m 
 
 BBMtt 
 
 ■MMMMM
 
 LI B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 Sp65 
 
 v. I
 
 l,Jl,i>j 
 
 :>
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER.
 
 SPOKEN m ANQER. 
 
 % lotal. 
 
 "Aye, they ruled him, those fierce passions." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHEES, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1877. 
 
 [Eight of Translation reserved by the Author. ,]
 
 LONDON : 
 
 5AVTLL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN.
 
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 5* 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OOLINGTON HALL was just 
 the place to pass the autumn 
 vacation, after the weary 
 season work of " doing " the 
 Park and other fashionable gatherings — 
 be they balls, concerts, or flower-shows — 
 all equally tame and spiritless, after the 
 first novelty is over. There you might 
 feel yourself thoroughly at home ; to ride, 
 shoot, fish, flirt ; or, in short, one and all, 
 as the fit took you. You were sure to 
 meet plenty of pretty women and pleasant 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 men ; indeed, many of the belles, who had 
 seemed so coldly affected when you met 
 them, but a few weeks ago, at some London 
 ball — there changed into merry, lively 
 girls ; and the lazy, spiritless talk of the 
 listless swells, became eager and animated 
 under the genial roof of dear old Sir John 
 Doolington. 
 
 " Dum vivimus vivamus " was his motto, 
 and he allowed his guests to live up to 
 it — not that he was an epicurean- — honest 
 John Doolington had never in his life 
 forgotten the lesson learnt at his mother's 
 knee, and his living up to the motto was 
 only an innocent reflecting of the sunny 
 side of life on all who came within his 
 reach. 
 
 It was a fine old mansion, truly, w T ith 
 its turrets rising grandly above the dark 
 green foliage of the well-kept grounds;
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 and from many of the windows the view 
 was really superb. A long winding avenue 
 formed the carriage drive, shaded on either 
 side by tall elms, whose topmost branches 
 laced themselves together so that, at noon- 
 day only a few faint rays of sunlight could 
 penetrate. 
 
 In driving slowly through that avenue, 
 after a short absence (the Hall carriage was 
 always sent to meet me at the little station, 
 and old Foster, the coachman, would drive 
 slowly, as though he was proud of and 
 felt the beauty of those fine old sheltering 
 trees), I have always realized a feeling of 
 quiet happiness, mingled with an unuttered 
 wish that the drive might last longer. 
 All so peaceful, it seemed to speak a 
 welcome in the tiny songs of the birds, 
 and in the soft murmur of the wind, as 
 it rustled caressingly among the sheltering 
 
 1—2
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 leaves, and say, " Here for a while you may 
 cast off the cloak society has made you don, 
 and be yourself again, as thoroughly as you 
 were in the old bygone boyish days." 
 
 done, alas ! those days — with the friends 
 that made them so pleasant, and the joys 
 that brightened them ; those happy thought- 
 less days ! Gone ! gone as completely as 
 if they had only been the bright visions of 
 a summer night. 
 
 Ah ! you, my friends, who have played 
 with me at Rugby, rowed and smoked 
 with me at Oxford; though our after lives 
 may have caused us many a heartache, say, 
 had we aught to grieve for then? No, 
 then we stocd bright and joyous in the 
 garden of life, little thinking how, perhaps, 
 our own hands were destined to crush its 
 pleasant flowers, and make all around us a 
 howling wilderness. Fated so, though to
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 the world you and I may be debonair rising 
 men, still, from the hidden wreck of our 
 own hearts, we love to gather the memory 
 of those boyish days, still love to look back 
 upon ourselves light-hearted and joyous, as 
 we were before that grey old tyrant, the 
 world, had made us cynical. 
 
 Entering the Hall from the grand en- 
 trance, you come into a large square 
 vestibule, with windows at right angles, 
 looking out on the flower garden on one 
 side, and on the stream that runs through 
 the grounds on the other. 
 
 On the particular morning when my 
 story opens, I think the breakfast-room 
 would be the best ground whereon to 
 introduce you to Sir John's guests. It 
 is the morning of the promised hunt, and 
 ere long the horses will be brought round. 
 So, fair reader, you must take them as they
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 are, quickly eating the dainties with which 
 the table is spread ; it is only the tardy 
 ones who are still eating ; many have 
 finished and are gathered in tiny groups, 
 talking eagerly of the coming sport; so 
 that it is rather a disorderly room into 
 which I must lead you. 
 
 One of these groups has gathered round 
 Sir John Doolington, a fine old specimen of 
 our English squire, ruddy of face, large of 
 limb, free of speech, and genial in his 
 perfect kindliness of heart. He is talking 
 now of the success of the last Derby, for 
 Sir John, like most men of his stamp, 
 keeps a splendid stud, and is rather famous 
 for contributing to our national sport. 
 Perhaps my fair readers do not care for 
 sporting conversations and betting calcu- 
 lations. They go to the racecourse, dressed 
 in rainbow hues, to flutter their kerchiefs
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 and fans, and afterwards say languidly, 
 " Well, really, I hardly knew the colours, 
 my time was so taken up with that stupid 
 Captain So-and-so's flatteries." Whereas 
 the Captain, in spite of his flatteries, had 
 a keen eye for the winner, and could give 
 you a page or two, par cceur, out of every 
 sporting man-about-town's book. But then 
 it would not do for our ladies to be well 
 up in turf slang, so they need not fear that 
 I shall bore them. 
 
 Seated at one end of the long breakfast 
 table, and making a little party of them- 
 selves, are some dozen ladies and gentle- 
 men ; it is evident by their riding gear that 
 they intend following the hounds. They 
 have just been joined by Marion Dooling- 
 ton, Sir John's youngest child. Her 
 present close-fitting dress shows off to 
 advantage her tall, slight, graceful form,
 
 SPOKEN" IN ANGER. 
 
 and the stylish riding-hat lends piquancy 
 to the gentle, high-bred face. It is not 
 a face that many would call beautiful ; 
 but still, when you know her well, there 
 is something about it that wins love and 
 confidence ; something Madonna- like in the 
 soft curve of the lips that seldom close, but 
 part gently over the pearly, even teeth ; in 
 the downy whiteness of her complexion, 
 relieved by so faint a tinge of pink that 
 it lies like a delicate shadow on her rounded 
 cheeks ; in the soft waves of her auburn 
 hair, and more still in the sweet lustre of 
 her large dark eyes. Some said those eyes 
 had gained her the reputation for beauty 
 she enjoys among the beau monde. They 
 are gentle and winning like herself, eyes 
 that never flash, but seem made to plead 
 with rather than to command, the fulness of 
 flesh between the eye and the eyebrow
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 giving a singularly noble expression to the 
 upper part of the face ; the long lashes fall 
 over them tenderly, not alluringly — there 
 is soul in them, and mind too, for Marion 
 Doolington is a bit of a has bleu if the 
 truth must be confessed, and her literal 
 classical translations would put many a 
 Univershty man to the blush. 
 
 The conversation is eager and animated ; 
 but although Marion takes her part in it 
 with some show of interest, it is easy to see 
 her thoughts are elsewhere, and she glances 
 at the door rather anxiously now and then. 
 This fact is. soon noticed by Eose Fleming, 
 a bright-faced little brunette, who says — 
 
 "I wonder where Lord Clovvden is this 
 morning. If I were you, Marie, I should 
 take him to task for laziness." 
 
 Marion colours slightly, for it is well 
 known that she and Lord Clowden Straf-
 
 10 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 ford are " engaged." But before she can 
 answer, the subject of the remark enters. 
 
 He is a young man about thirty years of 
 age, with a face decidedly handsome, full 
 of expression, fire, and determination ; the 
 nose small and aquiline ; deeply set, pene- 
 trating dark grey eyes ; the mouth perhaps 
 a trifle too firmly closed, but shaded and 
 softened by a black, drooping moustache ; 
 several inches above the middle height, 
 with a form which, though slightly built, 
 seemed possessed of great strength. 
 
 " I think we shall have a splendid day," 
 he remarks, taking his seat by Marion's 
 side with that easy characteristic non- 
 chalance that proclaims a man who has 
 passed a lazy life in good society. "It's 
 clearing finely, and not too much sun." 
 
 " I suppose you've been studying the 
 atmosphere, Strafford, before you turned
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 11 
 
 out ?" says Captain Adderly, stopping in 
 a spirited flirtation with Eose. " It was 
 so like you, to make quite sure. Now, I 
 never even went to the window ; hut then 
 you know rain, hail, or shine is all the same 
 to me, for I never get beyond the second 
 fence ; if I manage a third, by lucky chance, 
 I feel quite a hero." 
 
 " You surely don't go home again ?" 
 Marion asks. 
 
 " Not quite that," he laughs ; " but 
 please don't make me confess. I could not 
 survive the contempt of such a Diana as 
 yourself, Miss Doolington." 
 
 " We all know how lazy his highness 
 the Capitaine is," says Rose ; " but as you 
 are my chaperon, I'll see that you do your 
 duty to-day." 
 
 A few chairs further down is seated 
 Lieutenant Fortescue Browne, and the county
 
 12 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 heiress, Maud Hastings ; she a languid, 
 blue-eyed blonde ; he a handsome, but pen- 
 niless young Guardsman. She has just 
 declared her intention of not following the 
 hounds, which pleases him immensely, be- 
 cause he hopes, while riding in a desultory 
 fashion through the cover, to find time and 
 opportunity to ask that all-important ques- 
 tion. He rather fancies that she likes him ; 
 and yesterday's post brought some \ery 
 dunning epistles from his West-end cre- 
 ditors. So, with his usual assurance, the 
 young soldier hopes to bring his affairs to 
 a pleasant crisis. 
 
 Some of the ladies are going to drive, 
 and one is going to stay at home — a slight, 
 pale woman, who plays the part of hostess 
 with quiet grace. This is Sir John's eldest 
 daughter, Lady Evylin. Her face is very 
 interesting— so young, yet round the gentle
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 13 
 
 month are lines that tell of some great 
 grief, keenly felt, yet bravely borne; she 
 had, indeed, known sorrow. Five years 
 ago Carrie Doolington, then a merry girl 
 of nineteen summers, went from her father's 
 house the idolized bride of Sir Charles 
 Evylin. They intended spending the 
 honeymoon at Naples ; but hardly was the 
 ship out of harbour, which was to take 
 them there, than the terrible cry of fire ! 
 rose ; and Sir Charles, frantic with agony, 
 succeeded in saving his fair wife of a day, 
 only to sink himself in the sea of flames, 
 never to rise again. And now, though five 
 long years have passed, and Marion has 
 grown from a mere child to a graceful 
 woman, her sister, pale and gentle, like 
 a drooping lily, still binds her golden 
 curls under that badge of woe — a widow's 
 cap.
 
 14 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 Presently there is a general move, and a 
 getting to horse or carriage, many delaying 
 a few moments to shake hands with the 
 new arrival — young Squire Hardrow, a well- 
 known crack rider. It is a pleasant sight 
 watching them. As I have before said, Sir 
 John keeps good cattle in his stables, and 
 it is his especial pride that Marion should 
 always be well mounted, for she rides right 
 royally, and is the boast of half the country 
 round ; not that gentle Marion Doolington 
 is at all a " horsey" woman, simply a care- 
 fully taught, dauntless, graceful rider. 
 
 Lord Clowden assists her to mount, and 
 stands for a few moments holding her 
 bridle rein, the fresh morning breeze fan- 
 ning her cheek to a brighter pink as she 
 bends down to listen to his whispered 
 "nothings/' Together they form as pretty 
 a picture as the eye could rest upon — the
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 15 
 
 soft shadow on her fair face, the admiring 
 love stamped on his — the misty background, 
 and noble piece of horseflesh, with bright 
 eyes, proudly curved neck, and chafing hoof.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 INE host of the Doolington 
 Arms was standing at the 
 door of his silent hostelry, 
 looking the picture of lazy 
 content, as he watched the heavy volume of 
 smoke cloud from the pipe held between 
 his lips. 
 
 It was early in the afternoon, and his 
 bar was never full except in the evening, 
 when the villagers met to hear the news 
 of the day, and prove their ignorance by 
 discussing politics ; although now and then 
 it would have done some of our representa- 
 tives good to have heard these sons of toil 
 pithily argue, comment, and criticise. They
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEB. 17 
 
 were loyal enough, too, to the Lord of 
 the Manor, for Sir John had been re- 
 turned at each election ; and many would 
 shake their heads sadly when they talked 
 of the dear old landlord's possible death, 
 for there was no son of his to take the fine 
 freehold that had hitherto passed in one 
 straight line from generation to generation ; 
 and even to the quiet village had travelled 
 rumours of the wild, extravagant heir-at- 
 law. 
 
 Any stranger astir in the little hamlet 
 was watched with interest, and Joseph 
 King, the worthy proprietor of the Dooling- 
 ton Arms, took the pipe from his mouth to 
 gaze with vague curiosity at a tall, elegant- 
 looking woman, holding a little boy by the 
 hand, who was toiling up the dusty road 
 that stretched before him ; rather a strange- 
 looking child, he thought ; bright fair curls 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 contrasting with his large black eyes ; and a 
 firm, proud mouth, which perhaps marred 
 the childish beauty of his face. There was 
 character, too, shown in the brave disregard 
 of his own fatigue, although his partner 
 walked slowly and wearily. The landlord 
 could not see the lady's face, as she wore a 
 thick crape veil ; but her whole dress pro- 
 claimed her to be a widow. She seemed in 
 some perplexity, and glanced up and 
 down the road, which prompted him to 
 say— 
 
 " Can I help you in any way, mum ? Is 
 there any one you wants to find ?" 
 
 " How far is it to Doolington Hall ?" she 
 asked. And as he stooped to catch the low, 
 monotonous voice, he noticed that her black 
 was very worn and shabby. 
 
 " A little over two miles, mum ; down 
 there to the left, past the parsonage/ 5
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 19 
 
 " Two miles !" she said, more to herself 
 than to him; " and I am so tired." 
 
 "Would you rest a little in my bar, 
 mum ? there ain't nobody there now," said 
 our host, civilly; for he felt instinctively, 
 despite her shabby black, that he was speak- 
 ing to a lady. 
 
 She stood for a few moments irresolute ; 
 at last, looking down at the child, she said, 
 in a low voice — 
 
 " He is so tired ;" then, out louder — 
 " Thank you ;" and followed him into the 
 sanded room, where she sank wearily into 
 the chair he placed for her, and throwing 
 back her veil, revealed a face of singular 
 beauty. She did not look more than four 
 or five and twenty ; yet there was something 
 in her face more painful than real age — a 
 premature shadow, which did not age or 
 disfigure, but which stamped out for ever 
 
 2—2
 
 20 SPOKEN IN ANGEB. 
 
 all sweetness and gentleness. Her great 
 blazing black eyes were sunken deeply, her 
 full red lips were drawn in tense, tight 
 lines, and the drooping corners told of 
 weariness and bitter sorrow ; the pale cheeks 
 were slightly pinched, and the cheek bones 
 rather prominent ; yet in spite of all that, 
 her face was strikingly beautiful. She sat 
 for some time holding the child in her 
 arms, with her large eyes fixed vacantly, 
 and the delicately-marked eyebrows drawn, 
 as if in pain. Suddenly she put the little 
 boy down, rose up, took two or three stag- 
 gering steps forward, and would have fallen, 
 had not Joseph King caught her in his 
 arms. 
 
 " Wife ! wife !" he called loudly, looking 
 stupidly at the strange, fair face, that lay 
 so death-like on his arm. A large red-faced 
 woman came quickly.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 21 
 
 " The lady's fainted," she said, not listen- 
 ing to his explanation. " Put her on the 
 parlour sofa in here." 
 
 " Your ma has only fainted, dear," she 
 said, kindly, to the child, who was crying 
 loudly. " She'll be all right again in a 
 moment." 
 
 But good Mrs. King, like many of us in 
 giving consolation, " had counted without 
 her host ;" for more than an hour the 
 strange lady lay in a dead faint, only open- 
 ing her eyes at last to close them again. 
 
 Both host and hostess, who had been 
 trying all kinds of remedies, now looked at 
 each other, with great concern in their 
 honest faces. 
 
 " You had better go for Dr. Blake, Joe," 
 said his wife at last. 
 
 He needed no second bidding; and re- 
 turned presently with a kind-looking, but
 
 22 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 rather professionally pompous old gentle- 
 man. What country doctor is not pompous ? 
 In town the hard-worked practitioner may 
 sometimes unbend ; but in the country any 
 one with a character to keep, and a decent 
 amount of respect for his fellows, must 
 always act, walk, and talk " shop," if he 
 wishes to throw any halo of reserve round 
 himself. 
 
 "This is very serious," said the doctor, 
 examining the lady critically. " She must 
 be put to bed immediately. Do you know 
 who she is ?" 
 
 " Ah I" he said, when he heard all that 
 our host knew. " Groing to the Hall, was 
 she?" Then turning to the child, he 
 asked — 
 
 " What's your name, my little man ?" 
 
 " Vivien Stanley," answered the boy, in 
 a clear, childish voice.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 23 
 
 "That's a fine little fellow!" said the 
 doctor, drawing him to his knee. " And 
 you must not cry ; mamma will soon be 
 well again. How old are you, Vivien ?" 
 
 " Getting on for six," he said, raising his 
 deep, dark eyes. 
 
 " You'll be a big man soon," said the 
 doctor, smiling kindly, and running his fat 
 white fingers through the child's soft, light 
 curls ; thinking the while how full of un- 
 childlike beauty the little face was. 
 
 Mrs. King, who with the help of a rosy- 
 cheeked handmaid had carried the strange 
 lady upstairs, now came to say that her 
 patient had opened her eyes, and seemed 
 recovering. 
 
 Stopping to take breath, in the door- way 
 of the neat, quaint room, Dr. Blake noticed 
 how fragile and fair the widow's face was, 
 almost as white as the pillow on which it
 
 24 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 lay. As he came to the bedside, she opened 
 her large bright eyes, and fixed them on 
 him in astonishment. 
 
 " Yon have been taken ill, my dear 
 madam," he said, answering the look. 
 " Here, Mrs. King, bring some port wine, 
 please." 
 
 She seemed better after she had taken 
 some, and a faint colour tinted her cheeks. 
 
 "Shall I be able to get up now?" she 
 asked, pushing the heavy dark hair from 
 her face, with a tiny thin hand, on which 
 a wedding-ring hung loosely. 
 
 " Oh no I" said the doctor, smiling 
 kindly. " You are very ill, and must make 
 up your mind to lie here for some time 
 yet." Then noticing the shade on her face, 
 he asked, " Is there anyone you wish to 
 see at the Hall ? As you can't go to them, 
 they might come to you."
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 25 
 
 " I want to see Carrie — Lady Evylin — 
 very much; I wish some one would tell 
 her. I feel very tired." 
 
 " The hest thing you can do, my dear 
 madam, is to go to sleep, and I will go 
 round to the Hall, and tell Lady Evylin. 
 She will come and see you soon, I have 
 no doubt. What name shall I say?" 
 
 " You are very kind ; Mrs. Stanley is my 
 name," said the strange lady, looking up 
 with a smile of such brilliancy that the 
 good doctor, despite his fifty years, felt 
 he would do a good deal to earn such 
 another. 
 
 Passing quickly through the bar, he 
 nodded kindly to the child, who was eat- 
 ing a cake, and making friends with a large 
 tabby cat ; down went the cake, and the 
 tiny feet ran pit-a-pat after the good old 
 doctor.
 
 26 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 "I want mamma — where is mamma?" lie 
 cried. 
 
 " Now, my good little man," lie said, 
 stooping down, "you run back, and up- 
 stairs, and take a peep at mamma, but 
 don't make any noise, because she's asleep, 
 and when I come back I'll show you my 
 horse." 
 
 Lady Evylin drove back in the doctor's 
 gig. Mrs. Stanley was an old school-fel- 
 low of hers she explained, and she had not 
 seen her for many years. 
 
 Vivien was standing quietly watching 
 his mother, who was sleeping, when they 
 entered. Dr. Blake took him away as 
 Lady Evylin sat down by the window : — 
 the long dusty road, patched here and 
 there by the heavy, homeward-bound 
 figure of some son of toil, and far away 
 fringed by the leafy outline of Doolington
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 27 
 
 Park, with the Hall turrets pointing spire- 
 ward to the cloudless sky. Inside, the 
 white-curtained, clean little room, with its 
 quaint efforts at adornment, and its crowded 
 out-of-date furniture, and lying there, the 
 pale, still woman, with tangled heavy 
 waves of down-flung hair, contrasting in 
 ebon blackness with the snowy pillow, 
 and pallid face on which already lay the 
 grey shadow of death. 
 
 There was this in common between the 
 two women, both had suffered. Like two 
 fair flowers, the pitiless storm of fate had 
 beat on both ; but the one had bowed her 
 head in meek submission, only to raise it 
 in added beauty to the sun-god's smile ; 
 the other had stood erect, in brave defiance 
 of the heavy drops that at last had bowed 
 her down, broken and braised, to the earth. 
 After all, it is not the troubles we pass
 
 28 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 through, but the spirit in which we take 
 them, that stamps our lives and characters. 
 Lady Evylin, in the furnace of affliction, 
 had learnt the sweet lesson of a Saviour's 
 love, reflecting the " perfect peace, that 
 passeth all understanding," on her gentle, 
 quiet face. She had loved the pale worn 
 woman who lay so near death's door, and 
 memory brought back the bright girlish 
 face, flushed with youth and happiness, 
 the glad starry eyes, and merry laughing 
 mouth ; she could remember too, when the 
 hair that lay so dank and heavy now, had 
 floated loosely round the graceful southern 
 figure. 
 
 The pet of the Pension had been Isa- 
 belle D'Almez in those bright thoughtless 
 days- — gay, winning, and impulsive, the 
 orphan ward of a rich old Frenchman, who 
 thought he did his duty by his dead sister's
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 29 
 
 child wlien he placed her at Madam Besset's 
 select seminary; but the high-spirited girl 
 fretted at the restraint that found her there, 
 holiday and school-time alike, and one day 
 she was missing. They searched for her 
 long and ineffectually , and the girls re- 
 turned to their studies, saddened by the 
 mystery that covered their companion's dis- 
 appearance. Long after, Lady Evylin had 
 met her, an altered, faded woman. She 
 had seemed hurried, and fearful of being 
 questioned, and Carrie had begged her, if 
 ever she needed a friend, to send for her. 
 This was the result, and tears filled Carrie's 
 kind blue eyes, as she thought how little 
 longer that pale weary woman would need 
 a friend. 
 
 ''Carrie!" The word was spoken sharply, 
 and Lady Evylin started as the quick voice 
 broke the solemn stillness.
 
 30 SPOKEN" IN ANGER 
 
 " Yes, I am here, dear Isabelle," slie 
 said, rising and bending over her. 
 
 " Oh ! Carrie, it was very kind of yon to 
 come ; you promised to be my friend if ever 
 I needed one ! I do need one now, not for 
 myself, but for my child. "Will you, Carrie, 
 be a friend to my darling when I am 
 gone?" The face was painfully drawn 
 with anxious pleading. 
 
 " Put your mind at rest, dear Isabelle," 
 said Lady Evylin, " I will adopt him and 
 love him for your sake." 
 
 " God bless you, Carrie !" she cried, 
 passionately, taking her hand and impul- 
 sively pressing it to her lips ; while tears, 
 strange visitants, it seemed, to those hard 
 bright eyes, welled from their dark depth. 
 " I have suffered so, Carrie/' she continued, 
 still holding her soft cool hand between her 
 own hot feverish palms ; (C and I took this
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 31 
 
 journey to-day meaning to ask you to take 
 my child, and then — but God has saved 
 me from dying by my own hand. I shall 
 not live long now." 
 
 She lay back, still holding Lady Evylin's 
 hand ; the slight hum of life outside con- 
 trasting with the perfect silence of the sick- 
 chamber. Presently she spoke again, and 
 her voice was low and faint. 
 
 " You remember when we were all paint- 
 ing for the examination, I chose for my 
 subject the old ruins ; and Madam used to 
 let me go every Tuesday to the mount to 
 sketch. One day, I was just finishing my 
 morning's work, when a strange gentleman 
 came up ; he admired my drawing, suggested 
 two or three slight improvements, and from 
 that we fell into conversation on other sub- 
 jects. We met often after that. He talked 
 of his travels, of scenes I had long wished
 
 32 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 to visit; he told of his love for me in 
 words of burning passion, and filled my 
 heart with romantic reciprocation. One 
 day Madam had scolded me for some slight 
 fault, and I told him of it ; he urged me to 
 go with him — to be his wife. I thought 
 my life at school a drudgery, Madam a 
 tyrant, and that no one else loved me. So 
 I went, and the next morning we were 
 married by a Trench priest. Then I was 
 perfectly happy ; we travelled — passed our 
 time in visiting all the beauties of Nature. 
 My husband's love seemed only to grow 
 in tenderness, and I looked back to my 
 school-days as the darkest portion of my 
 life. We were staying at a little hotel in 
 Altenah, overlooking the blue waters of 
 the Aah, where he rowed me every even- 
 ing, and I would sing to him as we glided 
 over the peaceful stream."
 
 SPOKEN m ANGEK. 33 
 
 She paused ; there was a smile on the 
 wan face, as though the memory of that 
 happy time was still sweet ; but it faded 
 into a look of fierce passion as she con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " We had not been at Altenah long, 
 when a woman came to stay there too, a 
 painted, bold-faced creature. My husband 
 slightly started when he saw her, and I 
 asked him who she was. ' I don't know/ 
 he said, ' some actress I should think/ She 
 stayed there some time ; they never seemed 
 to speak to each other, and I thought no 
 evil ; till one evening, as I was returning from 
 a lonely ramble, I saw them both standing 
 together. He held her hand in his, and 
 bent lovingly over her; while she looked 
 up in his face with her bold, bad smile. I 
 could not hear what they said ; but as I 
 watched them, he drew her to him and 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 kissed her. And then they parted and 
 returned to the hotel by different roads. 
 I was there before him, and when he 
 entered I met him with a volley of hot, 
 passionate reproaches. He listened calmly, 
 in an attitude of careless ease, with a 
 satirical smile disfiguring his handsome 
 face. When I had finished he said 
 coolly, ' You may spare yourself all future re- 
 proaches, madam, you are not my wife, out- 
 marriage is not worth that;' and he snapped 
 his fingers with insolent contempt. Can 
 you imagine my feelings, Carrie? I, who 
 till that moment had thought myself his 
 wife ! I, who had loved him with passion- 
 ate intensity ! I stood speechless, trembling 
 with fury, and could a thought have killed 
 him he would have laid dead at my feet. 
 When at last words came I cursed hitn, and 
 then, weak and exhausted, I staggered from
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 35 
 
 his presence. I have never seen hirn since. 
 But," she added, starting up, with a wild 
 light in her eyes, " I could die happy if I 
 thought my curse would follow him, and I 
 shall die cursing him." 
 
 "Hush, darling!" said Lady Evylin, 
 gently; " remember who said, ' Vengeance is 
 mine/ " 
 
 " And you think he will be punished ? " 
 she asked, eagerly. 
 
 " Indeed I do, dear, in the Lord's good 
 time ;" and Carrie Evylin looked down 
 at the pale, passionate woman with the 
 grieved, tender pity of her pure soul illu- 
 mining her fair face. 
 
 " But our marriage was perfectly legal," 
 Isabelle said quickly, the warm blood 
 flushing hotly as she read the pity in the 
 other's eyes. " I proved that it was, and 
 then I sought him, for my boy's sake, to 
 
 3—2
 
 36 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 make him take back his base lie ; but I 
 have never seen him since that dreadful 
 day — more than six years ago." 
 
 "Poor darling !" Carrie said, bending 
 down and kissing her tenderly. 
 
 "Ah ! Carrie," she whispered, " I can trust 
 my little one with you. I don't think you 
 will ever regret this day's charity. In my 
 pocket is a parcel ; will you take it and keep 
 it for my boy till he is grown up ? It is all I 
 have to leave him ; and you will take care of 
 it, wont you ?" 
 
 Soon after Dr. Blake came in with 
 Vivien; the child's face was flushed and 
 animated, but the smile died away as he 
 entered the room. Carrie lifted him up to 
 the bed, and his mother put both her arms 
 round him, saying as she kissed the little 
 resolute face passionately, " I could not live 
 without you, darling, my precious darling ! —
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 37 
 
 You will be happier, I know. Listen, 
 Vivien ; try and understand what I am 
 going to say. Your father, Vivien Stanley 
 — I called you after him — wronged me 
 fearfully. Make it the object of your life 
 to find him ; make him own you. But 
 remember, Vivien, I charge you with my 
 dying breath to accept no love from him ; 
 to revenge the sorrow he brought on us, 
 and never forget that you are my ven- 
 geance." Dr. Blake, seeing how exhausted 
 she was, took the weeping child in his 
 own arms; and Isabelle lay back, quite 
 still, so still that they wondered if she 
 yet lived. 
 
 " Carrie," she said suddenly, in a low, 
 broken voice — they had to stoop to catch 
 the words — " Pray for me, Carrie ; perhaps 
 your prayer may — pray " 
 
 As the sweet, earnest voice rose pleading
 
 38 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 
 
 as though at the very mercy-seat of God, 
 and the golden sunset lingered on the fair 
 bowed head, the weary, passionate spirit of 
 Isabelle Stanley passed silently away.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GAY sight was the ball-room 
 at Doolington Hall ; richly 
 dressed, lovely women flut- 
 tered here and there. The 
 swell of glad music, the perfume of choice 
 flowers, the glitter of priceless gems — all 
 that could delight the eye, and charm the 
 sense. 
 
 Down the long room swept Marion 
 Doolington, and if it be not a gaucherie to 
 say that this fair demoiselle ever looked her 
 best, she certainly did on the present occa- 
 sion ; and more than one was heard to 
 remark, that they had never seen Miss 
 Doolington look so pretty as now. Young
 
 40 SPOKEN IN ANGER 
 
 Squire Hardrow, who was that evening en- 
 trusted with the care of two fat sisters and 
 one pretty cousin, was just in the midst of 
 a waltz with Marion, and as she glided 
 gracefully round, steering her rather clumsy 
 partner free of collision, Lord Clowden, 
 from an out-of-the-way corner, watched her 
 with loving admiration. 
 
 Maud Hastings and Fortescue Browne 
 had it all to themselves in a dimlv-lighted 
 conservatory ; and, to judge from the ex- 
 pression of both their faces, the poet had 
 not sung in vain of the charms of 
 
 " A sly flirtation 
 'Neath the light of a chandelier, 
 
 With mnsic to fill np the pauses, 
 And nobody by to hear." 
 
 Eose Fleming was amusing herself with no 
 small satisfaction, listening to the rather 
 slangy talk of a young Guardsman, who had 
 ridden hard for thirteen miles to be present
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 41 
 
 at the ball ; and perhaps the bright dark 
 eyes of Miss Eose may have troubled him 
 slightly on the way. If so, the light down 
 on his upper lip may well excuse the folly ; 
 for how many of us, oh ! my brethren, 
 looking back into the past, cannot remember 
 the time when a whole day's hard riding 
 would have been amply rewarded by a 
 sweet smile from Julia's rosy lips, or a 
 bright glance from under Lilian's drooping 
 eyelids ; but, laissez-aller, that was in the 
 days of our hot youth, you know. But 
 even now, when our beards are grown, and 
 our brow just a little lined may be, can we 
 be sure of a kind welcome, without a slight 
 inclination to hurry, and a careless dis- 
 regard for the after penalties of slighted 
 nature in the shape of rheumatism and 
 gout ? 
 
 " Oh ! Clowden," said Marion, coming up
 
 42 SPOKEN IN ANGEB. 
 
 to where lie stood, " I've been looking 
 everywhere for you. Will you let me 
 introduce you to Miss Dashwood ; she has 
 not danced once this evening?" 
 
 " Who is Miss Dashwood ?" he asked. 
 
 " Why," said Marion, laughing, " I can 
 hardly tell you. I never saw her myself 
 until this evening. Major Dashwood has 
 lately become one of papa's tenants, so we 
 were obliged to ask them. There she is, 
 sitting alone by the fernery. She does not 
 look very formidable, does she ?" 
 
 Clowden turned to look at the fair object 
 all alone by the fernery, He saw a plump, 
 round-faced girl, who could noii have been 
 more than seventeen. There was so much 
 unstudied nature in the careless attitude, 
 so much honest enjoyment expressed in 
 the open rosy face, that she looked even 
 younger.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 43 
 
 " She must be very lonely there," Marion 
 pleaded, as she put her hand through his 
 arm. " Come, wont you ?" 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must," he answered, 
 with the air of a martyr ; " but remember, 
 Marie, 111 revenge myself by looking you 
 up for the next waltz." 
 
 It was a very bright face, Lord Clowden 
 thought, that Miss Dashwood raised to 
 his, after a rather too formal introduction 
 bow. There was a good deal of latent 
 merriment in the corners of the full mouth, 
 sparkling from under the lashes of rather 
 pretty blue eyes, and dimpling the round, 
 rosy cheeks ; but her toilet did not so well 
 please his fastidious taste. Most men like 
 to see a pretty woman well dressed, and 
 Clowden Strafford was no exception to the 
 rule. He hated, above all things, to see a 
 girl attired in the primeval fashion of a
 
 U SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 plain white muslin gown, girded by a piece 
 of blue silk ; and this, with the addition of 
 some of the same deep blue binding her 
 golden hair, and encircling her full throat, 
 completed Miss Dashwood's attempts at 
 adornment. 
 
 " Are you fond of dancing ?" Clowden 
 asked, by way of saying something. 
 
 "Oh yes," she answered, raising her 
 frank blue eyes to his ; " and I am so glad 
 you came to me. I was getting rather lonely 
 by myself." 
 
 " Is your father with you ?" And Lord 
 Clowden listened for the fresh clear voice. 
 
 "Oh no ; papa is quite an invalid ; he 
 does not go out much. At first he did not 
 like my coming alone ; but I begged and 
 coaxed him, so that at last I got my own 
 way — I generally do — and Jane is coming 
 to fetch me at twelve o'clock. Papa wanted
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 45 
 
 me to go home at eleven. Just fancy ! and 
 this is the first ball I have ever been to." 
 
 " Have you never been to a ball before ?" 
 said Clowden, rather amused, and at the 
 same time drawing mental comparisons 
 between her and Miss Doolington, the 
 balance weighing heavily in favour of the 
 latter, in her perfect toilet of shimmering 
 satin, soft tulle, delicate drooping hot-house 
 flowers, and sparkling gems. 
 
 " No," she answered, laughing, and toss- 
 ing back her golden hair. "Never in my 
 life ! Is it not shocking, coming without a 
 chaperon ? — a real chaperon I mean j 
 because papa asked Lady Evyiin to take 
 care of me ; but I don't see her anywhere. 
 She is very lovely, is she not ?" 
 
 " Ya — as," he said, looking lazily round ; 
 and it just then struck him that he had 
 not seen Lady Evyiin all the evening.
 
 46 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 " Oh, don't worry yourself about that," 
 he continued ; " I'll take care of you." 
 
 " Will you ?" she answered, looking up 
 and smiling childlike. 
 
 " Yes, if you'll let me ;" and he looked 
 down with a bright smile. " I am sorry 
 to say I am engaged this dance, but may I 
 have the one following?" 
 
 She handed him her programme, and 
 watched him pencil his name in it with 
 bright eager eyes, blushing very prettily 
 when he returned it, with a look that any 
 season belle would have perfectly under- 
 stood in its open admiration. 
 
 "She is rather a nice little thing," he 
 thought, as he walked lazily away in search 
 of Marion. " Wants polish, and all that 
 kind of thing; but, after all, one sees so 
 much that is artificial, so it is rather a 
 pleasant change watching nature."
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 47 
 
 He found Marion looking rather pale 
 and weary, so he asked her to take a turn 
 with him in the grounds. She smiled 
 assent. He fetched a warm shawl, and 
 wrapped it carefully round her, and drawing 
 her tiny gloved hand through his arm, 
 they passed through an open window, from 
 the glare of gas, beauty, and fashion, into 
 the calm silent moonlight. They walked 
 on for some time in perfect silence ; she 
 was drinking in the subtle beauty of the 
 evening, the rich music in the distance, 
 the presence of the man she loved — all 
 seemed in harmony, like a sweet pause in 
 life ; and she turned her glad eyes up to 
 those silent witnesses, the stars, and felt 
 as though words would break the spell. 
 
 Clowden was thinking of the fair woman 
 by his side ; there was something in her 
 soft pure face that almost awed him ; in-
 
 43 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 stinctively he felt that the light she carried 
 was not of this world ; and, cynical worldling 
 as he was, it humbled him ; and yet it did 
 him good to know that this angel-woman 
 loved him, and would one day be his 
 wife. 
 
 " Then I shall become quite a new crea- 
 ture — a saint in fact," he would say to 
 himself. 
 
 How many of us there are in this im- 
 perfect world of ours, who put off till a 
 " then," the casting away of the cherished 
 robe of sin ; which, when the future has 
 become present, they find, like the silken 
 garment of the pilgrim of old, has grown 
 into the very flesh. 
 
 They walked on till all festive sounds 
 died away in the distance, and nothing was 
 to be heard but their own footfalls, and the 
 sweet notes of the nightingale.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 49 
 
 "How silent we are!" Clowden said, 
 with a slight sigh. 
 
 She laughed, a low sweet rippling ca- 
 dence. " But why do you sigh, Clowden ? 
 is it possible that silence can oppress you 
 while Nature herself seems holding com- 
 munion with us ?" 
 
 You see Miss Doolington was rather 
 
 romantic ; but still, if any of her remarks 
 
 savour too much of the " stage effect," 
 
 please remember, oh, most cynical reader, 
 
 that she was in love, and admit the truth 
 
 if you cannot sympathize with the line 
 
 that says — 
 
 Cupid guides the poet's pen. 
 
 " No," Clowden answered, " silence does 
 not oppress me, but I love the sound of 
 your dear voice so well, that even your 
 favourite nightingale fails to charm me if 
 you are silent." 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 " Oh, Clowden, what flatterers you men 
 are I 
 
 " And do you blame us, Marie, when it 
 is one of the many accomplishments a man 
 must learn if he wants to get on with that 
 touchy, exacting old dame Society ?" 
 
 It was not Lord Clowden's usual way of 
 answering a doubt as to the honesty of his 
 love speeches \ but he had long heard what 
 a sweet temper Marion Doolington pos- 
 sessed, and had often wished for an 
 opportunity to rouse her ever so little 
 to anger. He knew many women who 
 would have " flashed " at less than this, 
 and the unchanging mildness, if I may so 
 call it, of this fair lady's face rather bored 
 him at times, and he often wished she was 
 a little more brilliant. 
 
 " I don't know," she laughed, " it is very 
 pleasant, of course ; and I suppose we poor
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 51 
 
 women ought to be very grateful for the 
 nice sugar-plums Dame Society provides 
 for us — but," she added, with a slight 
 touch of satire, " it must be very difficult 
 always to think of pretty speeches." 
 
 He smiled as he pressed the tiny gloved 
 hand. 
 
 " Well done, Marie I" 
 
 And then looking down with that soft 
 love-light, eyes like his know so well how to 
 assume, said earnestly — 
 
 " There can be no question of flattery in 
 anything I say to you, dear one, loving you 
 as I do." 
 
 In enumerating Lord Clowden's good 
 points I forgot to mention his voice, 
 which was singularly soft, when he chose, 
 but hard and cruel when his temper was 
 ruffled or his will disputed; but now the 
 rich mellow tones falling on the still
 
 52 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 night air, went straight to his listener's 
 hearfc; and he thought, as she raised her 
 soul -lit eyes to his, that she looked scarcely 
 mortal, with her pale sweet face and 
 shining snow-white garments. 
 
 As he stooped to replace the shawl that 
 had fallen from her shoulders, she said — 
 
 " Let us go in now, Clowden, Carrie will 
 think I have hardly kept my promise of 
 taking her place to-night." 
 
 "Is Lady Evylin ill?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 " Oh no I" Marion answered ; and as 
 they walked slowly towards the house, 
 she told him the sad story of Isabelle 
 Stanley, and how Carrie had that day 
 stood by her deathbed.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 HEN they re-entered the ball- 
 Pi room, several gentlemen 
 came to Marion, with re- 
 proach in their eyes and 
 open programme. Lord Clowden left her 
 laughingly settling her debts, and passed by 
 a side-door into the hall, walking quickly 
 down the long corridor till he came to the 
 smoking-room. 
 
 It was a large pleasant room ; one-half 
 was fitted up for billiards, and there were 
 two or three card -tables and chessboards, 
 for Sir John gambled a little on a modest 
 scale ; and one corner was crowded with 
 downy sofas, low armchairs, and inviting
 
 54 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 couches. This was where the smokers 
 were wont to congregate ; and many a 
 scandal, and many a bon mot dated its 
 origin from the gossips who were generally 
 busy in that corner. 
 
 From all I have seen, I think it hardly 
 fair to give our sisters the palm for care- 
 fully studying their neighbours' business. 
 A party of women, over afternoon tea, is 
 certainly dangerous, but I fancy most of 
 us would prefer even their thoughtless or 
 spiteful play with our character to the dark 
 hints, carefully worded intangible accusa- 
 tions, or ominous silence, expressive of so 
 much among our club loungers. Especially 
 if the men are either very old or very 
 young, for youth and age are hard judges ; 
 the former have seen too little, and the 
 latter too much, of this cynical world to 
 be charitable. Women rarely malign a
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 55 
 
 man, except for some good private reason , 
 and then the very palpable spite of the 
 calumny renders the slander comparatively 
 harmless ; but with men it is different, if 
 they know anything about a man detri- 
 mental to his credit, however far fetched, 
 it is pretty sure to go the rounds. 
 
 The room was empty when Lord Clow- 
 den entered, not one of the guests, and 
 there was many a hard smoker among 
 them, had been found brave enough to 
 enjoy his weed in lonely silence, while light 
 feet were keeping time to gay music, and 
 lovely eyes shone their brightest. He was 
 glad of it, and he flung himself on to the 
 first sofa with a sigh of evident relief: he 
 had come there to think and be alone. 
 Marion's story about Isabelle Stanley had 
 struck a cord that had laid mute for many 
 a year, and as he lay there, in the lonely
 
 56 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 smoking-room, the dead past rose haunt- 
 ingly from its unhallowed grave. 
 
 Before him stretched a verdant, woody 
 landscape, bright with soft subdued sum- 
 mer light, and there, where trees twined a 
 loving mixture of varied green, sat a young 
 girl, radiant in glad half-childish loveliness, 
 her loose light-flowing robe, her mantling 
 long dark hair, with here and there a dash 
 of soft purple, like the intensity of the 
 raven's wing, the soft outline of her grace- 
 ful bending figure, and down below the 
 grand old ruin standing defiant and grim, 
 a mockery to itself and time. 
 
 Then the scene changed, and he stood 
 with her, his arm round her, and her 
 glorious dark eyes upturned to his, shining 
 in their deep love like twin stars through 
 their long jetty fringe ; above them the 
 pale cold moon, and all around the dim
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 57 
 
 uncertain shadows of night. He heard 
 again his own voice trembling in its deep 
 passionate pleading, and her low sweet 
 answer, " Yes, Vivien, I will go with you 
 and be your wife." 
 
 Then again, the painted walls of the 
 little chapel, with the slanting light from 
 the mullioned window falling full on the 
 sweet, half-shy, downcast face, while the 
 dull monotonous voice of the priest pro- 
 nounced the words that should have bound 
 them for life together. 
 
 Then he watched the changing scenes, 
 each one fairer than the last, each com- 
 pleted by love's greatest treasure, his 
 beautiful wife — -his Isabelle — his priceless 
 gem ! Fairer it seemed to him, as he lin- 
 gered over her memory, than mortal woman 
 could ever be again. 
 
 Then the last scene rose before him, in
 
 58 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 all its bitter agony, cutting him to the very 
 soul like a pointed knife. 
 
 Again he saw, like a phantasm, the soft, 
 loving, girlish face in its quick passionate 
 jealousy, the grand eyes blazing, and the 
 round cheeks dyed the deepest crimson, 
 suddenly grow old and haggard, the warm 
 blood fade to a ghastly pallor, and a wild 
 fearful horror gleam from the large expres- 
 sive eyes at his cold heartless words — words 
 he would now have given much never to 
 have spoken — words that had parted them 
 for ever and ever. 
 
 He felt a wild fierce desire to see her 
 again, even if dead, to feed his hungry eyes 
 on her lovely face ; and he rose and paced 
 the room, large drops of excitement and 
 agony beading his brow. " Isabelle ! oh, 
 my lost Isabelle !" through the dark night 
 and dull grey dawning he paced and cried,
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 59 
 
 and knew no weariness. Truly the spirit 
 has great power over the body, and at 
 times proves its eternity by utterly disre- 
 garding humanity's bane, Frailty ! 
 
 The sun was high in the heavens when 
 he mounted the stairs to his room. There 
 was no time to think of rest, so he bathed 
 and redressed, and combed back the dank, 
 dark hair from his bloodless, haggard face. 
 Then taking his hat, he passed out into 
 the fresh morning air, across the Park and 
 down the long dusty road till he came to 
 the Poolington Arms. 
 
 Joseph King was busy sweeping out his 
 bar, humming a little tune in a subdued 
 bass, his round puffy cheeks, rosy with the 
 exercise. He stopped abruptly, broom in 
 hand, when Lord Clowden entered, and 
 coming forward with an awkward bow, 
 waited for him to speak.
 
 60 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 " A lady died here yesterday," said 
 Clowden, speaking with evident difficulty. 
 " I knew some one of her name years ago. 
 Can I see if it is my friend ?" 
 
 " Well, my lord ; I knows you, for Tom 
 Barton pointed you out to me the other 
 day as the gentleman who is going to 
 marry our young lady ; and if your lord- 
 ship will excuse the liberty of my saying 
 so, I hopes as you'll be very happy, 
 and " 
 
 " Thank you — thank you, my good 
 man," he interrupted, impatiently ; " but 
 about the lady who died here yesterday. 
 Can I see her ?" 
 
 " Well, my lord, the missus is out after 
 the cows ; but I know," he added, his face 
 brightening, " if you wont tell on me, my 
 lord, I'll just give you the key, for I see 
 she's left 'em on the table." And our
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 61 
 
 worthy host darted into the little back 
 parlour, returning presently with a large 
 bunch of keys. 
 
 " This is it," he said, selecting one, and 
 reading the label on it — " ' Eoom No. 4,' 
 my lord ; that's where the poor young 
 lady's lying — just at the top of them stairs, 
 my lord — the first room as ever you comes 
 to." 
 
 Lord Clowden pressed a couple of sove- 
 reigns into the man's hand, saying — 
 
 "You need not mention my having 
 come here; after all, it may not be my 
 friend." 
 
 "All right, my lord." And he held 
 the door open for him to pass through. 
 
 Clowden Strafford walked slowly up the 
 narrow staircase. At the top was a door 
 with No. 4 on it ; he turned the key and 
 entered, closing the door behind him. The
 
 62 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 bed was covered with a large white sheet • 
 the blinds were down, but the window 
 being open a little at the top, the fresh 
 morning air came through, slightly stirring 
 the sheet which clung in ghastly folds to 
 the form beneath. He started ; could it be 
 her breath that so faintly moved the shroud ? 
 He advanced quickly to the head of the bed 
 — laid his hand on the sheet — paused for 
 an instant — and then raised it. 
 
 No need to fear the sight of that sweet, 
 dead face, Clowden Strafford ! Pale and 
 beautiful — all the hard, pained lines that of 
 late had marred its living loveliness, effaced 
 by the first gentle touch of death. The 
 grand eyes closed for ever, their long black 
 lashes lay softly shadowing her marble 
 cheeks; the sweet mouth, not quite pallid 
 yet, but tinted like the pale pink of a rare 
 sea shell, was smiling as it had done per-
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 63 
 
 haps in the happy southern home, when the 
 baby form lay lulled to rest in the arms of 
 the pretty French mother, who died long 
 ago. 
 
 Her long dark hair had been twisted 
 round loving fingers till it lay in smooth, 
 glossy curls, framing the fair face and white 
 marbly throat, that rose, full and swan-like, 
 from the frilled band of her shroud. The 
 small thin hands were meekly crossed on 
 the still breast \ and he noticed how loosely 
 the wedding ring hung — that wedding ring 
 he had placed on a plump, pink hand six 
 weary years ago. He trembled from head 
 to foot as he stood there, and covering his 
 face with his hands, sobbed as he had never 
 sobbed since childhood. 
 
 " Oh ! God forgive me !" went up from 
 his stricken heart. Verily, those small 
 still hands had great power in awakening
 
 64 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 the callous, atheist soul of this cynical 
 wordling. 
 
 The storm soon passed, and he raised his 
 head hastily, and looked round as though 
 fearful that other eyes might have seen his 
 weakness. 
 
 A faint sunbeam crept through the blind, 
 resting on the sweet dead face, as if it would 
 warm those calm lips to a living smile. He 
 stooped to kiss her ; but drew back quickly 
 when his heavy moustache just touched her 
 pale brow, as though fearful his lips might 
 taint its pure repose ; and then, after one 
 long lingering look, he dropped the sheet, 
 and passed out.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IAJOR DASHWOOD began 
 life as a cornet in the 10th 
 Hussars. Young, good-look- 
 ing, belonging to a crack 
 regiment, possessing also a rent-roll of some 
 thousands a year, of course he had the 
 entree to most of the best houses. He was 
 early elected a member for Crockford's, and 
 two or three other West-end clubs ; and men 
 were glad to have it known that they were 
 on terms of intimacy with Dick Dashwood. 
 If not remarkably handsome, he always 
 looked a gentleman : even when very young 
 he was distinguished for a calm, unchanging 
 courtesy of manner. Riding a thorough- 
 vol. i. 5
 
 66 SPOKEN m ANGER. 
 
 bred hack in the Eow, driving tandem on 
 the Epsom Downs, waltzing with some fair 
 season belle, or lounging in the Park — 
 there was always that unmistakable air 
 about him which the French call " Mi Lord 
 Anglais." He was passionately fond of 
 games of chance, always sent a horse or two 
 to the Derby, and was well known at 
 Tattersall's. 
 
 Ill-luck never seemed to rouse him ; he 
 often sat till daylight at ecarte, losing 
 largely, without a shade of vexation on his 
 calm face ; and once, when a friend came to 
 tell him of the fall of a horse he had backed 
 heavily, he said, smilingly carelessly, " My 
 usual ill-luck, my dear fellow, my usual ill- 
 luck." They dined together, and afterwards 
 went to the Opera, and all through the even- 
 ing Dick's spirits seemed as calmly cheerful 
 as usual.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 67 
 
 But his wonderful armour of self-control 
 was pierced at last. In an evil hour, while 
 waiting at Bath for a financial storm to 
 blow over, he met and married a vain, 
 under-bred woman, the daughter of a rich 
 brewer. Looking forward to his father-in- 
 law's wealth, young Dashwood and his wife 
 gave themselves up to every possible ex- 
 travagance. Possibly there was great want 
 of refinement in his wife ; but, anyway, the 
 match was not a happy one, as kind friends 
 found out some months afterwards. He 
 consoled himself for his matrimonial mistake 
 with unlimited "play" — snug little bachelor 
 parties at his rooms in St. James's, and now 
 and then a discreet flirtation ; but, as a rule, 
 women of any character soon began to 
 avoid him, he became so very notorious. 
 
 Mrs. Dashwood drove a pair of ponies 
 alone in the Park j was always to be seen 
 
 5-2
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEB. 
 
 at garden-party, ball, or opera unattended, 
 save by some lady friend, thus proclaiming 
 to the world how badly her husband treated 
 her. 
 
 Eichard Dashwood had thoroughly valued 
 his position in society, and it pained him 
 more than he would have liked to own 
 when his married friends dropped asking 
 him to their houses, and ladies who had 
 formerly been pressing in their cordiality 
 passed him with a slight bow ; while even 
 the wildest of his acquaintances blamed him. 
 
 Suddenly the crisis came. His father-in- 
 law died bankrupt just when he needed a 
 pull through, having heavily backed an 
 unsuccessful favourite ; and being, more- 
 over, in real danger of getting cashiered for 
 debt. Nothing was to be done but to 
 change into a cheaper regiment and go 
 abroad; where the hardships of barrack-life
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 69 
 
 soon told on Mrs. Dashwood, who died after 
 a few years' unhappiness and ill-health. 
 After twenty years' foreign service, being 
 put on the staff as brevet-major, he returned 
 to England, a totally, altered man. The 
 calmness, which had been his greatest 
 charm, had altogether deserted him, and the 
 few friends who remembered him in his 
 bright days were pained and astonished at 
 the nervous, irritable invalid he had be- 
 come. 
 
 The only living being who could tolerate 
 him for long was his daughter Lucy ; and 
 his frequent fits of grumbling seemed unable 
 for a moment to cloud the sunshine of her 
 bright, cheerful little heart. Not that she 
 was a paragon young lady, this wild little 
 Lucy Dashwood ; ignorant and unsophisti- 
 cated to a degree, but warm-hearted and 
 easy to lead ; possessing great depth of
 
 70 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 untried love and latent devotion, a very 
 woman in every impulse, untutored in any 
 way by the artificial training of society. 
 Poor little Lucy of late had allowed her 
 thoughts to dwell a little too much on 
 Clowden Strafford's dark handsome face. 
 His deep-set eyes haunted her memory, 
 driving away all the gay little happy fancies 
 that before had contented and gladdened her 
 life — her music, her flowers, her usual daily 
 occupations no longer interested her. She 
 no longer ran about the house a bright 
 little sunbeam, but loved to be alone, to 
 think about him, to recall all the meaning- 
 less, foolish things he said to her ; the deep 
 rich tones of his voice, and, above all, that 
 kind, bright smile that had accompanied his 
 parting words. 
 
 She told no human being of this strange, 
 dawning love ; but she would talk about
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 71 
 
 Clowden to her little dog Snap, and of 
 course that sagacious animal sympathised 
 with her to the best of his small power, 
 wagging his tail and rubbing his cold little 
 nose against her wee white hand ; and then 
 she would kiss Snap, and tell him what a 
 love of a dog he was, and how handsome 
 Lord Clowden was ; and thus dallying, the 
 untutored childish feet first trod the 
 mysterious labyrinth of love. 
 
 One morning, about a week after Lucy's 
 first ball, she ran bright and glowing from 
 a before-breakfast romp with Snap, into the 
 room where her father was seated, drinking 
 his coffee and reading the Times. 
 
 "Why, Lucy, what a noise you make," 
 he said, in sharp, thin, querulous tones. 
 " You have given me quite a headache." 
 
 " Good morning, papa darling. I am so 
 sorry," she said, putting her arm round
 
 72 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 him, and pressing her fresh young face 
 against his. 
 
 They were a great contrast, this father 
 and daughter: his pale, worn, aristocratic 
 face, large, restless, grey eyes, and thin- 
 lipped sensitive mouth ; she dimpled and 
 rosy, in her bonnie English beauty, with 
 her pretty flowing golden hair and merry 
 blue eyes — blue as the forget-me-nots she 
 had fastened in her waistband, in memory 
 of Clowden. 
 
 We would whisper that very gently, for 
 the dawning of love in a fresh young heart 
 is a sacred, solemn thing. Oh ! how will it 
 end ? — who can tell ? Sometimes beginning 
 in purity, fed by holiness, it ripens on earth 
 for eternity's glory ; sometimes — oh ! how 
 often — it is crushed to the earth, and trodden 
 into aching dust by the iron wheel of 
 Fate ; and sometimes it withers, tainted
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 73 
 
 and broken, in the foul atmosphere of 
 crime. 
 
 Major Dash wood knew nothing of his 
 daughter's newly-awakened love : always 
 more accustomed to be studied himself than 
 to study others — the altered manner, the 
 dreamy look that was often in her blue 
 eyes, and, more than all, her reticence 
 about the ball, told no tale, and excited no 
 suspicion. She eat her breakfast in silence, 
 and the major read his paper. Suddenly 
 she said — 
 
 " Do you want anything, papa dear ? 
 I'm going out presently." 
 
 " Gro to Dr. Blake, and tell him to make 
 me another bottle of sleeping-draught," he 
 answered. " Tell him to be sure and make 
 it stronger than the last. I did not sleep 
 at all last night. And tell him I want some 
 more of that nervine — don't forget, Lucy,
 
 74 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 the nervine and the sleeping-draught; 
 
 and Lucy, Lucy," he called, raising 
 
 his voice ; but Lucy had gone. A few 
 moments later she put her bright little 
 face round the door, shaded by a large 
 straw hat. 
 
 " Did you call, papa ?" she laughed. 
 
 " Yes, madcap," he said, smiling ; " don't 
 forget to call at the post-office, and be home 
 to dinner." 
 
 " Is there anything else you want ?" she 
 said, demurely. 
 
 " Gro away, you saucy child ; and if you 
 meet Mr. Palmer, ask him to drop in some 
 time this afternoon." 
 
 Lucy walked down the sunlit road look- 
 ing a bright, plump, little fairy in her plain 
 print dress and large shady hat, with her 
 fresh young face just peeping from under 
 its broad brim, and her pretty flowing hair
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 75 
 
 shining like threads of gold in the sun- 
 light. The first person she met was Mr. 
 Palmer, the curate. He was a tall, broad- 
 shouldered young man, with a pair of 
 honest brown eyes, and a kind, true face ; 
 slightly pale generally, but he got very 
 pink while talking to Lucy ; and the little 
 coquette gave him some bewildering glances 
 from under her broad-brimmed hat. He 
 told her he was going to a funeral, so she 
 wished him good-by, and tripped on to 
 Dr. Blake's. He was out, the apprentice 
 said, attending a funeral, but he would 
 write down her message with pleasure. 
 
 " Every one going to a funeral," she 
 thought ; and as she walked quietly home 
 she met the sombre, winding procession. 
 
 This was the funeral of Isabelle Stanley.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 N his new home, Vivien seemed 
 very happy. Now and then he 
 remembered his mother, and 
 a burst of childish sorrow 
 testified to the depth of his love for her; 
 but as time wore on, he allowed Lady 
 Evylin to take her place entirely. As yet, 
 he had not been seen by Clowden, who 
 always avoided the child ; but one morning 
 the Hall party were seated at breakfast 
 when he entered, and took the empty chair 
 always left for him by Marion's side. 
 Vivien was admiring some pretty little 
 charms she wore on her watch-chain, and as 
 Clowden looked, rather anxiously, at the
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 77 
 
 small, downcast, animated face, he was 
 struck by its rare beauty. He felt a 
 sudden strong desire to take the child in 
 his arms, but he repressed the impulse, and 
 a cold hardness entered his heart as he 
 did so. 
 
 "Oh ! auntie," cried the little clear voice 
 (Lady Evylin had taught him to call her 
 mother, and her sister auntie), "here's a 
 little popgun. Shall I shoot you dead ?" 
 And he pointed it straight at Clowden. But 
 as he raised his eyes to his face, the 
 animation died out of them, into a vague, 
 wondering stare, and putting up his little 
 hand he stroked his face, saying softly — 
 
 "Are you a picture?" 
 
 Every one near laughed heartily, and 
 Lord Clowden, lifting his face higher than 
 the soft little hand could reach, laughed 
 too ; but there was a hard ring in his voice,
 
 78 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 and he flushed hotly, and then paled to 
 his very lips. But the child took no 
 notice of their laughter, saying, as if to 
 himself — 
 
 " It could not laugh/' 
 
 This made every one laugh more, and 
 those at the other end of the table came to 
 see what was the matter, so there was 
 quite a little crowd round them. 
 
 "Aren't I a prettier picture, Vivien?" 
 said Captain Adderly, bending down his 
 fair laughing face. 
 
 "Oh no, you ain't a picture," he said, 
 shaking his curly head. 
 
 " Only Clowden, who is like a picture?" 
 said Marion, interrogatively. "Where did 
 you see it, dear — here?" And she opened 
 a locket she wore round her neck with his 
 portrait in. 
 
 But the child would not look at it.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 79 
 
 "It was so big!" he said, measuring 
 with his wee hands. 
 
 They all questioned him laughingly, but 
 he could remember nothing about it, except 
 that it was " so big." 
 
 " I can't think what the little fellow saw 
 in me," said Clowden, laughing. " Ton 
 my word it's a rare joke," and he laughed 
 again, rather boisterously, for his heart was 
 beating passionately, and his mind was 
 full of anxious thought; to' change the 
 subject, he turned to Fortescue Browne, 
 who was sitting the only silent one of the 
 party. 
 
 " Dreaming of pheasants, Fortie?" he 
 said. " I mean to make a good bag this 
 morning, and I thought I heard hints of 
 woodcock." 
 
 This of course had the desired effect on 
 a party of men, met almost entirely for a
 
 80 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 good shooting season ; and soon the ladies 
 were deserted, guns shouldered, and the 
 sportsmen departed midst waving of 
 handkerchiefs and barking of dogs. 
 
 Lord Clowden separated himself from 
 the rest. Their gay jests and noisy 
 laughter irritated him, and soon he found 
 himself alone with Fortescue Browne. 
 Both were silent, and both seemed to take 
 aim mechanically at the birds that came 
 within range of their guns. This steady 
 shooting was rewarded by twenty-six brace 
 of pheasants by the time the call came 
 for luncheon. 
 
 " You take the bag," said Clowden ; 
 " I've done my share for to-day — I'm 
 going in now. But what's come to you ? 
 How silent you are. Nothing wrong, I 
 hope?" 
 
 The young man reddened under his
 
 SPOKEN m ANGER. 31 
 
 scrutiny. " Well, the fact is." he answered, 
 " I proposed to Miss Hastings last night, 
 and — was rejected." 
 
 Clowden blew a prolonged whistle. 
 " Why, I thought you were such friends," 
 he said ; " but cheer up, old boy ; if I 
 cared, I'd propose again, and if I did not, 
 I'd propose to some one else." 
 
 " Do you think she would have me if 
 I asked her again ?" he said, eagerly. " I 
 wish you would get Miss Doolington to 
 talk to her, and see if she only refused me 
 for fun. I rather fancied she liked me." 
 
 " Oh yes, I'll ask Marion ; don't break 
 your heart just yet. I've no doubt it will 
 all come right." 
 
 With these comforting words he turned 
 and walked away. He walked on quickly, 
 his unloaded gun lying idly in his arm, 
 feeling no temptation to slaughter any of 
 
 vol. i. 6
 
 82 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 the birds that often flew most temptingly 
 within aim. As he walked, his face grew 
 pale, and his heavy brows knitted in deep 
 thought. Puzzled and annoyed as he was, 
 the soft caressing touch of those little 
 hands had entered into his heart, rousing, 
 unknown to himself, a tiny germ of 
 love ; and once a teardrop, small shame 
 to his manhood, glistened on his dark 
 eyelashes. 
 
 He stopped, arrested by the beauty of 
 the scene, on the margin of the little 
 stream that ran through Doolington Park. 
 It had been well stocked with fish, but 
 there was no one angling now ; and the 
 clear water ran rippling and dancing in the 
 sunlight, or reflected a soft cool green as it 
 kissed some drooping branch that, here and 
 there, bent a light weight of graceful 
 beauty over it; fanned into varying sun-
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 83 
 
 beams by the faintly-stirring wind, and 
 further hidden by the bending foliage, 
 looked dank and still under its burden of 
 pure white water-lilies ; while, far as the 
 eye could reach, stretched the grand old 
 Park, with its centuries of timber, and 
 pretty graceful deer. 
 
 As he stood there, gradually the soft 
 beauty that surrounded him appealed to 
 all his better nature. In that fair soli- 
 tude, worldling that he was, he began to 
 realise, dimly perhaps, that life was given 
 for a higher aim than the mere selfish 
 gratification of the moment ; and the glit- 
 tering falseness of the charnel-house of sin 
 glared in all its mockery as he stood in 
 the pure presence of Nature ; and, more 
 than all, he felt the great claim that child 
 had on him. His son, that he might be 
 proud of; his son, who would look up to 
 
 6—2
 
 84 SPOKEN m ANGER. 
 
 him and honour him ; his son, who ought 
 to take his wealth and lands, when he lay 
 still in the cold vault ; his son, in whose 
 firm mouth, child as he was, he read force 
 of character and determination, whether for 
 srood or evil. The strongest of all love — a 
 father's love — spoke loudly to Clowden 
 Strafford by that quiet stream, and his 
 heart yearned towards the tiny beautiful 
 boy. 
 
 "Why was she so jealous?" he muttered, 
 savagely. " It was all her fault we parted, 
 and that I cannot own my child." 
 
 " Why not own him now ?" spoke his 
 conscience ; but he shuddered at the scan- 
 dal, and then Marion — he could not give 
 her up. He must go on, there was no use 
 turning back now ; no one knew anything 
 of that first marriage, and surely it was no 
 great harm robbing this child of a birth-
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEB. 85 
 
 right he had never known, and would 
 never be taught to expect. 
 
 And so the tempter reasoned away this 
 man's soul. Who could expect to argue 
 with the father of lies ? Oh !. that we 
 could all copy the subtle wisdom of the 
 sinless One, in all its wonderful simplicity — 
 " Get thee behind me, Satan." 
 
 Clowden had not gone many steps fur- 
 ther, when he suddenly came face to face 
 with Lucy Dash wood. They had not met 
 since the ball, and the girl started and 
 paled when she saw him ; he wondered why 
 the little hand trembled in his, and men- 
 tally concluded that she was shy ; so, 
 smiling down on her, he tried by a few 
 light commonplace questions to put her at 
 her ease. " How she was ? Why did she 
 leave the ball so early ? Did not she think 
 the view very pretty ?" All of which Lucy
 
 86 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 answered with the blushes and dimples 
 coming and going, and her bright hair 
 half shading her downcast, changing face. 
 
 " What a nervous child/' he thought ; 
 " how frightened she is of me by day- 
 light/' and a kind pitying smile, almost 
 beautiful in its tenderness, softened his 
 eyes — a look that lingered, cherished in 
 Lucy's heart to her dying day — a look 
 that not all the hard, pitiless, passionate 
 glances she later on received from those 
 same eyes could ever obliterate. 
 
 " Where are you going?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm going home now; it's tea-tune.'' 
 
 " May I walk with you ?" and he bent 
 his head low for her answer. 
 
 She looked up, a glad child-face, the 
 blue eyes and fresh mouth smiling with 
 pleasure. 
 
 They walked on for some moments in
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 87 
 
 silence, a tiny woman and a tall man ; his 
 eyes soft and clear, and just the shadow 
 of an amused smile under his heavy black 
 moustache. She looked up at him, and all 
 her innocent, guileless soul went up in that 
 look, stirring his heart strangely, for then 
 he knew that she loved him. 
 
 "What pretty blue eyes!" he said, bend- 
 ing down and looking earnestly into them. 
 
 She smiled : she did not know that she 
 ought to have looked annoyed at such 
 familiarity, but she got so rosy red, that 
 for pity he said nothing more till they 
 reached the garden-gate of Lucy's home. 
 
 " We've had a very pleasant walk j don't 
 you think so ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, shyly. 
 
 " We've been rather silent, though ; we 
 must talk more next time, eh ?" 
 
 Lucy looked up now. " Why, we've
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 hardly spoken six words !" and she laughed 
 till he thought of trying to count the 
 dimples. Her enemies would have said she 
 was giggling, hut Clowden thought it very 
 pretty. He was by no means poetical, 
 this hard man of the world, but many 
 bright beautiful similes flashed through his 
 mind as he watched the dimples chase one 
 another on her soft cheek, like sunbeams 
 on a roseleaf. 
 
 " You dear charming little pet/' he said ; 
 " wont you give me one kiss ?" 
 
 She put up her bright face so innocently, 
 with so much childish confidence, that his 
 conscience smote him, and he just touched 
 the rosy cheek with his lips. 
 
 "Who was that you were talking to, 
 Lucy ?" her father called out, as she ran 
 past the drawing-room. 
 
 " Lord Clowden Strafford, pa dear I"
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 89 
 
 " Ah ! the lord who is engaged to Miss 
 Doolington," he said. 
 
 But Lucy did not hear : she was up the 
 stairs, two at a time, smoothing her bright 
 hair, to look tidy for tea. It would have 
 been well for her if she had heard, and 
 saved the poor little soul from great bitter- 
 ness. We can tear up a little sprig and 
 the earth not miss it, but the rooting up of 
 a great tree will leave a fearful chasm.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ^s^HEBE are you going, Marie?" 
 Lord Clowden said, as he 
 met Marion just outside 
 the Park gates one after- 
 noon : she held a basket of beautiful 
 hot-house flowers in her hand. 
 
 " I am going to the village on business 
 for Carrie," she answered, as she put her 
 hand in his arm. 
 
 " These flowers," she continued, taking 
 one, a beautiful Gardenia, and stopping to 
 put it in his buttonhole, " Carrie asked me 
 to put on poor Mrs. Stanley's grave." 
 
 Clowden tore the flower impatiently 
 from his coat, and threw it on the ground ;
 
 SPOKEN" IN ANGER. 91 
 
 then noticing the look of pained astonish- 
 ment on her fair face, he said quickly — 
 
 "Forgive me, Marie, the scent made me 
 feel quite faint. I don't care for flowers, 
 particularly hot-house ones." 
 
 " Why, Clowden," she said, laughing, 
 "it was only the other day you said you 
 preferred them to all others; but perhaps 
 you are not well ?" And she raised her eyes, 
 full of loving anxiety. 
 
 " I am quite well, darling/' 
 
 They were alone in the long winding 
 lane, so he stopped, and, drawing her to him, 
 kissed the soft upturned face very tenderly. 
 
 " My own Marie ! my beautiful darling !" 
 
 She looked almost beautiful as she stood 
 there, a calm pure happiness illumining 
 her pale face ; the tall, willowy, perfect 
 form, and the small head with its wealth 
 of auburn hair, regally poised on her long
 
 92 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 graceful throat. Yet somehow he found 
 himself comparing her with Lucy Dash- 
 wood, and missing the rosy dimpled bright- 
 ness of Lucy's childish face, the latent 
 passion that slumbered in her blue eyes. 
 That saucy piquant little face would have 
 looked long in the glass, before it would 
 have thought itself worthy to be compared 
 with Miss Doolington. 
 
 All his life Clowden Strafford had been 
 an atheist in the worst sense — a thorough 
 disbeliever in all goodness. He was wont 
 to gauge the character of man or woman 
 solely by the temptations placed in their 
 way. A man would be honourable, he 
 argued, as long as it served his interests to 
 be so. But on women, chiefly, the weight 
 of his cynicism fell. He had, unfortunately, 
 proved his theories correct. He knew that 
 most of the high-born damsels in his set
 
 SPOKEN IK ANGER. 93 
 
 would have married him for his wealth and 
 position alone ; while lower down on the 
 
 ladder of life Ah ! well, we all know 
 
 the fearful power of wealth, high birth, 
 good looks, and youth, if wielded for weal 
 or for woe. 
 
 But since he had known Marion his 
 standard of moral excellence had heightened 
 considerably. The constant intercourse 
 with her pure mind had partially driven 
 away all evil thoughts, as shadows vanish 
 at the approach of dawn. He felt that he 
 must take the sandals of sin from off his 
 feet before he walked hand-in-hand through 
 life with this pure-hearted girl, and the 
 soft sweet face seemed almost a reproach 
 to the many dark acts of his past. 
 
 Yet with all this, there was something 
 wanting. Marion was too calm, too good, 
 he would say to himself; but calm was a
 
 94 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 better word to express how utterly she 
 seemed above all human weakness. No 
 one had ever seen her angry, jealous, or 
 even roused in her love. Clowden Straf- 
 ford, in whose breast passion ever reigned 
 over reason, felt as though a fearful gulf 
 separated him from his Jlancee. Yet, strange 
 to say, utterly different as they were, he 
 had never loved another woman as he loved 
 Marion Doolington. There was some- 
 thing of religion in his love, for Marion 
 stood in the place of his Grod ; and had she 
 wished it, cynic that he was, I verity believe 
 he would have knelt at her feet and wor- 
 shipped with as much devotion as ever a 
 good disciple of Rome prostrated himself 
 before the immaculate Mother of God ; and 
 I have seen many carved Virgins with 
 very much the same pure expression and 
 passionless calm of Marion's face.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 95 
 
 Marion was a deep student too ; and 
 many a learned old divine had been known 
 to somewhat dread an argument with this 
 fair classical scholar. Lord Clowden, least 
 of all men, could sympathise with a clever 
 woman ; his ideas were Eastern in the ex- 
 treme. According to his code, a woman 
 had no business with learning of any kind. 
 He had spent many years of his life in the 
 Grecian Archipelago, and the soft-eyed, 
 languid girls he met there came up fully 
 to his ideas of female excellence, and 
 rather disgusted him with English girls 
 in general. 
 
 Yet, in spite of their entire want of 
 sympath}^, he loved Marion — not blindly, 
 but truly — with all the depth of his strong 
 nature. 
 
 Other eyes might be brighter and 
 more passionate, but the clear truth that
 
 96 SPOKEN IN ANGEB. 
 
 shone in hers was strangely winning ; 
 other women might captivate him for the 
 moment with coquetry, but the sweet calm 
 of Marion's face was very restful. 
 
 He had not long known her, when he 
 realised that he had met his ideal, that she 
 satisfied all the yearning of his nature for 
 perfect, pure womanhood. She was always 
 the same — a beautiful alabaster lily, copied 
 by a skilful hand, but lacking the immunity 
 to rain, heat, and cold, which cursed the 
 real flower. 
 
 Yet, beneath all this, as beneath the 
 fresh green quiet earth the unknown volcano 
 bides its time, Marion possessed a heart — a 
 heart beating and passionate, but a heart that 
 had never yet been roused ; but which, once 
 awakened, might raze to its foundation the 
 calmness of a lifetime. 
 
 " Marie," said Clowden, as they walked
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 97 
 
 slowly on, " I promised Browne to get you 
 to intercede for him with Miss Hastings. 
 She refused to be Mrs. Fortescue Browne, 
 he tells me." 
 
 " Why, Clowden," said Marion, " did not 
 you know that she has been engaged for 
 some time to Julien Lever son ?" 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, she's been playing fast 
 and loose with poor Browne ever since she 
 came down here." 
 
 "Ah! you men are such sad flirts," 
 Marion said, smiling, " that I daresay 
 Maud thought Mr. Browne was only prac- 
 tising for private theatricals ; they say he 
 acts so very well, you know/' 
 
 " You naughty Marie " (and Clowden 
 smiled fondly), " that's all the praise a 
 man gets for loving one of your fickle 
 sex." 
 
 They had reached the churchyard, and 
 vol. i. 7
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 both hushed their light talk as they entered. 
 In a quiet corner, under the shadow of a 
 large yew-tree, they had buried Isabelle 
 Stanley. Marion knelt down arranging 
 her flowers, and Clowden stood by her side. 
 A strange calm solemnity seemed to fill 
 the air, and the wind just stirring the leaves 
 over Marion's head sent a strange thrill 
 through hirn, and he moved two or three 
 steps away. 
 
 " Oh ! Clowden," said Marion, still bend- 
 ing lovingly over her flowers, " was it not 
 sad to die as she did — not so old as Carrie ? 
 What a wicked man her husband must 
 have been ; don't you think so ?" 
 
 Clowden did not answer; he was watch- 
 ing a dark cloud in the sky. Presently 
 he said — 
 
 " We must hasten home, Marion, or we 
 shall be caught in the rain."
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEB. 
 
 They had hardly left the churchyard, 
 when the big heavy drops began to fall 
 in such quick succession that they had to 
 take shelter beneath a tree. 
 
 "I hope you are not cold, my Marie," 
 he said, drawing her to him, and looking 
 tenderly into the small pale face. 
 
 . " Oh no I" she answered, and for the 
 first time during their engagement she 
 nestled closer to him. "I rather like 
 standing here, watching the rain fall so 
 heavily." 
 
 "I had a letter from my mother this 
 morning, Marie. She sends all kinds of 
 sweet messages to you. I know she will 
 love my little white flower." 
 
 The soft fair face was upturned, and the 
 true eyes looked into his, full of sweet trust 
 and faith. 
 
 Presently the patter of horses' feet, and 
 
 7—2
 
 100 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 the rattle of carriage wheels, broke on the 
 heavy air. It proved to be Dr. Blake. 
 
 " What, ho ! Miss Marion, is that you ?" 
 he said, pulling up his dripping horse, 
 and looking out, red-nosed and benign, 
 from under the hood of his gig. " Please 
 jump in, or you'll be putting a long fee 
 in the doctor's pocket, and a sad pain in 
 somebody's heart." And the old doctor 
 smiled and winked, and nattered himself 
 he had done his share of wit. 
 
 As Clowden helped Marion in, he said — 
 
 " I am sorry I've no room to offer you, 
 Lord Clowden, but will you take this 
 cloak? It will keep you dry, at any rate." 
 
 With a comical look of disgust the 
 young man wrapped the ugly old water- 
 proof round him. 
 
 " I will send the carriage for you, Clow- 
 den," Marion cried, as they drove off,
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 101 
 
 looking very fair and pure, perched up in 
 the gig. 
 
 He felt strangely lonely there ; the 
 black lowering sky overhead, and the long, 
 empty, darkening road, with nothing but 
 the heavy durging drip, drip to enliven 
 the solitude. 
 
 " Hang it !" he muttered, as he drew the 
 despised cloak closer round him, trying 
 impatiently to light a cigar. At last the 
 thin blue smoke curled upwards, and he 
 leant back against the tree, trying to make 
 the best of his uncomfortable shelter; and 
 his thoughts wandered on, not with the 
 gentle pure girl who had just left him, 
 not with winning little Lucy Dashwood, 
 but with the woman who was crumbling 
 to dust beneath the solemn yew-tree. 
 
 Somehow he, least likely of all men 
 to be superstitious, began to wish that
 
 102 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 grave was not so near. She did not come 
 back to him as he had seen her last, 
 pale and beautifully still, but in all the 
 wondrous glory of her first youth and 
 loveliness. How pale and insipid seemed 
 Marion's saintly mignonne face in comparison 
 with the warm, glowing, passionate beauty 
 stamped in unfading brilliancy on his heart. 
 How colourless Marion's tawny hair, as 
 memory brought back the blue-black lustre 
 of his dead wife's heavy mantling tresses. 
 How cold the sweet light of her large dark 
 eyes, as he felt again the deep soul thrilling 
 fire of Isabelle's midnight orbs. And 
 then their voices, how utterly different — 
 the one low-toned and winning, the other 
 intoxicating in its wondrous weird melody. 
 He seemed to hear again its low rich 
 musical tones of love, and meet the accom- 
 panying starry brightness of those upturned
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 103 
 
 Orient eyes. Marion never told him how 
 she loved; Marion's eyes never deepened 
 when they met his. Cold, pure Marion ! 
 Love with her was a sweet refreshing cup 
 of clear spring water, not a heart-burning 
 draught of strong maddening wine. He 
 had drunk of the wine till his soul sickened 
 of its richness, and found the water strangely 
 sweet to his jaded palate. 
 
 Both forms were equally perfect and 
 equally tall, but Marion lacked the light 
 subtle grace of the beautiful French girl. 
 That dead woman's rivalry was as taunting, 
 and comparison defying as though she 
 stood before him in all her glorious per- 
 fection. 
 
 "What a romantic fool I am !" he said, 
 angrily, throwing away the end of his cigar, 
 and stepping out into the rain, which was 
 falling very faintly now. Every step he
 
 104 SPOKEN IN AJS'GEE. 
 
 took he plunged deeply into the mud, so 
 that it was with a feeling of great relief 
 he spied old Foster afar off with the Hall 
 carriage. 
 
 He did not feel in a mood to meet any 
 one, so he chose a side corridor that led 
 through the picture gallery up to his 
 rooms. It was quite dark, as that part 
 of the house was seldom frequented. As 
 he was passing through the gallery he 
 heard a low sobbing, and to his astonish- 
 ment he saw Yivien, sitting in one of the 
 big windows, looking a tiny forlorn speck 
 in the sombre moonlight. 
 
 Some strange impulse led him to the 
 child, unutterably grotesque as it seemed 
 that man turning comforter ; yet his voice 
 was very soft as he bent down, resting 
 one hand gently on the bowed golden 
 head.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 105 
 
 "What is it, my boy; why are you 
 crying ?" 
 
 " Oh ! mamma, mamma," sobbed the 
 child. " Oh ! my mamma, mamma." 
 
 Clowden sat down, taking the tiny un- 
 resisting form in his arms ; involuntarily he 
 pressed it closely to him : so small, so help- 
 lessly appealing, and then that heartrending, 
 exceeding bitter cry/' Oh! mamma, mamma." 
 
 " My child, my darling," he said, kiss- 
 ing him with sudden passionate tenderness, 
 " mamma is better there." 
 
 Atheist that he was, he believed that 
 poor weary spirit was better " there." 
 
 " In heaven ?" Vivien said, hushing his 
 sobs to an awed whisper, and raising his 
 big, tearful, questioning eyes. 
 
 Lord Clowden shivered : he thought of 
 the cold damp grave, over which the night 
 wind blue so shrilly, but he said —
 
 106 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 "Yes, darling, and all are happy there." 
 And somehow the hope for Isabelle's present 
 happiness seemed full of comfort for this 
 atheist. 
 
 " Do you think she knows I want her 
 so ?" Vivien sobbed again. " Heaven 
 is so far away — Oh, dear Jesus, take 
 me to mamma, I want her so. Oh ! 
 mamma, mamma." 
 
 Clowden Strafford, cold cynic that he 
 was, felt a strange tightness round his 
 heart, and his eyes were more than dim as 
 he pressed his tiny son to his heart, and 
 the poor little aching soul clung tenderly 
 to him, finding comfort in the fond pressure 
 of those firm strong arms. 
 
 Clowden felt utterly helpless — words of 
 comfort died on his lips — so he let him sob 
 unchecked, holding one wee icy hand in 
 his own, and running the jewelled fingers
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 107 
 
 of his other hand gently through the soft fair 
 curls, that clustered round them lovingly, 
 fetterwise, to keep a father's hand there. 
 
 So they sat, and the gentle angel Sleep 
 came to comfort the poor baby, and he 
 slept in his father's arms ; with the soft 
 pale moon shining through the stained 
 windows, flickering on the armour, length- 
 ening the shadows on the pictures, but 
 throwing a faint steady halo round those 
 two — that hard battered cynic, and that 
 fresh young life — all blank, till the patient 
 future should turn, leaf by leaf, the volume 
 of its existence. 
 
 Clowden sat quite still — he almost held 
 his breath, not to disturb that gentle quiet 
 sleep ; and he watched with a new feeling 
 of tender thoughtful love the tumbled 
 golden head and fair pale face, thrown into 
 pure relief in the holy moonlight.
 
 108 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 The little lips were parted, and the even 
 breath came and went, or else he thought 
 that rest was strangely like death ; that 
 little face, still pale with woe, strangely 
 like that dead mother's, as she lay calm 
 and fearfully still in the roadside inn. He 
 bent down lower and lower, till his mous- 
 tached lips rested gently on the fair smooth 
 brow ; but, light as the kiss was, the child 
 felt it in his dreams, and murmured fondly, 
 "Mamma!" 
 
 Could that dead mother have seen them, 
 would she have smiled gently, or would 
 she have dashed them apart in bitter, 
 unrelenting revenge ? 
 
 A quick light footfall fell on the still- 
 ness, and Clowden put Vivien down so 
 hastily that he began to cry. It was Lady 
 Evylin. 
 
 " Oh ! you. naughty Vivien," she said,
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 109 
 
 bending down and kissing him ; " we've 
 been looking everywhere for you. Fancy 
 your straying to this dark j)lace ! We 
 shall have to get a little chain for you, 
 like Tiny's. You dear, naughty little 
 boy." 
 
 Clowden had drawn into the shadow, 
 but as Carrie's clear voice died away in 
 the distance he came back to the window- 
 seat, and sat there far into the night — 
 thinking !
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 T was Sunday, and the soft 
 sunlight crept lazily through 
 the dusty painted windows, 
 slanting off the dark old 
 pillars that lined the aisle, and lighting up 
 the listening faces of the village congrega- 
 tion. Mr. Palmer, in the carved oak 
 pulpit, was preaching from the 4th verse 
 of the 21st chapter of the Eevelation, and 
 the solemn earnest words went home to 
 many an honest toiling heart. They all 
 liked Mr. Palmer's preaching ; it was clear, 
 concise, and to the point ; he did- not try 
 to mystify simple truths hy a volley of 
 argument, and rarely used any eloquence
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. ill 
 
 beyond that steady force of expression that 
 must always proceed from a clear strong 
 mind. 
 
 Vivien, in the sombre, velvet-hung Hall 
 pew, listened with rapt large eyes, and 
 Lady Evylin, guessing what was passing in 
 the busy child-brain, put her arm kindly 
 round him, and held him so. The big 
 pew looked very empty : all the guests, 
 excepting Lord Clowden, had left for the 
 winter season. Honest Sir John, who 
 generally indulged in a quiet little nap 
 while the good man preached, to-day lis- 
 tened upright and attentive, and his kindly 
 blue eyes grew just a little misty as he 
 thought of the dear gentle wife, whose jjure 
 loving spirit had been called away some ten 
 years back. Carrie looked very like her, as 
 she sat, with her soft woman's face full of ten- 
 der pity for the orphan child, and Sir John's
 
 112 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 eyes dwelt very fondly on her. He looked, 
 too, at that other fair child, who would go 
 so shortly from them, and then at the man 
 to whom he had trusted the happiness of 
 his youngest darling. 
 
 Lord Clowden's arm leant on the carved 
 pew-door, his head resting on his hand. 
 He was thinking, but not of the sermon ; 
 the words of the preacher floated on his ear, 
 but never reached his brain. He had been 
 watching a piquant dimpled face, far down 
 the aisle, till the blue eyes met his, and the 
 little face flushed rosy red, and never looked 
 up again all through the sermon. It was 
 Sacrament Sunday, and he felt glad of it, 
 because he would not have to walk home 
 with Marion, who always stayed to the 
 Communion ; and he made up his mind to 
 waylay that rosy little face, and find out 
 why the blue eyes were so shy of his.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 113 
 
 At last the sermon was over, and they 
 all rose for the parting blessing. Very low 
 Clowden bowed his head, but his eyes were 
 still fixed on Lucy's face ; and he left the 
 church by a side door. Stepping across the 
 green, quiet graves, he met her just as she 
 was leaving the churchyard. 
 
 The childish face was sunny with pleasure 
 as she greeted him. They did not talk 
 much till they were all alone in the fast- 
 fading, winding lanes. Then he said — 
 
 " Did you like the sermon, Miss Dash- 
 wood ?" 
 
 " Yes, very much," she answered. " Mr. 
 Palmer always preaches nicely." 
 
 "Is he one of your favourites?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so," she said ; " he is very 
 good." 
 
 "Don't you think him very pedantic, and 
 absurd in his ideas, Miss Dash woo rl ?" 
 
 vol. i. 8
 
 114 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 " Oh !" said Lucy, looking up with 
 shocked round eyes. 
 
 " Do you think you'll go to heaven, 
 Miss Dashwood ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; I hope so," she said, 
 uneasily wondering why he was talking so 
 strangely. 
 
 " Is not this the proper kind of con- 
 versation for Sunday ?" he said. " I want 
 to be good to-day." 
 
 If she had looked up, she would have 
 seen that he was laughing ; but she walked 
 on, looking down at the cross on her 
 prayer-book, and said nothing. 
 
 " What opinion did you form • of the 
 sermon?" he said, after a few moments, 
 watching her face with an amused smile. 
 
 " I did not form any," she answered, 
 quietly. 
 
 " But you listened very attentively."
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER 115 
 
 " Yes," she said, still looking down. 
 
 " What were you thinking of all the 
 time?" and he bent down, lifting the soft 
 face between both his hands. " Lucy, what 
 were you thinking of in church this morn- 
 ing — eh, darling ?" 
 
 She raised her blue eyes, and the story 
 was all told there, in the sudden wondering 
 love-light. 
 
 " Of me, Lucy ?" and he bent down till 
 his lips lighted on hers and rested there. 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, trying to hide her 
 flushed face. 
 
 " Do you love me, little Lucy ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, in the same low voice. 
 
 " How long have you cared for me ?" 
 
 " Oh ! ever so long," she answered, look- 
 ing up ; and there were tears, bright, happy, 
 glistening tears in the blue eyes. 
 
 " Poor little Lucy," he sairl, " you've 
 
 8— i
 
 116 SPOKEN IN" ANGER. 
 
 loved me for ever so long, and I have only 
 just began to care for you." 
 
 She looked up quickly to see if he was 
 laughing at her, but the dark handsome 
 face was very grave. 
 
 " Don't you care for me, Clowden ?" — his 
 name came so softly. 
 
 "Care for you, little darling! Yes, very 
 much now ;" and he put his arm round 
 her. 
 
 " Don't look so grave, Clowden ;" and 
 she put her hand up shyly to his face. 
 " Wont you smile ? Have I said anything 
 to offend you?" 
 
 " You ! Oh no, you little golden-haired 
 pet ; I was wondering what I had done 
 that you should love me. I am not worth 
 it, Lucy ; not worth any woman's love." 
 
 " Yes, you are," she said, fondly, H and 
 I could not take mine back if I wanted to."
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 117 
 
 " I'll believe } r ou," he said, with a 
 pleased smile, "if you'll stand on tiptoe 
 to kiss me." 
 
 " Oh ! Clowden, I could not," she whis- 
 pered, looking down shyly. 
 
 " Then you don't love me, little woman," 
 he said, laughing down at her. 
 
 " Yes, I do ;" and she hid her little red 
 face on his arm. 
 
 " You need not hide your face, Miss 
 Dash wood." 
 
 She looked up anxiously. " Are you 
 cross r 
 
 " What a funny little pussy it is ; she's 
 always fancying I am cross." 
 
 There was a long pause. Lucy felt very 
 happy resting on his arm, with the blue 
 heaven-vault smiling above them both, and 
 the soft wind playing with the falling leaves 
 and whispering low love-tales among them.
 
 118 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 Poor little Lucy, she was not very 
 beautiful, or very graceful, or clever ; but 
 she was as fresh a flower as any to be 
 found in the world's wide garden. A pure, 
 guileless child, with no more knowledge of 
 the sin and bitterness of life than a wee 
 dimpled baby crowing in its mother's arms. 
 Looking at her in those days, she seemed 
 only made for happiness. 
 
 I never could fancy the blight of sorrow 
 falling on Lucy JDashwood; I loved her 
 very much then, and her future seemed so 
 easy to read. 
 
 The kind shield of a strong man's arm, 
 the fond sympathy of a good man's heart — 
 this seemed to me our golden-haired pet's 
 predestination ; and I fancied in her small 
 Utopia, the narrow boundary of her home, 
 she would dwell happy and secure, till the 
 Angel of Death bid her rise up and go.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 119 
 
 'No one had ever told her that deception 
 lurked behind the fairest seeming. She 
 loved because she loved, and never ques- 
 tioned why; and when Clowden told her 
 that he loved her, she believed him im- 
 plicitly. She had never read a novel in 
 her life ; she did not care for reading, to 
 tell the truth. Her mother had died when 
 she was a tiny thing ; and her father, 
 the days of his gipsyhood over long before 
 Lucy could walk by his side, seemed to 
 have forgotten that his child might ever 
 need a caution. So, like a fair wild rose, 
 Lucy was in danger of being plucked by 
 the first passer-by. 
 
 " What would your father say if I ran away 
 with his wee Lucy — eh, you small child?" 
 
 " Oh ! papa/' she said, waking from her 
 happy reverie, "dear old daddy! he would 
 be glad to know that you loved me."
 
 120 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 " Lucy," said Clowden, " would you like 
 to please me ?" 
 
 " I would do anything in the world to 
 please you," she answered, simply and 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Well, Lucy, don't tell your father about 
 our love — yet." 
 
 " Oh ' why not, Clowden ? It would 
 please him so.'' 
 
 "Promise me that you wont. I have 
 led a wild life, and he might not like your 
 caring for me/' 
 
 " Oh ! he is not like that," she cried ; 
 "he would like any one I cared for; and 
 you are going to be good now, Clow- 
 den." 
 
 " I tell you not to tell him," he said, with 
 a sudden cold sternness in his face and 
 manner. 
 
 " Please don't be cross, Clowden ; please
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 121 
 
 don't/' she cried ; " I'll do anything you 
 wish." 
 
 " That's a good child," he said, smiling. 
 " I wish I could keep you by me all day. 
 It's two o'clock already, little one ; aren't 
 you hungry?" 
 
 " Oh ! is it so late as that ? I am afraid 
 papa will be cross with me for staying out 
 so long," said Lucy, picturing the peevish 
 old Major waiting his dinner. He got into 
 the habit of dining early for Lucy's com- 
 panionship, when she was a small child, and 
 still adhered to the good old practice. 
 
 " I shall be late for lunch, as usual," he 
 laughed. "I am a sad idler, little Lucy. 
 When shall I see my pet again? Will 
 you come here to-morrow afternoon — eh, 
 wee one ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, as she put up her face 
 for a good- by kiss.
 
 122 SPOKEN IN ANGER 
 
 " Good-by, Little darling," lie called out 
 as she ran lightly down the lanes, stopping 
 at last, breathless and happy, at the pretty 
 cottage where she lived with her father, 
 and Jane, the hard-faced but kind-hearted 
 housekeeper, cook, parlour-maid, and every 
 other household functionary combined in 
 her fat person, for they kept no other 
 servant
 
 WM 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 UCY did not see Clowden 
 the next day — it rained 
 heavily. She spent most of 
 the time with her soft fair 
 face pressed against the rain-dimmed win- 
 dow, watching the little puddles to see if 
 it had not really left off raining. She felt 
 inclined to take an umbrella and defy the 
 elements, only she doubted his equal 
 partiality to a shower-bath tete-a-tete. 
 
 Silly little Lucy, as she thought of him, 
 longing for his presence, this bad, worthless 
 man seemed to her the very embodiment of 
 all that was noble, glorious, and good. 
 Oh ! if she only had some one to confide her
 
 124 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 great joy to ; if she dared tell her father, 
 she knew he would sympathise with her. 
 How strange it seemed that Clowden should 
 have wished her to keep silent. 
 
 As she turned from the window, and saw 
 the dear old careworn face by the fire, she 
 felt more than once as if she could keep 
 her secret no longer, but must run up to 
 him, and put her arms round him, and tell 
 him all about it. Then warningly would 
 rise before her the determined sternness of 
 Clowden's manner when he bade her not to 
 tell her father yet. She felt so sure he 
 would like Clowden. Every one must 
 worship her idol. And so, thinking of him, 
 and by dint of hard fighting with her 
 natural impetuosity, striving to keep the 
 precious secret of their love, the day passed 
 — the day she was to have seen him. 
 
 The next morning was beautifully fine,
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 125 
 
 but although Lucy went out, she failed to 
 see Clowden. And so a whole week passed 
 without her seeing him, and Sunday came 
 again, and he was not in the Hall pew at 
 church. 
 
 Poor little Lucy was very miserable 
 about it. Perhaps he was ill. Or no, far 
 more probably, he had repented telling 
 her of his love, and had gone away, and she 
 would never see him again. This seemed 
 excellent " Job's comfort," and brought 
 with it a woman's refuge — tears. She used 
 her blue eyes very badly just then, weeping 
 for this handsome, forgetful lover. 
 
 They were all very busy at the Hall, 
 preparing for Marion's wedding, which was 
 to take place very shortly now. 
 
 Sir John wished to have Marion all to 
 himself for a little while before she left 
 them for good; so he said, when they
 
 126 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 talked of going to London for her trousseau, 
 " Can't you prepare all your finery down 
 here, Marie ? If we go to London, I shan't 
 be able to have you by me for a moment, 
 what with the visitors and the shopping." 
 
 So it was arranged, and Madame Elise 
 sent one of her "young ladies" down to the 
 Hall to take Marion's pattern, and settle 
 the important trousseau question. 
 
 Marion had always been Sir John's 
 favourite child, and he dreaded the thought 
 of parting with her. There did not seem 
 to be much in common between them 
 though, except their excessive appreciation 
 of fine horseflesh. The greater part of 
 Marion's childhood had been spent in the 
 saddle, and Sir John — hard-riding, fox- 
 hunting old squire that he was — felt bound- 
 less admiration and sympathy for the 
 perfectly intrepid equestrian. She had
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 127 
 
 been known to take fences that many a 
 man, and no mean rider, had gone round to 
 avoid. The small white hand could be 
 very firm, and sometimes, when guiding 
 her horse straight at some obstacle it 
 would fain have swerved from, there would 
 come into her face a look of determination 
 utterly foreign to its soft outline — a look 
 that should have warned Clowden, if Marion 
 was once roused, she might be very hard 
 to deal with. 
 
 Many people who had heard of Miss 
 Doolington's equestrian powers owned to 
 being very much disappointed when they 
 first saw her. That gentle-faced, elegant 
 girl, the intrepid amazon whose fame rang 
 through the county ! 
 
 She looked as though she would be more 
 at home in the drawing-room than foremost 
 at the meet. The soft sweet face seemed
 
 128 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 almost insipid compared to the dashing 
 horsewoman they had pictured, and they 
 could scarce credit all the stories they had 
 heard of Miss Doolington's exceptional 
 bravery. Yet no one who had ever seen 
 how the pink lips could close, and the soft 
 e}^es light up, would have called her insipid. 
 But this was so very rare that it was no 
 wonder people gave her credit for less 
 character than she really possessed. 
 
 Clowden had gone to London to make 
 arrangements for his marriage, and he re- 
 turned to the Hall more than a week after 
 that memorable Sunday ; memorable at 
 least to Lucy, who had almost given up all 
 hope of ever seeing him again, and she was 
 returning to her old quiet life. All its 
 simple pleasures, though, failed to please her 
 now, and the way seemed very dark after 
 that one grand glimpse of sunshine.
 
 SPOKEN m ANGER. 129 
 
 Lucy had been a small coquette at heart 
 before she loved Clowden ; not wilfully or 
 maliciously so, but from thoughtless 
 exuberance of spirits — playing with love as 
 a child might trifle with a precious gem, 
 unconscious of its value, and pleased with 
 its beauty ; so our Lucy had been very fond 
 of flattery, and seeing that Mr. Palmer 
 admired the little fair face Nature had 
 blessed her with, she tried to please and 
 aunoy him in many little innocent ways. 
 At first this had been pleasant pastime 
 enough ; but now, with real, true, deep love 
 in her heart for Clowden, the mimic love 
 no longer amused her. This was her first 
 love, and with such pure young hearts as 
 Lucy Dashwood's that means a great 
 deal. 
 
 I doubt if we, any of us, forget our first 
 love. The after-choice may have been 
 
 vol. t. 9
 
 J 30 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 wiser — years may have proved it so; but 
 still memory holds a fond, warm place in 
 our sear, world- worn hearts for that first 
 hand-clasp of love. Perhaps its very 
 purity makes the memory so fondly 
 cherished. We can look back upon our- 
 selves untainted by a world we scarcely 
 knew then, with our young, fresh, glad 
 hearts full of tender, holy devotion, that 
 then would have counted a world well lost 
 for love. 
 
 " What fools we were then," we say, in 
 our sober middle age, as we open the faded 
 yellow paper, and look at the soft, glossy 
 curl placed so carefully there long ago — 
 the reward of so many earnest prayers. 
 Fools though we were then, there are times 
 when we are just a little more world-weary 
 than usual, when we could bow our head 
 on that very curl, and weep such tears
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 131 
 
 for the vanished past as might well disgrace 
 our portly debonair manhood. But our 
 own heart alone knows that bitterness, 
 and we come out of our chamber with a 
 little more hauteur in our manner than 
 usual, and our conversation just a little 
 more cynical perhaps. Bitterly trying to 
 hide and revenge the pain in our own heart, 
 and no one to hear the light way we speak 
 of women at our club in the evening, would 
 guess that our morning had been spent in 
 weeping over a woman's curl. 
 
 We are strange mixtures, all of us, and 
 it would often be wise to judge our 
 neighbour somewhat after this fashion : Is 
 he so cold and cynical to hide a warm true 
 heart ? Or of another : Is he so affable and 
 hearty because he has no heart? The 
 answer would often be in the affirmative ; 
 and it is better so, for why should we go 
 
 9—2
 
 132 SPOKEN m ANGEK. 
 
 about proclaiming our sorrows in the ears 
 of a world, cold in its pity, and con- 
 temptuous in its sympathy. 
 
 Clowden had not forgotten Lucy, and 
 the second day of his return he went out, 
 hoping to meet her. He had not long to 
 search. Sir John had had some timber 
 felled on the outskirts of the Park, and 
 sitting on a prone log, among the debris, 
 Clowden found Lucy. There was some- 
 thing very suggestive in the little, bowed, 
 listless figure, and his conscience smote him 
 as he drew near ; and had he obeyed the 
 better promptings of his heart, he would 
 have turned and left her unperceived. 
 What right had he to trifle with this child's 
 love, he who would so shortly be married 
 to another woman ? But the temptation 
 was too great, and Clowden had never 
 learnt how to resist temptation.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 133 
 
 " Lucy !" lie said, gently. 
 
 She started up with one glad cry, threw her- 
 self into his arms ; it was happiness resting 
 sobbing there, after that long weary while. 
 
 " My Lucy, little darling, what is it ?" 
 he said, pained and nattered at her 
 emotion. "Hush, my pet;" and he sat 
 down on the log, drawing her closely to 
 him. " What ! so sorry to see me ?" taking 
 the wee wet hands from her face. 
 
 "I am — am so — very — stupid/' she 
 sobbed, drawing herself up and pushing 
 her hair back with little trembling hands. 
 " I thought you had gone away for good, 
 Clowden." 
 
 " Gone away for good ! You silly child, 1 
 had to go up to town on business. How 
 could you doubt me so, Lucy ?" 
 
 She turned such a penitent face to him, 
 saying, " 1 am so stupid."
 
 134 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 "I went out that wet Monday to see 
 you, but I suppose you forgot our appoint- 
 ment, Lucy." 
 
 Fresh tears gathered in Lucy's blue eyes. 
 
 " Oh ! if I had only known," she cried. 
 
 " Come, Lucy/' he said, kissing the little 
 forlorn face, " dry up your tears, child ; I 
 can't talk to a waterfall." 
 
 After a certain pass, men get impatient 
 of tears. 
 
 Very dutifully Lucy did as she was bid, 
 but it was some little time before the blue 
 eyes looked pretty again. 
 
 '■ What a little fright she has made 
 herself," he said, laughing; but his eyes 
 drank eagerly in the pretty youthful face. 
 
 There was not much real beauty there ; 
 the dimpling, undulating mouth was too 
 wide, the pretty eyes somewhat too small,
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 135 
 
 and the nose decidedly retrousse ; in sober 
 middle age Lacy would be comely enough 
 perhaps, but retain no traces of her present 
 prettiness ; but now all defects of feature 
 were amply made amends for, by the won- 
 derful inimitable bloom of youth : the 
 glowing, softly-tinted face standing bravely 
 the searching test of day. 
 
 Talk of the richly-coloured Italian beauty, 
 of the pale pretty girls of France, but show 
 me in all the world anything so beautiful 
 as the soft blush-rose complexion so many 
 of our bonnie maidens possess. 
 
 Lucy's eyes were real blue, not pass- 
 muster grey ; and her glittering hair made 
 up a fresh beautiful picture. 
 
 " See, Lucy, I did not forget you when I 
 was in town," said Clowden, taking a ring 
 from his pocket. It was a very pretty
 
 136 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 design — two little hearts, one ruby and the 
 other diamond, tied together by a diamond 
 true-lover's knot. 
 
 " Will you promise never to take it off," 
 he said, putting it on the third finger of 
 her left hand. " Promise, darling, to let no 
 one but me have the power to take this 
 off." 
 
 " Oh ! it is beautiful," cried Lucy. 
 
 "Promise, my pet," he said, detaining 
 her hand. 
 
 " Oh yes, I promise, Clowden ; no on 
 (most emphatically) shall ever take this off 
 but you." 
 
 "Sweet little darling," he said. "My 
 own Lucy, you will never doubt me again, 
 will you ?" 
 
 " No, never again," she said, resting her 
 golden head on his shoulder ; " never, never 
 again."
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 137 
 
 " I shall not be able to see you again for 
 a long time, little Lucy," he said, drawing 
 the soft, beautiful flowing hair through his 
 fingers ; " but don't you think the time 
 would pass quicker if I were to write to you, 
 and tell you when to expect me back again?" 
 
 " Must you go away ?" And the blue eyes 
 looked up anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, I must, my pet, or you may be 
 sure I should stay." 
 
 " Oh ! Clowden," and she clung sobbing 
 to him. 
 
 " Now, Lucy, if you love me you must 
 not be childish ; I really must go. You 
 have not told your father, have you ?" 
 
 " Oh no," she said, quickly. " May I 
 tell him now ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't think it advisable yet. 
 I shall send your letter to the post-office, 
 Lucy; could you walk so far to get it?"
 
 138 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 "To the post-office!" she said, wonder- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Yes, don't you see, child, if I address 
 it to Miss Dash wood, you can go and ask 
 for it, and no one but us two will know 
 anything about it?" 
 
 Lucy wondered why no one was to 
 know ; she was too thoroughly candid and 
 innocent to find excitement in the thought 
 of secrecy. 
 
 " Will you call for my letter on the 1 2th 
 of next month, Lucv ?" 
 
 " The 12th of next month ! Oh, Clowden, 
 that is so long to wait I" 
 
 "But my letter is to tell you when I 
 can return, and I shan't know before then. 
 So you see, Lucy, you can look forward 
 first to my letter, and then to my return, 
 pet." 
 
 "On the 12th I must go to the town
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 139 
 
 and fetch it, instead of the postman 
 bringing it to me," said Lucy; and her 
 blue eyes looked up full of vague, childish 
 wonder. 
 
 "Is that any very great hardship, 
 Lucy ?" 
 
 " So strange l" she answered. 
 
 " What a simple little goose you are," 
 he said, impatiently. " Of course, if you 
 don't want me to write, I wont do so/' 
 
 Whereupon Lucy protested that she did 
 want to hear from him; and so Clowden 
 got his way about sending his letter to the 
 post-office. 
 
 " You'll think of me every day, wont 
 you, my own little one ?" 
 
 " Every day, every hour, every moment 
 in every hour," she said slowly, as though 
 the words were too full of meaning to be 
 said lightly.
 
 140 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 u Oh ! Clowden," she continued, winding 
 her little soft fingers round his large brown 
 hand, "you'll think of me — sometimes?" 
 
 It seemed rather a bold thing to have 
 said, and she looked down, a soft beautiful 
 glow colouring her face j it was very pretty, 
 and he watched the blush die away before 
 he answered. 
 
 " Think of you, darling ! of course I shall, 
 and a little oftener than sometimes." And 
 then he added, after a short pause, " Have 
 you no little keepsake to give me, Lucy, in 
 case I might forget?" 
 
 She raised a small bright dimpled face. 
 " Oh yes, I made you a little purse, but it's 
 so stupid, you wont care to have it." 
 
 " Oh yes, I shall indeed," he said, eagerly; 
 " please give it me." 
 
 " I left it at home ;" and there was a wee 
 bit of coquetry in the saucy smile.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 141 
 
 "Well," he said, rising, "111 walk to 
 the gate with you, and then you can fetch 
 it." 
 
 It was only a bit of knitted silk, badly 
 made, and unevenly woven ; but for many 
 a long day Clowden prized it, in memory 
 of the little soft; hand that rested so lovingly 
 in his. 
 
 " Good-by, my darling," he said, ten- 
 derly ; " precious little darling." 
 
 They stood for one brief, blest moment, 
 lip to lip, and hand in hand, — and so they 
 parted. 
 
 Ay, Lucy ! Cherish the memory of that 
 kiss, for never again in all the circles of 
 time may your lips meet his in such pure, 
 happy, trusting love.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 T was undoubtedly very wrong 
 of Clowden thus to trifle with 
 Lucy ; but be was not the 
 man to consider the possible 
 consequences of his work, when that work 
 was pleasant pastime. There were many 
 girls of his acquaintance, carefully seasoned 
 debutantes, who knew well how to manage 
 an amusing flirtation ; who could thoroughly 
 enjoy the pleasure of ball-room love pas- 
 sages, and seaside fooling, without their 
 hearts suffering in the least ; girls who 
 could be " off with the old love and on 
 with new," till the clay of their marriage ; 
 and some of them, flirts from their cradle,
 
 SPOKEN EST ANGER. 143 
 
 carried on this amusement even after they 
 became matrons. To such natures, flattery 
 and adulation are as essential to their lives as 
 the sun is to the flowers ; they drink it 
 in eagerly, most of them innocently. 
 
 But Lucy, he felt instinctively, was cast 
 in a very different mould ; innocent, young, 
 and untutored, she was but a child, at an 
 age when many girls are old in the know- 
 ledge of love. This had been no flirtation 
 to her ; she had given Clowden her whole, 
 pure, loving heart, and to love once, with 
 her, meant to love always. 
 
 He liked her, in a selfish kind of way ; 
 the pretty childish face was very fair to 
 jlook upon ; and it was pleasant to see the 
 blue eyes shine when they met his, pleasant 
 to kiss the red mouth raised so lovingly, 
 pleasant to feel that he held great power 
 over this little golden-haired maiden.
 
 144 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 When he was away, he would think of 
 her in a self-complaisant, satisfied way ; 
 she had loved him of her own free will ; he 
 had not sought her love in any way, til] he 
 knew that it was his. So he would excuse 
 himself; and then, calling her to mind by 
 some soft pet name, forget her for the 
 time. 
 
 Clowden's marriage with Marion was a 
 very grand affair, so the papers said 
 next day. The bride young and lovely, the 
 bridegroom exceptionally handsome, the 
 friends numerous, and the toilets magni- 
 ficent. A great contrast, in its pomp and 
 show, to another quiet wedding you wot 
 of, that took place six years ago in a small* 
 French chapel. Perhaps the grand dusk 
 face did rise before him, as he saw it, 
 gloriously beautiful, in the dull dawning 
 of that eventful day when he made Isabelle
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 145 
 
 his wife. Perhaps the lofty-domed church 
 did close round him, and in fancy he 
 stood again within those narrow-painted, 
 whitewashed walls, and saw the light from 
 the mullioned window slanting on the 
 tinselly altar-piece, with its gilt Virgin, 
 grotesque saints, and large ivory crucifix ; 
 on the white-robed priest, and on the 
 bowed sweet face by his side. But his 
 voice never trembled, his hand never shook, 
 when he took Marion Doolington for better 
 or for worse, till death should part them. 
 
 Clowden's nephew, the Duke of Hamp- 
 shire, had offered to have the ancestral 
 castle fitted up for his uncle's honeymoon ; 
 but he preferred taking Marion to Seaton- 
 glyn, a pretty place of his own in the north 
 of England, where his mother was then 
 staying ; and he had promised to bring 
 Marion to see her, as she was too much 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 an invalid to have been present at his 
 wedding. 
 
 Caroline Cavendish had been a famous 
 Court beauty in her youth, and had made 
 that great but sadly common mistake in life 
 — an uncongenial marriage. She had taken 
 to her husband a pure, proud, loving heart ; 
 and slowly and painfully it had been 
 crushed and broken on the treadmill of his 
 passions. 
 
 She knew that half the demi-monde 
 might boast her husband's largess, and call 
 him by his Christian name ; and to a beau- 
 tiful, high-bred, proud woman this had been 
 very bitter. Many women would have had 
 a public separation, and proclaimed his 
 vices to the world ; but she bore it all for 
 Clowden's sake. 
 
 Caroline was the Duke's second wife; 
 his eldest son (the late Duke) was a boy of
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 147 
 
 fifteen at the time of his father's marriage 
 with Miss Cavendish. Of course he was 
 no companion to the Duchess, who, ashamed 
 of being pointed at as a neglected wife, 
 shut herself up from society and devoted 
 her time entirely to Clowden, whom she 
 almost idolised — spoiling, humouring, and 
 petting him in every possible way. 
 
 Three little children had been laid in the 
 grave before his birth; and it was no 
 wonder the poor lady lavished on him all 
 the strong, perfect affection that had once 
 been his father's — the only being who loved 
 her and could sympathise with her in her 
 many hours of humiliating loneliness. 
 
 The evening of their arrival at Seatonglyn 
 Clowden drew a low chair to the side of his 
 mother's sofa. Taking her soft thin hand 
 in his, as he had done many times in child- 
 hood, he pressed it tenderly to his lips. In 
 
 10—2
 
 148 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 his hard, battered heart this man had one 
 sacred spot, where lay a great and deathless 
 love for his mother. 
 
 It seems strange to me, if women are so 
 fickle and changeable as they say, whence 
 came those dear gentle mothers we can most 
 of us, thank God, remember. Were they 
 changeable, fickle, or frivolous ? They come 
 back to us often in our busy after-life 
 — beautiful in their calm, staid, faded 
 middle age. Though we laid her low, 
 sorrowing sorely, long years back, shall we 
 ever forget the gentle mouth, with the little 
 lines round it, that tell how mother thought 
 for us? Shall we ever forget, even in the 
 shadow of death, the words of loving wis- 
 dom that fell from those now silent lips ? 
 Little things, small and insignificant in 
 themselves — a trick of manner, a word, or 
 smile — come back to us often, bringing
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 149 
 
 back the dear dead, full of loving, tender 
 life. 
 
 " It is very pleasant, mother, to be with 
 you again," Clowden said. 
 
 She smiled fondly on him — this son, 
 whose manhood, she thought, had fulfilled 
 all her fondest hopes. She knew nothing 
 of his sins ; she saw him now, as she had 
 always seen him, through a loving mist of 
 trust. 
 
 Personally they were very much alike ; 
 onlv her mouth — that tell-tale feature — 
 was much more gentle than his, and her 
 eyes were long and prominent, while his 
 were deeply set ; there was something 
 of the same haughty nonchalance in 
 her carriage, too, that characterised 
 Clowden. 
 
 " You have not yet complimented me on 
 my wife," he said, gaily. " Does she merit
 
 150 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 your approval, madre mia ? Look at her 
 now." 
 
 Marion was sitting at the piano, singing, 
 at the end of the long drawing-room ; and 
 her sweet voice fell low and subdued on 
 their ears. The tall, graceful woman, with 
 her soft profile and well-poised, ruddy head, 
 was very fair to look upon. 
 
 " Yes, Clowden," his mother answered ; 
 " I am more than satisfied with your wife. 
 You have chosen, as I knew you would, 
 well and honourably. I was so pleased 
 when I heard of your intended marriage ; 
 I had feared you would never find any one 
 worthy of you, my good, noble son." 
 
 Clowden winced — lie noble ! What would 
 his mother think of that first wronged wife 
 whose very tombstone accused him, in its 
 taunting alias ; of the little unowned son 
 who might never know a father's name —
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 151 
 
 never know a father's love? He felt it 
 would be a great relief if he could confess 
 the shameful secret to his mother; but he 
 feared even she would scorn him. 
 
 Ah ! this sin of concealment ! He felt it 
 would haunt him through life, and that he 
 must carry it unconfessed to his grave. 
 And then he thought, making a virtue of 
 it, "Why should I trouble her with my 
 sins ? She has had trouble enough." 
 
 " You have been a good son, Clowden," 
 his mother said, softly, smoothing his hair 
 with tender, tremulous hands, and looking 
 into his eyes with a great yearning, pas- 
 sionate love — " a dear good son ; and you will 
 be a good husband. I don't doubt you, dar- 
 ling, but I should like you to promise me that 
 you will always love and cherish your fair 
 young wife. Remember, Clowden, how 
 your father blighted my whole existence,
 
 152 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 and by that memcny promise me you will 
 be good to Marion." 
 
 "On my word, I promise, mother, if it 
 will give you pleasure ; but how could 
 I behave badly to her, when I love her 
 so?" 
 
 And he meant it — meant it as he sat, 
 with his mother's hand in his, looking 
 fondly at his wife.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 VERY pretty picture of happy 
 girlhood our Lucy made as she 
 stood before the looking-glass 
 in her own little room on that 
 bright hopeful morning — the 12th day of 
 the month — the looked-for day, when she 
 might fetch Clowden's letter. She smiled a 
 glad greeting at the little, rosy, dimpled 
 face, and the soft blue eyes grew misty as 
 she gazed, half shyly, at herself from under 
 her drooping eyelids — grew misty with 
 sudden luminous love-light. It was this 
 vain little woman's one grand toilet secret 
 that she plaited her hair up tightly every 
 night, to make it wave in the day-time ; and
 
 154 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 she stood now, with busy white fingers, 
 freeing the imprisoned tresses, and they, 
 glad to escape, fell rippling and glittering, 
 a sunny frame for a sunny face. 
 
 Lucy had thought a good deal of the 
 expected letter. Would it be long or short ? 
 How would it begin ? and when would he 
 come back ? All this had been pleasant 
 food for many wasted hours of dreamy 
 speculation ; and now the day had at length 
 arrived, when all these questions would be 
 answered ; so no wonder Lucy's face was 
 very bright, and she sang a little im- 
 promptu refrain to the glad music of her 
 happy heart, as she tied back her shining 
 hair with a gay pink ribbon. She must 
 have found great sympathy in the darling 
 little mirrored face, for she looked at it very 
 often. Ah ! had she known, as she stood 
 there a pretty, happy child, what that day
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 155 
 
 had in store for her ! But who would 
 grudge her these few joyous, expectant 
 hours — this one last dalliance in the 
 pleasure-ground of youth ? 
 
 Later in the morning, a little wrapped-up 
 figure went quickly through the village, 
 across the fields, and on towards the town. 
 It was very chilly, but Lucy never felt the 
 cold, as her little feet went pit-a-pat over 
 the frozen ground, and her silly little heart 
 made fond melody of loving nonsense to 
 Clowden. Once she stopped and drew off 
 her warm glove to look at the two little 
 glittering hearts, "Clowden's and hers," 
 she would say to herself. 
 
 " I am sure he is thinking of me, because 
 you sparkle so, you dear little things," she 
 said, kissing the ring in childish admiration. 
 
 And perhaps her name did lie half perdu 
 in his thoughts as he lazily drank the coffee
 
 156 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 Marion had poured out for him, at their 
 first tete-a-tete breakfast. 
 
 With the strange inconsistency that 
 characterised him, he had written to Lucy 
 on the eve of his wedding, and posted it 
 the next morning on his way to church, so 
 perhaps he did speculate on when she would 
 get it. I wonder if the piteous, tearful cry, 
 <c You'll come hack soon, Clowden," did mix 
 accusingly with his wife's low-toned, plea- 
 sant gossip ? I think not. We are seldom 
 haunted by our wrongdoing unless we suffer 
 in some way through it. 
 
 Major Dashwood had not noticed Lucy's 
 ring. On her last birthday he had given 
 her a small box of jewellery that had been 
 her mother's, and had he thought about the 
 ring at all, he would have supposed she 
 found it there. He would never have 
 thought of suspecting Lucy of anything
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEB, 157 
 
 clandestine ; he looked upon her still as a 
 child, warm-hearted, candid, and incapable 
 of deception. 
 
 It was with a little flutter of nervous im- 
 portance that Lucy left the post-office, 
 holding the precious missive tightly in her 
 hand. She peeped at the bold free writing 
 on the envelope ; she examined the seal, but 
 she did not open it till she was far on her 
 way home. It ran thus : — 
 
 " Little Pet Lucy, 
 
 " I find I shall not be able to see 
 you before the 3rd of next month. On that 
 day I will be found in the Mile-end Eoad, if 
 a certain little woman cares to look for me. 
 About half-past two o'clock would be the 
 best time to begin your search. Bring a 
 great many kisses with you, as I shall be 
 sure to want some, and I hope you have
 
 158 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 laid up a large store of them since I last 
 saw you. 
 
 " It is very late, wee one — long past mid- 
 night, so my news must wait till we meet 
 again. 
 
 " Good-by for the present, my own little 
 Golden-hair. With much love, and two par- 
 ticularly sweet kisses, 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Your ever loving 
 
 " Clowden." 
 
 That was all ; but Lucy read it by the 
 light of her loving heart, and the little, 
 commonplace note was a wonderful 
 missive in her eyes. It was her first love- 
 letter, and she read it over and over again, 
 dwelling fondly on each pet name it con- 
 tained. Then she began to count the days 
 to the 3rd, and so, walking fast, looking at
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 159 
 
 her letter, and thinking of Clowden, she 
 seemed to reach home very quickly. 
 
 The Major was waiting dinner for her. 
 Something in the sweet, glad young face 
 touched him, for he drew her fondly to the 
 side of his chair, saying — 
 
 " How happy and well you look, my 
 dear. Ah ! what a wonderful thing is 
 youth !" 
 
 Lucy would have liked to show him her 
 letter — that precious letter ! She could 
 hardly trust it out of her sight for a 
 moment, and all dinner-time she kept 
 putting her hand in her pocket to see if it 
 was qrite safe. 
 
 It was rather a silent meal. Lucy was 
 too happy to talk, except on one subject, and 
 that was forbidden. The Major watched 
 the pretty, animated face, but no thought of 
 any hidden cause for happiness crossed his
 
 160 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 mind. He was feeling worried too ; he had 
 just been looking over his bills, and they 
 seemed startling in comparison with his 
 slender purse, for the old Major was very 
 poor. That demon " genteel poverty" 
 haunted him — the bitter reward of a mis- 
 spent youth. There seems to me nothing 
 so pitiable as an old person worried for 
 want of money ; to see the poor grey head, 
 and aged, bent form, not going calmly and 
 peaceably to the grave, but hurried cruelly 
 in the mad whirlwind of mental anxiety; 
 to see the worn-out brain, that should be 
 fast forgetting all earthly subjects, con- 
 tinually strained to meet the daily need 
 and the morrow's wants. 
 
 Lucy went to the piano after dinner, but 
 somehow she did not feel inclined to play, 
 or to read, or to do anything, in fact. The 
 excitement had worn off, and she felt
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 161 
 
 quietly, dreamily happy. So she stood by 
 the window, a little, soft, golden-haired, 
 happy woman ; with a world of love in her 
 heart, and a world of love shining from the 
 blue depths of her glad eyes, a soft carmine 
 glow on each rounded cheek, and a happy 
 smile dividing the full lips ; one wee 
 dimpled hand pushing back the red curtain, 
 the other buried in the pocket of her grey 
 dress holding fast the precious letter, 
 looking a darling household pet, utterly 
 unfit to face the pitiless stormy waves of 
 sorrow. 
 
 " Oh ! papa," she cried, " here's Mr. 
 Palmer ; I don't want to see him ; there is 
 no time for me to run away. Don't say 
 I'm here ; if I sit very quiet in the window 
 he wont see me behind this curtain." 
 
 Mr. Palmer looked round for Lucy, as he 
 shook hands with Major Dash wood. 
 
 VOL. 1. 11
 
 162 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 " I can't stay," he said. " I just came 
 round with the Times ; I thought perhaps 
 Miss Lucy might like to read the account 
 of Miss Doolington's wedding." 
 
 " Ah ! thank you," said the Major ; " I 
 daresay it will amuse my little girl. So 
 Miss Doolington has married Lord Clowden 
 Strafford 1 If he is anything like his father, 
 it wont be a very happy match. I knew 
 the Duke slightly, and was present at the 
 time he met his death ; the most notorious 
 flirt in Europe — the most notorious flirt." 
 And the old Major shook his head after the 
 manner of old people talking scandal. 
 
 "I never heard that Lord Clowden 
 Strafford was a flirt," said Mr. Palmer ; " it 
 is to be hoped he is not." 
 
 " True, true," said the Major; " but, as I 
 said before, his father was. Why, it was 
 simply to please a fair lady that he attended
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 163 
 
 the hunt the day he met his death. You 
 see he was not well at the time, and he got 
 up from a sick-bed to go. "We all tried to 
 persuade him not to go ; bat he had set his 
 mind on the promised privilege of chape- 
 roning the lady. Ah ! it was a day to 
 remember — such a run we had — such a 
 game little fox ! I can see him now, 
 dodging the hounds, and we never got him 
 after all, though they well deserved blood. 
 A better pack I never saw, but that clever 
 little fox did them ! The master was rather 
 down about it, but no one ever thought of 
 blaming the scent. "Well, about the Duke : 
 you see he came to a pretty stiff fence ; it 
 might have been cleared easily though, but 
 his hand was rather unsteady, and the mare 
 swerving a little to the right, cannoned 
 against another horse that was taking the 
 fence at the same time ; both riders were 
 
 11—2
 
 164 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 thrown ; the other man escaped almost 
 unhurt, but the Duke was picked up stone 
 dead." 
 
 " Oh ! how very shocking," said Mr. 
 Palmer ; " was his wife there at the time p." 
 
 " Oh no ! Ten years before his death 
 he married Miss Cavendish, the belle of a 
 good many seasons. I often saw her — 
 a regal, beautiful woman: they say he 
 behaved very badly to her. She was not 
 with him at the time of his death; they 
 seldom visited together." 
 
 "Lord Clowden w r as his second son?" 
 said Mr. Palmer. 
 
 " Yes, his second son, by a second mar- 
 riage ; his first wife was Lady Eose Stewart. 
 I never saw her. His eldest son died three 
 years ago, and his son now wears the ducal 
 coronet ; the young man is engaged to the 
 Hon. Lilian Campbell, so there is not much
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 165 
 
 chance of Lord Clowden ever taking the 
 title." 
 
 Would they never stop talking about 
 Clowden's family? thought the agonised 
 girl behind the curtain. Their very voices 
 pained her, and each word seemed to fall 
 like lashes from burning wire, cutting her 
 brain. She had not started, or called out, 
 or fainted, when she heard that Clowden 
 was married : beneath the bright, childish 
 exterior there lay a strong, brave heart. 
 She felt as one might, coming in, gay and 
 wondrously happy, from some bright 
 pleasure meeting, to be told suddenly that 
 the one they loved best on earth was dead ! 
 
 Can you fancy the horrible revulsion of 
 feeling? She sat perfectly still; the light 
 died from her eyes, the smile from her lips, 
 and a strange, awful pallor crept over the 
 set, drawn face. For a few moments she
 
 16(5 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 was incapable even of thought ; that they 
 were talking, talking, talking, was all she 
 knew. She even noticed, in a vague, won- 
 dering way, the difference in their voices — 
 her father's sharp, thin tones, and Mr. 
 Palmer's full, rounded, and rich. She felt 
 so stiff and icily cold too, as though she 
 could never move again. 
 
 Her father walked to the house-door 
 with Mr. Palmer. Something, not herself, 
 seemed to seize the opportunity, creep from 
 her hiding-place, take the Times, and dash 
 upstairs to her own room. She locked the 
 door, and opened the paper mechanically. 
 There it was — the long, taunting account 
 of how the bride looked, what she 
 wore, how many bridesmaids there were, 
 &c. &c. 
 
 Lucy read it all, repeating it out loud 
 like a child learning a lesson — repeated it,
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 167 
 
 her poor bewildered brain refusing to under- 
 stand it. When she had finished she 
 crossed over to the looking-glass, not from 
 any wish to look at herself, but in a vague, 
 helpless way. What a bitter mockery she 
 saw there of the beauty that had greeted 
 her in the morning ! 
 
 The jaunt}* pink bow, the bright wavy 
 hair ! — ah ! but the poor little haggard 
 white face ! It was too much, and Lucy 
 covered her face with her hands, weeping 
 bitterly, in pity, not for herself — she did 
 not realise that yet — but for the forlorn^ 
 piteous, looking-glass face. 
 
 Then she read the paper again, through 
 blinding teardrops; there was a horrible 
 fascination about it, and by degrees the 
 whole force of her misery dawned upon her 
 — Clowden married, and to Miss Dooling- 
 ton ! It was no hurried affair ; the paper
 
 168 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 said they had been engaged a whole year, 
 waiting for Marion's coming of age. 
 
 Child as she was, Lucy had all a woman's 
 instincts, and realised to the full the cruel 
 shame Clowden had put upon her. She 
 comprehended perfectly how contemptibly 
 cheap he must have held her, before he 
 could so debase her, even in thought, as to 
 trifle with her love. That he had never 
 loved her she knew now, never even 
 respected her ; and that he had been amusing 
 himself at her expense was the most painful 
 thought of all. 
 
 She did not hate him even in her deepest 
 misery. Poor little Lucy was cast in no 
 fierce, strong mould; she never thought of 
 revenge — how could she, little helpless 
 child ! But a bitter, agonised cry went up 
 from the prone, crushed figure to the listen- 
 ing, pitying Heavenly Father.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 169 
 
 She lay on the hard floor, her aching 
 head resting wearily against the bedside, 
 feeling utterly crushed and broken — utterly 
 unfit to grapple with her great grief, the 
 sobs gradually subsiding from sheer exhaus- 
 tion. If he had died, she would have stood 
 by his side, tearful and sad for life, but 
 finding resignation in the hope of a happy 
 eternal reunion ; but now to know that 
 the man she had cared for so wholly and 
 perfectly was unworthy of her love, un- 
 worthy of her respect, was too horrible, too 
 painful ! 
 
 She took out his letter ; all the halo was 
 gone now ; she saw the abrupt, patronising, 
 half-contemptuous tone ; and yet that letter 
 had made her perfectly happy but a few 
 short hours since ! She looked at it with 
 hot, aching eyes, hating the sight of it, but 
 feeling too utterly tired even to tear it
 
 ]70 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 up. So she lay till the evening shadows 
 fell. 
 
 There was a quick, startling knock at the 
 door, and Jane's sharp voice calling — 
 
 " Tea is ready, Miss Lucy. Your pa's 
 waiting." 
 
 Very wearily Lucy rose, feeling cold, 
 stiff, and heavily wretched. She would 
 much rather have crept into bed, and sobbed 
 herself unobserved to sleep; but she was 
 learning that sad earthly lesson, that grief 
 even must be hidden, and that life's small 
 duties must be fulfilled as well as its large 
 ones, even though our whole heart is crying 
 out for luxury of lonely weeping. 
 
 Ay, little Lucy ! poor wee, candid, untried 
 child 1 You must do your daily work with a 
 smile on your lips, while your aching, heavy 
 heart is making its bitter moan which none 
 but God and his pitying angels may hear.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ADY EVYLIN had a tiny 
 residence in Park Lane, but 
 Sir John, who hated town, 
 persuaded her to return to 
 Doolington Hall with him after Marion's 
 wedding. It would have been rather a 
 lonely life for her, now that her sister was 
 gone, but for Vivien ; the child was loving, 
 bright, and full of spirits, and a great pet 
 with the old Squire. 
 
 Sir John spent the greater part of the 
 day in the saddle, and he was, when at 
 home, shut up in his study a good deal, for 
 he was a careful, good landlord, and gave 
 great attention to the management of his
 
 172 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 estate ; and he had, moreover, a pet Bill he 
 hoped to pass next Session, so Carrie saw- 
 very little of him in the daytime. 
 
 Marion had alwaj^s accompanied her 
 father in his rides, but Lady Evylin was 
 a timid horsewoman, and had not ridden 
 for many years, so it seemed rather selfish 
 of Sir John wishing to shut his daughter 
 up in the lonely old country house ; but he 
 liked to have her fair face opposite him at 
 meals, liked to have her sing and talk to 
 him, in the long winter evenings. 
 
 Lady Evylin's pony-carriage stopped very 
 often at Major Dash wood's now, and a little 
 pale-faced woman, with smooth braided 
 golden hair, was always very glad to see 
 her. 
 
 Lucy had a known cause for grief 
 now. Her father — the poor old Major — lay 
 stricken sorely in. a darkened room, stricken
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 173 
 
 almost unto deatii. And Lucy, instead of 
 being the bright little sunbeam of yore, 
 was now staid and gentle, nursing the sick 
 man with an anxious devotion that was 
 painful to see in one so young. Her poor 
 little face looked sadly wan and pathetic ; 
 the pretty hair no longer fell in sunny 
 waves,but was wound simply round the small, 
 shapely head ; she never tied gay ribbons in 
 it now, never since that day when her heart 
 bowed in agony over its shattered idol. The 
 blue eyes no longer shone their old clear, 
 happy light, but were heavy and lustreless 
 with lonely weeping and weary watching. 
 Poor little Lucy was sadly unlike her 
 former merry self. Lady Evylin, when she 
 came, bringing hot-house fruits and choice 
 dainties for the sick man, noticed, with the 
 tender pity of one who has known sorrow, 
 the sad change in the girl. And old Jane
 
 174 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 would shake her head sadly, and say to her- 
 self— 
 
 " Dear heart, how poor Missy grieves for 
 her father ; please God to spare him, poor 
 old gentleman!" 
 
 Lucy's grief at Clowden's cruelty was 
 almost swallowed up in the haunting fear 
 that her father would die. When she had 
 gone from her room, nigh heartbroken at 
 her lover's falseness, her one consoling 
 thought had been that she had still her 
 father to live for ; and Fate, as though to 
 mock her, had stricken him dangerously ill 
 but a few days after. 
 
 " Oh ! if he should die," she would say to 
 herself, as she sat watching the pallid, lined, 
 suffering face. He had never seemed so 
 dear as now, that dear old father ! " Oh ! 
 God," her whole soul would cry out in 
 agony, " do not let him die ; take me rather
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 175 
 
 — do not let him die ; you could not be so 
 cruel. Oh ! he must not die." That re- 
 bellious prayer was always in the poor 
 child's heart during those long terrible 
 days. She would sit watching him by the 
 hour, as though her yearning human ej^es 
 could keep back the soul that God had 
 called. 
 
 As day by day the certainty of his death 
 grew more and more on the minds of those 
 round him, Lucy shut her eyes to the 
 dreadful fact. She felt that he could not 
 die, she wanted him so ; she would be all 
 alone in the world, and to be alone had a 
 terrible significance for Lucy. She could 
 now, in her anxiety, keep the first grief at 
 bay; but if she lost him — lost both the 
 false love, and the tried true affection that 
 had brightened her whole life — what, in- 
 deed, would she have to live for?
 
 176 SPOKEN m ANGEK. 
 
 " You must go out more, little lady," Dr. 
 Blake would say. " Where are all the roses 
 gone r 
 
 So Lucy sometimes took sad little walks ; 
 and out in the air, away from the sick-room, 
 she often thought very piteously of Clow- 
 den. The villagers meeting the sad-faced 
 girl, would look after her with great 
 sympathy in their honest hearts, for it was 
 known to all that her father lay dying. 
 
 Lucy had made up her mind to see 
 Clowden on the 3rd; in her weakness she 
 thought she would like to see him once 
 more — only once more, her heart pleaded ; 
 and after that she would bury this love for 
 ever. It was a relief to her when the day 
 came ; that day would end all, and better 
 so, she wearily thought. She would look 
 on him once more — on the manly face, 
 whose beauty she had so worshipped ; she
 
 SPOKEN m ANGER. 177 
 
 would hear his voice, and touch his hand, 
 and then the grave of her hope, her love — 
 the grave of the past — would lie between 
 them. She would turn that page of her life 
 down, and never lift it again. 
 
 She went into her father's room before 
 going out ; he was looking a little better, 
 she thought, and she told him so. 
 
 " Please God, little one," he answered ; 
 " but I am afraid the poor old man will 
 never be better again." 
 
 He was getting very gentle ; the old 
 peevish way was disappearing rapidly. 
 
 " Oh ! darling, don't say so," she cried, 
 throwing her arms round him as though to 
 hold him back from what she so feared, a 
 great horror in her eyes, and the heavy, 
 dreadful fear rising in her heart. 
 
 u Poor little Lucy, dear little child !" he 
 said, tenderly ; "it will be hard to leave 
 
 vol. i. 12
 
 178 SPOKEN IK ANGEK. 
 
 you, and to leave you unprovided for. Mr. 
 Palmer was speaking to me about you the 
 other day, Lucy — a very nice young man, 
 my dear. He will take care of you when 
 I am gone — eh, Lucy?" 
 
 But Lucy did not heed what he said; 
 she was sobbing bitterly, rebelliously, her 
 piteous agonised face hidden on her hand. 
 
 " Oh, father, I can't bear it !" she cried ; 
 "it will break my heart. It is too cruel. 
 Ah! why can't I die?" 
 
 " My dear child," he said, startled at her 
 wild sobbing and bitter words, "you will 
 make yourself ill ; go out now, my pet, 
 and we will talk afterwards ; I have a great 
 deal to say to you ; and," he added, in a 
 lower tone, " and little time to say it in, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " I wont ever go out again ; I'll stay 
 here and die !" she cried.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 179 
 
 " Lucy," he said, gently, " you are 
 making me feel ill ;" and he leant back 
 wearily. 
 
 She sprang to her feet. 
 
 "Let me stay. I will be so quiet." 
 
 She had forgotten Clowden for the time ; 
 everything but the dear old father she so 
 feared losing. 
 
 " No, my child, you had better go out ; I 
 wish you to go out," with a dash of his old 
 manner, 
 
 Lucy stooped down and kissed him 
 fondly, bravely hushing her sobs. The 
 habit of obedience was very strong, and she 
 had always done as her father bid her, when 
 he spoke determinedly. 
 
 " God bless you, my child I" he said, 
 holding her face in both his hands ; " God 
 for ever bless you, my darling !" 
 
 For many a long year that blessing came 
 
 12—2
 
 180 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 back, Ml of tender mournful comfort to 
 Lucy's heart. She gave him one lingering, 
 loving look, and so, looking back, went 
 out. 
 
 Clowden was there when she reached the 
 trysting-place ; he was walking impatiently 
 up and down, smoking a cigar. He threw 
 it away as he came to meet her, saying, 
 " Well, you have kept me long enough ! 
 "Why, what's the matter, child ? What, in 
 the name of goodness, have you been doing ? 
 Where is all your hair gone to ?" 
 
 "I can't stay," she said; "papa is very 
 ill. Will you take this off, please?" holding 
 out the little ringed finger. 
 
 " Are you in love with some one else ?" 
 he said, standing erect, and looking down 
 on the pale, trembling girl. 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 " Well, then, come to me when you are ;
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 181 
 
 then I will take it off — not before. But 
 what is the matter, Lucy ?" 
 
 The kind, tender tone in which he said 
 the last words was too much for her. She 
 had gone there meaning to say a last fare- 
 well to him, and give him back his ring; 
 she had not meant to let him see how 
 sorely she had felt his treachery ; but now, 
 when he spoke to her gently and lov- 
 ingly, her poor little yearning heart cried 
 out, and she hid her face in her hands, 
 sobbing — 
 
 " How could you ! — oh, how could you !" 
 
 " How could I do what, child ? What is 
 it I have done ?" he said, bending down and 
 putting his arm round her. 
 
 For a few brief moments she lay sobbing 
 there, she felt so weak, worn out, and ill ; 
 those weary vigils and lonely hours of grief 
 were fast telling on the child, and she lay
 
 182 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 for awhile weeping in his arms, feeling a 
 blessed sense of rest, as though she could 
 sob her life out there. 
 
 After all, Lucy was not, perhaps, much 
 to blame. She had had no mother to tutor 
 her, she had never learnt her lesson in the 
 school of propriety ; she was as ignorant as 
 the most untaught heathen, as far as re- 
 gards that gentle, constant, moral training 
 which only a woman can give. In all she 
 did, she simply obeyed the impulses of her 
 pure young heart. 
 
 " Hush, my love !" he said, kissing the 
 little hands that hid her face. 
 
 That kiss brought back the bitter memory 
 of his deceit. She drew herself up, pushing 
 his arm from her. 
 
 " You are married !" she said. 
 
 "What if I am !" he said, defiantly; " I 
 was engaged to Marion before I knew you ;
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 183 
 
 you never asked me to break off my engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " You did not tell me that you were 
 engaged," she said, in a low, hoarse 
 whisper. 
 
 It was true, then ! She had almost 
 hoped he might deny it — that it was all a 
 mistake about his being married. 
 
 1 ' I thought you knew," he said, coarsely ; 
 " it was the talk of the whole place, and I 
 thought, as you avoided the subject, you 
 wished me to do so too." 
 
 It was a cruel, brutal blow, and the poor 
 child reeled under it. This man had seen 
 his first wife go from him, friendless and 
 alone. Could Lucy Dashwood expect more 
 pity than was given to Isabelle Strafford ? 
 
 " Ah ! did you think me as bad as that ?" 
 she moaned ; and her face grew white — 
 whiter even than it had been before. " So
 
 184 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 
 
 bad as that !" And she rocked herself back- 
 wards and forwards as if in pain. 
 
 He stood watching her, and by degrees 
 his hard face softened, and a faint pity 
 entered his heart. 
 
 "My dear little Lucy," he said, "you 
 don't understand. How can the fact of my 
 marriage interfere with us ? Does it 
 trammel our love ? - Because I went 
 through, the marriage service with Marion, 
 must I leave off caring for my little pet ? 
 Come, Lucy, be reasonable. Let us make 
 up and be friends again." 
 
 " Good-by," she said, holding out a little 
 trembling hand. "May God forgive you 
 for your unkindness to me." 
 
 "And do you really mean to let this 
 slight barrier, reared by a man in a priest's 
 gown, stand between us ?" he said, im- 
 patiently.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 185 
 
 There was a look of piteous agony in the 
 white face. He could see that the inter- 
 view was too much for her — that it had 
 better end ; but still he never thought of 
 sparing her. He was a cruel, brutal man 
 by nature when his will was opposed in 
 any way ; and education had failed to 
 remove the old leaven. All the advantages 
 of wealth, high birth, and good society 
 had only given this man a dazzling surface 
 polish. Of course he was not all bad. 
 There were times when his better angel 
 was in the ascendant, and at such times he 
 bitterly regretted the wrongs his fierce 
 passions prompted him to commit. 
 
 "I had not thought, Lucy, that rigid 
 propriety and you got on very well to- 
 gether." 
 
 She put up her hand with a low cry ; the 
 harsh sophistry of his words pained her.
 
 186 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 " Hush !" she said ; " you told me before 
 what you thought of me. Oh, it is too 
 dreadful — too dreadful !" 
 
 " Lucy," he said, taking both her hands 
 and holding them lightly but firmly, "I 
 thought you a darling, lovable, loving little 
 pet. Say, my own little Lucy, was I 
 wrong ? Do you no longer love me, 
 darling ?" 
 
 " You are married I" she said, looking 
 down. She could not trust herself to look 
 up then. 
 
 " Is that your only answer ? Think, 
 Lucy ;" and involuntarily the man's passion 
 found vent in a tighter, firmer clasp of the 
 little trembling hands he held. 
 
 " I don't want to think a moment about 
 such a thing," she said, raising her eyes 
 with a gleam of blue fire in them ; " that is
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 187 
 
 my only answer. You have insulted me 
 enough." 
 
 He flung her from him, and strode 
 heavily away, breaking the frozen ground 
 under his angry, impatient feet. 
 
 An hour later Mr. Palmer, seeking Lucy, 
 found her, lying prone where Clowden left 
 her, sobbing bitterly. 
 
 "My dear," he said, bending anxiously 
 over her, " don't take it to heart so. I 
 thought I should have been the first to tell 
 you." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" she cried, spring- 
 ing up and grasping his arm with nervous 
 force. 
 
 There was such a wild look in her eyes, 
 that he thought she was going mad. 
 
 " Try and compose yourself, my darling," 
 he said (involuntarily using the loving word
 
 188 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 
 
 in his great sympathy). "It is the Lord's 
 will; and he died very peacefully, telling 
 
 me to " 
 
 " Oh, Heaven ! papa is dead !" And she 
 cried out loud in bitter agony — a cry so full 
 of horror that it haunted him for many 
 a day — and then a blessed sense of oblivion 
 came, a brief, happy respite from pain. 
 Lucy had fainted in Mathew Palmer's 
 arms.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WO years have passed, bring- 
 ing many changes to those 
 whose fortunes we have 
 thus far followed. 
 Lord and Lady Clowden are abroad, 
 staying nowhere for any length of time, but 
 travelling about from place to place as the 
 fancy of the moment takes them. Of their 
 marriage has been born one son — a fair, 
 blue-eyed baby boy : D'Arcy Cavendish 
 Strafford he was christened. 
 
 After this child's birth, Clowden felt a 
 great yearning for that other son — strange 
 as it may seem of such a man, who had 
 trampled down the most sacred ties of life.
 
 190 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 The " might have been" would haunt him. 
 He was as fond as he could well be of the 
 pretty helpless baby; but often he would 
 find himself thinking of Vivien's bright, 
 bold face, and clear, ringing laughter; and 
 it seemed as though that child would have 
 gladdened his life greatly. 
 
 He was happy enough too. Marion and 
 he got on very well together ; she had none 
 of Isabelle's quick, jealous instincts, and her 
 calm nature was always satisfied with the 
 love Clowden chose to give; if he waxed 
 cold she never troubled him about it, and 
 when he grew fond again he found her 
 unaltered — pleasant, affectionate, and com- 
 panionable always, not prone to take offence, 
 and never giving it. 
 
 He was proud, too, of the stir she made 
 among the foreign Courts. English beauty 
 is always at a premium abroad; and
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 191 
 
 Marion's pure, fair face looked very flower- 
 like among the cosmetised Parisians, swart 
 Neapolitans, and glowing Spanish sig- 
 noritas. 
 
 The men were all wild about her; but 
 not the boldest and most conceited of her 
 admirers would have dared to hope for any 
 encouragement from the cold, graceful lady ; 
 and the gentle dignity of her manner left 
 no room for any attempt at flirtation. Per- 
 haps she was all the more popular for that, 
 and it told well for Lady Clowden Strafford 
 that the women equally admired her. 
 
 Clowden seemed to have grown good 
 under his wife's influence, and had not been 
 known to indulge in a single flirtation since 
 his marriage. So the pair were fairly 
 happy in a quiet, undemonstrative way; 
 and I doubt if Clowden would have got on 
 equally well, for so long a time, with any
 
 192 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 living woman as he did with his calm, 
 unexacting wife. 
 
 But still he did long strangely for his 
 eldest son ; and he felt almost jealous of 
 the love that was lavished on little D'Arcy, 
 while his first-born was isolated, brought up 
 by charity, because he lacked the moral 
 courage to face scandal and own him. At 
 times he even thought of telling Marion, 
 but when he tried he dared not. The gulf 
 that had been between them during the 
 days of his courtship was there still ; he did 
 not yet understand Marion, but instinctively 
 he felt that to lower himself in her estima- 
 tion would be to lose her love for ever. 
 
 Two years of wedded life had not de- 
 stroyed one iota of Clowden's reverence for the 
 woman he married. Marion was so unob- 
 trusively good, that it was no wonder her 
 pure life and conversation had great in-
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 193 
 
 fluence over the man who was always with 
 her. 
 
 There was no fanaticism, or the slightest 
 tinge of romantic sadness, in her religion. 
 She did not try by words to convert him ; 
 but he watched her earnest, devout worship 
 in church — how morning and night she 
 knelt long, silently praying; and Clowden y 
 who had not bent a knee to his Maker for 
 many a long year, felt, though no words 
 passed between them on the subject, how 
 different, as light from darkness, Marion 
 and he were. 
 
 He could not tell what was hidden under 
 the calm, constant surface, so he might well 
 be pardoned for looking upon his wife as a 
 sinless saint. But I think Marion's religion 
 was more the result of careful moral training 
 than any real spiritual conviction ; that 
 proverb of wise old Solomon held good in 
 
 vol. i. 13
 
 194 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 her case — " Train up the child in the way 
 he should go, and when he is old he will 
 not depart from it ;" and Marion had been 
 brought up in a God-fearing home. 
 
 I fancy if she had possessed the real 
 spirit of the great Master she would have 
 been more pitying, more forgiving, when 
 her trial came. Too calm and too carefully 
 tutored ever to be tempted to any great sin, 
 too conscious of her own purity to be tolerant 
 to evil in others, Marion — though Clowden 
 did not even guess it — was a wee bit phari- 
 saical. She was no hypocrite, though ; up 
 to her light she lived to the very letter. 
 
 But even from a worldly passionate 
 woman, could he have hoped for easy for- 
 giveness ? He had asked her to marry him 
 while his first wife was living, and it was a 
 simple chance of fate that she died before 
 they were united ; and had she lived, what
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 195 
 
 would Marion Doolington have been ? No, 
 lie felt that Marion could not forgive ; and 
 if he told her, there would he a public 
 separation. He loved his wife, he loved 
 his good name among his fellows, and the 
 fear of the terrible consequence, should he 
 own Vivien, held him tongue-tied. Surely 
 there was bitter retribution even in this. 
 The son who might have loved him, would 
 be a stranger to him for evermore, and that 
 son, like most things we cannot enjoy, 
 seemed dearer far than little blue-eyed 
 D'Arcy. He feigned an interest in Carrie's 
 letters, only to hear of his boy — bright, 
 loving eulogies on his personal beauty and 
 winning disposition ; little anecdotes of his 
 madcap tricks, and bold merry ways. 
 " He is so high-spirited/' wrote Lady 
 Evylin, " and I feel greatly the responsi- 
 bility of bringing up this dear fatherless 
 
 13—2
 
 196 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 boy." Fatherless ! That father felt it very 
 bitterly as he read. 
 
 At Doolington Hall the two years had 
 not passed without change. There was 
 another inmate there now — our poor little 
 friend Lucy Dashwood. After she had 
 been carried home in Mathew Palmer's 
 strong arms, on that sad dreadful day — 
 carried home across the threshold where 
 death had so lately passed — she had lain 
 for a long weary while, ill both in body and 
 soul. The spring flowers were blooming 
 on the old Major's grave when his 
 little daughter could move about again, a 
 pale, sad shadow of the Lucy of yore — 
 weary, oh ! so weary of life — a child in 
 years, but old in her bitter knowledge of 
 sorrow. She had shut herself up, allowing 
 no one to see her but Lady Evylin and 
 Mr. Palmer. The poor fellow was deeply
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 197 
 
 grieved to see how Lucy took this sorrow 
 to heart ; but he felt instinctively that any 
 offer of love would be an intrusion on her 
 great woe; so he contented himself by 
 gently sympathising with her, and bringing 
 good books and fair flowers ; not but Lucy 
 had plenty, of flowers, but it seemed all he 
 could do, and his great honest love found 
 vent in these simple attentions. 
 
 " Cant you get Miss Dashwood to come 
 and stay here awhile ?" old Sir John said ; 
 " the change may do her good ; the poor 
 little thing is moping herself to death." 
 
 So gentle Lady Evylin took the girl 
 from her desolate home, up to the big, dreary- 
 looking Hall; dreary outside, but full of 
 home- like brightness within. Little ruddy- 
 faced Vivien and she were soon very great 
 friends, and after awhile it was understood 
 that Lucy would return no more to the
 
 198 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 cottage, but live at the Hall. Carrie grew 
 very fond of her, and in the happy quiet 
 life she led there, she gradually became 
 almost herself again. The pretty colour 
 returned to her face, the light to her blue 
 eyes, and her clear laugh rang out gaily 
 and often; she could never be quite the 
 same light-hearted Lucy of old, but she was 
 happier than she had ever expected to be 
 again. 
 
 She did not know what there was about 
 Vivien so strangely familiar, what it was 
 that fascinated her so in the child ; some- 
 thing in the bold, black eyes ; something in 
 the proud set mouth, but she could not tell 
 what. There was something she knew, 
 strangely well too, in the tone of loving 
 tyranny the boy adopted towards her, 
 finding out, with the unerring instinct of 
 childhood, how dearly Lucy loved him ; she
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 199 
 
 was his slave, and the tiny despot repayed 
 her with the devotion of his fresh young 
 heart. 
 
 Lucy would have been perfectly 
 happy but for the sad heart-ache that 
 Time, the great healer, she felt could never 
 cure, so many trifling things were con- 
 stantly reopening the wound. 
 
 One day Lady Evylin was sitting reading 
 under the shady Park trees, and Lucy, who 
 had been playing at " runaway horses" with 
 Vivien, threw herself down on the grass at 
 her feet, saying — 
 
 " Now, Vivien, you must let your steed 
 rest a little, you know." 
 
 She looked pretty and flushed, with her 
 tumbled golden hair and blue eyes dancing 
 with exercise. Carrie watched the two rosy 
 faces, as Vivien, throwing his little arms 
 round Lucy, kissed her.
 
 200 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 " Why, Vivien," she said, laughing, " if 
 you love Lucy so, I shall be jealous." 
 
 " Mamma," he said, going up to her, 
 " what does it mean, to be jealous ?" 
 
 " Oh ! you funny little boy," she 
 answered, patting the earnest sunburnt 
 face ; " perhaps Lucy can tell you." 
 
 " Pain, bitter pain, at finding those you 
 love, like some one else better than you," 
 Lucy said, so sharply that Carrie looked at 
 her; but the poor little face was turned 
 away, that she might not see its sudden 
 agony. 
 
 Was she right ? She had never envied, 
 in the common acceptation of the word, 
 never blamed, nor disliked Marion, but the 
 bitter, fearful heart-ache she had done battle 
 with could never be wholly conquered. 
 
 Poor Lucy lived altogether in the 
 present; every thought of the past was
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 201 
 
 swallowed up in pain ; and of the future — 
 well, she supposed she would grow old, and 
 then — she hoped God would take her to 
 heaven. There was no earthly future for 
 little Lucy; she had no real religion to 
 rest upon, and could only find momentary 
 happiness by throwing herself into the 
 pleasures of the hour. 
 
 I have often wondered if the beasts of 
 the field, who have only enough sense to 
 enjoy the present, without thought or care, 
 are not happier than we are, with all our 
 marvellous powers of thought, speech, 
 reasoning, and invention ; our knowledge 
 of the past, and our hopes for the future j 
 our wonderful will, stronger if we choose 
 to exert it, than our fiercest passions ; our 
 nature so sensitive as to feel a cruel word 
 as painfully as a blow ; so capable of love, 
 devotion, heroism, and all that lends beauty
 
 202 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 and attraction to this mysterious life. 
 [How annoyed some of our Epicureans 
 would be to have their chances of happi- 
 ness wagered against the bliss of a placidly 
 ruminating cow !] 
 
 And yet, if our creed was utter 
 annihilation , how fearfully would the loss 
 of time oppress us; how madly would we 
 seize the present; and, when sickness or 
 sorrow came, how multiplied would be its 
 agony! That we were losing life — the 
 precious life— that we could never enjoy 
 again ; that once spilt, would sink into the 
 ground of oblivion, and be lost for ever- 
 more ! We should have nothing to 
 strengthen us in adversity, nothing to 
 moderate our prosperity, nothing to keep 
 us from crime. "We should have had to be 
 less endowed with Grod-given mental power, 
 less endowed with every pleasant apprecia-
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 203 
 
 tion of life, to have borne the heavy burden 
 of such a creed. With what bold unerring 
 wisdom this fact points to a Grod. Atheists 
 even must own that those grand gifts, man 
 enjoys above all the animal creation, were 
 given for a higher end, than the mere 
 beautifying of this short span of life. 
 
 Lady Evylin took Lucy to her town 
 house for the season ; she went more into 
 society for her sake, but somehow Lucy 
 could not enjoy a ball now ; the memory of 
 that " first ball," when she had danced with 
 Clowden, would haunt her ; and she seemed 
 to weary strangely of her partners, try as 
 they would to amuse her; she even felt 
 less ennui when spending a perfectly quiet 
 evening at home than in the midst of some 
 gay revel. 
 
 " What a strange child you are, Lucy," 
 Lady Evylin said ; " when I was your age,
 
 204 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 I used to get quite excited at the thought 
 of going out." 
 
 " It is very nice dancing with some one 
 you like," Lucy said, with a slight sigh. 
 
 "Why, you are quite a little flirt I" 
 Carrie cried, smiling at the girl, who was 
 growing daily paler now there was no 
 teasing Vivien to make her run about in 
 the open air, and keep her from thinking 
 by his merry childish prattle. 
 
 Lady Evylin had noticed Lucy look 
 weary often of late, and thought that she 
 must take her home again, as London did 
 not seem to agree with her. She did not 
 know the sad canker that was eating away 
 all the brightness of this girl's life ; but 
 Lucy herself knew that none but Clowden 
 could ever fill the aching void in her heart. 
 She did not encourage this love — it needed 
 no encouragement, it had become part of
 
 SPOKEN" IN ANGEK. 205 
 
 her very life ; yet it was rather the fond 
 remembrance we should give to one who 
 had died than the love of a living woman 
 for a living man. When his name even 
 was mentioned, unconsciously she would 
 listen with a sudden hush of pleasure, as we 
 might hold our breath to hear some sweet 
 murmur of music — some old, but not for- 
 gotten melody, that comes back laden with 
 the memory of the past ; and yet she herself 
 scarcely realised how thoroughly engrossing 
 this love was. 
 
 While in London, a little event happened 
 to Lucy: there was a certain Colonel 
 Crighton, a frequent visitor at Lady 
 Evylin's, and Lucy soon struck up a great 
 friendship with the grey old warrior, chiefly 
 on the ground that he had served in the 
 same campaign as her father. Lucy was 
 very fond of hearing him talk of " dashing
 
 206 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 Dick Dash wood " it was pleasant to be 
 told that that dear old careworn father had 
 once been a gay young man of fashion, the 
 best whip about town, the most elegant 
 ball-room acquisition, a brave soldier, and a 
 true friend. 
 
 Lucy grew to look for Colonel (Brighton's 
 upright military figure, clear-cut face, and 
 heavy grey moustache, always welcoming 
 him with a glad smile ; yet she was very 
 much surprised when she, one morning late 
 in the season, received a stiffly-written, 
 precise note, in which the colonel made her 
 an offer of himself and all his worldly pos- 
 sessions ! Very gently Lucy refused it, 
 telling him she never meant to marry. He 
 was sixty, and she nineteen. I don t think 
 she thought of that, but he did, for she 
 never saw him again. The weather-beaten 
 old militant, who had come bravely out of
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 207 
 
 many a hard-fought skirmish in the far 
 West, had not courage to face the little fair- 
 haired maiden, who had taught him the 
 bitter lesson that age is not the time for 
 love ; kindly as the wound had been given, 
 it nevertheless stung deeply. 
 
 Ay, when our brows are lined and our 
 beards are grey, we must step aside, and let 
 a younger wooer win and wear the fair rose- 
 wreath of woman's love. We had our turn 
 in the bygone da}^s — the bygone days that 
 went all too swiftly, leaving us none the 
 richer, save for a few withered leaves of 
 memory; and yet, is there one living 
 as fair as the beautiful face we have 
 cherished so fondly in our soul's picture- 
 gallery ? Are there any eyes as bright as 
 those that beamed so kindly on us long ago, 
 and then closed for ever, before time had 
 dimmed their sweetness ?
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HERE was a goodly muster- 
 ing of guests at Doolington 
 Hall, the fourth autumn of 
 Lucy's stay there; and 
 among them came our old friend Fortescue 
 Browne, now happily married to bright 
 little Rose Fleming. To be sure, their 
 income was very minute, and their esta- 
 blishment conducted on the tiniest scale ; 
 but they both seemed so thoroughly con- 
 tented, that even those who had shaken 
 their heads sadly over the improvident 
 match were obliged to own that it was not 
 so bad after all. 
 
 It was whispered, too, that Julien Lever-
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 209 
 
 son, having turned out a sad detrimental, 
 Miss Hastings somewhat regretted her bad 
 treatment of that young officer ; be that as 
 it may, no one ever had any real ground for 
 saying so, and if she still felt any affection 
 for the man she had trifled with, he never 
 knew it — it went a secret to the coffin that 
 bore her maiden name ; and if in the end 
 it be found that Maud Hastings coquetted 
 away her heart's happiness, rest assured she 
 wont stand alone. There are many women 
 who, for the sheer caprice of the moment, 
 have broken true, loyal hearts, and doomed 
 themselves to lifelong repentance. 
 
 There is scarcely anything so pathetic as 
 those sad words, " What might have been," 
 unveiling, as they do, the dear, softly tinted, 
 fanciful pictures we hung so joyously in the 
 gallery of Hope. We hung them there in 
 the glad buoyancy of our youth, maybe, 
 
 vol. i. 14
 
 210 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 when the volume of life seemed written in 
 rainbow letters ; or perhaps later on, when 
 our heart, outwardly hardened by worldly 
 cynicism, clung all the more fondly to its 
 ideal future. We have proved that future 
 when we wail, ct What might have been," 
 and found it different — oh ! so different — 
 from what we had thought. We have toiled 
 for it, we have prayed for it, we have waited 
 for it, and the fair fruit turns to bitter ashes 
 of disappointment in our eager hands. 
 Those sad words appeal mightily to us all, 
 stirring the phantoms of the past — the key- 
 note to many a dreary heart-ache. Those 
 poor ghosts we thought were laid for ever, 
 rise up, a piteous mockery of the beauty we 
 loved them for. What might have been — 
 
 ay, what might have been, if 
 
 And it is well for us when the " if" brings 
 no self-reproach.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 211 
 
 Life was very bright at Doolington Hall, 
 with its out-door sport and in-door fun, but 
 although the host was as genial as ever, 
 many had noticed that he seemed bowed 
 and aged since they last met beneath his 
 roof; the truth was, the old Squire missed 
 his youngest child; they had understood 
 each other so thoroughly, and been such 
 perfect companions in a quiet, unobtrusive 
 way, that it was no wonder he felt her loss 
 greatly. He would not mar her happiness 
 by saying in any of his letters how he 
 missed her, but Marion did full justice to 
 his kind consideration, and longed equally 
 to see him again. Clowden, finding out, 
 quite by chance, how homesick his wife 
 was, had proposed their returning to Eng- 
 land, so Sir John looked forward to seeing 
 them early in the summer. 
 
 To tell the truth, Clowden rather wished 
 
 14—3
 
 212 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 to return home. He was tired of travel- 
 ling, and he wanted to see Vivien. The 
 Squire's letters to Marion had been full of the 
 child of late, and naturally all this written 
 praise warmed his father's heart; and he 
 would have returned to England before the 
 autumn, but his mother was staying at 
 Nice, and her health being so very delicate, 
 he did not like to leave her. It needed no 
 doctor to tell him on what a frail thread 
 her life hung ; he could see it in the pale, 
 haggard, still beautiful face ; for Caroline 
 was one of those women whom age even 
 cannot really disfigure — in the dull apathy 
 of her large eyes, and the weary listlessness 
 of her manner ; and he knew that, much as 
 he loved Marion, she could never quite fill 
 his mother's place in his heart. He felt 
 it was his duty as much as his incli- 
 nation to stay with her ; and he liked his
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 213 
 
 wife all the more for her gentle loving care 
 of the invalid. The duchess possessed a 
 refined, highly-stored mind, and great 
 intellectual powers of conversation; so 
 Marion felt it was rather a pleasure and a 
 privilege to be with her than an irksome 
 duty. 
 
 All these years, Mathew Palmer had 
 still loved Lucy; but, somehow or other, 
 he had not yet found courage to tell her so. 
 Lucy always seemed glad to see him, but 
 there was a quiet, staid reserve about her, 
 which checked the words that trembled so 
 often on his lips. 
 
 She had changed very much since her 
 father's death ; that was natural, he told 
 himself; all the glad, childish vivacity and 
 impetuosity had gone from her manner ; 
 but the quiet, gentle little woman was very 
 winning, and when the dimples did come,
 
 214 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 they were all the more beautiful because 
 they surprised you. Mr. Palmer would 
 often find himself building bright air- 
 castles, and little Lucy was the precious 
 treasure those castles held. He would 
 picture a snug little vicarage to shrine 
 his darling; and the poor fellow fancied 
 with blue-eyed, soft-voiced Lucy by his 
 side nothing on earth could pain him ; 
 above all the women he had ever seen, 
 she stood pre-eminent, a beautiful pearl of 
 great price. 
 
 Part of his dream had come true ; he had 
 lately been presented with a very good 
 living, that great step towards possessing 
 Lucy; and as he would have to leave the 
 village soon, he made up his mind to for- 
 mally propose to her. He found it rather 
 difficult to see Lucy alone, now that the 
 house was full from top to bottom with
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 215 
 
 guests ; so he looked forward eagerly to the 
 meeting of the hounds, because he fancied 
 he would be able to see her alone on that 
 morning. The men, he knew, would be 
 out of the way, and most of the ladies, for 
 there was many an intrepid Amazon among 
 them, both maid and matron, who never 
 turned shy at ditch or fence. 
 
 It turned out a pouring wet day, so that 
 the ladies had stayed at home, and some of 
 them were playing battledore and shuttle- 
 cock in the vestibule with Vivien, and two 
 young men who preferred the ladies' society 
 to taking their chance in the deluge out- 
 side. They had promised themselves a 
 good laugh at the dripping sportsmen, 
 when they returned cursing the weather 
 and the bad scent. 
 
 " They'll never tally a fox this weather," 
 one of them was saying as Mr. Palmer
 
 216 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 entered ; " Keynard lias too much regard for 
 his brush to show to-day." 
 
 A glance told the curate that Lucy was 
 not among them ; there was a pretty little 
 chamber off the breakfast-room, where he 
 had often seen her ; so, after shaking hands 
 with the ladies, he went there hoping to 
 find her. It was empty ; and he was just 
 turning away, feeling sadly disappointed — 
 he had looked forward so to the day — when 
 he heard a slight flutter of trailing robes, 
 and Lucy stood before him, looking very 
 gentle and pure in the quiet dark colours 
 she always wore now. 
 
 " I daresay you are surprised at seeing 
 me to-day," he said, " but I came on pur- 
 pose to see you." 
 
 Lucy looked down ; with a woman's in- 
 stinct she knew and dreaded what was 
 coming.
 
 SPOKEN" IN ANGER. 217 
 
 " I thought I should find you here/' he 
 continued. " I want to talk to you, Lucy ; 
 may I? " As he spoke he led her to a sofa, 
 and sat down by her side. 
 
 For a few moments there was a great 
 silence ; he watched her as she sat, small, 
 fair, and winning, with her little hands 
 folded demurely in her lap, and her soft 
 eyes bent on the glittering ring Clowden 
 had given her. Presently he said — 
 
 " You know I have been presented with 
 a living, and I shall have to leave here very 
 shortly now." 
 
 " We shall miss you very much," she 
 answered, without looking up ; and the 
 thought of losing this tried friend lent a 
 soft sadness to her voice. 
 
 He felt very big beside her, and a tender 
 feeling of loving protection made him 
 almost unconsciously put his arm round her.
 
 218 SPOKEN IN ANGEK. 
 
 " Lucy, my own darling, will you be my 
 wife?" And he bent down, kissing the 
 little soft pink ear, murmuring as he did so, 
 " I do love you, little darling. " 
 
 "Hush!" she said, drawing herself away 
 from him. " I can never be any one's wife." 
 
 " Why not ?" he asked ; and his honest 
 brown eyes looked full and anxiously into 
 hers. "Don't you care for me? Your 
 poor father, only a few moments before he 
 died, told me it would make him happy to 
 see you my wife. Don't you care for me 
 at all, dear?" 
 
 "I like you very much," she said, the 
 blue eyes filling with tears, "and I know 
 
 poor dear papa did too, but " And 
 
 Lucy covered her face, sobbing bitterly. 
 
 "But, darling?" he said, bending 
 anxiously over her. "Don't cry, my own 
 Lucy. I have loved you so long, dear ; tell
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 219 
 
 me why you wont have me, and I'll go 
 away, and not tease you any more. Don't 
 cry, darling." 
 
 "I do like you/' she sobbed, "but I 
 don't love you; and besides," she added, 
 raising her tearful eyes, " I promised never 
 to take this ring off, and it's on the 
 wedding-ring finger." Lucy tried to smile, 
 but the smile was more piteous than any 
 tears. 
 
 "Promised never to take that off," he 
 said, looking at the ring in astonishment. 
 " Who did you promise, Lucy ? — not your 
 father?" 
 
 " Oh ! no ; not papa," she answered. 
 
 He sat looking at her, and by degrees a 
 faint suspicion entered his heart. 
 
 "Lucy," he said, "did a man put that 
 ring on r 
 
 " Yes," she said, in a low voice.
 
 220 SPOKEN IN ANGEE. 
 
 " And you loved him, Lucy ?" 
 
 Loved Mm ! The sudden upturned flash- 
 ing of her blue eyes was answer enough, 
 without the half-whispered — 
 
 " Yes/' 
 
 " And you still love him, Lucy ?" 
 
 She did not speak, but the quick 
 locking of her small hands was his 
 answer. 
 
 " And is he coming to take that ring off, 
 Lucy ? Is he coming to marry you?" 
 
 " He can never marry me," she cried. 
 
 " Is he dead ? Oh ! my poor Lucy." 
 And Mathew's eyes glistened with sympathy. 
 
 "Oh! no," she wailed ; "not dead. But he 
 can never marry me ; he is married already." 
 
 He looked at her for a moment in silent 
 horror. This girl, whose whole life he 
 thought he knew — this girl he had held 
 pure as one of God's angels — the woman
 
 SPOKEN" IN ANGER. 221 
 
 lie had hoped to make his wife — in love 
 with a married man ! 
 
 It was too great a shock. He rose up, 
 but the sight of the little, bowed, sobbing 
 figure touched his heart. 
 
 " Oh ! Lucy," he cried, " forget this folly; 
 it is sinful. How dare you wear that ring !" 
 
 He took her hand, trying to take the 
 ring off with unconscious force ; but the 
 little soft fingers closed bravely round it. 
 
 "Oh! don't," she cried. "It is all I 
 have — all I have in the world, now papa's 
 gone and lies married. Oh ! don't ; please 
 don't." 
 
 He let her hand go sharply, and stood 
 over the weeping girl, broad-shouldered and 
 erect — a young, stern, untried judge. 
 
 " Lucy," he said, " this is too horrible !" 
 And without another word he turned and 
 left her.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 FEW days later Mathew 
 Palmer left tlie village, and 
 when he came to say good- 
 by at the Hall, Lucy was 
 not among those who shook him by the 
 hand ; but from an upper window she 
 watched him go, feeling very heart-sore and 
 weary. He had seen her father die; he 
 had known her before the great sorrow of 
 her life came ; he had been so kind and 
 patient with her, so unobtrusive in his 
 love, so gentle in his sympathy, that it 
 was no wonder the tears dimmed her eyes, 
 at the thought that she might never see 
 him again.
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 223 
 
 He had left her in anger, thinking her 
 worse even than she was ; and to lose his 
 esteem was bitter enough, but the words of 
 blame, wrung from his honest heart's agony, 
 found an echo in Lucy's soul. And yet, 
 what could she do ? The plague-spot of this 
 unholy love had covered her whole heart; 
 she had fought hard against it, and when 
 she fancied she had gained some ground, 
 it rose again like a giant refreshed, to mock 
 her. 
 
 This strong, mighty love ! She had 
 prayed for strength to conquer it, and 
 strength had come, when she most needed 
 it. But, perhaps, the great Father saw fit 
 to try Lucy by this very love, and he left 
 her to fight the battle, as we have all to 
 fight against temptation ; yet we have this 
 promise to our comfort, that we shall in no 
 wise be tempted beyond our strength.
 
 224 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 If we could thoroughly realise this, and 
 in the hour of temptation use the mighty 
 power within us, we should find it greater 
 far than any evil whisper ; but we so often 
 forget how strong we are, and from idle 
 neglect of our God-given will, follow the 
 bent of those inclinations that lead to 
 wrong-doing. 
 
 Lucy felt very glad when the last guest 
 left Doolington Hall ; it was quite a relief 
 to find the house once more silent and 
 empty. Our poor Lucy was getting so 
 tired of life, that even pleasure was weari- 
 some to her — the sound of a glad voice, 
 the sight of a happy face ; and this hidden 
 grief was fast stealing all her sweet bright 
 beauty. She was growing pale and listless, 
 and wandered about the unused rooms like 
 a little sorrowful ghost. Lady Evylin took 
 her and Yivien to the seaside for a short
 
 SPOKEN m ANGER. 225 
 
 time, thinking that Lucy wanted change. 
 She said nothing about it, but it pained 
 her very much to see how evidently un- 
 happy Lucy was ; and she was very tender 
 and gentle with the girl, fancying she still 
 sorrowed for her father. 
 
 They returned home sooner than they 
 had intended, because one morning Carrie 
 received a letter from Sir John, telling 
 them that Marion was at Doolington. 
 Clowden's mother was dead, and he had 
 sent his wife to stay at the Hall. He 
 wished to be alone for a short time, he 
 said — alone with his grief ; and Marion, 
 with ready tact, seeing how irksome even 
 her society was to him, had immediately 
 fallen in with his plans. 
 
 Carrie started at once for home on the 
 receipt of her father's letter. They arrived 
 quite late in the day, so Lucy did not see 
 
 vol. i. 15
 
 226 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 Marion till the evening. When she came 
 downstairs, dressed for dinner, she paused a 
 moment at the open door before she entered 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 Lady Clowden Strafford, tall, fair, and 
 graceful in her trailing, sombre, craped 
 dress, was standing by the fire, its red 
 light flickering on her soft face, and throw- 
 ing into clear relief the perfect pose of her 
 magnificent figure j the tall slight girl, 
 who left her home now nearly five years 
 back, had developed into a noble-looking 
 woman. 
 
 She turned round, little flickers of light 
 dancing on her coiled ruddy hair, and 
 brightening the smile with which she 
 welcomed Lucy, bending down and kissing 
 her warmly. She had heard of Lucy's 
 loss, and her heart was full of gentle pity 
 when she saw the little white-faced girl;
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 227 
 
 to her surprise, Lucy hid her face on her 
 shoulder in a sudden burst of bitter 
 weeping. 
 
 Marion said no word of comfort, but 
 she held her there, smoothing the bright 
 bowed head with a soft caressing touch. 
 Could she have known, that the light of her 
 life was this girl's darkness ! 
 
 So they stood till Sir John came in ; he 
 did not see who the two figures in the 
 red firelight were till he came quite close ; 
 and Lucy, at the sound of his well-known 
 tread, raised her face, hushing her sobs ; 
 and while he was speaking to Marion 
 she escaped from the room, and did not 
 appear again till the gong sounded for 
 dinner. 
 
 Marion sat opposite her, and Lucy 
 watched her, to see if she could trace any 
 of the great, perfect happiness that must
 
 228 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 belong to the woman who was Clowden's 
 wife. " She is better worthy of him than 
 I am," she sadly thought. She felt no 
 jealousy — her warm admiration for Marion, 
 and utter depreciation of herself, left no 
 room for that ; but her heart ached very 
 wearily as she realised the other's su- 
 periority. 
 
 "And yet," she said to herself, "as it 
 is not mine, I would rather she held his 
 love than any other woman — she is worthy 
 of him, of Clowden." 
 
 Lucy's love for Clowden was so pure, 
 that she could love Marion because she 
 was his wife. Those tears of sorrow had 
 purged all passion from her strong deep 
 love. Perhaps that had come in answer to 
 her constant prayer. She loved him with 
 a love that was her doom, but with a love 
 that was never stirred by a single thought
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 229 
 
 that Marion's heart would have been angered 
 to know. 
 
 The two children, Vivien and D'Arcy, 
 came in to dessert ; there was no likeness 
 between them, Vivien towering like a young 
 Colossus in his sturdy boyhood, his face 
 wonderfully bright and beautiful; and little 
 D'Arcy, who had already made friends with 
 him, clinging to his hand, a slight, fragile, 
 flaxen-haired child, fair and spirituel, with 
 that far-off look in his large light-blue eyes 
 so painfully suggestive to strangers of an 
 early death. He seemed frightened at old 
 Sir John's hearty voice, and kept timidly 
 close to Vivien ; even then recognising the 
 firm strong spirit he so relied on in the 
 after-time. 
 
 The shadow left the old Squire's face 
 while Marion stayed at the Hall, and they 
 at once fell into their old habit of constant
 
 230 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 companion ship, as though the missing link 
 of those five years had never broken the 
 chain of their lives. Somehow Marion's 
 gentle presence seemed to brighten life for 
 Lucy too ; she was very affectionate in her 
 manner towards the girl, and there was 
 something about Marion that insensibly 
 won love and confidence when you tho- 
 roughly knew her. 
 
 D'Arcy, too, grew very fond of Lucy ; 
 those gentle little children can often 
 minister to a bitter heart-ache without 
 jarring a single chord, as the sympathy 
 of an older person, however sincere, might. 
 Dear little D'Arcy, his clinging affec- 
 tionate heart repayed in twofold love all 
 those who were kind to him ! 
 
 One mild winter's afternoon, Lucy was 
 walking down the long leafless avenue with 
 the two children. They were tired of play,
 
 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 231 
 
 and had asked her to tell them a story ; she 
 was trying to think of something to please 
 them, when little D'Arcy left her side with 
 a glad cry of — " Papa ! papa I" 
 
 And Lucy, looking up, saw Lord Clowden 
 coming towards them, just the same as he 
 looked those five weary years ago, when she 
 went to meet him. Her heart stood still, 
 but pride, a woman's shield, came to her 
 relief, and helped her to answer his com- 
 monplace words of greeting, steadied the 
 hand she held out to him, and sent the 
 warm flush of welcome back to her heart 
 cold and chill. 
 
 Clowden turned from her to Vivien ; and 
 oh ! the fond love that shone from his eyes, 
 and almost trembled in his voice as he 
 said — 
 
 " Don't you know me, Viven ?" 
 
 He had thought often of this child, and
 
 232 SPOKEN IN ANGER. 
 
 pictured their meeting; and it chilled his 
 heart when the boy hung back, his bright 
 face full of perplexity. 
 
 " Don't you remember me, Vivien ?" he 
 said again, and the proud, hard man bent 
 down anxiously. " You were a little fellow 
 when I went away, not much bigger than 
 D'Arcy here ; wont you shake hands with 
 me?" 
 
 Did Clowden fancy it, or was the little 
 brown hand given reluctantly? But he 
 would have given much to have felt Vivien 
 clinging to him like D'Arcy did, as they 
 turned towards the house. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 MMMMMMl »>«HH