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 http://www.archive.org/details/falsestepsisters01miss
 
 THE FALSE STEP 
 
 &;c. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Just published, uniform with the larger Annuals, consisting entirely of 
 Steel-engravings, price neatly bound, only 18s. — 21s. finely coloured, — 
 or bound in Morocco gilt edges for elegant presents 3s. extra, 
 
 THE GEOGRAPHICAL ANNUAL 
 
 FOR 1832. 
 CONTAINING 
 
 ONE HUNDRED BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 As there is no branch of knowledge which combines so much useful in- 
 formation with so much delight as Geography, it is presumed that a work 
 designed to illustrate the form, structure, and divisions of the earth will 
 be received as a highly valuable addition to the Annuals already in 
 existence. 
 
 The present publication, on account of its enduringinterest, may justly 
 Iny claim to the title of a perennial rather than an annual, and be valued 
 as a lasting Gift of Friendship rather than a Pastime-offering ; it will 
 however be published every year for the purpose of including the latest 
 discoveries, and the changes that are continually taking place in various 
 quarters of the Globe. 
 
 The Geographical Annual consists of Engravings of all the States, 
 Kingdoms, and Empires throughout the world ; of the comparative height 
 of the principal Mountains, length of Rivers, extent of the Lakes and In- 
 land Seas, and of Tables which present the chief advantages of a Gazet- 
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 Quarto Atlases, and is so beautifully executed as to unite in a great de- 
 gree the Picturesque attractions of the other Annuals with its own more 
 solid and intrinsic character. 
 
 Having, after minute care, great exertion, and at a vast expense, 
 brought to completion the Family Cabinet Atlas, and the number of 
 Copies originally proposed to be circulated in the first issue being dis- 
 posed of, the Proprietors have made extensive arrangements for re-issu- 
 ing the work in an improved and more elegant form, as now announced, 
 and at a price that can be no obstacle to its admission into every family 
 in the Kingdom. 
 
 Sold by every Bookseller in the Kingdom.
 
 THE FALSE STEP, 
 
 The purest treasure mortal times afford 
 
 Is spotless reputation. Shakspeare. 
 
 AND 
 
 THE SISTERS. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EDWARD BULL, HOLLES STREET. 
 
 1832.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY- 
 
 Do/sec Street, Fleet Slieet.
 
 >s 
 
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 -^S I know not whether in the state of girlhood 
 
 ^ Or of womanhood to call her ; 'twixt the two 
 ~" ; She stands, as, that were loth to lose her, this. 
 To win her most impatient. The young year 
 Trembling and blushing, 'twixt the striving kisses 
 =;: Of parting spring and meeting summer, seems 
 ^ Her only parallel. Virginius. 
 
 ^ To rail against the present system of society, 
 
 ^its somewhat difficult code of laws, and often irk- 
 
 vj some ceremonies, its practised artifice, and pue- 
 
 rile want of candour, would only be to express, 
 
 v" what all in turn feel, submit to, and condemn. 
 
 VOL. 1. B
 
 2 THK FALSE STEP. 
 
 Even to say that it puts a severe restraint on 
 the feelings of the heart, and levels the good 
 and intelligent with the bad, the foolish and 
 the ignorant, would be but to mingle truth 
 and falsehood together, and to betray an 
 indiscreet and discontented, rather than a 
 wise or subdued spirit. Society, with all 
 these enumerated evils, is, we hope, more 
 conducive to virtue than at the first glance 
 it may appear to be. But that it is unfa- 
 vourable to the growth and developement of 
 deep-rooted sentiment and impassioned affec- 
 tion, may be inferred from the infrequency of 
 these qualities themselves, and their many and 
 ill-fabricated imitations. 
 
 All appear, or profess, to feel acutely, long 
 and deeply : few (perhaps fortunately) really 
 do so. 
 
 " Their hearts, wounded like the wounded air, 
 Soon close."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 3 
 
 Nature, however, will not be entirely out- 
 raged : in some she plants the germs of genuine 
 feeling, and, in spite of the hollowness or self- 
 ishness by which it may be surrounded, will 
 not suffer it to be uprooted. It grows and ex- 
 pands with the heart that nourishes it, and ac- 
 cording as it is well or ill-directed, becomes the 
 source of exquisite happiness or most enduring 
 misery, or, as in the instance of Jeannette 
 Langham, of much good and ill intimately 
 inwoven. 
 
 We present her to the reader at the mo- 
 ment of her return from school to Langham 
 Court, — the home of her childhood and 
 the elysium of her imagination. A father 
 and sister, by whom she was tenderly be- 
 loved, had anxiouslv awaited her arrival. 
 Pressing her again and again to their hearts, 
 they congratulated her and themselves that she 
 was now to live entirely with them. 
 b2
 
 4 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Jeannette had quitted school for the last 
 time, and her moistened eyes attested that she 
 was not insensible to the affectionate wel- 
 come that had greeted her. But her heart 
 was too full for utterance. It might have 
 been supposed, that excess of pleasure had 
 taken away her voice. Her sister, however, 
 more justly interpreted her silence ; and anxious 
 to divert her thoughts, which she saw were 
 reverting to former welcomes home from a 
 beloved but now deceased mother, she said to 
 Mr. Langham : 
 
 " May I tell Jeannette, my dear father, who 
 is here .^" 
 
 The well-timed question broke the thraldom 
 of her secret feelings. 
 
 "Oh, who, Matilda?'' 
 
 " Ow/y Hamond !'' 
 
 " Only Hamond !"" echoed the transported 
 girl. " Is he indeed here? Ah, my dear,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 5 
 
 dear brother !" — for at that moment Hamond 
 hhnself was in sight, and with the rapidity 
 that affection gives to the foot of early youth, 
 she bounded forth to meet him.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Who is the owner of a treasure 
 
 Above all value, but without offence 
 May glory in the glad possession of it ? 
 
 Massikger. 
 
 *' How well she is looking !" said Mr. Lang- 
 hanij as his eye followed Jeannette proudly 
 and almost exultingly. " Matilda, do you not 
 think she grows more and more painfully like 
 her poor mother ?"" 
 
 Mr. Langham's voice, as he put this question, 
 lowered to the tone of sadness ; and his eye, as 
 it still rested on Jeannette, might have been 
 said to stream with light, so mingled and so
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 7 
 
 powerful were the feelings with which he re- 
 garded her. Love and joy and hope, fear 
 and pride and memory, were all in that look ; 
 yet its expression was that of sorrow. Jean- 
 nette suddenly turned while he was thus gazing 
 on her, and she felt as if words of kindness and 
 affection had been addressed to her. Pressing 
 her lip to his cheek, she murmured " My dear 
 kind father !" 
 
 Mr. Langham folded her fondly and re- 
 peatedly to his heart : and Jeannette little sus- 
 pected how much of bitter grief was mingled 
 with this demonstration of her father's love. 
 But Mr. Langham well knew it, and trusted 
 not his voice with words till he could assume 
 the appearance and the tone of gaiety. Yet, to 
 a spectator uninformed of the leading passages 
 of his life, happiness would not only have 
 seemed within Mr. Langham 's grasp, but bend- 
 ing spontaneously towards him. Did he then
 
 8 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 cast the blessing from him ? No ; but when 
 most it wooed him, then did he feel the most 
 severely what it is to have poisoned the waters 
 of life at their source. His sunk cheek be- 
 came paler, and the heaviness of care on his 
 still handsome countenance became more appa- 
 rent. Time had had comparatively but a small 
 share in tracing the deep lines of anxiety that 
 his face exhibited when entirely at rest ; for 
 Mr. Langham, at the conmiencement of this 
 history, was little more than forty-five years of 
 age. Yet passion, suffering, and disappoint- 
 ment, were so strongly impressed upon it, that 
 it might be said to resemble those seas which 
 even when frozen retain their impetuous cha- 
 racter. 
 
 Persons now first introduced to him, na- 
 turally ascribed this shade upon his brow and 
 melancholy on his spirit to the loss of Mrs. 
 Langham, for whom he still wore deep mourn-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 9 
 
 ing; while earlier acquaintances less charit- 
 ably, but more truly remarked that his want 
 of cheerfulness had not been really increased 
 by that affliction. 
 
 Such was the impression made by Mr. 
 Langham beyond the circle of his own family : 
 within it, he was all and every thing that a 
 wise and indulgent father, a judicious friend, 
 and intelligent companion, can become. His 
 conduct as an anxious and affectionate parent 
 was and had been unimpeachable; and so 
 duteous and gentle-hearted had he hitherto 
 found his children, that every care bestowed 
 upon them seemed " twice- blessed." 
 
 Mr. Langham knew how to value so primary 
 a blessing, and at times this more than repaid 
 him for every suffering. But there were mo- 
 ments when this very happiness was converted 
 into suffering, and totally overcame him. He 
 saw the perspective of his children's lives 
 B 5
 
 10 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 clouded, and regret became remorse. What had 
 been undefinable depression was changed to an 
 agonizing malady of soul, the worse and more 
 fatal that it passed away only to return with 
 greater violence and more subduing sorrow. 
 
 His two elder children were unfortunate- 
 ly aware of these silent struggles and their 
 cause. Matilda, from long study of his coun- 
 tenance, could therein read his heart. And 
 what a volume had it been to her ! Day by 
 day, as she perused it, she became more fully 
 acquainted with the force of human passions 
 and the fallacy of human wishes. She drew 
 from her silent observations lessons of wis- 
 dom and truth, that strengthened her under- 
 standing, and gave elevation to her views. 
 
 The pity she felt for her father increased 
 her love for him ; and ttlis sentiment, which by 
 many cannot be indulged without lowering its 
 object, was in her the fosterer of respect.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 11 
 
 Hamond's feelings were, alas ! very differ- 
 ent : his knowledge of facts was more recent 
 and less faithful than his sister's, and he was 
 yet writhing under the pain they had given 
 him. 
 
 Matilda had held no communication with her 
 brother, but she felt much and deeply for him. 
 His heart seemed to her at war with the world 
 and himself, and in rebellion against Heaven 
 and his destiny. At times he appeared to her 
 as if afraid of confronting facts ; at others, as 
 if he had steeled himself to defy them. 
 
 Once or twice, by a probing inquiry, she had 
 sought to force his confidence. She longed to 
 soothe and comfort him, and, with a woman's 
 logic persuaded herself, that her true and 
 heartfelt sympathy would more than supply 
 the deficiency of arguments, if these should 
 fail her. 
 
 But Hamond evaded or repelled all her
 
 12 THE FALSE STEP, 
 
 efforts, and his looks agreed but too well with 
 his words, when he told her that he scorned 
 consolation. 
 
 Such was the condition of the several mem- 
 bers of Jeannette's family at the period of 
 her return. The excitement of her arrival, 
 at first, indeed, banished all melancholy, whe- 
 ther of prospect or retrospect ; her genuine 
 gaiety of heart being, like Falstaff's wit, pro- 
 ductive of the same good quality in others. 
 
 But, excited spirits, even when called into 
 play by the affections, soon subside — (to think 
 how soon, is one of the saddest offices imposed 
 by experience) and Matilda began seriously to 
 apprehend that the change in Hamond must 
 call forth remarks from Jeannette. And, as 
 she watched her light form, elastic from the 
 ethereal cheerfulness that animated her, as 
 much as from dehcacy of proportion, many 
 anxious fears obtruded themselves on her mind.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 13 
 
 What ! if this bud of beauty should feel the 
 canker too? — if her full and generous heart 
 should be made to suffer what Hamond"*s is 
 bearing and mine has borne ?
 
 14 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Pour thou oil 
 
 In the same vase with vinegar, in vain 
 
 Wouldst thou persuade the unsocial streams 
 
 To mix. Potter's ^Eschylus. 
 
 Decision was never Matilda's characteris- 
 tic, and there was one point on which her 
 judgment always wavered, which was, whether 
 Jeannette should, or should not, be suffered to 
 remain in her present happy ignorance. One 
 human counsellor alone did she ever consult 
 on the doubt that now distressed her. 
 
 " Ought I, my dear friend, or ought I not, to 
 acquaint Jeannette before she enters the world,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 15 
 
 with the sad details of her mother's life?*" 
 This direct inquiry was addressed to Mrs. 
 Leonard, by whom both she and her sister had 
 been educated. Fortunately for Matilda, Mrs. 
 Leonard did not waver : her reply was prompt 
 and decisive, and was as follows : — 
 
 MRS. LEONARD'S LETTER 
 
 " No ! My dear young friend, you must 
 not reveal to Jeannette her mother's history : 
 if possible, she must never know it. In all 
 other cases, I should most probably say, the 
 whole truth, and no concealment ; but with 
 regard to your sister, I say, any thing but the 
 truth, and every device possible to shield her 
 from it. I admit the soundness of your argu- 
 ments in favour of a contrary line of conduct ; 
 but I should tremble for the future peace of 
 Jeannette, if I thought the experiment were 
 now to be made on her.
 
 16 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " I need not remind you of her intense love 
 for the parent she has lost. You witnessed 
 her grief, as far as grief can be witnessed ; 
 and for a time you felt persuaded that she, 
 too, would die. I well remember your belief 
 then was, that departed spirits might, and 
 most probably did, suffer almost as much as 
 their survivors on earth, from the pang of sepa- 
 ration. Your inference from this belief, as long 
 as Jeannette's cheek continued colourless and 
 her eye languid, was, that she would be 
 snatched from you, to be placed in her mother's 
 bosom. 
 
 " I can imagine that I hear you say, Why 
 remind me now of what I have so frequently 
 condemned as presumptuous ? Simply to tell 
 you, my dear Matilda, that the heart of your 
 beloved Jeannette is too much like your own. 
 Within it there is a deep well-spring of love for 
 the mother she has lost. Mingle one drop of bit-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 17 
 
 terness or shame with its now tranquil waters, 
 and you will destroy her happiness for ever. 
 
 " To all outward appearance, Jeannette has 
 recovered her spirits; but you will find, now 
 she is constantly with you, that the thought of 
 her mother is seldom absent from her mind. I 
 had a fresh proof of this a few days before she 
 left me. In her presence I was remarking on 
 the superiority of parental love to filial, and 
 adduced numerous instances in proof of this 
 fact. Jeannette listened attentively ; but when 
 I ceased to speak, in the firm tone she alwjtys 
 uses when excited, she exclaimed, " It is not 
 true I" Her kindling eye and crimsoned brow 
 bore credible testimony that the chord so unin- 
 tentionally touched had never ceased to vibrate, 
 and that she spoke from the resistless impulse 
 of her own emotions. 
 
 " No, then, I repeat it, my beloved and re- 
 spected Matilda, you must not venture to make
 
 18 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 the communication about which you have so 
 long hesitated. Jeannette has escaped this 
 painful knowledge at school, and in the world 
 who will dare to tell her ? She is, I think, the 
 least selfish of human beings, the kindest and the 
 best ! But she is not the most easily induced 
 to take the views of others. How astonishingly 
 firm have we both seen her, when acting in what 
 she considered a good cause ! How glad, too, 
 have we both been, when talking over this point 
 of her character, this dangerous firmness, to 
 borrow the definition of a monarch who wanted 
 it, and call it excess of constancy, rather than 
 by a worse name. 
 
 " Such a girl would not, under any circum- 
 stances, be easily consoled by arguments or 
 palliations offered by others, and in no degree 
 by being told that hundreds had been and were 
 similarly situated. It would be Jeannette's 
 own view of the case that would be of moment
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 19 
 
 to her ; and I fear that her heart would rather 
 sicken than revive by being told that she stood 
 not alone in her sorrow. 
 
 " You will see by this that I do not rely as 
 sanguinely as yourself on the religious feelings 
 of Jeannette as a counterpoise to the misery 
 with which you would so suddenly burthen 
 her. Yet, I think, she possesses more religious 
 principle than is often met with (I do not say 
 professed) at her time of life. The Supreme 
 Disposer of events has benignantly drawn 
 her nearer to himself by means of her affec- 
 tions. He has taught her, ' and by an expe- 
 riment,' that the line of life is connected with 
 the line of immortality. Let us not then risk 
 the disturbance of her mind. Let us rather 
 remember, how long, how closely, earthly 
 feelings cling to the young — (or, more truly, to 
 the purest aspirations of all human beings) — 
 and how very seldom our thoughts soar to the
 
 20 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 better world we look for, unaccompanied by 
 the hope of reunion to some loved ones either 
 gone before, or to come after us. To Jeannette 
 the hope of eternity is inseparably blended 
 with the image of her mother. 
 
 " I do not ask, if it would be safe or wise to 
 darken the brightness of a being so awfully 
 enshrined, but I say again and again, do not let 
 Jeannette be made a partaker of your own 
 suppressed and well supported sorrows.''
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 21 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TTiere 's no miniature 
 
 In her fair face but is a copiou theme 
 Which would, discoursed at large of, make a volume. 
 
 Massinger. 
 
 Matilda was more tranquillized than con- 
 vinced by Mrs. Leonard''s letter. Without 
 coming to any direct conclusion on the subject, 
 she determined for the present to let things 
 remain as they were. Herein, finding all the 
 satisfaction of which irresolute characters are 
 so sensible when they determine not to choose. 
 
 This was Matilda's foible, and it enabled 
 her with great clearness to perceive the con-
 
 22 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 trary failing of Jeannette. It is certain that 
 the opposite qualities of the sisters did not help 
 to correct each other. For Jeannette, much 
 as she loved and respected Matilda, could not 
 fail to perceive that her own quick decisions 
 and sted fastness of purpose frequently gave 
 her great advantages over her more deliber- 
 ative sister. 
 
 With the same facility, Matilda's imagi- 
 nation grew busy in picturing the immense 
 variety of circumstances under which this fail- 
 ing of Jeannette might, nay must, lead to 
 evil. Yet, as it was always exhibited in the 
 cause of others, she was the more frequently 
 ready to say, like spots in Carrara marble, her 
 defects will wear themselves out. It is always 
 in a good cause that she shows herself too de- 
 termined, too firm in pursuing her own will. 
 Nevertheless Matilda could not at all times so 
 deceive herself, and questions difficult of reply 
 would force themselves on her consideration.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 23 
 
 *' May not this dear being have been too much 
 indulged and caressed among us — even too much 
 loved ? May not her keen sensibilities, her 
 quick imagination have been imprudently fos- 
 tered, when they should have been checked and 
 corrected ?" 
 
 To any but a highly reflective mind these 
 considerations would have appeared unnecessary 
 or perhaps absurd ; for in Jeannette there was 
 no show of evil. Beneath her beauty there 
 was no latent, no sinister expression to mar its 
 effect, even to the eye of the most scrutinizing 
 physiognomist. Yet there was perhaps more 
 to rivet the attention of such an examiner, than 
 to attract the mere admirer of feature and com- 
 plexion. For her sweet face, young as it was, and 
 bearing so unquestionably the stamp of youth 
 upon it, had yet a character beyond her years. 
 A melancholy thoughtfulness in her gayest 
 moments was discernible through the laughing 
 playfulness which often seemed its prevailing
 
 24 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 expression. It was this singular contrast which 
 gave to her countenance so peculiar and touch- 
 ing a charm. * 
 
 The spectator became insensibly interested ; 
 for it was impossible long to look on her, and 
 to think only of the present. Had she been 
 older, the faint traces of care and sadness in 
 her full and dark blue eyes would have inspired 
 an anxious wish to learn her history. Now 
 they seemed not so much a registry of the past 
 as prophetic of her life to come. They were 
 as a seal set upon her by the hand of Fate 
 and Nature, and carried the minds of nearly 
 all who contemplated her with interest, into the 
 far-off depths of time. 
 
 Few could there expatiate and not wish to 
 so fair and young a being the richest portion 
 of earthly good. 
 
 The persons who had the most influence over 
 her future life were not yet known to her ; but
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 25 
 
 among those on whom her first introduction 
 made a deep impression, none were more seri- 
 ously interested by her beauty and sweetness 
 than Mr. Cooper, who had travelled with her 
 brother as a friend rather than a tutor, and 
 who now paid an unexpected visit at Langham 
 Court. 
 
 VOL. J,
 
 26 THE FALSK STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Many a word at random spoken, 
 Finds aim the archer little meant. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Mr. Cooper was a most welcome guest to 
 all parties, but to Hamond especially, he 
 being doubly happy in the opportunity of 
 receiving him in his father's house, from a 
 consciousness that as a correspondent he was 
 reproachable for some neglect. Mr. Cooper 
 had not, however, considered himself neglected, 
 though he now came, as he said, to look after 
 him; because waiting was of no use, since 
 he could get replies but no answers to his
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 27 
 
 letters ; and he proceeded to enumerate the 
 variety of subjects upon which he had vainly 
 endeavoured to obtain satisfaction, till Ha- 
 mond''s flesh crept upon his bones with the ap- 
 prehension of what would follow. The conver- 
 sation, however, fortunately changed to other 
 topics, and Hamond for a time was relieved 
 from his fears. 
 
 But Mr. Cooper was the most careless of hu- 
 man beings ; and partly from great openness of 
 temper, and partly from thoughtlessness, was 
 in the habit of giving utterance to whatever 
 passed through his mind ; and while few men 
 were less capable of giving intentional offence 
 to any one, none ever caused more frequent 
 and distressing embarrassment to others. His 
 sins in this way were always readily repented of, 
 and, as it sometimes happens in more serious 
 matters, as readily forgotten. 
 
 He had parted from Hamond under the im- 
 c 2
 
 28 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 pression (and at that time a just one) of his 
 having formed an attachment to an English 
 lady in Italy ; and now, on meeting him again, 
 altered in person, and evidently dejected in 
 mind, he naturally ascribed these effects to disap- 
 pointment. Concern for this circumstance be- 
 came for a time Mr. Cooper's predominant feel- 
 ing; but at dinner, as he turned to take wine 
 with Jeannette, by whom he was sitting, his 
 eye was suddenly arrested by her strong resem- 
 blance to some person he had seen before, with- 
 out being able to recall where or when. It was 
 so remarkable as to perplex and absorb him — 
 again and again he turned, expecting every 
 fresh glance would put an end to his conjec- 
 tures. At length, becoming in some degree 
 aware of his abstraction, and that his frequent 
 examinations of Jeannette's countenance were 
 scarcely reconcileable with politeness, he men- 
 tioned the cause of his perplexity, and appealed
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 29 
 
 to Hamond to help him in making the disco- 
 very, stating in apology, that if ever he was so 
 unfortunate as to trace a likeness as he had now 
 done, he never rested till he forced his memory 
 into obedience. 
 
 All his hearers understood and acknowledged 
 the influence of such vague recollections. Mr. 
 Cooper felt therefore justified in repeating his 
 glances towards Jeannette, who now looked at 
 him in return and smiled. Worse and worse, 
 the smile he had more certainly seen before 
 than the features. 
 
 Mr. Langham remarked : — " In compassion 
 to Mr. Cooper, Jeannette, we must really send 
 you from us."" 
 
 " Indeed, Papa, I am afraid you must," re- 
 plied Jeannette. And these very simple words 
 involved Mr. Cooper in deeper perplexity, for 
 he instantly resumed : — 
 
 " How strange ! that I should not be able
 
 30 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 satisfactorily to connect so many singular coin- 
 cidences ! for I feel confident that a voice like 
 yours, Miss Jeannette Langham, has been as fa- 
 miliar to my ear as the features resembling yours 
 have been familiar to my eye — and, if I mis- 
 take not, they belonged to the same individual/' 
 Hamond, aware of the association which Mr. 
 Cooper was endeavouring to discover, though 
 trembling with apprehension, dexterously turn- 
 ed the conversation. He explained a deception 
 of the imagination to which he was peculiarly 
 liable, viz. of reasons and circumstances and 
 situations that actually were new to him, seeming 
 but as the revival of what had either occurred, 
 or been in some way revealed to him. He de- 
 scribed the momentary feeling on making these 
 discoveries to be similar to what he fancied he 
 should experience if any of his dreams were 
 to be realized. Matilda and Mr. Lanor- 
 ham both confessed to similar inexplicable sen-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 31 
 
 sations, and Guy Mannering was mentioned as 
 the first if not the only work that had touched 
 with any precision on so interesting a subject, — 
 only it was unfortunately there proved, that 
 Harry Bertram's perceptions were really re- 
 miniscences. Mr. Langhara repeated some 
 lines of Coleridge, as more applicable to the 
 subject. 
 
 " Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll, 
 Which makes the present while the flash doth last, 
 Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, 
 Mixed with such feelings as perplex the soul 
 Self-questioned in her sleep ; and some have said 
 We lived ere yet this robe of flesh we wove." 
 
 Mr. Cooper''s reflections were thus so com- 
 pletely directed into another channel, that he nei- 
 ther thought nor spoke again of his discovered 
 likeness in Jeannette till the ladies were quitting 
 the dining-room. As Jeannette then passed by 
 him she dropped her handkerchief, and on
 
 32 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Mr. Cooper''s restoring it to her, she bowed her 
 thanks and smiled. A sudden light seemed to 
 have gleamed on Mr. Cooper's mind, for as he 
 was closing the door he abruptly exclaimed — 
 " By heaven ! it is Isabella Cressingham her- 
 self!'' 
 
 " Isabella who .?" said Jeannette to Matilda, 
 as they pursued their way to the drawing-room. 
 
 " I could not," said Matilda, '' distinctly 
 hear." But she at the same moment feared 
 and felt that she had heard but too distinctly. 
 
 Mr. Cooper, on resuming his seat, reverted to 
 his subject at first rather in the way of soliloquy 
 than conversation, — " the same angelic melan- 
 choly smile, — the same exquisite complexion, 
 — the same soft and silver-toned voice. Good 
 God ! Hamond, that you should not have made 
 the discovery before ME. W hy, Sir," turning to 
 Mr. Langham, " twin doves are not more like 
 each other than Miss Cressingham and your
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 33 
 
 lovely daughter ! — How strange it would have 
 been — 
 
 But Mr. Langham, in anticipation, it might 
 be, of what was to follow, here groaned audibly : 
 the hand with which he had been endeavour- 
 ing to shade his brow fell like a dead weight 
 upon his bosom : his face was pale, his eye fixed, 
 and the muscles round his mouth so strongly 
 in play, that they seemed convulsed,— but in a 
 moment it was all over. By a powerful effort 
 he arose, his glass was filled before him, he 
 drank off its contents — paused a few seconds, 
 then replenished and emptied it again. 
 
 Mr. Cooper had been at first alarmed ; he 
 was now distressed : this violent emotion was 
 evidently occasioned by his words, but how, he 
 was at a loss to conjecture. He wished to apo- 
 logize, but could not articulate a syllable. 
 
 Mr. Langham relieved him, as far as he 
 could, by addressing him in the kindest and gen- 
 (;5
 
 34 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tlest manner, but his words came slowly, sadly, 
 and with difficulty. A modern poet has shown 
 how grief, " lingering in its lengthened swell,"" 
 may be betrayed by music. Speech, when the 
 heart is deeply affected, has the same power : 
 words follow each other in the slow suc- 
 cession of tears, and affect the hearer fully as 
 much. 
 
 " It is not your fault, Mr. Cooper," com- 
 menced Mr. Langham, " that you have now 
 unintentionally given me pain, for I pretend 
 not to deny that it is pain — it IS, — and so it 
 ought to be .'"—Mr. Langham paused, and Ha- 
 mond ventured to ask him, if he would not like 
 to be left alone. 
 
 " No, Hamond. To Mr. Cooper I must now 
 make communications which would have been 
 made long since, had I considered it even pos- 
 sible for him to have been ignorant of the sub- 
 ject. Mr. Cooper, you must forgive this omis-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 35 
 
 sion, and you may believe me when I add, that 
 one unfailing consequence of the notoriety arising 
 from bad actions is the ever-durins: consciousness 
 that the whole world is not only acquainted with 
 your conduct, but has also been busy with your 
 name. So strongly have I felt this, that until 
 this present hour I never believed in the pro- 
 bability of even one human being existing who 
 had not made me, my actions, motives, feelings, 
 and principles, subjects of discussion. And 
 alas ! I have felt myself — and justly too — 
 (while my life has been in some respects a 
 sacrifice to honour) a condemned being by all 
 honourable men." 
 
 Mr. Langham again paused ; and, when he 
 next spoke, he addressed himself to Hamond. 
 
 " But you, Hamond, need not hear this 
 recital from my lips; in my library you will 
 find a sealed packet addressed to yourself. I 
 meant to have bequeathed it to you at my
 
 36 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 death, but it is better that you should receive it ; 
 it is even needful that you should read it now." 
 
 Both Hamond and Mr. Cooper would will- 
 ingly have been spared the confession offered 
 to them, and both made efforts to escape from 
 it. But the former was in some degree com- 
 pelled to receive the key from his father's hand 
 which would put into his possession the history 
 of that father^s life ; and Mr. Cooper, in the 
 same manner, was obliged to listen, when Ha- 
 mond had withdrawn, to facts which distressed 
 and astonished him. 
 
 But as Mr. Langham had written more par- 
 ticulars than could be well detailed, the manu- 
 script committed to his son shall be here in- 
 serted in preference to the conversation with Mr. 
 Cooper. It was found by Hamond in the spot 
 to which he had been directed. It had originally 
 been inscribed with this line from Dante— 
 
 " Tanto % amara, che poco e piu morte."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 37 
 
 But a pencil line had been passed through it ; 
 and, above the erasure, this passage from St. 
 Paul was written in larger characters, and 
 bearing beneath it a recent date, — 
 
 *^ Tribulation and anguish upon every soul of man that 
 doeth evil."
 
 38 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 hear every part 
 
 Of our sad tale — spite of the pain 
 Remembrance gives, when the fixed dart 
 Is stirred thus in the wound again : — 
 Hear every step 
 
 MR. LANGHAM'S MS. COMMENCED, 
 
 "Many years have now elapsed, my dear Ha- 
 mond, since I first resolved to write the events of 
 my life. Would to Heaven I could add, in order 
 that my conduct under them might be to you 
 an example. Alas ! Hamond, it is only as a 
 beacon that the recital of them can be of use to 
 you, or, even in the remotest degree, aid the cause 
 of virtue, by exhibiting the fearful issues of vice.
 
 THli FALSE STEP. 39 
 
 " Could I indeed faithfully pourtray the bit- 
 ter heart-burnings, the endless discontents that 
 have accompanied me through life; — ^^ could I 
 number the gnawings of the worm that dieth 
 not, as I have felt them in the midst of all that 
 the world calls happiness; — could I tell how, 
 and with what painful tenacity my proud heart 
 long refused to acknowledge that in itself lay 
 the source of all that was evil, all that was 
 distressing to me,— the statement would not be 
 in vain. 
 
 " But I cannot ; for, even if memory were 
 faithful, language would be unequal to the 
 task. Words cannot condense into one brief 
 point the grief of years ; they cannot paint 
 the anguish of a mind withered in its hopes, 
 — blasted in its ambition, — riven by remorse. 
 Facts, barren facts, are all they accurately 
 reveal, and it is with them we have to do. 
 
 " I will not go back to the days of child-
 
 40 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 hood, further than to state, that some of my dere- 
 lictions from the path of right may, I think, be 
 traced to the unwise, because excessive, indul- 
 gence of a too fond mother. I say not this in 
 any degree to exonerate myself, but to show 
 how far affection, injudiciously lavished, may 
 become injurious, when the momentary enjoy- 
 ment of the individual is more seriously con- 
 sulted than his distant but more permanent 
 happiness. 
 
 " My father was not severe ; but he had a 
 seriousness of manner that made me think him 
 so, more particularly by the side of my mother, 
 for her smiling face on all occasions beamed 
 with toleration and forgiveness. So, at least, I 
 unfortunately thought ; for, while I freely con- 
 fessed to her whatever I did of good or evil, to 
 my father I was always reserved. Time and 
 reflection, which made me alive to the different 
 principles on which my parents acted, made
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 41 
 
 me also more duly appreciate my father's views 
 and character. Even now, Hamond, I feel a 
 glow of shame upon my cheek, as I recollect 
 that to that father I never urged one request 
 which had usefulness or propriety for its object, 
 that met with a denial. Yet, how frequently, 
 how shamelessly did I connive at his being de- 
 ceived by privately receiving from my mother 
 the means of defraying expenses which I ought 
 not to have incurred, and which were the more 
 encouraged by being secretly sanctioned. I 
 grieve to cast even this one reflection on my 
 kind mother's memory ; for, in all she did she 
 sought to promote my happiness. But, unhap- 
 pily, the lav^^ in nature which causes a body 
 in motion, when influenced by two powers, to 
 obey neither, was morally applicable to me. I 
 swerved far indeed from my father's precepts 
 and examples, without attaining the point of 
 my mother's wishes.
 
 42 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " My father thought me what he saw me, and 
 believed me to possess principles like his own, 
 founded on and supported by religion. How 
 little did he imagine, that, on entering the world, 
 hurried on by my passions, courted, caress- 
 ed, and flattered by nearly all my associates, I 
 had no better safeguard than the code of mo- 
 dern honour ! And here I feel it but justice to 
 myself to add, that, in the common acceptation 
 of the word, I strictly observed its laws. Yes, 
 while I could break through so many of its 
 better ties, trample oq the rites of hospitality 
 and friendship, wean a woman's heart from her 
 most sacred duties, and leave her to mourn her 
 estrangement for ever, I was yet an enthusiastic 
 admirer of honour in its circumscribed and 
 worldly acceptation. 
 
 " When I now look back on my earlier years, 
 I am shocked and astonished that such conduct, 
 such sentiments, could ever have been mine.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 43 
 
 " My companions were men like myself, who 
 regarded life as a plaything, and carefully avoid- 
 ed the admonitions of conscience. We all, in- 
 deed, strove to silence this inward monitor, as 
 if, instead of moral health, it would have 
 brought to us disease or death. 
 
 " Thus passed the few years subsequent to 
 my college life. In those years I lost my mother. 
 An admonitory letter written to me on her 
 death-bed caused me to pause in my career. In 
 that letter she recommended my brother, who 
 had married imprudently, to my care, and al- 
 most to my bounty. For him she dreaded mi- 
 sery and poverty, while for me she had bright 
 and splendid prospects. That brother has ne- 
 ver needed my services. By the strenuous ex- 
 ertion of his talents he has supported himself 
 honourably and independently, and is an orna- 
 ment to his name and to his country. His 
 father was thoroughly sensible of his worth.
 
 44 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 and he cheered the latter days of that father's 
 existence ; while I, long a cherished and favourite 
 child, the heir of inalienable property, have 
 been glad to skulk through life with no radi- 
 ance but that of riches, no distinction but that 
 of disgrace. 
 
 '' Hamond, I find myself less equal to the 
 task I have undertaken than I had hoped. Like 
 a traveller who has to ford a dangerous river 
 before he can proceed on his journey, I linger 
 on the bank, when I should plunge into the 
 wave. I delay the evil moment of communi- 
 cation, as if delay could spare your feelings, 
 or in any degree deaden my own. 
 
 " But to return. — Before my career of 
 heedless dissipation received the check I have 
 already alluded to from my mother's letter, I 
 had accidentally renewed a school acquaintance 
 with a friend of the name of Cressingham. He 
 was many years my senior ; but this disparity,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 45 
 
 unfortunately, had not proved a bar to an 
 intimacy more nearly resembling friendship 
 than usually exists between a great boy and a 
 little one. At Eton I had liked Cressingham, 
 and it was a melancholy Election Monday to 
 me, on which for the last time I watched him 
 into his postchaise. A few years after, I 
 heard that he had quitted England for India, 
 that he held a lucrative situation there, and 
 had married. I again lost sight of him for some 
 years, till in an evil hour, at a dinner party 
 in town, we were introduced as strangers. But 
 neither had forgotten the name of the other, 
 and a few moments were sufficient for recog- 
 nition. Yet, how changed in person, how al- 
 tered in mind was Cressingham ! The fresh- 
 ness of youth was exchanged for the yellow 
 tinge of disease, the cheerfulness of boyhood 
 for the querulousness and irritability of care 
 and disappointment. The sight of me seemed
 
 46 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 to inspire him with new life ; and when talking 
 over past scenes, a gleam of his former self 
 would irradiate his altered countenance. 
 
 " It was under these circumstances that Cres- 
 singham first introduced me to Mrs. Cressing- 
 ham and his already numerous family : — to his 
 wife, as his earliest and best friend,— one of the 
 very few of all his former acquaintance who had 
 made his return to England pleasurable, — to 
 his children, as his early playfellow and most 
 beloved companion. 
 
 " And it was that earliest and best friend, 
 that most beloved companion, who was to de- 
 prive that husband of his wife, those children 
 of their mother r
 
 THK FALSE STEP. 47 
 
 CHAPTER yil. 
 
 Beneath the grood how far. Grey, 
 
 MR. FiANGHAM'S MS. CONTINUED. 
 
 " I ADMIRED Mrs. Cressingham as a beauti- 
 ful, I pitied her as an unfortunate woman, for 
 I soon presumed to consider her unhappily 
 married. To a man such as I then was, these 
 were dangerous feelings. From pity, from the 
 expression of it, under such circumstances, brief 
 indeed is the passage to love, and oh ! briefer 
 still the path from love to guilt ! Would that 
 I could blot out the remembrance for ever ! 
 
 " Few circumstances of real importance 
 perhaps ever happen to us without our minds
 
 48 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 frequently recurring to one particular event, or 
 well-remembered point of time, as the source 
 from which all consequences, whether good or 
 evil, have flowed. I at least have often done so ; 
 and in recalling the first look of sympathy I 
 ever dared to glance at Mrs. Cressingham when 
 her husband expressed himself harshly towards 
 her, I have even exclaimed aloud, oh ! had 
 she not returned it ! that she had but at that 
 moment made me feel that my sympathy was 
 unvalued, my compassion considered as an 
 insult ! 
 
 " Late and useless, and unavailing regrets ! 
 they came not till visited by some compunction 
 for what I had achieved, till I felt real sorrow 
 for the victim I had ensnared. For, I say it 
 not to exonerate myself from blame, (I am, on 
 the contrary, a hundred times more culpable in 
 my own eyes from the fact,) but I meant not to 
 have taken Mrs. Cressingham from her home.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 49 
 
 Nothing was farther from my thought, or could 
 be more contrary to my wishes. All I contem- 
 plated was, to possess myself of her affections ! 
 I too soon felt that they were securely mine, and 
 success awoke repentance. I could not bear to 
 meet her heavy eye, when surrounded by all 
 that should have made her happy. Still less 
 could I bear her restless wretchedness when she 
 put on, as she sometimes would, the semblance 
 of her former natural gaiety. To add to my 
 tortures, Cressingham appeared, more than 
 ever, to desire my society ; and, in proof of his 
 attachment, purchased an estate in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood of that which he knew 
 would ultimately be mine, that in future years, 
 he said, distance might not impede our inter- 
 course. This last mark of his friendship smote 
 me to the quick, and I longed to confess to him 
 my delinquency. But this could not be done 
 without implicating her in whom he trusted, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 on whom he doated : so difficult is it to re- 
 gain the path of rectitude when once we have 
 quitted it. 
 
 " The good sentiments of our souls, which 
 in a just cause always act in conjunction, in a 
 career of evil are opposed to each other ; and 
 we are compelled to compromise, extenuate, and 
 sacrifice, till their influence is weakened, and 
 their seeds all but eradicated. 
 
 " But repentant feelings had been awakened 
 in my mind, and trusting that the past would 
 not be inquired into, I resolved never again to 
 see Mrs. Cressingham except in the presence of 
 her husband. In order to effect this, I quitted 
 London, and commenced a course of visits to 
 friends and relations of my father in the West 
 of England. I was fortunate in the first faniily 
 I entered, for I saw a large and happy circle 
 of useful, intelligent, and benevolent beings 
 around me, rendered cheerful and respectable
 
 THE FA.LSE STEP. 51 
 
 by their self-imposed tasks for the benefit of 
 their fellow-creatures. At first I stood as a 
 cipher among them, a mere wondering and ad- 
 miring spectator. But my idleness was not ifi 
 vain. My belief in the efiicacy of virtue, which 
 had been considerably staggered by the life I 
 had led, returned; whatever of excellent was ex- 
 isting in my nature was drawn forth, and my 
 best intentions strengthened. Yes, I can well 
 recollect how the conviction that had before 
 but dawned, then shone full upon me, that I 
 had been utterly mistaken in the path of life I 
 had chosen, if I wished either for peace or hap- 
 piness. There is probably a period in the lives 
 of most men to which they can refer as the 
 season of their greatest mental and moral im- 
 provement. This was mine: I thought and 
 felt, and looked around me, as if new senses 
 and perceptions had been bestowed upon me. 
 Books, which had long been abandoned, were 
 D 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINniS IIBRARf
 
 52 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 resumed, and helped me in my labour of reform. 
 But, I must pass on to events. 
 
 " During the period I have endeavoured to 
 describe, Cressingham took possession of his 
 newly-purchased property. An occasional let- 
 ter from him was a most serious interruption 
 to my pleasurable sensations, for they forced 
 on my remembrance disagreeable recollections 
 and indisputable facts ; they moreover required 
 replies, and to write to Cressingham was a heavy 
 and difficult task. The sin of hypocrisy lay 
 the weightiest on my soul when compelled to 
 address him as my friend, or subscribe myself, 
 though only by inference, as his. At length 
 wearied as I concluded, by my eternal apolo- 
 gies of being a bad correspondent or my pro- 
 mise of becoming a good neighbour, he ceased 
 to write to me. 
 
 " And now am I arrived, my dear son, at a 
 part of my history, that might well be omit-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 53 
 
 ted, but that I feel, it has helped most power- 
 fully to fill up the measure of my punish- 
 ment. The relatives I have mentioned, after 
 I had quitted them, removed to Sidmouth to 
 meet an Irish family of the name of Lyndon 
 travelling in search of health for their eldest 
 daughter, who had been pronounced con- 
 sumptive. It was at Sidmouth I was intro- 
 duced to them, and in conjunction with my 
 friends, helped to amuse the invalid and give 
 false hopes to her family."
 
 54? THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MR. LANGHAM'S MS. CONTINUED. 
 
 " I AM not conscious that I ever admitted 
 to myself the painful anticipation that Mary 
 Lyndon must die ; but certainly, much as I 
 admired her, my heart, from the first, was 
 attracted towards her sister. Amelia's ap- 
 proving and silent smile, I soon discovered, was 
 a dearer pleasure to me than the thanks of the 
 invalid, or her grateful mother. Her mother ! 
 Oh ! what a woman was Mrs. Lyndon ! In the 
 wane of her beauty, how lovely i — in intellect, 
 how superior ! — in manner, how irresistible ! —
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 55 
 
 As I approached her then, so do I think of her 
 now ; and so closely is she associated in my 
 heart and memory with the image of my loved 
 Amelia, that my mind''s eye seldom beholds the 
 one unaccompanied by the other. 
 
 " I soon grew intimate as a brother with 
 this interesting family, and, alas ! I soon grew 
 happy. I disclosed my love to Amelia, and 
 received her promise of being mine as soon as 
 her sister recovered. I pass briefly over the 
 winged moments of a raptured lover, because I 
 feel I ought not here to recall them. I loved 
 Amelia as I had never loved before, and in fix- 
 ing my affections on one so kind and so disin- 
 terested, I believed, I still believe, I was laying 
 up a treasure for myself on earth, that nothing 
 could corrupt. In the midst of my new-born 
 happiness, the past was as completely for- 
 gotten by me as if the waters of oblivion 
 had rolled over my soul. To a mind in the
 
 56 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 state mine had been, and was, oblivion is 
 happiness, 
 
 '' Mrs. Lyndon's expressions of satisfaction 
 were candid and flattering in the extreme ; and 
 to her I committed the charge of acquainting 
 Mr. Lyndon with my attachment, and of soli- 
 citing his consent. His answer was favour- 
 able. On the night that it arrived, Mary ap- 
 peared better ; and I had the exquisite bliss 
 of hearing my dearest Amelia bless her hap- 
 py destiny ! In the dark retrospect of my 
 life, how alternately bright and mournful has 
 that one moment been to me ! The flowers of 
 the East, that vary their colour as they are seen • 
 in sunshine or in shade, change not their hue 
 more suddenly than do my own wild thoughts 
 and recollections. Chameleon-like, they vary 
 perpetually ; but, alas ! like the tints of depart- 
 ing day, they change and change, but to end in 
 a deep, deep night.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 57 
 
 " Mr. Lyndon at length joined us, and I had 
 every reason to be satisfied with his reception 
 of me ; still, I did not like him. More worldly 
 than his wife and daughter, his approbation 
 seemed to me wholly dependent on my fortune, 
 and the advantages v/hich it commanded. His 
 wife, on the contrary, seemed to say, 1 would 
 give my daughter to such a man with a bare 
 competence, in preference to the highest rank, or 
 most splendid fortune. Nothing excites so much 
 gratitude as good opinion ; mine for Mrs. Lyn- 
 don knew no bounds. I was conscious that 
 she estimated me far too highly ; but then I 
 meant to become all that she then considered 
 me. 
 
 " It might be supposed that Mrs. Lyndon's 
 affectionate regard would have more than com- 
 pensated for any supposed deficiency on the 
 part of her husband. It was, on the contrary, 
 a powerful stimulant to the pride that suffered 
 d5
 
 58 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 from his indifference. I could ill brook his cold, 
 unpleasant manner ; and Amelia at length com- 
 plained that I was reserved and unlike myself 
 in the presence of her father. I made the best 
 excuse the case would admit, and pleaded short 
 acquaintance. But the happy life I had led, 
 seemed altogether changed by the arrival of 
 Mr. Lyndon at Sidmouth, and a chilling and 
 distant formality banished the delightful free- 
 dom that had reigned among us. 
 
 '' I resolved therefore on marrying immedi- 
 ately, and, in order the more securely to gain 
 Amelia's consent, prevailed on the grateful Mary 
 to be my advocate. Inwardly persuaded that if 
 our marriage vi^ere much longer deferred she 
 should not live to witness it, Mary gladly un- 
 dertook my cause. Without once betraying her 
 fears, she talked with so much animation of the 
 pleasure she promised herself in the coasting 
 tour I had projected, and of her wish that th^
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 59 
 
 season should not be much farther advanced, 
 that Amelia yielded to my persuasions, and at 
 the expiration of a month promised to be mine. 
 
 " I immediately wrote to my father and bro- 
 ther to request their presence at my marriage. 
 The one declined on account of his advanced 
 age and the great distance, the other promised 
 to be with me. But my brother's letter, after 
 his congratulations and good wishes were con- 
 cluded, contained the following startling para- 
 graph. — ' Strange reports are now afloat con- 
 cerning our new neighbours the Cressinghams : 
 he is pronounced tyrannical, and she something 
 worse. In consideration, however, of their be- 
 ing friends of yours, we visit them occasionally. 
 But not being quite satisfied that these ru- 
 mours are unfounded, I do not lament that 
 the English reserve of my Emily has hitherto 
 resisted Mrs. Cressingham's fascinations. Ours 
 at present is mere formal acquaintance.' Pain-
 
 60 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ful sensations arose in my mind, as I read 
 this part of my brother's letter. I longed to 
 know the positive nature of the reports al- 
 luded to, and felt much selfish anxiety lest my 
 name should have been mixed up with any of 
 them. But it passed away as soon as felt. I 
 was reposing in the very heart of happiness, and 
 my fears were soon silenced. In supine secu- 
 rity, without taking one step towards ascertain- 
 ing the truth, I easily persuaded myself that 
 Mrs. Cressingham's affections had found an- 
 other object, and that the odium would fall on 
 him. 
 
 " Alas ! I wronged her as much as I de- 
 ceived myself! But most fortunately I was 
 undeceived in time ! — for, all miserable as I have 
 been, miserable as I must still be, my suffer- 
 ings have been nothing compared to what they 
 would have been, had the shock so fatal to my 
 then blissful prospects been deferred but for
 
 THE FALSE STEP. , 61 
 
 one week. Yes, it was just one week from the 
 day that was to have made Amelia irrevocably 
 mine, that the letter was put into my hands, 
 which hurled me from the height of human 
 happiness, to the lowest depth of human wretch- 
 edness. I can conceive none deeper than mine ; 
 for woe is, and ever must be, comparative.""
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of tme minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 That alters where it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 MR. LANGHAM's MS. CONTINUED. 
 
 " It would be difficult to imagine a greater 
 degree of dismay than I experienced on first 
 opening the letter I have mentioned. My 
 astonishment was as great on seeing your mo- 
 ther's handwriting, Hamond, as if a miracle 
 had been effected to produce it, and astonish- 
 ment was for many seconds my only feeling. 
 Next came the stupefaction of presentiment.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 63 
 
 Before I read its contents, my heart sickened 
 with the certainty of evil. Yet the words — 
 ' All is discovered, I have denied nothing ; I 
 am what I have long deserved to be, an outr 
 cast from my husband's house,' long swam 
 before my eyes, without my comprehending 
 their meaning. 
 
 " It is always difficult, often impossible, to 
 recall what we have felt ; but I do most dis- 
 tinctly remember the acute and sudden anguish 
 that succeeded the temporary suspension of my 
 mind in this memorable hour. A thousand 
 instruments of torture applied to a body just 
 awaking from sleep, would but feebly image the 
 dreadful vitahty of nerve, the cruel activity of 
 thought, which I at that moment suffered. 
 Every faculty of my soul seemed endued with 
 an increased and simultaneous energy. Recol- 
 lection followed recollection in agonising tumult. 
 Plan succeeded plan with fearful and mad-
 
 64 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 dealing celerity. Every creature I had ever 
 thought of, with even a common interest, seem- 
 ed crowding around me. All the chief events of 
 my life rushed forcibly to my brain. Every affec- 
 tion I had ever known returned restlessly to my 
 heart. Such excitation could not long endure. 
 Mind and body both sank under it, and the 
 mind first. As I grew more calm, I strove to 
 think, and could not. Oh the pain of that sad 
 conviction ! The violence of contention within 
 was over ; and I had just consciousness enough 
 remaining to be aware that my faculties had 
 lost their power. I am ignorant of all that 
 immediately followed, till I found myself in 
 bed, and saw Mrs. Lyndon by my side. A 
 medical attendant was also near me, who, as I 
 appeared to revive, administered medicines, 
 which I swallowed mechanically. I was soon 
 pronounced better ; I called myself so, and so I 
 was. I had not now to complain that I could
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 65 
 
 not think, or knew not how to act. A clear 
 perception of my position rendered my line of 
 conduct but too palpable. Amelia could 
 never be mine ! 
 
 " I attempted to explain myself to Mrs. 
 Lyndon ; but she would not hear me speak. 
 Quietness had been recommended for me ; and 
 she tried, by turns, to soothe and chide me 
 into silence. And oh ! amid all, how she wept ! 
 The engagement between Amelia and myself 
 had rendered me so much a child of her love, 
 that evil could not approach me as mere bodily 
 indisposition, but it was an affliction to her. 
 At length, finding her exhortations useless, 
 she left me, promising to return in two hours. 
 
 " The necessity, however, for immediate exer- 
 tion pressed too strongly on my conscience, for 
 me to remain inactive ; I exerted myself to rise, 
 and having ordered that my carriage should be 
 sent after me to Mr. Lyndon^s, and desired that
 
 66 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 my servant would remain at Sidmouth till he 
 heard from me, I set out for the dwelling of 
 Amelia, neither considering how I ought, nor 
 knowing how I meant to act, but determined 
 that no obstacle should operate to prevent the 
 necessary disclosure of my situation. 
 
 " I was soon in the presence of Mrs. Lyndon 
 and her daughters. She had apparently been 
 relating to them all she knew of my illness, for 
 Amelia had evidently been weeping ; I marked 
 that as I entered, great as was my perturba- 
 tion and distress, but I paused not to reflect 
 upon her tears. Throwing myself at the feet 
 of Mrs. Lyndon, in a few words I made known 
 to her and the woman I adored, all that was 
 necessary to be exposed of my disgraceful his- 
 tory. In many cases, we complain of language 
 as inadequate to our purposes ; in others, how 
 willingly must we all subscribe to its sufficiency ! 
 On this occasion, brief and poor, and simple.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 67 
 
 was that which I made use of, but it conveyed 
 to Amelia Lyndon tidings that were to be a sor- 
 row to her for her life. Yet she was the first 
 to break silence, and her eye kindled as she 
 spoke. Rising from her seat, she approached 
 me, and putting her hand in mine, she said, — 
 ' Let us rejoice that it is in your power to 
 make reparation.' 
 
 *' Even her mother was astonished, and mur- 
 mured aloud, as if unconsciously, ' Thank 
 Heaven! my child is true to herself!' My 
 poor Amelia could not bear this praise: the 
 colour faded from her cheek, the light of her 
 eye declined, and the tremour of her frame be- 
 came momentarily more violent. I strove to 
 speak, but her name, her dear name, was all I 
 could utter: there seemed a charm in it to 
 draw forth her tears ; for, as I pronounced it, 
 she bent her head over the hand I had retained, 
 and wept without control.
 
 68 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " Mary, with that blessed kindness which 
 always distinguished her, persuaded her mother 
 at this moment to leave us a few minutes alone. 
 At such a time, how came she to judge so 
 wisely and intuitively to lead to the only mea- 
 sure that could give even momentary relief to 
 two broken-hearted creatures, too much absorb- 
 ed by misery to form a wish for themselves ? 
 Yet so it was, that interview did more for the 
 reconcilement of both our hearts, than the lapse 
 of years could have done without it. In that 
 interview how nobly did my high-souled Amelia 
 exhort me to firmness, if but for her sake ! how 
 repeatedly did she assure me that she could 
 and would conquer all that ought to die, but 
 that her friendship for me should never cease. 
 No shade of anger or reproach mingled with 
 what she said or what she felt. She saw the 
 sincerity of my sorrow, and sought, even amidst 
 her own fast-falling tears, to soothe and comfort
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 69 
 
 me. Her last words were, (well-remembered, 
 because they were the last,) ' Be comforted ! 
 let the memory of our friendship be a blessing 
 to us, by exalting our minds to a stricter fulfil- 
 ment of our duties.' 
 
 " Mrs. Lyndon and Mary returned to us, and 
 ray carriage at the same time drove to the door. 
 It was well, for I could have borne no more. 
 Another instant and the settled purpose of my 
 soul had fled for ever. Even now I could al- 
 most wonder that it remained unshaken. Man- 
 kind have blamed, and justly blamed, my con- 
 duct. All know what I did ; but none know, 
 none ever can know, all I resisted, — all I sur- 
 rendered in the sweet and devoted creature to 
 whom I had given my heart. But enough ! 
 
 " Mrs. Lyndon walked with me to my car- 
 riage, but we neither of us attempted a parting 
 word. I however retained her hand till I could 
 command myself to say, ' Write to me."* She
 
 70 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 bowed assent, the door of the carriage closed, 
 and I drove rapidly from the only spot on earth 
 endeared to me by the enjoyment of real hap- 
 piness. 
 
 " I shall attempt no detail of my feelings 
 on that painful journey, racked as they were 
 by distressing anticipations and bitter recol- 
 lections. As far as mere physical remedies 
 could administer to a mind diseased, travelling 
 was of benefit to me ; and I found a species of 
 consolation in repeating at every post, ' On, 
 on to Huntingdon !' Yet I felt at the same time 
 that there all appearance of sorrow must be 
 discarded at once and for ever, and hypocrisy 
 for a time be added to my miseries as well as to 
 my sins. For I was naturally, Hamond, of an 
 open nature, and abhorred every description 
 of disguise. At least, whenever I have been 
 forced into deception, I have tried to think so."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 71 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 If I had thought thou couldst have died, 
 
 I might not weep for thee ; 
 But I forgot when by thy side 
 
 That thou couldst mortal be. 
 
 MR. LANGHAM'S MS. CONTINUED. 
 
 " It was not till I crossed the noble bridge 
 over the Ouse that I once reflected on the inju- 
 dicious line of conduct I had adopted. I ought 
 to have considered that Mrs. Cressingham 
 was less likely to be at Huntingdon than any 
 other town in England, and also to have re- 
 collected that our names would by this time 
 have become familiar as household words to its 
 inhabitants. I drove to an obscure inn, and 
 from a talkative waiter learned Mrs. Cressing-
 
 72 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ham's abode without difficulty. I was now 
 more capable of acting. I wrote to her, and 
 said I hope all that a man of honour, under 
 such circumstances, would feel himself bound 
 to say, or that a generous one ought. I en- 
 closed my address in London, and started for 
 the capital, there to await her answer. 
 
 " She had taken refuge with a female relative 
 whom I knew by name, who had loved her, 
 and been proud of her, from childhood. In 
 the exposure that had recently taken place, her 
 pride had been rudely uprooted, but her fond- 
 ness remained even to forgiveness. This lady 
 herself wrote to me, inviting me to meet your 
 mother at her house. I never can forget that 
 interview, or the deep, the dreadful humiliation 
 of Mrs. Cressingham ! Her friend was an in- 
 comparable woman : an erring sister, when 
 repentant, was to her a claimant on her sym- 
 pathy and her affections. She gave her ' all of
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 73 
 
 comfort' to our distress, for she soothed as she 
 admonished, and consoled while she corrected. 
 She fearlessly unveiled our future to us, and 
 with as much pathos as judgment pointed out 
 the imperative claim each would have on the 
 kindness, consideration, and devotedness of the 
 other. She did not speak to inattentive hearers 
 — the after-life of both was rendered more vir- 
 tuous and self-denying by the counsels we heard 
 from her lips. 
 
 "During the interval which necessarily elapsed 
 before my marriage could take place, I received 
 a few lines from Mary Lyndon, in the kindest 
 and least offensive manner possible, requesting 
 me to write to her mother. She wished it, she 
 said, not for the gratification of idle curiosity, 
 or from the slightest suspicion of my truth, but 
 for the satisfaction of her father ! You, Ha- 
 mond, can scarcely, I think, conceive what I 
 felt, or rather suffered, on finding that my 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 k 
 
 veracity could have been for one moment doubt- 
 ed. My proud heart swelled within me almost 
 to bursting ere I could yield to the penalty of 
 explanation. 
 
 *' But I did yield, and for the sake of Ame- 
 lia was diffuse in my statements of my plans 
 and prospects. My letter was addressed to 
 Mrs. Lyndon, and the burden of it throughout 
 was, * Write to me.' As if to hear from her was 
 once again to be restored to Amelia and all 
 my former happiness ! In spite of myself, — in 
 spite of the unavoidable path, far-stretched 
 before me, there was a busy and vague expec- 
 tation about my heart, — an indistinct hope, un- 
 breathed even to myself, that some unforeseen 
 event might occur, and alter the course of my 
 destiny, and that that event was connected 
 with my hearing from Mrs. Lyndon. 
 
 " Alas ! I did again hear from her ; but it 
 was not till my fate had long been finally seal-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 75 
 
 ed ; not till hope had quite died within me ; 
 not till the fixed and dreadful certainty had 
 taken possession of my soul, that from resigna- 
 tion alone could I ever hope for tranquillity; 
 and I thought I had regained it ! 
 
 " But how speedily was that deceptive web 
 unwove ! Alas, alas ! I had resigned myself 
 to much ! I had bowed with a contrite, and 
 I hoped, an amended heart, to every lingering 
 drop of pain and punishment that had been 
 meted out to me ! I had prepared myself, as I 
 believed, for the chequered life of mortification 
 and disappointment that I knew must be my 
 lot. But for the tidings contained in Mrs. 
 Lyndon's letter I was utterly as unprepared. 
 Amelia Lyndon was no more ! 
 
 " If I had ever contemplated her death as 
 
 possible, I should doubtless still have mourned, 
 
 but not as I did mourn. I should still have 
 
 wished and prayed for the quietness of the 
 
 E 2
 
 76 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 grave as a blessed passport to her in Heaven, and 
 have felt an entire redemption of all sorrows, in 
 the one only pure and blessed hope of meeting 
 her again. But not as I did wish, and pray — 
 fervently, constantly, and desperately pray, for 
 
 ' Death, to still the yearnings for the dead.' 
 That, Hamond, for a time was what I longed 
 for, — what I aimed at ! 
 
 " But it might not be ; the long and severe 
 illness by which oppressed nature softened the 
 acuteness of my sufferings preserved instead of 
 destroying me. Your mother nursed me, and 
 thus became acquainted with the source of 
 my unexplained sorrow. My delirium in this 
 was of infinite service to me, for it enabled 
 me afterwards to speak of subjects to her which 
 I could not otherwise have mentioned. And 
 the lasting furrows which these events had 
 ploughed upon my mind, though not less deep, 
 were less fatal for being communicated.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 77 
 
 " It was not wonderful that your mother's 
 health should in turn give way, on learning the 
 sacrifice that had been made to her by Amelia 
 and myself. She knew it only in part, but it was 
 enough. The discovery of another distressing 
 and unforeseen result to a cause already fertile 
 in misery, is indeed a painful addition to our 
 knowledge. What before was limited becomes 
 apparently infinite, and we say to ourselves, 
 where will, where can it end ? — Your poor mo- 
 ther, my dear Hamond, was ever after an hum- 
 bled and heart-broken woman. I weep to as- 
 sert it, but so it was. Yet, oh ! let me do her 
 the justice she so fully merits. No jealousy, 
 no resentment ever mingled with her feelings. 
 It was on herself alone, that she turned the 
 barbed arrow of reproach, It was of her own 
 conduct only that she complained. ' The 
 cause, the cause," preyed upon her soul, and 
 made your mother, Hamond, to the end of her
 
 78 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 existence, in spite of my arduous endeavours to 
 reconcile her to herself, to soothe, and to con- 
 sole her, — in spite too of her tender love for 
 her children and their grateful and affectionate 
 return, one of the most miserable of women !"
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Unless above himself he can 
 
 Erect himself, how poor a thing is man ! 
 
 Daniel. 
 
 MR. LANGHAM'S MS. CONTINUED. 
 
 " I HAVE, I fear, my dear Hamond, dwelt 
 unnecessarily long on some parts of my his- 
 tory; and, in so doing, I have also, I am 
 aware, wandered considerably from the regu- 
 lar course of it : — I must, however, now go back 
 to the painful moment, when, alas ! 
 
 ' Not willingly, but tangled in the fold 
 Of dire necessity,' 
 
 I met your mother to join my fate for ever 
 with hers. Some circumstances which I would
 
 80 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 willingly omit, occurred immediately on our 
 marriage. It was indeed but two days after 
 the melancholy ceremony that the amount of 
 damages awarded by law to Mr. Cressingham, 
 and which I had sent to him, was returned 
 to me with these words — words that long 
 floated before my mind's eye with the distinct- 
 ness of a painful vision, and from which I could 
 withdraw neither sense nor thought. It is not 
 wonderful that I should well and thoroughly 
 remember them, and be therefore able here to 
 recall them ; for in one perusal they transfused 
 themselves into my heart. What an abject 
 wretch I felt ! how sunk ! how lost as I read 
 that letter ! It made me think of the misery I 
 had inflicted — ay, in spite of the tremor of 
 rage into which this unexpected humiliation 
 had thrown me, I could not but think of 
 Cressingham, and wish rather to have his 
 foot planted on my neck, or his dagger in
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 81 
 
 my bosom, than his handwriting in imagination 
 everlastingly thus traced before my eye. 
 
 " ' When a legal fine can restore peace to my 
 mind, or the penalty of infamy wash away the 
 stain left upon my name — or, when I can 
 bear that my innocent children should be en- 
 riched by the extorted wages of a mother's 
 dishonour, then. Sir, and not till then, will I 
 stoop to accept your enclosure.** 
 
 "It was an easy task, in the insupportable 
 state of my feelings, to persuade myself that to 
 challenge Cressingham was indispensable. In 
 short, I seemed bent, humbled as I was, on 
 sinking myself yet lower in his esteem as well 
 as in my own ; for I did challenge him, and he 
 refused to meet me ! To you, Hamond, per- 
 haps some of these statements may appear ex- 
 aggerated representations of what, under such 
 circumstances, would be felt or suffered ! Would 
 that they were ! Alas I they are to the reality 
 E 5
 
 82 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 but as sepulchral lights to the rays of a meri- 
 dian sun. 
 
 " The keen edge of these mortifications was 
 scarcely worn off when I had the misfortune to 
 lose my father. The irritated state I had been 
 and still remained in, made me regard myself 
 as his murderer ; yet did I bless an event that 
 gave a colouring to any degree of dejection 
 into which I might be plunged, and thus re- 
 leased me from the painful necessity of assuming 
 an appearance of happiness that I could not 
 feel. 
 
 " It was not in my power to sell the property 
 to which I succeeded on my father's death. 
 It was equally out of my power to live on an 
 estate near any residence of Mr. Cressingham's. 
 I was therefore compelled to relinquish to 
 strangers the home of my fathers, and am 
 ashamed to say, that from the hour I did so, it 
 became inexpressibly dear and precious to me.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 83 
 
 I thought of it as the birthplace of all my 
 natural connexions living or dead, and as the 
 grave of all who were or could be related to 
 me, as my own last home too, though in life I 
 could never approach it. The days of my 
 childhood came back to my memory with a 
 vividness and force which they had never before 
 put on. I mused on the scenes in which they 
 were passed, till events, well nigh forgotten, 
 stood out, as so many present realities — one 
 ,in particular, and which I cannot permit myself 
 to pass over in silence. I had once a sister, 
 whose death had happened when I was about 
 nine years of age. I had loved her fondly then, 
 but her image had for many years faded from 
 my memory without being once recalled. 
 Strange to say, though provided with so many 
 deeply absorbing subjects both for thought 
 and memory, all her graceful movements and 
 childlike frolics rushed back upon my re-
 
 84> THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 membrances, and she was again to me for a time 
 as a living being. I remembered the wild 
 flowers that she had more especially loved, and 
 the ' crimson spots at the bottom o' the cowslip"* 
 had for me, Hamond, a dearer association than 
 even the name of Shakspeare. Yes, in the 
 willingness to lose all thought of myself, I 
 have eagerly grasped at the slightest thing that 
 brought back her image to my fancy, and 
 mused upon her as she was, and imagined what 
 she would have been, till I so far forgot that 
 death had snatched her from me, as to lay down 
 schemes for her earthly happiness. 
 
 " Strange and inexplicable delusion ! I can 
 understand why we should soar into the future 
 for ourselves or others, and forestall our des- 
 tiny, or imagine one too perfect to be realized 
 — buf, so thoroughly to descend into the past, 
 that the soul should seem to take its station on 
 some by-gone point of time, as if it were the
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 85 
 
 real now, and image scenes of enjoyment for a 
 being long since removed, seems too wild, too 
 chimerical for any thing short of insanity of 
 mind. Yet. in such reveries have I been often 
 plunged, my dear Hamond ; and at the sad 
 waking from these delusive dreams, more delu- 
 sive than those of sleep, if I have for one moment 
 regretted that this dear girl was no more, I have 
 the next been compelled to rejoice in her death; 
 for would she not, must she not, have blushed 
 and been miserable for me? — This is indeed, 
 a digression, but, I hope, not a useless one. 
 My dear son ! let it impress on your mind this 
 incontrovertible fact, — that immoral deeds not 
 only cast a baleful shade on all that is to come, 
 but they embitter the recollection of all that went 
 before. When all beauty is banished from the 
 past, and the voice of hope is silent, it is sad 
 indeed for the murmurs of memory to be alike 
 painful to the conscience and to the heart."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Words of truth 
 
 Come to the self-condemii'd in heart, 
 As darts to a flying deer. 
 
 " Your mother's wish for retirement was 
 more than equal to my own. With her, indeed, 
 all desire of obtaining a footing in society had 
 expired long before she was convinced of the 
 impossibility we were attempting in seeking 
 one. My change of name, in one or two in- 
 stances, proved of temporary service to us, but 
 no more ; and we were so often slighted where we 
 had been received at first with cordiality, that 
 I cannot wonder at the sincere rejoicings of
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 87 
 
 INIrs. Langham, when I at length resolved to 
 seclude myself entirely from the world. 
 
 "It was a trifling circumstance which led to 
 this determination on my part, but one that 
 makes my cheek crimson yet, to think of. Your 
 mother one day held out her hand to greet a 
 lady of her acquaintance who, since she had 
 last seen her, had learned her history : the lady 
 — (is it not a profanation of the word ?) put 
 both her hands behind her ; yet, your poor 
 mother always generously dreaded rebuffs more 
 on my account, than on her own. 
 
 " We neither of us regretted society for 
 ourselves, and, during the nursery-days of our 
 children, we could not regret it for them. But 
 the period of infancy passed rapidly away, and 
 we were obliged to commence some settled plan 
 of education. I decided on a public school for 
 you, my boy ; and because the family which I 
 most ardently wished my girls to resemble had
 
 88 THE FALSK STEP. 
 
 been brought up at home, I engaged an intelli- 
 gent governess, with whose aid, and that of effi- 
 cient masters, I proposed making them treasures 
 of moral and intellectual worth. I have, I fondly 
 believe, been eminently successful in the end I 
 proposed, but I was destined to be disappointed 
 in the means by which I wished to effect it. 
 Miss Leonard, the name of the lady I had en- 
 gaged as governess to my daughters, I have 
 said, was intelligent, — she was more, she had 
 that fearless integrity with regard to the charge 
 she had undertaken, without which, no degree 
 of talent can be of much avail, and with which, 
 the smallest portion will effect wonders. We 
 did not hang her half-way between ourselves 
 and our servants, but really did what is so often 
 professed and so seldom performed — we treated 
 her as if her fortune and position in society 
 had been equal to our own originally. We 
 thus became acquainted with and attached to
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 89 
 
 her, and she, I am convinced, loved us, and was 
 most grateful to us. 
 
 " She was accustomed to exercise her pupils' 
 minds on most subjects, and to elicit important 
 instruction, apparently from the most trifling. 
 There was an energy in her manner, an anima- 
 tion in her applause, and so much eloquent fire 
 in her indignation, that her youthful hearers, 
 while gazing on and listening to her, seemed to 
 receive conviction into their very souls. It was 
 only on rare occasions that moral lessons were 
 required to be thus imparted, and then she was 
 careful to deduce them only from subjects 
 of vital and palpable importance. The want of 
 truth or honour, and such instances of selfishness 
 as were best adapted to create abhorrence in a 
 young and ardent mind, were points upon which 
 she dwelt with peculiar force. Such was Miss 
 Leonard's mode of fixing, or rather implanting, 
 the ' generous purpose' and singleness of inten-
 
 90 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tion in the breast of youth. I was more delighted 
 with her methods and her mind than I can ex- 
 press; but she had one fault, Hamond, that 
 could not be forgiven — she was ignorant of the 
 peculiar situation of your mother and myself. 
 I did not know this, and unfortunately the con- 
 versation one day turned, in the presence of 
 Miss Leonard and her pupils, on conduct so 
 similar to our own, that it was by no means 
 extraordinary it should call forth remarks from 
 her, painful and distressing to us. The un- 
 fortunate vi^oman, whose name was now before 
 the public, had formerly been known to Miss 
 Leonard, and she mentioned the case as one of 
 peculiar aggravation, her parents having been 
 guiltless of a wish except for securing the hap- 
 piness of their child. And now, she said, she 
 returns to those parents covered with shame that 
 cannot end, — a reproach and blot upon their 
 nature, — a pain and punishment to their hearts !
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 91 
 
 " Neither Mrs. Langham nor I attempted 
 to speak ; but Matilda, whose compassion was 
 strongly excited, asked with her usual strait- 
 forward simplicity, if by becoming very, very 
 good. Lady Anne might not put an end to 
 her shame, and make her parents once more 
 happy ? 
 
 " ' In this world, my dear little girl, 
 never !' replied Miss Leonard, as she placed 
 Matilda on her knee. 'It is sad to think of, 
 but it is nevertheless true. You are too young 
 to understand the nature of Lady Anne's fault, 
 and cannot therefore judge if the world is right 
 or wrong in condemning her. But one part of 
 it you can now understand, and of this you 
 may now judge, Matilda, — she has deserted five 
 young children.' 
 
 " ' Like the ostrich,"* said her auditor, ' of 
 which I learned this morning.' 
 
 " ' Too like indeed, my child : few compari-
 
 92 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 sons are better, — the ostrich ! which, to use the 
 words of Scripture, * leaveth her eggs in the earth, 
 and warmeth them in the dust, and forgetteth 
 that the foot may crush them, or that the wild 
 beast may break them, for she hardeneth her 
 heart against her young ones, as though they 
 were not hers.' 
 
 " This was not to be borne. Mrs. Langham 
 was entirely overcome ; and Miss Leonard, un- 
 suspicious of the application that had been 
 made of her words, with active kindness and 
 much presence of mind endeavoured to restore 
 her. I however felt that to be alone was the 
 restorative most needful to both, and I request- 
 ed her for a time to retire with her pupils to 
 her own apartment. 
 
 " I hoped to have convinced your mother 
 that the words spoken by Miss Leonard were 
 purely accidental ; but all I could say was in 
 vain, — she was firmly resolved never to see Miss
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 93 
 
 Leonard again. I could not urge it. Against 
 my judgment, — against every feeling of justice 
 and gratitude, and of anxiety for the welfare 
 of my children, I parted with this excellent and 
 right-minded woman."
 
 94 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 There is a power upon me which withholds, 
 
 And makes it my fatality to live ; 
 
 If it be life to wear within myself 
 
 This barrenness of spirit, and to be 
 
 My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased 
 
 To justify my deeds unto myself — 
 
 The last infirmity of evil. 
 
 Manfred. 
 
 MR. LANGHAM'S MS; CONTINUED. 
 
 "In order to avoid the recurrence of a cir- 
 cumstance so disagreeable, I resolved that Miss 
 Leonard's successor should not come to us in 
 ignorance of our history. But let no man ima- 
 gine that by any degree of forethought or pru- 
 dence he can prevent or parry ' the slings and
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 95 
 
 arrows' to which any peculiarity of destiny 
 exposes him. Some evils may be ill endured, 
 but they cannot be avoided ; and the will of 
 man is made sorely to feel its own want of 
 power, when it determines on escaping from their 
 thraldom. How often have I resolved and re- 
 resolved, but again and again to be humbled, — 
 how often have I prepared my mind and heart 
 (as I have thought) for every possible contin- 
 gency, only to feel the more acutely the first 
 breath of censure that the least significant of 
 human beings durst utter ! 
 
 " I have again wandered, though, as you 
 will see, not from my subject, but in conse- 
 quence of it. Miss Leonard's successor was in 
 all things her reverse : she had acquired a cer- 
 tain quantity of knowledge, and had a compe- 
 tent share of accomplishment ; yet mind she 
 had none, or, if any, it was of the most vulgar 
 description : delicacy and consideration for
 
 96 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 others w^e not at least among its attributes, for 
 she made us feel hourly that she exulted over 
 us. I tried long and ardently, but in vain,) let 
 not the failure be without its lesson,) to rise 
 above her humbling superciliousness of manner. 
 Alas ! I could not, and I may say with truth, 
 that the carpings of the petty-minded, the con- 
 tempt of the contemptible, have been to me 
 infinitely more galling than the censures of the 
 virtuous and the wise. Oh, the mean of heart! 
 when they have an advantage over any of their 
 fellow-creatures, how they will make it felt and 
 known ! 
 
 " As a last and only resource, I was compel- 
 led to send my dear girls to school, and happy 
 indeed was I to learn that Miss Leonard had 
 been received as partner in one of the first re- 
 spectability. The pain of parting with them 
 was thus considerably lessened, but their de- 
 parture made a sad blank in our lives.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 97 
 
 " The daily interest and positive occupation 
 occasioned by their presence had been, in some 
 degree, restraints on a too great, because useless, 
 susceptibility to our situation — to little inci- 
 dents full of mortification, that were perpetu- 
 ally occurring. Utterly insignificant, in them- 
 selves, separately considered, but proving toge- 
 ther an aggregate of evil too powerful for the 
 strongest arguments we could either of us 
 oppose to it. 
 
 " Of this interest and employment we were 
 now deprived, and gradually and insensibly we 
 both became more alive to every annoyance 
 that we could ascribe to our position in society. 
 We were not only at this period of our lives 
 more vulnerable to every attack from without, 
 my dearHamond, but the voice from within that 
 never had, and never could be silenced, spoke 
 harsher discords and more severe upbraidings. 
 
 " The more I felt my own bereavement of 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 fame, (for an unsullied name is such to him 
 who has no other,) the more frequently did I 
 think of Cressingham. The idea of him was 
 painful to me, even to horror; but every thought, 
 every reflection now turned unbidden towards 
 him, and dwelt upon the nature of his feelings 
 towards me. I asked my own heart if I could 
 have pardoned such an injury, — it honestly 
 answered no ; and further, that it ought not 
 to be pardoned. Every other mortal wrong I 
 believed myself capable of forgiving — but not 
 this.— No; I could not deceive myself — my 
 nature could not have borne that what I most 
 dearly loved should be made ' a fixed figure 
 for the hand of Scorn,' — it would have called 
 aloud for vengeance, and appealed to Heaven 
 for aid. 
 
 *' Am I wrong in thus unveiling to you, my 
 son, as far as they can be unveiled, the most 
 secret workings of my heart .?— I think not, for
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 99 
 
 some of them have been most severe and pain- 
 ful inflictions. 
 
 '' We have both read and applauded the 
 ' AUemagne' of Madame de Stael. I remember 
 well, two years ago, your pointing out one pas- 
 sage to me as strikingly new and sublime It 
 took too strong a hold of your imagination for 
 you to have forgotten it, but I will neverthe- 
 less quote it here. ' Quelle situation,' says that 
 wonderful writer, ' qu'un retour vers la vertu, 
 quand la destinee est irrevocable. II manquait 
 aux tour mens de Tenfer d'etre habite par une 
 ame redevenue sensible.' How little did you 
 think, my dear Hamond, of the close application 
 of this passage to the condition of my feelings, 
 and, I may add, my conscience too ! — for, oh ! 
 Hamond, (if it be not presumptuous so to 
 speak) I had made this step towards virtue, I 
 had suffered on this earth the torments of ' une 
 ame redevenue sensible !' Would that I could 
 F 2
 
 100 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tell, for the benefit of others, what that condi- 
 tion is ! But, as I believe I have before said, 
 it is not possible. Man has some set words 
 indicative of anguish, guilt, and misery. He 
 utters them, and obtains credence, and perhaps 
 sympathy, for all that his hearer can compre- 
 hend ; but the dead could as easily reveal to the 
 living the secrets of the tomb, as a living being 
 can disclose to another all the agonies of one 
 paroxysm of remorse. 
 
 " From the convulsed countenance — from 
 the altered frame, we may learn something of 
 the strength of its power ; but from the lips or 
 from the pen, never ! 
 
 " Dante said he found the materials for his 
 ' Inferno' in the world we inhabit ; I am enabled 
 from the strife of my own nature, to compre- 
 hend tortures imagined by genius, but smiled 
 at, or unthought of, by the world at large."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 101 
 
 CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 A high ambition lowly laid. 
 MR. LANGHAM'S MS. CONTINUED. 
 
 '' I WILL not, if I can avoid it, my dear Ha- 
 mond, again wander from the incidents of my 
 life : I go back to that period when the irritabi- 
 lity of my mind, increased by being compelled to 
 part with my daughters, forced me to exert my- 
 self to the utmost, lest discontent should make 
 me unkind to their mother ! I was difficult to 
 please: the most trifling occurrence excited 
 my severity : I could feel, that sourness of 
 temper was becoming habitual to me, and that 
 not to upbraid her, who but for me had never
 
 102 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 deserved upbraiding, was a difficult, if not an 
 impossible task. Yes ; my high ambition was 
 indeed shrunk. My spirit, which had yearned 
 after, and been blest by noble impulses, was 
 now confined within the narrow but most neces- 
 sary limits of guarding against quarrelling with 
 my wife 1 Every soaring thought was turned 
 inward, — every ardent aspiration checked ; for I 
 Avas obliged to bend all the powers of my mind 
 to the performance of that which should have 
 been spontaneous, and which when done had 
 neither glory, honour, nor satisfaction, — suc- 
 cess itself being a reproach. 
 
 " As our daughters grew up, we became natu- 
 rally anxious that they should have the ad- 
 vantage of society. Yet, as long as exclusion 
 was their mother's lot, I knew it must be theirs 
 also. I had but one female friend in the world 
 on whom I had the slightest claim. This was 
 Lady Kverard, and I was tempted by the
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 103 
 
 remote hope of her countenance to purchase 
 Langham Court, it being, as you know, within 
 a few miles of her residence. In vain, however, 
 did we look for her Ladyship*s visit : Lord Eve- 
 rard called on me alone. I knew the neighbour- 
 hood would follow her Ladyship's example ; — 
 I knew too that her family owed me some obliga- 
 tions, and I persuaded myself that a solicitation 
 from me would not be unavailing. I humbled 
 myself, therefore, to write to her and beg 
 that she would visit my wife ! I stated to her 
 my parental solicitude, the perfect innocence of 
 my children : I told her, that, like the arch- 
 murderer, ' the unjust," who slew ' the just," I 
 felt I had branded the foreheads of my children 
 with shame. I besought her, as a prisoner 
 would beg for liberty, a condemned felon for 
 life — I promised her unceasing and unbounded 
 gratitude ; but I prayed and promised in vain ! 
 "The refusal will not surprise you, Hamond,
 
 104 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 because you are not aware, as I was, that Lady 
 Everard's conduct had not been such as to en- 
 title her, on the score of virtue, to refuse the 
 boon I asked. If it had, her answer would not, 
 I think, have wounded me so much. But to 
 be refused by a woman not entitled to refuse, 
 was more than the humility, which I trusted I 
 had gained, was equal to. Her letter was not 
 only a refusal, — it was an insult, and written 
 coldly, selfishly, and offensively ; for in it 
 she consented to call occasionally at Langhani 
 Court on my daughters, if she might be guar- 
 anteed from seeing their mother ! To this pro- 
 posal I returned the honestly indignant answer 
 which my heart prompted me to send. No : 
 however great her faults to others, that mother 
 had been true to me ; and I would not have 
 planted another dagger in her already lacerated 
 bosom, even to have purchased for my children 
 a whole life of happiness. 
 
 " Your mother never knew of my applica-
 
 THK FALSE STEP. 105 
 
 tion to Lady Everard, and was therefore spared 
 the twofold mortification of her refusal and 
 proposal. 
 
 '' What is called retributive justice does, 1 
 know, too often fall on woman from the hand 
 that ought to be the most forward in sheltering 
 her from it. Of all the varied species of in- 
 gratitude, this is perhaps the basest and the 
 worst. On this head my conscience acquits 
 me; for in the long and dismal catalogue of 
 gloomy and comfortless days in which I could 
 not render your poor mother happy, I find no 
 accusing record of forgetfulness or unkindness. 
 
 '' While I had been vainly endeavouring to 
 secure the society of Lady Everard, Mrs. Lang- 
 ham, unknown to me, had made a similar but 
 more successful application to Mrs. Crosbie. 
 The letter which promised us a visit from this 
 lady and her daughter, was soon followed by 
 their arrival. The girls were coheiresses, and 
 Mrs. Crosbie herself was a rich widow : it is 
 F 5
 
 106 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 not, therefore, much to be wondered at, that 
 their society was of some use to us; that it 
 occasioned a formal exchange of visits with 
 a few families in the neighbourhood, desirous 
 of forming rich matrimonial alliances. But 
 these visits were few and far between ; and 
 to me, when I once ascertained Mrs. Crosbie's 
 motive for travelling a hundred miles annually 
 to see us, wholly undelightful. I therefore, 
 who valued elegant and intellectual society as 
 one of the highest pleasures of this life, rarely 
 saw any persons in my large and splendid dwell- 
 ing, but such as were in some way or other de- 
 pendent upon me. How often, my dear son, in 
 the midst of my own abundance, did I feel 
 
 ' An exile amid splendid desolation ; 
 A prisoner with infinity surrounded.' 
 
 My agent, who thought his wife honoured by 
 our invitations, gladly brought her to Lang- 
 ham Court. My lawyer also brought his ; and
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 107 
 
 if I had requested the favour, I do not think 
 my apothecary would have refused me the 
 pleasure of receiving his family. Do not mis- 
 take me, Hamond, — I wanted not respect for 
 any of these individuals ; on the contrary, I felt 
 for them a perfect esteem ; and had they come 
 with others, their society would have given me 
 no pain. But, when I reflected that my family 
 was nearly reduced to such and such alone, 
 I found myself sunk in the scale of creation. 
 It was therefore painful for me to receive 
 them ; not, I hope, from any undue share of 
 pride (I mean, of course, pride of birth and 
 station in society), or illiberal and ungentle- 
 manly prejudice, but from the perverting and 
 subduing nature of the circumstances in which 
 I was placed. I endeavoured always to treat 
 them as my equals ; but I also always remem- 
 bered they were my inferiors, with a narrow 
 and despicable tenaciousness for which I loath-
 
 108 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ed myself. Mrs. Crosbie's acquaintance, I think 
 I have said, was valuable to us, (alas ! that it 
 should have been so ! ) for she had that foot- 
 ing in society which we had not. But she had 
 nothing else, as you well know, to recommend 
 her, or even to make her endurable. Deficient in 
 education, in natural feeling, in generosity, and 
 in sympathy, her company was the heaviest pe- 
 nance to which I could be doomed. Her ideas 
 were so limited, that few subjects interested her ; 
 and those few, when you were fortunate enough 
 to discover them, were soon exhausted. Her 
 money was her idol, and I was not long in 
 discovering that to this alone we were in-- 
 debted for her presence — it was less expensive 
 to pay us a long visit in the autumn than to 
 remain at home. This conviction completed 
 my disgust ; yet I was, and still am, obliged to 
 receive Mrs. Crosbie, as if she had conferred an 
 obligation upon me."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 109 
 
 CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 I have lived long enough — 
 
 My way of life is fallen into the sere and yellow leaf. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 MR. LANGHAM'S MS. CONCLUDED. 
 
 " It is now my painful task, my dear Ha- 
 mond, to recall to your remembrance the last 
 days of your beloved mother. You were much 
 with her ; you witnessed her resignation to her 
 bodily sufferings, and were, I believe, sometimes 
 present when her mind was relieved by tears — 
 how slowly, how silently did they chase each 
 other down her pale and grief-worn cheek ! 
 But you saw not, Hamond, in that calm resig-
 
 110 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 nation, the willingness, or rather gladness, of a 
 spirit to be released from earth, joined to the 
 submission of a mind that bowed to merited 
 chastisement — and for her tears; to you, doubt- 
 less, they seemed to flow from the desolating 
 anticipation of leaving all she held most dear. 
 Yet they sprang, my son, from as deep and sin- 
 cere repentance as ever visited a human bosom. 
 Every attention from the children around her 
 awakened the remembrance of those whom she 
 had quitted ; and that affection which had before 
 so fatally slumbered, revived, with that in tense- 
 ness which mothers only know, and which seems 
 to baffle both time and death. It was natural 
 too that, in proportion to the strength of this 
 affection, the sense of having irreparably injured 
 its objects should become more acutely painful. 
 '' Moreover an event had recently occurred 
 which, in itself, was sufficient to create this feel 
 ing, had it not previously existed. Yes, I be-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. Ill 
 
 lieve, she felt that she had lived too long, but 
 that, living or dead, her conduct might prove as 
 great a barrier to the happiness of all her chil- 
 dren as it had already been to that of one — 
 and of one who was certainly not the least de- 
 serving of her love. 
 
 " Unless, however, you have been the confi- 
 dent of Matilda, which I do not suspect you 
 have, this sentence will require explanation ; 
 for it was on that excellent girl that the conse- 
 quences of her mother's loss of reputation fell 
 suddenly and blightingly in the first expansion 
 of her warm and affectionate feelings, both in 
 love and friendship. 
 
 " You cannot have forgotten Henry Milman, 
 at one time so frequently our guest, nor the 
 correspondence so punctually carried on between 
 his sister Ellen and Matilda, which you so often 
 ridiculed. Neither perhaps have you quite 
 banished from your mind the evasive answers
 
 112 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 you received to your repeated inquiries why 
 Henry ceased to visit us, and why Ellen left 
 off writing ? You were then, Hamond, too 
 young to be made acquainted with the real 
 cause, and, on Matilda's account, we were 
 glad to silence you as much as possible. 
 The case is now altered ; — a circumstance so 
 honourable to your sister, and so well calculated 
 to interest his feelings in her behalf, ought not 
 to be withheld from the brother to whom she 
 must hereafter look for protection. 
 
 " Whenever Henry could come to us, he did, 
 and why he came was soon sufficiently palpa- 
 ble. 1 thought too well of him not to rejoice 
 in Matilda's prospect of happiness. It was 
 however some time before he made any decla- 
 ration of his attachment ; and when he did so, 
 with much embarrassment he begged Mrs. 
 Langham's and my consent to his correspond- 
 ing with Matilda, until he could come and
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 113 
 
 claim her as his wife. To this request iny 
 ready assent was given, — I adding, ' Of course 
 Dr. Mihnan is apprised of and approves your 
 intentions.' 
 
 " ' If he knew Matilda, he could not fail to 
 do so."* 
 
 " ' You have not then consulted him ?'' 
 
 " ' Not yet. My father has some peculiar 
 opinions, which, I trust, may be changed by 
 time." 
 
 " The low and tremulous tone in which these 
 words were uttered, — the nervous manner and 
 flushed cheek of the son, fully explained to me 
 the nature of the father's opinions. A sudden 
 light broke in upon my mind, and I felt myself 
 tremble from head to foot at the bare thought 
 of my dear and virtuous child being rejected 
 by any one. But I said calmly to Henry, ' Go 
 to your father, and obtain his sanction before 
 you again ask for mine.'
 
 114 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " The remainder is soon told : he did go, 
 and did return to us ; but, faint as had been 
 the hope within him, its extinction made him 
 an altered being. His face was pale as ashes, 
 and his eye gleamed with the painful light of 
 an over-excited and disappointed mind, as he 
 again, with the eloquence of truth, repeated 
 his declaration of attachment, and his certain 
 conviction, that if Dr. Milman were once to 
 know Matilda, his prejudices would instantly 
 cease. 
 
 " Matilda was present at this interview, and 
 I suffered her to answer for me and for herself. 
 She spoke with more firmness and indignation 
 than I thought she possessed ; but she ad- 
 mitted, she said, of no compromise with any 
 one who thought ill of her parents. She saw 
 that Henry was hurt by her manner and her 
 words ; she therefore extended her hand to- 
 wards him, and begged he would remain with
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 115 
 
 US till the following day. He gladly clung 
 to the hope thus held out to him ; but he 
 saw her not again till the evening, when we 
 found her seated by her mother, performing 
 her usual gentle offices of kindness. 
 
 " I could read in her countenance the strug- 
 gle she had undergone, but it was then per- 
 fectly composed. 
 
 ' Pale, but intrepid ; sad, but unsubdued,' 
 
 she smiled on her lover, as no man could bear 
 to be smiled on by the woman he loved ; for 
 her smile was produced by an effort too power- 
 ful to be natural, and was more melancholy than 
 tears. Milman wept in reply, for he felt that 
 this silent declaration of her own filial feelings 
 was the worst possible augury to his wishes. 
 He was right : the next day they parted, to 
 meet, I am afraid, no more. 
 
 " My dear son, my narrative is now end-
 
 116 THE FALi<E STEF. 
 
 ed ; and I have only to commend to your 
 protection, when I am gone, (and before, if 
 necessary) your two poor sisters. I scarcely 
 think the appeal needful, knowing, as I do, 
 the kindness of your heart. But think, Ha- 
 mond, of their peculiar situation ; bestow upon 
 them double care, and, if possible, a twofold 
 affection. 
 
 '' In circumstances they will be independent, 
 but they will not, on that account, the less 
 need a steady adviser and disinterested friend. 
 Let your strength aid their weakness. Watch 
 over that imbecility which so frequently reigns 
 paramount in a woman's heart, when an over- 
 refined education has surcharged it with a dan- 
 gerous and fatal sensibility. Be to Matilda a 
 friend and brother, but to Jeanette as a fa- 
 ther ! As yet, Hamond, you are ignorant of 
 the intensity of her affections, her intense capa- 
 bility of loving and suffering. Try to under-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. Il7 
 
 stand her, that you may the better be able to 
 advise and guide her. 
 
 " For the sake of my girls, and you, my dear 
 son, I could wish to live some years longer ; 
 but my health does not afford much encou- 
 ragement to hope ; and beyond the desire of 
 being useful to my children, I care little for 
 the extension of ray life. This infancy of being 
 has been to me what the hours of childhood 
 are to many, — a succession of chastisements, 
 penitence, and tears. I erred wilfully and 
 wickedly, and I have suffered where I was 
 most vulnerable. 
 
 " May the faint outline I have traced of the 
 lasting consequences of vice, of the misery it 
 may entail on all most dear to you, and the 
 impossibility of escaping from its trammels, 
 even bv a life of virtue and atonement, be at 
 least of use to you ! Oh, let it strengthen 
 every religious and moral precept I ever sought
 
 118 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 to inculcate ! And may the best blessing of 
 Heaven descend upon you with that of your 
 unhappy father .'"" 
 
 END OF THE MS. OF MR. LANGHAM.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 119 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Thick waters show no images of things : 
 Friends are each other's mirrors, and should be 
 Clearer than crystal or the mountain springs, 
 And free from clouds, design, or flattery. 
 
 Cath. Philips, 1644. 
 
 Hamond Langham read the MS. en- 
 trusted to him by his father with breathless 
 rapidity. His heart often swelled within 
 him, heavy tears fell from his eyes, excla- 
 mations broke from his lips, but he paused 
 not a single second, till he arrived at its close. 
 If the facts and feelings of the many pages he 
 had read had been condensed into one sentence,
 
 120 THE FALSK STEP. 
 
 they could scarcely have made a more entire 
 and irresistible appeal to his understanding 
 and his heart. 
 
 Softened and subdued to the utmost, "•' My 
 poor, poor mother !'' " My dear, kind father !" 
 had broken from him at intervals as he read, 
 with all his former love. Neither the memory 
 of the one, nor the name of the other, were 
 now reproached by him, for his sympathies 
 were awakened, and all his fondest affections 
 returned. 
 
 At one moment he felt a wish to rush into 
 his father's presence ; the next, he resolved on 
 never seeing him again. The idea of a father 
 having so humbled himself to a son, exceed- 
 ingly distressed him, and the longer he reflect- 
 ed on it, the more the distress increased, until 
 it became at length so insupportable, that he 
 wrote a few lines explaining the motives of his 
 departure, and with the earliest dawn quitted
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 121 
 
 Langham Court to rejoin his regiment. 
 During the solitude of his journey, he natu- 
 rally reverted to the random words of Mr. 
 Cooper, which had led to the scene already 
 related on tha preceding day ; and fearing 
 that his friend might feel some needless pain on 
 his account, from the first inn at v/hich he 
 stopped, he wrote to him as follows : — 
 
 " I quitted my home too early this morn- 
 ing, my dear Cooper, to see you before I 
 started — my father will perhaps have told you 
 why I did so. But fearing that you may 
 blame yourself unjustly as the cause of my 
 being made acquainted with events that you 
 well know must be most painful, I write to 
 undeceive you. They had been known to 
 me, my dear Cooper, for some months, and I 
 was only waiting till I could write or speak of 
 them to impart them to you. But they came 
 
 VOL. L G
 
 122 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 upon me so suddenly and unpleasantly as to 
 overcome me, so that I could not, even to you, 
 have introduced or borne any discussion on the 
 subject. Now, that I can speak freely, I am 
 glad to do so ; and the first use I make of my 
 liberty is to ask you, in the name of that 
 friendship which I am persuaded you feel 
 for me, never again to allude to Isabella Cress- 
 ingham but as to a sister whom I am bound 
 by every tie of nature and good feeling to pity 
 and to love. I go yet farther : I ask you fully 
 and firmly to believe me when I tell you, that 
 the hour which revealed to me our sad relation- 
 ship to each other was not given up to selfish 
 considerations, or confined to exclusive regret 
 for her. No, my dear Cooper; the shock was too 
 rude for selfishness: — a mother, a once-adored 
 mother, was violently displaced from my heart ; 
 a father's bright example was tarnished, and his 
 influence shaken to the base ; and the two dear
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 123 
 
 sisters, whose characters you will now have an 
 opportunity of studying, were become as feeble 
 reeds, exposed to the fickle breath of opinion. 
 
 " It was perhaps fortunate for me that my 
 thoughts were thus divided ; for, whenever I 
 did think of Miss Cressingham, a sickness 
 and tremor came over me, that seemed like the 
 forerunners of death. I suffered what those 
 suffer who, having escaped without injury 
 some great but unsuspected danger, are shown 
 how imminent had been their peril. Many 
 have died under such circumstances. I was 
 only ill for a time, and have been long better ; 
 but the stain is a wound! and one that will not 
 close. No, Cooper ; argument is of no avail : 
 the kindness of friendship can in this case do 
 nothing. " Ever yours," &c. 
 
 Hamond pursued his journey, and rejoiced 
 when he was within view of Canterbury, where 
 G 2
 
 124 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 the Dragoon Guards were then stationed. 
 
 "Here, at least," he said, " I shall be at peace till 
 I have acquired more self-command, and recover- 
 ed my former self-possession." With this pleas- 
 ing anticipation in his mind, as he bent forward 
 to reconnoitre, he saw Colonel Hawkins and 
 Captain Lindsay Bathurst watching his ap- 
 proach, and he was soon made to feel that his 
 self-command was indeed to be acquired. For, 
 while he returned the salutations of his Colonel 
 as warmly and affectionately as they were 
 given ; to Captain Bathurst's equally friendly 
 greeting he first bowed stiffly, then blushed, 
 and finally held out his hand, as if ashamed of 
 his manner, and anxious to do away the im- 
 pression it might have made. But Lindsay 
 Bathurst was not of a temperament to wait 
 the after-thought of any man to whom he had 
 offered a civility, and had turned away with 
 a mingled feeling of indignation and disgust.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 125 
 
 Hamond tried to laugh as he drew back his 
 
 unaccepted hand, and said to Col. Hawkins : — 
 
 " It is awkward to be disappointed." 
 
 " Yes ; and so Bathurst perhaps felt, when 
 
 you bowed as stiffly as a dancing-master, while 
 
 his hand was held out to you." 
 
 " Was it ? Upon my honour ! I never saw it." 
 " Then follow him double-quick for two 
 minutes, and overtake him." And in a louder 
 key : " Captain Bathurst, the young Cornet 
 complains that you have not shaken hands 
 with him." 
 
 But Captain Bathurst either did not or 
 would not hear, and the regular strokes of his 
 retreating heels on the pavement of the barrack- 
 yard were the only sounds that met the ears 
 of Hamond and Colonel Hawkins as they 
 stood by each other in somewhat embarrassed 
 silence. Hamond felt it the most, and there- 
 fore broke it.
 
 126 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " We shall meet at dinner, I hope, Colonel." 
 
 " Yes ; and remember your first glass of 
 wine is to be drunk with me, your second with 
 Bathurst." 
 
 Hamond. bowed assent, and retired to his 
 own apartment, where he had ample leisure 
 and solitude to lament the unfortunate contre- 
 temps of the morning, to execrate his own folly, 
 sigh bitterly as he did so, and resolve that no- 
 thing of the kind should ever again occur. He 
 was determined that his conduct at dinner 
 should be unexceptionable ! Captain Bathurst 
 unhappily did not dine at the mess, and the 
 next morning quitted the regiment on leave of 
 absence for three weeks. 
 
 Hamond was not usually superstitious, but 
 on this occasion he felt inclined to believe that 
 the fates had really conspired against him.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 127 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I have found 
 
 That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive 
 Their finer influence from the mind within. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 ''I AM sorry Bathurst is gone," said Major 
 Barnard in his mock-heroic and monotonous 
 manner, " for he is quite a credit to the re- 
 giment. He makes the best devil of any gen- 
 tleman who wears a coat to fight for his king 
 and country ; — sings well, for a man who is 
 not a field-officer, — and dances quite as respect- 
 ably as one could expect a man to do, who
 
 128 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 looks SO much too dignified to dance at all. I 
 like Bathurst." 
 
 Every body present laughed, not only be- 
 cause they habitually did so at every thing 
 uttered by the Major (whose manner was al- 
 ways diverting, however inferior might be the 
 matter of his discourse), but at the strange 
 list of recommendations which he had adduced 
 in favour of his absent friend ; for Captain 
 Bathurst, although he did possess a rich and 
 melodious voice, seldom sang, never danced 
 but in cases of necessity, and was no epicure. 
 It is therefore necessary that he should be more 
 truly delineated. 
 
 Lindsay Bathurst was one of those beings 
 who gain a quick and supreme ascendancy over 
 all with whom they come in contact. And this 
 influence was acquired without any evident 
 effort or anxiety to obtain it. Always refined 
 and elegant in his manners, as it was his nature
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 129 
 
 to be, he was yet on first acquaintance distant, 
 and silent, and almost cold. Like Shakspeare's 
 Wolsey, he was 
 
 " Lofty and sour to those that loved him not ; 
 But to those hearts that sought him, 
 Sweet as summer." 
 
 His early reserve rendered this sweetness not 
 only more remarkable, but more valued. The 
 persons to whom it was displayed considered 
 themselves favoured, or, what was still better, 
 favourites ; and self-love thus construed the na- 
 tural consequence of greater intimacy into an 
 especial mark of condescension or partiality. 
 For Lindsay Bathurst was of high descent, and 
 had both pedigree and family sufficient to jus- 
 tify (if any thing in so imperfect a being as 
 man could justify) as much hauteur of charac- 
 ter and manner as envy, malignity, or disap- 
 pointed vanity ever brought against him. But 
 the fault complained of — for it was a fault — 
 G 5
 
 130 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 sprang rather from a shrinking sensitiveness of 
 character than any undue degree of what is 
 called pride. Still, as he was precisely the sort 
 of person whom the unestablished (no inconsi- 
 derable portion of society) think entitled to the 
 possession of this unloveable property, the ac- 
 cusation was often fastened on him without 
 being removed. Nor was this to be wondered 
 at ; for to many he never unbent, and to 
 some of these, his commanding manner and 
 lofty carriage were more than sufficient confir- 
 mations of their worst suspicions. Others 
 drew yet more satisfactory and convincing evi- 
 dence from the un dazzled gaze which he some- 
 times threw around him, as if careless (because 
 unconscious) of those he looked on. For it is a 
 truth, and a singular one, that uncommon per- 
 sonal advantages, where they do not excite 
 generous admiration, create a degree of awe. 
 But none who had really listened to his con-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 131 
 
 versation ever spoke, even of his pride, with 
 unmingled ill-will ; for none, undeprived of the 
 sense of hearing, could resist the magic of his 
 voice. And his voice ! to say that it was like 
 that of Ossian'^s heroes, " Loud as the storm ;"" 
 or " soft as the summer breeze;" or " like the 
 wind that plays among the reeds ;" or, to find 
 similes of one's own, and declare, that it was 
 deep as the sound of the ocean, yet at times 
 playful and tender as that of a loving child, 
 might seem contradictory, and be pronounced 
 hyperbolical. It would nevertheless be true. 
 No ear that ever listened with delight to the 
 almost endless variety of a perfect human voice 
 could be insensible to his tones. 
 
 Such were the personal qualifications of the 
 man whose absence all, save Hamond, very sin- 
 cerely regretted ; for Captain Bathurst was 
 much beloved and respected by his brother 
 officers. And it may be observed, en passant^
 
 132 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 that wherever this is the case, there must be a 
 tolerable fund of goodness in the heart. 
 
 As for his mind : he who influences the thoughts 
 and actions of other men may be supposed in 
 some degree to soar and keep above them. But 
 this is no more true, than that men are what 
 they seem. Lindsay Bathurst was by no means 
 a hypocrite, had no assumptions, yet was he 
 really far from being as independent in thought 
 and action as he appeared to others to be. 
 
 He could give his little senate laws, yet there 
 was not one of those over whose minds he had 
 the mastery but would have better borne the 
 reprobation of the whole earth than he a pass- 
 ing censure from that portion of it called " par 
 excellence" the world. 
 
 Opinion was to him an " omnipotence,"' — 
 and on its shrine not only was reason sometimes 
 extinguished, but justice and benevolence were 
 added to the sacrifice. It was his misfortune to
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 133 
 
 value it beyond its worth. He had never been 
 able to say to himself " The world is but a 
 word." 
 
 He pitied Hamond Langham from his inmost 
 soul ; but unfortunately before he had become 
 acquainted with his history, before Hamond him- 
 self knew that there was any thing remarkable in 
 it. Captain Bathurst had given such free and 
 unequivocal utterance to sentiments in the pre- 
 sence of Hamond, as were now galling to his 
 memory. He sincerely regretted having uttered 
 words which he was now well aware must be 
 remembered, but delicacy forbade any attempt 
 at explanation.
 
 134 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A thousand fantasies 
 
 Begin to throng into my memory. Com us. 
 
 It was an oversight in Mr. Langham to let 
 his son leave his home in ignorance of his mo- 
 ther's former name, and uninformed of her con- 
 nexions. Allusion has been already made to his 
 having in consequence associated frequently Avith 
 a daughter of his mother by Mr. Cressingham. 
 He had parted from her at Rome to join his regi- 
 ment, and was only awaiting her return to Eng- 
 land, to declare the attachment which he had 
 unfortunately encouraged. But on this part 
 of his history it is neither desirable nor neces-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 135 
 
 sary to dwell. We pass, therefore, on to the 
 conversation which Captain Bathurst recollected 
 with regret, and Hamond with a feeling deeper 
 than that of offence, and which he vainly endea- 
 voured to overcome. 
 
 The young men, with others of the regiment, 
 had attended a public ball together, and on the 
 folloAving day the conversation naturally fell on 
 the gay scene of the preceding evening. The 
 unusual number of strangers was noticed. 
 And the question of who were beauties, and 
 who were frights, (for in the present day there 
 is no middle class of personal charms,) was 
 discussed much in the same terms, and with 
 the same opposition of tastes, usually exhibited 
 on similar occasions — no two agreeing on the 
 preeminence of any one woman, till Captain 
 Bathurst and Major Barnard, after exhibiting 
 many varieties of opinion, at length admitted 
 that Miss Fanny Cressingham, in figure and
 
 136 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 face, was superior to most, if not to all, who 
 were present. 
 
 Hamond repeated the name — " Cressing- 
 ham !"" but aware of his emotion, in order to 
 cover it, added, " I did not know there was such 
 a person in the room." 
 
 " She is, I conclude, one of the Cressing- 
 hams of Wood Side,'' said Captain Bathurst. 
 
 " Yes ; and related to my friend Mrs. Har- 
 graves, with v/hom she was last night," replied 
 Major Barnard. " Her mother, you are aware, 
 ran off with somebody many years ago." 
 
 " Indeed ! I was not aware of this. Yet 
 these girls are marrying well, I understand," 
 said Captain Bathurst. 
 
 " That is not surprising, I think," interrupt- 
 ed Hamond, " for the propriety of their con- 
 duct would, I should imagine, efface the stigma 
 left upon them by their mother — at least, with 
 all liberal minds."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 137 
 
 " Then / am not one of those liberal minds, 
 Mr. Langham,"" said Captain Bathurst ; "for 
 were the lady in question ten times as rich as 
 she is beautiful, and as highly born as she is 
 both— if I loved her perfections as fondly and 
 madly as man could love, without an unsullied 
 name for her dower, she should never be my 
 wife." 
 
 Hamond had listened with intensity of atten- 
 tion to this reply of Captain Bathursf s, and, 
 without knowing why, felt piqued. Before 
 he could make any answer, Major Barnard 
 resumed. 
 
 " It is of little consequence, Bathurst ; for 
 this Miss Cressingham is going to be married 
 immediately, and I, for one, am heartily glad 
 of it." 
 
 " And so am I ; and so I must be," said 
 Hamond, " so long as I do not wish the inno- 
 cent to suffer for the guilty."
 
 138 THE FAL8B STEP. 
 
 Captain Bathurst turned his large dark eyes 
 on Hamond when he ceased to speak, as if to 
 say, " In what have I offended ? Miss Cres- 
 singham can be nothing to you, for you con- 
 fessed you knew not of her presence." But 
 not quite approving the gaze that met his own, 
 he said very quietly, " I am left to infer, I 
 think, Mr. Langham, that you consider the sen- 
 timents I have ventured to express with regard 
 to the daughters of a divorcee condemnable." 
 He paused ; but Hamond making no reply, he 
 continued : " You would perhaps imagine it 
 better that the world should charitably over- 
 look the lapses of a guilty mother, for the sake 
 of her innocent offspring." 
 
 Hamond thought of Isabella Cressingham, 
 and every feeling of his soul was roused. He 
 spoke with energy as he replied : 
 
 " I would have them neither overlooked nor 
 forgotten, Captain Bathurst. Let the woman
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 139 
 
 who voluntarily throws herself from society 
 suffer the just chastisement of exclusion ; — but 
 for her children ! if the sins of the mother must 
 be visited upon them, let the punishment come 
 from Heaven and not from man. By man 
 let them be considered as doubly orphans — 
 for to them that mother has ceased to be, as 
 entirely as if she were in her grave." 
 
 These words were uttered with so much real 
 and deep feeling, that even Captain Bathurst 
 was softened by them, and he replied in a 
 manner as gentle and conciliating as possible — 
 
 " There may certainly be some plea for 
 children who, like the Miss Cressinghams, were 
 abandoned by their mother ; but the same 
 argument will scarcely hold, Mr. Langham, in 
 favour of those she may afterwards have — her 
 second family ; — the inculcation of their prin- 
 ciples and the formation of their manners must 
 be left to her."
 
 140 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Hamond was unprepared for this, — it was a 
 subject on which he had never thought, and it 
 being no longer the cause of Isabella, he was 
 only anxious to get rid of the question. He 
 therefore answered Captain Bathurst briefly by 
 assenting to the truth of what he had said, and 
 the discussion ended. Hamond gladly retreat- 
 ed to his own apartment as soon as he could 
 escape unobserved. 
 
 The crowd of sensations which had rush- 
 ed upon his mind had nearly exhausted it. 
 When he reached his own room, he felt irrita- 
 ted, breathless, and fatigued, with no very dis- 
 tinct consciousness of what was passing in his 
 heart, except displeasure and indignation against 
 Captain Bathurst. Every word which had 
 been uttered seemed disagreeably echoed in his 
 mind, and he mused upon what had passed till 
 he considered Isabella Cressingham an injured 
 being, — therefore pitiable, and consequently a 
 greater claimant on his love.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 141 
 
 '' No,"" he said, after musing some time and 
 flattering himself that he had become quite 
 calm ; "let what will happen, Bathurst's 
 opinions shall at least have no influence either 
 on my conduct or my feelings." 
 
 He was saved from farther meditation on 
 the subject by Colonel Hawkins bursting in- 
 to his room and exclaiming, " For Heaven's 
 sake ! Langham, what is it that I hear ? Are 
 you, or are you not, attached to a Miss Cress- 
 ingham ? Do you, or do you not, know who 
 you are ?"
 
 142 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Oh ! aching time ! oh ! moments big as years '. 
 All as ye pass, swell out the monstrous truth, 
 And press it so upon our weary griefs, 
 That unbelief has not a space to breathe. 
 
 Keats. 
 
 Colonel Hawkins had been dining at the 
 house of a friend recently returned from Italy, 
 who, having seen a good deal of Hamond 
 when he was at Rome, found great pleasure in 
 speaking of him and asking questions respect- 
 ing him. 
 
 Few themes could be more agreeable to 
 Colonel Hawkins, who was a warm-hearted man,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 143 
 
 and particularly attached to Hamond. He 
 entered on it, accordingly, in no very measured 
 terms, till it became his turn to listen both with 
 sorrow and surprise. For his friend spoke of 
 his marked attentions to Miss Cressingham at 
 Rome and Florence, and of his own conviction 
 that Hamond was then as ignorant in what 
 relation he stood to the lady as the lady herself 
 of her connection with him, — Mr. Langham and 
 his tutor having both for a time assumed tra- 
 velling names. 
 
 Colonel Hawkins had heard before of this 
 change of name, and of its having been adopted 
 from necessity. But no word had reached him 
 of the consequence it had entailed in intro- 
 ducing Hamond to a part of his mother's fa- 
 mily. He inquired of his friend the Christian 
 name of the Miss Cressingham he alluded to, 
 and learned that it was ^' Isabella," and he re- 
 collected that this was the name always given
 
 144 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 by Hamond when a health to one far away was 
 exacted from him. 
 
 This coincidence was sufficient to render a 
 friend like the Colonel uneasy : he hastened 
 home and sought Hamond at the mess, where 
 he expected to find him, with the intention of 
 seeking a private interview with him. Hamond 
 had before this quitted the table ; and Captain 
 Bathurst, in reply to the Colonel's inquiry of 
 " what had caused his absence," briefly detailed 
 the conversation that had been held, and con- 
 cluding, " I really fear that I have, though, I am 
 sure, most unintentionally, offended Langham." 
 
 "See me in the morning before you see him," 
 said the Colonel, and, too full of doubt and 
 apprehension to consider what would be the 
 best mode of proceeding, he broke on Hamond's 
 solitude in the manner already related. 
 
 Hamond was startled by the abrupt entrance 
 and agitated yet determined manner of his
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 145 
 
 Colonel. He however answered his questions 
 rapidly, and put others in his turn. The 
 Colonel, once satisfied of his young friend's 
 unsuspecting ignorance of his mother's conduct, 
 grew immediately tranquil. His voice softened 
 as he said, " No wound that my trusty sword 
 has inflicted in battle was ever so painful as 
 that which my words must now inflict on you, 
 Langham." He paused for a moment ; but 
 Hamond made no comment. He arose from 
 his seat, and bent forward as if prepared and 
 anxious to hear the evil tidings thus ominously 
 prefaced. His close-pressed lips and feai'less 
 eye betokened a mind aroused and firm even to 
 desperation, at least for the moment. Colonel 
 Hawkins, at one glance, read that he had not 
 spoken in vain, and proceeded to tell Hamond 
 as delicately as such a history could be told, 
 that the mother of Isabella Cressingham was 
 also his own. 
 
 VOL. L H
 
 146 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " Impossible ! — it cannot be true — you must 
 have been misinformed. Who told you?" 
 
 The Colonel replied not, and his silence 
 brought the conviction his words had failed to 
 produce. 
 
 Hamond remained a few minutes silent, then 
 buried his face in his hands, exclaiming, — 
 " Leave me ! leave me V 
 
 The Colonel was too considerate not to do so, 
 and Hamond was left alone to struggle with 
 the deepest grief he had ever yet known. 
 
 To no creature, either verbally or by letter, 
 did he reveal what he suffered in struggling not 
 to be indignant against his father, or unkind to 
 the memory of his mother, or what he felt for 
 his poor sisters. As he said in his letter 
 to INIr. Cooper, the shock made him ill. For 
 some weeks he was confined to his room, and 
 for many more he condemned himself to im- 
 prisonment in it, from the mere dread of
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 14T 
 
 hearing in casual conversation any word that 
 might rankle in his cureless wound. When at 
 length, persuaded by Colonel Hawkins, he did 
 emerge, he found himself so nervously appre- 
 hensive of what might occur, so impetuously 
 irritable in all that he did, that he at length 
 gladly took shelter at Langham Court. 
 
 Captain Bathurst was unremitting in his 
 attentions to Hamond during his illness, and 
 when he was well enough to receive visits, stu- 
 diously sought to conciliate him. Hamond was 
 sensible of this, and tried to feel grateful, but 
 could not. We can as little command our own 
 gratitude as that of others ; and all Hamond's 
 feelings revolted from Captain Bathurst, while 
 his judgment spoke in his favour. It is possi- 
 ble that the unsuccessful efforts which he 
 made to become more reasonable, tended to 
 aggravate rather than subdue the prejudice he 
 was harbouring. 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Under grief, vexations, or disappointments, 
 we, most of us, choose some nucleus round 
 which our indignation or repining chiefly ga- 
 thers, and on which we most frequently bestow 
 those mental invectives which, if uttered, could 
 not but be eloquent, because they are for the 
 most part deeply felt. Hamond, when suffer- 
 ing from the misery of knowing his mother's 
 history, bewailed every part of it ; but nothing 
 in it, nothing he anticipated as likely to accrue 
 from it, was half so bitter as Lindsay Bathursfs 
 illiberal opinions ! His indignation on this head 
 was as a ceaseless and silent torrent, making its 
 way unobserved, till its swelling waters were 
 almost beyond control.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Hamond's birthday, the anniversary of his 
 twenty-first year, was fast approaching. Whe- 
 ther, under the influence of happier feelings, he 
 would have rejoiced at this, is not known. He 
 certainly now dreaded it, for his father had 
 resolved on celebrating it by every festivity 
 which is thought most indicative of the joy 
 experienced on such occasions. Mr. Langham, 
 in doing this, had more in view than the mere 
 celebration of his son's coming of age. There 
 were many respectable families in the county,
 
 150 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 who, he considered, had been withheld by 
 motives of delicacy from prosecuting a farther 
 intimacy with himself and his daughters than 
 that which arises from a formal exchange of 
 calls. These he wished to collect around him, 
 and it was not likely that invitations accom- 
 panied by rumours of " races in the park,"' — 
 " dinner to the tenants," — '' fireworks," " ama- 
 teur concerts and ball,"" should be generally re- 
 jected. They were not; and Matilda began to 
 feel some degree of rational apprehension that, 
 notwithstanding all her father's careful prepa- 
 rations, there would be too many guests. 
 
 Hamond was not informed of this conspiracy 
 against his peace, till too late to prevent its be- 
 ing put in execution ; the same post conveying 
 an invitation to Colonel Hawkins and the offi- 
 cers of the regiment. 
 
 '' A good opportunity, Langham, for you to 
 play the civil to all of us: we cannot all go,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 151 
 
 certainly, but you may politely hope that each 
 will;' 
 
 " I hope you will, beyond a doubt, Colonel." 
 
 " Oh, certainly ; I never thought of not 
 going; but I want you to tell Bathurst that 
 you hope he will also go. He came back, you 
 know, last night."" 
 
 " Bathurst ! — I am afraid, my dear Colonel, 
 he would think I meant to insult him." 
 
 " Insult ! nonsense ! — The invitation comes 
 from your father, and must be seconded by you. 
 All I ask, therefore, from you is, a little addi- 
 tional courtesy to him — it would, I think, my 
 good fellow," added the Colonel, purposely 
 looking from Hamond and retreating as he 
 spoke, " better help to reconcile you to each 
 other, than any other measure." 
 
 Hamond felt himself redden to the temples 
 when the proposition was made to him ; but as 
 Colonel Hawkins left him before he could pro-
 
 152 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 nounce a refusal, he felt that the suggestion 
 must not be disregarded. " Yet/' he murmured 
 to himself, " I would rather, if the choice were 
 granted me, take the drum-major — the rub-a- 
 dub of the one being infinitely more pleasing to 
 me than the logic of the other:" — these words 
 however had no sooner escaped him than he felt 
 ashamed of his own weakness and injustice. 
 This pang of conscience was brief but sincere, 
 and occasioned a great and sudden change in 
 
 his feelings " Yes! I will ask, nay, intreat 
 
 Lindsay Bathurst, should it be needful, if it be 
 only to punish my own weak and despicable 
 heart." 
 
 And he proceeded, on the instant, to fulfil 
 his resolve. His execution of it was perhaps 
 in some degree aided by his thoughts recurring 
 to his sisters, as he walked from his own to 
 Captain Bathurst's apartments. " They," he 
 said, " come quite under his ban ; and it is
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 153 
 
 well that he should see I do not fear intro- 
 ducing them, even to him." 
 
 Pride has been called the dominant sin of 
 intellect ; it might also have been termed the 
 master-key of the affections, for it too fre- 
 quently happens, that all of our internal life 
 bows down before it. The portion that entered 
 into Hamond's mind banished every unpleasant 
 thought from his memory, and enabled him, 
 in an hospitable and elegant manner, to hope 
 Captain Bathurst would " do him the honour 
 of accepting his father's invitation.'" 
 
 Captain Bathurst was greatly astonished ; but 
 much pleased. His answer was prompt and frank. 
 
 " I shall be too happy, Langham, to avail 
 myself of this opportunity of becoming ac- 
 quainted with your family, and with you too," 
 he added, as he observed the incredulous ex- 
 pression of Hamond's countenance, " for we 
 have seen astonishingly little of each other."" 
 H 5
 
 154 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " Both being blessed, it would seem, with 
 truant dispositions," replied Haraond, " as far 
 as relates to our military duties ;" and the con- 
 versation then fell on other matters. 
 
 Captain Bathurst had so sincerely regretted 
 his late conversation with Hamond, in which he 
 had given such free utterance to his opinions 
 when ignorant of his young friend's peculiar 
 position, that he rejoiced exceedingly in the 
 prospect held out to him of making a practical' 
 amende for his words, without retracting his 
 sentiments.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 155 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
 
 An instant sunshine through the heart, 
 
 As if the soul that minute caught 
 
 Some treasure it through life had sought ; 
 
 As if the very lips and eyes 
 
 Predestined to have all our sighs 
 
 And never be forgot again. 
 
 Sparkled and spoke before us then ! 
 
 Moore. 
 
 It is a great advantage to be spoken ill of, 
 though men in general do not so consider it. 
 
 Lindsay Bathurst arrived at Langham Court 
 two days after Hamond had represented him as 
 somewhat fastidious and decidedly disagreeable, 
 after Matilda had said it was a pity he had
 
 156 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 been invited, and Jeannette had pronounced it 
 provoking. The impression which he was by 
 nature calculated to make, was from these cir- 
 cumstances considerably heightened. He came, 
 with a countenance beaming with animation and 
 intellect ; and, as if to put Hamond's reports 
 more entirely to shame, he entirely abandoned, 
 on this occasion, that reserve of manner which 
 sometimes gave so much umbrage to strangers. 
 
 Mr. Langham wondered what Hamond could 
 find objectionable in him. Matilda carefully 
 examined his countenance, and it was a satis- 
 faction to her sisterly feelings to discover, (or 
 to imagine she discovered) in an occasional curl 
 of his lip when he smiled, the outward and 
 visible sign of the exclusiveness and illiberality 
 ascribed to him. 
 
 Jeannette was not at home when he arrived, 
 and was only introduced to him a few minutes 
 before dinner.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 157 
 
 Her graceful movements, her exquisite beau- 
 ty, the rich and sudden suffusion of her sweet 
 countenance, could scarcely have passed unob- 
 served by any one. To Bathurst, unprepared 
 as he was to see any thing in Jeannette Lang- 
 ham beyond the attraction of a debutante, with 
 perhaps the prettiness of youth, she seemed 
 little less than angelic. He had never before 
 found it difficult to address women of any 
 age or station. But it seemed to him a species 
 of profanation, after he had once looked at 
 Jeannette, to address to her the common nothings 
 of every- day life. It was his good fortune 
 to sit next to her at dinner, and her genuine 
 timidity of manner, which he could see she was 
 endeavouring to overcome, not only restored 
 him to the ease of self-possession, but inspired 
 him with that strong desire to please which 
 rarely fails of success. In a very low and pe- 
 culiarly sweet voice, he began by asking ques-
 
 158 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tions respecting such of her father's guests 
 as he was unacquainted with, and making com- 
 ments on those whom he knew. 
 
 " The lady sitting next my friend Langham 
 is, I think, Lady Everard. She is much altered 
 since I last saw her, and not for the better: 
 even then she had arrived at " le revers de la 
 colline de la beaute." 
 
 " It is Lady Everard ; but you must take 
 care not to let her know on which side of the 
 hill you think she stands." 
 
 " You mean, that she has not learned how 
 to grow old gracefully .''" 
 
 " No ; I mean,"" said Jeannette playfully, 
 " that she is still a very handsome woman, and 
 is right so to consider herself." 
 
 " Why, perhaps she is. I wish I could 
 so consider her. Report, however, whispers, 
 that she is more a rival than a chaperone to 
 her daughters. They too are here, I think, 
 Miss Langham .?"
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 159 
 
 " Yes ; and one of them very near you. 
 Pray, take care I" 
 
 To avoid suspicion, I will ask her to take 
 wine with me. — " Lady Mary Milner, may I 
 have the honour ?" &c. &c. 
 
 Bathurst's spirits were rapidly rising, for he 
 felt that his companion was pleased with him. 
 She, on her part, was conversing, for the first 
 time in her life, with a stranger, not only with- 
 out embarrassment, but with delight. When 
 the spirits are thus attuned, it matters little 
 what is talked of. Every subject has its 
 charm ; and they who have the most readily 
 pronounced conversation " le sel de tous les 
 plaisirs," have perhaps the most frequently 
 found, upon analysis, that the essence of the 
 charm lay in the conviction that they them- 
 selves were interesting to or respected by their 
 colloquists. 
 
 From time to time, Captain Bathurst sus- 
 pended his sotto voce dialogue with Jeannette,
 
 160 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 to address, or listen to others, but as frequently 
 renewed it after the momentary interruption. 
 
 " Miss Sherrard, I think you said, was fas- 
 cinating. Is she witty ? Sprightly I see she 
 is, — and she seems to have more attentive lis- 
 teners than any body ; — that is always a good 
 
 6i 
 
 And a true, in this instance," said Jean- 
 nette : " you will find her quick, clever, ready 
 with a humour of her own, w^hich, if it is 
 not wit, will entertain you quite as much. 
 People who judge by line and rule think her 
 conceited.'*'' 
 
 " And is she not ?" 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " You may perhaps be partial." 
 
 " No ; others are illiberal."" 
 
 " What should make them so ?" 
 
 " Her success." 
 
 " On what is it founded ?"
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 161 
 
 " Oh ! that I must leave you to discover ; 
 for I scarcely yet know myself, unless it is that 
 she tells more truth than other people." 
 
 " That is being very bold, — I am afraid I 
 shall not like your Miss Sherrard.*" 
 
 " I think," said Jeannette, but very softly, 
 " that you must, in spite of yourself." 
 
 " But I do not like eccentrics. Miss Lang- 
 ham — an eccentric woman is invariably an 
 Amazon, both in body and mind." 
 
 " That my poor friend can only be so in 
 mind. Captain Bathurst, I think, you must im- 
 mediately allow." 
 
 " I readily do; for, with the exception of her 
 eyes, her appearance is feminine." 
 
 " And can you except her eyes ? — Oh ! 
 Captain Bathurst ! all the world admires her 
 eyes !" 
 
 " In a man's head, so perhaps should I ; 
 they are eyes fit for a hero, a bandit of Salva-
 
 162 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tor Rosa, or a brigand of Pinelli ; — their lids 
 never fall — they look as if they could not be 
 daunted." 
 
 Jeannette at this moment exchanged smiles 
 with her friend. 
 
 '' Acknowledge at least that they can speak." 
 
 " I do — daggers V 
 
 Jeannette held up her hand in token of dis- 
 sent, and Bathurst continued : 
 
 " I would have a woman, and especially a 
 young woman, be to the mind as to the eye, 
 all softness. I would have her look like Ariel, 
 as if she could dissolve into thin air ; and her 
 look should be but typical of her mind and 
 heart. Do you not agree with me .?" 
 
 Jeannette, who felt that she at least was made 
 of sterner stuff, answered smilingly but firmly, 
 " No, I cannot." 
 
 Lindsay Bathurst smiled too, but incredu- 
 lously, for Jeannette appeared to him at that
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 163 
 
 moment exactly the being he had described; 
 and long, very long did she exist to his imagi- 
 nation as he had thus painted her. 
 
 It is thus that we frequently create an ima- 
 ginary good, and mould what we meet with to 
 its likeness. How often is reality clothed in a 
 fiction of our own creation, and the visible 
 substance rejected for the impalpable shadow ! 
 
 But this error, though it did injustice to 
 the character of Jeannette, did no injury to the 
 impression she was making on the mind of Cap- 
 tain Bathurst ; and it is possible, if neither had 
 met the other again, this dinner would have 
 always been an agreeable recollection to both. 
 
 The last person they discussed was Mrs. 
 Crosbie, who attracted their attention by ex- 
 claiming, in a tone above that of every other 
 speaker — "La! now, sure. Major Barnard, 
 you must be mistaken !" 
 
 Major Barnard, with praiseworthy serious-
 
 164 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ness, explained. He had vainly attempted to 
 rectify Mrs. Crosbie's notion of wasps being old 
 bees, by assuring her that tjhey were young 
 hornets. 
 
 Every body, except the Miss Crosbies, laugh- 
 ed ; and Jeannette, in reply to Captain Ba- 
 thurst's " Very good !" said, 
 
 " I wish she would not thus expose herself." 
 
 "Is Mrs. Crosbie, then, in the habit of say- 
 ing things so very amusing .?" 
 
 " Unfortunately she is." 
 
 " By the by, I think I have heard of her — 
 was it not this same intelligent person who dis- 
 covered the Black Knight in Ivanhoe to be the 
 Duke of Wellington?" 
 
 •' Oh ! very likely ; for she affects literature." 
 
 " And talks of her house in Grosvenor Squaw, 
 and of her son as a most astonishing buoi/.'" 
 
 " Why, you must have certainly met her 
 before, Captain Bathurst."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 165 
 
 " I find, on a second survey of her features, 
 that I have had that divertissement. In point 
 of amusement, she is worth all the world beside, 
 — yet, I confess, I had forgotten her. Alas ! 
 and alas! Miss Langham, your sister is rising — 
 must you go? I have but this consolation, 
 that— 
 
 " Other strains of woe, that now seem woe, 
 Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so."
 
 166 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Love framed with mirth, a gay fantastic sound. 
 
 Collins. 
 
 My soul would drink those echoes. O that I were 
 
 The viewless spirit of a lonely sound, 
 
 A living voice, a breathing harmony, 
 
 A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying 
 
 With the blest tone that made me. Manfred. 
 
 In the evening, charades were acted, a qua- 
 drille was danced, piquet, ecarte, and chess were 
 played; Miss Langham sang duets with her 
 brother and with Captain Bathurst; and Jean- 
 nette, at the request of her father, accompanied 
 herself on the guitar to a little Spanish air,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 167 
 
 which he much loved. She sang the English 
 words to it, beginning, 
 
 " Toll not the bell of death for me when I am dead." 
 There is a pathos in the melody, when sung even 
 indifferently, irresistible to lovers of plaintive 
 music. But Jeannette did it ample justice. It 
 was an old favourite of her own. She had sung 
 it, till to herself every line was fraught with more 
 of meaning than the poet gave. It was this ad- 
 ditional interpretation of her own that enabled 
 her to touch so deeply the feelings of those who 
 listened. Many thanked, many applauded, 
 some flattered her ; but her imagination was for 
 the moment raised beyond the reach of plaudits 
 or flattery. Yet a few minutes afterwards, 
 when she received a low bow of acknowledg- 
 ment from Captain Bathurst, she felt a flutter 
 of pleasure at her heart utterly at war with her 
 previous train of pensive meditation. She was 
 conscious of it, and strove to expel the agree-
 
 168 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 able intruder. The endeavour gave a deeper 
 colouring to her cheek, a richer lustre to her 
 eyes. They were radiant with sensibility and 
 with happiness ; for oh ! let none deny it, there 
 are passing moments, owing indeed their charm 
 to vanity, that do impart happiness — brief in- 
 deed, but still happiness, and delightful, if not 
 exquisite. 
 
 Mr. Langham accidentally looked towards 
 her, as her retreating blush mat;c her appear to 
 be turning pale from heat. 
 
 " Jeannette, my love, this room is, I fear, too 
 warm for you." 
 
 " No ; these heavy flowers oppress me," she 
 said, removing at the same time from her fore- 
 head a white rose- wreath that was pressing on 
 her brow. 
 
 A rose-wreath, more or less, would be to 
 most people of slight importance, — they would 
 look neither better with, nor worse without it ;
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 169 
 
 but to real beauty every thing seems of mo- 
 ment. Lindsay Bathurst gazed on Jeannette, 
 now that her fair forehead was exposed to view, 
 as if he had beheld her for the first time. 
 Perfect as he had before considered her, she 
 seemed now a changed, and even a more beau- 
 tiful being than before. 
 
 " Another, yet the same,'"" broke from him 
 half unconsciously, and met the ear of Mr. 
 Langham, who had a good memory, and loved 
 quotation. To quote appositely, and with- 
 out pedantry, always secured his favour as 
 well as his attention ; and he maintained, that 
 the power to do so was an elegant species of 
 wit. Quotation, he said, was not only the parole 
 of the literary world, but of refined life. In 
 the simplest conversation he himself, from the 
 corners of his memory, would bring out " beau- 
 tiful old rhyme," either to grace or elevate his 
 subject, as it might happen. He repeated to 
 
 VOL. 1. 1
 
 170 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Jeannette the line which had pleased him ; and 
 Captain Bathurst, hearing that he did so, came 
 towards them. 
 
 " I have been longing," he said to Jeannette, 
 " to tell you how much I like your singing." 
 
 '' Do you, indeed, admire that melancholy 
 song ? I love it much, but that is from long 
 acquaintance and old associations." 
 
 " And I too love it much, though it reduced 
 me from an excess of good spirits to something 
 like depression." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Jeannette, laughing. 
 
 " Nay, you must neither laugh nor be sorry. 
 I had been quaffing largely of the opiate of 
 delusion ; — I had been for some hours dreaming 
 of earth as it is not, filled with undying beauty, 
 canopied with cloudless skies, &c. &c. ; but I do 
 not mean to trouble you with all I thought." 
 
 '' Oh ! pray do." 
 
 " No — I dare not; for you would regret.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 171 
 
 though I do not, that your voice, in such an 
 hour as this, should have made me think of 
 sorrow, grief, bitterness, and death.*" 
 
 " If you dislike such emotions, which I con- 
 fess, thus vaguely felt, are to me a pleasure, I 
 must avoid singing that song to you again." 
 
 " On the contrary, if I might, I would say, 
 sing it for ever, — it fills all my heart, and does 
 me good." 
 
 " Had you," said Jeannette timidly, " ever 
 heard it before .p" 
 
 " Never ! but, like Jessica, I am always sad 
 when I do hear sweet music. I have more- 
 over a creed of my own with regard to the in- 
 fluence of sweet sounds, which ought to be new 
 to us, yet are not so. Did you never. Miss 
 Langham, feel intimately acquainted with 
 strains heard for the first time ?" 
 
 " Often, very often, the wild, irregular, and 
 long-drawn tones of the ^olian harp have 
 I 2
 
 172 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 made me feel it, as well as every gradation 
 of studied composition, from the simplest melo- 
 dies to the most complicated harmony. How 
 do you account for it ?''"' 
 
 " In what the world would call a roman- 
 tic and irrational manner; but I see I must 
 not enter on it to-night, for every body is 
 departing. — Good night — good night V 
 
 Jeannette, when alone with Matilda, felt 
 inclined to communicate to her some of her 
 many thoughts, but knew not how to com- 
 mence. Her mind was in a state of extreme 
 activity, and a single word could have inclined 
 her to entire confidence or to perfect reserve. 
 
 Matilda observed carelessly, " This Lindsay 
 Bathurst is not quite so disagreeable as I ex- 
 pected to find him.'*"' 
 
 " No, not quite, I think," said Jeannette, in 
 reply. " Good night, dear Matilda, for I am 
 tired to death."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 173 
 
 And feeling ashamed to praise any one of 
 whom her sister spoke so slightingly, Jeannette 
 quickly departed to her own room, lest she 
 should give utterance to her own very different 
 impressions. 
 
 Her earliest opinions of this young man 
 remaining untold, very possibly increased that 
 reserve, which it is the nature of all deep 
 feeling to encourage, and which Jeannette so 
 uniformly preserved towards Matilda, in the 
 progress of her acquaintance with him.
 
 174 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Le bruit des paroles couvre souvent la voix de con- 
 science. Stael. 
 
 Uninterrupted pleasure, as many have 
 felt to their cost, and acknowledged for the 
 benefit of others, is calculated to make time 
 pass heavily and slowly. The demon Ennui, 
 when he emerges from the caves of sloth, 
 rushes to scenes of mere amusement, but soon 
 ceases to find enjoyment. Some of Mr. Lang- 
 ham's guests, in despite of all that had been 
 done, and all that was going to be done, began 
 to feel the minutes lengthening into hours ;
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 175 
 
 yet these were few, and, in compensation, 
 with others the hours seemed melted into 
 moments : — 
 
 " Those fine nets which oft we woven see 
 
 Of scorched dew, do not in the air more lightly flee/^ 
 
 than fled those bright and golden days. To 
 Jeannette they were as visions, and in some de- 
 gree entranced by them, she thought every one 
 around her as happy as herself. Hamond^s 
 look of care and anxiety was no longer observed 
 by her ; and when he one day said, " Youi* 
 good spirits, Jeannette, make me afraid of what 
 you may say or do," she did not for one moment 
 suspect him of being serious. 
 
 Yet she believed Matilda to be perfectly in 
 earnest when she admonished her to avoid 
 being so much with Captain Bathurst, because 
 Hamond did not like him. 
 
 Jeannette reddened to the temples, and said
 
 176 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 with quickness, " Can Hamond's prejudice 
 lead him so far ?'' But instantly checking 
 herself, she added : " It is not very easy, my 
 dear Matilda, to avoid any one who is staying 
 in the house with us."" 
 
 " No, not very, certainly, Jeannette; but there 
 is an old adage, of a will and a way, in which I 
 have long had some faith."'"' Jeannette made no 
 reply, but a sudden blush passed across her 
 cheek, and it seemed to Matilda that she 
 thought her not avoiding Captain Bathurst 
 was no contradiction of the adage. 
 
 Lindsay Bathurst, in the mean time, had 
 learned to love her. His early and unbounded 
 admiration of her personal attractions had met 
 with no check in the course of his close and 
 constant observation of her manners to others or 
 to himself. He had discovered nothing either 
 in her heart or mind to put her beauties " to the 
 foil," or to impair her graces. His ear and eye
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 177 
 
 were ever occupied with her, or about her, and 
 so intently, that he himself suspected not the 
 coil he was winding round himself. The at- 
 tentions he had first paid to both sisters, from 
 a wish of pleasing Hamond, and from feeling 
 that he had done them wrong, soon assumed 
 towards Jeannette all the watchfulness of 
 passion. 
 
 He established an intimacy with Miss Sher- 
 rard, without either admiring or liking her, 
 because he could talk of Jeannette more to her 
 than to others. Miss Sherrard soon apprised 
 Jeannette of her conquest. She disclaimed, but 
 listened; denied, but always believed. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said her friend, " I am 
 glad you are so sceptical, for my brother will 
 be here to-morrow, and I fully mean you to 
 fall desperately in love with him !" 
 
 " Does Sir William really come to-morrow ?" 
 said Jeannette mechanically. 
 I 5
 
 178 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " Yes, really ; and if when you have seen 
 more of him you speak in as cold and indif- 
 ferent a tone as you now do, Jeannette, I shall 
 pronounce you more or less than woman." 
 
 " Did I speak coldly ? It was more than 
 rude — forgive me, Katherine." 
 
 " Worse and worse,— thinking of me instead 
 of him — when you know he admires you, and 
 know also that he is as handsome as Apollo." 
 
 " Without wishing to take from Sir William 
 Sherrard's merits, my dear Katherine, — I really 
 do not care for beauty." 
 
 " So every body says, Jeannette, and so no- 
 body thinks — witness the very handsome wives 
 generally chosen by those men who profess to 
 think beauty a doubtful good, — a perishable 
 flower, &c." 
 
 *' Ah ! men perhaps ; but I, Katherine, am 
 speaking as a woman." 
 
 " Then, my dear, as a woman, explain to me,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 179 
 
 if you please, why Mr. Grant, that bachelor 
 ' malgre lui,' should have been so repeatedly 
 refused ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I was not speaking of extreme ugli- 
 ness." 
 
 " Hush, Jeannette ! I do not allow that it is 
 extreme. Mr. Grant is now tendering his ad- 
 dresses to me, and I am not certain that I shall 
 not prove myself superior to vulgar prejudice 
 and accept them." 
 
 Jeannette started in astonishment. 
 
 " Nay, Katherine, you cannot mean it !" 
 
 Miss Sherrard sighed as she answered, " I 
 am afraid I do ;" and after a pause, she conti- 
 nued, as if in justification, though none was re- 
 quired, Jeannette being too much shocked to 
 make any comment, — " My brother will certain- 
 ly marry ; when he does, I shall have no home — 
 ' Voila, ma Jeannette, le mot de Tenigme.' " 
 
 And upon uttering these words, Miss Sher-
 
 180 THE FA.LSE STEP. 
 
 rard quitted her friend. To Jeannette*s imagi- 
 nation a ' marriage de convenance' was a fearful 
 contemplation. She had heard Mr. Langham 
 say a thousand times that no woman could ever 
 stand excused for exposing herself to the trials 
 of an ill-assorted union ; and with the roman- 
 tic hope of early youth, she believed that her 
 exhortations, united to the offer of sharing 
 her own home with her friend, would be influ- 
 ential in dissuading her from running such a 
 hazard. She concluded a letter full of generous 
 offers and kind expressions by saying, — " Do 
 not for one moment think that I am thus urgent 
 because Mr. Grant has not the gift of beauty- 
 no, my dear Katherine, it is because you do 
 not love him ; and because that, in time, will 
 lead to his not loving you. It seems to me 
 that you are preparing for yourself years of 
 unmitigated misery." 
 
 Miss Sherrard's answer quickly came, and
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 181 
 
 written in the gayest spirits. " Oh, you no- 
 vice ! Unmitigated misery ! — No such thing ! — 
 Love soon wears out, hatred or indifference lasts 
 for ever ! Rely upon it, Jeannette, there is but 
 one infallible prescription for happiness in the 
 conjugal state, — marry the man you hate ; — or, 
 if you cannot be quite so fortunate, one you 
 care as little for as possible. I will however 
 exempt you from following it, provided you 
 will be Lady Sherrard." 
 
 " I would rather," said Jeannette, " be a 
 kitten, and cry mew.*" And with her opinion 
 of her friend lowered fifty fathom, she closed a 
 day that had begun in mirth and happiness, in 
 depression and disgust.
 
 182 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 II est si beau d'aimer et d'etre aime que cet hymne de la 
 vie peut se moduler a I'infini sans que le cceur en eprouve 
 de lassitude. De Stael. 
 
 It is not intended to follow Jeannette through 
 the whole course of her love, or even to attempt 
 to ascertain the precise moment of its commence- 
 ment. She herself, had she been asked, would 
 in all probability have replied, "From the 
 hour I felt I was beloved." 
 
 It may be, that the doubts and fears which 
 preceded this conviction would be regarded as 
 more irrefragable proofs of the passion she 
 was indulging, than the delightful certainty
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 183 
 
 by which they were followed. Suspicion after 
 suspicion, fear after fear, harassed her mind in 
 turn, and kept her in continual alarm. But 
 then, whenever Lindsay Bathurst could be near 
 her, there she found him. He gave place to no 
 one but Sir William Sherrard, and him he 
 always watched with a vigilance that was more 
 gratifying to Jeannette than any other part of 
 his conduct. 
 
 Under similar circumstances most men would 
 have endeavoured to keep a rival candidate for 
 favour aloof. But Bathurst's pride influenced 
 him even here ; and his every action in con- 
 nection with Sir William Sherrard said plainly 
 to Jeannette, " If you can, if you do prefer 
 another, it shall not be by my own fault that I 
 am kept in ignorance of it."^ — Before he sub- 
 mitted to so fierce an ordeal, he possibly felt 
 some internal persuasion that the Baronet, 
 though young, handsome, and rich, was not a
 
 184 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 person greatly to be feared. To Jeannette he 
 had no attractions, as he had no force of cha- 
 racter, no decision of opinion or strength of 
 sentiment to which she could have looked up 
 for guidance or correction, — no fervour of mind 
 to share in her enthusiasm on all she had yet 
 acquired, or extend her views to what lay 
 hidden. She liked him, it is true, for it would 
 have been difficult to do otherwise. His good- 
 ness to his sister, an amiable and gentlemanly 
 deportment, and an extreme delicacy of feeling, 
 that made him particularly considerate of others, 
 were not qualities to create distaste or excite 
 displeasure. She talked to him at all times 
 with an ease and gentleness of manner that en- 
 chanted him ; her replies were never brusques 
 or tranchantes, — never made him feel, as those 
 of many young ladies had done, a wish to recall 
 his words. To a sensitive person there is no- 
 thing so endearing as that repose of manner,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 185 
 
 which begets the security that your feelings 
 will not be wounded. 
 
 In the mean time, Lindsay Bathurst looked 
 on, at first anxiously, but at length peacefully. 
 " He will love her faithfully," he said, " and 
 to distraction ; — but she will never love 
 hi^i;' 
 
 Jeannette did not feel so happily confident 
 when she saw Captain Bathurst talking fre- 
 quently and dancing repeatedly with Miss 
 Manvers, a niece of Lady Everard's. Miss 
 Manvers Avas very lovely and very poor, and 
 Jeannette unfortunately heard Lady Everard 
 say, she really believed Captain Bathurst 
 would at last marry Emily. 
 
 " Has he then known her long .?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; they were playfellows together." 
 
 Jeannette breathed with difficulty, and her 
 eyes involuntarily turned towards the subjects of 
 her anxiety. They were in earnest conversation.
 
 186 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 *' May she love him as he deserves!" she 
 said mentally. But she instantly sighed, 
 with a sensation of deep abasement, — for she 
 knew that she did not, could not wish it — and 
 felt conscious that any endeavour to deceive 
 herself would be vain. Her mind at that mo- 
 ment became to her " an awful world.*" Yet, 
 such was the strange fluctuation of her spirits 
 on that evening, that shortly after, vi^hen she 
 saw Lindsay Bathurst standing alone, and ap- 
 parently in deep meditation, she said, " He 
 looks all thought. Could an assured lover 
 look as he does V — and hope again took shelter 
 in her bosom, and became for a while its fondly 
 cherished guest. She heard Colonel Hawkins 
 say,— 
 
 " Miss Manvers was a great beauty of yours 
 once, I think, Bathurst ?" 
 
 To which inquiry, with amusing gravity, 
 Captain Bathurst replied,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 187 
 
 " Was she?" 
 
 " Was she ! — why is she not still ?" 
 
 " No,— she is not." 
 
 " Solemnly asserted, and, no doubt, deeply 
 felt. Why, you answer, Bathurst, as if you 
 were in a confessional, and I a holy father about 
 to inflict penance." 
 
 Bathurst laughed as he replied, " I believe I 
 was a little too serious ; but as I know report 
 has mixed my name with that of Miss Man- 
 vers, I thought it as well not to give report 
 any help." 
 
 " Or rather," said Colonel Hawkins, " you 
 were not thinking in the smallest degree about 
 report or Miss Manvers either." 
 
 For at this moment the Colonel observed 
 that Bathurst had discovered Jeannette to be 
 seated near them, and that he had in conse- 
 quence raised his voice in making his asser- 
 tion respecting Miss Manvers.
 
 188 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " Take care, Bathurst," resumed Colonel 
 Hawkins in a lower voice ; " you are, I am 
 afraid, like a silly moth deserting a flower that 
 could nourish you, for a hght that may destroy 
 you." 
 
 Bathurst paused for a second ; for he fully 
 understood the extent of the caution, and the 
 reasons why it was given came before his mind 
 like a cloud, darkening the brightness of his 
 love. He felt at the same moment the neces- 
 sity of answering, and the difficulty of doing 
 so. Colonel Hawkins saw his embarrassment, 
 and kindly continued, 
 
 " You mean, I see, that Una's angel face 
 Has made a sunshine in the shady place." 
 
 And, as he spoke, he pointed to a drawing of 
 WestalPs which was before them, representing 
 a beautiful girl as the Una of Spenser. 
 
 Bathurst was relieved, but not pleasantly, 
 and he approached Jeannette with some fear
 
 THK FALSE STEP. 189 
 
 that she had overheard more of the conversation 
 than he could wish. 
 
 " I have been repelling a charge brought 
 against me,"* he said, " of admiring Miss Man- 
 vers." 
 
 " And why ?^' 
 
 The simplicity of the question puzzled him, 
 but he quickly answered, 
 
 " Because, in these da3^s, to admit that you 
 admire is dangerous. Your hearers forthwith 
 conclude that you love, and are kind enough to 
 announce in the Morning Post, that you will 
 shortly lead to the altar the accomplished and 
 beautiful Miss X. Y." 
 
 " Or, as in this case. Miss E. M. each name 
 followed by its due proportion of expressive 
 dots." 
 
 " Precisely, and then one has to be rude and 
 distant to the parties, to prove that nothing has 
 been meant, nor even will be. A sort of beg-
 
 190 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ging of the question, I allow ; for men under 
 such circumstances always act on the presump- 
 tion that they would certainly have been ac- 
 cepted.'' 
 
 *' As perhaps,"*' said Jeannette smiling, " in 
 some instances they might. You have however 
 thoroughly convinced me that you do not at 
 present mean to marry Miss Manvers — what you 
 may do hereafter, you cannot know yourself." 
 
 Jeannette spoke en badinant, but Bathurst's 
 answer was seriousness itself. 
 
 " Not know, Jeannette ! — not know that I 
 shall never marry where I do not love." These 
 words were uttered in a low voice, but spoken 
 with earnestness, and Jeannette raised her 
 eyes smilingly to his, as if to say to him, 
 " Be not displeased, — I was but in jest." That 
 smile threw a radiance over her countenance, 
 that made her look more lovely, graceful, sweet, 
 and kind, than ever. Had there been magic in
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 191 
 
 the web of it, it could not have more suddenly 
 or more vividly thrilled the heart of him to 
 whom it had been directed. It left him no longer 
 master of himself, and he said, in continuation, 
 but in a still lower voice — " My affections are 
 differently placed, and so placed, Jeannette, that 
 they can never be transferred — no, never !'' 
 
 And she felt that his eyes were fixed on her 
 as he spoke, as if he would penetrate her very 
 soul. Her cheek flushed violently, — she dared 
 not raise her eyes, — she could not speak, — she 
 wondered whether these words were a direct 
 appeal to herself, or spoken in confidence to her 
 of his love for another. This doubt was so 
 intensely painful, that, inopportune as was the 
 arrival of her brother Hamond, she hailed it 
 with delight. Speaking seemed to break the 
 spell that enthralled her, and the words, '' My 
 dear Hamond !" enabled her again to breathe 
 with freedom. For the whole of that evening
 
 192 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 one only thought crossed and recrossed her 
 mind : — " If he should suspect that I imagin- 
 ed, for one moment, he could be thinking of 
 me." 
 
 He certainly did more than suspect the ex- 
 act nature of her feelings ; and Hamond was not 
 without some misgiving of his having interrupt- 
 ed a tete-a-tete more than commonly interesting 
 to both parties. He was perhaps more angry 
 with Jeannette than he had ever been before in 
 his life ; but he scarcely left her side again 
 that evening, and never lost sight of her. 
 
 Jeannette was silent and absorbed ; yet the 
 conviction that she was beloved, gained strength 
 every hour. Little more of distinct communi- 
 cation took place between herself and Lindsay 
 Bathurst that evening ; but he was ever near 
 her, and when he wished her good night, he 
 said, — " What sweet hours have some of these 
 been to me !"'"'
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 193 
 
 She did not venture to reply, but hastened to 
 the solitude of her own apartment to indulge 
 her thoughts and to conceal her tears — such 
 tears as are seldom shed, and which only spring 
 from plenteous joys — tears of deep, ecstatic 
 bliss. At one moment she thought of Ma- 
 tilda, and wished that she should know how 
 blest she felt ; but the brief inquiry, " What 
 have I to tell ?''"' checked the first intent of 
 going to her. 
 
 She did not want society, for nothing on earth 
 had ever been so precious to her as her own 
 busy thougiits. What though, in their restless- 
 ness, they ever and again revolved the same 
 small round of sweet sensations ? What though 
 blushing, smiling, weeping, the whole world 
 was for a time forgotten, and Lindsay Bathurst 
 alone beheld, alone remembered ? She was but 
 too happy in this first deep and entire concen- 
 tration of her feelings. She paused not to re- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 mark that the fibres of which she was weaving 
 her web of happiness were of the finest and 
 slightest texture. She did not remember that 
 she had hitherto combated the love which she 
 felt to be in her bosom, and called it prudent 
 to do so. She recalled not a doubt that had ever 
 existed in her mind, — they were gone, never 
 to return. She was beloved, and by Lindsay 
 Bathurst. It was enough. Her heart, which 
 she had hitherto watched so tenaciously, might 
 now be abandoned to its own guidance ! The 
 past and future, as far as they entered into her 
 calculations— and there are few moments in 
 which we do not turn to the one or to the 
 other, — were equally marked by a train of 
 light. And no bird ever joyed in a sun-beam 
 as did this happy girl in her recollections, and 
 in the swiftly created visions that sprung from 
 them.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 And did Lindsay Bathurst, without a strug- 
 gle, consent to love Jeannette Langham ? Had 
 his prejudices disappeared before the radiance 
 of her beauty, and, as threads touched by 
 the flame, given way when opposed to the 
 charm of her unaffected manner, and the un- 
 dimmed purity of her mind? No: he loved 
 Jeannette fondly, but in his own despite, for 
 his opinions remained unchanged. The idea of 
 K 2
 
 196 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Mrs. Langham was perpetually haunting and 
 annoying him, except in the immediate presence 
 of Jeannette. Like the dream of Imogen, it 
 was without him and within him, and he 
 might with truth have laid his hand upon his 
 heart, and said, " Not imagined, felt.*" 
 
 He endeavoured to change his opinions and 
 to overcome his feelings; but, like well-prac- 
 tised wrestlers, they appeared to gain strength 
 and activity by exercise, and he at length seem- 
 ed to himself to be much in the condition of 
 Sisyphus or Ixion. The stone which he had 
 rolled so repeatedly to the top of the hill, was 
 again at his heels in the valley, — the wheel of 
 punishment still turned, and still carried him 
 along with it. 
 
 But his love was deep-seated and sincere, and 
 he therefore had intervals not only of exemp- 
 tion from painful reflections, but of perfect 
 happiness. Jeannette's innocence of mind was
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 197 
 
 a perpetual fountain of delight to him. " She 
 herself," he said, " might have breathed on the 
 mirror of Prince Zehn !" Then, too, the hope 
 he possessed, that the sentiment he was inspir- 
 ing, was, or would be, as powerful as what he 
 felt ! For, however vacillating his mind with 
 regard to the future, that hope, from the time 
 it took possession of his breast, never deserted 
 him. And it may be that in man, as in wo- 
 man, it is more difficult to surrender the wish 
 of being beloved than to conquer the most ar- 
 dent passion. So at least it was with Bathurst ! 
 he could more easily have resolved never to see 
 Jeannette again, than have put to silence one 
 whisper of the hope that told him she could 
 and would adore him. 
 
 His faith on this head will possibly cause his 
 subsequent conduct to be condemned as incon- 
 sistent and unnatural. That it was a thousand- 
 fold more guilty, is admitted ; but it was neither
 
 198 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 inconsistent with his character, nor, it may be 
 feared, entirely out of nature. But this is to 
 anticipate. He met Jeannette the morning after 
 he believed her fully in possession of his feelings 
 towards her, with an elated heart. He had been 
 long waiting on the lawn, impatiently expecting 
 her appearance; but that morning she came 
 down later than usual; and a timidity which 
 she could not overcome caused her accents, when 
 she was called upon to speak, to die away upon 
 her lips almost unheard. She however accept- 
 ed Captain Bathurst's arm to walk towards 
 some dahlias, but felt as if she were guilty of a 
 fault in doing so. They met Matilda, which 
 increased her embarrassment, and she rejoiced 
 when the breakfast bell summonsed them from 
 their walk. Lindsay Bathurst perceived all that 
 was passing in her mind, and was silent from 
 exquisite pleasure. He strove in vain to meet 
 her carefully averted eyes. Jeannette was justly
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 199 
 
 afraid of all he might read there, and even at 
 his solicitation never once raised them till seat- 
 ed at the breakfast table. When she did so, 
 she found that Lindsa}^ Bathurst, whom she 
 considered still at her side, had placed himself 
 opposite to her. The eye has long been pro- 
 nounced a good messenger. Jeannette's crim- 
 soned cheek and throbbing temples, and the 
 nervous assiduity with which she endeavoured 
 to talk to every body and of every thing, suffi- 
 ciently attested that Captain Bathursfs fully 
 supported their claim to this reputed quality. 
 
 She was soon restored to self-possession, or 
 rather lulled into oblivion of what had too 
 much delighted her, by an announcement from 
 Colonel Hawkins as painful as it was un- 
 expected. 
 
 " I am most unsoldierly late," said he, ap- 
 proaching Matilda ; " and beg you a thousand 
 pardons. Miss Langham, for my delinquency ;
 
 200 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 but I have had letters to occupy and annoy 
 me, — I am afraid I must tear myself from this 
 elysium to-day." 
 
 Every body exclaimed against such a possi- 
 bility — and to Mr. Langham's serious — "I 
 hope not. Colonel,'' — he replied, 
 
 " It must indeed be so; and I am not only 
 compelled to go myself, but must, T fear, take 
 others with me,'' — looking first at Hamond, and 
 then at Captain Bathurst, " quite as unwilling 
 as myself to leave such hospitable quarters." 
 
 Hamond's ready and cheerful reply, " Very 
 well, Colonel, — I can start at any hour," fell 
 offensively on Jeannette's ear, and she was not 
 without a slight suspicion that her brother 
 had suggested this scheme for their departure 
 to the Colonel. Lindsay Bathurst more than 
 shared in this surmise, and he had perhaps 
 never felt so much displeased. He had merely 
 bowed acquiescence to Colonel Hawkins's pro- 
 position, but the current of his thoughts was
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 201 
 
 put into rapid motion. Had his love for 
 Jeannette required a spur instead of a rein, few 
 things could have acted so favourably as this 
 sudden and unavoidable fiat of his superior 
 officer. To one who watched him observingly 
 at that moment, his countenance was a perplex- 
 ing enigma ; for, while his closely compressed 
 lips indicated a mixture of contempt and van- 
 quished anger, his dark, fearless, and brilliant 
 eye beamed with the elevation of triumph. 
 
 He again looked at Jeannette, and now she 
 did not avoid his gaze. What she had heard 
 had given an abstractedness to her feelings and 
 to her air. She looked on Lindsay Bathurst 
 with all the sadness that was overpowering her 
 heart, but she knew not that she was looking 
 on him. Her father said to her, from a distant 
 part of the table, " The Colonel promises, 
 Jeannette, that we shall have Hamond with us 
 at Cheltenham." 
 
 K 5
 
 202 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Jeannette bowed and smiled — but the eiFort 
 of that smile brought the tears, that were 
 almost suffocating her, into their natural chan- 
 nels. She was most grateful to her father for 
 giving her this just excuse for her sorrow, and 
 she availed herself of it by saying, — " I have 
 seen so little of Hamond.*" 
 
 The hour of parting drew nigh. To Jean- 
 nette's imagination, all around her was as a 
 hideous dream. Colonel Hawkins made nume- 
 rous gallant and flattering speeches on the 
 pleasure he had enjoyed, and the pain he felt 
 in going away. Regrets, thanks, promises, 
 and adieux, were exchanged around her ; 
 but of all that passed that morning, she re- 
 membered only three occurrences distinctly : 
 first, that her father had expressed very lively 
 regret at parting with Captain Bathurst, and 
 pressed him to repeat his visit ; secondly, that 
 she had reproved Hamond for not being sorry
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 203 
 
 to leave them ; and finally, that to the only 
 words Lindsay Bathurst had addressed to her, 
 — " Think of me, Jeannette, and oh ! if you 
 can, love me — "" she had made the singular 
 reply of—" Dare I ?"
 
 204 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 There is such confusion in my powers 
 As, after some oration fairly spoke 
 By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
 Among the buzzing, pleased multitude : 
 Where every something, being blent together, 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy 
 Express'd and not express'd. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 It was Jeannette's fate, on the day of Lind- 
 say Bathursfs departure, to hear his name fre- 
 quently mentioned, and sometimes in dispraise. 
 Mrs. Crosbie said more than once, " La ! I 
 am so glad he's gone, with his wild staring 
 eyes, that look exactly as if they could pierce 
 through stone walls and see what was going 
 forward on the other side."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 205 
 
 And she unfortunately overheard Matilda 
 remark to Lady Everard, " I really am not 
 sorry that Captain Bathurst has left us — for, 
 I certainly never felt quite at my ease in his 
 presence." 
 
 " Strange infatuation !" thought Jeannette : 
 and this opinion of her sister gave her more 
 than passing pain. 
 
 But at dinner Mr. Langham made some 
 amends for those casualties of the day which had 
 wounded her self-love. He praised Captain 
 Bathurst, (as Matilda thought extravagantly,) 
 and in animated terms pronounced him " hand- 
 some without conceit, talented without pe- 
 dantry or presumption, a manly officer, and a 
 most perfect gentleman." 
 
 Jeannette had great reverence for her fa- 
 ther's judgment, and she possibly thought he 
 had never given a more decided proof of its 
 excellence than by this eulogium. She cer-
 
 206 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tainly felt more grateful to him for it than if 
 he had bestowed on her the riches of the East. 
 And she repeated each separate epithet that 
 had given her so much innate pleasure again and 
 again, as if to examine, but in reality only 
 to approve. "' A perfect gentleman!' Yes, 
 how invariably well-mannered to every body — 
 more courteous too, I observed, to the Miss 
 Thomsons than to Lady Everard or to Ma- 
 tilda ; and ' talented.' Oh, yes ! my father 
 is quite right — and some portion of talent is so 
 indispensable in a man. A woman may pass 
 through life respectably without it ; but a man, 
 I think, never. And 'handsome:' my father 
 too mentioned even that he was handsome, and 
 so he is — but what of that ? Lindsay Bathurst 
 could have dispensed with beauty." And Jean- 
 nette, in rejecting the thought of being unduly 
 influenced by his personal attractions, only did 
 justice to her own mind. These have been
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 207 
 
 much and frequently insisted on in these pages, 
 because it is necessary to give to hearts not in 
 love, an image which themselves may adorn 
 with the beautiful and resistless ad libitum. 
 Because too it is more universally than truly 
 admitted that " I vezzi sono esca d'amore.'" 
 
 But it was not, in fact, his starlit eyes, or 
 voice of music, or graceful figure, pre-eminent 
 as these all were, that spell -bound poor Jean- 
 nette's heart so strongly and so invisibly ; for 
 had it been possible for her to have remem- 
 bered him divested of one or of all these fasci- 
 nations, he would still have been to her the same 
 being, unspeakably dear — illimitably loved. It 
 is in the imperceptible and inexplicable links of 
 human sympathy that the beauty and mystery 
 of all devoted affections consist, — those links 
 that mock the enquiries of the philosopher, and 
 elude the research of the self-examiner.
 
 208 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 From the time of Lindsay Bathurst's depar- 
 ture, the company at Langham Court became 
 to Jeannette a mere gallery of pictures, their 
 talk a " tinkling cymbal." No one interested 
 her but Miss Sherrard, and she only in a trifling 
 degree. 
 
 Jeannette's esteem for Miss Sherrard had 
 been on the wane from the hour she had talked 
 seriously of marrying Mr. Grant. 
 
 But Miss Sherrard liked Jeannette, and had 
 confidence in her. Jeannette made no endea- 
 vour to repel this confidence ; her intimacy 
 therefore with her former friend was greater
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 209 
 
 than ever, although her friendship had de- 
 clined. 
 
 Miss Sherrard seemed to have the power 
 as well as the inclination of speaking all she 
 thought and felt : Jeannette could not have 
 disclosed the present state of her feelings to 
 any one, scarcely to Lindsay Bathurst himself. 
 Even in her journal, — for she kept a journal, 
 — and which is a faithful transcript of her 
 mind, it is more by frequent allusion to him, 
 than by any direct confession of attachment, 
 that she betrays the state of her heart. It is 
 most irregularly written : sometimes merely 
 the date of the day recorded, and an unimport- 
 ant fact stated beneath it as briefly as possi- 
 ble ; at others, whole pages are devoted to 
 some novel emotion of her heart, or some new 
 thought which she seems to have hailed and 
 chased with the wild pleasure of a child after 
 a butterfly, or with the wilder carelessness of
 
 210 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 the butterfly, flying from flower to flower, in- 
 different alike to what she chose or what she 
 rejected. For Jeannette*'s was a fertile mind, 
 and would often, like that of the melancholy 
 Jaques, break into " a thousand similes." 
 
 The following extracts are confined to those 
 parts of Jeannette's journal which may best 
 develope her character and advance her nar- 
 rative. 
 
 " Sept. 182-. Monday. — I read to-day to 
 Captain Bathurst the story of Ugolino. He 
 loves Italian literature, and above all things in 
 it loves Dante. So does my father, so does 
 Matilda, and so do I ! I begin to think I can 
 partly guess a person's character from the books 
 they best love. The old proverb says, ' Tell 
 me your company,' — I say, ' Tell me your 
 books, and I will find out what you are.' And 
 I have this weighty reason on my side, — that 
 we can choose the one, but the other is beyond
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 211 
 
 our power. I often find myself with people 
 I do not at all like ; but I am never guilty 
 of reading a book I do not thoroughly love. 
 Wordsworth is quite right, — books are a real 
 world. 
 
 " Wednesday. — What a bright, beautiful, 
 bewitching day has this been to us ! How happy 
 we all seemed. Seemed ! No : how happy we 
 all were ! No one appeared to have a care, and 
 we gazed on the illuminated heavens (how 
 deep and cloudless !) till our hearts were as 
 sunny as what we gazed on. For a time too 
 we talked only of what was before us, like 
 epicures at a feast. And Lindsay Bathurst 
 said that the many-coloured tints of the woods 
 at this season always made him think that 
 Nature, like other ladies, had her fits of vanity, 
 and was sometimes ambitious of wearing all her 
 garniture at once, and that if she could dis- 
 figure herself she would. ' But that,' he add-
 
 212 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ed, ' is out of her power, and yours too, Miss 
 Jeannette Langham, though I must confess I 
 never saw you try." And presently after, when 
 I pointed out to him the distant blue line we 
 call the sea, and asked him if he saw what I 
 meant, he said, * No, Jeannette ; and to-day 
 I care for nothing, either distant or future. 
 Enough for me the knoll above my head — that 
 wooded bank to look at, and you to talk to/ 
 It was the first time he had ever called me 
 Jeannette, and he continued to do so through 
 the day. I saw Matilda did not like him to do 
 so, although she tolerates it in Sir William 
 Sherrard. Now, I do not dislike it in Captain 
 Bathurst, and think it intolerable in Sir Wil- 
 liam. Perhaps that is because the voice of one 
 is more agreeable to me than the other. Of 
 all charms, surely a sweetly modulated voice 
 is the most attractive — that with which we the 
 soonest sympathize, and which we the most
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 213 
 
 heartily admire. To me, a voice, when entirely 
 good, indicates culture, refinement, delicacy, 
 and goodness of heart. I have somewhere read 
 that painters paint themselves, that is, stamp 
 their own characters on their works. I think 
 that people speak themselves. Never yet have 
 I loved any body dearly whose voice did not 
 become to me this herald of their characters. 
 Who could mistake my dear father's voice ? — or 
 Matilda's? — or Hamond's? — or Mrs. Lennard's.'' 
 — Oh ! or her's, that sweet and gentle music, that 
 has so long ceased to be ? hushed and silent 
 every where, but in her children's hearts ! 
 
 " Ah! my dearest mother! how unexpectedly 
 has the thought of thee visited my heart this 
 night ! (My God ! I thank thee for it !) After 
 a day too, in which, I fear, thou wert all but 
 forgotten. Forgotten ! — No, no ; never be this 
 said of me — bad enough is the record that thou 
 wert for one moment not remembered.
 
 214 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " Monday. — Dear Hamond's birthday ! — the 
 day of days, — that for which ' so many guests 
 have been gathered together to eat, drink, and 
 be merry !' God grant to my dear brother a 
 happy and an honourable life ! Nothing to- 
 day, with all its varied amusements, its life, 
 gaiety, and spirit-stiring sports, has spoken to 
 my heart, except my father's generous con- 
 duct to Hamond, and the affecting solemnity 
 of his manner, when he said it was a joyful 
 thing to him to have a son old enough and 
 good enough to take charge of his good and 
 precious daughters ; and, oh ! how I loved 
 him, when he added that he could not have so 
 loved us had we been only his. This was the 
 first time I ever heard my father allude to my 
 angel mother. But to-day he distinctly said, 
 ' Remember, Hamond, they are not mine 
 alone !' Poor Hamond was quite overcome, 
 and Matilda wept freely, and, I should say,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 215 
 
 bitterly. I weep now ; but then, though tears 
 did come into my eyes as these beloved objects 
 severally embraced me, I only longed to throw 
 myself at my father's feet to show the homage 
 which I felt, but could not speak. 
 
 " September 29- — How wildly happy have I 
 been to-day ! — the live-long day ! — which yet 
 seems to have been all pressed into the brief 
 compass of a single hour. He was wrong who 
 called happiness the ' to-morrow of the mind f 
 when at its height, it is a bright, present, tan- 
 gible reality ; and when not at its height, it is 
 not happiness. Oh, it is a fearful thing to 
 write, and I tremble as I write it ; but I have 
 been, nay, I am, most blest. 
 
 " Hamond, dear Hamond ! left us, and Lind- 
 say Bathurst with him ! — Lindsay Bathurst, 
 who, in a low whisper, asked me to love him ! 
 Will affection then come and go at one's bid 
 ding ? Would that it did ! Should I then bid
 
 216 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 mine depart ? Alas ! no. Not even if this new 
 and terrible unhappiness would last for ever. I 
 have, indeed, been sad and wretched the whole 
 length of this miserable day. Now I breathe 
 more freely ; but there is a weight upon my 
 heart that weeping does not remove. If tears 
 could recall one by-gone hour, bring back the 
 absent, or, oh ! restore the dead, to-day would 
 be as yesterday, Lindsay Bathurst should be 
 beside me, and my dear, dear mother be again 
 of this world ! 
 
 " It is ever thus, whenever I am unhappy. 
 I bring distant and impossible events together. 
 I turn to the thought of you, my mother, for 
 comfort, and then I feel that you are not, — that 
 on earth you can never be again ; that all my 
 grief and all my love, multiplied a thousand- 
 fold, could not recall you for one little hour ; 
 and I weep again for you, my blessed mother, 
 as though but just snatched from me. I feel
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 217 
 
 even that you are more irrevocably gone than 
 when first I lost you. Time, they say, lessens 
 grief — yes, its constancy, not its intensity : it 
 gives us intervals, long intervals, of peace 
 and happiness ; but, when it does return, it is 
 strong and keen, and deep as ever. How, in- 
 deed, can regret for such a loss be lessened ? 
 Can the thought of a mother's love, — such love 
 as mine bore me, — ever lose its charm, its 
 influence ? Not, I am sure, when you have 
 lost the reality. What it was to me, so it is — 
 and, in perfect faith, I pray that it may be 
 ever so, because I think it will be. Perishable 
 things alone lose their value : time withers 
 flowers, but does not dim the diamond ; and 
 shall love, — love for the being who gave us 
 birth, — the only real emanation of the Deity 
 that burns within us, — perish as a passion of 
 the earth ? — Can what is ethereal change its na- 
 ture as grosser substances — the eternal become 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 mortal— the infinite be bounded — and what is 
 born of the soul know death ? — Never ! 
 
 " What a leaden weight seems on the spirits 
 of every body ! I am not alone, but I feel as if 
 I were. Want of communication on what ab- 
 sorbs ourselves, makes a solitude of the heart 
 as deep and silent as a dungeon or a wilderness. 
 I sit by Matilda, but her thoughts are not as 
 my thoughts. I know they are not — and for her 
 words, I have scarcely been able to attend to them. 
 
 " A packet from Lindsay Bathurst — books 
 that he promised to lend me his note says, — I 
 can remember no such promise — and a small 
 locket with his eye beautifully painted, and 
 this inscription, ' Let it watch over you.' 
 When I look at it, though but for a minute, it 
 seems indeed to do so ; and how wonderfully it 
 brings his whole countenance before me ! I 
 see his smile, his lip, his brow as distinctly 
 when I look at that eye as though he stood 
 before me. Who could believe it ? As I did
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 219 
 
 look at it, it seemed to change from the laugh- 
 ing joyous eye the painter meant it to be, to 
 an expression of cloudiness and care, and to 
 ray mental vision he in a brief space underwent 
 every change of aspect I ever observed in him. 
 And who varies so much ? Is there then a 
 charm in change, that I take pleasure in asking 
 that question ? Alas ! I know not ; but at one 
 moment he rises before me full of thought 
 and seriousness — a deep melancholy shades the 
 lustre of his eyes ; I seem to hear him sigh ! — 
 to feel his breathing near me,— to hear him speak. 
 And even while my eye rests thus on him as if 
 on a statue, and as if it could gaze for ever, 
 I see him change : his eloquent, his perfect 
 smile comes pouring over his features, like a 
 flood of light, and I smile again involuntarily, 
 and almost unconsciously. 
 
 " Matilda's mental comment on the books was 
 readable enough, though she said not a word. 
 L 2
 
 220 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 She was too sorry to render it prudent for me to 
 . show her the remembrance that came with them 
 — yet, there was one moment in which I thought 
 I could. Now, I wish I had ; but no, it is 
 better not — justice must be rendered to the 
 character, before even the most beautiful eyes 
 can be duly admired — and Matilda has not yet 
 been just to Lindsay Bathurst. No, the good, 
 the amiable, the indulgent Matilda, who is 
 liberal to a fault in her opinions of all the 
 world beside, sees little to admire in him ! Yet 
 there was a time, and alas ! not a remote one, 
 when difference of opinion would not have in- 
 terfered with my perfect confidence in Matilda, 
 — the mother-sister — the sister-mother as I have 
 loved to call her. Formerly I could think 
 aloud in her presence, and without fear — now, 
 I am sometimes alarmed if I discover her look- 
 ing at me. And why ? — for, what could I 
 tell her.^ My feelings are to myself as the
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 221 
 
 sound of hidden waters — when we know not 
 their source and scarcely their direction, and 
 are utterly ignorant whither they are tending, 
 though we hear the voice of their complaint, 
 and know that they must wear away the rock 
 over which they flow. Ah ! that is a frightful 
 image ; but not, thank God, a true ! My heart 
 is full, too full for tranquillity, yet it is grow- 
 ing, not wearing away — it is in tumult, not in 
 misery — it is — oh ! that I could discover what 
 it is, or what it is not, and so know peace ! 
 
 " Lindsay Bathurst might well say he was 
 sorry for Miss Sherrard ! Yes, he said, that 
 although he could never like her, he was truly 
 sorry for her ; as she was marrying merely for 
 a home. A home ! the mere shelter of home, 
 without its charm ! No love, no sympathy, 
 similarity of taste, no union of sentiment. A 
 real home should include all these, else is it 
 but as a nest amid the branches of a leafless
 
 222 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tree. My poor Katherine ! you can now laugh. 
 Never may you find it to be by experience, what 
 I know it would be to me, as music without me- 
 lody, flowers without fragrance, or a dream of 
 Heaven without happiness! Mr. Grant fan- 
 cies, because he does not enjoy general society, 
 that he is eminently fitted for domestic life. 
 I have heard my father say, he considered that 
 as no proof, but rather the reverse. ' Perfectly 
 sociable and amiable feelings,' he said, * next 
 to good principles, formed the best basis for 
 happiness in married life.' 
 
 '* Another letter from Lindsay Bathurst, ear- 
 nestly begging to be informed when we go to 
 Cheltenham. How simple a thing does it seem 
 to sit down and tell him ! yet for worlds I could 
 not !"
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 C'est la beaute qui commence de plaire ; 
 Mais la douceur acheve de charmer. 
 
 MOLIERE. 
 
 A FEW days after the date of the last extract 
 from Jeannette's journal, Mr. Langham and his 
 daughters removed to Cheltenham. This visit 
 had been talked of before Hamond's birthday, 
 and the languor that had succeeded the ex- 
 citement of its celebration in Mr. Langham, 
 caused his medical adviser seriously to recom- 
 mend it. As soon, therefore, as all his guests 
 had left him, just as he was beginning to feel 
 the bliss of repose, and to be sensible that there 
 might sometimes be pleasure in treading alone
 
 224 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " a banquet hall deserted," he found himself hur- 
 ried from the peacefulness of Laiigham Court 
 to the bustle and hurry of Cheltenham. Both 
 his daughters had very strenuously urged the 
 measure: Matilda, because she saw that her 
 father really required recruiting; and Jean- 
 nette, because she hoped that Lindsay Ba- 
 thurst might be there. Langham Court was 
 an impregnable castle, compared to Chelten- 
 ham. At the one he could scarcely yet make 
 his appearance again with propriety ; from 
 the other he could scarcely absent himself. 
 Her father mistook her motives, and when he 
 saw her bright eye dancing with delight as 
 they commenced their journey, he said to her 
 gaily — "Who do you expect to see at Chel- 
 tenham, Jeannette, besides Mrs. Crosbie i^" She 
 turned pale at the inquiry, and was a minute 
 before she could reply stammeringly, " Is not 
 Hamond to come to us .^"
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 225 
 
 " True," replied her father ; " and Sir Wil- 
 liam Sherrard told me, he should certainly be 
 there.*" 
 
 Mr. Langham smiled, half playfully, half 
 maliciously, at Jeannette, and regarded the 
 blush that accompanied her smile as a strong 
 proof of consciousness. Jeannette's smile was 
 one of great happiness, and her father rejoiced 
 in it, and considered it very natural. 
 
 Sir William Sherrard had made no secret to 
 Mr. Langham of his admiration of his youngest 
 daughter, and he was so handsome, so elegant, 
 so unobjectionable a person, so calculated, Mr. 
 Langham thought, to make a deep impression 
 on the mind of an unsophisticated girl, that, 
 pre-occupied with this idea, he did not read 
 Jeannette's thoughts as correctly as he might 
 otherwise have done. He had reason to think 
 she might be Lady Sherrard if she chose, and 
 he hoped, if she loved him, that it might be so. 
 L 5
 
 226 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Sir William Sherrard was at Cheltenham, and 
 in their first walk they met him. Jeannette at 
 first said, that was unavoidable and of no con- 
 sequence. She had not then experienced, in all 
 its magnitude, the annoyance of an unvalued 
 lover. At first, she not only endured him, but 
 was on all occasions complaisant and polite. 
 Sir William himself began to hope, and Mr. 
 Langham seeing them so apparently happy in 
 each other's society, and so much together, look- 
 ed upon all his expectations as realized, and only 
 waited to have his consent solicited, to grant it. 
 But Hamond came, Lindsay Bathurst came, 
 and Jeannette ten thousand times a-day wished 
 she had never seen Sir William Sherrard, and 
 that she might never see him more. He had 
 an established footing in the family of which 
 she could not dispossess him. He was with 
 them at all hours, shared in all their pursuits 
 and amusements, and was never for any length
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 227 
 
 of time a hundred inches from Jeannette''s 
 side. He appeared to be determined not to be 
 offended ; she was provoked, and while the world 
 thought her happy and enviable in her conquest, 
 she would have purchased the absence of this 
 supposed lover at any price. 
 
 Lindsay Bathurst grew irritated, not so 
 much from jealousy as impatience. He saw 
 Jeannette was often displeased, but he was 
 angry with her for submitting to attentions 
 which she could not prevent. He one day 
 said to her, — " Do you, Jeannette, encourage 
 that coxcomb ? — tell me." 
 
 " Can you believe it possible .?*" 
 
 " Enough, dearest Jeannette, — but that you 
 should tolerate him !'' 
 
 " As if it were an affair of choice !" 
 
 " Will he ever go away ?^'' 
 
 '' I hope so."" 
 
 " By Heavens ! here he is again. — Jean-
 
 228 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 nette, let us sing together:" and without await- 
 ing her answer, he placed before her an Italian 
 air, the burden of which was, " Chi mai fu 
 amato al par di te.'' Sir William Sherrard 
 knew nothing of Italian, but he applauded, and 
 Captain Bathurst continued to turn over the 
 best operas of Mozart and Rossini, and to 
 choose as he said, a discretion, whatever 
 songs or duets best ansvi^ered his purpose. At 
 one moment he chose the cantata '* Che vuoi 
 mio cor ?" and slightly emphasizing his words, 
 said, '' Do me the favour, Jeannette, to sing 
 that to me ?" — At another " Ah perche s' io, 
 ti detesto, s' io ti scaccio ?"" — adding " Oblige 
 Sir William Sherrard and myself by singing 
 this."" Then, " As a finale, Jeannette, this 
 beautiful duet, and I will ask no more." 
 
 When the music ceased, Matilda said, " Come 
 here, Jeannette ; I have an exquisite little book 
 to show you — and Dr. Milman wants to thank
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 229 
 
 you for your singing, though I think your 
 selection was not of the best/' 
 
 Jeannette bit her lip, and her cheek flushed 
 with something like resentment ; and a sudden 
 conviction shot across her mind, (if such a term 
 may be applied to the fear of a moment origi- 
 nating in disappointment,) that Matilda was 
 becoming unkind. 
 
 A supposition farther from the truth could 
 scarcely have been imagined. Matilda's anxiety 
 for Jeannette was hourly increasing, for she 
 saw with tolerable clearness the actual state of 
 things. She believed that Captain Bathurst 
 loved her sister ; but Hamond had taken so 
 much pains to prejudice her against him, and 
 had so often repeated word for word the speech 
 which had so deeply offended himself, that to 
 Matilda the idea of such an attachment was the 
 most melancholy thing in the world. She saw, 
 too, that her father was completely deceived.
 
 230 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 When, however, this evening she found, by 
 Jeannette's long silence, the steadiness of her 
 gaze, and the slight air of pique spread over her 
 countenance, that she had given her pain, she 
 endeavoured to atone for it by entering into con- 
 versation with Captain Bathurst, and paying 
 him marked attention. He had always admired 
 Matilda, and justly estimated her steadiness in 
 the path of duty, as well as her exceeding love 
 for Jeannette, and in the exhilaration of his 
 spirits, all but made her the confidante of an 
 affection which he then thought could know no 
 change, and which he then meant not to com- 
 bat. He spoke of her beauty as of something 
 supernatural : — he had never before, he said, 
 fully understood what the poets meant by rays 
 of beauty, — now he did entirely. 
 
 Matilda was accustomed to hear the beauty 
 of Jeannette admired, — Sir William Sherrard 
 seldom talked to her of any thing else, and she
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 231 
 
 was also accustomed to suppress her own opi- 
 nion of it, for she thought it so transcendent, 
 she was afraid to speak of it. 
 
 She therefore now simply said — 
 
 " She is a very good girl." 
 
 " Good — merely good — my dear Miss Lang- 
 ham r 
 
 " Good, as I understand it, Captain Bathurst, 
 is great praise — it expresses every thing in 
 character worth caring for.'" 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! and in this wide sense a beau- 
 tiful word it is ;" and his brilliant eyes seemed 
 to Matilda to be suffused with tears, as he 
 added in an under voice, " She is indeed 
 good." 
 
 Matilda's heart inclined more towards him 
 than she approved : she only smiled in reply ; 
 and turning towards Dr. Milman, asked him 
 if he had deigned to choose an emblematic 
 flower for himself in " La Grammaire des
 
 232 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Fleurs/' which he appeared to have been 
 studying. 
 
 " Not for myself, Miss Langham — flowers 
 are not unfitting mementos to old age, but 
 they are bad emblems. I have chosen there- 
 fore two for you ; take your choice, young lady, 
 between acacia and balm."' 
 
 " I must inquire first their meaning. Sir. 
 Oh! I see, acacia douceur — baume vertu. 
 Delightful ! I will pass the book round. Cap- 
 tain Bathurst, choose a flower for yourself, 
 or another." 
 
 Captain Bathurst glanced his eye over the 
 page, and pointed to lierre rampant. ** Je 
 meure, oii je m'attache," as he put the book 
 into the hands of Jeannette. 
 
 " Read it aloud, if you please, Miss Jeannette 
 Langham," said Dr. Milman. She did so me- 
 chanically, before she noticed its application ; 
 and her blush was so evident at having done it,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 233 
 
 that Dr. Milman remarked it, and said to her, 
 " Will you let me choose one for you ?'''' 
 
 " AYitli much pleasure." 
 
 " The sensitive — but the motto here says, 
 ' Mystery,' — that is not good; let us make 
 a better.'' 
 
 " Too tender," said Matilda, " for even 
 tenderness to touch, — will that line do. Sir .f^"" 
 
 "Excellently well, Miss Langham — none 
 could be better." 
 
 Mr. Langham had approached the group, 
 and the sigh was audible to Matilda which 
 betrayed her father's mental acknowledgement 
 of the too great truth of the motto she had 
 chosen. 
 
 She changed the subject. " Have you ar- 
 ranged, my dear father, to go to Charlton 
 to-morrow with Sir William Sherrard ?" 
 
 " This moment settled it, my child — we start 
 at eleven, and mean to have a strong party.
 
 234 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Captain Bathurst, would you like to accom- 
 pany us ?" 
 
 A moment's reflection enabled Captain Ba- 
 thurst to say he was afraid he could not have 
 that pleasure. But when he was wishing good- 
 night, Matilda overheard him whisper to Jean- 
 nette, " Do not go to Charlton, Jeannette." 
 Jeannette did not answer, but Matilda was 
 certain that the word of promise beamed from 
 her eye.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Oh, it is excellent 
 
 To have a giant's strength, but it is tyrannous 
 To use it like a giant. Shakspeare. 
 
 The event proved she was right. At break- 
 fast on the following morning, Jeannette de- 
 clined being of the party to Charlton. Mr. 
 Langham made no objection ; and Matilda, to 
 her inquiry of why ? was compelled to appear 
 satisfied with the unsatisfactory reason assigned 
 by Jeannette, " that she had rather remain at 
 home." She in vain endeavoured to obtain an 
 interview with her sister before she started, for 
 breakfast was scarcely over when Sir William
 
 236 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Sherrard made his appearance. Her father 
 and Hamond were ready, and she was obliged 
 to accompany them. 
 
 The morning was warm and lowering, one of 
 those doubtful mornings so frequent in Novem- 
 ber — one moment threatening a deluge, and 
 the next promising sunshine. 
 
 " T am afraid," said Mr. Langham, as they 
 proceeded up the Old Well Walk, " that we 
 shall have rain. We had really, I think, better 
 wait to see the determination of the weather." 
 
 " It will certainly be more prudent, Sir,*" 
 said Matilda. " Suppose we return, and per- 
 haps Jeannette will go with us by and by, if it 
 should be fine." 
 
 Mr. Langham consented, and they turned 
 somewhat suddenly round. In so doing they 
 came awkwardly in front of a gentleman and 
 lady who had been walking behind them so 
 slowly and silently, that their footsteps had not
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 237 
 
 been heard. A slight apology was made, and 
 Matilda observed that the lady bent toHamond, 
 while her companion exchanged bows with Sir 
 WilHam Sherrard. Her father appeared not 
 to notice this circumstance ; yet he paused and 
 followed the stranger with his eye with con- 
 siderable interest. '* I wonder who they are .^" 
 at length broke from him, to which direct 
 inquiry she was astonished to find that neither 
 Sir William nor Hamond attempted a reply. 
 Matilda thought it strange; but her attention 
 was immediately attracted by her father ad- 
 dressing her in a low voice : 
 
 " When we have once entered the ' avenues 
 of age,' as Montaigne happily expresses it, 
 Matilda, we are much concerned about our 
 equals in years. We want to know if they 
 have advanced as far as ourselves, and how. 
 It is a strong bond of sympathy — possibly one 
 of the strongest. Childhood, infancy, youth,
 
 238 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 or manhood, knows nothing like it. I have 
 been reflecting that my age, Matilda, must be 
 nearly that of the invalid who has now passed 
 us." 
 
 '' I should think not, my dear father. You 
 look so very much younger and better; and 
 avenues, you must remember, are very de- 
 ceitful things : we always seem nearer the 
 end of them than we really are. What a time 
 it takes to walk down this, for example ! yet 
 it seems very short when we are at the other 
 end." 
 
 Mr. Langham sighed, and simply replied, 
 " My dear child V but in a tone that rejected 
 her argument, and at the same time acknow- 
 ledged her kindness. 
 
 Matilda had hoped they were returning 
 home, and was disappointed when her father 
 proposed going to the library, and that she 
 should go with him. It was impossible to
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 239 
 
 object; and, after lounging away more than 
 an hour at different shops on their way, they 
 at length established themselves in W — 's 
 library. To Matilda's great satisfaction. Cap- 
 tain Bathurst was there when they arrived, 
 with Dr. Milman ; and from the lively impa- 
 tience visible in tlie countenance of the former, 
 she conjectured he was no willing listener to 
 the always sensible, but occasionally wea- 
 risome periods of the doctor. He certainly 
 looked unhappy enough to justify the suppo- 
 sition ; and Matilda, glad that he was not with 
 Jeannette, strove to secure his not going till 
 her own return. She found it a task of less 
 difficulty than she had imagined it would have 
 been, to engage him in looking out some music 
 for her. 
 
 In the mean time, the strangers they had 
 passed in the morning entered the shop, and 
 Matilda found her attention riveted to them.
 
 240 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 The young lady spoke to the shopman ; she 
 thought she had heard the voice before. The 
 invalid asked some question, and her father 
 started, turned quickly round, changed to an 
 ashy paleness, and sunk into the chair he had 
 quitted. It was all the affair of a moment ; 
 but in that moment a glance of mutual recog- 
 nition had been exchanged between Mr. Lang- 
 ham and the man he had injured beyond all 
 reparation. The lapse of more than twenty 
 years, added to the ravages of disease, had bent 
 the form of Mr. Cressingham ; but his eye was 
 still the same, — ^keen, powerful, and cold ; and 
 as it now rested in bitter and immoveable con- 
 tempt on the face of his aggressor, it seemed to 
 Mr. Langham to beam with every reproach 
 which unqualified hatred could collect, and eve- 
 ry threat that the wildest vengeance could utter. 
 Mr. Cressingham at this moment felt the full 
 force of his own gaze, and he would not remove
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 241 
 
 it. At no period of Mr. Langham's life had 
 he felt his spirit so quail within him. 
 
 He had often thought of the possibility of 
 such a meeting as the present, and had fre- 
 quently laid down a plan of conduct for the 
 occasion. But the occasion came, and mind 
 and body were powerless as in infancy. Had 
 any thing like freedom of will remained, he 
 indeed could scarcely have acted as he did ; for 
 he arose, as if instinctively, and extending one 
 hand to Mr. Cressingham, while he pressed the 
 other on his brow, the word '' forgive," faintly 
 escaped him. It met, however, the ear for 
 which it was intended, and was loudly echoed 
 in a voice of the deepest scorn. " Forgive ! 
 — Never !'" The laugh that followed was the 
 laugh of momentary madness, — the delirium of 
 unrestrained rage and ungratified revenge. Un- 
 fortunately for himself, Mr. Cressingham had, 
 through a long interval of years subsequent to 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 the loss of his wife, encouraged, instead of en- 
 deavouring to repress, his natural and unavoid- 
 able resentment. His betrayer was now, for 
 the first time, fearfully near him, and the feel- 
 ing that rose in his soul and flushed his death- 
 like cheek to crimson, was nearly allied to 
 what in a ruder state of society would have led 
 to some summary and instant act of retribution. 
 The pause of a moment restored him to the 
 appearance, at least, of self-possession, and with 
 a firm voice he said to his weeping daughter, 
 " Come, Isabella; it is not for us to feel shame !" 
 and putting some books he had chosen into the 
 hands of the shopman, added, " For Mr. Cres- 
 singham, Montpellier Terrace." Dr. Milman, 
 Lindsay Bathurst, and Hamond, gave way to 
 him as he passed ; while Matilda, pale " as ashen 
 cold," and half breathless with terror, begged 
 the use of a private apartment for a few mi- 
 nutes for her father. Hamond was in a moment
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 243 
 
 by her side ; and Mr. Langham, yielding him- 
 self to their guidance, suffered himself to be 
 led away. 
 
 Dr. Milman suggested the ordering of Mr. 
 Langham's carriage. Sir William Sherrard un- 
 dertook the mission, and Lindsay Bathurst was 
 again left with Dr. Milman. 
 
 They had met accidentally in the morning, 
 when Captain Bathurst, afraid of being too 
 early at Mr. Langham's, and so defeating his 
 own wishes, walked into the library, to be se- 
 cure of the departure for Charlton before his 
 arrival. It was an unfortunate moment. The 
 Doctor was reading over the list of new sub- 
 scribers, and on seeing the name of Cressing- 
 ham, said to Captain Bathurst, " Do our 
 friends the Langhams know that Mr. Cres- 
 singham is in Cheltenham, think you, Cap- 
 tain Bathurst.'^" It was a delicate and dan- 
 gerous subject to his hearer ; the more so, 
 m2
 
 244 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 that Dr. Milman had formerly lived near the 
 parties, and knew and remembered every gos- 
 siping detail long since forgotten by the rest of 
 the world. Lindsay Bathurst listened with an 
 interest the speaker little dreamt of: the words 
 he heard were as poisoned arrows, and every 
 moral reflection made by the Doctor lent them 
 force to kill. The eclat of the transaction in 
 its fullest infamy was transferred by his ima- 
 gination from the day in which it happened to 
 the time being, and filled him with misery. 
 He to think of marrying the daughter of a wo- 
 man who had so acted ! — He to brave opinion ! 
 Better to die. The rencontre of the morning 
 finished what the tete-a-tete with Dr. Milman 
 had so effectually begun. His resolution was 
 taken : he would leave Cheltenham instantly, — 
 and England, as soon as he had resigned his 
 commission. 
 
 He did not think of Jeannette as he ought to
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 245 
 
 have thought of her, — but he did think of her, 
 and with the bitterness of despair. At one 
 moment, he wished to fly to her and reveal what 
 he felt, justify himself to her, and be forgiven. 
 The next, he proposed waiting, and feigning 
 some plausible apology for his absence ; but for 
 this he abhorred himself, and would not do it. 
 Finally, he walked to her father's house and 
 raised the knocker ; but he let it fall noiselessly, 
 as a better thought came over him, and he said, 
 '* No, rather let her think ill of me, — as she 
 will, she must, — than that I should give her any 
 portion of the pain I now endure." His heart 
 swelled with anguish as he looked towards the 
 room she usually sat in, and beheld every blind 
 closely drawn. He felt he was not acting the 
 part of a generous man, but he heeded not the 
 gentle admonition which this self-reproach ought 
 to have been to him. After a brief struggle with 
 himself, his mind was quite made up, — his
 
 246 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 carriage ordered to the door : he threw himself 
 into it, and after a burst of grief that did him 
 more honour than his departure, exclaimed, 
 " Thank God ! nothing in life like this can ever 
 come again !"
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A potent wand doth Sorrow wield ! — 
 What spell so strong as guilty fear? 
 Repentance is a tender sprite : 
 If aught on earth have heavenly might, 
 'Tis lodged within her silent tear. 
 
 WORDSWOETH. 
 
 The pride of the human mind can very 
 rarely endure the rejection of any overture to 
 pardon. Whatever the offence, the humility 
 of entreaty seems to him who makes the sacri- 
 fice more than sufficient to cancel it. But it 
 was not so with Mr. Langham. He had almost 
 learned to judge himself as he would another ; 
 and he felt, in all the agony of sincere remorse,
 
 248 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 that he had deserved the vengeance of contempt 
 which had been cast on him by Mr. Cressingham. 
 No man can make such an admission without a 
 prostration of heart which it would be fearful to 
 contemplate, did we not know, that after crime 
 it must precede the restoration to moral dignity, 
 — must be the first step towards reconciliation 
 with God. But once made, nothing else is 
 difficult : the heart, in search of peace, eagerly 
 adopts any measure that promises to secure it. 
 Mr. Langham, for many hours after the in- 
 terview with Mr. Cressingham, remained alone. 
 He requested as a favour of Hamond and Ma- 
 tilda, that they would not come near him; and, 
 painful as was obedience, they no farther trans- 
 gressed his wishes than occasionally to steal to 
 his door, and patiently wait there till some 
 movement in the apartment relieved them from 
 fears to which they dared not give utterance. 
 The first person he expressed a wish to see was
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 249 
 
 Doctor Milman, and to him, as far as man can 
 reveal to man his inmost thoughts, he poured 
 out his soul. The very calm temperament of 
 Dr. Milman made him not only a patient but 
 most useful confessor. A man of quicker feel- 
 ings or more ready sympathy would probably 
 have sought to change the current of his 
 thoughts by unequivocal condemnation of Mr. 
 Cressingham's conduct, or to have bound up 
 the wounds of a heart thus laid naked and fast 
 bleeding before him. Dr. Milman did neither : 
 he listened with gentleness and with pity ; but 
 he did not thoroughly comprehend the misery 
 he witnessed, when he permitted himself men- 
 tally to admit a fear that it was deserved. 
 
 " If he knew," said Mr. Langham, for Mr. 
 Cressingham's was a name he never ventured to 
 pronounce, " all I have endured — he could not 
 withhold his pardon, if he but knew the trage- 
 dy my life has been!" 
 
 M 5
 
 250 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 And fearlessly as he had previously blamed 
 his own conduct, his former prevailing thought 
 that he himself was the greater sufferer took 
 possession of his mind, and forbade his seeing 
 with his usual clearness the impropriety of the 
 measure he was about to adopt. Like a gam- 
 bler who throws his all upon a cast, he forgot 
 that the turn of tlie die might render his 
 position more utterly desperate. 
 
 " If he but knew," Mr. Langham continued 
 " that she on her bed of death prayed for his 
 forgiveness to her memory — that the yearning 
 for his pardon was to her heart then, what now 
 it is to mine, Dr. Milman, could he refuse to 
 grant it ? As he made this inquiry, Mr. Lang- 
 ham, undoubting of any difference of opinion, 
 seated himself at his writing-table, and Dr. 
 Milman's reply — '' If you write, I will willingly 
 be the bearer of your letter,*" was received as a 
 matter of course.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Give thy prayers to Heaven ! 
 
 Pray, albeit but in thought — but die not thus ! 
 
 Manfred. 
 
 Mr. Langham did write, and Dr. Milman, 
 on the following day, delivered his letter into 
 Mr. Cressingham's own hands. Mr. Cressing- 
 ham was in bed, and the mocking smile of irony 
 that crossed his thin and care-worn face was so 
 terrible to Dr. Milman, that, as he apologized 
 for his mission, he repented deeply of having 
 undertaken it. " May I hope," he concluded, 
 " that you will see for one half hour the unhap- 
 py man whose ambassador I am this day ?"
 
 252 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Mr. Cressingham echoed the words " See 
 him !" in accents so deep and sepulchral, that 
 they seemed to come from the grave. 
 
 Dr. Milman was startled, and he continued 
 to speak in the most soothing and conciliating 
 tone and words that he could command, — " Or, if 
 this is asking too much, a few words of pardon, 
 either written or sent by me, will be sufficient, 
 Mr. Cressingham, to calm one human heart, 
 and perhaps relieve your own." 
 
 " Ah ! indeed — that is more than I looked 
 to — Sir, I thank you, I will write." Had Dr. 
 Milman only heard the words uttered by Mr. 
 Cressingham, he would have felt happy in the 
 success of his embassy. But the terrific smile 
 which had before alarmed him again overspread 
 the features of the speaker, and his heart 
 shrunk within him. To Dr. Milman's percep- 
 tion it continued to increase in bitterness and 
 malignity as the invalid ordered materials for
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 253 
 
 writing to be brought to him, and raised him- 
 self in his bed to make use of them. This man 
 of peaceful emotions then exclaimed — " My 
 God ! Sir, consider what you are about to do."' 
 " Sir, I do !" was the brief answer of Mr. 
 Cressingham, in a calm and commanding tone, 
 in shocking opposition to the conflict of passion 
 that seemed tearing him to pieces. For his eye 
 either gleamed wildly, while his mind sum- 
 moned from the past every vestige of misery 
 that could inflame his present anger, or looked 
 dead and blank, and motionless, as if the ex- 
 ternal world was all forgotten. As he continued 
 to write, weakness at times compelled him to 
 suspend his task ; but after each pause, though 
 his attenuated hand seemed trembling with the 
 very touch of death, he rallied his failing 
 powers, and yielded wholly to the most baleful 
 feelings in their last struggle for the mastery. 
 Dr. Milman, whenever he recalled his image in
 
 254 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 these moments, likened him to a dying gladi- 
 ator, who, regardless of his own approaching 
 dissolution, set every nerve to accomplish the 
 destruction of his opponent. 
 
 He presented his letter unsealed to Dr. Mil- 
 man, charging him to read, seal, and deliver it 
 at his leisure. 
 
 Dr. Milman undertook to read it in Mr. 
 Cressingham's presence, in order to gain time, 
 which he trusted would be favourable to a 
 better state of mind than his looks and words 
 had hitherto indicated. But the perusal of the 
 letter went far to extinguish the faint glimmer- 
 ing of hope he had tried to keep alive on the 
 subject. The following were its contents : — 
 
 MR. cressingham's LETTER TO 
 MR. LANGHAM. 
 
 " Forgive you ! — You, the false friend ! — the 
 base betrayer ! Yes ! — as the sparrow does the
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 255 
 
 falcon within whose grasp it dies ! — or as the 
 lamb the treacherous wolf that lures him from 
 the fold to be devoured !— Forgive you ! You 
 know not what you ask ! I could not pardon 
 if I would. 
 
 " Forgiveness ! — Holy men have taught it, 
 and holy books instilled it ; and while listening 
 to the one, or studying the other, I too have 
 pronounced it. Yes, for many long, miserable 
 years I said I had forgiven you, and I believed 
 myself! But the sight of you (oh ! that I had 
 been spared it !) has wrung this error from 
 me. I cannot now, Sir, say it. Attempt not 
 once to see me, lest I pray to Heaven for its 
 heaviest infliction on your false and faithless 
 heart, — and for her sake, — her's in whose name 
 you dare to plead, I would not do this. But 
 you have had sufferings. I am a dying man, 
 Sir, yet they move me not, for I recollect my 
 own. I recollect that when fortune, health,
 
 256 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 youth, and hope, were fast declining, I had 
 one only blessing that bound me to the earth. 
 Oh ! that I could but make you conceive the 
 sting of memory now, or the pang of madness 
 then !" 
 
 Dr. Milman turned towards Mr. Cressing- 
 ham to admonish him. It was too late ! the 
 unhappy man seized the hands of Dr. Milman, 
 and strove to speak ; but the accents gurgled 
 in his throat. He threw himself violently for- 
 ward, as if struggling with internal agony, 
 but in a moment fell back on his pillow. The 
 heart that had beat so recently with such vio- 
 lence of emotion, was now still ! He who had 
 dwelt so much on the miseries of this world, was 
 snatched from it altogether !
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Methought the billows spoke and told me of it ; 
 The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder, 
 That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced 
 The name of Prosper. 
 
 How bitter are upbraidings when no internal 
 monitor tells us they are undeserved, — when 
 our endeavours to persuade ourselves that they 
 are harsh, unfeeling, or exaggerated, sink be- 
 neath the fiat of truth, and we are compelled 
 to acknowledge, whatever of pain or of con- 
 tumely may be heaped upon us, that we have 
 deserved it all ! 
 
 Mr. Langham had now presented to his
 
 258 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 mind not an absolutely new view of another 
 chain of consequences, arising from his con- 
 duct, but one tinged with a deeper and a truer 
 colouring than had been ever yet given to it. A 
 human heart corroded by vengeance was laid 
 before him, with whose last pulsations execra- 
 tions of him had been mingled. Whatever he 
 had done in the way of atonement — whatever 
 he might do, could not avert this ; and as he 
 sunk in agony on his bed, he prayed that he 
 might either never again experience a sensation 
 so dreadful, or never rise again. 
 
 But " a tree doth live long after rottenness 
 hath eat away its core," and Mr. Langham, long 
 after he had become callous to enjoyment, when 
 serious and rational pleasures had ceased to 
 charm, and warm, and pure affections to delight 
 him, was destined to exist. He slowly recovered 
 from the shock occasioned by Mr. Cressingham's 
 death ; but life, that blessing in itself, however
 
 THii FALSE STEP. 259 
 
 limited the means of enjoying it, had become 
 to him a curse. Remorse, that like the Pro- 
 methean vulture diminishes not the vitality 
 of its prey, dwelt in his heart, and fed on 
 the most painful and oppressive recollections. 
 " He is dead, and I have killed him !" was the 
 prevailing thought in his mind, — " O that I 
 could die !" the prayer for ever on his lips. 
 
 His children were variously affected by his 
 illness and the state of his mind. Jeannette 
 grieved that he was ill, for she fondly loved 
 him ; but this sorrow hid another and a deeper, 
 of which she never spoke. Matilda, in active 
 attendance on her father, with no present 
 thought but to anticipate his wishes and 
 watch over him, suffered less than might have 
 been expected from the tenderness of her 
 disposition. Her mind had felt too keenly 
 once, to be much affected by any collateral 
 circumstance dependent on the same melan-
 
 260 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 choly fact. To Matilda, it was of little mo- 
 ment that the pyramid of calumny should be 
 raised afresh over the name of Langham at 
 Cheltenham or elsewhere ; but it had been, and 
 still was, a source of severe anguish to her that it 
 ever had been piled and could not be o'erthrown. 
 Hamond's suffering was of a different nature, 
 for he was shocked and scandalized at the 
 publicity thus given to their name and history. 
 He knew enough of the world to be aware that 
 all tongues would talk their bitterest. The 
 meeting between his father and Mr. Cressing- 
 ham, and the death of the latter, with the sup- 
 pression only of the names, found their way 
 into the public papers. He tried to stop 
 its progress, as far as he could, and in some 
 degree succeeded. He begged too of Doctor 
 Milman to be his agent, and endeavour to 
 serve Mr. Cressingham's family in every way 
 possible. But his heart was heavy, and he 
 would sometimes take Jeannette on his knee
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 261 
 
 when he saw her dispirited and unhappy, and 
 weep over her, and with her, in agony of heart. 
 Sir WilHam Sherrard was unremitting in 
 his visits and attentions : he had never before 
 appeared so amiable to Hamond, and even Jean- 
 nette was pleased and softened by his evident 
 anxiety for her father. It was from him too 
 she first heard of Lindsay Bathurst's sudden 
 departure from Cheltenham, " on urgent and 
 indispensable business," as Sir William under- 
 took to assert. And though the bearer of 
 unwelcome news has generally but a losing 
 office, she liked Sir William Sherrard when he 
 made that simple assertion, better than she had 
 ever done before, or ever did again. It was a 
 vague answer to a sleepless question in her 
 heart, which her lip refused to utter, — and when 
 first she heard it, it seemed satisfactory, for it 
 served as the root for many a fair budding and 
 flourishing conjecture. " Visions that arise 
 without a sleep," sprang ceaselessly from it,
 
 262 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 and for a time consoled her. But when, day 
 after day, week after week, passed away and he 
 came not, — when her heart could no longer 
 deceive itself, — when Hamond's first letter, after 
 parting from her, stated that " Captain Ba- 
 th urst had quitted the army and was going 
 abroad," the chill of an agonized fear came 
 over her. " Did he not then love me ?" seemed 
 to be uttered by a thousand voices within her ; 
 and torrents of tears, which she attempted not 
 to control, were the only answers to an inquiry 
 in which her life was bound up. 
 
 Her imagination aided cruelly in harrowing 
 her heart, for she transferred to all its deeper 
 feelings the attribute of infinity. It seemed to 
 her, when in sorrow, that sorrow could never 
 end. Her affections, " boundless as the sea, 
 her love as deep," when tossed into tempest, re- 
 jected all things that were not of themselves ; — 
 nothing unconnected with them excited in her a 
 moment's interest.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 263 
 
 She did not, however, shrink from effort : at 
 first she prayed frequently and ardently to be 
 enabled to forget one who had created for her 
 such insufferable misery ; but the prayer was 
 no sooner breathed, than she denounced herself 
 for a wish so inhuman, so unnatural, — and re- 
 solved by occupation only to temper the acute- 
 ness of remembrance. She turned to books — 
 books that had been her early passion — the im- 
 provers, the refiners of her mind; but their 
 pages were as blanks to her eyes ; her faculties 
 were too entirely pre-occupied, to perform 
 her bidding. Some opinion of Lindsay Ba- 
 thursfs, — some dangerous recollection of how 
 he had looked, or what he had said, obtruded 
 on her mind, and wholly absorbed it. Re- 
 peated failures aggravated her distress. Jean- 
 nette had yet to learn that the first steps of 
 virtuous endeavour are ever difficult, ever full 
 of pain. She did not know that this is ne- 
 cessary in order that we may know the import-
 
 264 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ance of the task we have undertaken, and prac- 
 tically learn the immense exertion requisite on 
 our own parts towards the subjugation of the 
 will and discipline of the heart. 
 
 She tried her harp — but this was worse than 
 all : Lindsay Bathursfs voice started in full 
 melody from the strings. Again and again, she 
 touched the same chords, to bring back the illu- 
 sion; but it came no more. The disappoint- 
 ment affected her powerfully : she felt as if pur- 
 sued by misfortune, with none to pity or to 
 save her ; and these words came to her heart, 
 (for in distress words do come, though the lip 
 can seldom pronounce them) " like himself! like 
 himself ! — that false voice lured me to hope ! 
 O that he had rather taught me to die I" 
 
 She drew her harp towards her, and took no 
 note of time, as she thus sat musing in silent 
 and tearless agony. Her father and Matilda 
 entered before she removed.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 265 
 
 " A silent harp, my best love, or an idle per- 
 former, which ?'*'' said Mr. Langham, as he af- 
 fectionately kissed her. " Play something to 
 me, Jeannette." 
 
 She obeyed her father; but Matilda, who was 
 watching her, saw that through the whole of 
 the performance her tears fell like rain over her 
 dress and the gilding of the harp. 
 
 Matilda had before this remarked her un- 
 happiness, her assumption of activity and in- 
 terest when she thought herself observed, and her 
 look of inward wretchedness when in her abstrac- 
 tion she forgot that any one was near her. She 
 was afraid of revolting her by asking her con- 
 fidence, but she strove by many indirect ways 
 to win it. She mentioned Captain Bathurst's 
 name at one time with praise, to soothe ; at an- 
 other, with blame, to rouse her, and always with 
 the same ill success. Jeannette had neither 
 courage nor inclination to lay before Matilda 
 
 VOL. L N
 
 266 THE FALSE STEP' 
 
 her chain of evidence in favour of the belief 
 she had indulged. She was perhaps aware 
 that the far greater part of it consisted in man- 
 ner, which may be felt and understood, but 
 cannot easily be detailed. 
 
 Matilda afterwards tried the efficacy of 
 gentle reproaches, but she was soon compelled 
 
 to desist. 
 
 " You really do nothing, my dear Jeannette — 
 I wish I could see you employ yourself as you 
 used to do. You have played over that pre- 
 lude till I am tired of hearing it. Do try to 
 proceed.'' 
 
 Jeannette had that morning made great ef- 
 forts not to seem, but to be interested in all 
 she undertook. Matilda's remark therefore 
 appeared peculiarly uncalled for and unkind. 
 She quitted the room hastily; and Matilda, 
 seeing that she had given pain, thought it 
 better not immediately to follow her. When
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 267 
 
 she did so, she found her extended senseless 
 on the floor of her apartment : her nerves had 
 begun to be affected by the state of her mind ; 
 and Matilda's words, with the help of her own 
 imagination, had reduced her to the state we 
 have described. 
 
 When she recovered, she threw her arms 
 around Matilda, and called her her dear, dear 
 sister ; but of all that was consuming her heart 
 she said not a word. 
 
 In her journal of this period of her life were 
 found some memoranda of her feelings, and 
 to that it may not be uninteresting again to 
 have recourse. 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Thou art the manuscript 
 
 Where Antoninus writes down all his secrets. 
 
 Massinger. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM JEANNETTE's JOURNAL 
 RESUMED. 
 
 " Cheltenham. — Lindsay Bathurst ar- 
 vived, and almost before I thought it possible 
 he could know we were here ! How certain I 
 felt that he would come ! The tableaux parlants 
 went off well ; but I found it terribly difficult 
 to keep my eyes quite fixed and immoveable. 
 Lady Everard found much fault with me for 
 blushing deeper and deeper still, she said, till
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 269 
 
 the representation was quite over. She did 
 not know that I could hear Lindsay Bathurst's 
 ' beautiful ! — beautiful f or the deep sigh 
 that followed his exclamation. What could 
 make him sigh ? I never saw the picture we 
 acted ; Miss Sherrard had, and played her part 
 beautifully. Lindsay Bathurst said, he con- 
 sidered my part the more perfect, for the emo- 
 tion I betrayed ; and Lady Everard's reply was 
 remarkable enough : ' Yes, for real life per- 
 haps : Modesty alive can scarcely, I suppose, 
 blush too much ; but in a picture there should 
 be no variation. Miss Sherrard's Vanity was 
 perfect."" In his low and peculiar whisper, 
 Lindsay Bathurst said, ' Her Ladyship never 
 before said any thing half so true. Oh ! my 
 dear Jeannette, leave exhibitions of this kind to 
 Miss Sherrard. I was miserable to-night, while 
 every body else was in raptures. You will 
 never, I think; attempt the same again.' I
 
 270 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 answered solemnly, ' Never.' Yet, before he 
 spoke, I had made no such resolution. And 
 now I feel that nothing could induce me to 
 break that promise. What, indeed, could com- 
 pensate for the condemnation of one right- 
 judging person? Not the applause of mil- 
 lions : the one would be to me as another con- 
 science ; the multitude, as passing shadows. 
 
 *' How well, how sweetly Lindsay Bathurst 
 sang this night ! When two people thoroughly 
 understand each other, what trivial circum- 
 stances can give intensity, I had almost said 
 an eternity, to happiness ! a continuity of bliss ; 
 at least it must be as long as memory lasts. 
 Yes, through whatever medium I may hereafter 
 look back on these happy hours, they always 
 will, they always must, look bright and glowing. 
 Stars do not cease to shine when clouds conceal 
 them ; and bliss, in remembrance, must still be 
 bliss, however dense the intervening atmo-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 271 
 
 sphere. There could be no misunderstanding 
 the request, not to go to Charlton ! Oh ! 
 what may not that interview bring forth of joy 
 and happiness ! My heart is light and bound- 
 ing ; all its doubts and fears already gone, and 
 nothing in it but one sweet and soft emotion of 
 trusting happy love ! 
 
 " Did I but dream, when I thought and 
 wrote of happiness ? Oh ! never — never more 
 will I presume on a coming hour ! None 
 ought to do it ; but I did, and that so trust- 
 ingly, that, when he came not, I felt as if a 
 miracle had been achieved. In that hour of 
 deep astonishment, there is nothing I could not 
 have believed. 
 
 " And then my dear father returned home ill 
 —and yet he came not. What may it mean ? — 
 Lindsay Bathurst gone from Cheltenham ! Oh ! 
 he ought to have seen me, though but for an 
 instant ; he ought to have written to me, though
 
 272 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 but to say farewell ! Yet I remember at Lang- 
 ham Court we made a compact, half playfully, 
 half seriously, never to condemn each other, 
 never to suffer appearances to estrange us, until 
 we had had verbal communication together. 
 I proposed, ' Or a written explanation ;' but 
 Lindsay Bathurst said, ^ No, nothing but an 
 interview.' 
 
 " What is to become of my heavy heart ? 
 There is that in it, which weeping does not 
 remove — which prayer does not relieve. And, 
 oh ! may a merciful God forgive me for it ! 
 there is that also in it, which keeps alike 
 tears from my eyes, and prayer from my 
 lips. I think but of one image ; I hold, I 
 have but one wish : — to see him once again ; 
 — to hear him but once more say, that I 
 was not all deceived ! for, oh ! as surely 
 as there "*s a Heaven above us, he seemed to 
 love me, and strove to make me love him !
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 273 
 
 Oh ! if indeed it werc only seeming ! Then 
 is there not so sunk, so pitiful a wretch on 
 earth as I am ! World, world, I could stand 
 your brave, and seek to know the truth ! He 
 is the soul of honour, and would not deceive 
 me ; but I could neither sink my woman's 
 pride, nor risk his condemnation. A long, 
 long life is perhaps before me ; and yet I 
 dare not act : miserable as I now am, I weep 
 for woes to come, as well as for those that 
 are. 
 
 " 1 dreaded my return home ; for I said, 
 where I first saw, first listened to, first loved 
 him, — there shall I find food dear to me- 
 mory, but poison alike to the brain and to 
 the heart. Yet it is nothing. I have visited 
 every room in which we ever were together, — 
 have lingered long in every path through which 
 we ever wandered, — I have paused on many a 
 spot sacred now to remembrance, because asso- 
 N 5
 
 274 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ciated with some precious and undying thought 
 of him. Here, I have said, such a doubt as- 
 sailed me ; there, I first mentioned to him my 
 beloved mother ! Here, here the first hope of his 
 regard came over me; and there, we parted. 
 Yet do I pronounce it all as nothing. He is no 
 more with me in the midst of this scene than he 
 would be in pathless wilds, where his foot had 
 never trod ! His image never leaves me ; and 
 the same thoughts, the same recollections, 
 visit my heart equally, whether I behold or 
 not those objects with which he was familiar. 
 I do more than half believe he might be 
 ever with me ; yet not so wholly the companion 
 of my heart. What if he never in truth 
 loved me ? And if he did, why should that 
 dreadful thought so frequently come across 
 me, so sicken my whole soul ? And when I 
 seek to turn from it, the words " that way 
 madness lies,"" accompany the effort ; as if they
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 275 
 
 were my own thought, born of the circum- 
 stance, and at the moment. And it does seem 
 to me that such a racking doubt might lead 
 to madness rather than to death. Too much 
 time has elapsed for me now to hope to see 
 him at his own seeking, or to hear of him at 
 his own desire. Yet, I have often a presenti- 
 ment that I shall see him again before I die, 
 and only see him f Oh ! I must learn to bear 
 the idea of this ; but how ? 
 
 " I have this night dreamt of him. He look- 
 ed ill and miserable ; but he said, ' Jeannette, I 
 do love you !"* And I then awoke. I prayed 
 for sleep, that the vision might come again. I 
 slept again, but the dream was not renewed. 
 How little real power has the human mind. 
 No order of intellect, however high, could com- 
 mand a dream, yet none but the very wretched 
 either feel this as an affliction, or reflect upon it. 
 I did dream again, but not of him.
 
 276 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " If I could more thoroughly deceive myself, 
 I should possibly be less miserable. But I 
 cannot. One hour, I believe as firmly that he 
 loved me, as I used to do when his eye con- 
 veyed to me the real meaning of his words 
 of double import. The next, my reason cries 
 out against me. I stand convicted on my own 
 evidence, that it was my own foolish imagina- 
 tion that so cruelly misled me ; and every re- 
 membrance becomes a mockery and a wreck. 
 And then I doubt of all I see and hear, — of 
 all I ever understood, or felt the most convinced 
 of; and I say, perhaps even my blessed mo- 
 ther did not love me as I thought she loved ! 
 And my father's affection, — and Matilda's, — 
 and Hamond's, — how has it all, all seemed to 
 dwindle ! 
 
 " Yes, I will go to Miss Sherrard : she wishes 
 me to be her bride's-maid. My father urges 
 me to go, and Matilda looks on me with her
 
 TFIE FALSE STEP. 277 
 
 melancholy eyes filled with tears that almost 
 say, ' Whether you go or stay, Jeannette, my 
 heart must still upbraid you !' And so it must, 
 and ought. She who has done so much for me, 
 and I not to confide wholly in her ! But I 
 could not. She would either condemn him or 
 me, or both, so much more than I could bear. 
 I shall go from my home to-morrow, and I have 
 joy in that thought. An insane, not a health- 
 ful joy, and one that brings its penance with 
 it, for I know I ought to grieve — and I weep 
 that I cannot ! Shame, shame on my weak and 
 altered heart ! 
 
 " Have I not somewhere read, that when we 
 give ourselves up, every thing fails us.? Oh ! 
 every thing ! I have felt this, and I know it 
 to be true. Every thing belonging to this 
 world, — affection, health, temper, the duties 
 and charities of life, occupation, memory, — 
 all glide away, as easily as water from the
 
 278 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 hand that would idly detain it. I have often 
 now a miserable consciousness of my inability 
 to feel interest in any thing, and at the same 
 moment the equally miserable conviction that 
 till I do feel this, I never can be better."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Too powerful love- 
 
 The best strength of thy unconfined empire 
 
 Lies in weak women's hearts. Thou art feign'd blind, 
 
 And yet we borrow our best sight from thee. 
 
 Massinger. 
 
 J E ANNETTE went from home; and Matilda, 
 while she felt that reserve in her sister towards 
 herself was a trial for which she was little pre- 
 pared, had the generosity to hope that Miss 
 Sherrard would prove a kind confidante and 
 judicious adviser. But Jeannette made no call 
 upon her friend in either character. To Miss 
 Sherrard she never mentioned the name of
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Captain Bathurst — never betrayed, by remark 
 or sigh in her presence, that there was aught of 
 perilous stuff weighing on her heart. In society 
 she sang, danced, and talked with the anima- 
 tion that was natural to her, but all the hours 
 she could steal from it, (and they were many,) 
 were given up to the heavy stupor of a stubborn 
 sorrow, or to the less baneful indulgence of 
 unavailing tears. At home she could never 
 consider herself secure from interruption ; but 
 a plausible excuse to her friend of a book she 
 wished to read, or letters that must be written, 
 rendered her the uncontrolled mistress of any 
 portion of time she wished to pass in solitude. 
 She knew that this privilege could only be 
 hers for a brief period : — she therefore seized 
 with greater avidity every opportunity of 
 discoursing with her own feelings, with a far 
 greater inclination to indulge than overcome 
 them.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 281 
 
 She reviewed her recollections, and by the 
 help of her imagination gave to them a por- 
 traiture so distinct, that on her mind 
 
 " They lay like substances, and almost seem'd 
 To haunt the bodily sense." 
 
 The habit was a dangerous one ; for, while it 
 made her more acquainted with the state of her 
 heart, it justified her affection to herself, and 
 she was led constantly to feel and frequently to 
 say when alone — " If he had not been all 
 worth, all excellence, I could not have so loved 
 him. I have given my heart away, but, oh ! 
 not unworthily ! — Never can one humiliating 
 thought, one blush of shame, spring from 
 his remembrance." 
 
 She thus riveted more closely every hour a 
 chain which it was alike her duty and her inte- 
 rest to break asunder, and by the contemplation 
 of Lindsay Bathurst's claims on her regard for- 
 got the neglect which ought to have forfeited it.
 
 282 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Every habit of self-indulgence brings its 
 punishment in its train, and perhaps the aber- 
 rations of the heart are visited with the heaviest. 
 Jeannette, at the end of a two months'* absence 
 from home, at the expiration of a visit she had 
 paid, chiefly with the view of recovering the tone 
 of her mind, and regaining some tranquillity, 
 found that her affections were less in her own 
 power than before, and began to feel all the 
 isolation and misery which belong to uncom- 
 municated sorrow. Miss Sherrard often ob- 
 served how ill she looked; and her brother, 
 Sir William Sherrard, yet more frequently had 
 exclaimed — " Would to Heaven that you were 
 considered ill, Jeannette ! It is dreadful to 
 me to hear you pronounce yourself well." 
 
 Jeannette had quite forgotten that Sir Wil- 
 liam Sherrard had ever been dreaded by her 
 as a lover, and only saw in him the brother of 
 a partial friend; for it was in this relation,
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 283 
 
 rather than any other, that Miss Sherrard 
 stood with regard to her. But the Baronet 
 had neither forgotten his admiration nor his 
 love ; none indeed easily could, who had once 
 bestowed them on her; and the greater in- 
 timacy now necessarily established between 
 them, made him rich in hope. He hardly him- 
 self knew why he delayed the declaration of 
 his love. Yet, from day to day he did so, 
 contenting himself with anxiously watching 
 over her, and sometimes talking to his sister 
 with real solicitude, but a feigned indifference 
 of the probabilities of his success. Few men 
 care to let any other than their mistress know 
 how much they are enthralled. Miss Sherrard, 
 who had hitherto encouraged her brother's at- 
 tachment, scarcely knew how to speak on the 
 same theme in a different key. But she had 
 imbibed some suspicion of Jeannette's secret^ 
 and was anxious to save her brother the pain of
 
 284 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 refusal. She therefore not only strongly ad- 
 vised his deferring the momentous question, 
 (supporting her counsel by all those excellent 
 reasons an ingenious woman can upon every oc- 
 casion call to her aid, without having recourse 
 to the real one,) but was careful that no oppor- 
 tunity should be granted him of proposing it ver- 
 bally. This was not difficult, for her wedding- 
 day was near at hand, and she and Jeannette 
 were then to part. 
 
 It had been arranged, at the particular re- 
 quest of Mr. Grant, that the marriage ceremony 
 should be performed by Dr. Milman, who had 
 been his private tutor at Eton. But, owing 
 to indisposition, the honour was transferred to 
 his son Henry Milman, who had recently ar- 
 rived from the Continent, and had just taken 
 Priest''s orders. 
 
 He was well known to all the party ; but as 
 three years had elapsed since he had seen Jean-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 285 
 
 nette, they were formally introduced to each 
 other. 
 
 " I remember you perfectly, Mr. Milman," 
 she said, " but I am afraid I have grown out 
 of all knowledge." 
 
 " Not so, I assure you. I have never for- 
 gotten you ; and yet I confess, if your name had 
 not been told me, I should not have claimed 
 your acquaintance. You certainly are altered. 
 It is very singular, but I was describing you 
 as you ivere within the last fortnight." 
 
 " Indeed ! You did me honour. May I 
 inquire to whom.^" 
 
 " To a brother officer of Hamond's, — Captain 
 Bathurst, who arrived at Pisa the day before I 
 left Italy." 
 
 A torrent of recollections rushed to the heart 
 of Jeannette ; but she stood silent, and breath- 
 less, and confused, when to speak, seemed to 
 her as indispensable as if life depended on her
 
 286 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 words. Yet she could not. Her heart beat 
 thick and fast, — her lip trembled, — her eye 
 beamed with the re-awakened fire of hope, — 
 and her cheek slightly flushed ; her whole soul 
 was roused into action, but she was voiceless, 
 and could give " her thought no tongue.^' 
 
 Henry Milman looked at her with wonder, 
 and could scarcely repress the burst of admira- 
 tion that rose from his heart to his lips, when 
 her increased beauty thus suddenly flashed upon 
 his senses. To him it did not seem the result 
 of inward emotion, but what had existed before 
 without his perceiving it. 
 
 Miss Sherrard quietly asked if Captain 
 Bathurst was going to remain in Italy. 
 
 It was the question of all others that Jean- 
 nette, could she have arranged the tangled skeins 
 of doubt and difficulty which were generated in 
 her bewildered mind into any thing like order, 
 would have wished resolved. She listened in
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 287 
 
 great fear for the reply, it appearing to her dis- 
 ordered imagination a problem too vast, too 
 difficult to be solved in a moment ; and when 
 Henry Milman simply answered, " I believe, 
 for some time, — I at least have promised to 
 join him there in a few months"— she start- 
 ed, and with as much real surprise as if what 
 had appeared to her impossible had been actu- 
 ally overcome. 
 
 " He has, I think, quitted the army ?" 
 observed Mr. Grant. 
 
 "Yes; so I understood from himself ; but 
 as he did not volunteer to tell me why, I did 
 not care to inquire." 
 
 Surmise on surmise, conjecture on conjecture, 
 reason on reason, were given in turns or toge- 
 ther. Every body seemed capable of assigning 
 a reasonable foundation for such a proceeding ; 
 yet all seemed dissatisfied with every thing ad- 
 vanced by themselves or others.
 
 288 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Jeannette withdrew to her own room with a 
 mingled feeling of happiness and self-reproach. 
 To have heard his name, — to have been told his 
 " whereabouts," — to have seen one M^ho had con- 
 versed with him, and who would see him soon 
 again, was a temporary reprieve from the dark- 
 ness of despair. But to have had so much in 
 her power, and not to have made use of it, — not 
 to have put one of those questions with which 
 her mind was full, — not to have asked even if he 
 were well, was a reflection full of that descrip- 
 tion of misery, which, increasing in intensity 
 the longer it is dwelt on, falls at length upon 
 the heart with a bitterness of upbraiding that 
 should only belong to wrong actions. 
 
 But the imagination quickly perverts all 
 things, and in this instance Jeannette's gave to 
 the poignancy of a natural regret the sting of 
 wounded conscience. A sleepless night did not 
 help to give a more correct tone to her mind.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 289 
 
 She arose with a resolution of sending a mes- 
 sage to Captain Bathurst by Henry Milman, 
 she scarcely knew of what, and she thought not 
 of impropriety. There are moments of despe- 
 ration in most cases of suffering, when all would 
 exclaim with Lear, 
 
 " Oh, reason, not the need !" 
 
 or substitute any other stubborn, unanswer- 
 able, and heart-piercing word for that cruel 
 need, we should still exclaim against it. Jean- 
 nette would have said, " Oh, reason, not the 
 right !" But she knew not how weak she was 
 in her resolves, or rather how strong a barrier 
 of respectable and precious feelings dwelt with- 
 in her, to put them to flight, if they should be 
 prone to lead her wrong. With the old ques- 
 tion knocking at her heart, " Did he, or did he 
 not, love me ?'''' accompanied by all the misera- 
 ble dread lest she should have been deceived, 
 VOL. 1. o
 
 290 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 she prepared for fulfilling the office of bride's 
 maid to her friend. The ceremony was soon 
 over, the breakfast was soon over, and notes 
 of preparation for departure were everywhere 
 heard. The bride took leave of her mournfully, 
 and said, as she put a ring upon her finger 
 to wear for her sake, " I have many acquaint- 
 ance, but only one friend — promise, Jeannette, 
 never to forget or to abandon me ! " Jeannette 
 had scarcely time to answer before Mrs. Grant 
 was hurried away. Every body was in motion, 
 and all was bustle. There was scarcely a mi- 
 nute left for the execution of a purpose on 
 which her soul was bent. The fear of disap- 
 pointment lent her courage for the attempt ; 
 and drawing near to Henry Milman, who was 
 stationed by a window, watching the departure 
 of the bride, she said, and her words were 
 at first uttered without tremor, though pro- 
 nounced with the greatest rapidity.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 291 
 
 *' Mr. Milman, do you really expect to see 
 Captain Bathurst again soon ?" 
 
 " In a few months ; have you any commands 
 to him ?■" And Henry Milman spoke laugh- 
 ingly, wholly unconscious of the struggle the 
 inquiry had cost the fair questioner by his 
 side. 
 
 " Oh I only this : tell him, ask him, Mr. 
 Milman — " and Jeannette, who would at that 
 moment have given worlds to have recalled the 
 words she had uttered^ had nothing either to 
 tell or to ask. 
 
 She tore a note she had prepared to send to 
 Captain Bathurst into a thousand atoms, and, 
 overpowered by shame, strove in vain to recover 
 her self-possession. She endeavoured in vain 
 to finish the sentence she had so rashly begun ; 
 but burying her face in her hands, her tears 
 flowed fast beneath them. 
 
 A flash of recollections passing through his 
 o2
 
 292 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 memory with the celerity and briefness of light- 
 ning, enabled Henry Milman in one moment to 
 comprehend and feel for Jeannette 
 
 He saw that her present distress arose from 
 the betrayal of her feelings to him. He drew 
 towards her, and to re-assure her said, in reply 
 to her unfinished sentence, *' I will certainly 
 tell Captain Bathurst, his friends in England 
 do not forget him. Miss Langham. I have in 
 my turn a commission for you : — will you un- 
 dertake to remember me to your father and 
 sister ?" And after a long pause, and in a 
 lower tone, " The latter would, I think, tell 
 you that you might trust me/' 
 
 But all would not do. Jeannette was too 
 much sunk in her own estimation, even for the 
 temporary assumption of external composure. 
 Her carriage came to the door, and by all but 
 'Henry Milman, her tears were ascribed to part- 
 ing with the bride. And Sir William Sher
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 293 
 
 rard, on receiving only bows in reply to his 
 really affectionate farewell, said to himself, 
 " C'est un oiseau de bon augure — on n'aime 
 pas tant la soeur sans avoir pour le fr^re un 
 reste d'amitie.'^
 
 294 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, 
 Which show like grief itself, but are not so : 
 For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, 
 Divides one thing entire to many objects; 
 Like perspectives which, rightly gazed upon, 
 Show nothing but confusion ; eyed awry, 
 Distinguish form. Shakspeare. 
 
 There are few things more melancholy than 
 to see in a beloved countenance, after a short 
 absence, indisputable traces of grief or indispo- 
 sition. Matilda had hoped to see Jeannette 
 improved, but she came back the image of 
 woe. The indulgence of her sorrow had made 
 leisure for thought and memory almost neces-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 295 
 
 sary to her, and her return home had been in 
 prospect, as it was in reality, painful to her, be- 
 cause there she knew she could not (more par- 
 ticularly at first) be the uncontrolled mistress 
 of her time. 
 
 Consciousness of the influence of this con- 
 demnable feeling could not but be oppressive. 
 Jeannette had wept bitterly that she could not 
 grieve at parting with Matilda and her father ; 
 still she felt a more cruel and upbraiding sor- 
 row that she could not, as she was wont, revel 
 in joy at the sight of them. A pang of con- 
 science was thus added to the woes of her heart ; 
 and, to gain relief from her own reproaches, 
 she permitted herself to think and feel that her 
 father was altered. She accused Matilda of 
 indifference and harshness of feeling, and wished 
 daily that she could see Hamond. By the 
 management of Matilda, Hamond came. With 
 desperate courage she one day mentioned Cap-
 
 296 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 tain Bathurst''s name. Her brother's manner 
 was stern and grave as he told her, that " Cap- 
 tain Bathurst," he thanked God, " had left the 
 regiment for ever."" 
 
 It is inconceivable, till experienced, what ad- 
 ditional horror may be imparted to a disagree- 
 able fact by mere manner. The severe and 
 emphatic tone in which Hamond uttered the 
 words " Thank God," and " for ever," fully con- 
 vinced Jeannette that he no longer loved her. 
 Her affections had been cruelly disturbed, and 
 she cast all the blame of her own heart's va- 
 grancy upon those she had once loved the best. 
 They were no longer a whole and perfect world 
 to her; and, in order to be reconciled to herself, 
 she said, *' I am not so dear to them as I once 
 was." But bodily afflictions are sometimes 
 sent to bring healing to the mind. Jeannette 
 fell dangerously ill, and her watchful, tender, 
 and anxious relatives, most affectingly revealed
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 297 
 
 to her then how inexpressibly dear she was to 
 them. At first, each look of inquiry, every 
 word of affection, were so many reproaches for 
 her former perversity, and she acknowledged 
 to herself that she had indeed been unjust. 
 She even said to her sister, when she was at the 
 worst, and when she believed she could not 
 recover, " I am happy, quite, happy, dear 
 Matilda ! I have but one wish, that I could 
 now tell you, my dearest sister, why I was 
 not always so; but I cannot. I have tried, 
 Matilda, and I cannot. Forgive me !" 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! my dearest Jeannette : be 
 well, and I will then listen, — not now.*" 
 
 Jeannette did not think she ever could be 
 well ; but her faculties were all awake, and in 
 her inmost soul she felt Matilda's delicacy, and 
 hoped to have the power granted her of con- 
 fiding in her. But with her slowly returning 
 strength came back, it should seem, her former 
 o 5
 
 298 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 reluctance to any thing like confidence, and she 
 was as silent, though not quite as secret, as 
 before — that is, if so nice a distinction may be 
 suffered to pass, though she did not speak of 
 what had been passing within her heart, she did 
 not now seek to put a veil upon it. She would 
 write in her journal in Matilda's presence, or 
 weep beside her : she would even sometimes 
 point out passages in the books she read that 
 bore upon her own state, and converse upon 
 them. Matilda trusted that such a mind would 
 soon work its own cure, and respected the re- 
 serve of Jeannette as much as if she had been 
 queen of the world. 
 
 It would have been better if she had not, for 
 it is in the monotony of a secret grief that the 
 danger chiefly rests. No sudden vexation or 
 unsuspected annoyance is ever so hurtful as 
 this unvaried sameness — it always bringing, 
 whatsoever its nature, the soothing antidote of
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 299 
 
 chansre. This was what Jeannette's mind want- 
 
 o 
 
 ed. Could she have hoped for any vicissitude, 
 she would have suffered less ; but life, now that 
 she was restored to it, lay before her as one 
 unvarying and trackless waste; and time be- 
 came to her a wearying and profitless burden. 
 She had recourse to occupation, it is true, but 
 no longer felt the stirring interest that lends 
 wings to the hurrying hours of happiness, and 
 the self-imposed task which she performed to 
 s^et over time, was often worse to her than entire 
 
 inaction. 
 
 Still, to outward appearance, she was better, 
 and Matilda and her father hoped all things — 
 for what will ardent affection not hope and not 
 believe ? But it is time to retura to Lindsay 
 Bathurst.
 
 300 THE FALSE STEP 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 O never say that I was false of heart, 
 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. 
 
 As easy might I from myself depart, 
 
 As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie ; 
 
 That is my home of love : if I have ranged 
 
 Like him that travels, I return again ; 
 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchanged. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 It has been endeavoured to be shown that 
 Lindsay Bathurst, though very far from a per- 
 fect character, was not an every-day or com- 
 mon-place person. It was perhaps partly to his 
 singularity that he was indebted for the large 
 share of unsought influence which he possessed 
 over the minds of his friends and acquaintance
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 301 
 
 in general ; nor is it by any means improbable 
 that Jeannette's heart, which seemed to herself 
 to have been won by his immense and indispu- 
 table superiority over others, had in reality been 
 first attracted by some distinguishing charac- 
 teristic, at best of a doubtful nature. 
 
 Pride, jealousy of honour, uncurbed fasti- 
 diousness, were in him prominent and visible 
 defects ; but, then, his pride was not so much 
 the aristocratic hauteur of society, as the dis- 
 dain of a noble soul that could not rest " be- 
 neath its native quarry." Yet so overweening 
 was it in its nature, that it bore its own chas- 
 tisement in its proper bosom, and was thus a 
 check to itself ; for he at times despised him- 
 self for a feeling that puts its possessor so deci- 
 dedly in comparison with others, and then he 
 became too proud to be proud. At such mo- 
 ments, he would have scorned the idea of yield- 
 ing to opinion ; but they were too few, and
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 came too rarely, to lessen his sensitiveness even 
 to the lowest whispers of the multitude. 
 
 As has before been said, he loved Jeannette : 
 and this, not with the passing affection that 
 springs up with mere admiration of beauty, but 
 with that pure and ethereal feeling, which, once 
 implanted in minds of a high cast, diffuses it- 
 self over every hour of existence, and which, 
 whatever may be its fate, dies only with the 
 heart that gave it birth. He knew all the 
 strength- — all the value of her affections; he 
 knew too, that love for him might be registered 
 among them — and yet he left her! — But not 
 callously, — not indifferently, — not without pain. 
 At first, he seldom slept, but with the wish that 
 he might not again awaken. He deplored the 
 loss of her, as if the path that led him from her 
 had not been of his own choosing. And no 
 effort that he made to forget her ever displaced 
 her image from his memory, or relieved his
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 303 
 
 self-burdened mind from its load of discontent. 
 He seemed to love her better for every sacrifice 
 he had made in loving her at all ; for, strange 
 as it may sound, it is nevertheless true, that, 
 when a man loves against his judgment, it ap- 
 pears to himself to arise from the courtesy of 
 his will. Lindsay Bathurst had almost per- 
 suaded himself that his attachment to Jeannette 
 Langham was a voluntary act, to which com- 
 passion had first given rise. 
 
 Regret for the loss of such a being, one too, 
 who had begun to love him, accompanied him 
 wherever he went. Yet, he thought not of re- 
 gaining her, nor once reflected that the cause 
 of his unhappiness lay in himself. The barrier 
 between them was of his own erecting, but to 
 his imagination it was insurmountable. Still 
 less did he think of her sorrows, or her regrets. 
 Absorbed by his own feelings, the natural 
 thought that she too perhaps might be miser-
 
 304 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 able, did not for many months occur to him, 
 and even then it was to accident that he was 
 indebted for the supposition. For we feel as 
 well as think in a circle, and often find our- 
 selves, after treading and re-treading for hours 
 the same dull round, precisely at the point from 
 which we started. Internal unhappiness, after 
 the tumult of grief has subsided into passiveness, 
 grasps eagerly after novelty, but rarely creates it. 
 The bare idea of Jeannette having suffered 
 as he had done, came to Captain Bathurst"'s 
 mind tardily and unexpectedly ; but when it 
 did come, it had its plenary effect. At Pisa, 
 as has been before said, he met Henry Milman. 
 They met again, after the latter had seen Jean- 
 nette. Delicately, without compromising Jean- 
 nette in any degree, he ventured to suggest 
 that his friend was too well remembered. 
 Bathurst did not conceal that the subject was 
 interesting to him, and IVIilman was not with-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 305 
 
 out suspicion that his conduct had not been en- 
 tirely blameless. They afterwards discoursed 
 on indifferent subjects, and among others on 
 novels. Milman observed: — 
 
 *' I seldom read them now ; but I shall ever 
 speak of them with respect. Corinna first, 
 Eliza Rivers next, made me, before I had had 
 much experience in life, respect and dread the 
 sensibility of woman. I can say with truth, 
 that those books did me good." 
 - Lindsay Bathurst did not betray the whole 
 of his feelings to his old friend, although the 
 words he had heard were to his mind what an 
 electrical shock is to the body. A momentary 
 convulsion disordered its powers ; but as it 
 passed away, he beheld, as if reflected in a 
 mirror, not only all the past, all his own cul- 
 pable and earnest endeavours to win Jeannette, 
 but also all the probable present. The " thorny 
 truth of things" seemed suddenly unveiled to
 
 306 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 him, and he resolved to write to Jeannette on 
 the instant. Had he paused, or reflected on 
 the palpable inconsistency of the line of conduct 
 he was about to adopt, he would most likely 
 have shrunk from performing it. But, in his 
 mind's eye, he beheld Jeannette sorrowing, and 
 sorrowing for him ! He pressed his hands 
 against his throbbing temples, and wished for 
 tears, as the wretched sometimes do, to give 
 ease to his aching heart — his heart that seemed 
 bursting within his bosom. He had purchased 
 at Florence an alabaster statue, because of its 
 likeness to Jeannette, and had had this inscrip- 
 tion placed on its base : 
 
 " I would have thine image be 
 Fair as I can, though not as thee !" 
 
 This imagined image stood in his room, and 
 this night he gazed on it till he almost fancied 
 it a living, breathing representation of the being 
 he loved. His imagination had pourtrayed her
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 307 
 
 in sorrow, and he pressed his lips to the cold 
 carved eyelids, as if to kiss away her tears. 
 Some confused thoughts of a return to England 
 and reconcilement and happiness shot across 
 his mind ; but they were more evanescent than 
 " the cloud of the morning ;'' and, under 
 feelings of the highest excitement, he wrote the 
 following letter to Jeannette : — 
 
 " Jeannette ! dear, dearest Jeannette ! I have 
 no right so to address you ; but forgive me 
 that I do, for I write to you in misery and 
 unhappiness — under the first feelings of re- 
 morse I ever experienced in my life. Re- 
 morse ! Yes, Jeannette, remorse, — not for hav- 
 ing loved you, — not for loving you still, — but 
 for having sought your love. Yet, when I did 
 seek it, I would willingly have sacrificed my 
 life to the one sweet hope of being beloved by 
 you ! Now, I am but the more wretched for 
 having wished it ; and in atonement, if indeed
 
 308 THE FALSE STEP 
 
 there may be atonement offered, I cast away 
 the most blissful sensations that ever filled my 
 miserable heart. I cast them away, Jeannette, 
 and implore your forgiveness that I ever che- 
 rished them. And oh I let the immensity of the 
 sacrifice attest my sincerity! let the virtue of 
 this one act be consecrated in your remembrance! 
 For, Jeannette, believe it, the moment in which 
 I resolved to implore you to think of me no 
 more, was the most virtuous of my life ; — that 
 in which I brought myself to wish it, the most 
 deeply fraught with all that martyrs suffer. 
 
 " I seek neither to vindicate nor palliate my 
 conduct: — circumstances over which I had no 
 control caused my abrupt departure and my 
 subsequent silence ; for these things, your just 
 blame must rest upon me: but, Jeannette, 
 though you blame, forgive me ! And, — oh ! 
 that I should live to ask it ! — forget me too, 
 and — ^be happy !"
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 309 
 
 In writing this letter, Mr. Bathurst (as he 
 may now be called) was influenced solely by 
 the voice of good faith within him, unchecked 
 by one selfish or prudential consideration. It 
 did not enter his mind that every line he had 
 written was liable to a false interpretation, and 
 that to ask to be forgotten savoured strongly 
 of a belief that he was too well if not too fondly 
 remembered. But neither this belief, nor the 
 betrayal of it, was in him the offspring of 
 vanity ; for he was possibly less conceited with 
 regard to the affections of women than men of 
 far humbler pretensions are sometimes found to 
 be. He wrote as he felt, without extenuation 
 or apology, and, having written, confided his 
 letter to the care of an English acquaintance 
 at Pisa professing to be on the eve of return- 
 ing direct to England. Lindsay Bathurst was 
 never informed that the bearer of his epistle 
 had changed his route, and had lingered some
 
 310 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 time at Vienna. He had therefore ample 
 time for speculation on the possible effect it 
 would have upon Jeannette ; and would she, 
 or would she not, answer it, became to 
 him an interesting inquiry. He decided that 
 she would; and having so decided, his impa- 
 tience knew no bounds when a longer period 
 elapsed than was actually needful for her reply 
 to have reached him. He soon became again 
 restless, dispirited, and unhappy. He could 
 bear to give Jeannette up, to resign her affection, 
 forego even the dear hope of being remembered 
 by her, as his own act and deed; but indiffer- 
 ence on her part unasked for by himself, he 
 could not bear. He had not calculated on 
 such a possibility, and was ill prepared to 
 meet it. 
 
 Shakspeare has said, " There is a tide in the 
 affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on 
 to fortune." Is there not also at times, amid
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 311 
 
 their thoughts and feelings, a rushing and re- 
 sistless tide, which taken at tlie flow leads on 
 to action, carrying individuals impetuously for- 
 ward on the ocean of life, in a course contrary 
 to all former intentions, and against all former 
 resolutions? In Lindsay's mind, the jarring 
 conflict of love, and pride, and jealousy, set this 
 tide in motion, and he resolved to come instantly 
 to England. He had now nothing to upbraid 
 himself with, and nothing to keep him from his 
 country. He bitterly lamented having quitted 
 the army, and hated himself thoroughly for 
 having imagined that he had been loved. His 
 mind was in the unhappy state in which the 
 prospect of a greater degree of unhappiness is 
 contemplated with a species of malignant satis- 
 faction — as a storm, when pestilential vapours 
 are floating in the air, is sometimes ardently 
 hoped for in despite of the known evil arising 
 from violent concussions of the elements.
 
 312 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 In this temper he came back to England ; and 
 in this temper, when he heard that the Lang- 
 hams were in town, he travelled to the capital. 
 
 He hardly knew what his own plans or 
 wishes were when he walked to Mr. Langham's 
 door ; but he was disappointed when he heard 
 that Mr. Langham was " out.'' It was some- 
 thing worse than disappointment which he ex- 
 perienced, when he perceived Sir William Sher- 
 rard's servant at the door, as he came away, in 
 waiting with his master's cabriolet. It was too 
 late to recall the card he had left, or at that 
 moment Lindsay Bathurst would have will- 
 ingly forfeited his inheritance to have re-pos- 
 sessed it. 
 
 He thought not now of Mrs. Langham, or 
 he might perhaps have been less mortified by 
 this humiliation. Such an instance ought to 
 have taught him, — ought to teach us all, — the 
 worthlessness of some of those opinions which
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 313 
 
 we ourselves erect into dictators of our hap- 
 piness or misery. Let events pass before 
 us of a stirring interest, and we forget them 
 altogether. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 314 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Sorrow changed to solace, — solace mixed with sorrow. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Had Jeannette then forgotten Lindsay Ba- 
 thurst ? To prove that she had not, we must 
 go back to the moment when, in reduced health 
 and with a mind all but unstrung, she received 
 his letter. No words could tell how truly 
 blest that letter made her. The most lively 
 and heart-inspiring music after the saddest and 
 most plaintive, would give but a faint idea of 
 the change it produced in her. She read it 
 again and again and again, — and with every
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 315 
 
 perusal, notwithstanding the many tears it cost 
 her, she seemed to receive an increase of con- 
 tentment. It appeared to her at once a justifi- 
 cation for the past, and a sanction for the future 
 — not a future unillumined by a single ray of 
 hope, but a future consecrated by her lover's 
 own hand to the memory of himself. She need- 
 ed not now to turn from the thought of him, 
 as she had sometimes done, with a shuddering 
 horror ; for she could never more reproach 
 herself for having loved. She made this 
 record in her journal: — "He did love me!" 
 and as she did so, she felt that she must 
 of necessity therefore be happy, and ever- 
 more as happy as at that hour. This was 
 in part, but not wholly, a delusion ; and 
 before any portion of it cleared away, she 
 answered the treasured epistle which had 
 created it. 
 
 She began by quoting Bathurst's own words, 
 p 2
 
 316 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 " ' Forget you, and be happy." Never, 
 dear Lindsay, can I do the one, and be the 
 other ! It is now, it ever will, I think, be my 
 happiness, my only happiness, to remember. 
 Yet, from my inmost soul, I thank you for 
 making this request! It was kindly— it was 
 generously done, and has effected much. It 
 has restored me to tranquillity, and has given 
 me back a peace of heart which I had begun 
 to think was gone for ever. Sickness failed 
 to do it ; affection could not ; but, oh ! I have 
 regained it now, for you have reconciled me 
 to myself. I shall live, not to forget that I 
 have loved, — not to forget him who loved me, 
 but to rejoice constantly and for ever in the worth 
 of that heart, for which I gave my own. For, 
 now that the worst agony of disappointment is 
 past, — now that my affection has taken, with the 
 anguish, some of the solemnity of love for the 
 dead, — now that you have said I was not de-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 317 
 
 ceived in believing that you loved me, — I can 
 tell you calmly and dispassionately, and as if I 
 were speaking of another, that my affection was 
 all your's ! How fully, I suspected not until 
 I ceased to see you — but then there came a reve- 
 lation of such sorrow, as I had not dreamt could 
 exist. Oh, Lindsay ! I was humbled to the 
 dust ! The fear that I had loved you, — the fear 
 that I had loved you, Lindsay, with love un- 
 sought and unreturned, was as a hurricane to 
 my soul, and all but swept my reason from me. 
 I mistrusted my own impressions, and I wept, 
 I think, as much at the idea of having deceived 
 myself, as at the sad thought of seeing you no 
 more. But all this is past ! I can look now 
 back without trembling and without shame, and 
 forward, I hope, with a perfect resignation. 
 
 " It is sweet to me to tell you this, — the sweeter 
 perhaps that it is the last time I shall ever on 
 this earth reveal feelings that can be told to
 
 318 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 you alone ; but you now know all that can ever 
 powerfully interest me. My heart's history is 
 soon over, and as soon told. Oh, Lindsay ! I 
 shall think of you frequently, constantly — pray 
 for you oftener than for myself: I have hitherto 
 done both, and with bitter anguish of heart. 
 Now it will be different : a calm is diffused 
 through my soul, and I have a contentment 
 within me that cannot be described. 
 
 " Why did I not get your letter sooner ? It 
 would have spared us both much of pain ; for 
 you, Lindsay, were not happy when you wrote ; 
 but I know it will make you so, to hear from 
 myself how undisturbed my mind is and will be. 
 
 " Happiness, — this world's happiness I do not 
 look for ; I am weaned alike from its joys and 
 sorrows. The winter of my life is so rapidly 
 succeeding its spring, that I may not look for 
 flowers. To do so would be indeed to seek them 
 on a barren soil and beneath a sunless sky ; but
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 319 
 
 then I dread not storms nor darkness, and the 
 stars of heaven grow brighter to me. I seem 
 to have done both with hope and fear, and feel 
 that I shall evermore be calm, and ever bless 
 your memory. 
 
 " I tell you the same thing again and again, 
 and how fearlessly ! A little while ago, and 
 had you asked for this confession, I should only 
 not have concealed it. I have often, as I sat 
 alone, felt my cheeks glow even to pain at the 
 bare idea that you would one day know how 
 dear you were to me. Now I blush not. I could 
 write on, and never cease ; but I must ! Oh, 
 Lindsay ! I said I would be calm, and so I will ; 
 but yet, to write no more is indeed difficult ! 
 Farewell !" 
 
 Jeannette spoke but too truly when she said 
 her attachment partook of the solemnity of love 
 for the dead. Lost to her, it was scarcely as a 
 living being that she thought of Lindsay Ba-
 
 320 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 thurst, and never as of one possessing human 
 fallibility and human frailty. The predomi- 
 nance of her passion so far blinded her under- 
 standing, that the question " Why, if he love 
 me, does he abandon me .?" did not once occur 
 to her. A more distressing problem, " Did he 
 love me at all V had happily been resolved to 
 her satisfaction ; and when, with tears gushing 
 from her eyes, she frequently repeated, " I am 
 now happy,'' she did not wholly deceive herself; 
 for by comparison she was so. 
 
 Yet her own letter cost her much pain ; for, 
 though her feelings, while she was writing it, 
 had sometimes risen to rapture, they had also 
 sometimes sunk to agony. Even to fold, to seal 
 that letter, seemed a task beyond her strength. 
 It called for no reply, and it was probably the 
 last opportunity she should ever have of com- 
 municating her thoughts to him who seemed to 
 share in, or be a part of them all.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 321 
 
 When at length she did close and forward it 
 to Henry Milman, begging him to deliver it to 
 Mr. Bathurst with his own hand, it was as if 
 she had sent away a part of her life. 
 
 So much being stated, it will create no sur- 
 prise that the sight of Lindsay Bathurst's card 
 should have occasioned a sudden revolution in 
 her feelings. From the moment she saw it, she 
 would have staked her life, that whatever might 
 have been the circumstances that had caused 
 Lindsay Bathurst to leave her, they were now 
 removed. Matilda marked the rapture of her 
 eye, and the smile, one of her most beautiful 
 smiles, that like light illumined all her features, 
 and sighed. She saw that the calm, which had 
 marked the last few weeks of her sister's life, 
 was gone, and at that moment she could have 
 execrated the very name of Bathurst. People 
 of the gentlest natures can sometimes hate for 
 p5
 
 322 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 others, and Matilda was one of these. No posi- 
 tive injury to herself could have excited in her 
 so deep a feeling of resentment, as the suspicion 
 that her sister had been in some degree trifled 
 with : she could not entirely keep herself from 
 secretly blaming Jeannette, and she did say to 
 her father, when she heard him propose re- 
 turning Bathurst's visit, that she thought it was 
 unnecessary.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 323 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Alas ! — how light a cause may move 
 
 Dissension between hearts that love ! — 
 
 Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 
 
 And sorrow but more closely tied , — 
 
 That stood the storm when waves were rough, 
 
 Yet in a sunny hour fall off — 
 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea 
 
 When heaven was all tranquillity ! 
 
 A something light as air — a look — 
 
 A word unkind or wrongly taken — 
 Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, 
 
 A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Mr. Langham had removed early to Lon- 
 don on Jeannette's account. To her, all places
 
 324 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 were the same ; but in the peopled world of 
 London, she hoped less exclusively to occupy 
 the thought and attention of her father and 
 sister, and thereby enjoy a deeper solitude than 
 she could command in the country. Their 
 friends soon flocked around them, and among 
 others Mrs. Crosbie and Sir William Sherrard. 
 It is as difficult to endure troublesome though 
 well-meant kindness, as to repel obtrusive offi- 
 ciousness, and poor Jeannette was often obliged 
 to bear with both : Mrs. Crosbie had always 
 some infallible prescription to recommend that 
 had saved some sixteenth cousin from the grave ; 
 and Sir William Sherrard some drive to pro- 
 pose, that would either in itself, he thought, 
 interest her, or some novelty to introduce to 
 her notice, when it was accomplished, to ex- 
 cite her curiosity : he gave himself up, in- 
 deed, entirely to her, and this with so much 
 delicacy and kindness, that his habitual pre-
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 325 
 
 sence became almost necessary to Mr. Lang- 
 ham, and was wished for by Matilda. Mrs. 
 Crosbie would have been mortified to find him 
 always in Park Lane before her, but that it 
 gave her the opportunity of mentioning the 
 fact, whenever she went, and of prophesying 
 " how it would end." 
 
 Mrs. Crosbie was one of those people who 
 are fond of taking " le roman par la queue," as 
 Moliere terms it, and of jumping " de but en 
 blanc au marriage."' Her prophecies were re- 
 ceived as established facts, on account of her 
 intimacy with the family ; and she had pecu- 
 liar pleasure in descanting on them to Lindsay 
 Bathurst, the first time she met him, because 
 he was a person to whom she rarely felt she 
 had any thing to say. She was a little awed 
 by his mind, though she said and believed it 
 was by his eyes ; if she had been more capable 
 of accurate observation, she might have dis-
 
 326 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 covered that those eyes for a moment emitted 
 a stronger and more terrible light than they 
 were wont while she was speaking, and that 
 his faint " Indeed !" was not that of indiiFer- 
 ence. Mrs. Crosbie only saw that she had a 
 listener, and continued, — " What do you think 
 Lady Everard said to-day, Mr. Bathurst, when 
 I was telling her all about Sir William Sher- 
 rard ?" 
 
 " I cannot guess." 
 
 " Why, that she was very glad of it, for 
 that the Baronet had long been to the Lang- 
 hams, what the finder is to a telescope, and the 
 jackal to the lion ; and that it would have been 
 much too bad if they had not let him marry 
 the girl at last.'' 
 
 Lindsay Bathurst laughed, because it was 
 expected of him that he should do so ; but his 
 laughter was more bitter than weeping, and his 
 reply, " Very good, very good ! I really think
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 327 
 
 SO too," though uttered in the conventional 
 tone of applause to a good thing, was really 
 spoken in the temporary delirium of newly 
 awakened jealousy. This was a sensation he 
 had not suspected himself capable of experi- 
 encing, and the black poison probably on that 
 account ran through his veins with the greater 
 rapidity. He was maddened to the quick by 
 the bare idea of what he had felt ; yet, painful 
 as was such a remembrance, it was balm com- 
 pared to the recollection of what he had written. 
 He found that he had indeed believed himself 
 to have been loved, and he knew that he had 
 committed that belief to paper ; the inference, 
 that he had made himself a laughing-stock to 
 Jeannette and his triumphant rival, was almost 
 unavoidable. 
 
 Some few words of his letter to Jeannette 
 came back to his recollection with tormenting dis- 
 tinctness; it was that passage in which he had beg-
 
 328 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 ged to be forgotten. If the wealth of the East 
 had been his, he would willingly have given it in 
 exchange for that one little sentence of his own 
 inditing. 
 
 In the mean time, Jeannette, finding that he 
 came no more to her father's house as she had 
 expected, and yearning with oppressive and 
 undefinable anxiety to hear his name mentioned, 
 pronounced herself well enough to abandon all 
 invalid habits, and to mingle with the world. 
 Mr. Langham was too much delighted to op- 
 pose her wishes, and Matilda's remonstrances, 
 under these unfavouring circumstances, were 
 of course disregarded. 
 
 To the sick in heart, — to those who have raised 
 the cup of despair to their lips, and tasted but 
 not quaffed the bitter draught within, a renewal 
 of hope is as the night breeze to a drooping 
 flower, or a sunbeam to those that have sat in 
 darkness. To Jeannette it was health, and joy, 
 and life, and love. She seemed to herself to
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 329 
 
 tread on air, and to be endued with super- 
 human strength. She resolved to go every 
 where and see every body, and she kept her 
 word. For the first few days, in the intervals 
 of visiting and dissipation, she wondered she 
 had not met Lindsay Bathurst ; and something 
 like a return of pain occasionally flitted across 
 her mind, but it was momentary. With that 
 perverseness of will which hopeth against all 
 things, she considered the disappointment of 
 one hour a pledge of promise for the next. Yet 
 day after day passed on, and another card, with 
 Mr. Bathurst's name, was the only assurance 
 she had either of his being in town, or of his 
 existence. Sometimes, in the midst of a crowd- 
 ed apartment, she fancied she beheld him in 
 the distance ; and when she did so, she trem- 
 bled so violently at the thought of his ap- 
 proach, that it became in some degree a relief to 
 find she had been mistaken. 
 
 Once, and once only, she imagined she distin-
 
 330 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 guished his voice — his laugh. She turned as 
 the words and laughter were still going on, and 
 found they proceeded from a vulgar-looking 
 young man standing near her, who was talking 
 over the last race at Newmarket. It would 
 scarcely be beyond the truth to say that this 
 discovery was dreadful to her ; it is so truly 
 painful to find the features we love, the quali- 
 ties we adore, mixed up with baser matter. 
 
 At length the shadowings of hope grew faint- 
 er, and that aching void which the absence from 
 all we love so infallibly occasions, was beginning 
 to make itself felt, when, in a visit they made 
 to Lady Everard, Jeannette learned that " the 
 strange but agreeable Lindsay Bathurst" had 
 passed two hours with her Ladyship that morn- 
 ing, and that she should see him again at the 
 Opera in the evening. 
 
 Two hours to Lady Everard and not one 
 half minute to her ! This was the painful
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 331 
 
 thought that first filled her mind ; but it was 
 soon lost in the determination, that if he were 
 to be at the Opera she would see him. 
 
 Her father had that day a dinner party, and 
 she knew that neither he nor Matilda could 
 go with her; she therefore proposed to Mr. 
 Langham that she should go with Mrs. Crosbie. 
 But Mrs. Crosbie, when Jeannette arrived at 
 her house, was dining out, and Mrs. Leonard, 
 of whom she next thought, was nursing sick 
 pupils ; she was therefore reduced to the alter- 
 native of returning home, or of proceeding to the 
 Opera alone : she promptly determined on the 
 latter. It was this quickness of decision and 
 fixedness of purpose that rendered Jeannette 
 through her life an object of fearful interest to 
 all who loved her. None who knew her well 
 but also knew, that where the happiness of 
 others was concerned, and at times her own 
 affections, it was useless to oppose her. To
 
 332 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 them too was known her inability to bear the 
 suffering so invariably attendant on rash and ill- 
 considered actions. 
 
 In this instance, the pleasure of success, the 
 finding herself with so little difficulty where 
 she had so much wished to be, at first animated 
 and delighted her. Then came the singing and 
 acting of Pasta in Desdemona, to thrill and to 
 enchant her, and " to fill each pause"" of that 
 most bewitching nightingale, the hope, the 
 fevered hope, that she had not come in vain — 
 Nor had she, if to see, merely to see, Lindsay 
 Bathurst was her object. At the end of the 
 second act, she saw him in Lady Everard's 
 box, at the opposite side of the house, and even 
 at that distance could feel, as well as see, that 
 his eyes were on her. When she did so, she 
 would have gladly sunk into the earth, for at 
 that moment she felt all the awkwardness of 
 her self-sought position. 
 
 In the mean time Lindsay Bathurst con-
 
 TIJE FALSE STEP. 333 
 
 tinued to gaze on her with the same melancholy 
 interest with which he would have looked on her 
 portrait, and to Lady Everard's inquiry, " Who 
 is with that pretty creature to-night ?" he an- 
 swered so mechanically, as to prove that he 
 made no comment on his own assertion of her 
 seeming to be alone. 
 
 " Alone !" said Lady Everard, in the broad- 
 est accent of unbelief. '' Yes, positively — how 
 very imprudent ! Those girls should mind what 
 they are about." 
 
 This remark grated unpleasantly on the ears 
 of Lindsay Bathurst. Her Ladyship, in making 
 it, forgot that " une coupable aimee est bien- 
 tot innocente ;'' but she saw that its effect was 
 not favourable, and quickly added, " She has 
 been ill, but, who would think it ! she always 
 looks better than any, or rather than every 
 body else, and would be beautiful, I do believe, 
 in her coffin." 
 
 " In her coffin !" echoed Lindsay Bathurst
 
 334 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 mentally, and felt himself shudder as he did so. 
 That he might not betray any portion of the 
 emotion he felt, he withdrew from Lady Eve- 
 rard's box and wandered round the house. 
 
 His mind was in a state of high excitement, 
 and well prepared to receive deep impressions 
 from trivial circumstances. He mused on the 
 words Lady Everard had spoken, and soon 
 found himself pitying from his inmost soul 
 those girls of whom her Ladyship had so rough- 
 ly remarked that they should mind what they 
 were about. This was all highly inconsistent 
 with the jealousy which he had felt and acted 
 upon ; but it is not the least inexplicable mystery 
 of the human heart, that some of its strongest 
 feelings can be for a time wholly and entirely 
 forgotten. They are there, however, but are 
 either held in abeyance by some passing inclina- 
 tion, merged in visions of futurity, or mantled 
 in the pall of memory.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 835 
 
 In this instance, it was perhaps the wish to 
 approach Jeannette, that made Lindsay Ba- 
 thurst forget his own condemnation of her. 
 
 In the mean time, Jeannette was suffering in 
 fear and trepidation more punishment than 
 was perhaps due to her fault. She retreated 
 to the corner of the box, in which she was 
 less likely to be seen, and remained for some 
 time counting the minutes as they slowly passed, 
 and marvelling how she could get away. An 
 old friend of her father's, famed alike for his 
 wit and good nature, interrupted her calcula- 
 tions on this subject, and saved her from any 
 farther perplexity. Partly to relieve herself 
 from the heat which oppressed her, and partly 
 believing that without a head-dress she might 
 escape observation, she had taken off her hat 
 at the moment her repentance of her rashness, 
 or rather her perception of its probable con- 
 sequences, had commenced.
 
 336 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 Mr. Chinnery laughingly parodied two lines 
 from Homer, as he raised her hat from its un- 
 suitable resting-place. 
 
 Miss Langham's plume is stain'd with dust ; no more 
 That plume that never stoop'd to earth before. 
 
 " Stooped, indeed,"" said Jeannette, with more 
 agitation than her companion could well under- 
 stand, as she hurriedly resumed her former 
 attire. " Mr. Chinnery, I have been foolish 
 enough this night to come here alone, — will you 
 promise not to leave me ?''"' 
 
 The promise was readily given, and Jean- 
 nette felt as much relieved as if she had been 
 unexpectedly saved from drowning. The re- 
 vulsion of her spirits gave impetus to her gaiety, 
 and she exerted herself successfully to converse 
 with her venerable friend. In the course of a 
 short time. Sir William Sherrard begged to be 
 admitted ; and Jeannette felt so very glad that 
 he had not come before, that when he did come
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 337 
 
 his arrival was a source of satisfaction to 
 her. 
 
 The Baronet was consequently welcomed 
 with more words and smiles than were usually 
 bestowed upon him. Unfortunately, Lindsay 
 Bathurst had so stationed himself that he could 
 witness this happy reception. He thought he 
 had never seen three more joyous or contented 
 people. He had before hesitated whether or 
 not to intrude on Jeannette. He now resolved 
 to do so, but it was in an unpleasant spirit. He 
 wished to show her that he too could be mirthful, 
 forgetful, and indifferent, — and he succeeded. 
 
 Her heart, that had beat violently, to her- 
 self almost audibly, when first he addressed 
 her, grew calm and stone-like as she listened to 
 his cold and commonplace inquiries after the 
 health of herself and of her family. 
 
 Yet his voice— that voice which had been as 
 a larum in her memory, was still " propertied 
 
 VOL. 1. Q
 
 338 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 as all the tuned spheres.*" And none perhaps 
 but Jeannette would have detected, in its rich 
 and varied modulations, feelings at variance 
 with his words. 
 
 " You have been quite well, I hope, Miss 
 Langham, since I saw you ?^' 
 
 Jeannette bowed assent. 
 
 '' You indeed look so : I think I never saw 
 you look so well before,'' sounded to Mr. 
 Chinnery and Sir William Sherrard like a 
 very natural and friendly expression; but to 
 Jeannette, who remembered that in her letter 
 to Lindsay Bathurst she had said she had 
 been ill, and who remembered too all that she 
 had previously feared and suffered, — all that she 
 had subsequently felt of comfort, and finally of 
 hope, — it seemed as if the thread of existence 
 had been suddenly broken. 
 
 The pang was great, but it did not then 
 overpower her; possibly it was too great to
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 339 
 
 deaden ; it aroused every energy within her : 
 her soul and all its powers were more fully 
 her own, than they had ever been before ; for a 
 sense of misery and desolation gives often a 
 consciousness of the infinite, and enables poor 
 human nature to rise above all that can affect 
 it. For a few brief moments Jeannette rose 
 superior to that love, which had seemed her 
 all upon earth. Her whole being was now 
 imbued with that conviction of the comparative 
 worthlessness of every thing we can inherit here, 
 which is so much oftener expressed than felt. 
 Such emotions do not, cannot last; they are 
 even frequently succeeded by that moral cow- 
 ardice which shrinks from all suffering, and the 
 weakness that weeps as if tears could wash 
 away despair ; but they leave behind them a 
 mighty though latent power, to serve and save 
 the heart which cherishes them. 
 
 Jeannette appeared so wholly absorbed by
 
 340 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 what was passing on the stage, as not to attend 
 in any degree to the conversation around her. 
 She spoke but once, and then involuntarily. 
 Mr. Chinnery had put some questions to Mr. 
 Bathurst on his manner of travelling, the plans 
 he had adopted when in Italy, to secure seeing 
 what was most worthy in the shortest space of 
 time. Bathurst's answers were ample and en- 
 tertaining ; to him that night, conversation, he 
 knew not wherefore, seemed a relief. 
 
 Rome, he said, had disappointed him wholly : 
 lie should have liked it better, if he had not 
 read the fourth canto of Childe Harold; and 
 now he should like the poem better, if he 
 had never seen Rome — they had destroyed 
 one another. Rome was no longer to him the 
 " lone mother of dead empires — the city of the 
 soul;" — "nevertheless," he added, "we used 
 constantly to read Eustace, to be taught what 
 we ought to remember, — and Madame de Stael, 
 o^ course, to know what we ought to feel."
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 341 
 
 Jeannette here evinced that some portion 
 of her attention had been given to him ; for she 
 undesignedly turned towards him, and with 
 the emphasis which her own mind had given 
 them, echoed the words *' what we ought to 
 feel !'"' Unconsciously as they had escaped her, 
 she pronounced the words distinctly; but like 
 the Desdemona whose tragic end she was wit- 
 nessing, Jeannette was a creature " whose motion 
 blushed at itself;" and when she had uttered 
 those words, she suffered too excruciatingly to 
 perceive their immediate effect, or indeed that 
 they had had any on the mind of him who 
 had called them forth. Yet to Lindsay Ba- 
 thurst they seemed so like a revelation of her 
 inward soul, as instantly to alter the current of 
 his thoughts and feelings towards her. In a 
 changed voice and changed spirit, he strove to 
 make her speak to him again ; but slie said, 
 " Look — look !" and pointed to Pasta, who, 
 Q3
 
 342 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 while she sings and begs to be put to death, so 
 naturally and affectingly tries to escape from 
 the blow when actually aimed at her life ; 
 the instinctive love of existence triumphing 
 for one brief moment over the mental wish to 
 die. 
 
 Jeannette could not quite conceal that she 
 had been agitated by this scene. Mr. Chinnery, 
 who was fond of philosophizing, explained to 
 her why she was so ; and thus ended, to Jean- 
 nette, an evening that had begun in dreams of 
 happiness, the brighter perhaps because they had 
 been without any solid or reasonable foundation. 
 Mr. Chinnery and Sir William Sherrard led her 
 to her carriage ; and she did not perceive that 
 Lindsay Bathurst, although he had previously 
 taken leave of her, had also followed her, or 
 that he watched to catch the last glimpse of 
 her with an anxiety and interest which betrayed 
 themselves to those around.
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 343 
 
 " The most lovely girl in London, Sir !"" said 
 Mr. Chinnery, as he was passing by him to 
 re-enter the theatre. 
 
 " Very beautiful certainly !" said Bathurst, 
 and he moved forward with his new acquaint- 
 ance, as if to escape from his own uncomfortable 
 thoughts. They were of a mingled nature : 
 he was conscious that there had not been the 
 kindness of a friend, and scarcely the courtesy 
 of a common acquaintance, in his manner to 
 Jeannette ; and his self-reproaches on this head 
 were sufficiently acute to have been insufferable, 
 but for the counterpoise which he found in the 
 conviction that Sir William Sherrard was not her 
 lover, or, at least, not a declared and favoured 
 one. 
 
 " If I had not for a long series of years," 
 resumed Mr. Chinnery, " seen hundreds and 
 hundreds of girls, I will not say as lovely, but 
 certainly very pretty and attractive, come out,
 
 344 THE FALSE STEP. 
 
 as it is called, and season after season flutter 
 their little hour, as some of their mammas 
 would say, in vain, I should wonder that this 
 very charming and beautiful girl was not 
 already married." 
 
 " Her mother—" 
 
 " True ! that is a misfortune ; but few, if 
 any, would think of that : I, for one, should not.*" 
 
 " Should you not ?"" said Lindsay Bathurst 
 eagerly, thrown off his guard by the interest 
 he took in the question. 
 
 " No,"" replied Mr. Chinnery, " for I like 
 her character." 
 
 " Alas ! and so do I," reflected Lindsay Ba- 
 thurst, as he was here separated from his 
 companion; — " /like her character, — Jfeelher 
 worth. But, inconsistent madman that I am 
 and have been ! I first request her not to love 
 me; then, feel myself injured that she heeds me 
 not. I next approach her, and am cold and
 
 THE FALSE STEP. 345 
 
 indifferent almost to insult ; and then wonder 
 to read in her eye, instead of the devotedness 
 I used to see there, the high expression of a 
 spirit that could trample on love and on every 
 earthly affection ; and for this I love her better 
 than for all her unnumbered excellencies be- 
 sides ! Jeannette, we must meet again, and 
 that meeting shall decide our destinies !" 
 
 And with this resolution he proceeded to 
 
 House, pleasing himself with the hope 
 
 that Jeannette might be there before him. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLtV, 
 Dorset Street, F!ei t Street.
 
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