answered, with her gay ring- 
 ing laugh, " for it is nothing less than de- 
 spair, to find how impossible it is to give a 
 material existence, to the fair visions of 
 one's dreams. You can never feel this," she
 
 THE tutok's ward. 267 
 
 continued, suddenly turning and fixing her 
 large eyes full on Aylmer's countenance. 
 
 The great peculiarity of her beauty was 
 the singular contrast of those eyes, so dark 
 as to be almost black, with her golden- 
 coloured hair. She well knew their power 
 when, as now, she fixed them with their in- 
 tense gaze on the face of Aylmer. 
 
 " Indeed you are mistaken. I know the 
 feeling of which you speak right well. The 
 pictures of ray dreams, are not more like the 
 reality, than the glowing landscapes we some- 
 times fancy we see, among the sunset's radi- 
 ant clouds, are like the earthly scenes of rock 
 and stone. I suppose no painter ever was 
 or could be satisfied with the outward ex- 
 pression of those beautiful shapes, that pass 
 before his spirit, any more than the poet is 
 content with the words into which he seeks 
 to infuse the fire of his heart, or the com- 
 poser, with the notes in which he would 
 breathe out his soul's harmony."
 
 268 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 "Doubtless, but were it not so, there would 
 be no arriving at perfection," said Juliet. 
 
 " It is the struggling of the soul to beam 
 through the thick veil of this mortal bodj,'^ 
 said Millicent : she spoke so low that Arthur 
 only heard her. 
 
 " You must tell me how jou knew that I 
 was an artist V said Ajlmer to Juliet. She 
 made no answer, but the large eyes still 
 gazed on him with a look too strange and in- 
 tense, to seem bold, — he preferred that look 
 to an answer, — it was plain that some mys- 
 tery existed in her mind respecting him, 
 which awoke his interest and curiosity, to 
 the uttermost. 
 
 " At least you will let me see your own 
 pictures. I feel sure they are striking." 
 
 "To-morrow," she said, and resumed a 
 more general conversation. 
 
 She seemed bent on making a conquest 
 of Millicent, and addressed her continually, 
 but chiefly on subjects with which it was
 
 THE TUTOU'S WARD. 269 
 
 impossible she should be acquainted, so that 
 the contrast between Juliet's animated re- 
 marks and her cousin's quiet answers, was 
 the more striking. To say the truth, Milli- 
 cent had never been so dull or so incapable 
 of conversing at all. Her wonted vivacity 
 seemed unaccountably gone, — she was hum- 
 bled and subdued, she knew not why. Ayl- 
 mer more than once looked at her with an 
 expression of disappointment, for her light- 
 hearted cheerfulness had been a great attrac- 
 tion to him. 
 
 In the evening he sought especially, to find 
 an opportunity of asking Juliet an expla- 
 nation, of her mysterious resemblance to his 
 picture, but this she seemed determined he 
 should not have. Once only she was alone 
 when he came near her, and then starting 
 up, she went to the piano with a smile which 
 invited him to follow. She sat for a few 
 Tioments, passing her hands dreamily over 
 the keys, as though gradually losing con-
 
 270 THE TUTOR'S WARD. 
 
 sciousness of where she was : then suddenly 
 she burst out into a very flood of song, as 
 singular as it was beautiful. Her voice was 
 not yerj strong but strangely sweet, and she 
 knew how to throw into it a passionate 
 earnestness, which agitated every heart that 
 heard her. Aylmer was perfectly entranced, 
 — he entreated her to go on song after 
 song, and she seemed unwearied, and car- 
 ried away from all around her, as any bird 
 that carols in the high clear air. 
 
 Millicent sat, meanwhile, in a large arm- 
 chair near the fire ; she crouched down in it 
 as though she would have hid herself, and 
 sought a shelter. Arthur was placed behind 
 her ; his head rested against the chair on 
 which she reclined; neither spoke, and so 
 passed the evening. They were to separate 
 at last for the night. Mr. Egerton systemati- 
 cally marshalled his troop, and presented each 
 individual with their candlestick, as though 
 he were arming them, for some important
 
 THE tutor's ward. 271 
 
 combat; — it was Juliet's turn, and slie came 
 gliding in her white robes from the darkened 
 part of the room where the piano stood. 
 Her ejes turned with a beaming glance on 
 Ajlmer, — her lips but half opened, to mur- 
 mur a soft buona notte, dormi bene! and the 
 bright figure disappeared on the dark 
 threshold. He stood rooted to the spot, so 
 lost in thought that he did not perceive 
 his young bride at his side, waiting to wish 
 him good night. 
 
 It was strange that Millicent had not felt 
 the faintest pang of jealousy towards Juliet. 
 Her perfect guilelessness, and the trusting 
 simplicity of her character, seemed to save 
 her from the most miserable peculiarity of 
 the woman's nature. She judged Aylmer 
 by herself, — true and unchanging as human 
 heart, may be, was hers, in its deep love for 
 him, and so she believed of him. He was 
 her promised husband : surely nothing could 
 ever make him other than her own. It was
 
 272 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 natural tliat his artist's eye should be 
 charmed with Juliet's beauty, his musical 
 ear ravished with her exquisite singing, but 
 his heart's affection she thought was not the 
 less given to her bj voluntary choice, by 
 solemn word and promise. 
 
 She stood lifting up those trusting tender 
 eyes to his thoughtful face, but not till she 
 extended her hand, and Avhispered her ear- 
 nest " Good night," did he notice her pre- 
 sence. Then, as he looked down and met 
 that sweet smile, that loving gaze, one less 
 guileless than she was might have trembled 
 to see how the blood rushed to his forehead, 
 under the remorseful sting of recollection, 
 — he clasped her hand in his, and his 
 " Good night, dearest Millicent," was so 
 warm and energetic, that it brought tears 
 into those gentle eyes. She went to rest, 
 with a lightened heart. 
 
 There was another who went to his room 
 that night, with the crushing weight that
 
 THE tutor's ward. 273 
 
 long had lain upon his soul, stirring within 
 him as though it were about to be lifted 
 off. There was one who threw open his 
 window, who leant far out, faint and 
 breathless, to bathe his head in the cold 
 night air. Arthur Egerton was gasping, 
 — panting with hope. Hope the forgotten, 
 — the exiled had returned, and was career- 
 ing a conquerer through his soul, casting 
 down the strongholds which despair had 
 built up, undermining that mountain of 
 anguish, carrying light to those chambers of 
 gloom where the human idol stood on its 
 pedestal and was worshipped, — (albeit, there 
 was no heart for him in its bosom.) 
 
 There are some characters full of an inhe- 
 rent power and energy, which is of depth 
 inconceivable, — who are filled with a terrible 
 capacity for good or evil, which is never 
 called into life until some ungovernable 
 affection, fearful in its strength, becomes 
 to the man a very principle of existence, 
 
 YOL. I. T
 
 274 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 and t"he latent force comes forth to work the 
 will of this new master. It was so with 
 Arthur Egerton ; his fiery poetic soul, his 
 intensely feeling heart, his strong sound intel- 
 lect, had all been of late turned into one 
 channel, all had been given to spend, and to 
 be spent, in the love of Millicent Grey; and 
 now, powers of which he had known nothing, 
 and which might well have appalled himself, 
 had he known them as they were, powers 
 to resolve and to execute, to work evil, if in 
 evil there were hope, — to make a path on the 
 hearts of his fellow-creatures, if none other 
 might be found, were rising up within him, 
 armed and ready, to aid and abet him, in the 
 one object for which he lived, the attainment 
 of her love, as she loved Stephen Aylmer. 
 There had been a time, brief as those radiant 
 moments, when the sun bathes the world in 
 light ere it sinks to utter darkness, when he 
 had believed she loved him. None had ever 
 looked on him with the tender pity she had 
 
 I
 
 THE tutor's ward. 275 
 
 shown, and this deceived him, so that to him 
 who never had known the unutterable 
 sweetness of human affection (for he was 
 repulsive to the very mother who bore him,) 
 brighter, dearer, more inconceivably pre- 
 cious than mortal words can tell, was the 
 thought that he, the wanderer and outcast, 
 had found in her true heart a home. 
 
 This dream had been dispelled, how 
 utterly ! Not many weeks after Stephen 
 Aylmer passed the threshold of the old 
 Hall at Rookcliffe, in Millicent's first look of 
 affection on another, Arthur understood that 
 she had never felt for him aught save barren 
 pity, and straightway in that hour the fair, 
 sweet hope he cradled in his breast, died in 
 the agony with which a slaughtered man 
 expires. So long as it lay within him a 
 corpse, making a charnel house of his soul, 
 he had but one thought, — the thought that 
 has been dreary yet sweet comfort to most 
 of us, at least once in a lifetime, that the 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 hour must come when he would go to lay 
 down his head on the breast of his mother 
 earth, and rest from this tyranny of 
 Avretchedness. But hope had revived ; 
 faint as the faintest streaks of dawn, that 
 give the far-off promise of a future day, 
 were the indications of a possible change 
 which might cast back Millicent upon his 
 unbounded love, a poor lost outcast, 
 desolate herself, as he was desolate ; — but 
 they were enough to rouse in hope, tlie 
 clinging tenacity of life. It had started, 
 breathing, gasping, from its tomb and with 
 it Arthur lived again. He lived again a 
 new life, as it were, which, with all its 
 capacity, its energy, its power, was to be 
 devoted to this one sole object, — that he 
 might feel again as he had felt when he 
 believed she loved him. 
 
 He was almost terrified at the indomit- 
 able strength he felt within him to over- 
 throw all obstacles, to work bj any means 
 for this his heart's desire.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 277 
 
 Arthur Egerton had neither hope nor 
 love out of this world, which could induce 
 him to feel that there is but one thing to be 
 ardently desired on earth, even the pre- 
 servation of the souFs rectitude and purity, 
 but rather having delivered up his spirit to 
 the adoration of one earthly good, it 
 seemed to him a noble thing to offer in sacri- 
 fice to it, if need were, even the very dignity 
 of his moral being, his very honour and 
 integrity. He had an instinctive conscious- 
 ness of this great truth, that no personal 
 gratification can be obtained without de- 
 parting from that fixed standard of right, 
 in which one of the first principles, is the 
 immolation of self for the good of others. 
 
 But nothing is more easy than to render 
 crime poetical, Arthur's gift of genius, 
 hitherto wasted, was now perverted, and 
 cast a most false glow over his deep selfish 
 love. It made his heart throb with a 
 powerful delight, to feel that not only he
 
 2?8 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 would compass earth for her, and trample 
 on whosoever stood between them, but that 
 he would not withhold from her he deemed 
 worthy of his uttermost affection, even to 
 the gift of his soul's righteousness and 
 honour. He must be patient, but patient 
 with an invincible purpose standing like an 
 armed warrior at his side. That which he 
 called destiny seemed working for him ; — • 
 he would step aside, and watch as a tiger 
 for his prey, and when the events he 
 expected had done their part, then would 
 he rush in to effect all that might remain 
 unaccomplished of his life's desire. So now 
 betake thee to thy troubled sleep, most 
 wretched man !— for the thoughts of this 
 night shalt thou repent thee yet, in sack- 
 cloth and in ashes, sprinkled on thy fallen 
 head by the cold hands of the dead.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 279> 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The morning light brought Juliet Eger- 
 ton fairer than ever before the ejes of 
 Aylmer. She came bounding through the 
 gla«s door of the breakfast-room, her hands 
 full of flowers, radiant and bright as a type 
 of the morning itself She stopped, and 
 held them up in triumph just where the 
 sunshine was streaming into the room, so 
 that the golden rajs flashed on her waving 
 hair, and lit up her brilliant ejes. Her 
 clear voice sounded a gaj good morning to
 
 280 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 all ; but to Ajlmer there came a few words 
 of softest Italian, heard by himself alone. 
 
 It was not wonderful if this dazzling 
 figure shut out from his eyes that other so 
 gentle and nunlike, that sat patiently 
 admiring her beautiful cousin. And yet 
 captivated as Aylmer certainly was by 
 Juliet's remarkable loveliness, it was not 
 her outward fascination which had already 
 so powerfully drawn him towards her, — it 
 was the evident interest springing from 
 some mysterious source which existed in 
 her mind for him. He could not account 
 for it. He was certain he had never seen 
 her before, yet he felt that they were not 
 strangers, he felt that he was known to her 
 in no common way. It was impossible but 
 that this conviction should deeply occupy 
 him, — it caused him to scrutinize her every 
 look and gesture, and each one of these 
 movements, as he watched her, seemed 
 more graceful than the last, swiftly drawing
 
 THE tutoe's ward. 281 
 
 out his soul in worship to the Beautiful 
 there present in her. As the day wore on, 
 there was a smile of indescribable triumph 
 on the face of Arthur whose eyes followed 
 Millicent Grey wheresoever she went. 
 
 Aylmer had petitioned that he might see 
 Juliet's paintings ; but she refused to show 
 them till a room had been appropriated to 
 her use as "studio," where she might arrange 
 them in suitable lights, and where, hereafter, 
 she might paint undisturbed. 
 
 This was not done till late in the after- 
 noon ; and the whole morning he sat en- 
 tranced with her voice as she sang or spoke 
 to him in her liquid Italian. Still, he was 
 never alone with her: she was constantly at 
 Millicent's side. Juliet would look from 
 Aylmer to her at times with an air of 
 melancholy interest, and seemed anxious 
 to draw her into conversation; but poor 
 Millicent never appeared to so much dis- 
 advantage. And had Aylmer been less
 
 282 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 blinded he would have seen how artfully 
 Juliet's remarks were calculated to produce 
 this effect. 
 
 Millicent had left the room, and Juliet, 
 who stood thoughtfully looking after her, 
 turned to Sophia. 
 
 " It is strange, I do not think you have 
 described Millicent in your letters at all as 
 she is. Charles and the rest of you used to 
 speak of her charming vivacity and cheer- 
 fulness. She seems to me possessed of none 
 at all. She is so very — I hardly know 
 what to call it — I should say sad, if that 
 were not impossible, with so bright a fate as 
 hers." 
 
 " Out of humour will express it, I have 
 no doubt," said Anne, who, by some con- 
 juring trick of a mental nature, invariably 
 transferred her own faults to the possession 
 of others. 
 
 " Millicent is spoilt," said Sophia, in her 
 usual sententious manner.
 
 THE tutor's ward. 283 
 
 " What has spoilt her'?" asked Juliet. 
 Sophia looked with phlegmatic prudence to 
 the corner of the room, where Ajlmer sat 
 reading, and paused in her answer. 
 
 " He does not hear — he is too distant 
 from us,'^ said Fanny, eagerly. Her lively 
 curiosity condescended to the most insigni- 
 ficant material for an aliment ; and she was 
 bent on hearing Sophia's definition of the 
 change in their cousin. 
 
 "It is the prospect of her marriage which 
 has spoilt her; she has never been the same 
 creature since. I suppose she is much elated 
 by it, though how any one can be elated by 
 the entire loss of their independence, and the 
 subjection of their will to one of their fellow 
 creatures, on a mere equality with themselves, 
 passes my comprehension ; but, certainly, 
 I had trusted Millicent was beginning to 
 profit by my instructions, and now she has 
 eyes and ears for none but Mr. Aylmer. I 
 presume she imagines herself perfect since 
 he chose Lcr."
 
 284 THE tutoe's ward. 
 
 " She has not much to be proud of, I can 
 tell her," said Anne, with her habitual 
 sneer. " If ever a man was driven into 
 a marriage, he was. Colonel Bentley never 
 rested till he made up the match; and I 
 only wonder Stephen Ajlmer was so easily 
 led." 
 
 " Dear Anne, do be careful, he will hear 
 you," said Juliet, with her soft voice, by no 
 means so low pitched as usual, and a gleam 
 of triumph in her eyes, as she saw that she 
 had effected her object, and that his sud- 
 den movement showed he had heard these 
 remarks. 
 
 The painting-room was arranged at last, 
 and the whole family assembled to see 
 Juliet's pictures. They wxre large oil 
 paintings, chiefly copies from the old mas- 
 ters. Aylmer was struck with surprise 
 at the sight of them ; although she had 
 not in the remotest degree attained to his 
 own excellence in the art ; they were yet
 
 THE tutor's ward. 285 
 
 so full of original genius that lie was de- 
 lighted. He spoke his approbation strongly. 
 
 "It is plain jou are but a beginner/^ he 
 said, at last, " but with energy and perse- 
 verance JOU may attain to a high degree of 
 perfection." 
 
 " I can do nothing unaided," said Juliet. 
 " In Italy I never could work unless my 
 dear old master were at my side to call out 
 ' cor r agio' every moment, and to fill me 
 by his enthusiastic words with what he 
 called ' Vanima Italiana! I wish you were 
 Italian and a painting master," she added, 
 turning her bright peculiar glance, with its 
 sudden impulse, on Aylmer. 
 
 "I will be both to you," said Aylmer, 
 earnestly. 
 
 *' Do you mean what you say '? I may 
 take you at your word ? Oh, how gladly ! 
 But, for you, is it not a rash offer ? Think 
 of the long hours when the master must 
 guide the pupil's powerless hand. Is it 
 davvero f"
 
 286 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 " Davvero ! I do mean what I said most 
 seriously. I will be your master. You 
 could have none here, and I cannot see 
 such a talent left uncultivated.'^ 
 
 " Then the office is upon you beyond re- 
 call. Oh, how thankful I am that I shall yet 
 be a painter !'' Juliet looked up as if she had 
 no thought but enthusiastic delight at the 
 prospect of being assisted in her pursuit of 
 her favourite art. 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Aylmer, I shall be very 
 glad if you will kindly give my daughter a 
 few lessons in your leisure moments,'' said 
 Mr. Egerton, who had an inconceivable 
 aversion to the class of individuals whom 
 he was wont to term generally " Monsieurs," 
 and who infested his house at the period 
 of the Miss Egertons' education. Like most 
 Englishmen, who have never left their own 
 country, he was under the strong conviction 
 that they were all rascals, and felt pro- 
 foundly uneasy about the silver spoons, 
 whenever they were asked to luncheon.
 
 THE tutok's wakd. 287 
 
 " How many leisure moments has Ajlmer 
 had of late, Millicent '? " said Charles, as he 
 stretched himself in the luxurious arm-chair, 
 provided for JuHet's future accommodation. 
 "Of course the time when he is occupied 
 with jou must be said to be devoted to 
 business. An engaged man goes to his duty 
 as regularly as a clerk to his desk, for so 
 many hours a day. I have no doubt you 
 make the work as pleasant as any could, — ■ 
 sweet little Millicent, — but commend me to 
 my freedom." 
 
 This was certainly not a pleasant speech 
 for Aylmer, and, after the manner of most 
 men, he visited his annoyance on the un- 
 offending. He glanced, half angrily, at Milli- 
 cent, and turned from her with a movement 
 of impatience. There is a French expres- 
 sion, which alone can render Millicent's feel- 
 ing at that moment " ce mouvement lid 
 serra le coeur!' She felt dreary and chilled 
 with a longing to take refuge somewhere
 
 288 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 hid from all eyes ; and, at once, as if 
 answering to her secret thought, a hand 
 drew her gently down on a seat, in an 
 unnoticed corner. She looked up with a 
 glance of humble gratitude, (for we are 
 mostly humble in sorrow,) to him whose 
 kindness was so opportune, and met the gaze 
 of Arthur full of tenderest pity. Already, 
 then, their offices were changed : he was the 
 consoler, and she the afflicted, and the 
 thick loud beating of his heart, as he 
 thought upon it, might almost have been 
 heard through the room. 
 
 " Well, now we shall leave Juliet in 
 undisturbed possession of her studio," said 
 Mrs. Egerton, as she rose and kissed her 
 handsome daughter with proud satisfaction. 
 She was truest to the woman's nature in 
 her overweening indulgence of this favourite 
 child. They all left the room; Aylmer 
 held the door open for the ladies to pass, 
 for Charles and Arthur had gone out
 
 THE tutor's ward. 289 
 
 togetlier. Millicent looked back, thinkiDg 
 lie was following her, but he stood gazing 
 on Juliet, as she bent over lier easel. Milli- 
 cent heard the door close : he had remained 
 with her cousin. 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Ajlmer is going to give 
 his first lesson, it will be a real pleasure to 
 so enthusiastic an artist as he is," remarked 
 Mrs. Egerton. " My Juliet has such extra- 
 ordinary talent." 
 
 " Millicent," said Arthur, in a supplicating 
 voice, which trembled in spite of himself, 
 "will you come and walk with me a little 
 while in the garden : it is so long, so very 
 long, since we have been together there." 
 
 " Dear Arthur, pray excuse me to-day, 
 my head aches, and, besides," — Millicent's 
 tender conscience took the alarm at any 
 equivocation, — " I think I promised, — I 
 believe Mr. Aylmcr expects mc to walk 
 with him." She could not have left the 
 house where he was. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 " Not yet/' murmured Arthur, as lie 
 turned away, ''but soon, very soon, that 
 heart cannot live without affection. Cast 
 out, and deserted, where should she fly but 
 to my love, so devoted and unutterable." 
 
 Meanwhile, within the studio, a new scene 
 of the drama was being enacted. Aylmer 
 had shut the door, and quickly approached 
 Juliet. 
 
 " You cannot escape me, now. You must 
 explain the mystery which bewilders, while 
 it charms me. I feel in my inmost soul 
 that we are not strangers one to another, — 
 yet we met but yesterday ! " 
 
 " Strangers, no, truly ! " she looked round 
 sweetly, confidingly to him, as we look on 
 the familiar features of a favourite brother. 
 
 "But, then, where, when, how did we 
 meet 1" he exclaimed, still more moved. 
 " I hiow I never looked upon your face 
 before ; do you think I could have for- 
 gotten itl"
 
 THE tutor's ward. 291 
 
 " Yet I know jours well," slie said, with 
 her sweet smile, '•' and the tones of mj 
 voice, jou have heard them many times." 
 
 " It struck me so," exclaimed Ajlmer : 
 " the first words I heard jou utter, were like 
 a strain of well-remembered music, that long 
 ago had passed melodious on my ear. But 
 jour voice, as we have all remarked, re- 
 sembles so strangely that of jour cousin 
 Millicent, that I fancied it was her tones 
 I recognized in jours." 
 
 Juliet shook her head almost sadlj, " It 
 is not so, and it were best I should resemble 
 her in nothing." 
 
 "Do not let us talk of her, just now," 
 said Ajlmer, impatientlj, " but, tell me 
 what claim I have upon jour acquaintance, 
 I believe I might saj jour friendship, and 
 oh ! maj that claim be a strong one." 
 
 " I knew JOU were here," said Juliet, 
 dreamilj, as though she were rather wan- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 dering back through the regions of the past 
 in her own memory, than directly answering 
 his question, " I knew that you had come 
 to live near this place four months ago, and 
 I thought it was strange that RookclifFe was 
 my home, — I thought I should come and 
 show you how my soul understood the 
 artist-soul within you, by bringing into 
 actual Hfe the vision of your glorious pic- 
 ture, — then I thought that I should tell 
 you all/' 
 
 " All ! how much may be in that word !" 
 thought Aylmer, with a thrill of delight. 
 
 " And you will tell me all now, then?'' 
 he exclaimed to Juliet ; " the time is come, 
 as you thought ! " 
 
 " Not as I thought," — her countenance 
 assumed an expression of rigid decision, 
 •which gave it a statue-like beauty, — " I 
 will not, I cannot tell now." 
 
 '' How!" exclaimed Aylmer ; " you surely 
 cannot mean ifc. This is unkind and cruel.
 
 THE tutok's ward. 293 
 
 What should preyent you ? You said jou 
 had resolved to tell/' 
 
 " Yes ! but I knew not then that things 
 would be as they are/' 
 
 Ambiguous as was this speech, he under- 
 stood at once that she alluded to his mar- 
 riage. How the poor heart of Millicent 
 Grey would have died within her had she 
 seen the expression of his face, — that of 
 Juliet swelled with triumph. 
 
 Aylmer was silent for a few moments, 
 then he looked up with a sort of calm 
 sadness. 
 
 " Am I to understand, then, that you 
 will never tell me the meaning of this 
 hidden sympathy, which draws my soul to 
 you, as though you were some friend of 
 childhood, some companion cherished long ? 
 Am I to live near you constantly as the 
 mere stranger, which, in the common course 
 of events, I should be to you, with the 
 feeling half maddening me the while that
 
 ^94 
 
 in yery truth we haye been and are, 
 although I know not by what mystery, 
 friends in no common way 1 Will you never 
 tell me, arnica incognita, what is the 
 strange, sweet link between us *? '^ 
 
 " Neyer," she answered, in a low, melan- 
 choly tone, as though she had caught the 
 reflection of his sadness, — " neyer, noiu ! at 
 
 least not until yes, perhaps the day 
 
 may come when it will ayail you nothing, 
 for good or ill, to know the truth, and then, 
 if you wish it, I will tell you, — however, 
 bitter were the reyelation to myself But 
 now,^' — she seemed to make a yiolent efibrt, 
 and assumed that air of forced gaiety which 
 is more touching than the wildest burst of 
 sorrow, — "there is an interval when we 
 may be as friends together, and none shall 
 haye any true right to come between us, 
 when we may enjoy that communion of 
 feeling which those who haye the artist- 
 soul alone can know. Yes, that communion
 
 THE tutor's ward. 295 
 
 Vvliich I have dreamt of having with you 
 this many a long day ; there is an interval 
 which may be bright with that friendship 
 I had thought was to be ours, unchanging. 
 Let us, then, forget what past and present, 
 were and are, and I at least will forget the 
 future ; let us catch the sunbeam while it 
 passes, and make merry with it. It will be 
 time to weep when the night cometh, — you 
 know they say the dews fall at evening/' 
 
 She bounded from him as she spoke, and 
 went to the door, whilst he stood motion- 
 less with agitation and bewilderment. There 
 she paused, and said, in a gentle, beseech- 
 ing tone, — 
 
 " Promise it shall be as I have said. We 
 are friends as few have been : believe it on 
 my word, and let us for this little time, 
 unmoved by that which is, or is to come, 
 enjoy without constraint the intercourse 
 which a sympathy of thought, and tastes, 
 and feelings will make as precious as it is
 
 2.96 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 rare. Ask no questions, seek no cliange ; 
 be it understood that we have met in soul 
 long since, and held much converse, sweet 
 and true, together, and now there remains 
 but to snatch these golden moments which 
 are passing, and will pass too soon. Pro- 
 mise me V' 
 
 " I will do all jou choose, it is but too 
 bright a prospect. Make of me what you 
 will.'' He had hardly spoken when she 
 passed from the room, — her power was 
 established. 
 
 From that day Juliet Egerton and Stephen 
 Aylmer lived for one another. It was as 
 she had said ; the scheme of ideal friendship 
 she had proposed to him was carried out to 
 its full extent, — he gave up all thought of 
 the future, and abandoned himself to the 
 charm of present intercourse. They had 
 much in common in their love of the fine 
 arts, and their knowledge of Italian life 
 and habits. It became a settled custom
 
 THE tutok's ward. 297 
 
 that they always spoke Italian together, 
 and this shut them up, as it were, into a 
 little world of their own. 
 
 Their mornings were spent in the paint- 
 ing room, not generally alone. Mrs. Egerton 
 was too tenacious of the world's forms to 
 allow of that, but quite sufficiently isolated 
 by the nature of their employment, — Juliet 
 painting and Aylmer instructing, — to hold 
 such communion together, as was little 
 dreamt of by those around them. Day 
 after day Juliet continued, unmolested, to 
 exercise her powers of fascination on her 
 cousin's future husband, with every variety 
 of art. She never did anything like other 
 people, but her undoubted eccentricity 
 seemed quite justified by her remarkable 
 beauty, which already rendered her so 
 unlike all others. No one ever thought 
 of finding fault with the peculiarity of her 
 manners and habits : she was in all things 
 considered quite unique, and that bright
 
 298 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 face won forgiveness bj a look, for the 
 daring independence with which she fol- 
 lowed her own wayward will. 
 
 They generally all went to ride together 
 in the afternoon. Juliet was a bold rider, 
 and often, whilst they were all proceeding 
 quietly together, she would seem struck 
 with some object in the distance, some rock 
 or tree, or opening in the landscape, that 
 gave the promise of a fine riew, and with- 
 out uttering a word, would cause her horse 
 suddenly to bound away from her com- 
 panions and career at full speed across 
 the country, never pausing till she was lost 
 to their sight altogether. Some one must 
 follow her, of course, in these wild flights, 
 but Charles, who never allowed his ease or 
 dignity to be compromised by such hunied 
 movements, invariably requested Aylmer to 
 take upon himself the care of his capricious 
 sister, whilst he remained in charge of the 
 rest of the party; and Aylmer joyfully
 
 THE tutoe's ward. 299 
 
 accepting the mission, would gallop after 
 her, to find her generally motionless on 
 some rising ground, whence she could com- 
 mand the prospect, the horse, curbed by 
 her small, vigorous hand, standing still as 
 a statue, and herself in an attitude equally 
 fixed, having uncovered her head, that the 
 breeze might blow in its freshness on her 
 fair face, and sweep from her cheek the 
 long, waving hair. 
 
 She never, perhaps, se^ed so beautiful 
 as in that position. The picture was perfect, 
 and entrancing to a man like Aylmer, the 
 artist ; and then as the sound of his horse^s 
 steps struck on her ear, the slow turning of 
 that graceful head, the glad smile breaking 
 over the face, the soft entreaty to be for- 
 given the wayward fancy, were full of an 
 irresistible charm to him that bowed the 
 strong heart of the proud man to be the 
 abject slave of that woman's will. 
 
 Then they would ride on together, talk-
 
 300 THE tutor's waed. 
 
 ing with that sweet intimate communion, 
 that converse of soul with soul, which when 
 they are united in pure friendship, or in 
 hoi J affection, has a joy that must be a fore- 
 taste of that blessed intercourse of the 
 brighter world, when no veil of the flesh 
 shall come between the happy spirits whose 
 life of love shall be then as now, to love one 
 another. 
 
 But the intercourse of Aylmer with 
 Juliet Egerton was not the less delightful to 
 themselves — that it partook not of this 
 higher nature; and they would most often 
 rejoin their party only at the gate of 
 Rookcliffe. 
 
 Again in the evening, half hidden in the 
 recess where the piano stood, the promised 
 husband of Millicent Grey sat listening to the 
 enchanting voice that was speaking, as he 
 felt it did speak, to his very soul in those 
 wild Italian words ; nor was he ever for one 
 moment arrested in his fascinated admu-ation
 
 THE tutor's ward. 301 
 
 bj the fact, that every word and look and 
 action of Juliet Egerton's was the result of 
 the most subtle calculation; for this was 
 her special art, that she seemed ever guided 
 solely by ungovernable impulse. Woe be 
 to her who uses the powers of fascination 
 given her by heaven for the purposes of 
 earth ! 
 
 By solemn appointment, and for a solemn 
 mission, is their responsibility laid on her, — 
 even that with her beauty and her winning 
 manner she may make stern goodness lovely 
 in the eyes of men, and cause severe uncom- 
 promising holiness, to seem a sweet alluring 
 thing ; that with that voice of thrilling har- 
 mony she may sing holy strains to fill the 
 ears too often choked up with a world's ful- 
 some flatteries, and by that soft charm in 
 her aspect and her words, which draws after 
 her the hearts of many, teach men to listen 
 and submit themselves the more readily, to 
 the sharp exacting lessons of unchanging
 
 302 THE TUTORS WARD. 
 
 truth, because one with an angeFs look and 
 tone hath spoken them. 
 
 But again we say, woe be to her who 
 ignoring or rejecting this her mission, de- 
 grades her loveliness to slare for earthly 
 hopes, and perverts her gifts of manifold 
 allurement, to win for her only an earthly 
 love. 
 
 All this while Stephen Aylmer had not 
 an idea of the complete revolution which had 
 taken place in his entire being. He knew not 
 that in the secret history of his inner life, 
 that change had occurred which colours the 
 whole existence, destroying all independence 
 or freedom of will, and which he bad believed 
 himself incapable of experiencing. 
 
 The power terrible in its extent, of an 
 indomitable affection had risen up and 
 taken possession of this man, as the wild 
 beast seizes on its prey with some tremend- 
 ous grasp, and now even as the victim lies 
 palpitating and crushed in the tiger's fierce
 
 THE tutor's ward. 303 
 
 embrace, so did his soul lie fluttering be- 
 neath the might of this unconquerable loYe, 
 subdued and powerless for evermore ! 
 
 But he knew it not — he knew that he 
 was living in a rapturous dream from which 
 too surelj he must wake one day, and there- 
 fore strove ever to put from him, all 
 thought of that waking and its consequences, 
 till the dark hour should arrive, and only 
 sought the more madlj to enjoy the present 
 because it was so fleeting. 
 
 He knew that the presence of Juliet 
 Egerton was life to him, and most bitterly, 
 passionately, did he regret that before ever he 
 saw her face, one had come to stand between 
 them to shut her out from his life so utterly. 
 But he knew not that when the hour of res- 
 titution came, and lie must go forth from 
 that existence of fascination and excitement 
 to take another by the hand, and swear to 
 love her only and her truly, until death, 
 then would this new power rise up witliin
 
 304 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 him like an armed giant from his ambush, 
 and trample down his soul with crushing 
 steps, till truth and honour and compassion 
 were cast out from it and the conqueror 
 passion reigned there alone. 
 
 He knew not this would be ; for though 
 often, as we have said, even with agony he 
 regretted, that he was bound by other ties, 
 before that radiant face came beaming on 
 his life, he was yet a man of honour, and 
 he never dreamt of abandoning his pro- 
 mised bride. He fully intended when the 
 time originally fixed for their union should 
 arrive, to fulfil his engagements, and become 
 her husband ; but meanwhile, since this 
 brief interval was all that was given him of 
 the intense happiness he never was to know 
 again, he resolved, even as Juliet had said, 
 to give himself up to the full enjoyment of 
 the redeemless present, and let no thought of 
 the future darken its exceeding brightness. 
 
 It never occurred to him how fearfully
 
 THE tutor's ward. 305 
 
 he was already wronging Millicent by such a 
 scheme ; such desertion to the spirit of his 
 engagement, and mocking faithfulness to the 
 letter of it. He heard no complaint from 
 her lips ; gentle and patient, he had learned 
 to persuade himself that she was not 
 susceptible, nor keenly alive to the many 
 tokens of neglect, which would have called 
 forth such wild jealousy in Juliet, had their 
 positions been reversed. 
 
 He almost persuaded himself that Milli- 
 cent was incapable of any very strong and 
 vivid feeling, when he compared the quiet 
 proofs of unutterable affection, which rose 
 from the still deep waters of her soul, with 
 the glowing words of passionate attachment 
 which, under the name of friendship, came 
 bursting from the lips of Juliet. 
 
 And, besides, whenever the thought came 
 across him irresistibly, that truly this entire 
 devotion to another than his promised wife 
 was unjustifiable, — he laid this flattering 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 unction to his soul that Juliet, likewise, 
 had a distinct claim upon him, at least for 
 these few months, in the mysterious sym- 
 pathy resulting from some strange former 
 intercourse, which she had proved to him 
 must exist between them. Her half-uttered 
 hints in the very commencement of their 
 acquaintance had shown him plainly, that, 
 but for this unhappy engagement with her 
 cousin, she had come to Rookcliffe prepared 
 to find him wholly hers, and to be his own 
 in heart and life. 
 
 Of course the Egerton family were not 
 blind to the drama which was being played 
 before their eyes, but no one interfered by 
 word or deed, or even by a meaning look. 
 There were various reasons for this. 
 Charles having attained, by some intricate 
 process, to a most real and enviable insensi- 
 bility himself, never thought that possibly 
 there might be the germs of an agony, even 
 unto death, in this working tragedy, for
 
 THE tutor's ward. 307 
 
 some, if not all, of the actors therein. 
 Sweet little Millicent would soon find a 
 better husband, he thought, if Aylmer 
 played her false ; and meanwhile it was a 
 wonderful enlivenment to the old halls at 
 RookclifFe to have this exciting romance 
 goiDg on within tliem : he would not 
 disturb it on any account. 
 
 Further, there was a certain feeling 
 existing in the minds of these three old 
 young ladies, his sisters, so perpetually in 
 bewildered amazement that the world had 
 not yet seen fit to draw them from their 
 immutable position in changeless solitude, 
 which caused them secretly to feel, that 
 they had somehow been personally ag- 
 grieved by their cousin's speedy engage- 
 ment, and although they admitted it not to 
 themselves, they did, in fact, look on her 
 probable desertion by Aylmer as a retri- 
 bution justly due to them. They, too, 
 
 X 2
 
 308 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 would not have disturbed the course of 
 events for any inducement whatever. 
 
 In the heart of Mrs. Egerton the absorb- 
 ing love of the child least worthy of it, had 
 left room for no other feeling, 
 
 She saw that Juliet had won the heart 
 of Aylmer, and that she herself in return 
 seemed devotedly attached to him ; there- 
 fore the mother ardently desired their union, 
 and was careful to promote their inter- 
 course. Aylmer was, moreover, precisely 
 the husband she wished for Juliet ; rich, 
 talented, and fond of continental life. As 
 for Millicent, Mrs. Egerton had never quite 
 forgiven her for having come, with her 
 bright, sunny face, and her clear, vigorous 
 mind, to contrast so unpleasantly with her 
 own world-worn, artificial daughters, and, 
 "indeed," this fashion-taught woman was 
 wont to think, " Millicent had always shown 
 herself very independent of her care and 
 advice, — so now, if she lost Aylmer's aff'ec-
 
 THE tutor's ward. 309 
 
 tion as speedily as she had won it, it was 
 her own affair and she must even make the 
 best of it. As for her, she must look after 
 her own child's interest." 
 
 Mr. Egerton would have been obtuse, 
 indeed, had he not perceived that there 
 were storms brooding in the atmosphere 
 round him, — storms where she, whose guar- 
 dian he was called, was fast making ship- 
 wreck for ever ; but, really, while the cook 
 persisted in sending up such abominable 
 entremets, he could not think of anything 
 but having him taught better, or procuring 
 another. He did believe that was the best 
 plan, to send him off, and have another 
 from Paris ; but then his pates de foie gras 
 were capital ; no one could excel him, there 
 was the difficulty. As to love-making, they 
 must settle it among themselves : he had 
 had enough of it in his own time, but he 
 was done witli it long ago. Indeed, he 
 wished he had never begun. There was
 
 310 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 liis brother, the General, what a comfort- 
 able old bachelor he was ! nothing to 
 trouble him, no one to think of but him- 
 self, and what a cook he had 1 
 
 So ruminated the head of the house, and 
 so speculated the various members of his 
 family, whilst slowly and surely stealing 
 along, the great agony of Millicent Grey 
 came forward to meet her on the pathway 
 of life. 
 
 But, oh ! Arthur Egerton ! what a glo- 
 rious opportunity was here afforded you, of 
 proving how noble and how bright a thing 
 the human soul may be, when strength is 
 given it to suffer for the weal of others ! 
 Why did you not come forward in this her 
 hour of betrayal and friendlessness, armed 
 with the energy and zeal of your deep love, 
 to interpose between her and the fierce 
 blow that was descending on her, by receiving 
 it on your own heart ? Yes ! by the holo- 
 caust of your life's affection, you might have
 
 THE tutor's ward. 311 
 
 saved her now : joii might have won back 
 for her the happiness that is flitting fast 
 awaj : jou might have given up the dear 
 hope that exists for joii, in the agonj of 
 her desertion, and with the strong words of 
 truth and rectitude, awakened that man 
 from his ignominious dream, to see how 
 peerless is that true heart he is breaking, 
 how unworthy her, for whose sake he is so 
 miserably fallen. You might have saved her ; 
 Arthur Egerton, yon might have thrown 
 down the stronghold of your own soHtary 
 hope, into which you suppose life and its 
 joy are gathered, and from the melancholy 
 ruins built up again the tottering fabric 
 of her happiness, now shaking to its very 
 centre. And who so blest, (not with earth's 
 blessing,) as yourself, when having thus 
 restored her to her well-beloved home, in 
 another heart than yours, she went forth 
 to live, and to enjoy, and to forget you in 
 your bitter solitude ! — yes, who so blest, for
 
 312 THE tutor's ward. 
 
 in your soul of earth Ij light bereft, would 
 shine the glory, ripe with promise, of that 
 deed wherein you immolated self on the 
 altar of the Faith which speaks of holier 
 love, and higher hope, and more enduring 
 
 But, to an earthly affection you have 
 delivered up your spirit, and the darkness 
 of earth has closed in round it, — mists, 
 arising from the dust out of which your 
 mortal frame was taken ; so, cowering back 
 in the shadow, you sit watching with a 
 keen cruel eye, till flung out by remorseless 
 hands into the desert of hope and of affec- 
 tion, you hope to find that helpless child, 
 compelled to seek a refuge by your side ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY HARRISON AND SON, 
 London Gazette Office, St. Martin's Lane ; & Orchard Street, Westminster.
 
 V. 
 
 HECKMAN IXI 
 BINDERY INC. p| 
 
 MAY 97