u&%*J/<M^ ^Jjk v 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 - 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/secretmarriageor01wil
 
 
 TIIH 
 
 SECRET MARRIAGE; 
 
 CONTRASTS IN LIFE 
 
 MISS F. WILLIAMS. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBUEN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1855.
 
 SERCOJ1BE AND JACK, PRINTERS, 
 l'X) ST. MARTIN'S LANE.
 
 8^5 
 
 v. X 
 
 THE SECRET MABBIAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Hasten to the goal of fame, between the posts of duty, 
 And win a blessing from the world, that men may love 
 thy name." 
 
 Tupper. 
 
 What's in a name? said our great English 
 dramatist. What's in a name ? says the an- 
 tiquated beauty of high degree, who bestows 
 the hand which has been fairer upon the 
 twig of a cotton branch. 
 
 But after all, a Jopp, a Bugg, a Craig, 
 may be as rich, drive as fine horses and as 
 luxurious carriages, as the representatives of 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 ^
 
 2 THE SECRET 
 
 the ancient aristocracy, who, dying in the 
 cause of royalty, had only a name to bequeath 
 to their descendants. 
 
 Still, there is something gratifying to our 
 great enemy, pride, when in the chancel of 
 the village church we behold the monuments 
 covered with the dust of ages, on which are 
 engraved the imperishable names of a Percy, 
 a Howard, a Russell, a Walpole. Our hearts 
 would be indeed cold, even as the marble we 
 gaze upon, if the recollection of their virtues 
 and their gallant deeds did not inspire us 
 with some degree of enthusiasm. 
 
 But after all, what's in a name ? The cot- 
 ton lord, in the midst of his workmen, who 
 are guiding and controlling the movements of 
 a hundred looms, may, in as high a degree, 
 though in a different cause, exercise the 
 ennobling and immortalising virtues distin- 
 guishing the owner of the antique towers 
 which now rise high above the smoke or 
 steam of manufacture. 
 
 Still, there must be somewhat in a name. 
 We do not read of the Higginses or the 
 Muggses, the Wiggetts or the Pottses, as
 
 MARRIAGE. 6 
 
 the chosen heroes or heroines of romance; 
 though, were they as such familiar to the ear, 
 all might be as "harmony not understood." 
 
 It may also be asked, "What is in place?" 
 To some, the home of their youth is but as 
 the last year's nest to the full-fledged song- 
 ster of the spring — to others, it is as the 
 adamant which, the fable relates, drew every 
 piece of iron out of the timbers of the ap- 
 proaching vessel. Some cling to locality 
 with instinctive fondness, while others find 
 homes on every shore, and are bound to 
 them but by a rope of sand. 
 
 Every advantage is at least somewhat 
 counterbalanced; every light has its shadow. 
 Those who own the greater number of ties 
 are, by each separate one, the less strongly 
 bound, — others are encircled by one strong- 
 cord alone. When they break that, it is at 
 once, and for ever ! 
 
 Travellers, or those who make then homes 
 in foreign lands, endeavour to represent, by 
 pen or pencil, to their absent friends, the 
 scenes amongst which their lives are passed. 
 We visit with interest, and narrowly inspect,
 
 4 THE SECRET 
 
 the ruins of the old house in which virtue, 
 genius, or bravery drew its first or latest 
 breath. For those who cling to persons 
 have generally a fondness for place also, and 
 have even the power of drawing ideal scenes 
 on which the beings of fancy, romance, or 
 memory live and move; while, to the imagi- 
 native mind, the same invisible pictures are 
 produced and re-produced, as a tale is re- 
 read or listened to again. 
 
 Let the memory of those who have bene- 
 fited their country or mankind at large — who 
 have shed lustre upon an obscure name — be 
 honoured as it deserves. Let no meretricious 
 ornament of birth or fortune oppose a tinsel 
 surface to the solid gold of virtue, and of 
 true nobleness of heart. 
 
 At the same time, we shall vainly endeavour 
 to withhold the tribute of admiration when 
 the brightness of ancestral renown falls upon 
 the heads of those who are both honoured 
 among their equals and blessed by their in- 
 feriors, and from whose example all ranks 
 may equally gain lessons worthy to be learnt 
 by men and Christians. It is then that the
 
 MARRIAGE. 5 
 
 reverence attached to name is reflected upon 
 the stately woods, the wide plains, the grey 
 towers of the heir of many generations. Then 
 the poor rejoice in the prosperity of the great, 
 and the peasant enjoys, beneath the oak's 
 broad shadow, the essence of those privileges 
 which nominally belong to wealth and sta- 
 tion alone. 
 
 It was from similar associations that Ashton 
 Park, situated in a beautiful part of Devon- 
 shire, borderiDg on the sea, had, for more than 
 a century, obtained amongst the sight-seeing 
 world a celebrity which its over-natural and 
 artificial beauties contributed to maintain. 
 
 Its collection of statues and pictures de- 
 cidedly above mediocrity; its large halls and 
 oak staircases, emblazoned with the arms of 
 the time-honoured Lisle family; its gardens 
 and its glades ; its ivy- covered rocks and 
 waving woods, were, during the long days of 
 summer, the favourite resort of many a plea- 
 sure-seeking, beauty-loving party. For Sir 
 Harry and Lady Lisle were esteemed and 
 reverenced; and many, while gratifying curio- 
 sity and enjoying a leisure hour, paid likewise
 
 6 THE SECEET 
 
 a respectful tribute to the memory of the 
 great and good departed ancestry, whose 
 shades seemed still to hover over the home 
 of their descendants. 
 
 The walls of Ash ton Park are hung with 
 portraits of the Lisle family. In their court- 
 dresses of many a century back, they appear 
 to turn their silent gaze upon each visitor, 
 as the door noiselessly closes behind him. 
 There are the knights in their velvet coats, 
 broad-flapped pockets, and full white ruffles. 
 The ladies — some fair, some frowning — 
 who condescended to share their fortunes, 
 with their long, tightly-fitted satins, their 
 white taper fingers, and small pointed shoes; 
 these have all gazed on the lovely woods, 
 and the blue distant hills, which surround 
 Ashton Park. 
 
 They have all trod its old floors ; their 
 voices have echoed through its long galleries 
 and winding staircases; its terraced gardens 
 have offered sweet flowers at the shrine of 
 beauty and bravery ; and on the broad ocean 
 beyond, many a Lisle has been borne to dis- 
 tant lands. But those who were once replete
 
 MARRIAGE. } 
 
 with life, who were now animated with its 
 hopes, and now weighed down with the con- 
 sciousness of its vanities and its cares, are 
 all returned to their parent dust. Diverse 
 as were then earthly destinies, in death one 
 epitaph suits all alike — " I have been, and I 
 am not." 
 
 There was one picture at the end of the 
 long dining-room, opening from the domed 
 and pillared hall, which riveted the attention 
 of most observers. It was that of a lady in 
 the bloom of womanhood. She was a Lisle, 
 and had been remarkable for her beauty. 
 The soft, light hair grew in points upon the 
 forehead, and was partially turned back to 
 reveal the fair and lovely brow. The attitude 
 was one of attention, as the head, round 
 which some pearls were entwined, and from 
 which hung a white veil, rested on the per- 
 fect model of a female hand. The rest oi 
 the features were alike faultless ; and the 
 clear, soft blue eyes, during the hours that 
 fled away on the swift wings of music and 
 revelry, semed to gaze somewhat mournfully, 
 though kindly, on the living, moving, and
 
 8 THE SECRET 
 
 brilliant crowd beneath them. The tale of 
 her life was a melancholy one. Beauty did 
 not shield her from sorrow. She loved, and 
 was deserted, and, as a recluse, had passed 
 a long and silent life. 
 
 With a strong, though no uncommon feel- 
 ing of veneration, did Sir Harry Lisle, the 
 possessor of Ashton Park, look upon its 
 ancient walls and venerable woods. From 
 father to son, for many generations, had the 
 name unsullied, the estates undiminished, 
 descended to their present owner. 
 
 Sir Harry was an only son. The idol of 
 his parents, they would willingly have sought 
 for him a wife among the magnates of the 
 land. But Harry Lisle was discerning and 
 firm, constant, gentle, and brave. 
 
 In early life, Clara Wilmot, an orphan, the 
 sister of one of his dearest school and college 
 friends, had charmed his fancy and riveted 
 his affections. Perseverance gained its re- 
 ward. His parents consented to receive at 
 Ashton the gentle and beautiful Clara Wilmot, 
 who so wound herself round their hearts that, 
 on the day which, with their consent, was to
 
 MARRIAGE. 9 
 
 unite her to their son, they blessed her with 
 real affection. 
 
 The swift years passed by, laying the aged 
 baronet and his faithful partner in the family 
 vault, and giving the young Sir Harry and his 
 beautiful Clara possession of Ashton Park. 
 
 While they mourned the loss of the kindest 
 of parents, they were too happy in each other 
 to sorrow as those without hope. Their 
 tempers and tastes suited ; they had riches, 
 health, and a good name ; the poor blessed 
 them, the great courted them ; none envied 
 them, for it seemed that they but possessed 
 advantages to share them with others. 
 
 They kept on the even tenour of their way, 
 and no dark thread seemed woven into their 
 web of life. Sir Harry had his hunters, Lady 
 Lisle her nursery. Sir Harry was a magis- 
 trate, and did his duty to his country and his 
 fellow-creatures with impartiality and kind- 
 ness. Lady Lisle had her schools and her 
 clubs. "Whig or Tory, liberal or conservative, 
 simple or learned, alike found a seat at their 
 hospitable table; they had room and benevo- 
 lence enough for all.
 
 10 THE SECRET 
 
 Prosperity is certainly a sweet soother of 
 our nature, and a happy medium through 
 which to look upon our fellow- creatures, and 
 when met by a naturally cheerful and even 
 temper, as was the case with Sir Harry and 
 his wife, earth, under its influence, would 
 appear almost the realization of perfect bliss. 
 Clara Lisle had known adversity, and she en- 
 deavoured to guard herself from the alluring 
 and dangerous influence of prosperity; but, 
 with every wish gratified and every hope 
 realized, she felt the task was a difficult 
 one. 
 
 People said they were too happy, too light- 
 hearted, it could not last ; it was all light ; it 
 would be better for them if they had a few 
 crosses to bear now and then. 
 
 "Ay, let 'em alone, poor things," said old 
 dame Parkins to her friend and gossip, Mary 
 Bennett, when on Sunday afternoons they 
 used to trudge home together to the alms- 
 houses Sir Harry's kind heart had built and 
 endowed ; " let 'em alone ; I've lived under 
 the Lisle family there's many and many a 
 long year, and so did my good man, who lies
 
 MARRIAGE. 11 
 
 there hard by yon yew tree. Mary, I've 
 shown you his pleasant resting-place many's 
 the time, han't I, and there never was a Lisle 
 yet that didn't come to some trouble, lived he 
 only long enough, bless 'em all! but let 'em 
 alone for a bit, though I dunna want to be- 
 speak evil for 'em ; but they're young yet: 
 let ten years more pass over 'em — we'll see. 
 Nay, nay, Mary; may be ive shanna see it, but 
 them as come after us will see it. Now they 
 wunna look so blithesome in their large square 
 pew as they did this arternoon, with the 
 bright colour in their cheeks, and the smiles 
 on their brows." 
 
 "Ay, bless 'em right and left!" replied 
 Mrs. Mary Bennett, who was no way disposed 
 to contradict her friend's experience ; " they 
 bring light like the broad sunbeam wherever 
 they go. I guess no lawyer ever seed the 
 inside of Sir Harry's halls; no, nor his father's 
 neither, only when he's axed to dine. They 
 never litigate with poor folk about their mills 
 and their lands ; and as to Mr. Dosum, 
 th' apothecary, I warrants he drinks more out 
 of my master's cellars in one day than they
 
 12 THE SECKET 
 
 takes out of his 'spensary in a round twelve- 
 month. Bless em!" 
 
 " Tis what I was a thinking of, Molly," 
 said Mrs. Parkins. " Here, will ye help me 
 ower this stile ? My stick's no so good as a 
 friendly arm; and now come along with me, 
 and tak' your cup of tea, neighbour; I'm 
 'specting the clerk's wife, and old Shovel the 
 sexton, and we'll drink Miss Alice's health at 
 the Park yonder, the sweet babe ! four yearn 
 old this blessed day. There's a rale Lisle 
 for ye, with her blue laughing eyes and her 
 flaxen lockies." 
 
 " Thankee kindly, neighbour ; one good 
 turn deserves t'other, the folks say, so you 
 maun all on you keep the merry Christmas 
 in my tidy little parlour — the more's the 
 merrier — over the beef and plum-pudding 
 when they come."
 
 MARRIAGE. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " The discovery of truth by slow progressive medi- 
 tation is wisdom." 
 
 Lavater. 
 
 " Eeal life ! a tale of real life ! I call 
 that a stupid title ! I'm sure it must be 
 a stupid book ! No, no ; this will not do to 
 restore my good humour ! I don't want to 
 know what everyday scenes of life are, as if 
 we did not all see enough of them, each in 
 his own private home." 
 
 So saying, the half- smiling, half- pouting 
 Annie Mowbray put down the book, whose 
 leaves she had been carelessly reviewing, and 
 vigorously applied the india-rubber to the half- 
 finished portrait that lay before her.
 
 14 THE SECRET 
 
 " Clara, I was going to say quiet home > 
 but second words are best sometimes, for I 
 fancy the epithet quiet does not always suit 
 every one's home ; certainly not mine. But 
 tell me, should you really care if Mr. Mason 
 gave £'500 or £5000 for the hideous red 
 brick house opposite the vicarage, enclosed 
 in its stiff yew hedges; whether Lady An- 
 drews orders dinner herself, or inspects the 
 carte du maitre dliotel, or whether Lavinia 
 Lawless accepts that little wretched dandy of 
 a man who used to amuse you and me last 
 year at Spa, by handing her one, two, three, 
 four (I believe he proposed to her at the last 
 glass) — yes, five — glasses of mineral water. 
 I could not fancy making love in a pump- 
 room ! " 
 
 Clara Lisle joined in the hearty laugh with 
 which her friend finished the description of 
 her Spa reminiscences, and, without waiting 
 for a reply, Annie continued — 
 
 " But I must make this picture rather 
 more like you, my dear beautiful Clara, or 
 Sir Harry will not reward me by the statuette 
 of Apollo, which he promised to bring me
 
 MARRIAGE. 15 
 
 from Venice. I wonder when it will come, — 
 eh, Clara?" 
 
 A glance, which told of expectation, hope, 
 anxiety, spoke from the eyes which were 
 raised in answer to this appeal, more than 
 words could have done, as Clara Lisle rose 
 to take a look at her friend's drawing. 
 
 " I believe your great virtue, or perhaps 
 foible, for they are nearly allied, is credulity, 
 Annie.' I really think you could be inter- 
 ested in the most romantic improbability 
 which came within the range of possibility. 
 Merely the shadow of truth passing over an 
 incident would colour it sufficiently for your 
 belief." 
 
 " Quite right ! What is the use of being 
 an author, if people know all you are going to 
 say before you write ? Of course, virtue, suf- 
 fering, morality, and kindness, are all right, 
 proper, necessary ! They understand these 
 things ; and in general, when they pro- 
 fess to write only a novel, they do not in- 
 terfere with the moralizing world. I do 
 like to be startled, interested, excited, when 
 I profess to amuse myself."
 
 16 THE SECRET 
 
 " Very naturally, with your quick fancy 
 and impetuous feelings ; but do not let your 
 imagination run away with your pencil while 
 vou are drawing my portrait, — you have flat- 
 tered me a little too much." 
 
 "Never fear; that is impossible! You 
 know I think you perfect; mind, manner, 
 features, figure — you are my beau ideal of a 
 happy young married woman ; in short," re- 
 plied Annie, with a quick, merry laugh, " you 
 have nothing to wish for." 
 
 "That does not prove that I am happy, 
 though, certainly." 
 
 "lam not logically inclined this beautiful 
 morning, dear Clara, so let us talk without 
 reasoning. You work; I draw; and as to 
 ' Eeal Life,' it may return to the library with 
 my full permission. Poor authors ! How I 
 pity them. What annoyances they subject 
 themselves to ! Their pet passages are always 
 pulled into shreds, — their sprightliness often 
 voted flippancy; the ludicrous, vulgar; the 
 pathetic, overstrained — sentimental ! Oppro- 
 brious terms ! While the fastidious public de- 
 clare they will throw the book into the fire, if
 
 MARRIAGE. 17 
 
 the heroine turn out unhappily, and that the 
 conclusion of a marriage is so very common- 
 place. I see no alternative ! no redress ! " 
 continued Annie, laughing. 
 
 " How fond you are of extremes ! Light 
 and shade alone, you know, will not compose 
 a picture. You must have many intermediate 
 tints, to perfect the whole. Change — pro- 
 gress — is what we expect and look for in life. 
 Besides, do you not remember the fable of the 
 man and his ass, and the story of Apelles, the 
 painter ? The author of c Real Life,' you 
 may be certain, did not expect to please every- 
 one ; and if he has kept the topics of homoeo- 
 pathy, hydropathy, mesmerism, spirit-rap- 
 ping, fee, in due subjection, some among the 
 public will be kind enough to be perhaps 
 quietly interested, amused, even benefited by 
 this < Eeal Life.' " 
 
 " Very true — quite incontrovertible ; but 
 still, dear Clara, I will keep to my own poor 
 little opinion. Its title alone tells me it is 
 not a book intended for the perusal of those 
 who have youth and light hearts to recom- 
 mend them; so I shall leave it for such con- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 THE SECRET 
 
 tented, quiet, industrious, married people as 
 you and Sir Harry Lisle. You are so pro- 
 vokingly staid and sensible. Now don't you 
 wish Sir Harry were here to take your part?" 
 
 " Do you really expect me to answer such 
 a question ? " replied her friend, while a bright 
 colour rose in her cheek, and her heart leaped 
 for joy at the idea Annie's words suggested. 
 " He may be here to-day — this very evening ! 
 though it is cruel of you to try and disturb 
 my resolution not to picture to myself the 
 moment of his arrival until I know he is near 
 me in this very house." 
 
 " No, you are not apathetic, I know; 
 though, but for that pretty blush, which you 
 could not suppress, some would not have 
 given you credit for the feelings you are try- 
 ing to hide in your child's pelisse ! It is so 
 very natural — no, very allowable, I suppose, 
 is a better word — to be fond of one's husband. 
 Is it not?" 
 
 " You are a little tormentor, — you have no 
 pity;" yet a smile she could not suppress ac- 
 companied these words, which Clara felt was
 
 MAREIAGE. 10 
 
 a permission for further investigation of feel- 
 ing by which Annie would undoubtedly profit. 
 Nor was she mistaken. Clara was not spared 
 the analysis of her hopes, fears, or longings ; 
 but suddenly Annie's mood seemed changed 
 as with affectionate earnestness she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " I do hope all you wish for will be granted, 
 my dearest Clara ! Now, if we had but a little 
 influence over one of Aladdin's wonderful 
 slaves, we might leam how far Sir Harry is 
 from us at this moment. Do you know I am 
 half ashamed of owning to you, who have, I 
 feel, so little sympathy with my foibles, that 
 the dear old Arabian Nights are still high in 
 my favour. To be sure, the princesses are 
 always beautiful, the princes always young and 
 rich, the uncles invariably cruel and jealous, 
 the sultans passionate and despotic — perhaps 
 there is a little sameness now and then ; but 
 then that is like 6 Real Life ; ' while there is 
 such a charming variety of dervishes, genii, 
 and sweeps, that " 
 
 " That you would like to live in an en-
 
 20 THE SECEET 
 
 chanted world, and bid adieu to everything 
 like the prose of life, and touch each object 
 with your magic wand? I perfectly under- 
 stand your meaning. But, Annie," and now 
 Clara's gentle voice spoke from and to the 
 heart, " you are but a young, foolish, happy 
 girl, and know not ' Real Life,' otherwise you 
 would not so impetuously disclaim all affinity 
 with its cares and responsibilities, its positive 
 and negative enjoyments." 
 
 " Oh ! if you are serious," and Annie's voice 
 assumed a mock solemnity, " I must explain 
 my meaning. I am only speaking of the 
 events of everyday life as not being suited to 
 form an interesting book for an idle moment. 
 Decidedly the most romantic possibilities are 
 most suited to the richness of my fancy — 
 scenes of knight-errantry which carry one 
 far away into the glorious times of chivalry — 
 that redeeming light in the annals of the dark 
 middle ages. But novels which profess to 
 carry out some moral idea — for instance, the 
 virtue of endurance, its pains, penalties, and 
 rewards — read too like a sermon for me ! " 
 " But, with most readers, passages which
 
 MARE I AGE. 21 
 
 sympathize with general feeling, touching 
 cords whose vibrations extend far around, 
 excite the deeper interest." 
 
 " But, Clara ! * 
 
 " A little patience, dear Annie ; remember 
 it is a cardinal virtue, and one which you do 
 not exercise very often, you must allow; but 
 I am not going to moralize, even if you give 
 me permission." 
 
 "lam delighted to hear it. You have a 
 bad habit of looking too much upon the 
 rational side of everything ; and I lose ter- 
 ribly, in comparison with your extreme pro- 
 priety of manner and behaviour." 
 
 " Let your vanity be at rest on this point; 
 for, to be candid with you, I have within me 
 at this moment a world of hopes, fears, and 
 anxieties which you may, if you please, set 
 down to the score of romance, and which, 
 happily for you, will prevent too continuous 
 a flow of your unknown enemies — rational 
 ideas ! But, tell me, have you ever looked 
 round the world in search of scenes of real 
 interest ? Ah ! you may be certain many 
 passing at this moment are capable of inspir-
 
 22 THE SECRET 
 
 ing a depth of feeling, which the romantic 
 improbabilities of a mere novelist's imagina- 
 tion would fail to excite." 
 
 " You appear calm, my unparalleled Clara! 
 — very calm ; but I fully believe you are suf- 
 fering tortures of impatience, and that while 
 I am counting the hours until my marble 
 Apollo arrives, you never have the image of 
 Sir Harry Lisle out of your mind. Deny it, 
 if you can ! " and Annie, throwing a glance 
 of pretended penetration upon her friend, en- 
 deavoured apparently to read her thoughts. 
 
 " I will be true and honest — follow your 
 good example in this instance, Annie dear. 
 You are right : my impatience is almost 
 beyond control. Three days have passed 
 since that one on which he told me in his 
 last letter I was to expect him." 
 
 " Are you really and truly anxious, my 
 poor Clara?" hastily burst from Annie's 
 lips, as an expression of pity and tender- 
 ness suffused her ingenuous countenance. 
 You are anxious and unhappy, and you 
 have not sought my sympathy and consola- 
 tion ! But what are three days ? — a mere
 
 MARRIAGE. 23 
 
 nothing in a yacht voyage of three weeks ! " 
 she added quickly. " The friend who offered 
 Sir Harry a passage home may perchance 
 have gone on another tack first; but, as you 
 said just now, he really may be here to- 
 night." 
 
 A smile replaced the anxious shade that 
 for a moment had passed over Lady Lisle's 
 usually placid brow. " Certainly, wind and 
 tide will not even respect a wife's wishes, 
 though she may have been separated for six 
 months from " 
 
 " From one of whom that wife really must 
 dream night and day," eagerly interrupted 
 Annie, " to judge by the melancholy expres- 
 sion I just saw upon your face, Clara. It 
 was quite appalling for the moment ! And 
 now, can you guess the subject of my 
 thoughts ? " 
 
 " No ; they fly so quickly from one subject 
 to another. You must be your own inter- 
 preter." 
 
 " I was thinking that your history would 
 not be a bad foundation for a novel." 
 
 " Indeed ! I fancied you had a contempt
 
 21 THE SECRET 
 
 for any one who would prove so common* 
 place a heroine as I fear I should." 
 
 " Quite a mistake, I assure you. Never 
 mind your, early life — that was uninteresting- 
 enough, I dare say, for you must have been 
 too amiable a child. I would begin with Sir 
 Harry's first introduction to you, and proceed 
 with various interesting and romantic traits 
 of his untiring devotion for years. I know 
 you had a strong, though of course a very pro- 
 perly feminine, approbation and attachment, 
 and so forth. I would certainly descant 
 largely on the mutual constancy which finally 
 overcame tremendous obstacles ! Then would 
 come the happy, charming conclusion, when 
 I acted as bridesmaid. All would have been 
 perfect, but for the disconsolate looks of poor 
 Arthur Graham. There my novel in strict 
 justice ought to end. Do you think I might 
 by any means render the honeymoon, the 
 continental tour, the return home, interesting 
 to some readers? But, Clara! This last, long 
 separation, is it not quite unpardonable ? " 
 
 "Not quite," replied Clara, smiling; "in
 
 CARRIAGE. 25 
 
 this life we must pardon all offences, great 
 and small, even such an offence as an unpar- 
 donable absence." 
 
 " But you should have accompanied him, 
 and assisted him to nurse his invalid uncle. 
 You have been doing nothing but trimming 
 Alice's frocks, looking out upon the sea, and 
 learning a little Italian poetry."' 
 
 "No, no; I have been much better em- 
 ployed, as you are aware ; particularly during 
 the last three days, in looking through this 
 large telescope, listening to harbour reports, 
 aud watching the ebb and flow of the tide. 
 I fully enter into your spirit of sarcasm, you 
 perceive, though I am the object of it." 
 
 " Only a little help from imagination, 
 Clara, and I could picture you to myself as 
 one of Amphitrite's nymphs." 
 
 " I advise you to adhere to truth. The 
 events of my life have been sufficiently varied. 
 A trying youth contrasts with a perfectly bliss- 
 ful married life ;" and at that moment Lady 
 Lisle looked the intense happiness she felt. 
 "It is lovely out," she continued, rising and
 
 ^6 THE SECRET 
 
 approaching the window. " Do, Annie, put 
 away your drawing, and we will ride along 
 the sands to Moor Point." 
 
 " With all my heart. I am tired of my 
 tedious pencil and paper, which obstinately 
 refuses to take your exact likeness. That 
 peculiar expression of gentle decision is diffi- 
 cult to manage artistically, though it is very 
 captivating in nature. If I try to make you 
 look serious, I give a cross turn to the upper 
 lip, and a smile instantly degenerates into a 
 silly simper. This will never do for Sir 
 Harry. What a dear, charming, lovely home 
 you have, Clara! " continued Annie, as, hastily 
 removing the condemned portrait, she rushed 
 towards the piazza, and gazed for a moment 
 with visible pleasure upon the beautiful sea 
 view. I wish every home were like yours ! — 
 but no comparisons — but it certainly is rather 
 more difficult to be happy at Fenwick House 
 than at Ashton Park. We are all such 
 strange people there ! " 
 
 " You are not strange, you. are only very 
 natural and very enthusiastic," replied her 
 friend affectionately. " No well directed in-
 
 MARRIAGE. 27 
 
 fluence would be thrown away upon you, I 
 am certain." 
 
 " Perhaps not. But at home I am at a 
 loss where to look for it," returned Annie, in 
 a light, careless tone. " But never mind. I 
 am going to put on my habit instantly. I 
 only allow you a few minutes to think, look 
 at the picture, and count how many days and 
 weeks it is since the original left you. Then 
 we will take out* usual sweeping look over the 
 waste of waters." 
 
 " Waste indeed ! " said Lady Lisle to her- 
 self, as Annie, singing a stanza of a favourite 
 song, left the room in overflowing spirits. 
 " The world is a waste to me without my 
 Harry, and, with all her love of frolic and 
 ridicule, Annie is right in saying that I do 
 think of him night and day ! And well 
 may I indeed value my blessings. He is kind, 
 affectionate, and his face is dearer to me than 
 aught in the wide world," she continued, as 
 giving words to her thoughts she moved to- 
 wards the portrait of which Annie Mowbray 
 had spoken, and which hung over her writing- 
 table. Intelligence, gentleness, and high
 
 28 THE SECRET 
 
 bearing marked the countenance of this idol 
 of Clara's heart, and seemed to authorize the 
 devotion with which for some minutes she 
 continued silently gazing before it. " All I 
 wish and pray for is to see this face once 
 more ; for I am indeed a happy wife. Few 
 can boast of being equally blessed. Eemoved 
 from poverty to affluence, to being the object 
 on which true affection is lavished — how 
 can I be sufficiently thankful ? And our dar- 
 ling Alice ! " 
 
 Thus expressing the thoughts that crowded 
 her heart, even to overflowing, Lady Lisle 
 remained for some minutes before she applied 
 herself to the task of letter-writing. But 
 words were not wanted to express what was 
 plainly read in her countenance. 
 
 Miss Mowbray had said she was beautifuL 
 To the soft, dark eyes and clear brow, shaded 
 by masses of wavy brown hair, plaited and 
 wound round her elegant and classically- 
 shaped head; to the varying tints of com- 
 plexion, and the bright smile, which at times 
 gave an indescribable charm to her counte- 
 nance, the appellation of beauty could not
 
 MABKEAGE. 29 
 
 be denied. But it was not this dangerous 
 gift alone that had won the love of Sir Harry 
 Lisle — Clara's fascinations were of a still 
 higher order. Sir Harry knew that in 
 making her his wife he had secured a com- 
 panion whose kindness of heart and gentle- 
 ness of disposition would soothe him in the 
 time of trial, and make even the bitter sweet 
 to him in his passage through life. In him 
 Clara had found all her peculiar tempera- 
 ment required — a friend as well as a husband 
 — an adviser as well as a lover — a support as 
 well as an admirer. She was young, and 
 might reasonably look forward to years of 
 happiness, and to being exempt from even a 
 common share of a mortal's sorrows. 
 
 "Annie, I will be ready in a moment,"' 
 replied Lady Lisle to her friend's remon- 
 strance, as, re-entering the sitting-room in 
 riding attire, she found her, apparently for- 
 getful of her engagement, leaning against 
 a window overlooking the ocean. 
 
 The two friends were soon enjoying the 
 beautiful sea breeze, which relieved the in- 
 tense heat of one of July's hottest days.
 
 30 THE SECRET 
 
 The view, differing from that of most sea 
 places, was one of varied heauty. Rocks 
 clothed with masses of trees opposed their 
 resistless force to ocean's stormy impetuosity, 
 or in quiet grandeur received his caresses, as 
 the white waves, with unvarying sound, cahnly 
 rolled in, one after another, against their 
 time-worn surfaces. Here and there yellow, 
 sandy beaches reflected the sun's rays, and 
 afforded a picturesque anchorage to numerous 
 fishing and pleasure-boats. Inland, blue, 
 distant hills might be seen — well- wooded 
 plains — the sparkle of a winding river, has- 
 tening to pay tribute to its ocean parent — 
 and many a noble park and mansion, the 
 homes, the pride of English hearts ! Well 
 might the anxiously-expected Sir Harry Lisle 
 reciprocate the pleasure with which his re- 
 turn home, after a six months' absence, was 
 anticipated! Ashton Park had been the 
 seat of his forefathers. Its gray towers had 
 witnessed the entrance and exit of successive 
 generations of the Lisles. It was endeared 
 to him by traditions — by memories of boy- 
 hood's youth. Happy recollections were as-
 
 MAEEIAGE. 31 
 
 sociated with it. Latterly, and principally, it 
 possessed the charm of being the home of 
 his wife and child. Sir Harry had been the 
 child of prosperity. Piiches had been his in- 
 heritance. He would surely quietly fill up 
 the measure of his days, and to his children 
 leave his name and his possessions !
 
 32 THE SECRET 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " The day is lowering — stilly black 
 Sleeps the grim wave, while Heaven's rack, 
 Dispersed and wild, 'twixt earth and sky, 
 Hangs like a shattered canopy ! 
 On earth 'twas yet all calm around, 
 A pulseless silence, dread, profound, 
 More awful than the tempest's sound." 
 
 " It is oppressively hot," said Miss Mow- 
 bray, as the two friends, on returning from 
 their ride, were walking on the terrace, which 
 commanded the sea view already described. 
 
 " And will be unusually stormy, I fear, to 
 judge by those fiery clouds in the west. 
 Look over the beacon; it is late — another 
 day is passing! No tidings of the yacht! 
 It seems very unaccountable. I cannot help — 
 and yet "
 
 MARRIAGE. 33 
 
 Checking the expression of the troubled 
 thoughts which would intrude themselves on 
 her mind, Lady Lisle suddenly stood still, 
 gazing in silence on the scene before her, as 
 if afraid of giving utterance to words imply- 
 ing a vague fear. Annie was a few steps in 
 advance of her friend, and, joining her, hastily 
 exclaimed, in her usually thoughtless manner, 
 " How beautiful ! how splendid ! how I love 
 to see the elements, those awfully difficult, 
 incomprehensible ' agents,' as the natural 
 philosophy books call them, preparing to get 
 into a rage, a real ' bond fide' rage! — I can 
 enter into their composition at such a time — 
 then there seems something sympathetic be- 
 tween us! How dark and stormy it does 
 look — really grand, sublime ! How can people 
 stuff themselves between feathers, and stand 
 close to non-conductors, when there is some- 
 thing so splendid to be seen! Come, Clara, 
 do admue and wonder, and pay homage to 
 the surpassing beauty of a thunderstorm." 
 
 Annie turned towards Lady Lisle, sur- 
 prised at her silence, but was pained on per- 
 ceiving an unusually anxious expression on 
 
 VOL. I. d
 
 34 THE SECRET 
 
 her countenance. She had expressed herself 
 in a momentary forgetfulness of the grave 
 turn her friend's thoughts might naturally 
 take, when all her hopes and ideas centred 
 in the safe arrival of the yacht in which Sir 
 Harry was a passenger. A storm was evi- 
 dently threatening, and though Annie, in- 
 stantly entering into Lady Lisle's anxiety, 
 used all her eloquence to quiet her fears, her 
 efforts were vain. The coast was a dangerous 
 one, and in stormy weather wrecks were of 
 frequent occurrence. 
 
 The friends for some moments watched in 
 silence the heavy clouds, which, gradually 
 gathering together, were becoming of an in- 
 tense purple hue. Already the soft grey 
 hills bounding the western horizon of the 
 bay were obscured, and all nature seemed 
 hushed in an unnatural stillness. 
 
 " Though the sea is so calm at present, it 
 . makes me shudder to think of the might of 
 the uplifted waves. See how dark it looks 
 on the horizon; and the sea-gulls, how rest- 
 less they are, dipping their wings into the 
 ocean ! I do dread a storm on this coast !
 
 MARRIAGE. 35 
 
 At this very time too ! on this very night ! 
 It is a beautiful,- but too terrific a sight;" 
 and Lady Lisle, taking her friend's arm, 
 walked hurriedly onwards. 
 
 Annie read her thoughts now only too 
 clearly, and severely blamed herself for her 
 former indiscreet and thoughtless levity of 
 expression. But hers was not a spirit to be 
 shaken by fear; and though distant thunder 
 was now heard, and occasional flashes of 
 lightning began to illuminate the deepening 
 gloom, she rallied Clara on her weak nerves, 
 and endeavoured to persuade her that the 
 effects of a storm were but partial in general, 
 and that the sky's threatening aspect would 
 probably even pass away as the day declined. 
 
 But when do efforts at consolation avail 
 if terror has taken possession of the mind? 
 
 Clara said nothing ; but silence expressed 
 her feelings more painfully and fully than 
 words could have done. At length she hur- 
 riedly exclaimed, " I cannot be deceived ; 
 there is indeed a terrible storm gathering, 
 and may Heaven protect the shipping on this 
 coast if it should not subside before night.
 
 30 THE SECRET 
 
 The yacht must have been already delayed 
 by contrary winds; I only pray she may still 
 be many leagues off." 
 
 Annie did not reply. Her whole attention 
 was absorbed as she gazed in the direction of 
 the threatening storm. A white sail had 
 caught her quick sight, in the extreme verge 
 of the horizon, made visible at intervals by 
 the vivid forked lightning, and at others lost 
 to sight in the surrounding darkness. Was 
 it — could it be — the very vessel which was the 
 object of her friend's anxious fears? What 
 might not be its fate during the impending 
 furious conflict of sky and ocean ? She feared 
 to ask herself the question, as, trusting the 
 small white speck had escaped her friend's 
 observation, she hurried her into the house, 
 ere she communicated her own presentiment 
 of evil. In her own mind Annie felt con- 
 vinced that she had caught a glimpse of the 
 yacht "Fenella;" but, exercising unwonted 
 self-command, she turned hastily to Lady Lisle. 
 
 " Now do come in, Clara, even I earnestly 
 wish it. It is really foolish to remain out 
 any longer. See, the quick, heavy thunder-
 
 MARRIAGE. 37 
 
 drops have begun to fall in earnest." But 
 still Lady Lisle lingered on the threshold of 
 the hall, gazing fearfully around. Annie 
 drew her almost forcibly onwards. The ser- 
 vants were running about in all directions, 
 shutting the windows, through which the rain 
 was beginning to pour in torrents. The large 
 trees rocked to and fro with sudden impe- 
 tuosity, and fragments of branches were 
 strewn around with each passionate gust of 
 the increasing hurricane. Every moment 
 the gale freshened from the south-west, blow- 
 ing right on shore. But over the watery 
 element itself seemed the storm most deter- 
 mined to exercise its fury and display its 
 might. 
 
 The waves, which only an hour before had 
 been calmly sleeping under a blue sky, whose 
 vapoury clouds were reflected in the still 
 depths beneath, were suddenly awoke, and in 
 frenzy seemed resolved to break the rocky 
 bonds by which nature had limited their 
 dominion'. High aloft they dashed then foam 
 against the polished rocky surface, as if they 
 would uproot the trees that bent over in
 
 38 THE SECRET 
 
 seeming supplication. In the horizon all was 
 now one undistinguishable mass of gloom, 
 whose depth was revealed by the lightning 
 flashes that came in quick succession. 
 
 " It is — it is terrible to think of those who 
 are on the sea at this awful time. I know — I 
 feel — the Tenella' was nearing the Channel; 
 indeed, the old pilot, Jacob Harsey, said she 
 was expected in port this evening, for three 
 days ago she had been spoken with off the 
 French coast." 
 
 Hurrying from window to window, Lady 
 Lisle vainly endeavoured to subdue, or at 
 least to silence her fears. Annie caught at 
 any subject which might divert her thoughts 
 from the prominent cause of anxiety, and 
 reproached her friend for her want of con- 
 fidence, in having withheld from her the im- 
 portant information respecting the " Fenella." 
 But without heeding her remonstrance, Clara 
 continued, — " I had intended it as a surprise, 
 a joyful, happy surprise ; but now, with such 
 a furious gale blowing on shore, I can only 
 trust. Oh, Annie! those terrible rocks — God 
 protect him ! "
 
 MARE1AGE. 30 
 
 " Do not give way to fears that we may, I 
 trust, be privileged to consider groundless," 
 replied the young girl, as she affectionately 
 endeavoured to draw away her friend from the 
 contemplation of the furious elements which 
 were raging without. ' ; The 'Fenella' has 
 probably put into some port in coming up 
 the Channel; and then she has weathered 
 so many storms, many as severe as this. 
 She is a well-built vessel. Calm yourself, 
 dear Clara. Sailors, you know, can always 
 see a storm coming. Besides, why should — 
 how could — such misery happen ? Do not 
 search into the book of fate. Let me ring 
 for little Alice; she will amuse you and divert 
 your thoughts."' 
 
 " No, no ! not now. I have but one 
 thought, one idea in my mind," cried Clara, 
 laying her hand upon her friend's arm. " Do 
 not leave me, but help me to fix this tele- 
 scope. See, the sailors are running to and 
 fro on the beach. Have you arranged the 
 proper focus ? Look towards Dart Point." 
 
 " They are drawing up their boats on shore 
 and making fast the anchors. The tide is
 
 40 THE SECRET 
 
 running high; they are of course wise to 
 take all possible precaution, But it is now 
 too dark to see clearly ; you are only harass- 
 ing yourself needlessly. Shall I send a mes- 
 senger down to the port, to gain any informa- 
 tion that can be given ? The ' Fenella ' will 
 have certainly put into some safe harbour." 
 
 "No, no," interrupted Lady Lisle, in a 
 tone of undisguised terror, " I have a feeling 
 that the ' Fenella' is in danger. See, they are 
 getting out the life-boats. I know them — I 
 can distinguish them even by this faint light. 
 I cannot stand this terrible suspense." 
 
 Notwithstanding her assumed calmness, 
 Annie deeply entered into her friend's anxiety, 
 with which she could not but connect the 
 white sail in the offing she had seen at the 
 commencement of the storm, and on which 
 the raging elements were probably destined 
 to wreak their fury. 
 
 She rejoiced more than she cared openly 
 to show, when Lady Lisle determined in- 
 stantly to send down to the harbour, in order 
 to obtain certain intelligence as to the 
 " Fenella's " fate. But ere the messenger could
 
 MARRIAGE. 41 
 
 have returned, fear had reached so ungovern- 
 able a pitch, that, regardless of inconvenience 
 or even danger, Clara, accompanied by her 
 kind-hearted, and, in reality, sympathizing 
 friend, had taken the nearest road to the sea- 
 shore, having given directions that the car- 
 riage should follow. 
 
 Without mingling in the crowd that was 
 assembled on the beach, bearing evidence to 
 the feeling of expectation which, at such an 
 hour, and under such a sky, could thus attract 
 all ages and all classes of persons, the two 
 friends directed their steps to the harbour, 
 where they were soon joined by the servants, 
 dependants, and tenants of Ashton Park, all 
 more or less anxious for the fate of Sir Harry 
 Lisle. 
 
 By this time the ocean presented awful evi- 
 dence of its power and grandeur. The very 
 fountains of the great deep seemed broken 
 up, as the ponderous and white-crested waves, 
 with a tremendous and hollow crash, rolled in 
 their full length upon the shingles. 
 
 The whistling of the wind through the 
 masts and cordage of the vessels which were
 
 42 THE SECRET 
 
 either stranded or lying at anchor safe in 
 harbour, the heavy roll of the thunder over 
 head, and the loud, gruff voices of the sailors, 
 who, as they manned the life-boats, were to 
 be distinguished at intervals, caused the scene 
 to be truly bewildering. It was no longer to 
 be doubted that a vessel was in distress, and 
 that vessel the " Fenella" herself! 
 
 The Ashton Park carriage was soon the 
 centre of a group of idlers and sailors who, 
 feeling for Lady Lisle's anxious position, en- 
 deavoured in their kind simplicity to kindle 
 hope, and afford as much consolation as lay in 
 their power. 
 
 For far and near the Lisle family was 
 beloved, as those only can be who spend a 
 large portion of their energies and worldly 
 substance amongst their own people. It 
 required a courage not ordinarily possessed 
 by the timid Clara Lisle to brave the terrible 
 novelty of her situation; while Annie Mow- 
 bray, on the contrary, would have fearlessly ex- 
 ulted in the wild splendour around her, so well 
 suited to her natural impetuosity and ro- 
 mance, could she have felt less keenly for
 
 MARRIAGE. 43 
 
 her Mend's anxieties. They drove along the 
 shore towards Dart Point Cove, which was 
 at a short distance from Ashton harbour ; 
 thither, from the terrace, they had ob- 
 served the attention of a knot of old weather- 
 beaten sailors was directed. To windward of 
 the cove, and about half a mile from shore, 
 lay a long line of pointed sunken rocks, 
 known by the name of the " Bluffs," the ter- 
 ror of all navigators who came up the Channel 
 with a strong sou'wester. Associated with 
 these rocks was many a tale of superstition, 
 mingled with active reminiscences of stout- 
 hearted tars, who, while sheltered from the 
 rough blast by their low-roofed cabins, would 
 spin the long yarn of the dangers and escapes 
 of their youth, riveting the attention of all 
 youngsters who loved the marvellous. But 
 now, when there was no time for thought or 
 recollection, in broken but not to be mistaken 
 accents, the words " yacht," " bluffs," "dan- 
 ger," " shipwreck," were at intervals borne 
 upon the blast to the terrified ears of Clara 
 and her companion, in whose hearts fears and 
 doubts had already reached an overwhelming
 
 44 THE SECRET 
 
 certainty. Forgetful of everything but the 
 safety of one, who, dearer to her than life, was, 
 she knew, a passenger in the " Fenella," Lady 
 Lisle, followed by her friend, hastily left the 
 carriage, and forced her way through the 
 dense crowd to the top of a sandy rock, 
 whence the wide expanse of ocean was visi- 
 ble. Faint lights streamed along the shore, 
 rendering the tempestuous darkness still 
 more appalling, while flashes of lightning 
 revealed now the topmast and now the keel 
 of a small vessel, over which the breakers 
 were rolling with ungoverned fury. Shreds 
 of riven sails were flying before the wind, 
 their ghastly whiteness at intervals contrast- 
 ing horribly with the surrounding impene- 
 trable gloom. Over the ill-fated vessel all 
 human control had evidently ceased. 
 
 " She'll be lost ! shell be lost ! " echoed 
 on all sides. " She'll be struck by the light- 
 ning, — she'll be dashed to pieces on the 
 rocks ! " said one of the prophetic voices out 
 of the midst of the crowd. 
 
 " I never seed such a gale blowing a sou'- 
 wester, and such a sea running, and any 
 boat live in it," said another.
 
 MARRIAGE. 45 
 
 " I know them Bluffs well," said a third; 
 "they'll grind a bit o' timber clean to powder; 
 ay, crush it like a nut-shell. Why dinna 
 that land-lubber of a captain take a wider 
 berth ? Them gemmen in then yachts, as a 
 call 'em, are no fit to be trusted with a craft 
 in foul weather. More's the pity ! " 
 
 " Who could na have seen a storm was 
 a brewing ? " said a tough old sailor, pushing 
 his way as he spoke through the crowd to 
 the top of a sandy mound. " And so I told 
 my Jack this very morning, as he were a want- 
 ing to go mackrel-fishing. A good chance 
 I've missed of ne'er seeing a hair of his 
 head agin. Ay ! now, now ! See how she's 
 driving afore the wind. She'll be on them 
 Bluffs in less time nor ye can jump over- 
 board ; and many's the poor feller who'll have 
 to make up his last reck'ning this night, I'se 
 warrant ! " 
 
 Now, at intervals rising and falling 
 amongst the billows, was the life-boat seen 
 making its way through the breakers, which 
 seemed to threaten instant destruction. 
 
 But to make head against such a furious 
 sea was so difficult a matter, that scarcely did
 
 46 THE SECRET 
 
 the distance appear to decrease between the 
 life-boat and the doomed " Fenella." A 
 breathless and almost unbroken silence in 
 the mean time indicated the intense interest 
 felt by the crowd in general; while the men- 
 tal agony of those who were immediately 
 concerned in the fearful and but too clearly 
 foreseen catastrophe, bordered on a state of 
 distraction. 
 
 Powerless as she was to render any assist- 
 ance, compulsory inaction was well-nigh un- 
 bearable to Lady Lisle; while, scarcely mistress 
 of word or deed, possessed with the one over- 
 whelming idea that her husband was in dan- 
 ger of a horrible death, she could only exclaim 
 to those around her, — 
 
 "A hundred ! — five hundred ! — a thousand 
 pounds' reward to any one who will risk his 
 life, and save Sir Harry Lisle ! He is a 
 passenger in the ' Fenella. ' Will no one 
 have compassion, and bring him safe to 
 shore ? " 
 
 Her agonized look and manner awoke an 
 interest in more than one stout-hearted, 
 generous fellow, who, independently of the
 
 MARRIAGE. 47 
 
 high reward offered, would willingly have 
 braved the furious elements to save the life 
 of a fellow- creature. But, in a small boat, 
 such an attempt would but have been to rush 
 on certain and instant self-destruction. . 
 
 In vain Annie Mowbray — feeling that in 
 the life-boat lay the only means or chance of 
 rescue — endeavoured to silence and subdue 
 her friends distracted misery ; in vain she 
 reasoned, or attempted consolation. Too 
 surely the destiny of the ill-fated " Fenella M 
 was drawing towards its completion. Sud- 
 denly a loud and prolonged shout of horror 
 proclaimed that she had struck. In a mo- 
 ment the engulfing waves were rolling over 
 her topmast and decks, washing every spar 
 overboard, and scattering the wreck of her 
 timbers amongst the foaming breakers. 
 
 " She's sinking ! " echoed on all sides ; and 
 the crowd, instantly dispersing, left the sandy 
 hillock, and gathered in straggling knots on 
 the shore, still attracted by the terrible 
 scene. 
 
 And Clara — the miserable, the almost fran- 
 tic wife ! — All self-command had vanished,
 
 48 THE SECRET 
 
 and, but for the presence of mind and cau- 
 tious energy of those who surrounded, who 
 watched over her, she would have thrown 
 herself upon the waves in the wild agony of 
 her despair. 
 
 But the fate of her husband was not yet 
 sealed, for the life-boat was still stemming 
 the breakers, and might rescue many from 
 a watery and untimely grave. Still there 
 was hope — hope that he might be saved in 
 the midst of the appalling ruin — for a few 
 moments only; and after the yacht had struck, 
 not a vestige but the floating timbers remained 
 to tell of her late existence. 
 
 Insatiable indeed was the engulfing deep 
 — ungovernable in its fury, remorseless in 
 its ruin. Awful the destiny of those who, 
 but three short weeks previously, had trusted 
 lives, hopes, prospects, to the unfathomable 
 ocean ! 
 
 Each succeeding wave washed the dead 
 ashore. The husbandless, the fatherless, the 
 childless, far distant as they were from the 
 fearful scene, were as yet unconscious of 
 their bereavement.
 
 MAEEIAGE. 49 
 
 Of those who had formed the living freight 
 of the " Fenella," were some who, in the 
 confidence inspired by a hitherto happy life, 
 looked forward to spending the remainder of 
 their days in peace and comfort. One was 
 returning with the riches of art and the 
 reward of scientific research, and intended to 
 establish a more than lifelong fame. An- 
 other, who had sought in distant lands to 
 disburden himself of ever-accompanying en- 
 nui, was expecting and hoping to prolong 
 indefinitely an existence that was neverthe- 
 less devoid of charms. 
 
 The young dreamed of pleasure, the old of 
 peace, the happy of sympathy. 
 
 The sorrowing hoped time would change 
 his destiny. The benevolent was intent upon 
 schemes for the good of humanity. 
 
 But to all — all ! life was more or less dear. 
 Time was still an unreaped field. The har- 
 vest would either realize or prove the vanity 
 of gains and expectations. In one moment 
 all was changed. The decree had gone 
 forth. 
 
 Hopes were to be unrealized; sins to be 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE SECKET 
 
 unrepented. The fairest promises were to 
 be blighted; the best intentions frustrated. 
 A few — a very few — were still destined to 
 more years of life's changes and chances. 
 Would they profit by others' examples — by 
 their own experience ? 
 
 Indescribable is the agony of the moment, 
 when all dear relationships were to be dis- 
 solved for ever, and the wild tumult of con- 
 flicting emotions was merged in the all- 
 powerful longing after self-preservation. May 
 mercy be shown to the unprepared, when 
 such sudden death awaits them ! 
 
 Winged as it was with terror, indeed, but 
 nevertheless mitigated- by a humble con- 
 sciousness of rectitude, was the awful sum- 
 mons received by the brave Sir Harry Lisle. 
 The image of his beloved Clara, and of their 
 only child, added energy to his prayers as 
 memory recalled the blissful past amidst the 
 horrors that surrounded him. In his last 
 effort to save life, he threw himself upon an 
 advancing wave, as the vessel was sinking. 
 But on him depended the safety of another, 
 and a perfectly helpless being. His dying
 
 MABR1AGE. 51 
 
 uncle had left him a legacy, a child of six 
 years old, over whom he had promised to 
 extend a father's protection. With this child 
 he was returning from Venice ; his first care 
 was for it when the " Fenella" struck. He 
 held it in his arms; he struggled with it 
 amongst the breakers. His last act was one 
 of heroic self-devotion. With failing strength 
 he sought to reach the life-boat, which was 
 but a few yards ahead. A vigorous effort — 
 another — another ! Could no power stay the 
 furious rolling wave ? For a moment he 
 disappears in the white foam, now again 
 rises above it; a strong arm is extended from 
 the life-boat — a rope is thrown, but there is 
 no hand to grasp it. He has let go his hold 
 upon the child, but, thank God, it is safe in 
 the arms of one of the brave crew ; in an- 
 other moment a sea, dark and deep as night, 
 rolls over its gallant victim, and the pre- 
 server of Ormond Greville sinks to rise no 
 more. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY 1 ,
 
 52 THE SECRET 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "And all is well, though faith and form 
 Be sundered in the night of fear ; 
 Well roars the storm to those that hear 
 A deeper voice across the storm." 
 
 (In Memoriam.) 
 
 We left the already, though unconsciously, 
 widowed Lady Lisle, on the sea-shore, receiv- 
 ing from her friend, and from her terrified 
 and sympathizing domestics all the kind at- 
 tentions that the exigencies of the moment 
 required during the awful scenes that were 
 taking place around. 
 
 But, though fear had almost paralyzed her 
 bodily frame, no entreaties could induce the 
 unhappy Clara to return homewards, or aban- 
 don the hope that her husband might yet be 
 saved, though he was not of the number of
 
 MARRIAGE. 53 
 
 those whom the life-boat had rescued from 
 impending death. 
 
 Having possessed itself of the jewel, the 
 changeable, the stupendous, the ever restless 
 element was now giving up the comparatively 
 worthless casket. 
 
 In vain Clara wandered for hours, in the 
 mournful hope that each succeeding wave 
 would at least bring to her distracted gaze the 
 object of her hopes, of her despair. The 
 tempest still raged with but slightly abated 
 fury, yet she felt it impossible to leave the 
 scene of horror, until the ocean had given up 
 its dead, 
 
 Many bodies were washed ashore, but he 
 whom Clara loved met not her agonized gaze. 
 Still she lingered, until the dawn began to 
 break over the scene of ruin and death, and 
 the shore every instant became more and 
 more thronged with those whom the various 
 motives of curiosity, benevolence, or desire of 
 gain, had attracted to the fearful spot. 
 
 When she reached her home prayer was her 
 first, her only resource ; but even in that 
 support she found comparatively no comfort.
 
 54 THE SECRET 
 
 Doubt was as yet unsatisfied. The blow 
 had been too recently dealt ! She could not 
 believe in its reality ! Now delusive hope still 
 suggested possibilities of escape. Her hus- 
 band might not have been a passenger in the 
 " Fenella " — might not even have left Italy ! 
 
 Then, again, came the reaction of despair, 
 when the sense of the probable misery that 
 had fallen upon her future life was terrible in 
 its intensity. 
 
 At length, worn out with the conflict of the 
 last momentous hours, and exhausted by 
 bodily fatigue, she gave way to an uncontrol- 
 lable burst of grief, which first vented itself in 
 tears. Long she wept, and a death-like sleep 
 of some hours followed. 
 
 As the day advanced the tempest abated, 
 and smaller boats put out to sea, to make 
 assurance doubly sure, that all had been 
 rescued whom chance, or rather an overruling 
 Providence, had saved from a watery grave. 
 
 Still no traces could be discovered, and a 
 mystery seemed to hang over the fate of the 
 gallant Sir Harry Lisle. 
 
 It was noon ere Clara awoke, but not to
 
 MARRIAGE. 55 
 
 instant consciousness. The stupor into which 
 she had fallen, the effect of excessive grief 
 and fatigue, was not to be shaken off in a 
 moment. With a heavy sigh, she turned her 
 head upon her pillow, until the memory of 
 the previous night's horrors came back with 
 sudden and terrible vividness, and then she 
 knew it was not a dream ! Annie Mowbray 
 was standing beside her holding her child by 
 the hand. 
 
 Clara stretched out her arms, folded little 
 Alice to her heart, and gazed in speechless 
 misery upon her face. 
 
 In Annie's sadness and silence she read but 
 too truly that there was no room for hope. 
 
 " I know — I feel — that I am alone in the 
 world, that my child is fatherless. Oh, leave 
 me, Annie ! " 
 
 It would have been less terrible to witness 
 wild, mad despair, than such unnatural calm- 
 ness, under such affliction ; but with more 
 self-command than Annie usually possessed, 
 she succeeded in detailing to Lady Lisle part 
 of what had occurred during the hours of deep 
 sleep, in which she had been insensible to
 
 56 THE SECRET 
 
 what was passing around her. The body of 
 Sir Harry Lisle had been washed ashore soon 
 after Clara had returned to Ashton Park. 
 Life was extinct; yet, recognised as it was by 
 a faithful and devoted domestic, no means 
 for restoring animation were left untried. 
 
 At length all that remained of one who had 
 been valued as a friend, loved and respected 
 as a master, idolized as a husband, was con- 
 veyed to that home which had witnessed his 
 birth, and which was to be his final resting- 
 place in death. 
 
 Can we accompany the widowed Clara into 
 the darkened room which contained all she 
 had best loved on earth, and with her kneel 
 by his side, as he lay silent and motionless in 
 death ? The even flow of the now calm 
 waves seems to pronounce a requiem over 
 the soul which has so lately fled to the land 
 of spirits. Yes ! Here is death ! But no 
 disfiguring hand has been laid upon features 
 which are beautiful in the repose of their last 
 sleep. The countenance still bears the im- 
 press of the last generous deed which Sir 
 Harry Lisle died to accomplish. Clara gazed
 
 MARRIAGE. 57 
 
 upon him ; she bent over him ; she pressed 
 her lips to his cold cheek; she felt a longing 
 to throw herself by his side, but an involun- 
 tary shudder overcame her. Awful is the 
 sight of death in the beauty of infancy, in the 
 loveliness of youth, in the sterner develop- 
 ment of manhood, in the faded and withered 
 features of old age. Death was to Clara a 
 novel sight. She was an orphan. Her father 
 and mother had died in her infancy, and had 
 impressed on her heart but the remembrance 
 of their affection. 
 
 A very young companion had also left her 
 in early youth, to mourn the loss of a fa- 
 vourite play-fellow; and the pale, quiet face, 
 and the white rose-buds strewn around, had 
 often returned upon the memory of later years. 
 
 But here was death, in his terror, his 
 grandeur, his desolation ! The love, the 
 husband of her youth, the sharer of all her 
 joys, her support, the anchor of her heart — 
 he who had rendered her home a paradise 
 — the father of her child ; — he was taken 
 from her for ever; his voice, his smile, his 
 blessing would cheer her no more.
 
 58 THE SECRET 
 
 Alone she would have to bear trials, griefs 
 almost beyond endurance ; to struggle with 
 the tempests of a stormy world, to conduct 
 her child through its devious paths. Oh ! 
 how she longed to lie down and die by his 
 side. Could not an angel's arms receive 
 them both ; and might not their child be 
 spared the bitterness of death, and, in the 
 purity and innocence of its mortal beauty, 
 be received with them into the mansions of 
 bliss? 
 
 But, no ! There was a stern reality before 
 her; she had duties to fulfil from which, for 
 her child's sake, she must not shrink. She 
 must arouse and act, though from henceforth 
 she felt sorrow was to be her destiny. Her 
 feelings were not to be measured by those of 
 others, who, in the very bitterness of first 
 grief, are alive to the consolations of friend- 
 ship, sometimes even to*the voice of affection. 
 She knew she had lost all she had best loved 
 on earth, one who had possessed the tried 
 love of years. She gazed; she could not 
 tear herself away. But she could pray. She 
 could earnestly pray that they might be re-
 
 MARRIAGE. 59 
 
 united in a happier world ; and she felt as 
 if the voice of her supplication would be 
 powerful in causing the spirit of the blessed 
 still to hover round her, in her daily life, to 
 cheer her onward — still to be the guardian, 
 though the unseen angel of her home. 
 
 She mu3t have some remembrance of this 
 sad hour — of one in death who had been her 
 all in life. Once more her trembling fingers 
 were entwined in the brown wavy hair she 
 had so often caressed; and cutting off a lock 
 nearest to the brow, she enclosed it in the 
 locket she always wore round her neck, and 
 which contained a similar pledge of early 
 affection. 
 
 Clara then returned to the solitude of her 
 own home. Again and again, during that 
 day and the succeeding ones, did she visit 
 that now hallowed apartment, containing, as 
 it did, all she had so fondly loved. 
 
 But grief is a sacred thing; and though 
 many avenues lead to it, it is enshrined and 
 reigns most powerfully in the unseen heart. 
 
 A lovely calm followed the stormy night 
 on which the " Fenella " was wrecked, as if
 
 60 THE SECKET 
 
 the elements had determined upon manifest- 
 ing a tardy repentance for the ruin they had 
 caused. In many a fisherman's hut, scattered 
 here and there along the low coast line, still 
 beat the anxious heart of a wife or mother ; 
 for several whom duty had called away on 
 the previous night, to risk then lives in 
 behalf of their fellow- creatures, had not yet 
 returned to their homes. 
 
 Full of danger indeed is the life of a 
 sailor ; but, buoyant as the wave on which 
 he rises, the tempest which has spared him 
 is no sooner succeeded by the blue sky and 
 placid ocean than dangers are forgotten, and 
 he longs for fresh excitement. 
 
 Ormond Greville was saved — all but mi- 
 raculously — and by one whose young wife 
 had lately learned how uneasy a link joins 
 affection and fear of danger to the object of 
 our love. 
 
 Mary Archer had reluctantly consented to 
 her husband's obeying the call to exertion 
 and probable self-sacrifice, which on that 
 dangerous coast was frequently heard re- 
 sounding along its rocky promontories, when
 
 MARRIAGE. Gl 
 
 a vessel was in distress. She had not closed 
 her eyes during the night of the shipwreck, 
 and, in an agony of fear, was watching for 
 her husband's return, when, long before the 
 gale had subsided, she descried him coming 
 towards her. 
 
 " God be praised for His mercies, His 
 great, great mercies ! I feared not to see 
 your face again in this world, my own Jack ! " 
 and Mary Archer threw herself into her hus- 
 band's arms, and wept for very joy. 
 
 "Come in, come in; and what's this? — 
 a child you've brought with ye! All, your 
 brave arms ha' saved him, I warrant, and 
 mayhap many a one beside. Ah, you've seen 
 many a fearful sight, ha'nt you, Jack ? You 
 munna go again on sic a night ! " 
 
 " And you munn thank God I'm safe, 
 Mary," said Jack, as he entered the low- 
 roofed cabin, and made the door fast behind 
 him. " But now take this child, and give ; 
 him, some sort of dry clothes and something, 
 warm, and put him in your own bed. I take 
 it he's more afeard, nor harmed, and maybe 
 he's saved for some good end."
 
 62 THE SECRET 
 
 " Ay, and many younger and older nor 
 him s a gone down this awful night, I'se 
 warrant, long this fearfu' coast ! But here, 
 gie me the child, whilst you're a tending on 
 yoursel'." 
 
 " Ay, Mary ; and Sir Harry Lisle's a lost 
 too ! I'd ha' saved him, for he's a brave, 
 good man, and might ha' saved himself but 
 for this here child. I seed him in his arms. 
 It was fearful dark, but the lightning flashed. 
 I saw it gleam on his face as he went down ; 
 a big sea rolled over him. There'll be sad 
 work at the Park ! " 
 
 " With the poor lady there ! There will 
 indeed! And what should I ha' done, an I 
 had lost you, Jack? See, I've been keeping 
 in the fire these mony weary hours, though 
 my weak heart would misgive me at times, 
 that I should na see your face agin." 
 
 And now Mary, having relieved her grateful 
 heart, turned her attention more particularly to 
 the poor child, whose first reception on English 
 shores was of so inhospitable a nature ; began 
 to warm his chilled limbs and soothe his 
 fears, asking his name, his age, and his his-
 
 MARRIAGE. 63 
 
 tory, while she busied herself in preparing a 
 substantial repast, and threw another log on 
 the bright embers. 
 
 "Ah! he's na like one of our country folk's 
 childer, ben he, Jack ? He's of some grand 
 foreign folk, and mayhap he's a papist as well. 
 For I have heard as how Sir Harry Lisle, 
 poor gentleman, was gone beyond seas to 
 tend upon some grand relation as was no of 
 our way o' thinking. This child's saved for 
 some good end, maybe, I'm thinking." 
 
 Ormond had sense and knowledge beyond 
 his years, and, reassured by the kind looks 
 and manner of his humble hosts, he soon 
 gave a sufficiently clear account of himself for 
 them to draw the inference that on leaving 
 Italy he had been destined to find a home at 
 the Park. Thither, in the course of the day, 
 was he conducted, and in the mean time a 
 few words relative to his former history will 
 not be out of place. 
 
 The uncle, whose last illness and death 
 Sir Harry Lisle had been called upon to at- 
 tend, had in his youth abjured the reformed 
 religion of his ancestors, and professed the
 
 G4 THE SECRET 
 
 Koman Catholic faith. His mistaken zeal 
 in the cause of truth had for many years 
 caused an alienation between himself and his 
 family, which was strengthened by his long 
 residence in foreign lands. 
 
 He entered the priesthood, and being pe- 
 culiarly energetic, talented, and ambitious, 
 gained height after height, until he obtained 
 the cardinal's hat, and with it large emolu- 
 ment and patronage. 
 
 But ambitious though he was, he was 
 otherwise free from the distinguishing charac- 
 teristics of the Eoman Catholic clergy. He 
 was neither proud, grasping, nor selfish. To 
 be loved rather than feared was his desire, 
 while the amount of admiration and respect 
 he inspired was far greater than that which 
 generally fell to the lot of contemporary emi- 
 nences. Whether rays from the truth, whose 
 full light he had banished from his mind, 
 ever visited him in after life, with a vividness 
 which brought before him in painful review 
 the leading actions of his life, he never dis- 
 closed. 
 
 A step had been taken which he felt was
 
 MAKKIAGE. 65 
 
 irremediable. By its consequences, whatever 
 they might be, he was determined to abide. 
 His delight was to patronize merit and talent 
 and to relieve distress, and daily applications 
 were made to his benevolence and charity. 
 On • one occasion they were taxed to a more 
 than ordinary extent. A young Englishman 
 of his acquaintance, by name Ormond Gre- 
 ville, had been secretly married to the noble 
 and beautiful Beatrice Gonsalvi. No sooner 
 had the marriage been discovered than Bea- 
 trice was indignantly expelled from the pa- 
 ternal home. Her husband had neither rank 
 nor riches to offer, yet love had overcome 
 prudence, and for a short time mutual happi- 
 ness was at its height, even in the midst of 
 comparative obscurity. But poverty at length 
 made her unwelcome voice to be loudly heard. 
 Beatrice disposed one by one of all the jewels 
 she possessed, and, driven to despair by the 
 inexorable behaviour of her unforgiving pa- 
 rents, she determined to throw herself upon 
 the kindness of the English cardinal. She 
 did not sue in vain. The cardinal, who had 
 always distinguished the young Englishman 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE SECKET 
 
 with peculiar marks of favour, nobly con- 
 sented to provide him with the means of 
 maintaining himself and his wife in compara- 
 tive affluence, and even so far set the world's 
 censure at defiance as to oner them a home 
 at the Palazzo Ferrata. Bound by the vows 
 of celibacy, he was still alive to the fascina- 
 tions of beauty and the charms of female so- 
 ciety. He was advancing in years : many a 
 lonely hour would be soothed and heavy care 
 be dispelled by the domestic companionship 
 of young Greville and his wife. A good 
 action would be performed; a concession 
 made at the same moment to the promptings 
 of duty and inclination. Unhesitatingly his 
 benevolent offers were accepted. The noble 
 young Italian lady and her English husband 
 became inmates of the good cardinal's palace. 
 But their newly found happiness was not of long 
 duration. The implacable animosity of the 
 Duke and Duchess Gonsalvi against one who 
 had brought dishonour on their house by 
 espousing their daughter, was ever on the 
 watch. They had secret emissaries at their 
 command. A slow but sure poison was for
 
 MAERIAGE. 67 
 
 months administered in the daily food of 
 their unfortunate son-in-law. He died in the 
 arms of the cardinal, consumed, as was sup- 
 posed, by a lingering illness. Beatrice did 
 not long survive him. She gave birth to a 
 son, and on the tenth day after the death of 
 her husband was buried by his side. Their 
 orphan child was from that day treated as his 
 grandchild by the cardinal, and received the 
 name of Ormond in addition to his surname 
 Greville. 
 
 To this child had Sir Harry Lisle pledged 
 his word, by the bedside of his dying uncle, 
 that a father's care should never be wanting; 
 for, though stung by remorse at the tragic 
 end of their unhappy daughter, by which 
 their over revengeful malice had been so 
 fearfully punished, the Gonsalvis determined 
 never to show the smallest symptom of a 
 tardy penitence by protecting or providing 
 for the grandchild who bore the hated name 
 of Greville. With instinctive quickness of 
 perception young Ormond soon learned to 
 appreciate the claims to nobility he inherited 
 from his mother. The melancholy details of
 
 (58 THE SECEET 
 
 his parents' death, which time had partially 
 revealed to the world, were kept from him in 
 consideration of his tender years, yet he be- 
 came inspired with a dislike to his high-born 
 maternal relatives, which was to be accounted 
 for by the open manifestation of hatred to 
 the name of Gonsalvi on the part of the do- 
 mestics by whom he was surrounded. 
 
 To England, on the contrary, and to all 
 connected with his father's name and coun- 
 try, did the child turn with a more than com- 
 mon feeling of affection. He looked upon 
 the cardinal as his father, for he had known 
 no other. With infantine glee he often 
 talked of the time when he should become a 
 man, and do some great act worthy of the 
 name of Greville, and when the Gronsalvis 
 should learn to treat him as their grandchild. 
 The tears that he shed when the kind old 
 man gave him his last earthly blessing, on 
 resigning him to the care of Sir Harry Lisle, 
 were mingled with more of the bitterness of 
 grief than generally accompanies the passing 
 though not unreal sorrows of childhood. 
 He soon learned to cling with reverence and
 
 MAERIAGE. 69 
 
 affection to his new protector; and when pre- 
 parations were made for his visiting the land 
 where bis future home was to be fixed, the 
 eager curiosity that prompted his inquiries 
 respecting it was with difficulty satisfied. 
 
 It was ordained that he, indeed, should 
 reach that home, but that all connected with 
 it should undergo a fearful change. Little 
 was young Ormond aware of the fate in store 
 for his gallant benefactor, as, roused from 
 slumber by the side of his Italian nurses, he 
 was snatched up and hurried off in the arms 
 of his adopted parent, to be a witness of 
 scenes which might cause the sternest heart 
 to tremble. He was, as we have seen, res- 
 cued from impending death, to find himself 
 on English shores an orphan and alone.
 
 70 THE SECKET 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " death, what art thou ? An husbandman that reap- 
 
 eth always, 
 Out of season as in season with the sickle in his hand." 
 
 Lady Lisle had been aware that on re- 
 turning to England Sir Harry was to bring 
 with him the orphan child left in his charge 
 by the dying cardinal; but with the exception 
 of the outline of his history, of which the 
 world in general was likewise aware, she was 
 ignorant of aught respecting him. In truth, 
 the safety of her husband had been so upper- 
 most in her thoughts, his subsequent terrible 
 fate had so absorbed every idea, that the 
 very existence of Ormond Greville had been 
 utterly forgotten, 
 
 Annie Mowbray, who, during the awful
 
 MARRIAGE. 71 
 
 night of the shipwreck and the miserable 
 days that followed that catastrophe, felt to 
 have lived years, and to have gained an in- 
 sight into life which years often fail to give, 
 had throughout the sad scene acted with a 
 prudence and decision of which she had con- 
 sidered herself incapable. She felt that the 
 bitterness of her friend's grief would not for 
 many days to come admit of interruption 
 or consolation, or of the intermingling of the 
 everyday duties and cares of life. Young 
 Ormond was certainly the last link between 
 the widowed wife and the husband she 
 mourned, and, in process of time, might con- 
 sequently serve to inspire Lady Lisle with 
 feelings of a new interest. But at present 
 his introduction to Ashton Park was too 
 closely connected with the fate of his unfor- 
 tunate preserver for it to be advisable that 
 Clara should be made aware of the child's 
 existence, and even presence, under her roof. 
 His arrival was therefore kept a secret from 
 Lady Lisle, until day succeeded day, and she 
 was still in the solitude of her own apartment 
 and of her own grief. Of such grief who
 
 72 THE SECRET 
 
 would pierce the mysteries, or behold its 
 effects during such hours as Clara endured 
 ere the rites of religion had removed from 
 her gaze him whom on earth she was no 
 more to behold ? The setting sun shed his 
 quiet gleams on the funeral procession, as, 
 wending its silent way towards the village 
 church of Ashton, it turned an angle, and the 
 last mourning follower was lost to sight. 
 
 Clara gazed until the darkness increased 
 around, and she felt an unknown dread of 
 solitude. The last knell told that the sad 
 ceremony was concluded, yet still she shrank 
 from the soothings of kindness, or the inno- 
 cent, endearing fondness of her child. Annie 
 Mowbray entered, for she feared for her friend 
 the effects of solitary grief. 
 
 " Forgive me, dearest Clara," she gently 
 said, as she approached, leading little Alice 
 by the hand. " See, I have brought your 
 child to say good-night." 
 
 It climbed upon its mother's knees, and 
 twined its arms around her neck. Clara 
 pressed her to her heart. The floodgates 
 of her tears were opened, and she wept.
 
 MARRIAGE. 73 
 
 The child, half in fondness half in fear, tried 
 to kiss away its mother's tears, but they only 
 flowed the faster. 
 
 Tears were foreign to Clara's nature. Hers 
 was the feeling, but not the impassioned 
 heart — the strong, but not the impulsive 
 will. Self- controlled and gentle, those who 
 knew her but little pronounced her cold and 
 inanimate — those who knew her well valued 
 the silent energy which was as allied to per- 
 severance as it was removed from enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 With natures such as hers grief has the 
 strongest, the sternest, the most enduring- 
 hold. 
 
 Annie, with impetuosity of feeling op- 
 posed to Clara's general self-possession, could 
 scarcely be said to enter into or understand 
 her mental constitution, but now with this 
 strong outburst of grief she could sympathise 
 entirely. It was almost a relief to her to 
 witness it, and silently she allowed it to run 
 its full course, unrestrained and unsoothed. 
 
 Annie longed [to introduce the subject of 
 little Ormond Greville, but hardly knew how
 
 74 THE SECKET 
 
 to touch upon it. She trusted that accident 
 would favour her wishes, or that latent 
 memory might in Clara herself be aroused. 
 Nor was she disappointed. 
 
 The electric touch that puts in motion the 
 vibrations of memory, and forms the union 
 between the past and the present, is often as 
 rapid as unaccountable. Untraceable was the 
 thought that joined the imaginary links, but 
 suddenly the orphan child, he to whom the 
 arms of kindness and protection were to have 
 been extended, whose existence had been even 
 forgotten, was imaged in Clara's mind. In 
 sad but quick accents, hastily turning to 
 Annie, she exclaimed — 
 
 " That night ! — was no one saved ? The 
 child — the Italian boy Ormond — tell me, did 
 he too perish ? What was his fate ? " 
 
 " He is safe — he is here — under this very 
 roof. I longed, but I could not tell you be- 
 fore. It is very, very sad. Poor little fel- 
 low ! His short life has indeed been a 
 chequered one." 
 
 Annie detailed the circumstances of his 
 providential rescue, which, with many a com-
 
 MARRIAGE. 75 
 
 merit upon the bravery of the unfortunate 
 Sir Harry Lisle, had been related by the sailor 
 Jack Archer. Clara nerved herself on the 
 morrow for her first interview with Ormond. 
 She felt he was the last link between the 
 living and the dead, and shuddered with 
 irrepressible emotion as the thought recurred 
 to her that the life which was of so in- 
 estimable a value to her had been forfeited 
 in securing the orphan's safety. Well might 
 her natural feelings have shrunk from the 
 conflict which was in store for her ! The 
 struggle was great, but the victory was hers. 
 In Ormond Greville the simplicity of child- 
 hood was united with an unusual depth of 
 feeling and discrimination. Though his was 
 the present charm of perfect artlessness, the 
 future character was discernible through 
 many a childish trait, as the green hue of the 
 young rosebud covers, but does not entirely 
 conceal, the roseate-tinted leaves which lie 
 folded within. His open, guileless countenance 
 shone brightly upon Clara as he lifted his 
 dark eyes to her face. She opened her arms. 
 With a quick and sudden impulse, he threw
 
 76 THE SECRET 
 
 himself passionately at her feet, and clung to 
 her as if imploring the protection of a parent. 
 
 He at once found a place in her heart. 
 
 " Love me, and I will be a mother to you, 
 my poor child. This shall be your home." 
 
 "And will Alice be my playfellow?" he 
 exclaimed, brightening into a smile, then 
 again weeping violently, as quick memory 
 recalled the loss of all those who had hitherto 
 rendered his short life happy. 
 
 The Italian sun had shone upon his six 
 bright summers, and developed his keen sus- 
 ceptibilities. Alive to kindness, resisting or 
 writhing under harshness, spurning all con- 
 trol but that of affection, with the promise of 
 every grace that would ripen into and adorn 
 manhood, Ormond was the personification of 
 the wayward beauty of infancy. 
 
 Let such seed be carefully cultivated, or 
 weeds will spring up, hide, and finally crush 
 the delicate, brittle flowers of the unprotected 
 plant. 
 
 " I will love you ; you are kind — you look, 
 you must be so," he said hastily, as he wiped 
 away the tears, through which his smiles
 
 MABRIAGE. 77 
 
 shone as light upon clew-drops. " He told 
 me I should love you, and I loved him so much 
 — very much, and I have lost him and dear 
 good Maritana and Emilia. I cannot sit and 
 look at that dark sea again ; but I will try 
 and be happy with you — indeed I will." 
 
 " You shall talk to me in a little time, my 
 dear child," said his new friend, " about those 
 you have loved, who have been kind to you ; 
 but not now — I am not happy enough to 
 listen to you now;" and Lady Lisle, while 
 sympathizing with Ormond's childishly ex- 
 pressed, yet deeply-felt griefs, made a strong 
 effort to repress her own emotion. She con- 
 tinued, as Ormond still lingered near her — 
 
 " Now you must leave me ; I wish you to 
 be happy, and Alice will be delighted to have 
 you for a companion; therefore go and make 
 acquaintance with her first." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " cried the child, as his tears 
 flowed afresh ; " Alice is not like Emilia. 
 She stands and looks at me as if she did not 
 like me, and then she runs away. She won't 
 play with me." 
 
 " She will when she knows you better ; she
 
 78 THE SECEET 
 
 is younger than you, and you must be very 
 kind and gentle, and take great care of her." 
 
 Pleased with the idea of becoming Alice's 
 protector, Ormond darted off in search of her, 
 all his sorrows forgotten for the moment. 
 Clara was alone again. 
 
 The first interview over, scattered thoughts 
 passed through her mind as she reviewed the 
 last ten minutes. To fulfil her husband's 
 wishes was the one desire that had taken the 
 strongest hold of her heart. But unaided, 
 unprotected, alone, ever feeling her natural 
 dependence upon others, was she fitted to be 
 the guide and director, not only of her own 
 Alice, but of the quick, high-spirited, perhaps 
 proud and even uncontrollable Italian boy ? 
 
 She longed for the possibility of discover- 
 ing a more skilful hand than her own, to curb 
 his impetuosity and to mark out his future 
 course in life. At times she fancied that it 
 would be best for him to return to his native 
 land, where, utterly friendless as he would be, 
 the proud Gonsalvi might relent towards him 
 and show a tardy penitence. 
 
 Then, again, her kind heart would yearn 
 towards him with something of parental fond-
 
 MARRIAGE. 79 
 
 ness. " I could not send him away," she 
 murmured to herself, as she recollected the 
 eager, uncontrolled burst of childish affection 
 and gratitude with which he had thrown his 
 arms around her neck. " He must stay, I 
 feel Heaven has willed it, and for such a duty 
 my weakness will be strengthened." 
 
 They were together — Lady Lisle and the 
 two children — those for whom thus early in 
 life so unwonted a destiny had been marked 
 out. Clara was quietly contemplating her 
 charges, whose gaiety contrasted with her 
 own sadness, her placid cheek evidencing, 
 through its extreme pallor, that her heart 
 deeply mourned in unison with her widow's 
 outward garb. 
 
 From the children all shyness had vanished, 
 and at the moment no thought seemed to 
 exist beyond that of feeding with a large 
 bowl of milk a black Newfoundland dog, 
 Alice's special and indulged favourite. Her 
 soft golden hair fell over his glossy, curly 
 back, and her little dimpled hands and arms 
 were trying to join themselves round his 
 large throat. 
 
 Ormond was standing by, uttering, half in
 
 80 THE SECRET 
 
 English, half in Italian, expressions of de- 
 light and happiness. His bright eyes glowed 
 with excitement as he clapped his hands, 
 and called upon Lady Lisle to join in his 
 admiration of " Selim." 
 
 Tall and slight, and active as a deer, every 
 movement betrayed the rule of impulse in no 
 ordinary degree. 
 
 " It is a pretty group," Clara thought, as 
 she gazed, unheeding at the moment Ormond s 
 exclamation, or her little girl's no less vehe- 
 ment expressions of fondness for Selim. She 
 felt to wish time would spare these children, 
 and leave them always happy as at present 
 they were. 
 
 According to the picturesque fashion of 
 Italy, Ormond's light brown hair waved in 
 glossy abundance down to his waist, and partly 
 shaded the rounded, dimpled cheek, glowing 
 with the rosy hues of health and pleasure. 
 
 His lips opened with a bright smile as 
 Selim, having finished his repast, invited his 
 companions to a game of play. At the mo- 
 ment, a thought glanced through Claras 
 mind which pierced far into the future. She
 
 MARRIAGE. 81 
 
 passed over the long years, so quick in 
 their real flight, so slow in anticipation, 
 and, with one hound, was at the end of the 
 long avenue of futurity, beholding, linked 
 together; the destinies of Alice and Ormond. 
 Henceforth they would be her world — to 
 watch over them, to procure them every good, 
 to shield them from every pain. Stricken as 
 she now was by her irremediable grief, a ray 
 of hope and thankfulness passed through her 
 heart. Had penury been her child's future 
 prospect, hers would have been the duty, 
 the pleasure, of forming her mind, and devot- 
 ing her life to her, no less than under the 
 circumstances in which Alice was placed ; for 
 on her, failing male heirs, was the Ashton 
 estate strictly entailed. Therefore, as the 
 mother, the sole guardian of Ashton's heiress, 
 her responsibilities lay weightily upon Lady 
 Lisle's mind. Riches she indeed considered 
 as a boon, but a boon involving perils and 
 chances. Of their right employment a strict 
 account, she felt, was due, and would be 
 demanded. 
 
 In the midst of these reflections, she was 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE SECRET 
 
 joined by Annie Mowbray, whose unobtrusive 
 kindness she daily more and more appre- 
 ciated. They had had but little outward 
 communion since that morning which had 
 ushered in such fearful consequences; but 
 such was not required for their former 
 friendship to be intermingled with a present 
 feeling of intimacy and confidence which had 
 not hitherto been called forth. " Will you 
 not consider this as your second home, dear 
 Annie?" asked her friend, when she spoke of 
 fixing a time for returning to Fenwick House, 
 which was the name of her home. " I know 
 you are not always happy amongst those who 
 have the greatest claim to your affection, and 
 the scenes we have passed through together 
 have united us very closely. Is it not so ? 
 Ah! this is real life indeed! " continued Clara, 
 as her mind dwelt on the ever-recurring past, 
 while to Annie came back the conversation 
 they had last held together. Annie felt what 
 she did not express — that no scene of fancy 
 could have worked so powerfully on imagina- 
 tion as the late realities had done. Yes ! by 
 one quick glance she felt to have penetrated
 
 MARRIAGE. 83 
 
 the very secrets of the machinery which 
 works the wheel of life, and, while care- 
 lessly putting in into its unseen lottery, to 
 have drawn forth the dark ticket on which 
 was labelled the experience of years. " And 
 those," she asked, as she followed Clara's 
 glance, which thoughtfully rested upon the 
 happy, innocent faces of the two children — 
 " those children, Clara, can you — is it not 
 too hard a task ? — can you alone undertake ? 
 Would it not be better for Ormond to return 
 to Italy ? " She spoke hurriedly — so fearful 
 was she of wounding by the slightest word or 
 sign. But Annie little knew the strength 
 that was at that moment lifting high beyond 
 woman's weakness the resolution and quiet 
 energy of Clara Lisle * nor, when she feared 
 to give pain by some slight observation, was 
 she sufficiently acquainted with the human 
 heart to know that where the strong breeze 
 has once blown the light zephyr is un- 
 heeded. 
 
 Time passed on, and still Annie remained 
 a welcome visitor at Ashton Park, daily re- 
 ceiving lessons of fortitude and endurance,
 
 84 THE SECRET 
 
 of quiet perseverance, of humility; and 
 though her home duties often recurred to 
 her mind, she felt she could not desert her 
 friend during the early days of her great 
 bereavement. 
 
 But our attention must now be turned 
 towards other scenes.
 
 MARRIAGE. 85 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " "What sadder scene can angels view 
 Than self-deceiving tears, 
 Poured idly over some dark page 
 Of earlier life, though pride or rage, 
 The record of to-day, engage 
 A woe for future years ? " 
 
 Christian Year. 
 
 Silence reigned in the large halls of 
 Moorfiekl Manor, and the last rays of July's 
 glorious sun were pouting in through the 
 stained windows of its well-filled library. 
 
 The late storm had visited its shady pre- 
 cincts with no sparing hand ; large branches 
 of the surrounding trees had been uncere- 
 moniously hurled into the midst of fragile 
 blooming flowers, and many a pane of the 
 conservatory lay in shivers on the ground.
 
 86 THE SECRET 
 
 " Come off pretty well, considering," said 
 Arthur Graham, half aloud, as in travelling 
 costume he entered his solitary library, and 
 approached the window. " I expected to 
 have seen at least half the trees up by the 
 roots, and one whole side of my conservatory 
 smashed to pieces, from the description my 
 clever wife gave me ! What fools women are 
 in general, and my wife in particular ! " and 
 Mr. Graham threw himself listlessly into an 
 arm-chair, and took up the " Morning Post." 
 
 " Wreck of the ' Fenella ' yacht. — Twelve 
 lives lost ! " The last part of the paragraph 
 in the sad announcement seemed to rivet his 
 attention, and absorb every faculty. It con- 
 tained the account of Sir Harry Lisle's tragic 
 end, and concluded with a strong eulogium 
 upon his virtues. 
 
 " Sir Harry Lisle lost ! — lost ! " he re- 
 peated to himself mechanically, as if endea- 
 vouring to stamp the fact upon his memory, 
 which seemed incapable of taking in any idea 
 so incomprehensible. The paper dropped 
 from his hand, his sallow complexion changed 
 to a livid paleness, and his muscular frame
 
 MARRIAGE. 87 
 
 shook as with the inward working of some 
 powerful machinery. A slow unearthly smile 
 gradually overspread his features, which, 
 though cast in a handsome and even classic 
 mould, expressed hut too plainly the habitual 
 influence of strong and dark passions. 
 
 His large, dark eyes gleamed out, as, with 
 a stern, but otherwise unmeaning stare, he 
 fixed them upon an opposite object; and, 
 clenching his hands, as he threw himself 
 back in his chair, he gave utterance to the 
 thought that rose instantly to his mind — 
 "Lady Lisle ! — Clara a widow ! " 
 
 A motionless reverie of some moments 
 followed, when, repeating the last words, 
 Graham again took up the newspaper. There 
 seemed no mingling of pity in the fierce 
 eagerness with which Jhe all-absorbing para- 
 graph was read and re-read, till the words 
 had inscribed themselves as in fiery letters 
 on his brain. 
 
 Nay, an almost savage pleasure appeared 
 to expand his whole frame, and at length to 
 recall the blood into his closed lips and 
 blanched cheeks. It was not pity for Clara
 
 88 THE SECRET 
 
 Lisle that created the unwonted emotion in 
 the stern visage of Arthur Graham ; it was 
 not grief for the loss of the dead, nor horror 
 at the fearful destiny which had snatched 
 away, in the vigour of life and happiness, one 
 so esteemed and beloved as Sir Harry Lisle. 
 Jealousy, revenge, despair, hate, fear, love, 
 by turns ruled, by turns exercised their un- 
 sparing power, and made Graham their easy 
 victim. 
 
 Memory recalled the past, when Clara 
 Wilmot, in lovely, blooming, innocent girl- 
 hood, had poured the sweet music of her 
 voice into his impassioned ear, as in early 
 youth he rode by her side in the shady lanes 
 of Devonshire. Then came the avowal of 
 his frantic love, and the words, " I cannot, I 
 cannot! I love another — I never can be yours I" 
 sounded again in fancy, as if their echo from 
 Clara's lips had yet scarce died away. Yes ! 
 he remembered the look of pity, she had cast 
 upon him, and the feeling of hatred for his 
 rival which had mingled with his despair. 
 Then his vivid imagination pictured that rival 
 adorned as he was with all the gifts that
 
 MARRIAGE. 89 
 
 nature sometimes loves to bestow on favoured 
 mortals ; he heard him spoken of as having 
 won the love of Clara Wilmot, as being the 
 fortunate destined possessor of her beauty 
 and her virtues. He saw them at the marriage 
 altar, and heard the irrevocable vows spoken. 
 He saw himself a voluntary outcast from his 
 home, as, cursing his bitter fate, he sought 
 to drive away in foreign travel the hated, poi- 
 soned, yet still too madly loved recollections 
 which haunted him. Lastly, he saw himself 
 standing, in gloomy abstraction, an actor in 
 a marriage scene, and the gentle being by his 
 side who was now his wife. Perdition in 
 the thought! He was bound to her while life 
 remained! And Arthur Graham again mut- 
 tered imprecations on his destiny. 
 
 But what to him is Clara Lisle ? — what could 
 she ever be? Had she still been free, as in 
 those loved days so bitterly remembered; had 
 no happy destiny ever been hers — obliterating 
 the past — were he unfettered by his hated 
 marriage vow, would Clara have shared his 
 home, and poured a stream of light upon his 
 sinful, darkened path of life? He knew too
 
 90 THE SECKET 
 
 well that the depths of his devotion had been 
 not only unappreciated, but that, in the per- 
 fect artlessness of her nature, Clara, through 
 the intimacy that near neighbourhood sanc- 
 tions, had unintentionally wound herself round 
 the very recesses of his heart. But had the 
 fierce passion of his love been appeased 
 through its very hopelessness? Had it lain 
 dormant, or been totally extinguished, while 
 Clara had blessed another's lot and lived for 
 him alone? No! with hatred mingled, the 
 torturing flame still burned within, and with 
 death only would be extinguished. Such were 
 the wild thoughts which chased each other 
 through his brain, as Graham again gloated 
 over the terrible words which met his dark- 
 ened eye as he once more snatched up the 
 paper. " And Sir Harry Lisle is now no 
 more, and she is desolate — desolate!" he re- 
 peated; "yes! hers may be the agony which 
 she spared me not. She had no pity. Why 
 should I lavish feeling on her? And yet how 
 I loved her! Love! no, not now; it is turned 
 to hate. There is but one step. She spurned
 
 MAEEIAGE. 91 
 
 me, and he is now gone — drowned — drowned 
 perhaps before her eyes ! " and the room rang 
 with the fiendish laugh of the victim of his 
 own evil passions. 
 
 Had it been Claras destiny to shed her 
 mild influence upon Graham's stormy nature; 
 had the strength of his passionate devotion 
 been the means of leading him into virtuous 
 paths; had the good, which, though it may be 
 unexercised, does still He dormant in every 
 human being, been in him fostered and caused 
 to expand in example's bright atmosphere, 
 the strong current of his passionate nature 
 might have flowed in a good instead of an evil 
 channel, and his energetic will might have 
 prompted to high achievements. 
 
 We cannot argue upon that inscrutable- 
 fate which, closing avenues to good, seems to 
 invite to the commission of evil; nor is it for 
 mortals to say what measure of condemnation 
 may await those who, ready primed with 
 nature's worst gifts, are, by a chain of un- 
 toward circumstances, led into the engulfing 
 whirlpools of temptation and despair. If,
 
 92 THE SECRET 
 
 while thus situated, victory over evil be 
 achieved, surely the reward would be propor- 
 tiouably great. 
 
 Undisciplined, uncontrolled, Graham had 
 passed through the stages of childhood and 
 youth. Impulse ruled when principle should 
 have governed; and, on attaining the age of 
 manhood, when he became master of his own 
 property, he was a slave to his own foibles. 
 There was no attempt at concealment, nor 
 was there any meanness in his character. 
 All was in bright light or in deep shadow. 
 Where he loved he idolized; where he dis- 
 liked he hated. If he gave, he was profuse, 
 and to serve a friend he allowed no obstacle 
 to interpose between his will and the object 
 in view. But if an offence arose, if a friend 
 incurred his displeasure, forgiveness would 
 rarely follow his easily outraged feelings. 
 
 Clara Wilmot was the bright vision which 
 had shone across his path while he was rusti- 
 cating at a private tutor's. He was then sus- 
 ceptible to good impressions; his character 
 was even one which, with care, might have 
 been nobly moulded. But no one had ever
 
 MAEEIAGE. 93 
 
 attempted to exercise a beneficial influence 
 over him, and his heart had never vibrated 
 to the touch of affection, either parental or 
 brotherly. 
 
 Beyond a preference for a school-fellow or 
 acquaintance, he had never himself applied 
 the term affection, till the unknown, concealed, 
 the hitherto lifeless feeling was by one magic 
 touch called into being; it burst, it blazed 
 forth, and Clara Wilmot became the arbitress 
 of his destiny. Deeply he drank the intoxi- 
 cating draught, and woke from hope's decep- 
 tive slumbers only to give a still looser rein 
 to every hitherto dormant passion. Who 
 should dare preach to him of morality or re- 
 ligion? As a man of the world, he would 
 guide himself by the world's principles ; and 
 as to conscience, he had never been taught 
 to listen to its appeals; he would blind him- 
 self to its dictates. His mother had died 
 when he was too young to retain the impres- 
 sion made upon him by her gentleness and 
 goodness. His father had sent him to a large 
 public school, subsequently to a private tutor's, 
 and in making him a handsome allowance out
 
 94 THE SECRET 
 
 of his large fortune, fancied he had done all 
 that an only son could expect or require at his 
 hands. Many thought he had placed him at 
 still greater obligations by leaving him at an 
 early age in possession of his inheritance. 
 
 After Lady Lisle's marriage, Graham, dur- 
 ing some months spent abroad, endeavoured 
 to drown thought in dissipation, and by un- 
 limited gratification, and by the absence of 
 all controlling power, he strengthened each 
 evil predisposition. He returned to his home. 
 Riches, grandeur, even splendour, seemed 
 to court him. A long row of servants and 
 retainers vied with each other in expressing 
 welcome and respect to the possessor of 
 Moorfield's broad inheritance; but Graham 
 coldly, almost disdainfully, passed through 
 the throng, and buried himself in his lonely 
 library, and in his discontented, tumultuous 
 thoughts. He had no happy recollections of 
 childhood, and gloomy had been to him the 
 opening days of usually bright youth. His 
 halls looked deserted — he had never loved 
 his home — all looked cold and grand, but 
 nothing spoke to the heart. His servants
 
 MARRIAGE. 95 
 
 he knew would have equally welcomed any 
 other master, while he had no friend to 
 whom he could eagerly turn, and who would 
 share with him his advantages and disadvan- 
 tages. Many, he felt, would come at his 
 bidding and partake of his wealth, without 
 soothing his unhappy spirit. 
 
 A field of usefulness was certainly open to 
 him, now that he was entirely his own mas- 
 ter — many were dependant on him — what a 
 burden were his large possessions to him ! 
 He called his steward, gave him certain direc- 
 tions, delivered over to him the management 
 of his affairs, and three days after his return 
 from the continent Graham again set out 
 on his travels. In his reckless spirit he had 
 scarcely settled what should be his destina- 
 tion beyond that of the first day; but his 
 want of decision had been overruled by the 
 power misnamed chance. While he was 
 waiting for a train, which he had intended 
 should convey him to London, he was recog- 
 nised by an old friend of his father, Mr. Har- 
 court, of Harcourt Abbey. A familiar tap 
 on the shoulder caused him to turn round,
 
 96 THE SECRET 
 
 and having listlessly submitted for some mi- 
 nutes to a process of question and answer, 
 he suddenly found himself inveigled into ac- 
 cepting an invite to the Abbey. 
 
 Mr. Harcourt had two marriageable daugh- 
 ters and four unmanageable sons, and, 
 though Graham mechanically, and almost 
 ungraciously, had at first yielded to the old 
 man's entreaties, he found that his .£8,000 
 per annum was a passport to a pressing and 
 prolonged hospitality at the Abbey. 
 
 Mary Harcourt was the sweetest girl of 
 seventeen who ever blushed at the praises of 
 her own unconscious beauty. Wherever she 
 went, an atmosphere of gladness and happi- 
 ness seemed to surround her ; mirth beamed 
 in her bright blue eye, and in the very 
 waving of the light hair across her brow. 
 And the dimples in the cheek! — those pretty 
 rosy dimples ! — they were the plaything of 
 the merry heart, as the ocean froth dances 
 into light at every touch of the bright sun- 
 beam; these dimples came and went with 
 every alternation of the gay and grave. The 
 lips were moulded in smiles, and seemed in-
 
 MARRIAGE. 97 
 
 capable of breathing aught but gentle, kind 
 accents. Then there was a softness, round- 
 ness, lightness, in her movements, the es- 
 sence of the grace which developed each fair 
 proportion; so that she seemed formed to 
 glide through life as if every obstacle to be 
 encountered by mere mortals must naturally 
 give way before her beauty and goodness. 
 
 If Mary Harcourt had faults (and who is 
 without them ?) they were perceptible only on 
 that horizon whereon it is said extremes 
 meet. In her, sky and earth seemed to unite 
 in too close a contact. Guileless herself, she 
 had no suspicion of error, and sometimes 
 unwarily fell into its snares. From a total 
 want of selfishness, she would leave to others 
 the task of watching over and providing for 
 her interests, while, in the excess of her hu- 
 mility and diffidence, she valued her friends' 
 opinions more than her own. Firmness was 
 wanted to bring out her virtues. A few demi- 
 temtes, shading parts of her character, would 
 have given more stability to the whole. Its 
 imperfection was founded on her total want 
 of self-dependence ; yet in a fair creature of 
 
 vol. I. h
 
 98 THE SECEET 
 
 seventeen we willingly dispense with much, 
 whose loss we cannot overlook in later life. 
 Such is the charm of youthful innocence, that 
 we shrink from throwing across its path the 
 light that would reveal the uneven ways of 
 life. 
 
 The presence of such a being as Mary 
 Harcourt was to Arthur Graham, in his fallen 
 state, as if an angel had descended to visit 
 and console him. For a moment balm was 
 poured upon his wounded spirit. He felt 
 refreshed by her gaiety, soothed by her gen- 
 tleness, captivated by her beauty. It would 
 be sweet to have so fair and light-hearted a 
 being hovering about his daily path, and 
 ministering to his lonely grandeur. His eye 
 was charmed, his fancy pleased, but his feel- 
 ings were not aroused. In strong, stormy 
 natures like his, impressions once made are 
 retained for ever. It never entered into his 
 mind to compare Mary Harcourt with the 
 Clara Wilmot of his earlier years. 
 
 Their orbits were so different they could 
 never come in contact. To the one he would 
 have yielded body, mind, soul; the other
 
 MARRIAGE. 99 
 
 might prove a pleasing companion in life, 
 but could never participate in its machinery; 
 might soften, but not eradicate, the asperities 
 of his nature. 
 
 At the end of a fortnight he made known 
 to Mr. Harcourt his wishes and his hopes. 
 With them mingled more certainty than 
 doubt : nor were they disappointed. His 
 offer was accepted with joyful eagerness, and 
 Mr. Harcourt, enchanted at the brilliant pro- 
 spects before his daughter, never doubted but 
 that peace and happiness would follow in 
 their train. Mary, the darling of his heart, 
 became Arthur Graham s affianced bride. To 
 her, indeed, it was matter of no small sur- 
 prise that she should be the choice of one 
 who, from the court paid him in society, 
 evidently possessed high privileges in the 
 eyes of the world ; nor when she, with un- 
 wonted seriousness, analysed her own feel- 
 ings, was she quite satisfied with their na- 
 ture. There was certainly more of the 
 fascination of the serpent over the dove, than 
 the confidence and sympathy which she knew 
 to be desirable in a union intended for life.
 
 100 THE SECRET 
 
 Could she, in her girlish simplicity and 
 thoughtlessness, suffice to that serious, dig- 
 nified, often stern-looking being, whom she 
 felt to admire at a distance, but who, in his 
 superiority, seemed to soar in a sphere far 
 above the range of her fancy or her love? 
 But her young heart certainly beat with 
 grateful pleasure when she discovered that 
 she was the undoubted object of his atten- 
 tions. If they were somewhat deficient in 
 tenderness, they expressed admiration and 
 respect; and when, after an interview with 
 her father, Graham sought her to urge his 
 suit in person — when an unwonted smile 
 brightened his usually sad, though handsome, 
 features — when, with chivalrous affection, he 
 took her hand and pressed it to his lips, the 
 blushes that accompanied her assent were an 
 earnest of her inward pleasure. 
 
 Five years have elapsed since Mary Graham 
 left her beloved home. She has found her- 
 self mistress, indeed, of splendid possessions ; 
 she is the mother of a son and heir, but is 
 an unhappy wife.
 
 MARRIAGE. 101 
 
 Between her and her husband there was 
 no undue difference of age ; but though Ar- 
 thur Graham at the time of his marriage was 
 but seven and twenty, hlase and unprincipled 
 as he was, there was but little chance of his 
 making an unsophisticated girl happy. He 
 had travelled extensively, was talented and 
 observing, reckless, and required constant 
 excitement; and when the novelty of his 
 young wife's beauty and charming simplicity 
 had completely worn away, instead of taking- 
 delight in bringing out her mind, and adding 
 knowledge of the world, in the various ac- 
 ceptations of the term, to her natural refine- 
 ment and good sense, he dismissed her ques- 
 tions with short, vague answers, and treated 
 her remarks with a coldness amounting to 
 contempt. 
 
 Did riches then suffice to Mary Graham ? 
 Did the knowledge that she had at her com- 
 mand all the advantages that the world so 
 highly esteems diminish the pang her hus- 
 band's severe, unsympathising manner would 
 send to her heart? She felt like a fresh
 
 102 THE SECRET 
 
 mountain spring suddenly stopped in its bub- 
 bling, sparkling, dancing flow by rough, in- 
 surmountable rocks. 
 
 She had forsaken all — home, parents, sis- 
 ter, brothers — for one who she trusted 
 would have been to her all — he was not. 
 The exalted being her fancy had imaged 
 could not in after experience be identified 
 with him to whom she had pledged her troth. 
 Alas ! for the first cold, harsh word that had 
 chilled her confidence, that had given her 
 the first perception of neglect, of selfishness. 
 Alas I for the days of endurance, of loneli- 
 ness, of mental solitude — the nights of tears, 
 of mental pain ! And as she awoke from the 
 dream of hope and married happiness, she 
 also awoke to the certainty that she had 
 never, in reality, loved her husband ; that a 
 peculiar charm in his deferential manner, 
 which raised her for the moment in her own 
 estimation, and on a level with himself, had, 
 humble though she was, produced an unusual 
 amount of gratified vanity, which yet had 
 never been wholly unmixed with fear. 
 
 To one of Arthur Graham's peculiar dispo-
 
 MARRIAGE. 103 
 
 sition — to one in whom the *good that lay 
 dormant required the rousing of the strongest 
 stimulus — the gentle, yielding, timid manner 
 of his wife soon became perfectly insufferable. 
 There was no zest or piquancy in it. 
 
 He sighed for daily intercourse with one 
 who, at least, could have exercised a domi- 
 nion over his passions — not with one who 
 shrank from the combat, and who was made 
 to be guided and caressed, but not to influ- 
 ence or reform an undisciplined, wild charac- 
 ter like his. 
 
 And thus by degrees an impassable barrier 
 rose up between the ill-matched husband and 
 wife. Fear strengthened to dread ; and where 
 there should have been love, as much dislike 
 gathered in Mary Graham's heart as such a 
 sanctuary of goodness could contain. 
 
 While Graham learned to despise what he 
 had at first pitied, and passed harsh judg- 
 ment on what he had at first overlooked, 
 the world pitied Mrs. Graham. The beauty 
 of her person and innocence of her mind 
 were always a passport to the admiration and 
 esteem of the guests who frequented Moor-
 
 104: THE SECRET 
 
 field Manor; but her shyness, which had 
 painfully increased since her marriage, re- 
 pelled all advances towards intimacy, and with 
 men in particular. She generally passed for a 
 beautiful piece of workmanship, in which was 
 wanting the spring to communicate motion. 
 So she sat at the head of her husband's table, 
 drove out in his carriages, received his visitors, 
 was the mother of his son and heir, and the 
 moving ornament of his house. No one saw 
 the tear that started to her eye when she 
 was alone and looked back upon her happy 
 childish life. Had she shown any signs of 
 the feelings she controlled, her task of endu- 
 rance would have been more difficult; but 
 though she did indeed bitterly lament the 
 want of forethought and due consideration 
 which had in her own and her parent's case 
 led to her marriage, she had never, either in 
 word or deed, rebelled against her husband's 
 authority or will. It was well that she thus 
 habitually exercised self-command, or she 
 would have found many whose sympathy 
 would not have tended to diminish the hard- 
 ness of her lot. For from pitying sympathy
 
 MARRIAGE. 105 
 
 it is but too easy to progress, step by step, 
 towards an interest unsanctioned in the an- 
 nals of wedded life. Hitherto Mary Graham 
 had suffered alone and unconsoled ; but time 
 was working onward, and a change was at 
 hand, in which the strongest moral courage 
 would be required.
 
 106 THE SECRET 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 M Vous savez un secret que, tout pret a s'ouvrir, 
 
 Mon coeur a mille fois voulu vous decouvrir. 
 * * * 
 
 Deja plein d'un amour des Tenfance forme, 
 
 A tout autre desir mon coeur etait ferine." 
 
 Bajazet. 
 
 We must return to Graham, who, alone in 
 his library, was yet encompassed, as we have 
 seen, with a host of memories, which ex- 
 ercised awful power over the passing moment. 
 He rang the bell. 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Graham ? " 
 
 " She is with Master Graham, sir; he has 
 been very unwell all yesterday and last 
 night." 
 
 A chord was touched in Graham's stern
 
 MARRIAGE. 107 
 
 heart; but, before his servants, he always 
 controlled his feelings. 
 
 " Tell your mistress I am returned, and 
 wish to speak to her." 
 
 In a few moments Mrs. Graham entered, 
 her face flushed with the care of watching 
 over her sick child, and with evidence in her 
 gentle countenance of many an anxious 
 moment having passed by since she was 
 the light-hearted, animated, beautiful Mary 
 Harcourt. 
 
 " I did not know you were returned," she 
 said, timidly, as her husband bestowed on 
 her fair brow the cold kiss with which he 
 usually greeted her after a temporary ab- 
 sence. 
 
 " Is the child ill ? " he said hurriedly. 
 
 " Yes, he is indeed. I sat up with him all 
 night; but I am thankful that he is better 
 to-day." 
 
 Graham did not apparently notice her 
 wearied, anxious look, and nervous manner. 
 She was not very strong naturally, and, feel- 
 ing an unwonted lowness of spirits, she 
 walked quietly to the window, when, not-
 
 108 THE SECRET 
 
 withstanding all her efforts to repress emo- 
 tion, the tears stole to her eyes, and a low 
 sob caught Graham's impatient ear. 
 
 " What womanly weakness ! " he muttered 
 half aloud. " You are a child still, Mrs. 
 Graham — a perfect child! What are those 
 tears and sobs for ? Eustace is not seriously 
 ill ?" he continued, in a tone of some alarm. 
 
 Mary dried her eyes. A word — a few kind 
 words— would have dried the source of those 
 tears for ever, but they were wanting ; and, 
 folding herself in the reserve and pride 
 which, alas ! had of late come to her assist- 
 ance, she sat down to occupy herself, appa- 
 rently, in a piece of needle-work — a truly 
 feminine resource under most untoward cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Graham was in a mood to find fault with 
 everything; sometimes he was merely cold, 
 apathetic, totally indifferent to what was 
 passing around him. 
 
 " Well, can't you tell me what has been 
 the matter with Eustace ; or do you suppose 
 I have no more feeling than that bit of 
 muslin, which is your eternal companion?"
 
 MARRIAGE. 109 
 
 Mary instantly looked up from the de- 
 spised muslin, and gave some account of the 
 child's illness, which, owing to the sudden- 
 ness of the attack, had caused her real 
 anxiety. She was so used to control her 
 feelings, and in her husband's presence to 
 preserve a timid silence, that in this in- 
 stance she had reason to accuse herself with 
 having ( though unintentionally ) delayed 
 satisfying his parental anxiety. His fondness 
 for his child was a vestige of good, saved 
 from the ruin of his character. 
 
 " I have given positive directions to What- 
 ley, that the doctor should be sent for on 
 the first signs of indisposition in Eustace. 
 I hope you have not acted contrary to my 
 particular injunctions ? " 
 
 Mary mildly answered that she and the 
 nurse had done everything they thought best 
 for the child, and that all alarming symptoms 
 had subsided before the arrival of the doctor. 
 
 " And now," returned Graham, relaxing 
 into his usual cold, stern manner, as his 
 parental anxiety was removed, " have you 
 any idea why I requested your presence 
 here ? "
 
 110 THE SECRET 
 
 " No, I have not, indeed," Mary replied, 
 timidly. 
 
 " I suppose you do not quite imagine you 
 are an essential ingredient in the large cup 
 of happiness which some might fancy has 
 been poured out for me with an unsparing 
 hand?" Graham cast a contemptuous glance 
 upon his wife. He appeared struck at that 
 moment by the hitherto unnoticed change 
 in her looks. 
 
 " Why, I declare you are losing all your 
 beauty ! " he continued, more impatiently 
 than before. " What a wretched little pale 
 creature you are become ; and always in 
 tears, or hysterics, or something of the kind! 
 Hang it ! if you are always to be moping in 
 this manner it will be perfectly insufferable ; 
 I will not stand it ! " 
 
 Graham's better nature smote him for a 
 moment as the inward monitor — which no 
 efforts could completely silence — pointed its 
 accusing finger at his own unkindness. But 
 his was not the spirit to conciliate when he 
 was conscious of meriting reproach ; and, 
 yielding to his usual ill-temper, he turned
 
 MARRIAGE. Ill 
 
 away, as in disgust, from the unpleasant con- 
 templation of his wife's faded beauty; while 
 he handed her, rather more courteously than 
 was his wont, the paper he had been reading 
 with such eagerness. 
 
 " Why, what a milk-and-water thing you 
 are, Mary ! " he exclaimed, as he saw the 
 tears still slowly trickling down his wife's 
 pale cheek. 
 
 The effects of the previous night's watch- 
 ing and anxiety were still visible in the want 
 of her usual self-control. 
 
 " How it ever entered into my head to 
 make you my wife I cannot imagine ! 
 Madame, you had better return as soon as 
 possible to that dark old abbey you call 
 c home.' It was all very well, and natural, 
 too, to have been taken with a pretty face, 
 and a simple, girlish manner ; but if there is 
 nothing more ! " 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, I know I do not — I 
 cannot suffice to you, Arthur," interrupted 
 the unhappy wife, speaking through her tears; 
 " but if you would only be kind and patient, 
 you would not have cause to reproach me for
 
 112 THE SECRET 
 
 my foolish weakness ; " and the thought of her 
 once happy home, and the happy heart that 
 used to be hers, caused her tears to flow still 
 faster as the past and present were con- 
 trasted. 
 
 " Kind and patient! Who has a right 
 to expect kindness and patience from me? 
 Did that twaddling old Harcourt expect it 
 when he inveigled me into marrying you? 
 Did he care for anything but riches and 
 grandeur ? Has any one a right to expect 
 kindness and patience from me ? Any one 
 who knows " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and pointed to the 
 paragraph in the " Morning Post," which 
 Mary unconsciously held in her hand. 
 
 " When you have read that, you had better 
 return and hide your tears in the nursery. 
 You are no companion for me," he muttered, 
 as he turned away. 
 
 An electric shock could not have roused 
 Mary from her wretched reflections more in- 
 stantaneously than did the first words which 
 caught her eyes, as she mechanically turned 
 them upon the paragraph to which her hus- 
 band alluded.
 
 MARRIAGE. 113 
 
 " How horrible ! Sir Harry Lisle drowned ! " 
 she exclaimed, as, for the moment, all selfish 
 feelings merged into the deepest compassion 
 and terror. " Drowned ! Poor — poor Lady 
 Lisle ! Oh ! what misery ! What a sad, 
 awful change ! And they were so happy to- 
 gether ! They only seemed too happy ! " 
 
 Happy ! The word acted like fire upon 
 Graham's excited temper. It was as if in- 
 flammable matter had been poured into a 
 raging cauldron, for such a sound to be pro- 
 nounced in his hearing, connected with one 
 whom he had always hated as the cause of 
 all his misery. 
 
 " Happy ! " Graham repeated her word in 
 mockery. " Yes — with her — with Clara Lisle 
 — there might have been happiness. But it 
 was not for me ! But now — you have not 
 satisfied me — you have not answered my 
 question ! I repeat it. Why did I request 
 your presence here ? " 
 
 His voice rose as he hastily continued: 
 " Have you never suspected that I have not 
 always been the cold, unimpassioned (at least 
 outwardly), the selfish, wretched being I am 
 
 VOL. i. i
 
 114 THE SECRET 
 
 now — that I once — yes, once — loved, with 
 all the fervour of a nature that was made for 
 better things than it now stoops to, that — 
 nay, do not start ! — that the light of rny 
 existence was Clara — Clara Lisle ? Have 
 you never suspected this in your simplicity ? 
 But now listen ! — and be avenged, and glory 
 in my misery. She scorned my love ! She 
 blighted my first years of life ! She was 
 happy; but now he is gone, all the light of 
 her existence is departed. My rival is no 
 more ! And shall I mourn ? Shall I enter 
 into the bitterness of her grief? No, no ! 
 I am revenged ! " Graham struck the table 
 with his clenched fist, and then paced the 
 room in an agony of ungoverned feeling. 
 
 Mary seemed paralyzed. She listened as 
 if she were powerless to reply, and, shrinking 
 within herself, gazed in terror on her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " I must love her still, with or against 
 her will, even unto death," he muttered, in 
 low, inward tones, as if unconscious of his 
 wife's presence. 
 
 But the words had caught her ear. In a
 
 MAEBIAGE. 115 
 
 moment she was roused from her trance. 
 With an unwonted severity in her manner, 
 which in its composure offered a strange con- 
 trast to her husband's fearful excitement, she 
 replied, as she gazed fixedly upon him — 
 
 " These are hard, terrible words for a wife 
 to hear. Arthur, are you conscious of their 
 meaning, of the impression they are calcu- 
 lated to make upon me — upon the being who 
 styles herself your wife ? At least you owe 
 me respect, if you cannot bestow affection ; 
 and while I am your wife, it becomes me not 
 to listen to such words. Oh, why did you 
 seek me in my happy childish home ? — why 
 was I so blinded ? " 
 
 " Forget those words — forgive them ! " ex- 
 claimed Graham, in momentary penitence. 
 " Eegret, recriminations, are all too late ! " 
 he added, bitterly. 
 
 " You shall have no reason to reproach 
 me, Arthur, whatever may be your self-accu- 
 sations," she said, mournfully, yet firmly. 
 " If I erred, it was through ignorance. I 
 was young, and unprepared for the life that 
 awaited me ; but may I be at least enabled
 
 116 THE SECKET 
 
 to do my duty!" She rose, and, trembling 
 in every limb, endeavoured to reach the 
 door, and seek the solitude of her own room, 
 when this strange conjugal interview was 
 abruptly ended by the announcement of 
 visitors — " Lord Alvanley, the Honourable 
 Mr. Alvanley." 
 
 " It does one good to witness a conjugal 
 ' tete-a-tete,' exclaimed the good-natured lord, 
 as he bowed to Mrs. Graham, and then shook 
 hands warmly with her husband. " I'm come 
 to have a little talk with you, Graham. One's 
 so cut up, you know, with the news of this 
 terrible shipwreck, and the fate of poor Sir 
 Harry Lisle, that one can think of nothing 
 else. But I hope I am not de trap 1 I 
 would not be de trop for the world," he con- 
 tinued, again bowing low to Mrs. Graham, of 
 whom he stood rather in awe. 
 
 Graham was suffering torture, though he 
 gave some answer to Lord Alvanley's remark, 
 assuring him, under all circumstances, his 
 presence was most welcome, — " Particularly 
 when you interrupt congugal ' tete-a-tetes,' " 
 he added, in a tone of mock distress.
 
 MAEPJAGE. 117 
 
 " Ah, well, I see Low it is ; you are afraid 
 of being supposed to be guided by a silken 
 rein," returned his lordship, good-humouredly; 
 " but I shall take an early opportunity of in- 
 forming the gossiping world that, in reality, 
 you live in the midst of domestic happiness. 
 And that again puts me in mind of the loss 
 at Ashton Park. I do believe poor Sir Harry 
 thought no one was as happy as himself." 
 
 " Very likely," replied Graham coldly, and 
 endeavoured to turn the subject, but in vain. 
 When the wind is in the east, the weather- 
 cock points eastward, — so Lord Alvanley 
 would talk of Ashton Park when his ideas 
 converged thither. His perception was as 
 usual at fault ; he had no notion how dis- 
 tasteful the subject was to his hearer. 
 
 " Ah ! poor Lady Lisle ! How grieved you 
 must feel for her, Graham ! On dit that she 
 was an old love of yours, eh ? That's a tell- 
 ing point now, I am certain ! I see I am 
 right. Physiognomy is a good thought-dial. 
 Ah ! well, one cannot help one's quick sighted- 
 ness ; but, certainly, sometimes it is terribly 
 in the way. Ha, ha! if you were not so
 
 118 THE SECRET 
 
 happily married " (another how to Mrs. 
 Graham), " now would be the time ! She 
 will want some kind soul to advise her. Poor 
 Lady Lisle ! I think, for old acquaintance' 
 sake, Graham, you should go and offer her 
 some assistance, when her first feeling of 
 grief has a little subsided." 
 
 Graham writhed in mental agony and an- 
 noyance, and petulantly reverted to a late 
 change in the ministry. 
 
 This allusion to politics reminded Lord 
 Alvanley that Sir Harry Lisle had become 
 a member for the county soon after his 
 marriage. 
 
 Graham then touched upon a disputed 
 point of law, which had lately come under 
 magisterial cognizance. 
 
 Lord Alvanley instantly lamented Sir 
 Harry's loss as Deputy-Lieutenant, adding 
 that his will was sure to be disputed; for 
 that a curious story had once been circulated 
 with regard to a secret marriage of his late 
 uncle, whose son, if he had one, would in- 
 herit Ashton. 
 
 Lord Alvanley was a well-known character
 
 MAEKIAGE. 119 
 
 upon the turf. Graham alluded to the next 
 Doncaster meeting. 
 
 " Poor Sir Harry's favourite, ' Clover, ' was 
 bought by a friend of mine, and is to run at 
 Doncaster," replied Lord Alvanley. " How 
 sad it will be when poor Lady Lisle sees a 
 eulogium of him in the papers ! " 
 
 Graham's patience was at length com- 
 pletely exhausted, and, in his despair, he 
 called upon George Alvanley to assist him in 
 diverting his father's thoughts from the un- 
 welcome topic. 
 
 " I hope you are rewarded for your perse- 
 verance, Alvanley," said Graham, pitching 
 his voice in a loud, high key, as if determined 
 by main force to put a stop to the old lord's 
 troublesome remarks and inquiries. " Has 
 your conversation been carried on by mono- 
 syllables, or have you gained a clear and 
 distinct idea of the pleasure all ladies seem 
 to derive from torturing little bits of muslin, 
 and tying pieces of silk together? I suppose, 
 in general they can converse with greater 
 fluency while their fingers are employed." 
 
 The tone of irony in which this animadver-
 
 120 THE SECRET 
 
 version upon his wife's usual taciturnity was 
 delivered was not lost upon George Alvanley. 
 But there was more truth in his assurances 
 that he had spent a very pleasant half-hour 
 than Graham gave him credit for. 
 
 The tone of coldness and indifference, too, 
 which he had before remarked Graham as- 
 sumed when speaking of or to his wife, was 
 not to be overlooked now, when Alvanley was 
 drawing certain unsatisfactory conclusions ; 
 and he rose to depart, upon his father's soon 
 after calling on him to accompany him home- 
 wards, with a very distinct feeling of dislike 
 to Graham, and of pity for his pretty, ill- 
 used little wife.
 
 MAFJIIAGE. 121 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Search, then, the ruling passion ; there, alone, 
 
 The wild are constant, and the cunning known, 
 
 The fool consistent, and the false sincere ; 
 
 Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here. 
 # * * * 
 
 Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, 
 
 Yet tames not this — it sticks to our last sand ; 
 
 Consistent in our follies and our sins, 
 
 Here honest nature ends as she begins." 
 
 Pope's Moral Essays. 
 
 We must return to Annie Mowbray, who, 
 after being domesticated with her friend 
 Lady Lisle for some weeks subsequent to 
 the wreck of the " Fenella," felt that her 
 duty recalled her to her own home. 
 
 It certainly had been no great trial to her 
 to remain as she was — a welcome and useful 
 guest in a congenial atmosphere, though
 
 122 THE SECRET 
 
 solitude and sadness now reigned in the 
 once bright and happy Ashton Hall. Had 
 she been naturally less light-hearted than 
 she was, fewer and slighter annoyances than 
 those to which she was daily exposed a la 
 maison would have subdued her spirit. To 
 be proof against them she needed all the 
 mental elasticity with which she was gifted. 
 The expression a la maison conveys the true 
 meaning of the feeling with which Annie 
 regarded Fenwick House, the residence of 
 her grandfather and grandmother and two 
 unmarried middle-aged aunts. 
 
 How she longed for a sister to whom she 
 could have opened her griefs, when, with 
 temper sadly ruffled, and good resolutions 
 broken, she would dart away to her own 
 room, thus escaping from the wearisome 
 scenes which were for ever recurring. Home ! 
 was it a home to her? That word which 
 holds, in its four magic letters, the concen- 
 trated essence of all our natural early affec- 
 tions. No ! she looked upon the ivied walls 
 of Fenwick House, with its dark, time-stained 
 gables, and its unbending gravel walks, as
 
 MARRIAGE. 123 
 
 the snail, if it were blessed with thought as 
 well as sight, might be supposed to look upon 
 the shell which protects its body from unto- 
 ward elementary accidents. 
 
 But further the comparison would not hold 
 good. Naturalists assure us that the snail 
 is its own architect, and builds the house 
 that best suits its tastes. Annie Mowbray 
 would not have chosen Fenwick House as 
 her habitation. It was situated at the end 
 of a small country town, and looked out upon 
 a sandy plain, dignified with the name of 
 race-course, whereon a few rugged posts and 
 rails served for fishermen to dry their nets, 
 and over which rival butcher boys, on their 
 wicker basket seats, would at times urge their 
 unwilling steeds. Then, Annie loved not the 
 intrusion of old maids, half-pay officers, and 
 thriving attorneys, who, in this particular 
 small town, seemed to congregate in pro- 
 voking numbers. She longed for the free- 
 dom of a complete country life, to avoid the 
 system of daily spying to which she was sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Her grandfather and grandmother were
 
 124: THE SECRET 
 
 old, had brought up a large family, and both 
 wished in their own way to slide comfortably 
 off life's stage. During nearly half- a- century 
 of married life, they had seen their sons and 
 daughters marry and die, had dismissed 
 some to foreign parts, and for many years had 
 received a biennial reminder of India's un- 
 healthy, but prolific climate, in the shape 
 of dark-eyed, sallow-complexioned, delicate, 
 small-limbed grandsons and grand-daughters. 
 Some of these had ended their earthly pil- 
 grimage at school, while passing through the 
 measles and the rudiments of mathematics, 
 and out of the numerous living consignments 
 made by their youngest and favourite daugh- 
 ter, the high-spirited, volatile Annie Mowbray 
 alone outlived the pains and pleasures of in- 
 fancy to shed some light upon the downward 
 path of her grandparents. Old Mr. Har- 
 rison was testy, gouty, and good-hearted. 
 Might he only read his daily papers, and keep 
 a good gouty leg's length between his list 
 shoe and all intruders ; might he only gossip 
 with the red-haired Major in the reading- 
 room on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Satur-
 
 MARRIAGE. 125 
 
 days, and have the rector and the doctor to 
 dine with him on Sundays ; might he only, at 
 his half-past five repast, satisfy the appetite 
 which had been growing ever since his eight 
 o'clock breakfast, his wife and daughters might 
 turn the house topsy-turvy were they so dis- 
 posed. 
 
 But Mrs. Harrison, at least, was not so in- 
 clined. She did not know how to manage 
 her daughters when they were young, and 
 now that she was old they managed her. 
 Not that their intentions were in fault, but 
 for their mother's good the principle they 
 advocated was contradiction in all its branches. 
 She was to be prevented, if possible, from 
 ever having a will of her own ; for they were 
 certain she was incapable of self-direction, as 
 experience had taught them that she was in- 
 capable of governing others. In one par- 
 ticular alone, Mrs. Harrison had exercised 
 all her small stock of decision ; and, resisting 
 all domestic opposition, had for years placed 
 her impaired constitution in the hands of the 
 Inspeth village apothecary, Mr. Dredgall. 
 On his three- days-a- week visits she fancied
 
 12G THE SECRET 
 
 her life depended, and without ever feeling 
 better or worse for his prescriptions, she took 
 his medicines and paid his bills. Perhaps 
 the enlightened Mr. Dredgall felt that he 
 should be wronging his numerous family if 
 he failed in securing the income offered him 
 by Mrs. Harrison, through the medium of his 
 draughts and pill-boxes. Therefore, out of 
 gratitude, he mixed his harmless ingredients, 
 and restricted his patient, under severe penal- 
 ties, to the diet which best suited her palate, 
 rigorously enforcing a five-mile drive and a 
 half-hour digesting promenade daily. 
 
 Unfortunately Mr. Dredgall's caution was 
 of too unselfish a nature ; for, one day mis- 
 taking arsenic for soda, in mixing a febrifuge 
 he had intended administering to himself, he 
 fell a victim to his own powerful weapons. 
 The one unwary act deprived him at the same 
 time of his life and his income. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Harrison sighed over the loss of 
 the man of drugs ; but in this instance the 
 old adage was found to hold good, which 
 signifies that what is injurious to one is 
 beneficial to another.
 
 MARRIAGE. 127 
 
 Now was an opening for another medical 
 practitioner, who had long envied Mr. Dredg- 
 all his celebrity, and despised those whose 
 praises had secured his fame. 
 
 This individual was no other than Miss 
 Bettina Harrison, Mrs. Harrison's youngest 
 unmarried daughter. She had attained to 
 the age, and had assumed the manner, when 
 the appellation of " strong-minded woman " 
 is applicable. In her youth she had studied 
 the " ologies," and had ever turned a deaf 
 ear to the vows which, with no small share of 
 Mammon's baits, had been offered at her 
 shrine. 
 
 She was now a convert to the " opathies," 
 and wielded then weapons with marvellous 
 vigour, and also, be it known, with marvel- 
 lous skill. 
 
 It had, for some months past, required all 
 Mrs. Harrison's small share of decision and 
 her large appreciation of Mr. Dredgall's 
 merits, to enable her to resist her daughter's 
 entreaties and anxieties that she should place 
 herself under treatment. 
 
 But, backed by the powerful eloquence
 
 128 THE SECRET 
 
 and the soothing sympathy of her learned 
 oracle, she had hitherto refused to substitute 
 his rose-coloured draughts for the harmless- 
 looking atoms, or her two daily glasses of 
 port and sherry for the tasteless, uninvigo- 
 rating beverage of pure water, which was 
 lavishly poured out to every one subject to 
 Miss Bettina Harrison's influence. 
 
 But, now the small village of Inspeth had 
 lost its oracle, its guardian, its renowned Mr. 
 Dredgall, a field was open to Miss Bettina 
 Harrison, and she determined that she would 
 work night and day to prevent a pharma- 
 copceic Phoenix from rising out of the allo- 
 pathic ashes. 
 
 Like rays of light diverging from a given 
 centre, her globulous efforts should extend 
 around. 
 
 Herself the focus, she would establish 
 small dispensaries (alas, that no newer word 
 can be found suited to the exigency !) whereat 
 homoeopathic and hydropathic advice should 
 be given gratis. 
 
 In reality Bettina Harrison possessed a 
 good allowance of natural kindliness of heart,
 
 MAREIAGE. 129 
 
 allied to unusual promptitude and energy, 
 though, on the one particular theme of 
 homoeopathy, her fallibility seemed to have 
 gone to seed. 
 
 Bettina Harrison's will was law, wherever 
 it could be exercised; but, unfortunately, it 
 sometimes came in contact with another will 
 of no slight calibre-, and then ! — then was 
 the home of " Fenwick House *' not the home 
 the high-spirited, impetuous Annie Mowbray 
 would have selected ! Then did poor old Mrs. 
 Harrison retreat into her little sanctum, where 
 she might at least enjoy the blessing of peace. 
 
 This sanctum looked like a small Indian 
 warehouse, so many were the old shawls 
 transformed into table-covers, so numerous 
 were the lions', leopards', and tigers' skins, 
 covering hearth, footstools, and settees; so 
 large was the display of ivory carved chess- 
 men, with elephantine castles, of leviathan 
 dimensions, of pagoda-patterned work-boxes, 
 and dragon-handled pot-pourri jars. All 
 were douceurs which the small East Indian 
 adventurers had brought over as presents to 
 " grandmamma." 
 
 VOL. i. k
 
 130 THE SECRET 
 
 In this sanctum Mrs. Harrison sought for 
 peace, hut her search was not always success- 
 ful, for, at appointed hours, baths stood in 
 full, and sheets in chipping readiness, unsus- 
 pected globules lurked in limpid-looking tum- 
 blers of water, and mesmeric influence was 
 even at hand to check and calm unnatural 
 excitement. 
 
 Once it happened that an irresistibly fra- 
 grant cup of mocha, with which Mrs. Harrison 
 had been regaled at a soiree at Miss Jackson's 
 (the double-lorgnette maiden lady), had 
 annihilated the good which had been effected 
 by a whole week's close adherence to Pulsa- 
 tilla. A quickened pulse and throbbing 
 temples were supposed by Miss Bettina to be 
 the inevitable consequence of such impru- 
 dence ; and the penalty was a compress and a 
 pack — to which while Mrs. Harrison patiently, 
 though unwillingly, submits, it is fitting that 
 the reader should be introduced into Miss 
 Margaret Harrison's apartment. 
 
 Margaret was Bettina's elder sister, and, in 
 her peculiar line, she was no less enthusiastic 
 than herself. In her own apartment she
 
 MARRIAGE. 131 
 
 reigned triumphantly over a score or two of 
 village children. 
 
 In early life she had been acknowledged 
 handsome ; but, as youth unfurled its banner, 
 and the written lines of middle age became 
 visible on the scroll, the dark hair, arched 
 and bushy eyebrows, the somewhat aquiline 
 nose, and compressed lips, lost a few of their 
 charms, and presented the semblance of fea- 
 tures rather too decided in their outline to be 
 compatible with a prepossessing, gentle coun- 
 tenance and manner. 
 
 Margaret Harrison had been loved in early 
 youth, but she spurned the curly-headed mid- 
 shipman who had bowed to the fascinations 
 of her bright complexion and her ready 
 wit. 
 
 A learned barrister, spending his vacation 
 at Inspeth, in the house vis-a-vis the Fenwick 
 mansion, had been also won by the prompti- 
 tude and energy with which, in her night's 
 deshabille, Margaret had helped to extinguish 
 the flames which had accidentally burst forth 
 from the lower regions of the same, and 
 which, in the gloom of midnight, threatened
 
 132 THE SECRET 
 
 complete destruction. But the barrister's 
 hopes were crushed like the falling timbers. 
 
 Margaret had another aim. The curate of 
 Inspeth was beloved — her assistant in the 
 art of village education. Vows were ex- 
 changed, the wedding-day was fixed, when, 
 to the astonishment of all her friends, and in 
 particular of poor Margaret herself, the ac- 
 cepted lover disappeared. Conjectures were 
 as various as unsatisfied, until a clue to the 
 truth was given by the Gazette. 
 
 It announced, concerning the delinquent, 
 two contemporary pieces of intelligence. Mr. 
 Kush had run away with a bishop's daughter, 
 and was appointed to a large living in the 
 Lincolnshire fens ! 
 
 Since this event Margaret had been invul- 
 nerable. Once deceived, she would not trust 
 again. Education was her foible, and on its 
 promotion all her energies were now concen- 
 trated. Knowledge was to be gained, and 
 whether the soil were or were not fit for the 
 seed, still it should be sown. 
 
 So Colonel and Mrs. Harrison saw but 
 little of their daughters, and whether the
 
 MAPwEIAGE. 133 
 
 fifth commandment were fulfilled at Fenwick 
 House or not, they must themselves deter- 
 mine. 
 
 It was unfortunate that the energy which 
 distinguished the Misses Harrison's actions, 
 though, on the whole, neither wasted nor 
 misapplied, was not tempered by discretion. 
 Their powers and pursuits were more of the 
 masculine than the feminine order. 
 
 Margaret was formed to discharge with zeal 
 and ability the office of bishop, aide-de-camp, 
 physician, or schoolmaster. 
 
 Bettina would have shone in a line where 
 vigour, clear-sightedness, and decision were 
 necessary, but as a politician her tact would 
 have been imperfect. She was not diplomatic. 
 
 According to the straightforward views she 
 took of matters, so would she speak or act — 
 whether feelings were or were not wounded 
 by her candour and impartiality. 
 
 Margaret was more influenced by the in- 
 firmities of human nature ; but, though less 
 exacting, less stern, she was more irritable 
 than her younger sister. Both were feared 
 more than loved; and many of their poor
 
 134 THE SECKET 
 
 neighbours received their alms without thank- 
 fulness, to whom a kind word alone would 
 have been the passport to respectful affection. 
 
 The Misses Harrison were specimens of 
 those who have failed to expand to the genial 
 influence of kindly sympathies ; in whom, if 
 the bud of affection was ever formed, it has 
 been blasted before it came to maturity, and 
 who, while they expend their lives for their 
 fellow- creatures, live yet alone in the world. 
 
 Bettina wished to be independent, both in 
 person and practice, and had always shrunk 
 with horror from the bondage which marriage 
 would entail. 
 
 By means of many untoward circumstances, 
 Margaret's more yielding disposition had been 
 soured, and while she drew within herself the 
 good which was natural to her was trampled 
 upon, and the bad fostered and exposed to 
 view. 
 
 Both sisters endeavoured to follow the 
 stern path of duty. On that account the 
 greatest commendation was their due. 
 
 But some weaknesses are amiable in them- 
 selves, while they draw out and are connected 
 with the dearest natural sympathies.
 
 MARRIAGE. 135 
 
 Some errors are allied to virtues, and in 
 connection with them the words, " it is almost 
 sweet to err to he forgiven," have been drawn 
 forth. 
 
 We may respect what we shrink from 
 imitating. We may admire what we cannot 
 love.
 
 136 THE SECRET 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Every man should ask of his neighbour and yield 
 
 to him again concession. 
 
 " None but a bigot partizan will hope for impossible 
 
 unity." 
 
 Tupper's Philosophy. 
 
 " So you are returned at last, young lady," 
 said Annie Mowbray's eldest aunt, on her 
 rejoining the Fenwick House party, late one 
 afternoon, after her protracted absence at 
 Ashton Park. " I should have thought Lady 
 Lisle might have found a more eligible com- 
 panion than you, during her first days of 
 mourning, although, I dare say, you have 
 done your best. But I hope you have been 
 employing your leisure to some good purpose."
 
 MARRIAGE. 137 
 
 " I have been employing it to the best of 
 purposes, my dear aunt," replied Annie, 
 sadly, as she remembered the beautiful 
 example of resignation which, in the midst 
 of real sorrow, her friend had placed before 
 her. " Every one is happy at Ashton," she 
 added, as she gave one look around the old- 
 fashioned drawing-room, and took her usual 
 seat by the window. 
 
 For the moment she felt unusually de- 
 pressed, even though she had returned 
 " home." 
 
 Her aunt Bettina soon appeared, and 
 began, immediately after her first salutation, 
 questioning her niece upon the state of Lady 
 Lisle 's health. 
 
 " She must be very much upset. The 
 trouble she has gone through will naturally 
 affect her bodily health, and for six months, 
 at least, she should be unusually careful in 
 diet. Above all things I hope you prevented 
 her sending for Dr. Dosum ? Those drug 
 doctors are such perfect ruination to con- 
 stitutions. Indeed, I once knew a dose of
 
 138 THE SECRET 
 
 sal volatile, given when a friend of mine was 
 in hysterics, destroy the effect of a month's 
 steady adherence to Pulsatilla. The pulse 
 became excited, the " 
 
 " My dear Bettina," interposed Margaret, 
 angrily, " we know all your theories by heart, 
 and are fully convinced of the stability of your 
 system, as it has fastened upon you in the 
 surest manner ! At the same time, let us 
 have a little cessation from the discussion 
 which is lost upon those who do not intend 
 to dispute the point with you. I suppose 
 you have not seen your grandmother, Annie? 
 for she is walking up and down the back yard, 
 which is the only shady place near the house 
 this hot day. She is endeavouring to recover 
 from the effects of a new sort of bath, which 
 Bettina has invented, and which is to be 
 taken just half-an-hour before dinner." 
 
 " It will have the most wonderful effect 
 upon digestion, and I trust will completely 
 remove the evil of dyspepsia, instead of reme- 
 dying it only," exclaimed Bettina, in high 
 glee. " Prevention is always better than 
 cure, and I natter myself the important use of
 
 MARRIAGE. 139 
 
 this bath will be acknowledged by those who 
 have hitherto resisted the dripping-sheet, and 
 the perpetual compress." 
 
 " Annie, will you come into my room pre- 
 sently?" said Margaret, starting up in haste; 
 " I have two or three children waiting for 
 me to be examined. They don't belong to 
 the same class ; so, if you have a little spare 
 time before dinner, you can hear one say her 
 letters, while I am looking over the other's 
 problem." 
 
 As Annie rose to leave the room, she felt 
 determined not to have any spare time that 
 evening for teaching letters or listening to 
 lectures upon bathing ; so she shut herself up 
 in her own room, and gave way to very gloomy 
 thoughts and reflections. 
 
 It was so wearisome to return to the life 
 of little daily annoyances, to perpetual bicker- 
 ings, and recrimination, to systems and mono- 
 maniacs ! 
 
 The image of the gentle, patient Lady 
 Lisle, rose before her. Yes, there was real 
 sorrow ! It lay too deep for general observa- 
 tion. Annie knew and felt its depth. " I
 
 140 THE SECRET 
 
 must rouse myself," thought she. " I must 
 try and throw sunshine over shade, and, if 
 possible, insinuate harmony into the full tide 
 of discord that here overflows everything. 
 Besides, I really have much to be thankful 
 for ; good health — so no baths or globules. 
 I am fortunately out of my catechism, and 
 have no wish to become ' authority ' upon 
 any disputed point of tradition ; so I am not 
 much under aunt Margaret's influence, though 
 I believe she would like to make me head 
 teacher in her schools ! My grandmother has 
 at all events a prior claim upon my time. I 
 might make her life a little less cheerless," — 
 and the image of the old lady in her Indian 
 boudoir, her feet upon a tiger's stuffed head, 
 propped up by a leopard's skin, came visibly 
 before Annie's mind. They were so perfectly 
 opposed, — the meek, enduring, diawayical 
 Mrs. Harrison, and the menagerie, which un- 
 wittingly lent her support ! 
 
 Absorbed in other thoughts, Annie totally 
 forgot her aunt's request ; and, when her toilet 
 was completed, went in search of her grand- 
 mother ; but whether, as she passed the door
 
 MARRIAGE. 141 
 
 of her aunt's apartment, and saw bonnets and 
 slates hanging upon pegs, her memory was 
 really treacherous, or whether she wilfully re- 
 jected the admonition they administered, is 
 not now to he considered. Dinner was 
 served. 
 
 If there were one pleasing and imperative 
 duty to which, on homoeopathic principles, 
 Bettina Harrison objected more than to any 
 other, that one was a late dinner. 
 
 She had read extracts innumerable from 
 small, yellow paper, bilious-looking pamph- 
 lets, which described dyspepsia, its causes 
 and effects. She herself kept a sort of 
 homoeopathic journal, in which her own va- 
 luable observations were detailed, all tending 
 
 7 o 
 
 to demonstrate the injury inflicted by late 
 dinners. For every objector or objection to 
 her theory she had always a case in point. 
 
 But on this one subject the usually feeble 
 Mrs. Harrison showed decision. She was 
 determined, at whatever cost, not to neglect 
 the old Colonel, during his most enjoyable 
 hour of the day, when she had been his faith- 
 ful companion for fifty years.
 
 142 THE SECRET 
 
 The dining-room at Fenwick House was 
 a gloomy room enough, but its old walls had 
 witnessed convivial scenes, and Colonel Har- 
 rison had made up his mind that no good, 
 sociable, old custom should be forgotten dur- 
 ing his lifetime. He was glad to see his 
 grand- daughter again, and filled himself a 
 bumper of port to chink her health on her 
 return home. 
 
 The old Colonel was a small man. He 
 had seen service, and a deep scar across one 
 eye gave him a fierce expression. He was 
 naturally a nervous man, and having been 
 engaged during his various campaigns in 
 many desperate scenes, where activity and 
 energy were required, he had gained a rather 
 uncommon muscular power. 
 
 When excited, he could move hair, fore- 
 head, ears; all, as if on wires, obeyed the 
 momentary impulse, until the chin again set- 
 tled itself in the folds of his white neckcloth. 
 He wore a wig too, which, in moments of 
 extra excitement, he unconsciously twisted 
 about till the back changed places with the 
 front.
 
 MARRIAGE. 143 
 
 The bumper of port caught the eye of his 
 youngest daughter. 
 
 "Oh, my dear father ! pray remember your 
 gouty foot," she imploringly exclaimed. "Dr. 
 Sousam " 
 
 " Hang your Dr. Sousam, and every other 
 doctor!" said the fiery little Colonel, as the 
 port quickly disappeared. " Here, Barker, 
 fill your mistress's glass." 
 
 " Impossible ! I really cannot allow such 
 a thing," burst from the lips of the indignant 
 Bettina. " "Who ever heard of port in homoeo- 
 pathy? The very thought of the extent of 
 harm it would commit puts one in a fever," 
 and Bettina's sallow cheek was tinged with a 
 momentary colour, as if a reflection from the 
 rosy bottle. " Here, Andrew," nodding sig- 
 nificantly to a footman, " the small decanter 
 — your mistress." Mrs. Harrison's glass was 
 filled with barley water. 
 
 " You're a fool for your pains," replied the 
 old Colonel to an imploring glance which was 
 cast upon him from the opposite end of the 
 table, while he shook his constant companion, 
 his stick. " I say you arc an old fool ; but
 
 144 THE SECKET 
 
 I've done with you, since you gave in to these 
 new-fangled fancies. It is no business, of 
 mine." 
 
 The stick received another shake — an un- 
 guarded one, for this time it hit the gouty 
 foot, which reposed upon a cushioned chair, 
 and flew off in a tangent. 
 
 "Oh, oh !" cried the Colonel, and an oath fol- 
 lowed. " If it had not been for your confounded 
 nonsense, talking about Sousam and port, I 
 should not have hit my foot." The wig was 
 turned right round. 
 
 " If you ivould but give up the port, my 
 dear father," exclaimed the persevering Bet- 
 tin a, " I assure you I could cure your gout. 
 Six globules of veratria dissolved in two ta- 
 blespoonsful of water, a dessert-spoonful taken 
 three times a day, a constant application of 
 cold bandages to the part affected, and low 
 diet for a month, you would not know you 
 had a foot." 
 
 "No, nor body either," exclaimed the irri- 
 tated Colonel; "don't preach tome anymore 
 nonsense. Since good Dredgall died, your 
 mother has had no peace in her life."
 
 MAEEIAGE. 145 
 
 " But, sir," interposed Bettina. 
 
 "I say she has had no peace or comfort in 
 life," continued the old man, giving the table 
 such a thump that Annie, who lately had 
 been unused to such dissertations, started 
 up, and two wine-glasses were thrown over. 
 " Did you ever see such a pale -wizened, un- 
 comfortable-looking old woman as your mother 
 is become? But ye will have your own way. 
 So I say, anything for a quiet life, and I give 
 up my way to ye, as long as ye don't ask me 
 to be drenched and ducked, like a frog in a 
 pond, or to teach your little,. dirty, squalling 
 dunces from morning till night. So you may 
 all do what you like, and here goes." And 
 with the second bumper of port, the Colonel's 
 wrath vanished. 
 
 Bettina, noways daunted, contented herself 
 with remarking, that all theories meet with 
 practical opposition' at first; but that if the 
 world would take her propositions for granted, 
 and see as deeply into truths as she did, 
 things and people would soon bear a verj 
 different aspect. 
 
 11 1 have no doubt they would," said Mar- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE SECRET 
 
 garet, who, endeavouring to call to mind some 
 applicable passage of " Locke on the Human 
 Understanding," had hitherto remained in si- 
 lent abstraction. " If you could govern the 
 world, one very serious evil would soon be 
 visible. We should be overrun with wild 
 beasts, as, according to your theory, vegeta- 
 bles are the only legitimate articles of food ; 
 yet, if you will look into the -first chapter 
 of " 
 
 The rest of the sentence was inaudible, for 
 at that moment the door opened, and a lady 
 was announced to be waiting in the drawing- 
 room, and a card was delivered to Mr. Har- 
 rison. 
 
 Lady Wood ash, 
 
 16, High Street. 
 
 It was the end of August, and tourists often • 
 passed through the village of Inspeth, en route 
 to the picturesque scenery of the neighbour- 
 hood, which somewhat accounts for the un- 
 timely visit. 
 
 Besides, at Fenwick House nothing ever 
 was unseasonable or untimely. There was con- 
 fusion everywhere — within, without, around —
 
 MARRIAGE. 147 
 
 so, whether or no dinner were interrupted by 
 visitors, or breakfast by a school inspector, 
 mattered little. 
 
 The Colonel was independent of his family, 
 and poor Mrs. Harrison had little appetite 
 since she had discontinued her rose-coloured 
 draughts. 
 
 " Lady Woodash ! " said the old lady faintly, 
 appealing to her daughters to save her the 
 trouble of receiving the visitor. " My dears, 
 pray invite her to remain here. I remember 
 hearing her name perfectly well. Annie, my 
 love, I think you mentioned having met her 
 somewhere, and that she said something to 
 you. I don't quite recollect what it was." 
 
 Annie endeavoured to give her grandmo- 
 ther a more distinct idea of their new visitor. 
 She had made her acquaintance a few weeks 
 previous to her long absence at Ashton, at a 
 county ball, when Lady Woodash, having 
 taken a violent fancy for Annie, had promised 
 most faithfully to call upon her in passing 
 through Inspeth. 
 
 " You don't expect me to entertain any of 
 Annie's friends, mother, I hope," exclaimed
 
 148 THE SECRET 
 
 Margaret, as she rose hastily and put on her 
 bonnet; "I have more claims on my time 
 than I can possibly satisfy. First of all, I 
 have to inspect the testimonials of Crabbed, 
 the schoolmaster, whose enlarged views have 
 promoted him to be head-teacher in a branch 
 of the Philanthropic Society. Then I have 
 to examine two little teachers who are wanted 
 instantly for a mission just formed to an island 
 off Cape Horn, and whom, I am happy to say, 
 by means of a few judicious presents and a 
 great deal of talking to, I have reclaimed from 
 the Dissenters ; besides " 
 
 " Oh, my dear, I see you have not time ; 
 it would be impossible for you to lose a 
 moment, I am sure," interrupted Mrs. Harri- 
 son, as if faintly hoping to spare herself the 
 enumeration of her daughters various duties. 
 " I am sorry I made the request." She 
 turned round in search of Bettina. She was 
 gone. " Will you go and receive Lady Wood- 
 ash, Annie, love ? — your aunts are always 
 so profitably engaged that I cannot expect 
 them " 
 
 The poor old lady spared herself the
 
 MARRIAGE. 149 
 
 trouble of finishing her sentence, for she ob- 
 served that there were no listeners present. 
 The Colonel was taking his evening nap, to 
 refresh himself after his stormy dinner, and 
 Annie disappeared to perform the part of 
 hostess, when her aunt Margaret entered 
 upon her first objection. She breathed freer 
 in the atmosphere which was not inhaled by 
 her aunts. 
 
 Lady Woodash was a tall, fashionably- 
 dressed woman, in the prime of life. In a 
 married lady, the epithet which denotes the 
 full expansion of the charms of early promise 
 may be applied until her thirty-fifth year is 
 attained. But maidenhood should beware of 
 so lengthened a tether being extended to its 
 beauty ! 
 
 Lady Woodash was tall beyond the com- 
 mon height, and broad beyond the common 
 breadth. She was decidedly what may be 
 called a fine woman, though the term might 
 have been applied without any feeling of 
 admiration, or even pleasure accompanying 
 it. On first sight it might be perceived that 
 she was thoroughly accustomed to make her
 
 150 THE SECRET 
 
 own way in the world, and on further acquaint- 
 ance it was not difficult to discover that she 
 was also thoroughly independent of a little 
 meek man, her husband, who, in return for 
 the fortune she bestowed, had given her his 
 name, his plain, good-natured, unmeaning 
 face, and the privilege of calling a " lord " her 
 first cousin. Lady Woodash was not an un- 
 common specimen of the female sex, who own 
 no restraint but their own will, and to its dic- 
 tates are slavishly subservient. 
 
 Caprice was, or might have been, her motto. 
 It would sometimes actuate her to send five 
 pounds to a charity, if she were taken with 
 the looks or manner of the clergyman who 
 pleaded in its behalf, or to dismiss her maid 
 at a moment's notice, for forgetting to bring 
 her a cup of chocolate. 
 
 Yet her impulses were often kind-hearted. 
 She would send the soup off the table to re- 
 lieve a family of passing beggars, and her 
 shawl she would even take off her back to 
 bestow on an object of her pity. But where 
 an end was to be gained, at the expense of 
 individual trouble, where exertion, or what
 
 MARRIAGE. 151 
 
 she would have felt as a sacrifice was de- 
 manded, then Lady Woodash turned away, 
 and in her comfortable arm-chair, her feet 
 upon the fender, and a novel in her hand, 
 she would shut out the real and be lost in 
 imaginary grief. 
 
 Artifice or deception did not belong to 
 her character. She could not lay a plot, or 
 manoeuvre a scheme, for she was guided by 
 impulse alone. 
 
 She married her good-natured husband be- 
 cause she fancied herself madly in love with 
 him, and, during the first few years of wedded 
 life, the jealous watchfulness she bestowed 
 upon his words and deeds gave unfailing 
 proof of her devoted affection. By degrees 
 that feeling subsided into indifference, and 
 the ennui she at length experienced in his 
 society made her seek with eagerness any 
 means of diversion. 
 
 Good, easy Sir Harvey Woodash ! Un- 
 blessed with fortune's gifts, how opportunely 
 did Miss Janet Wilson, the great Scotch 
 heiress, throw at his feet her two thousand 
 a-year ! Nor even could he have gathered
 
 152 THE SECRET 
 
 up the treasure trove, would he have done so, 
 without asking for the hand that held it 
 within its grasp. 
 
 Had Janet Wilson been well guided in early 
 youth she might have been a different person 
 from what Lady Woodash became. She was 
 lively and quick, and shone in society — she 
 had talents too — she had music in her soul. 
 Yes ! that gift of harmony belongs alike to 
 the tender and devoted, the capricious and 
 inconstant, the gentle and the passionate. 
 It needs not mind to guide its chords, but en- 
 thusiasm generally claims it for its own ! 
 With feeling, quick, and graceful, and strong ! 
 but transient I there dwells harmony in its 
 power, in its unfathomable depth ! 
 
 Man's easily-flattered vanity was gratified 
 in Sir Harvey Woodash, when the courted 
 Janet Wilson manifested towards him an un- 
 mistakeable preference ; and while he listened 
 to the beautiful cadences and extempore per- 
 formances of her musical genius, he did not 
 ask himself whether two thousand a-year, 
 added to her showy charms, would compen- 
 sate for the possible want of a calm and
 
 MARRIAGE. 153 
 
 controllable temper. He had doubts at times 
 whether the small, dark eye could not occa- 
 sionally flash, or the soft-toned voice be some- 
 times raised, with peace- disturbing anger. 
 
 But he looked not upon the whole, in 
 general, much deeper than the surface, and, 
 in less than two months from their introduc- 
 tion, Janet Wilson became Lady Woodash, 
 and Sir Harvey became her slave ! 
 
 If she wished to hear the last new opera, 
 he must take a box for her, let the cost be 
 what it might. Had she a fancy for a ride 
 in the park, he must defer any precious en- 
 gagement that he might be free to select the 
 best of ladies' horses for his Janet to mount. 
 If she felt a slight headache, she must in- 
 stantly have change of air, country food, and 
 country hours. Was she tired ? he must 
 search for an amusing book and read aloud, 
 as long as she was pleased to listen. 
 
 She could not bear him out of her sight, 
 and yet, certainly, any man, less good tem- 
 pered, less yielding than Sir Harvey, would 
 have been half maddened by her caprices, 
 long before the first matrimonial year had
 
 154 THE SECRET 
 
 expired. In friendship, she was as suscep- 
 tible as in love. Nor was she more guided by 
 consistency in the one than in the other. 
 
 She had been first taken by Annie's ap- 
 pearance at a county ball, where, in a Spanish 
 costume, which well became her dark eyes 
 and hair, and her tall elegant figure, Miss 
 Mowbray was pronounced the prettiest girl 
 in the room. Lady AYoodash was in raptures 
 with her. She was determined to be intro- 
 duced to her. She was sure she was charm- 
 ing ! She looked so lively too ! She looked 
 just the companion for a dull rainy day, when 
 riding was out of the question, and there was 
 no reason to be in good spirits ! 
 
 Annie was invited to spend a month with 
 Lady Woodash at Brighton, when the London 
 season was over. She always took a tour for 
 some weeks to refresh herself after the fatigues 
 of gaiety. On her return from her summer 
 rambles she would visit Inspeth, and insisted 
 upon Miss Mowbray being in readiness to 
 accompany her whenever she was called upon. 
 
 " My dear girl ! I am quite charmed to see 
 you," were the first words that greeted Annie,
 
 MARRIAGE. 155 
 
 when, upon entering the drawing-room, she 
 suddenly found herself enveloped in the arms 
 of Lady Woodash. 
 
 " You are very kind," said Annie, when 
 relieved from the fond pressure. She had a 
 little recovered her surprise at being received 
 in so affectionate a manner by one whom she 
 had never seen but once in her life. 
 
 " My dear love, I am come on purpose to 
 claim you. I am going to run away with you. 
 You must — you positively will, and must, 
 come ! Not looking quite so well as at the 
 ball, but still charmingly! You know it will 
 be so nice for me, when I am all alone, to 
 have you as my companion. I am sometimes 
 rather low in spirits, and Sir Harvey is al- 
 ways so dull and uninteresting, he is some- 
 times positively provokingly good-tempered. 
 Come, you will amuse me, I am sure. And 
 I promise you everything you like — horses, 
 carriages, dancing, — ah ! there you excel." 
 
 " But I have only just returned from home. 
 I have — I ought not — My grandfather and 
 grandmother — You are very kind ; but I am 
 so much taken by surprise ; indeed "
 
 156 THE SECRET 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, my dear ! What 
 have you to do but to amuse yourself? No 
 one has a right to your time, I am sure. It's 
 all settled. Your old grandmother cannot 
 expect that a fine young girl like you is to 
 shut herself up in a country village," replied 
 Lady Woodash, looking round on the old- 
 fashioned drawing-room with a species of 
 horror and instinctive aversion. " It must 
 be stupid here, and at Brighton you'll have 
 lots of fun, balls, parties ! " 
 
 " But Sir Harvey," interrupted Annie, in a 
 tone of doubt, as she endeavoured to bring to 
 her new friend's mind the existence of a hus- 
 band who should, perhaps, be consulted on 
 the point. 
 
 " Sir Harvey !" said Lady Woodash, with a 
 gesture of impatience, " what can he have to 
 do with my friends and my arrangements ? 
 He is not likely to thwart my plans and in- 
 clinations ! Why, my dear, he won't even know 
 you are in the house, he is grown so dull and 
 inattentive ! Brighton is just the place to 
 suit him (not that I took a house there on 
 his account), just the place he likes. Up
 
 MARRIAGE. 157 
 
 and down High Street — down to the Chain 
 Pier — in and out of the reading-room fifty 
 times a day! I say, my dear, Fje set my 
 mind upon your coming with me. I will not 
 take a denial ; indeed I cannot ! " 
 
 "Give me a little time to consider, please," 
 replied Annie, in a pleading voice. 
 
 " Only till to-morrow. I must be off at 
 twelve. It tires me terribly to travel, and 
 early starts are most inconvenient, though I 
 always breakfast in my room on such occa- 
 sions. But now, come, perhaps you do not 
 like my plan for you ?" 
 
 A shade suddenly came over Lady Wood- 
 ash's features, transforming them as if by 
 magic, when the idea struck her that Annie 
 did not enter with sufficient alacrity into her 
 proposals. Her brows knit — a deep frown 
 became visible in the centre — her small eyes 
 contracted — her lower lip fell, and her whole 
 manner betokened a displeasure she was at 
 no means to conceal, as she threw herself 
 upon the sofa, from which she had risen to 
 dash into Annie's arms. 
 
 Annie, a little surprised at this sudden
 
 158 THE SECRET 
 
 change of manner and expression, could 
 scarcely give credit to the violently favour- 
 able impression she found she had made 
 upon her new friend. Her tardiness in ac- 
 cepting her invite seemed to have hurt her 
 affectionate feelings. She began to excuse 
 her apparent ingratitude, and ended by say- 
 ing, that if Lady Woodash would allow her a 
 few hours' deliberation she would herself call 
 early on the following morning to announce 
 her determination. 
 
 Lady Woodash smiled faintly, rose and 
 gave Annie another kiss, not quite so enthu- 
 siastic a one as that she had at first be- 
 stowed. 
 
 Her tall, large dimensions, in a light mus- 
 lin, flounced up to the waist, an extravagantly 
 beautiful India shawl pinned on the tips of 
 her shoulders, a bonnet in the very height of 
 fashion, produced the effect of a ship in full 
 sail going before the wind, as she rather 
 majestically floated out of the room. 
 
 Poor Lady Woodash! She did not like 
 contradiction or opposition. Her husband 
 neither opposed nor contradicted her. Her
 
 MAItrJAGE. 159 
 
 children did both. But then — they were such 
 darlings! — she could not bear to ruin their 
 fine spirits by correcting them. She hated 
 tyranny. 
 
 Poor Lady AYoodash ! 
 
 She joined Sir Harvey at the " Castle Arms;" 
 and, after rousing him from his after-dinner 
 siesta, in the only comfortable arm-chair the 
 room afforded, she seated herself in it, while 
 she dismissed him to ransack the booksellers 
 shop for the best novel it afforded. 
 
 Sir Harvey went. 
 
 In the mean time, Annie had sought her 
 grand-parents and aunts, that she might con- 
 sult with them upon the propriety or impro- 
 priety of accepting Lady Woodash's offer. 
 
 For once the two sisters were agreed. 
 
 ;; I really think it very rude of your friends, 
 Annie, to disturb us at dinner," they both ex- 
 claimed, as Annie broached the subject of 
 Lady Woodash's invitation. 
 
 " Never mind- -what can it signify to yon ?" 
 retorted the Colonel, fiercely looking at his 
 daughters. " I am sure you are no slaves of 
 time! Go and stay with your new friend,
 
 160 THE SECRET 
 
 and amuse yourself as much as possible, my 
 darling," he continued, looking kindly at 
 Annie. 
 
 " Where are you going, my dear ? " faintly 
 asked Mrs. Harrison. "To Sir Harry and 
 Lady Lisle ? Ah ! I remember the marriage 
 of the late Sir Harry, and I believe " 
 
 " But Annie is only just returned from 
 Ash ton, and is not going there again, 
 mother," exclaimed Bettina, who always 
 came to her mothers assistance, when she 
 could succeed in putting a stop to the feeble 
 reminiscences of seventy years. It was cer- 
 tainly a privilege that belonged to her, for all 
 Mrs. Harrison's discoverable intellect would 
 probably have been found floating in the 
 various baths and douches to which Bettina 
 had subjected her. 
 
 " Why should you spend a useless life at 
 Brighton, when I can give you ample occupa- 
 tion here?" said Margaret; " you may have 
 your choice of the tuition of three classes, 
 besides that of a little Jew boy whom I con- 
 verted last year at Harrogate, but who, being 
 worked upon by a bribe from some of his own
 
 MAKKIAGE. 161 
 
 people has, I hear, shown symptoms of a 
 desire to turn back again." 
 
 " Do you then wish to employ Annie in 
 copying out some of your small anti-Jewish 
 catechisms, which were advertised as ' certain 
 to make converts ' in the last Devonshire 
 paper ? " asked Bettina, in a somewhat satiri- 
 cal tone. " I assure you that conversion will 
 be most effectually promoted by keeping all 
 the reasoning faculties in sound order by 
 means of " 
 
 " I hope Annie has more sense than to be- 
 come a convert to your anti-drug system," 
 interrupted Margaret. 
 
 u You are two fools," cried the Colonel, in 
 a passion. " The best thing Annie can do is 
 to leave you alone to discuss your hobbies ; 
 so, Annie, I give my vote for Brighton. There 
 now, the dispute 's settled, though I am loth 
 to lose your smiling, little face so soon again 1" 
 
 As the Colonel had said, the question was 
 indeed settled. Annie had made up her mind 
 to abide by her grandfather's decision. Her 
 aunts knew not how instrumental they had 
 been to the resolution she had formed. 
 
 VOL. i. m
 
 162 THE SECRET 
 
 They brought to her mind all she was re- 
 turned to at Fenwick House. She recalled 
 at once the daily life of petty annoyances 
 which fretted away all approach to a surface 
 of peace, in every one connected with its in- 
 ternal arrangements. 
 
 With natural impetuosity, she instantly 
 wrote an acceptance of Lady Woodash's in- 
 vite, and prepared to accompany her on the 
 morrow. Poor Annie ! She flew from ills 
 she knew to those she knew not of. Her 
 home was certainly a wretched one, hut 
 energy and perseverance would have made it 
 better. 
 
 She had duties to perform which she ne- 
 glected. Her grand-parents lost in her a por- 
 tion of the comfort which but faintly tinged 
 their declining life. 
 
 As, during the course of the evening, she 
 rather sorrowfully repacked her various travel- 
 ling cases, she dwelt in thought upon her 
 uncongenial lot. She longed for kind parents 
 to direct, affectionate sisters to sympathise 
 with her ! She felt lonely and unhappy.
 
 MAKRIAGE. 163 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " ! noble spirits! — live there for ever blessed, 
 The world's late wonder, and the heaven's new joy : 
 Live ever there, and leave me here distressed 
 With mortal cares, and cumbrous world's annoy. 
 But where thou dost that happiness enjoy, 
 Bid me, bid me, quicklie come to thee, 
 That happie there I maie thee always see ! " 
 
 Spencer's Euins of Time. 
 
 The tragic scenes that had taken place at 
 Ashton Park were viewed, naturally, not 
 without interest by surrounding friends and 
 neighbours, and speculation soon began to be 
 busy with regard to the course which the 
 widowed Lady Lisle would follow in life. 
 
 Each looked upon her new position differ- 
 ently, according to the peculiarity of indi- 
 vidual feeling ; but all were at the same time
 
 164 THE SECKET 
 
 agreed in bestowing an unwonted amount of 
 sympathy upon one whose domestic happi- 
 ness had suffered a blow so sudden and so 
 severe. 
 
 Like the lovely prairies of America's west- 
 ern wilds, enamelled with the brightest, sweet- 
 est flowers, seemed the last years of life to 
 Clara Lisle. As if standing in the midst of 
 a softly undulating plain, she had looked 
 around, and while her husband had been the 
 guardian of her home, she had seen on all 
 sides naught but the variegated beauty of a 
 summer existence. To a temperament like 
 Clara's, her loss was as irremediable as the 
 blow was keenly felt. There was a calmness 
 in the depth of her despair, admitting of no 
 consolations but those of religion. The effects 
 of a keenly-felt bereavement vary in different 
 minds. In some it produces a prostration of 
 all energies, moral and physical, an apathy 
 on which outward circumstances cannot act 
 with any sensible power. In some an exces- 
 sive irritability, a nervous shrinking from all 
 contact with sympathizing friends, conse- 
 quently excluding all hope of their sorrows
 
 MAKEIAGE. 165 
 
 being alleviated. By such the lesson taught 
 is not read aright, and is accompanied with 
 no blessing. 
 
 It was a lovely morning in the end of 
 August, the ocean was sparkling in the sun- 
 shine, the dancing wavelets reflecting golden, 
 emerald, and sapphire hues, as now and then 
 the shadow of a cloud passed slowly over 
 their surface. The fresh sea-breeze wafted 
 through the open windows of the library, 
 many a distant sound falling soothingly on 
 the ear, and the mingled odours of flowers 
 rose from the bright-terraced garden beneath. 
 All spoke of beauty, peace and hope ; yet the 
 sweet influence of the scene had a depressing- 
 tendency on one who had so lately viewed it 
 with different feelings from those which now 
 overcame her. 
 
 Lady Lisle approached the window, and 
 sad though her thoughts were, she could not 
 refuse her admiration to the lovely, bright 
 view before her. She was not alone. Alice 
 and Ormond were playing together at the 
 farther end of the room, the king and queen 
 of a little world of their own, from which all
 
 166 THE SECRET 
 
 subjects were excluded but laughter and good 
 humour. Their mirth sounded pleasantly, 
 and so much in harmony with the outward 
 world that it roused Lady Lisle from the 
 trance into which she had fallen. On a sud- 
 den all was silent, and Ormond, putting his 
 finger upon his companion's rosy lips, whis- 
 pered gently to her, " Hush, hush ; mamma 
 is so kind that she does not tell us to be 
 quiet, but she is putting her hand to her 
 head; it aches, I dare. say, and she looks so 
 pale, and her gown is black like the nun's 
 gowns at Santa Maritana." 
 
 Lady Lisle caught the meaning of the 
 child's self-imposed silence, as much by his 
 sudden change of countenance as by the words 
 he had uttered. She called him to her. 
 
 Gravely taking hold of Alice's hand, he led 
 her across the room, and knelt down by the 
 side of his adopted mother, while his sorrow- 
 ful gaze was fixed upon her face. 
 
 Alice climbed upon her knees, and with 
 her little dimpled finger pointed to the tear 
 which had all but overflowed her eye. 
 
 " You will never know a father's love, my
 
 MARRIAGE. 167 
 
 poor darling," said Clara, as she pressed the 
 bright little face to her own pale cheek, and 
 kissed her with a mother's fondness. " Or- 
 mond, dear," she continued, as she put her 
 other arm round the neck of the little fellow, 
 " you will never forget him, who was so kind 
 to you and to every one ; talk to Alice about 
 him, and tell her that he is gone to that 
 beautiful blue sky, where we hope we shall 
 some day all meet again." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I remember; Maritana used often 
 to talk to me and teach me to pray to the 
 Blessed Virgin, and said that she would help 
 all who prayed to her to reach that beautiful 
 heaven where God dwells." 
 
 The child had made unconsciously a strong 
 appeal to Claras sense of duty. She re- 
 proached herself with having been hitherto so 
 engrossed by her own griefs, that she had 
 overlooked the responsibilities she had taken 
 upon herself. She had laid down no plan for 
 the future, though she knew that Ormond 
 had been born in a Roman Catholic country, 
 and had imbibed the doctrines of its idolatrous 
 worship. He had been taught to lisp in the
 
 168 THE SECRET 
 
 accents of superstition ; all around him had 
 spoken with its voice. 
 
 Before Clara now lay a task, on which 
 she might indeed ask a blessing. The per- 
 nicious seed had not been so deeply sown 
 but that it might be eradicated by careful 
 perseverance. She determined to devote the 
 first-fruits of her energy to the implanting in 
 Ormond's mind the firm foundation of a Scrip- 
 tural religion. 
 
 It was, indeed, to her deep matter of con- 
 gratulation that his tender years had permit- 
 ted but a slight growth of those false doc- 
 trines from which, in later life, so few con- 
 verts to the truth are made. 
 
 Ormond's mind was peculiarly expanded 
 for the years he numbered, and Lady Lisle, 
 day after day, seized with uninterrupted zeal 
 every opportunity of impressing upon it the 
 great, full, and simple truths of Christianity. 
 In his daily prayers, the substitution of our 
 Saviour's mediation for that of the Virgin 
 was the first step gained in the great ascent ; 
 and soon the unstable fabric crumbled away
 
 MARRIAGE. 1G9 
 
 y on 
 
 before the pure light which shone clearly 
 his young mind. 
 
 Lady Lisle had entered the library for the 
 first time since her widowhood. 
 
 She had just parted from Annie Mowbray, 
 and had set before herself a task which re- 
 quired much energy to fulfil. She was in 
 the room in which some of the happiest hours 
 of her married life had been spent. It con- 
 tained various treasured remembrances, gifts 
 from Sir Harry. 
 
 His portrait ! She gazed upon it while the 
 children stood on either side of her. 
 
 ■ Poor papa! " said Alice's little voice, as 
 she softly stroked down her mother's mourn- 
 ing dress, and mechanically repeated the 
 words, while she pointed to the picture. 
 
 Ormond appeared to understand feelings in 
 which he could even in a great degree partici- 
 pate. He grasped the hand of his benefac- 
 tress, and silently and fearfully watched the 
 workings of her countenance. 
 
 They were loving, childish, and, as far as
 
 170 THE SECKET 
 
 they were able, sympathising witnesses ; yet 
 Clara longed for solitude. 
 
 She hastily took down the picture, and, with 
 various other loved mementos, deposited it 
 in a cabinet in her own apartment, which 
 already contained tokens of former happy 
 years. 
 
 She returned to the library. Already the 
 children had dismissed the momentary shadow 
 which her saddened expression had cast upon 
 their usual merriment, and from henceforth 
 she determined that no outward sign of her 
 inward life should darken the bright atmo- 
 sphere which naturally surrounds youth. 
 
 Her strong efforts were availing. She 
 soon learned for her own sake to prize the 
 power of resolution. 
 
 And thus many thought, as by degrees she 
 began again to mingle with the outward world, 
 that time had already exercised his wonted 
 influence, and in an unusual degree. 
 
 Her words, her looks, her actions, were the 
 constant subject of criticism and conversation. 
 
 Lord Alvanley was never tired of discus- 
 sing the fruitful topic with Graham.
 
 MARRIAGE. 171 
 
 The groom would take up the key-note, 
 and give a second-hand notion of his lord- 
 ship's ideas to his valet, through which it 
 became evident that Lady Lisle had lived on 
 bad terms with the late Sir Harry, " or she 
 would never have worn so cheerful a look so 
 soon after his loss ! " 
 
 In the village of Inspeth the one-legged 
 Major, Colonel Harrison's oracle, and his 
 grand- daughter's aversion, sipped his port and 
 freely spoke his mind upon Lady Lisle's won- 
 derful composure so speedily regained. 
 
 " And that little heiress will be well worth 
 looking after, Colonel," continued the Major; 
 " have you no grandson who could try his 
 fortune later on in life ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! " replied the testy old Colonel, 
 " why, with her fine fortune and the beauty 
 she'll possess (if it ever be inherited), shell 
 have all the nobles of the land at her feet. 
 Her mother had better keep a sharp look-out. 
 Those heiresses are ticklish creatures, and at 
 seventeen they would as soon run away with 
 a moustached music master, with seven 
 children, as put on a new bonnet ! Major,
 
 172 THE SECRET 
 
 who made your wooden leg ? I must have 
 one myself, if this confounded gout lasts 
 much longer. It plagues my very life out ! 
 Ah ! I have not much opinion of that fair 
 piece of frailty called woman." 
 
 Mary Graham, as she sat in her own little 
 boudoir, and looked out over the fine woods 
 which bordered Hetherton, felt that she had 
 perhaps a truer appreciation of Lady Lisle's 
 real feelings than the unobserving, uninitiated 
 world. 
 
 " If Arthur had only loved me as he told 
 me he had loved Clara Lisle," thought she, 
 " he would not have found me a nonentity. 
 As to him, indeed I am ! But she has cer- 
 tainly firmness, decision, which never could 
 belong to me, and a mastery over herself, 
 which teaches a great lesson ! " 
 
 At this moment Mary Graham's thoughts 
 took another direction, for she descried a 
 horseman quickly approaching. In another 
 instant the colour mounted to her cheek, and 
 Mr. Alvanley's voice was heard giving direc- 
 tions to his groom, as he led his horse round 
 to the stable.
 
 MARKIAGE. 173 
 
 Lady Lisle's poorer neighbours were not 
 deceived by the appearances which set at 
 nought the penetration of the wise ; and as 
 old Dame Parkins and her friend Mrs. Ben- 
 nett passed the large Ashton pew, in which 
 Lady Lisle had resumed her accustomed seat, 
 they dropped a low, respectful curtsey, whis- 
 pering to each other words of pity about the 
 " poor lady," as they moved on towards the 
 seats appropriated to the Alms-house pen- 
 sioners. 
 
 Nearly facing her pew, but hidden from 
 observation by a projecting column, sat a 
 stranger in the congregation, on the first 
 Sunday that Lady Lisle had appeared in the 
 House of Prayer after her great affliction. 
 Her deep crape veil was drawn over her face, 
 so that her evident intention and wish were, 
 as far as possible, to escape observation or 
 recognition. 
 
 It was not devotion, nor the fame of the 
 quiet, good man, who, from his pulpit, sought 
 to edify, not electrify, his hearers, which had 
 attracted the dark and serious-looking being, 
 to whose lips the words of prayer were well-
 
 174 THE SECRET 
 
 nigh foreign, and to whose heart neither the 
 threats nor promises of religion conveyed 
 meaning or comfort. He sat there with his 
 face seemingly mechanically turned towards 
 Lady Lisle's pew ; and, when the service was 
 ended, instead of rising to depart with the 
 congregation, remained still in the same posi- 
 tion, as if spell-bound. 
 
 Lady Lisle at length left her seat. To 
 reach the church door, she must pass the 
 stranger. Her thick veil hid her features ; 
 but Arthur Graham (for it was he) felt that 
 he saw into the depths of her downcast eyes, 
 and read intuitively the melancholy expres- 
 sion of her countenance. 
 
 She had been so absorbed by her devotions 
 that, until herself and Graham were amongst 
 the last lingerers in the church, she had not 
 noticed his presence. As she slowly and 
 silently passed by him, and took the way to 
 Ash ton Park, she instinctively felt his gaze 
 riveted upon her. 
 
 Unwelcome thoughts intruded themselves. 
 
 She had never liked Arthur Graham ; her 
 gentle nature had shrunk in early days from
 
 MARRIAGE. 175 
 
 the manifestations of his passionate, impul- 
 sive character ; yet, feeling that she had been 
 the indirect cause of the subsequent obscur- 
 ing of some virtues which he possessed, 
 she had taken a deep interest in his welfare, 
 while she compassionated his frailties. 
 
 The lot of his ill-suited wife she had always 
 viewed with unmixed pity. 
 
 She knew that a being so yielding and 
 gentle as Mary, would exercise over him but 
 little controlling power : and report but too 
 strongly confirmed her fears, that, in uniting 
 herself to Graham, she had excluded herself 
 from all chance of happiness in domestic life. 
 
 Clara Lisle knew that, in Arthur Graham's 
 heart, love for her was a deeply-rooted feeling, 
 though she likewise knew that, mingled with 
 wounded pride, it would at times take the op- 
 posite form of hate. 
 
 Since her marriage they had seldom met ; 
 and now to return to an acquaintance from 
 which she had derived but little pleasure and 
 much pain, was far from her inclination. 
 
 Whatever might be his motive — whether it 
 were friendship, curiosity, or the indwelling
 
 176 THE SECRET 
 
 of a still stronger feeling, which actuated him 
 to make his appearance in a church so dis- 
 tant from his own, lonely, and so abstracted 
 in manner — Clara felt that the circumstances 
 of her late bereavement, and her deep mourn- 
 ing garb, privileged her to pass onwards with- 
 out recognising him. 
 
 In the restlessness of a conscience ill at 
 ease, a prey alternately to ennui and a feverish 
 excitement, Graham had, early that morning, 
 left Moorfield, with the fixed intention of 
 again beholding Clara Lisle. 
 
 He had not even deigned to give his wife a 
 clue to his plan. 
 
 With the vivid affection which Graham 
 was at no pains to conceal from himself, he 
 still felt that for her he had loved in youth, 
 lurked a pride which was at once his tormen- 
 tor and his scourge. 
 
 He now sought no interview with Lady 
 Lisle ! 
 
 He had once witnessed her happiness, when 
 everything smiled around her ; he had now 
 seen her brought, as it were, to the very 
 ground by sorrow.
 
 MAREIAGE. 177 
 
 He had at times longed, even in the House 
 of Prayer, to be able to spring to her feet, 
 and, owning his wretchedness, to assure her 
 that, far severed as they were by outward ties 
 and circumstances, she might, if she would, 
 still be the preserving angel of his life, and 
 lead him into those paths from which he had 
 so fatally erred. 
 
 Then again, tempted by evil, he would glory 
 in the revenge which he considered destiny 
 had worked out for him. 
 
 Sometimes, under the garb of friendship, 
 he longed to offer her the assistance she 
 might require in her present desolate situa- 
 tion; but then, to be repulsed! perhaps to 
 be looked upon coldly, disdainfully !. No ! 
 that would be beyond endurance. 
 
 Yet he was determined to see her — to hold 
 converse with her. 
 
 In a few days, if he remained in the 
 neighbourhood, an opportunity for so doing 
 might occur, without his incurring the risk 
 of a refusal of admittance to the park 
 itself. 
 
 Chance, apparently, brought about a meet- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE SECKET 
 
 ing which Lady Lisle would willingly have 
 avoided. 
 
 She was a frequent visitor in the cottages 
 of the poor, and not only patiently listened 
 to, but sought out the truth of tales of dis- 
 tress. No appeals were set aside, or post- 
 poned to a more convenient opportunity, 
 when it was possible to attend to them ; and 
 by this means her charity was never indis- 
 criminately given, and in general only too 
 well merited. 
 
 But there was one unsatisfied claim upon her 
 bounty, and even gratitude, which loudly called 
 upon her for fulfilment. Weeks had passed 
 away since Ormond had become an inhabi- 
 tant of Ashton ; and the sailor's cottage on 
 the sea-shore, which had first received and 
 sheltered him, had not yet been visited. 
 
 Lady Lisle was determined the omission 
 should no longer remain unrectified. 
 
 To the brave John Archer, and his kind- 
 hearted wife, Ormond's preservation was 
 mainly attributable. Clara had hitherto 
 shrunk from holding direct communication 
 with one who had been so closely connected
 
 MARRIAGE. 179 
 
 with the awful scene of the shipwreck ; but a 
 sense of kindness and duty, which she could 
 no longer withstand, fixed her wavering reso- 
 lution, and on the day following that on which 
 Graham had taken up his abode in Ashton, 
 she prepared, accompanied by Ormond, to 
 accomplish her purpose of making acquaint- 
 ance with the Archers. 
 
 To a melancholy, yet turbulent spirit like 
 Graham's, the loneliness of the sea-coast, and 
 the unvarying sound of the rolling waves, 
 were both soothing and in harmony ; and on 
 the very evening chosen by Lady Lisle to 
 visit the sailor's cabin, his steps were turned 
 in the same direction. 
 
 Busied with his own gloomy thoughts, the 
 unwonted sound of a carriage driving heavily 
 along the beach, did not at first attract his 
 notice. It passed him quickly by. He was 
 not mistaken in the one glance he riveted 
 upon the veiled figure it contained. He could 
 not be mistaken ! He had caught a glimpse 
 of Clara Lisle. His eyes followed in the di- 
 rection the carriage took, and in a few mi- 
 nutes he saw it stop at the door of a cottage
 
 180 THE SECRET 
 
 which, with one or two similarly humble 
 dwellings, appeared the only habitations as 
 far as the eye could reach. 
 
 Graham quickened his pace ; and in a few 
 moments, entering the cottage unperceived, 
 found himself face to face with Lady Lisle. 
 
 She was holding Ormond s hand in earnest 
 conversation with John Archer, and her veil 
 being thrown back, Graham gazed once more 
 upon features which were but too indelibly 
 stamped upon his memory. 
 
 The child made a sudden start, and pointed 
 to where Graham stood. 
 
 Clara turned, and perceived the unwelcome 
 visitor whose dark eyes were fixed upon her, 
 in a mingled expression of sternness, pity, 
 and admiration. A quick rush of blood 
 tinged her pale cheek, but with assumed 
 calmness, she demanded — 
 
 " Why are you here, Mr. Graham ? Why 
 this intrusion ? " 
 
 The tones of her voice, even in the accents 
 of displeasure, sounded sweetly in Graham's 
 ear. He answered gently — 
 
 " Forgive me, forgive me ! Here I cannot
 
 MAERIAGE. 181 
 
 explain ; I plead only for one half hour. Will 
 you not grant it ? " 
 
 From Graham's expressive countenance, in 
 a moment all pride had vanished, all traces 
 of evil passions ; and those who had not wit- 
 nessed the transformation of later years 
 might have fancied that they still beheld him 
 under the influence of a pure affection, which 
 softened the asperities of his nature. 
 
 Clara rose ; ignorant of the communication 
 he wished to make, and in her heart most 
 unwilling to grant an interview so strangely 
 sought for, she yet yielded to his evident 
 anxiety ; and dismissing Ormond, with direc- 
 tions that he should drive along the shore, 
 she put an ample token of her gratitude and 
 esteem into the hands of Ormond's preserver, 
 and, with Graham, left the cottage. 
 
 An unbroken silence of a few moments 
 seemed to both, wrapped as they were in 
 their own thoughts, of interminable length. 
 
 Suddenly, Graham turned to his companion, 
 and in hurried accents, exclaimed — 
 
 " Clara, Clara ! Why I have sought this 
 interview, I know not ! I am a miserable
 
 182 THE SECRET 
 
 man ! Fate seems to have impelled me into 
 your presence, yet I can neither derive nor 
 give consolation. Speak to me." 
 
 " Why you have sought this strange inter- 
 view, indeed I know not," replied Lady Lisle, 
 gravely. " But I cannot allow that you are 
 the sport of destiny ; it is a vain word. Pro- 
 vidence rules over all and each. Whatever 
 may be his lot, is in a great measure the 
 arbiter of his own fate for good or evil, ac- 
 cording as he exercises well or ill the talents 
 entrusted to him." 
 
 " Can you speak thus ? " said Graham, 
 hastily, while he fixed a scrutinizing glance 
 upon her. " You ! — can you look for happi- 
 ness ?" 
 
 " I do not look for happiness ; but I can 
 be at peace, I can be resigned," replied Lady 
 Lisle, calmly. " But I obeyed your summons, 
 not to speak of myself, but to show you that 
 I can be — that I am still — your friend," she 
 added emphatically. " Control this restless- 
 ness, this turbulence of spirit, which drives 
 all duty before it, and which can but end in 
 misery. You have a home, why not make it
 
 MARRIAGE. 183 
 
 a happy one ; you have a wife, a child, have 
 they no claims upon you ?" 
 
 " Speak not of my home — my wife ! " 
 Graham's passionate accents sounded fear- 
 fully on Lady Lisle's ear. " I am an outcast, 
 with all the glittering advantages of which 
 the world makes so loud a boast. My home 
 is embittered to me, and to you — yes, to you, 
 Lady Lisle ; " and his voice became deeper 
 and wilder — " To you I owe my wretched- 
 ness ! " 
 
 " Mr. Graham ! " replied Clara, with a 
 calmness of manner which with difficulty she 
 maintained; "let this subject, which time 
 and change of circumstances should long ago 
 have buried for ever in oblivion, be no more 
 mentioned between us. Look upon me as a 
 friend, and my best wishes and advice are 
 yours ; but revert to the past, and an impass- 
 able barrier shall be raised between us, a 
 reserve which I shall well know how to main- 
 tain." 
 
 Lady Lisle's self-possession appeared for 
 the moment to communicate itself to Graham, 
 who silently and almost reverently waited for
 
 184 THE SECEET 
 
 the further expression of her feelings. She 
 continued — 
 
 " The events of your life, the shadows 
 which you yourself have drawn over it, have 
 not been hidden from me ; and I may truly say 
 I have mourned over you. In the midst of 
 my departed happiness, I was not unmind- 
 ful of your — forgive me — your self-imposed 
 trials." 
 
 " Say on," exclaimed Graham, as a mo- 
 mentary gleam of satisfaction lit up his finely- 
 moulded features. 
 
 " On your first entrance into life, you had 
 many privileges, many blessings. Reason 
 calmly with yourself: have you not thrown 
 them away as worthless ? I will not conceal 
 from you what chance must have revealed 
 even to yourself. With your feelings, your 
 passions uncontrolled, you have fatally erred 
 against the happiness of one whom you made 
 your wife. You have poisoned her young 
 existence, you have slighted her who ought 
 to be the treasure of your home." 
 
 " Speak not to me of her," said Graham, 
 as he laid his hand upon Lady Lisle's arm,
 
 MARRIAGE. 185 
 
 the calmness so foreign to his nature giving 
 way before his bursting feelings. " I do not 
 love her ; I have never loved her ! It is 
 madness to think that I am linked with a 
 being so utterly unsuited to me. She is good 
 and gentle, far, far beyond my deserts. I 
 would scorn to deny her merits ; but can they 
 suffice to me ? No, no ! Clara, to you, for 
 you, I should have become a changed being. 
 I would have bowed to your superiority — I 
 would have striven — I would have conquered. 
 But you repelled me with indifference, nay 
 more, with aversion; and therefore, I say 
 again, on your head be my misery and my 
 sins." 
 
 "Arthur," replied Clara, with deep earnest- 
 ness ; for the time every feeling of her kind 
 and simple nature being subdued into pity 
 for the victim of weakness and error wlio 
 stood beside her, " hear me, and oh ! let me 
 not be heard in vain. I am grieved that you 
 have thought fit to revert to the painful past. 
 It was ordained that we should not move in 
 the same orbit ; yet trials were in store for 
 us both. We have both suffered; we are
 
 18G THE SECRET 
 
 destined perhaps to suffer our life long. It 
 is strange that you should seek consolation 
 at my hands ; it is in your own. You have 
 but to keep the straight path of duty in view. 
 The same chaste monitress likewise points to 
 me the way to the heaven I strive to win. 
 Before me is the dreary blank of — it may be a 
 long and comparatively — certainly a lonely 
 existence. But the unswerving hand of duty 
 cannot be turned aside. The point to which 
 she directs cannot be gained but through a 
 difficult path, it is true ; but if not gained, of 
 what avail will be the sweetest smiles the 
 world can bestow upon us if they be ours 
 from infancy to old age ? Strive to win the 
 race, and the sternest frowns of fate shall not 
 hinder, but rather assist your endeavours. 
 Arthur, tell me," she continued, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, " have you ever felt — do you 
 know the power of religion ?" 
 
 A slight expression of scorn curled Gra- 
 ham's lip, as he answered — 
 
 " Will what you call religion help me? will 
 it bestow upon me blessings which seem fur- 
 ther than ever removed from my grasp now,
 
 MARRIAGE. 187 
 
 as each moment renders them more than 
 ever desirable?" 
 
 " It will grant you inward peace, which you 
 cannot know while you are struggling with 
 your fate. Are the v^ws you have spoken 
 nothing? are they to be lightly broken in 
 thought or word? Shame on your want of 
 resolution, on your unmanly severing of all 
 home ties, in will if not in deed ! Seek to 
 gain, to merit your wife's affections ! Be not 
 the harsh, unfeeling man of the world, but 
 the companion of her home, the guide of her 
 simplicity, of her child-like innocence. Your 
 care for her will be amply repaid to you. 
 This is no time to weigh words. I speak 
 openly as the friend, the adviser you have 
 desired to seek ! " 
 
 " From you alone would I listen to such 
 words ; but even from your lips they fall as 
 if on parched or desert soil. I have no spring 
 of peace within me. Talk not of religion, it 
 is madness ! — mockery !" 
 
 " Ask yourself, then," said Lady Lisle, sor- 
 rowfully, while her calmness again fell with 
 softening influence upon Graham's vehe-
 
 188 THE SECRET 
 
 mence, " to what other source can you apply? 
 Have you a remedy known only to yourself? 
 Or is the fearful spirit within to whirl you 
 onwards into unknown depths?" 
 
 " Yes, I am drivqa, as this ocean spray, 
 which is the sport of the blast, before my own 
 conflicting passions. I feel I have no bal- 
 last — there is no haven of rest for me !" 
 
 "It is torture to listen to such words!" 
 exclaimed Clara, while a feeling of despair 
 mingled with her pity. " There is an Eternal 
 haven which awaits us all. It is not yet too 
 late. Other thoughts more kind and gentle 
 may yet rise within your heart. Heed them, 
 I earnestly entreat. There are claims from 
 which you cannot escape. There are chains 
 which you yourself wound around. You may 
 now, in your discontented and undiscerning 
 spirit, fancy they are hard and durable as 
 iron or brass. You may find they are beau- 
 tiful and solid as gold. Precious flowers are 
 strewed on your path. Gather them up — 
 prize them thankfully — they will bloom in the 
 sunshine of affection." 
 
 To work an instantaneous change in a
 
 MARRIAGE. 189 
 
 nature such as Grahams, to build upon so 
 unstable a foundation, was not in the power 
 of words or exhortations, though they pro- 
 ceeded from a heart earnest and hopeful as 
 was Lady Lisle's. The young stem easily takes 
 a given direction ; time may, though with 
 difficulty, bend the strong bough with its 
 torn and knotted bark. But even could a 
 power have been found of force sufficient to 
 master long-formed and cherished habits of 
 evil, the wounds and scars of a hard-fought 
 and dearly-bought victory must, in a case 
 such as Graham's, be necessarily ever ap- 
 parent. 
 
 Graham listened with fond and even re- 
 spectful attention to the words which fell 
 from his companion's lips. Her entreaties 
 were treasured up in his heart. They rested 
 there, though the soil was not prepared as 
 yet for the growth of the good seed. 
 
 The bread cast upon the waters may be 
 found after many days. 
 
 So Clara trusted — so she prayed, and, fear- 
 ful to prolong an interview which she felt was 
 already charged with the amount of good it
 
 190 THE SECRET 
 
 was capable of sustaining, she hastened on- 
 wards in the direction of the carriage. With 
 a land shake of the hand, and a few words of 
 farewell, she took leave of Graham, and was 
 soon lost to sight.
 
 MARRIAGE. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Copiousness and simplicity, variety and unity, con- 
 stitute real greatness of character. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Thousands are hated, whilst none are ever loved 
 without a real cause. The amiable alone can be loved." 
 
 Lavater. 
 
 During the exciting hours that were spent 
 by Lady Lisle and Graham on the sea-shore 
 at Ash ton, Mary Graham was engaged in a 
 manner no less interesting in her own little 
 boudoir at Moorfield. 
 
 It was certainly something very like plea- 
 sure which smiled in her soft blue eyes, and 
 touched the dimples in her cheek. When 
 the well-known sound of George Alvanley's 
 quick, light-stepping horse caused her to
 
 192 THE SECEET 
 
 withdraw from sight as she sat at the open 
 window. 
 
 Acquaintance had been improved, and had 
 even ripened into inthnacy since Mary's in- 
 terview with Mr. Alvanley, in which he was 
 first introduced to the reader. 
 
 With him Mrs. Graham soon lost her un- 
 natural reserve, and, through the influence 
 of the charm he always diffused around, the 
 long-repressed buoyancy of her disposition 
 had, in a great measure, returned. 
 
 For Alvanley she possessed a peculiar fas- 
 cination — which was heightened by the free- 
 dom permitted to their friendly intercourse — 
 by her position as the wife of Arthur Graham. 
 
 He paid to her sweetness, beauty, and sim- 
 plicity, the willing homage which might not 
 have been borne from him had not the pre- 
 vious tie of her marriage placed him beyond 
 the reach of responsibility for the admiration 
 he now thought himself privileged openly to 
 show. It is little to say that he felt deeply 
 for her in the loneliness of her morally un- 
 protected position. 
 
 It was to him incomprehensible that any
 
 MARRIAGE. 193 
 
 being so gentle, so peculiarly formed to make 
 the happiness of a home, should be treated 
 with the indifference and the contempt which 
 her husband manifested towards her. 
 
 To see the meekness with which she bore 
 his fits of sullenness, and his more open re- 
 proaches ; to see the bright flush which at 
 times told that the unkind stroke, notwith- 
 standing outward calmness of manner, had 
 found its way to the heart, was galling in the 
 extreme to Alvanley, and sometimes provoked, 
 even in Mrs. Graham's presence, expressions 
 of angry astonishment. But the hasty wea- 
 pon of words was not. he felt, to be incautiously 
 used, for he wished to heal the breach be- 
 tween the husband and wife, not to widen it. 
 
 By stamping himself as Mrs. Graham's 
 champion he might end in producing an evil 
 feeling between himself and Graham, a result 
 which he wished particularly to avoid, for 
 he was conscious of possessing the power to 
 make many a half hour pass away pleasantly 
 while he was in her society ; when, had she 
 been alone, she would have sighed over her 
 unhappy lot. 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 THE SECRET 
 
 Alvanley's caution was not thrown away, 
 for though indifference in the main excluded 
 jealousy in Graham, an evil spirit might be 
 aroused, and an intolerable system of surveil- 
 lance established, which would increase ten- 
 fold the hardness of his wife's position. It 
 is not surprising that Graham reposed in her 
 a confidence which, by his own conduct, he 
 so little deserved to feel. With a quickness 
 of discernment, which often accompanies the 
 impulsive character, he read that purity in 
 thought, word, and deed was the distinguish- 
 ing mark of Mary's unworldly, humble dis- 
 position. 
 
 By his gloomy and discontented abstrac- 
 tion, during Alvanley's frequent visits (for the 
 estates of Moorfleld and Heatherton joined), 
 by his repeated and prolonged absences, 
 Graham virtually sanctioned an intimacy, 
 which, if a source of present pleasure, was 
 likely to end in producing great distress. 
 
 George Alvanley was young, but he had 
 seen much of the world ; and having formed 
 an ideal standard of female excellence, which
 
 MARRIAGE. 195 
 
 he fancied he was never likely to see realized, 
 he delighted in flying from flower to flower, 
 sipping the sweets of charming converse, ad- 
 miring beauty, fascinating all, but never wish- 
 ing to carry away the palm. 
 
 He was, therefore, what the world unhesi- 
 tatingly calls a " flirt," but it may be ques- 
 tioned whether such a term should be applied 
 to one who was ignorant of the depths, and 
 even the nature, of that feeling which, whether 
 disguised as the son of Venus in the my- 
 thological world, or starting into glowing life 
 through the warm beauty of mind or person, 
 in this our visible creation has spoken and 
 will speak to the echoing vibrations of every 
 human heart. 
 
 In this perfect freedom, so enchanting to 
 the young and gay, who, the favourites of for- 
 tune, touch but the ball, and it rolls on be- 
 fore them, who open the mine, and behold the 
 glittering golden ore, Alvanley had hitherto 
 lived in the sunshine of his own fascinations. 
 
 But that happy, light-hearted time of igno- 
 rance and unconsciousness had nearly passed
 
 196 THE SECRET 
 
 away, and a feeling, in the peculiar circum- 
 stances which surrounded him, allied to an 
 interest too deep for happiness, had unawares 
 usurped dominion over him. 
 
 The careless admiration which he at first 
 experienced for a slight acquaintance, then 
 a strong feeling of compassion, had, unawares, 
 assumed the features of a sympathy too closely 
 drawn around each hour of daily life to be 
 compatible with peace of mind. 
 
 " Is Mr. Graham at home ?" said Alvanley, 
 giving his reins to his servant as he dis- 
 mounted. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Mrs. Graham ?" 
 
 " I believe she is, sir." 
 
 George knew she was, for he had caught a 
 glimpse of her figure as she withdrew from 
 the window of her boudoir. He was also 
 certain that he should not be denied admit- 
 tance, and for form's sake only asked the 
 question. 
 
 Did he suppose he thus blinded the 
 domestic's vision, which in such cases is pe- 
 culiarly clear? or, answering more his own
 
 MARRIAGE. 197 
 
 purposes, did he, by an appearance of " eti- 
 quette," think to blind himself? 
 
 As the door closed, Mrs. Graham uttered a 
 gentle " Good morning, Mr. Alvanley." 
 
 He was at her side in a moment. 
 
 It might be that the fresh air had given a 
 brighter tinge to her cheek than it usually 
 wore ; but as he pressed her hand, his glance 
 told him that she was daily becoming more 
 lovely. 
 
 Where was the want of animation of which, 
 in common with the unobserving world, he 
 had once accused her? 
 
 She was no longer only a beautiful statue. 
 She was a breathing, moving, intelligent being, 
 with feelings refined, intellect that would well 
 repay cultivation, and a faultless form. Yes ! 
 that he had always allowed she possessed. But 
 now, to the sculptor's chiselled work, was 
 united the living colouring of a Titian, in- 
 stinct and changing with the life of feeling. 
 
 The simple tastes which were uninteresting 
 to Graham, the girlish manner which irritated 
 him, and even drew down his contempt, were 
 as refreshing to George Alvanley, accustomed
 
 198 THE SECEET 
 
 as he was to the society of fashion, to its 
 gaudy untruths, as an alabaster world would 
 be to one who had been dazzled by rainbow 
 tints. 
 
 Not that George Alvanley was a cynic. No ! 
 He basked in the sunshine as it streamed 
 across his path, unmindful of the cloudy me- 
 dium through which the golden rays were 
 sometimes reflected. 
 
 Mary was changed. She was still chang- 
 ing to his eyes. She felt, in truth, herself 
 that she had taken a sudden spring into life. 
 
 No longer the timid, shrinking being, fear- 
 ful of expressing a thought, and shunning 
 every responsibility, a new world had opened 
 before her; and she, who by most was stamped 
 as the cold-hearted, uninteresting wife of 
 Arthur Graham, felt inwardly that her reserve 
 was vanishing ; that, by some magic touch, a 
 fanciful and beautiful structure had risen up 
 beside her, and that its fairy lights excluded 
 the dark and lowering forms which had hitherto 
 bent over her with solemn aspect. 
 
 To the novel experience of friendship she 
 attributed this change. A long-repressed and
 
 MARRIAGE. 199 
 
 unsatisfied yearning for kindly sympathy was 
 now satisfied. 
 
 " Where is Graham?" said Alvanley, as he 
 seated himself hy her side, without apparently 
 thinking it necessary to assign a reason for 
 this oft-precedented visit. 
 
 He had installed himself as Mrs. Graham's 
 drawing-master ; and he fancied that the in- 
 terest he might naturally be supposed to take 
 in his pupil's progress, would account to the 
 world for his frequently spending the morning 
 at Moorfield. 
 
 He repeated his inquiry, to which Mrs. 
 Graham had not given an instantaneous reply; 
 then, suddenly construing her silence into a 
 dislike, or an inability to answer, he continued — 
 
 "lam not surprised that this fairy bower 
 should be your abode, Mrs. Graham ; it looks 
 as if it had been transported from the Castle of 
 Indolence, it is so full of fancy and fragrance." 
 
 " Your simile is highly displeasing to me," 
 returned his companion, though a smile, as 
 she rose and closed the book she had been 
 reading, contradicted her words. 
 
 She moved towards a portfolio, containing
 
 200 THE SECRET 
 
 landscape sketches, and began to arrange 
 pictures and paper. 
 
 " I contend that my bower has naught to do 
 with idleness or indolence ; and I will punish 
 you for supposing that, notwithstanding the 
 " dolce far niente " aspect of my sanctum, I am 
 not practically the most industrious of human 
 beings ! Come ! what would you say if I were 
 to devote myself to my drawing for the next 
 half-hour, without heeding any of your at- 
 tempts to be pleasantly talkative ? I cannot 
 give you any clue to my husband's absence. He 
 left some days ago, perhaps on pressing busi- 
 ness. I am accustomed to be much alone," 
 she continued, in a tone as if she wished to 
 change the subject. 
 
 Alvanley had too much tact to press a point 
 which he felt might be associated in Mrs. 
 Graham's mind with uncomfortable recollec- 
 tions. On her husband's behaviour, it was true, 
 no reproachful or recriminatingword had in his 
 hearing ever passed her lips. 
 
 Yet the least feeling heart is susceptible to 
 neglect, especially when, as in the relation of 
 husband to wife, the reverse maybe naturally
 
 MARRIAGE. 201 
 
 looked for; and Mrs. Graham, Alvanley was 
 now aware, had susceptibilities both deep and 
 delicate, though they were disguised to com- 
 mon observers. 
 
 Not a word of complaint of her husband's 
 conduct had she ever uttered ; and, therefore, 
 Alvanley felt he had no right to pass censure 
 openly, or to express aught approaching to 
 sympathy or consolation. The oft-rising 
 thought of reproach had never been suffered 
 to find words. 
 
 The delicacy of tact which should, as a wife, 
 have belonged, and which did belong, to Mrs. 
 Graham, was a safeguard against the attacks 
 of a censorious and meddlesome world, of the 
 value of which she was herself scarcely aware. 
 
 A silence of some moments followed Mary's 
 reply to Graham's question. George was 
 listlessly watching her making the usual 
 arrangements for the drawing lesson. 
 
 " How bright everything looks this morn- 
 ing!" he suddenly exclaimed, in the exube- 
 rance of momentary happiness. 
 
 His eye glanced from the sweet flowers 
 which filled the room to the early autumn's
 
 202 THE SECRET 
 
 golden ray, as it streamed in upon pictures, 
 books, ormolu cabinets, china vases, and 
 lastly, as it touched with auburn light the 
 soft mass of ringlets that shaded Mary's deli- 
 cate outline of feature. 
 
 She had completed her task, and now called 
 upon her companion to assist her. 
 
 " I will forgive your poetical, but untrue 
 simile this once, if you will favour me with a 
 true criticism upon this unrivalled sketch of 
 "Windermere, Mr. Alvanley. You see I value 
 your powers as being practical, as well as 
 theoretical ; but I really think you must have 
 viewed your own reflection, this morning, in 
 the mirror of the ' Castle of Indolence.' See 
 how much we have before us, sunsets, lakes, 
 storms, every variety of foliage, so many ideas 
 held out for a composition, and you have been 
 so ungallant as to leave me to arrange easel, 
 colours, everything ! Now will you kindly 
 and honourably account for the unusual mood 
 of reverie which has been stealing over you 
 this last quarter of an hour ? " 
 
 The reverie was ended. Oeorge instantly 
 roused himself, turned over the same three
 
 MARRIAGE. 203 
 
 or four drawings half-a-dozen times, overlook- 
 ing the one he intended seeking, and upset a 
 glass of water upon the table cover. The 
 next five minutes were employed in apologiz- 
 ing for and rectifying his awkwardness. 
 
 It was, in reality, opportune; for had worlds 
 been offered to him, he could not then have 
 disclosed the subject of his reverie to her who 
 so innocently demanded it. That stream of 
 golden light which had lit up with exquisite 
 beauty the fair being before him, had, as it 
 were, dived into the recesses of his own heart, 
 had revealed a secret, whose voice he had 
 hitherto succeeded in stilling. It was a secret 
 Lhat with magic foresight he felt would carry 
 in its train a life's intermingling of hardly- 
 kept resolves and wishes, struggling with con- 
 scious weakness and wretchedness. 
 
 He saw all as a panorama stretched out be- 
 fore him. Even now he felt it was too late to 
 retreat ; he was entangled in the snare. But 
 still it was not too late to draw a veil over the 
 future ; he wished to dim his clear-sighted- 
 ness, and when does such a wish fail in at- 
 taining the desired end ?
 
 20-JL THE SECRET 
 
 Mary's simple remark upon his negligence 
 was wonderfully apropos. 
 
 " You are quite right, Mrs. Graham, I do 
 feel unusually idle this morning. Thanks for 
 reminding me of my duty. You will not im- 
 prove if your master sets you so bad an exam- 
 ple. But this is really beautiful !" he continued, 
 examining a sketch Mary had lately made in 
 the grounds of Heatherton. " We will reverse 
 the order of things to-day, if you will allow 
 me to copy this ; I cannot improve upon it." 
 
 " I do not like flattery ! Besides, it is lost 
 upon me, and will not gain you any desired 
 end either, Mr. Alvanley." 
 
 " Praise is not flattery; one is just as valu- 
 able as the other is prejudicial. Do you not 
 agree ? " 
 
 " I confess I am too much unused to 
 either," replied Mrs. Graham, " to be able to 
 judge of their respective merits; though what 
 is so pleasant at the moment must be hurt- 
 ful in the end." She added, with a smile, 
 " I did not know you were so strict in your 
 theories ; but as you are pleased to moralize 
 this morning, I will assure you, that praise,
 
 MARRIAGE. 205 
 
 tending to the encouragement of excellence, 
 can never be ill bestowed where vanity is 
 wanting." 
 
 " It ma}' cement or strengthen right en- 
 deavours, I believe. Indeed, I do not think 
 it could ever loosen or even weaken them. 
 It is difficult to act with no inferior motive 
 than that of duty, as the spur to your exer- 
 tions. It must be so delightful always to 
 give pleasure, to see your reward in the happy, 
 cheerful faces around you ! to think that the 
 leniency of affection, not the sternness of rec- 
 titude alone, is the judge of your daily life ! " 
 
 Involuntarily, as Mary's countenance beamed 
 with an unusually bright and earnest expres- 
 sion, the words, " you cannot fail to give plea- 
 sure," dropped from George's lips ; scarcely 
 pronounced, he wished them recalled. A 
 thrill passed through Mary's heart, and a 
 deep stain of cobalt upon a very distant hill, 
 left an indelible record of the moment in the 
 sketch that lay before her. 
 
 " It would be adding too great a charm to 
 life to succeed in all one's endeavours," she 
 hastily exclaimed, apparently without noticing
 
 206 THE SECEET 
 
 George's last remark. " It would be too 
 bright, too beautiful ! No, no ! I am thank- 
 ful to say that I look upon life as a very 
 mingled yarn. However prosperous or happy 
 one may be for a time, it is impossible to con- 
 ceal from oneself one fact." 
 
 " What fact is so important in your eyes f n 
 
 " Oh, I merely mean to say, that after fif- 
 teen — eighteen (I will diminish the number 
 of years I allotted to experience), one is not 
 unlikely to meet with contretemps of some kind 
 or another, which act as a sedative to the ef- 
 fervescing spirits of childhood. Can you dis- 
 prove my assertion ?" 
 
 The last words were spoken in a tone of 
 somewhat forced gaiety, as if conscious that 
 her previous observation had contained too 
 deep a meaning. She continued — 
 
 " For instance, my father, mother, and 
 sister, who are at this moment sunning them- 
 selves in the luxurious climate of southern 
 Italy, complain to me, who sometimes shiver 
 over a fire in August, that the refreshing 
 breeze is accompanied by a disagreeable dust, 
 or that the scent of the orange groves over-
 
 MARRIAGE. 207 
 
 powers my sister's nerves. In short, we 
 ought to have a world made for us, such dis- 
 contented beings as we are." 
 
 " And you should be elected queen of your 
 fanciful creation. I think you would find 
 many willing subjects !" 
 
 " Then you would place me in a position 
 of all others the least suited to me. I have 
 a perfect horror of a despotism ! I should 
 even grieve if any one bowed implicitly to my 
 judgment ! I feel too much, sometimes too 
 painfully, my own inferiority and dependence !" 
 
 " But do you not know that obedience is 
 much more willingly yielded under a mild 
 government than when it is severely exacted ? 
 Our proud nature revolts from a cession to 
 superiority which is often only self-allowed. 
 You may rest assured that gentleness gene- 
 rally exercises a more arbitrary sway than 
 tyranny." 
 
 " I have no wish to be arbitrary, or to rule 
 in any way," persisted Mary, laughing; " yet 
 sometimes I am obliged to feign a decision 
 which does not belong to me. In the end, 
 the reality may replace the counterfeit."
 
 208 THE SECRET 
 
 " Do not seek change or improvement ; let 
 nature rejoice in her works," replied George, 
 hastily. 
 
 " How perverse you are this morning, Mr. 
 Alvanley!" said Mary, in a tone of what she 
 intended for displeasure. 
 
 " You are paying me implied, and most 
 uncalled-for, little compliments, against your 
 wont ; for you have never hitherto been lavish 
 of the highly-prized gilding, flattery. Are 
 you not afraid of rousing vanity, and pride, 
 and all a woman's failings ?" 
 
 She raised her eyes, met George's fixed 
 upon her, with a peculiar expression of ear- 
 nestness, and even anxiety resting on his 
 countenance. She fancied she read the 
 thoughts which saddened his usually bright 
 smile. She was mistaken in the idea she at- 
 tributed to him. 
 
 " Do not grieve for me, kind and friendly 
 as you are," she continued. " In some weak- 
 ness there is great strength. I cannot say 
 how much I owe you. My character required 
 the development you have fostered. My 
 energies longed to expand — they had been
 
 M ARM AGE. 209 
 
 repressed. You have assisted my endeavours. 
 The frivolity and errors of childhood are in 
 reality passing away, and daily I am becoming 
 more sensible of my responsibilities as a wo- 
 man, a mother," — " a wife " she would have 
 added, but the words died away upon her lips. 
 
 "It is indeed a responsible situation to 
 fill," replied Alvanley, as he mused upon her 
 last words. " I mean that of which you speak, 
 Mrs. Graham. So many duties belong to it, 
 who could exact or expect perfection in it T 
 
 " Those who do not know the difficulties 
 to be encountered," replied his companion 
 gravely ; " but, in this instance, there is one 
 person more difficult to satisfy than all the 
 rest of the world." 
 
 " I guess the enigma — you mean yourself !" 
 
 " Yes, certainly. Others may kindly, or 
 blindly, overlook one's faults, mistakes, or 
 negligences, but oneself; when one reckons 
 with the inexorable tyrant conscience, I assure 
 you no leniency is shown unless a hood be 
 wilfully drawn over his eyes." 
 
 " Really, dear Mrs. Graham, I am beginning 
 to be quite afraid of you ! What great or 
 
 VOL. i. p
 
 210 THE SECRET 
 
 little crime can you have committed ? You 
 speak so seriously, andlook so much in earnest. 
 Do make me your Father Confessor. I will 
 absolve you beforehand. The office will just 
 suit me. I will not inflict any very terrible 
 penance." 
 
 " No Father Confessor for me, if you 
 please," returned Mary, gaily. " What vanity 
 on your part ! Supposing that you are worthy 
 to fulfil his many and most onerous duties, 
 what an interesting burden of darling little 
 sins he must carry about with him ! Were I 
 in his place, I should be inclined to grant 
 instant absolution to wipe away the heavy 
 score !" 
 
 " That would be bad policy." 
 
 " No ; but, seriously, a judge should be at 
 least some degrees wiser and better than those 
 who are judged, therefore you have not a 
 chance of reaching this morning to the high 
 office of Father Confessor." 
 
 " Why not T said George, charmed with 
 his companion's gaiety, and feeling time was 
 passing only too quickly away. 
 
 " Because T have detected some very seri- 
 ous charges for indictment. I will begin with
 
 MARPwIAGE. 211 
 
 the last, and by no means the least. Instead 
 of copying my drawings, which was your 
 avowed intention, you have been fraudulently 
 employing the last half-hour in, I do believe, 
 drawing caricatures over my well-prepared 
 sketching-board. I cannot permit this." 
 
 Mary raised her eyes over her own half- 
 finished landscape to take a look at George's 
 performances. A crimson blush instantly 
 tinged her face and neck. 
 
 She could not be mistaken — her own like- 
 ness was before her ! 
 
 Though she possessed less personal vanity 
 than many who were far less gifted than her- 
 self, and never listened to the flattering tale 
 any mirror might have told — she could not 
 fail to recognise, in the beautiful creation of 
 George's pencil, a being of which herself was 
 the original. 
 
 There were the large and once mirthful blue 
 eyes, hinged with dark lashes, which now 
 spoke of the changed spirit of later years, the 
 slight, graceful figure, the dimpled cheek, the 
 mass of soft ringlets falling over the shoulders, 
 in the very attitude in which she had been sit- 
 ting during the morning's busy conference.
 
 212 THE SECRET 
 
 " I cannot call my morning wasted, Mrs. 
 Graham ; for, aided by the all-absorbing at- 
 tention your favourite Windermere scenery 
 calls forth, I have succeeded, I think you 
 must candidly allow, in producing a very 
 pretty picture. You cannot, in justice to 
 yourself, deny it " — and Alvanley held up his 
 unfinished, yet striking, likeness of the beau- 
 tiful Mary Graham, while, with a most satisfied 
 expression, he glanced from it to the original. 
 
 Did Mary feel satisfaction, pleasure, as his 
 words fell upon her ear ? or did a confused 
 blending of many different emotions cause 
 her feelings to be well-nigh incomprehensible 
 even to herself? 
 
 An unexpressed interest, an intimacy more 
 mutually understood than describable, had of 
 late been daily increasing. Mary had never 
 asked herself the reason why happiness was 
 no longer a stranger to her heart, why she 
 was no longer weighed down by the sense of 
 her husband's coldness and indifference, why 
 her various duties, generally so monotonous, 
 were performed with cheerfulness. By Mr. 
 Graham no confidence was given, none was 
 exacted. She felt her freedom to act as she
 
 MARRIAGE. 213 
 
 pleased, and her many solitary hours had been 
 generally spent in an almost indefinable mood 
 of thoughtful endurance. 
 
 But since her acquaintance with George 
 Alvanley, the spirit of her dream was changed; 
 for a dream her life was indeed become. She 
 knew not how far her tastes were becom- 
 ing conformed to his, how his wishes were 
 consulted in all the trivial matters of every- 
 day life in which a choice could be mani- 
 fested. 
 
 She was gliding down the swift stream, and 
 so gentle, so imperceptible was the motion, 
 that the steep, frowning, and rock-bound 
 coast of the cold northern clime had been 
 gradually lost to sight, while sunny banks 
 and enamelled meadows had already bounded 
 a wide horizon. 
 
 But there was one cloud in the distant sky, 
 at first scarcely visible, but, as it approached 
 nearer and nearer, its aspect became darker 
 and more terrible. A shadow from its indis- 
 tinct, yet threatening form, had fallen upon 
 Mary's heart, as George held up her likeness 
 to her view. A thought passed quickly 
 through her mind, and she felt herself com-
 
 214 THE SECRET 
 
 petent to analyze his feelings with woman's 
 tact, without giving any clue to her own. 
 
 "A beautiful picture indeed, Mr. Alvanley; 
 I really had no idea how much one owes to 
 pencil ! I shall never trust any more to the 
 real- existence of those angelic creations wav- 
 ing so ethereally by moonlight among piazzas 
 and balustrades, since so unromantic a being 
 of every-day life as myself can be the original 
 of your charming chef cVceuvre! I really 
 think I must petition for it. I should like 
 to know if my father and mother could re- 
 cognize it in Italy ! " 
 
 " I will copy it for you, but you cannot be 
 so cruel as to insist upon my parting with 
 this ? " 
 
 11 1 must indeed entreat that you will not 
 keep it," said Mary, as she laid her hand 
 gently, but firmly, upon the drawing, " to 
 lie upon the table in the drawing-room at 
 Heatherton, to be criticised by every one ! " 
 
 " It shall never leave my own secret port- 
 folio," pleaded George. 
 
 11 No, no, Mr. Alvanley," and Mrs. Gra- 
 ham's voice became more impressive ; " let
 
 MARRIAGE. 215 
 
 your friendship for me plead my cause. I 
 know little of the world, but that little teaches 
 me that I must direct my steps in quiet, un- 
 obtrusive paths, and not attract the regards 
 which in pity or in scorn would be cast upon 
 me. I do not seek the one, the other I will 
 not merit." 
 
 " Stay," said George, as he gently laid his 
 hand upon her arm. " I promise you, as I 
 value my own happiness, that no eye but my 
 own shall ever rest upon this portrait. Why 
 may I not keep it ? " 
 
 " If such a prohibition be necessary," said 
 Mary, " surely your question is answered. Are 
 you not my friend ? may I not trust to you as 
 to one who can enter into my feelings — who 
 will advise and assist me ? " 
 
 " You may indeed," replied her companion, 
 impressed for the moment with the unusual 
 gravity of her manner. 
 
 " Then to you I need not scruple to confess 
 what has been hitherto kept a secret from the 
 world. My home is not a happy one, but your 
 friendship has lightened the load at my heart. 
 Some, circumstanced as I am, would seek in
 
 216 THE SECEET 
 
 worldly amusement a refuge from domestic an- 
 noyances, but I cannot. Let not the world's 
 unfeeling censure cause the painful necessity 
 that I should deprive myself of the charm of 
 your companionship. Oh ! you know not 
 how I value it ! " 
 
 Not vanity, but the best feelings of George's 
 noble nature were aroused, as he listened to 
 this appeal. Yet a barrier seemed suddenly 
 to have risen up between two beings who 
 had hitherto rejoiced in a mutual and delight- 
 ful confidence. 
 
 An untold secret was disclosed, which 
 stamped henceforth upon each the obligation 
 of coldness and reserve. 
 
 " You are indeed an angel, and deserve a 
 happier fate," murmured George, as he rose 
 and paced the room in unconcealed agitation. 
 
 A few moments of silence ensued, during 
 which he endeavoured, and for the time suc- 
 cessfully, to divest the state of mutual feeling 
 of the high colouring it had assumed. Turn- 
 ing an earnest look on Mary, as he resumed 
 his seat near her, he said — 
 
 " Your ideas, indeed, are rather too rigid,
 
 MARRIAGE. 217 
 
 dear Mrs. Graham. How could the world 
 condemn one endued with fortitude as well as 
 gentleness — virtues which are so unobtru- 
 sive, yet so exalted, that they cannot scorch 
 or consume the envious or malicious, though 
 they shine with a bright and guiding light on 
 all ? I have never heard a word of censure 
 breathed against you. The nearest approach 
 to it has been that you are cold in feeling. 
 How little do those who thus condemn you, 
 guess what a treasure lies beneath the pro- 
 tection of a cold and nonchalant manner ! " 
 
 " I would not indeed that the world should 
 condemn me," replied Mary, with firmness, 
 though without the slightest approach to 
 pride or haughtiness in her tone; " and if I 
 deserved its censure, should I be spared? 
 Oh, no ! One so neglected as I am, to all 
 appearances, by him who should shield me 
 from all attacks of calumny or ill-nature, can- 
 not be too scrupulous. Why should I teach 
 you knowledge of the world ? Is it not a 
 lesson you have long since learnt ? Or are 
 you, indeed, no true friend to me ? Will you 
 add to my sorrows, and take from me the
 
 218 THE SECRET 
 
 only source of comfort which remains ? I. 
 mean a consciousness of rectitude of purpose. 
 If you retain that picture I shall feel I have 
 acted wrong ! " 
 
 " You are too scrupulous ; but I must yield. 
 Pure-minded, and shielded by your own gen- 
 tleness, your own truth, no blot shall fall, no 
 whisper shall be raised against you. You 
 have conquered ! Would you were less dear 
 to me," rose to his lips, but he checked the 
 expression of such impulsive words. 
 
 The picture was lying before him — the 
 morning's occupation, which had been fatally 
 instrumental in revealing the secret of his 
 heart ! It had also served another purpose — 
 one which he shrank from investigating. 
 
 " If this may not be mine to cany with me 
 ever as a memento of this hour, of one who 
 is so far above all that words can describe, it 
 shall not be gazed upon by other eyes." So 
 saying, with dearly bought resolution, slowly 
 and calmly he laid the picture on the top of 
 the embers which were dying away under the 
 influence of the bright autumn sun. It burnt 
 — it blazed — it consumed — it died away.
 
 MARRIAGE. ^19 
 
 " "Would that memories could vanish as 
 quickly." 
 
 George turned towards Mrs. Graham. She 
 had resumed her drawing. The placid ex- 
 pression which latterly had given place to the 
 brighter and more, animated look of former 
 days had returned, and when George asked 
 her if she would ride with him, as had been 
 her wont, through the beautiful woods which 
 bordered on Moorfields and Heatherton, the 
 words, " No, thank you, not to-day," sounded 
 coldly on his ear. 
 
 " Why not to-day, dear Mrs. Graham ? It is 
 lovely for the time of year, and, like every- 
 thing charming and out of season, these bright 
 days will not be of long duration." 
 
 " Then let us enjoy them, but not bask too 
 much in the deceitful sunshine. I am afraid 
 of the effects of the cold blast which often 
 accompanies it, — they will remain long after 
 the transient gleam has passed away." 
 
 " You are in a moralizing and poetical 
 vein to-day," replied George, with a slight 
 displeasure in his tone; "but perhaps you 
 are right. I have not hitherto been called
 
 220 THE SECRET 
 
 upon to practise much self-denial. Will you 
 teach me how to begin ?" 
 
 His slight feeling of annoyance quickly 
 vanished, as he bowed to a superiority which 
 taught him a lesson he had not hitherto learnt. 
 He was right. Scarcely had a wish been 
 formed without being gratified. 
 
 But now a new era in existence was open- 
 ing before him. He felt a heavy chain en- 
 circled him, and, instead of resolutely setting 
 to work to relieve himself of the load, he only 
 drew the links closer around him, while he 
 sought to evade their pressure. 
 
 Temptation assumed such a guileless form ! 
 Was it lurking under the garb of friendship 
 and kindness ? Yes ! and thus would it lure on 
 the easy victim, ever gaining ground, slightly, 
 imperceptibly, till, arrived at a fearful might, 
 his steps could not be retraced. To remain 
 thus fixed, or to clash into the depths beneath, 
 would be the only alternatives remaining ! 
 
 Few who once enter into a vortex of any 
 description, who, day by day, lay slight bur- 
 dens upon themselves, until the pressure be- 
 comes intolerable — few, indeed, know how
 
 MARRIAGE. 221 
 
 much easier it is to avoid altogether, than to 
 escape from such subjection. 
 
 For Alvanley the die was already cast. 
 An all-absorbing interest had wrapped itself 
 around him, which was felt at every point of 
 contact. 
 
 There was the noise of an arrival. Graham's 
 voice, as he gave directions to a servant, 
 sounded harsh and disagreeable to George's 
 ear. A subdued expression overspread Mary's 
 features, though, for a moment, a heightened 
 colour mantled in her cheek. 
 
 Graham entered, looking harassed and care- 
 worn, his dress betokening negligence, and a 
 gloomy expression darkening more than usual 
 his finely- chiselled features. 
 
 But if there were not more kindness, there 
 was less irritability, in his manner than it 
 generally expressed, as he made some slight 
 excuses to his wife to account for his prolonged 
 absence. 
 
 " I am glad to find you have been acting, 
 as usual the preux chevalier, Alvanley," he 
 continued, turning to George, who was so 
 busily engaged in playing cup and ball, as if
 
 $%2 THE SECRET 
 
 to attain perfection in that game had been 
 the sole object of his visit. " I really may 
 compliment you too, Mrs. Graham, on your 
 improved appearance. It is quite refreshing 
 to see anything look bright and blooming in 
 the midst of this weary world." 
 
 There was something in Graham's manner 
 when he addressed his wife, even though 
 words of compliment passed his lips, which 
 had particularly of late struck Alvanley as 
 disagreeable in the extreme — such a total 
 disregard and want of appreciation of her! 
 He could scarcely restrain himself from giving 
 way to his indignant feelings. But he did 
 restrain himself, thanks to the energy which 
 he continued to bestow on his endeavours to 
 perfect himself in the art of throwing up his 
 ball perpendicularly ! 
 
 " I really envy you," continued Graham ; 
 " you seem to think it worth while to keep 
 up a given number at that intellectual game 
 of yours. I think even that costs too much 
 trouble ! " 
 
 " Do you?" replied George, accomplishing 
 a series of masterly throws with apparent
 
 MARRIAGE. 223 
 
 satisfaction, not inferior to that he would have 
 felt had the sole object of his visit been to 
 amuse himself with the toy. 
 
 u I think nothing is worth trouble in this 
 world," added Graham as he threw himself 
 listlessly into a chair — " in short, I cannot 
 fancy why, wretched mortals as we are, we 
 were placed in this world at all — or why the 
 world itself was made !" 
 
 A bitter laugh, speaking from the depths 
 of his discontented heart, followed this com- 
 prehensive remark. 
 
 " Why, to enjoy yourself as much as pos- 
 sible," replied George quickly, " and to do as 
 much good as possible, and to make every 
 one happy around you ; not to chill the bright, 
 beautiful world with gloom and discontent. 
 You may be certain there is plenty to do if 
 you only know how to set about it. Not 
 that all set out in life with an equal chance, 
 Graham, I grant you that. Now, I think 
 that you really are to be pitied. You have 
 only something under eight thousand a-year; 
 you have only as many hunters as there are 
 days and nights in a week, only the best
 
 224 THE SECRET 
 
 shooting in the country, a most comfortable 
 suite of apartments, and the most beautiful 
 park in the neighbourhood : if you do not en- 
 joy yourself, I really think it is a hopeless 
 case ! " 
 
 Graham made no answer to Alvanley's 
 pointed observations ; but taking up a maga- 
 zine which lay on the table, began carelessly 
 cutting its leaves. 
 
 " An article, I see, upon ' Forest-hunting in 
 the Western Wilds of America.' The title 
 takes my fancy. I am positively tired of this 
 monotonous, English, civilised existence. I 
 think I will visit the Rocky mountains, to try 
 what charms there are in hardship and hunger. 
 Some excitement there must be at all events, 
 in a wild mode of life ; I will try it. I sup- 
 pose you have some feminine receipt, Mrs. 
 Graham, for keeping up your spirits, with 
 which we are unacquainted. What say you 
 to accompany me ? " 
 
 " What would become of Eustace ?" replied 
 Mary, in some surprise. 
 
 " Do you think I am in earnest ? No, no. 
 I do not look for a delicate piece of workman-
 
 MARRIAGE. 225 
 
 ship like yourself, for a companion in my 
 travels. But as for Eustace, why do you 
 trouble yourself with acting the part of gover- 
 ness to him ? Why do you not look out for a 
 teacher for him, and a companion for yourself 
 during my absence ?" 
 
 This was said in a kinder tone than usual. 
 Mary looked up at her husband — 
 
 " Oh, if he would always be kind I" thought 
 she, "and speak to me, and open his griefs to 
 me ; if he would only ask me to comfort him I" 
 
 Her eyes met his. She shrank from the 
 wild anxiety that gleamed in them. She felt 
 that his heart was far, far away from her. 
 She thought of the confession he had made 
 to her of his love for Clara Lisle ! Again 
 the conviction crossed her mind, and with 
 redoubled force, that she could never be any- 
 thing to him, though she bore the name of 
 wife. 
 
 " I shall decide upon a trip to the Rocky 
 Mountains," said Graham, in a low, firm voice; 
 " and I shall act my bachelor life over again." 
 He glanced at Mary. ' ' Suppose I am reported , 
 years hence, as having fallen a prey to a tiger, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 22G THE SECRET 
 
 or a jaguar, do you think you will mourn very 
 deeply? You will have a good jointure : old 
 Harcourt took care of that ; but I advise you 
 not to be in too great a hurry to marry again." 
 
 Mary, though shocked, was too much ac- 
 customed to such expressions to make any 
 reply to Graham's unfeeling remarks ; and an 
 habitual awe of her husband kept her silent, 
 when a few words, spoken with decision as 
 well as feeling, might, for the moment at least, 
 have changed his mood. 
 
 George's heartbeat quick with indignation , 
 as he thought that such was the life of con- 
 stant endurance to which she, who was the 
 object of his unqualified admiration, was daily 
 subject. For the moment, he devoutly wished 
 that some equally tragic finale with that of 
 Graham's becoming a repast for a wild beast, 
 might be considered as a fait accompli ! 
 
 He rose to depart, a heavy weight at his 
 heart, for which he still endeavoured to assign 
 as the cause compassion for the ill-used 
 wife, and a feeling of inability to avenge her 
 wrongs. 
 
 " Shall I return and take another drawing
 
 MAEKIAGE. 227 
 
 lesson in a day or two ? " he said, addressing 
 Mrs. Graham. 
 
 His voice was low, and there was a ten- 
 derness in its tones, which brought a tear 
 into Mary's eye. She was no heroine by 
 nature, but a very woman in quick, light, 
 responsive feeling. "What dangerous fascina- 
 tion was around her ? Could any strength 
 be supplied, sufficient to guard her against it? 
 Often an effect is produced suddenly, not gra- 
 dually! Often, suddenly, a certainty is at- 
 tained! We seem to leap at one bound from 
 mist to sunshine. With a spring the door of 
 the enchanted palace flies open ! 
 
 The contrast was violent which struck upon 
 Mrs. Graham's senses, as George's last words 
 were spoken. There, in gloomy abstraction, 
 with a host of phantoms of evil, of discontent, 
 of apathy, passing before him, sat he whose 
 name she bore ; to whose will she had vowed 
 submission. 
 
 Beside her was another, who was nothing 
 to her outwardly; but had not an unexpressed 
 sympathy made them all in all to each other 
 in reality?
 
 228 THE SECRET 
 
 There must be no momentary yielding ; a 
 position once lost cannot be regained but 
 with inconceivable toil and difficulty. So 
 Mary felt at that important moment. 
 
 Had not George's voice been so expressive 
 in its gentle pleading, she had not been made 
 so aware of her danger. At that moment 
 she read, and for the first time, her own heart 
 aright. She did not trust herself to cast one 
 glance at the face which she felt was turned 
 towards her in kindest compassion; but hastily 
 saying— 
 
 " No, I shall be leaving Moorfield in a few 
 days, to pay a visit to a friend," with a quick 
 " Good-bye," and a hasty shake of the hand, 
 left the room. 
 
 Alvanley soon after took his departure.
 
 MARRIAGE. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 11 In men, we various ruling passions find; 
 In women, two almost divide the kind. 
 Those only fix'd they first or last obey, 
 The love of pleasure, and the love of sway 
 That nature gives ; and where the lesson taught 
 Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault ? 
 Experience this : by man's oppression curs'd 
 They seek the second, not to lose the first. 
 Men some to business, some to pleasure take, 
 But every woman is at heart a rake ; 
 Men some to quiet, some to public strife, 
 But every lady would be queen for life I" 
 
 Pope's Moral Essays. 
 
 " I am quite delighted to welcome you to 
 Brighton, my dearest girl," said Lady Wood- 
 ash to Annie Mowbray, on the evening of the 
 eventful day which ushered her, a compara- 
 tive novice, in to a world of gaiety and pleasure- 
 seeking.
 
 230 THE SECRET 
 
 Lady Woodash led the way through a suite 
 of handsomely-furnished rooms, until she 
 finally reached her own boudoir. 
 
 " Now, my dear, make yourself perfectly at 
 home ; ask for everything you want, and I 
 shall be satisfied if you only amuse me and 
 yourself for as long a time as you can possibly 
 spare me." 
 . Lady Woodash, pointing to an arm-chair 
 which awaited her young friend's reception, 
 threw herself at full-length upon her sofa, 
 and complained of extreme weariness. 
 
 " I wonder when balloons will be really 
 made useful in travelling V she exclaimed, 
 yawning audibly. " Railroads are far too 
 shaky for delicate female nerves. I wish one 
 could sleep from the beginning of a journey 
 until one found oneself ready-dressed for 
 dinner. My dear, pray come here whenever 
 you like ! I only admit a very few favourites 
 — such as yourself; a certain count, to whom 
 you shall be introduced, if I can prevail upon 
 him to tear himself from my side for a few 
 minutes ; and — dear me ! here is Sir Harvey. 
 What can he want ?"
 
 MAEPJAGE. 231 
 
 Lady Woodash untied her bonnet, and 
 threw it on a neighbouring chair with an ap- 
 pearance of vexation. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Harvey ! how unfeeling you are, 
 to disturb me after my long journey ! I am 
 always obliged to remind you how far from 
 strong I am ! I want repose !" 
 
 Annie cast an inquiring glance at the 
 portly female figure that lay negligently 
 stretched out on the sofa before her, al- 
 most buried in the softness of its velvet 
 cushions. 
 
 " I shall not be good for anything until I 
 have a cup of chocolate and a little nap. 
 Now, Sir Harvey, there is a good man ! do go 
 and see if Harris has taken care of my jewel- 
 box and dressing-case ! Servants are so 
 tiresome, they never can be trusted ! Now, 
 do go into my dressing-room, and see if they 
 have half drawn down the blinds ! I cannot 
 bear much light." 
 
 Annie silently looked her surprise. Neither 
 of her aunts was a selfish, fine lady; and her 
 old grandmother, when once propped up by 
 leopards' skins in her Indian boudoir, did not
 
 232 THE SECRET 
 
 often stir out of her arm-chair, or require 
 much attention in it. 
 
 She offered her services, in order to relieve 
 Sir Harvey from the onus of the duties re- 
 quired of him. 
 
 Lady Woodash looked displeased. 
 
 " Certainly not, my clear. Sir Harvey is 
 quite accustomed to the kind of thing. Pray, 
 do not spoil him. You shall read to me a 
 little presently, if you will. I am too nervous 
 and excited to sleep. Now, Sir Harvey, where 
 is Chloe ? I believe you have been so abo- 
 minably forgetful as not to order the dear 
 little thing's dinner." 
 
 " It's all right, my dear," replied Sir Harvey, 
 with the most perfect good humour. " I 
 really would go and see about the boxes and 
 the blinds, only this parrot is making such 
 a fuss with me — so delighted to see me 
 again — that I have not the heart to leave 
 her." 
 
 An old grey parrot had, in truth, flown upon 
 Sir Harvey's shoulder, and, by flapping its 
 wings, and by certain indistinct sounds be- 
 tween a whistle and a chuckle, was expressing
 
 MARRIAGE. 233 
 
 its joy at being again noticed by its good- 
 natured master. 
 
 " Then, if you will not go, I must go my- 
 self," exclaimed Lady Woodash, partly rising 
 as she spoke from the sofa, and turning an in- 
 jured look upon her husband. 
 
 The look had the desired effect. Sir Har- 
 vey, in a state of alarm, darted out of the 
 room, with the bird still clinging to his sleeve 
 — thinking no more of his trouble, while he 
 was performing the duties of a waiting-wo- 
 man, than the grey parrot itself. 
 
 " How very good-natured Sir Harvey is !" 
 said Annie, innocently. 
 
 " Good-natured, child ! Why, pray what 
 has a man to do who has a sick wife ? Do 
 not put such absurd notions into his head ! I 
 really cannot do without some one to attend 
 upon me !" 
 
 The appearance of a cup of chocolate 
 smoothed Lady Woodash's frown. 
 
 " You are only too kind, I see, my sweet 
 Annie ; but you must not be too considerate. 
 Now, I must dismiss you for the present ; my 
 maid will show you to your room, and assist
 
 234 THE SECRET 
 
 you in unpacking. I cannot mount those 
 steep stairs. They make my back ache. I 
 always have a room on the ground-floor my- 
 self." 
 
 Annie had already learnt her lesson, short 
 as had been her acquaintance with her 
 hostess. 
 
 She saw that she would not submit to a 
 shadow of contradiction. 
 
 The following morning, Lady Woodash, all 
 smiles, flounces, and furbelows, after giving 
 Annie a most cordial greeting, announced to 
 her, at her eleven o'clock breakfast, the cause 
 of her happy excitement. 
 
 " I have been lying awake half the night, 
 my love, forming the most charming plans ; 
 but you must assist me in every possible way." 
 
 " With all my heart I" replied Annie, highly 
 pleased with the prospect of amusement that 
 was in store for her. 
 
 "lam going to give a series of small en- 
 tertainments, perhaps one every week. Not 
 grand routs that only tire one to death, but 
 something that will just keep one alive a 
 little, and make people exert their wits as
 
 MAKEIAGE. 235 
 
 •well. I am tired of eternal -waltzes, and, in 
 short, I think balls are grown very stupid. 
 Now, my dear," continued Lady Woodash, 
 " I hate trouble myself, but I enjoy being- 
 amused excessively. You must make a pro- 
 gramme of the evening's entertainment. We 
 must have proverbs, forfeits, conglomeration, 
 consequences, conjuring, magical music, and 
 then we will end with a capital supper. Oh, 
 what fun it will be !" 
 
 Lady Woodash clapped her hands in 
 childish delight. 
 
 " But how can I assist you?" said Annie, 
 rather mournfully, as certain bright visions of 
 balls and concerts disappeared, and she found 
 herself obliged to recall the hours she had 
 lived through at the Major's or Miss Jackson's 
 tea-drinkings in Inspeth ! 
 
 " Of course you can manage these sort of 
 evenings famously, my dear," returned Lady 
 Woodash, rather peevishly. " Thinking really 
 hurts my nerves ; but, of course " 
 
 "I am afraid I am rather inexperienced," 
 interrupted Annie, in some alarm at the 
 gathering frown ; " but I will do my best."
 
 2-36 THE SECRET 
 
 "Of course you will, my dear — of course; I 
 quite count upon you. Oh ! if my three dear 
 boys-* were but at home ! How could Sir 
 Harvey be so cruel as to send them to 
 school?" 
 
 " Very wise," thought Annie. 
 
 " Now and then one might introduce a 
 charade to vary the amusement, you know, 
 my dear," continued Lady Woodash, in per- 
 fect good humour, for Annie's thoughts were 
 unexpressed. "I am sure you would look 
 well on the stage with your eyes and figure. 
 All ! I must introduce you to a particular 
 friend of mine, Count Mattolino Piccolino. 
 Brighton would be nothing without him ! 
 He is so clever. Those foreigners always 
 are, and so much more fascinating than our 
 stupid Englishmen, who think of nothing but 
 comparing notes about their port and claret 
 at dinner, and their hounds and their hunters 
 afterwards." 
 
 " You have rather a bad opinion of your 
 countrymen, I fear, Lady Woodash, and they 
 would doubtless deserve it if " 
 
 " Why, my dear, only look at Sir Harvey;
 
 MARRIAGE. 237 
 
 just take him as a specimen — (" By no 
 means," thought Annie) — and compare him 
 with that charming Count Mattolino. Sir 
 Harvey ! I really do not know what he lives 
 for ; but the Count is wrapped up in polite- 
 ness ; he is full of pet its soins, and his little 
 compliments are so pleasant one cannot help 
 liking them ; no flattery in them, but really 
 they make one feel so happy, so pleased with 
 oneself." 
 
 " That is charming," said Annie. 
 
 " Then the Count's taste for music is really 
 exquisite. It is such a pleasure to play to 
 him. Sir Harvey used to care for it once, 
 but he is grown so dull ! He does nothing 
 but sleep all the evening in his arm-chair. 
 I am always obliged to remind him that I am 
 a terrible invalid, and that it is his duty to 
 take Chloe out walking once a day at least. 
 Now I really feel quite in spirits ; I only hope 
 I shall keep well, and not have one of my 
 terrible headaches the day before I mean to 
 enjoy myself. Now you quite understand; I 
 trust all to you." 
 
 Annie expressed her willingness to bring
 
 238 THE SECRET 
 
 her wits to bear upon the point in question, 
 though she rather hoped that a first failure 
 would prevent the repetition of such weari- 
 some amusements ; but, being naturally light- 
 hearted, she did not allow thoughts on the 
 future or the past to weigh very heavily on 
 her mind. 
 
 Lady Woodash rang the bell and desired 
 the servant would acquaint Sir Harvey that 
 she wished to speak to him. 
 
 Sir Harvey presented himself. 
 
 " Now, my dear Sir Harvey, your negli- 
 gence is really enough to try any one's patience. 
 There you are, ready prepared, I do believe, 
 to sally forth to your club, and you never 
 thought of inquiring if I were in want of your 
 services." 
 
 " My dear Janet !" pleaded Sir Harvey. 
 
 " But it is just like you. I might die be- 
 fore " 
 
 " I really beg your pardon, my love, 
 but " ' 
 
 " No more excuses, pray. All I wanted to 
 say was, that Miss Mowbray has been pro- 
 posing some charming plans for my health
 
 MARRIAGE. 239 
 
 ^and amusement, and you must be prepared 
 to take your part." 
 
 " In what, my dear ?" 
 
 " Oh ! never mind. Please do not be so 
 inquisitive, or you will weary me to death ! I 
 cannot answer so many questions. Only, if 
 you meet any of our acquaintances, you may 
 just say that we are returned to Brighton, 
 and they must keep themselves disengaged 
 for whatever evening I shall summon them. 
 Of course the Count will come, and the 
 Fogies, and the Cracknells, and young 
 Radish, and young Starling. I need never 
 press them ; they would put off any engage- 
 ment for me. Oh ! I can't name every one 
 one knows ! Do assist me a little ! Annie, 
 cannot you tell him some names ? How 
 stupid he is ! " 
 
 " Very well, my dear ; I understand. I 
 only wish you to please yourself. When is 
 your fete to be given ?" 
 
 " Early next week ; but you know you are 
 to have nothing to do with it but to invite 
 any stray acquaintance you may chance to 
 meet on the pier."
 
 240 THE SECEET 
 
 " No, my dear ; I do not wish the least 
 to interfere," replied the good-natured Sir 
 Harvey. 
 
 Lady Woodash, putting her hand to her 
 side, as if overcome with the fatigue of expos- 
 tulation, rang the bell to order luncheon, in- 
 viting Annie to accompany her out shopping 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 The anxious moment had arrived — the 
 evening, the first of Lady Woodash's series 
 of soirees recraetives, when that lady, in trusting 
 to Miss Mowbray the amusement of her 
 guests, was looking forward to the sole appro- 
 priation of the Count Mattolino's fascinating 
 powers, for the space of at least three delight- 
 ful hours. 
 
 Lady "Woodash, that splendidly-bound edi- 
 tion of vanity and caprice, had descended into 
 the drawing-room, and was complacently sur- 
 veying the arrangements for the evening. 
 
 Blazing chandeliers joined their brilliant 
 efforts to discover the furthest corners of the 
 ante-room, and the whole suite of apart- 
 ments. 
 
 There was to be no barrier to the festivi-
 
 MARRIAGE. 241 
 
 ties of the evening. Each widely-folding 
 door stood open, and, behind an embroidered 
 curtain the pretty Pauline was to be seen pre- 
 siding over, and it may be added, flirting 
 away among, tables covered with the choicest 
 specimens of nectar and ambrosia which 
 Brighton's confectioners could produce. 
 
 Annie Mowbray, according to Lady Wood- 
 ash's desire, soon followed her into the recep- 
 tion-room. 
 
 " Darling ! how pretty you look ! " and 
 Lady Woodash went up to her and kissed her 
 with rapture. " White is really so becoming 
 to you. How beautifully you have arranged 
 that simple flower in your hair ! I am rather 
 tired myself of roses and lilies. I will tell 
 Pauline to place all my cartons of flowers in 
 your room." 
 
 " You are very kind ; but do tell me, dear 
 Lady Woodash, will all your visitors to-night 
 be satisfied with the programme of amuse- 
 ment provided for them, do you think ? " 
 
 "I am sure, my love, I do not care. I 
 have a)ready told you I leave the entertaining 
 of my guests entirely to you. I shall only 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE SECRET 
 
 devote myself to a few of the most favoured. 
 Do you approve of my toilette ? It takes one 
 so long to dress, when one cannot exactly 
 determine which coiffure best suits my pink 
 moire. As for that good-for-nothing little 
 Pauline, she flatters one so, one might almost 
 think oneself a Venus ! " and Lady Woodash 
 majestically floated up to a large mirror. 
 
 Annie had not as yet made many acquaint- 
 ances in Brighton, and felt rather nervous 
 regarding her responsibilities for the success 
 of the evening. She knew she had to lay 
 siege to the intellects of the crowd that was 
 to fill the saloons, but whether her duties 
 would be very onerous or no, she had not any 
 power of determining. She only hoped that 
 some electric sparks of wit and mirth might 
 be produced in her own mind, and then be 
 communicated to the expected guests. 
 
 For days the front-door bell had been seized 
 with a noisy restlessness ; and a presentation 
 to Lady Woodash of innumerable sweet- 
 scented, feebly-tinted, small envelopes, had 
 invariably followed the appeal from without to 
 in-door sympathies.
 
 MARRIAGE. 2Vj 
 
 Count Mattolino Piccolino, and two or 
 three others (aspirants to Lady Woodash's 
 smiles, whenever an opportunity offered for 
 supplanting the reigning favourite), had ac- 
 cepted her invite for the first soiree recreative. 
 
 On clit, that Lady Woodash cared very little 
 whether the various young debutantes in yards 
 of white tarlatan, who could " sing and play 
 a little," or the juvenile old maids, who could 
 make up a rubber if wanted, appeared or not, 
 according to promise ! Indeed, it is said 
 that the Count smiled a most provoking smile 
 when the septuagenarian, Sir Charles Quid, 
 expressed his regret to Lady Woodash at 
 himself and an invalid friend of his own 
 standing being prevented from doing them- 
 selves the pleasure of waiting upon her, 
 according to invite. 
 
 Either the handsome Count Mattolino had 
 an inordinate portion of self-love and vanity, 
 or Lady Woodash's preference for him was too 
 marked to be mistaken. 
 
 The Count fancied that he would not have 
 been so easily dispensed with as was old Sir 
 Charles Quid! A seat at her table was
 
 244 THE SECKET 
 
 always offered him — doubtless because Sir 
 Harvey liked foreign society ! 
 
 A seat in her carriage was always at his 
 disposal, but that was easily accounted for. 
 The Count had none of his own, and it was 
 also indispensable that Lady Woodash should 
 have an escort, and Sir Harvey could not 
 endure driving out.; 
 
 The Count clearly loved music, and there 
 lay the secret of Lady Woodash's power over 
 him. She spoke to him in each thrilling 
 cadence, as it entered his Italian soul; but 
 whether the links of memory vibrated with 
 each tone, or whether the present sufficed to 
 give enjoyment, Lady Woodash had never 
 inquired. 
 
 Indeed, she took much for granted, and 
 while the Count persevered in the habit of 
 whispering soft nothings into her ear, in re- 
 turn for her exquisite performances, he re- 
 mained an essential ingredient in the exciting 
 aliment on which she lived. 
 
 But Lady Woodash was not, on the whole, 
 over particular. 
 
 Even those who were fresh from Oxford or
 
 MARRIAGE. 245 
 
 Cambridge, ensigns, blushing in their first 
 essays of scarlet and epaulettes, briefless, yet 
 hopeful aspirants at the bar, with those who 
 would have been thankful for a title to orders 
 as valuable as one of Lady Woo dash's suits 
 of gala-day apparel — these, and many others, 
 followed in her train, and did her bidding, 
 while she welcomed them to her dinner-table. 
 A bon.mot, a piece of gossip, cleverly told, a 
 good ear for music, such were their passports 
 to popularity. 
 
 " Now, my dear Annie, anything but danc- 
 ing, remember," said the mistress of the fete, 
 suddenly turning away from self-inspection in 
 the mirror, on perceiving in it the reflection 
 of Annie's elegant figure. 
 
 Prompted by the inviting appearance of the 
 saloon, she was taking a few tours de valse 
 with an imaginary partner. 
 
 " Go to as many public balls as you like — 
 I will chaperone you myself some night, or 
 engage the services of an old dowager friend ; 
 but dancing is really too common an amuse- 
 ment. We will not have recourse to it 
 here."
 
 2-46 THE SECRET 
 
 There might be something approaching to 
 selfishness in this prohibition, but Annie's 
 quick perception would have been in fault 
 if she had not discovered this failing charac- 
 terised Lady Woodash. 
 
 " Now, my dear little mistress of the cere- 
 monies, arm yourself with wit and spirits, I 
 entreat you, so that our evening may go off 
 with spirit. Look, I wish the whist-tables 
 placed here. You may set Sir Harvey down 
 to one, with three old dowagers, and you 
 young ones may begin by playing a round 
 game for this bracelet. You need not show 
 it to Sir Harvey ; he gave it me many years 
 ago, and I really have had quite time to be 
 tired of it. You may count upon me if you 
 want me to join very particularly in forfeits, 
 only do not ask me to make verses. It is 
 near half-past ten ; I wonder the Count is not 
 here." 
 
 Following an irresistible impulse, Lady 
 "Woodash sat down to the open instrument, 
 and commenced an impromptu, in a strain of 
 feeling which might have spoken through the 
 fingers of Weber himself.
 
 MABRIAGE. 247 
 
 The announcement of " The Count" fol- 
 lowed the first peal at the bell. 
 
 He was a handsome man, certainly. 
 
 Annie thought, could he have been framed 
 and glazed, in the deferential attitude in 
 which, on entering the room, he saluted his 
 magnificent hostess, he might have been 
 handed down to posterity as the personification 
 of foreign etiquette, both in manner and ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 The next glance convinced her that the 
 correct idea of the Count's tout ensemble could 
 not be given through the fixing of any one 
 particular attitude or gesture. 
 
 There was something unsteady in his gaze. 
 His dark eyes could indeed flash with quick 
 and sudden feelings of anger or surprise, or 
 they could instantly melt in tenderness, deep 
 but evanescent. 
 
 At times there was a charming sweetness 
 in his smile, but in repose the expression was 
 on the whole rather disagreeable than pleasing. 
 
 A cordial and excited greeting by Lady 
 Woodash, and an introduction to Miss Mow- 
 bray, followed the Count's arrival. The for-
 
 248 THE SECEET 
 
 mer was not perfectly satisfied with the evi- 
 dent admiration his glance betrayed of Annie's 
 graceful, girlish figure, but she had no time to 
 express what she felt, as she was instantly 
 hurried forward to play the part of hostess 
 to numerous new arrivals. 
 
 " Lady Partridge, the three Misses Part- 
 ridge," were the next announcements. 
 
 The former was an almost solitary speci- 
 men of a large, and, fortunately, a nearly ex- 
 tinct, tribe, and it is to be fervently wished 
 that no descendants of it may ever visit this 
 sublunary world ! 
 
 There is a great charm in individuality. 
 For the sake of originality, faults may even 
 be overlooked, both in the moral and the 
 physical world. Severity and want of suavity 
 of manner are also sometimes allowed in the 
 cause of truth. 
 
 But, alas ! the identity of Lady Partridge 
 was well-nigh lost sight of; her natural fea- 
 tures showing forth under an intense applica- 
 tion of black, white, and red, as the pasteboard 
 foundation of an ornamented grotto is disco- 
 verable, under its coverings of shells and
 
 MARRIAGE. 24 $ 
 
 moss. Her long black ringlets, confined on 
 the forehead by a broad gold band, might 
 have belonged to a giddy boarding-school girl 
 of fifteen ; while the thin deal board on which 
 mercers are wont to wrap their silken goods, 
 is an apt illustration of the spare frame on 
 which hung a weighty mass of sky-blue satin. 
 
 Age had made Lady Partridge venerable, 
 for she had weathered seventy winters ; but 
 art made her contemptible. Wrinkles had 
 displaced the roundness of youth ; and in the 
 thin treble voice, quivering with nervous agi- 
 tation at the whist table, there was not a trace 
 of the joyous tones of juvenile days. 
 
 "The card-table," thought Annie, "must 
 be her ladyship's destination for the evening," 
 as, with an air of coquetry, and a smile upon 
 features that still retained a wreck of a cer- 
 tain severe style of beauty, the old lady bowed 
 to Sir Harvey. 
 
 The Misses Partridge had glided in under 
 their mother's wing. In them nature was 
 totally unadorned. Three plainer girls could 
 not have been seen, both in figure, face, and 
 dress. It seemed they resented the forget-
 
 250 THE SECRET 
 
 fulness of our common parent; and, as she 
 had done but little for them, they were deter- 
 mined to do little or nothing for them- 
 selves. 
 
 Though the youngest was of respectable 
 age, they still preserved a grace-like tri-unity 
 of apparel, and their white muslin toilettes 
 were of uniform pattern, and of irreproach- 
 able simplicity. 
 
 There was so much similarity, too, in the 
 no-complexion, dusty-coloured hair, and light 
 gray eyes of the three sisters, that Annie was 
 constantly mistaking one for the other during 
 the course of the evening. 
 
 " These three young ladies sing a little," 
 thought Annie. She was not mistaken ; they 
 had been invited to fill up intervals, if possi- 
 ble and probable irresolution as to what 
 should be the next item in the programme of 
 the evening's amusement supervened. 
 
 " The Honourable Mr. Slash ! " was the next 
 announcement. He was a specimen of a hair- 
 brained genus, which, from sixteen to twenty, 
 considers every evening as " lost," during 
 which a " dining out," a ball, or a play (some-
 
 MARRIAGE. 251 
 
 times all three), has not been accomplished 
 during the interval from sunset to sunrise. 
 
 This genus is to be met with wherever 
 numbers of the human species are assembled, 
 who, being totally ignorant of the use of time, 
 endeavour to make as many converts to its 
 abuse as possible. 
 
 Mr. Slash was a youth who came under the 
 denomination of "dun," as applied by fisher- 
 men. He seemed unfit to be looked at on a 
 clear day. His complexion was muddy, and 
 constant late hours had given him a haggard, 
 drawn look. His chief employment seemed 
 to be the cultivation of an enormous pair of 
 whiskers, which he would at times listlessly 
 draw within the pallid precincts of his lips. 
 His hair was lighter than his cheeks, his eye 
 sunken and sleepy, and those who had seen 
 him constantly lounging on the pier with a 
 cigar, or (oh, how infra dig. !) a pipe between 
 his fingers, would have had no reason to 
 wonder that the redeeming point in his face, 
 a row of even teeth, had already lost some- 
 what of its ivory whiteness. 
 
 Hanging on Mr. Slash's arm, and his con-
 
 252 THE SECEET 
 
 stant companion, riding his horses, smoking 
 his cigars, and wearing his jewellery, was his 
 handsome contrast, Mr. Charles Leslie. 
 
 Leslie was poor, but Slash was rich, and 
 Leslie had wit enough for both. 
 
 The good fortune and prospective title to 
 which Slash was heir, paved his way into the 
 good graces of fathers and mothers, while 
 Charles Leslie's fine figure and features, and 
 merry mood, were sure passports among their 
 sons and daughters. 
 
 For many reasons they frequented Lady 
 Woodash's house, and were reckoned among 
 her inseparables. 
 
 Annie Mowbray was bewildered at the sight 
 of such an incongruous assembly of human 
 beings, who were all met together for the 
 purpose of amusement, and that amusement 
 was to be looked for at her hands ! What 
 suited the taste of one she was sure would be 
 boring to another ; but, after the usual pre- 
 liminaries of introductions, tea, coffee, ex- 
 cuses, and apologies, had occupied a certain 
 time, three whist tables had arranged them- 
 selves as if by magic, and then Annie began
 
 MARRIAGE. 253 
 
 to interest herself in the fate of the younger 
 part of the guests. 
 
 They were standing in small, " unsettled- 
 looking" groups, like spots upon a carpet, not 
 covering the ground, but yet, at a distance, 
 giving a colour to the whole. Each seemed 
 to be expecting something, yet no one knew 
 exactly what ; and a confused murmur of 
 united voices made each separate one per- 
 fectly un distinguishable. Surely, when many 
 speak something should be worth hearing ; 
 but all the froth of conversation seems to 
 rise to the surface when the object is to ap- 
 pear lively and agreeable ; and if any possess 
 more than ordinary powers, it is apparently a 
 given law that no good seed be sown in such 
 very strong soil, or among such thorns and 
 briars as soirees recreatives are apt to produce. 
 
 It was evidently Lady Woodash's intention 
 to appropriate to her own particular gratifica- 
 tion all the attractions of the Count, mental 
 and personal, as well as instrumental, as, 
 whispering a few words to Annie Mowbray, 
 she led the way to a remote corner of the 
 saloon, and placing a guitar in the Count's
 
 254 THE SECRET 
 
 hand, and threw herself down in a low arm- 
 chair, as a preparation for the full enjoyment 
 of his musical powers. 
 
 But the favoured Count seemed in rather 
 a perverse humour, or fate was unpropitious 
 to him. His guitar-string had unluckily 
 broken, no other was at hand, his voice, too, 
 was husky, the damp had affected it, and, 
 throwing his guitar aside, he in a few minutes 
 offered his arm to Lady Woodash, and re- 
 turned with her, notwithstanding her evident 
 annoyance, into the middle of the juvenile 
 set. 
 
 Through Annie's good-humoured exertions, 
 a merry party had at length been formed, and 
 to join the group over which she presided 
 was the object the Count Mattolino was bent 
 on attaining. 
 
 For once Lady Woodash was foiled in her 
 attempt to engross his whole attention. 
 
 " Now, my dear Annie, what have you de- 
 cided upon ? — what have you settled ? " she 
 exclaimed, in a peevish tone, as she was in- 
 vited to join the young party. 
 
 " We are as yet only holding a council,"
 
 MARRIAGE. 255 
 
 replied Annie, " but I hope we shall soon be 
 all actively engaged. I asked one of the 
 Misses Partridge to sing, but she pleads shy- 
 ness," and Annie cast a somewhat malicious 
 glance at one of the plain young ladies oppo- 
 site her. " Her sisters have unfortunately 
 colds, but kindly offer to play for dancing." 
 
 "Impossible," exclaimed Lady Woodash, 
 " it would quite spoil the evening. Everyone, 
 I dare say, knows the game of ' conglomera- 
 tion.' You must form a large circle, write 
 some verses upon slips of paper, and then all 
 must be read out." 
 
 " Oh ! but indeed I do not know what to 
 write about — how should I ? " cried young 
 Mr. Slash, in evident terror of exposing his 
 ignorance, and at the same time taking a 
 large mouthful of whisker. 
 
 He was leaning against a column, survey- 
 ing the company with his eye-glass. 
 
 " Ton my honour, I think one of those 
 good-looking Misses Bertram is going to try 
 and write some verses. Ill get a seat next 
 her, and, Leslie, mind you sit by me and help 
 me."
 
 256 THE SECRET 
 
 Room was made for the new arrivals, and 
 the game began. 
 
 " Difficult thing indeed to make rhymes, 
 eh, Major?" said old General Blaze, rubbing 
 his forehead. 
 
 He had been forced into the service of the 
 poetical muse by the entreaties of all the 
 middle-aged young ladies, who took him 
 under their particular care. 
 
 " It is setting one's wits to work again in- 
 deed, General,'' replied the Major, staring at 
 his opposite neighbour, a very pretty girl, as 
 if he were looking upon vacancy; "this is 
 what I call going to school again. Ha, ha ! " 
 
 " I never made a set of nonsense verses in 
 my life," chimed in a red-haired young curate, 
 who was only kept from sinking under the 
 table in a state of desperation, by finding that 
 the old lady next him was in the same unfor- 
 tunate state of poetical inanition. 
 
 " I am sorry for you all indeed," said 
 Annie, who, in the character of mistress of 
 the ceremonies, had absolved herself from 
 thinking in rhyme, and, escorted by the 
 Count, was wandering about from group to
 
 MARRIAGE. 257 
 
 group. She had been infinitely comforted on 
 perceiving that, in addition to the large centre 
 assembly, many " tetes-a-tetes " had been 
 severed from the main body of ennmjes, and 
 in arm-chairs, or on sofas, were evidently 
 in their right places. 
 
 "I am sorry to inform you that, when five 
 minutes are expired, you must all pay a forfeit, 
 if your verses are not forthcoming," continued 
 Annie, laughing at the circle of serious faces 
 around her. 
 
 " I have not begun," and " I have not half- 
 done," were echoed by a dozen voices. 
 
 "It is a terribly stupid game, I think," 
 exclaimed Lady Woodash, in the tone of 
 a spoiled child. " Annie, you really might 
 have settled upon something rather more 
 entertaining. Here's my forfeit at once," 
 and, while eyeing the Count with an in- 
 jured air, she threw a ruby ring into the 
 centre of the table, and rose from her 
 seat. "Now, General, pray read the verses 
 out." 
 
 u I admire this game, it gives such a charm- 
 ing play to imagination," exclaimed the Count, 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 THE SECRET 
 
 taking up Lady Woodash's discarded pencil, 
 and in a few seconds dashing off four lines, 
 which he intended should be highly compli- 
 mentary to Miss Mowbray. 
 
 In a loud, sonorous voice, General Blaze 
 read aloud the productions of the assembly's 
 hardly-taxed brains, and then began a refrain 
 upon the victimized words selected to wake 
 the fire of genius. 
 
 " That's Mr. Slash's," cried some of the 
 party, as the first quartette of lines was read, 
 containing an offer of hand and heart to the 
 pretty Miss Bertram. 
 
 " No, indeed," cried Mr. Slash, indignantly, 
 and he was right, for, thanks to his friend 
 Leslie, who was both mischievous and witty, 
 Slash was innocent of any lines whatever. 
 
 " That's the General's own," exclaimed his 
 half-dozen fair champions, while the General 
 refused the honour assigned him with as much 
 vehemence, though less truth, than Mr. Slash 
 had done. 
 
 " And that is the Count's," cried several 
 delighted voices, proceeding to congratulate 
 Miss Mowbray upon being the possessor of
 
 MAEEIAGE. 259 
 
 fascinations which had served to bring out 
 the Count's poetical genius. 
 
 Lady Woodash looked darkly on ; and from 
 that moment she secretly considered Annie 
 as a usurper and a rival. She had lost her 
 confidence in her. She was deceived; she 
 considered herself injured. 
 
 Annie's good nature and good humour were 
 from that moment exerted in vain. Wounded 
 vanity is hard to be reconciled, and no smile 
 beamed forth from Lady Woodash's face until 
 she found herself again the centre of attraction 
 at the piano. 
 
 She was no sooner seated there than crowds 
 surrounded her, for her musical genius was 
 fully appreciated by most of the assembled 
 guests. 
 
 The Count became once more all ear and 
 soul, and harmony was well-nigh restored, 
 when a bevy of young ladies, bearing Annie 
 Mowbray in their train, supported by Messrs. 
 Slash, Leslie, and others, entreated that a 
 valse might end the evening. 
 
 " I will play willingly," said Annie depre- 
 catingly, " they are all so anxious for a dance."
 
 2G0 THE SECRET 
 
 " No, no ! you must dance," exclaimed 
 three or four good-natured voices at once, for 
 Annie was already a favourite with her new 
 companions, and, Lady Woodash rising and 
 giving a reluctant assent, the piano was im- 
 mediately occupied by one of the Miss Part- 
 ridges, while Annie suddenly found herself 
 dancing, no longer with an imaginary partner, 
 but with no less a person than the Count 
 himself ! 
 
 Others followed in her train, and even Lady 
 Woodash was not long proof against the en- 
 treaties of a very distingue-looking Captain 
 Sherborne, who offered himself as her partner. 
 
 Still she could not forgive what she termed 
 " the Count's desertion," and had she heard 
 the praises he bestowed upon Annie's waltzing, 
 she would have dismissed him for ever from 
 her list of favourites. 
 
 But all things have an end, and with the 
 assistance of enduring ices, and perpetual 
 supper, added to the other means of passing 
 away time, this evening and its amusements 
 were at last numbered with things gone by. 
 
 " I was very much bored, on the whole, last
 
 MARRIAGE. 261 
 
 night," said Lady Woodash the following 
 morning as, sauntering about one o'clock into 
 the breakfast-room, she found Annie had al- 
 ready dispatched several letters, and was in- 
 tent on an interesting book. " The whole 
 thing was a failure. I thought every one was 
 very stupid, and I shall not attempt the kind 
 of evening again." 
 
 " I thought every one seemed pleased," 
 replied Annie, looking up from her book. " I 
 am sorry you did not enjoy yourself." 
 
 " I did not say I did not enjoy myself, Miss 
 Mowbray, but I do say I think the Count was 
 excessively rude. I am sure he might easily 
 have mended his guitar string if he had 
 chosen." 
 
 Annie felt this was not the whole cause of 
 grievance, but not being particularly interested 
 in undertaking the Count's defence, she al- 
 lowed Lady Woodash to enumerate several 
 other little peccadilloes, which would have 
 been considered too venial to deserve a com- 
 ment, had not the Count been at the moment 
 out of favour. 
 
 " By the bye, I don't think he waltzes at all
 
 262 THE SECRET 
 
 well, and, to say the truth, I consider it ex- 
 tremely ill-bred of him, and of some others, 
 to insist, as it were, on dancing. Of course, I 
 could not refuse, but I always feel ill from the 
 effects of it." 
 
 Annie did not say that Lady Woodash was 
 not compelled to follow so bad an example as 
 that set by the juvenile guests, for, as she had 
 begun in earnest to exercise self-control, she 
 prudently forbore irritating her susceptible 
 hostess. 
 
 Unfortunately the tide of favour had turned 
 against Annie, and was never more to run in 
 the same channel. The change of feeling was 
 at first scarcely perceptible in manner, but 
 daily little incidents marked its progress. 
 
 The Count, conscious of being somewhat 
 out of favour, successfully endeavoured to re- 
 establish himself in Lady Woodash's good 
 graces by various little complimentary acts, of 
 which he was complete master. He, more- 
 over, contrived to subdue his growing admi- 
 ration for Annie Mowbray, or at least to give 
 but slight tokens of it when in the presence 
 of Lady Woodash.
 
 MAERIAGE. 263 
 
 The consequence of this proof of tact was 
 a restoration to favour, but Annie was still 
 watched with jealous eye. The crisis was at 
 hand. 
 
 One evening, suffering from headache, Annie 
 had excused herself from accompanying Lady 
 Woo dash in her accustomed drive. 
 
 Thinking that her ladyship had returned 
 home, one of the servants, during the course 
 of the afternoon, ushered the Count as usual 
 into her boudoir, upon his requesting admit- 
 tance. 
 
 Annie was there alone 1 and there was no 
 escape from a " tete-a-tete," which she would 
 willingly have avoided. 
 
 Recovering from a slight feeling of annoy- 
 ance at the disturbance she was compelled to 
 submit to, she entered in a few minutes with 
 gaiety and spirit into conversation. The 
 Count became each moment more and more 
 charmed, and congratulated himself upon his 
 good fortune. In Annie's manner was neither 
 coquetry nor prudery. She was quick, lively, 
 and unaffected. The Count began to admire 
 her mind as well as her personal attractions.
 
 264 THE SECEET 
 
 He began to think she was the most charming 
 specimen of her sex he had ever met with ! 
 
 He was in the act, though in a guarded 
 manner, of expressing his feelings, when the 
 door opened, and Lady Woodash appeared. 
 
 Had Annie been guilty of high treason, she 
 could not have been assailed with more une- 
 quivocal looks of anger than those which 
 gathered on Lady Woodash's countenance. 
 
 " I was distressed on entering your boudoir 
 to find your ladyship was out, and, fearful of 
 having committed une indiscretion, I have 
 remained to apologize until your return." The 
 Count rose and bowed politely, feeling it was 
 not exactly the moment to venture upon his 
 accustomed shake of the hand. 
 
 " I am extremely obliged by your regrets, 
 sir," said Lady Woodash, colouring with in- 
 dignation, and, hastily throwing aside her bon- 
 net, plunged into the depths of her arm- 
 chair. " But, I dare say, notwithstanding my 
 absence, you and Miss Mowbray have enjoyed 
 a 'tete-a-tete.'" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, my dear madam, everything 
 in this house promotes enjoyment. A spirit
 
 MAERIAGE. 265 
 
 of harmony pervades its atmosphere, and the 
 focus from which radiate the bright beams of 
 pleasure is visible to all observers." So say- 
 ing, the Count again bowed deferentially to 
 Lady Woodash. 
 
 Deceitful and rather equivocal as was this 
 apparently nattering speech, it answered the 
 Counts purpose, for an open rupture with 
 her ladyship was not what he intended. At 
 the same time he could not resist the pleasure 
 of gathering a wayside flower, or, in other 
 words, the enjoyment of spending a half-hour 
 with so amiable and agreeable a companion 
 as Miss Mowbray. 
 
 Lady Woodash looked up, and the Count 
 perceived that his fortunes were not wholly 
 irretrievable. 
 
 A rather doubtful smile played upon her 
 features, but the Count's expressive 
 (which at the moment were made to express 
 what he did not really feel) meeting hers, a 
 rather languid invitation to dinner the day 
 following answered their appeal. 
 
 Bowing his acceptance with a parting salu- 
 tation to both ladies, the Count left the room.
 
 2G6 THE SECRET 
 
 Annie Mowbray entered with mischievous 
 delight into the late little scene. She was 
 fond of studying character, and though 
 detesting the Count's duplicity, and despising 
 him at the same time, she was rather amused 
 at the display of his versatile powers. 
 
 But Lady Woodash's temperament and 
 disposition were at first incomprehensible to 
 one of Annie's open, guileless nature, though 
 the longer she was acquainted with her, the 
 more alive she became to her faults and 
 follies. 
 
 Though perfectly innocent of any intention 
 to captivate the favoured Count, Annie had 
 an instinct that Lady Woodash considered 
 her unintentional " tete-a-tete " with him as 
 utterly inexcusable. 
 
 Nor was she mistaken. He had no sooner 
 left the room than a torrent of stormy re- 
 proaches burst forth from the lips of her 
 angry hostess. 
 
 "I am really surprised at you, Miss 
 Mowbray, in my house to receive a foreigner ! 
 an Italian of whom you really know nothing, 
 scarcely even his name."
 
 MAKEIAGE. 267 
 
 " It was not my fault, indeed," Annie 
 endeavoured to interpose; "it was quite 
 unintentional." 
 
 " One who, for anything you know to the 
 contrary, has positively no merit but that of 
 being tolerably good-looking, and playing 
 well on the guitar," hastily interrupted Lady 
 Woodash. " What would the world and Sir 
 Harvey think? I really could nut have 
 believed it." 
 
 " I assure you, Lady Woodash, you misun- 
 derstand the circumstances of this case," 
 replied Annie, laughing, for though naturally 
 quick-tempered, there was in the whole thing 
 something so ludicrous, that she could only be 
 amused instead of irate. 
 
 " I can tell you," urged Lady Woodash, 
 " that the Count is only playing a part with 
 you; he is amusing himself at your expense." 
 
 " I really cannot plead guilty to having 
 expended anything on him," exclaimed 
 Annie, at length laughing heartily. " I have 
 no interest in him, and " 
 
 " He has not a single farthing, I believe, 
 though I confess he is handsome and agree-
 
 268 THE SECRET 
 
 able," replied her ladyship in mollified 
 tones. 
 
 " But I assure you he is rather disagreeable 
 to me than otherwise." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear, you must not be 
 angry with me because I speak my mind; you 
 know, as you are staying in my house, you 
 are under my protection," returned Lady 
 Woodash, in a considerably softened tone. 
 
 Conscious that she had gone a little too far 
 in her energetic care of her guest, she drew 
 Annie to her, and kissed her cheek. 
 
 But Annie was beginning to feel she was 
 under a certain thraldom from which release 
 would be acceptable. A few more days, and 
 such a release was even more than desirable. 
 
 It was evident that to her fickle hostess 
 she was no longer the welcome guest she had 
 at first been. 
 
 The pretty Miss Bertram had been invited 
 to stay with Lady Woodash, who always 
 liked anything new, pretty, clever, or 
 " distingue," until her own views were 
 interfered with. And Annie discovered, 
 through various little stray comments on
 
 MARRIAGE. 269 
 
 herself, addressed to Sir Harvey, that her 
 abdication would not be otherwise than 
 agreeable. 
 
 She was a favourite with Sir Harvey, for 
 she listened to his stories after dinner, relieved 
 him from the burdensome duty of constant 
 attendance on his wife, and sometimes even 
 walked with him to the chain-pier. He was 
 a perfect cypher in the house, and was out of 
 it as much as possible. 
 
 One day Annie was waiting for Sir Harvey 
 to accompany her in a walk. At the foot of 
 the staircase she was slowly descending, was 
 a small ante-room. The door stood open. 
 She heard voices in hasty conversation. Her 
 own name caught her ear. 
 
 The tone in which Lady Woodash was 
 speaking was too audible for any word to be 
 misunderstood. 
 
 " She has been here quite long enough. 
 I am tired of her. And, besides, you 
 know I have already invited Miss Bertram 
 here. I will not put her into any other 
 room but that which Miss Mowbray now 
 occupies."
 
 270 THE SECRET 
 
 " But she is not half so nice a girl," 
 interposed a voice recognised as Sir Harvey's. 
 
 Annie walked towards the front door. Sir 
 Harvey instantly joined her. Annie was si- 
 lent for a few minutes, and Sir Harvey, natu- 
 rally not very loquacious, did not disturb her 
 meditations. Her feelings of indignation 
 would have been stronger, had not pity and 
 contempt already placed a barrier between 
 herself and the gratitude which she at first 
 felt for Lady Woodash's uncalled-for and 
 sudden friendship. 
 
 On her return to the house, Annie sought 
 Lady Woodash. She had arranged her plans 
 in her own mind, and had resolved upon 
 leaving her present quarters as soon as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 "I am extremely obliged to you, Lady 
 Woodash," she began as soon as she found 
 herself " tete-a-tete" with her fickle friend in 
 the oft-mentioned boudoir. " I am extremely 
 obliged for your kindness to me. It was 
 quite unsought, and I fully appreciate it. But 
 I shall return home to-morrow," she added, 
 coolly.
 
 MAKEIAGE. 271 
 
 Lady Woodash looked surprised, and co- 
 loured deeply, as an idea struck her that her 
 late explicit conversation must have been 
 overheard. But, with her natural volatility, 
 she was the next moment only too glad that 
 Annie's self-proposed departure would allow 
 of Miss Bertram instantly taking her place. 
 She was, in reality, charmed at the prospect 
 of release from the society of one upon whom 
 she now looked with secret enmity and 
 jealousy. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I dare say they require 
 your company at that lonely Inspeth. I am 
 not surprised, and, to say the truth, I have 
 invited another young lady here, so your pro- 
 posal is very much to the purpose." 
 
 " I should be indeed sorry to be in the 
 way," replied Annie, with pardonable cold- 
 ness, " and I only fear I have already tres- 
 passed too long upon your hospitality." 
 
 In evident confusion Lady Woodash left 
 the room, and Annie soon followed to make 
 preparations for an early start the next 
 morning. 
 
 There was no open rupture. A dinner
 
 272 THE SECEET 
 
 party prevented her seeing her new friend in 
 private the last evening, and she wished her 
 adieu on the following morning without en- 
 tering into the circumstances which induced 
 her sudden departure. 
 
 Cordially and with regret parting with Sir 
 Harvey, she found herself on the morrow 
 leaving Brighton and its various reminis- 
 cences hehind her, and hourly diminishing 
 the distance between herself and her home. 
 
 Lady Woodash had, she felt, been at least 
 guilty of a breach of hospitality, but her 
 feeble conscience scarcely uttered reproaches. 
 How dangerous is a slumbering state of ex- 
 istence !
 
 MARRIAGE. 273 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 * How vainly seek 
 The selfish for that happiness denied 
 To aught but virtue ! Blind and hardened they 
 Who hope for peace amid the storms of care ; 
 Who covet power they know not how to use, 
 And sigh for pleasure they refuse to give, 
 Madly they frustrate still their own designs ; 
 And where they hope that quiet to enjoy, 
 Which virtue pictures, bitterness of soul, 
 Pining regrets, and vain repentances, 
 Disease, disgust, and lassitude pervade 
 Their valueless and miserable lives." 
 
 The future to which Mary Graham looked 
 forward in this world was not, could not be, 
 happy, for bewildering perplexities harassed 
 her daily path, yet Graham would willingly 
 have exchanged his feelings for those of the 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE SECRET 
 
 meek and enduring being whose young life he 
 had contrived so completely to overshadow. 
 
 She had to endure — but though she suf- 
 fered, she did not repine at her lot. 
 
 Her destinies were linked with one whose 
 irritable, discontented temper was ever seek- 
 ing to wreak itself on her, and discovering 
 causes of quarrel and annoyance. 
 
 Deeply indeed she deplored her incapacity 
 to influence her husband for good, and, to one 
 of her affectionate and naturally timid dis- 
 position, the non-exercise, the absolute sub- 
 duing and repressing of her best and purest 
 feelings was unspeakably painful. 
 
 On her child she had hitherto lavished the 
 love which yearned for an object on which it 
 could expand. 
 
 Living so much in retirement as she did, 
 her time had been principally devoted to the 
 improvement of her own mind, and to the 
 development of all Eustace's youthful ener- 
 gies. 
 
 But even her natural affection was destined 
 to be, though a source of comfort, yet mingled 
 with anxiety.
 
 MARRIAGE. 275 
 
 Eustace inherited, with his father's features 
 and outward bearing, much of his perverse 
 and irritable temperament when under the 
 influence of control or disappointment, though 
 at times his mother herself could not be more 
 gentle, yielding, and loving. 
 
 Alas ! that nature, having produced so per- 
 fect a piece of workmanship as Mary Graham, 
 should, in her variable mood, have broken up 
 the mould and stamped her future coinage 
 with the legible characters of frail humanity. 
 
 The same dark, rolling eye, the same con- 
 traction of the brow, the same proofs of de- 
 termined will, were at times visible alike in 
 father and child. But with what energy and 
 with what success did his mother instil those 
 principles into Eustace which Graham in his 
 youth had never been taught ! 
 
 The child of prayers and tears, he was an 
 all-absorbing interest. 
 
 The child of fears, rather than of hopes, — 
 it was that very fear which was the ground- 
 work of Mrs. Graham's almost more than 
 maternal tenderness. 
 
 To work unceasingly, to undermine in
 
 276 THE SECRET 
 
 secret the effects of his father's example, to 
 warn against evil, as a whole, without inspir- 
 ing a dislike towards the authors of evil, to 
 inculcate both love and respect for his father, 
 because he was his father, was a task to ac- 
 complish whiclrMary's energies were both re- 
 quired and directed. 
 
 And she was successful; the mild and 
 patient example she gave to all around could 
 not be unfruitful, though " patience must 
 have her perfect work." 
 
 She knew that Eustace idolized her, and on 
 the stable foundation of filial affection she 
 built her hopes of future reward. 
 
 Yet her task was most difficult. 
 
 Who so quick in observation, truthful in 
 argument, and prompt in conclusion as a 
 child ? 
 
 Who so prone to discover and unmask 
 deceit ? 
 
 To whom are so legibly revealed the oppo- 
 sing characters of virtue and vice ? — and to 
 whom is the counterfeit of affection so utterly 
 worthless ? 
 
 Why ? Because a child looks straight for-
 
 MARRIAGE . 277 
 
 ward, when a man would be biassed by pre- 
 conceived prejudice. Because the child 
 naturally extenuates nothing when a man is 
 taking into the account his own or others' 
 failings. 
 
 The value of truth, as opposed to false- 
 hood, is never so appreciated as in childhood. 
 Yet too soon is learnt the lesson inculcating 
 art, which hides or obscures natural beauty. 
 
 To Eustace's quick perception, it was at 
 an early age apparent that his father and 
 mother differed in disposition, in ideas and 
 feelings, and in treatment of himself. It was 
 no less apparent that neither affection nor 
 consideration influenced the conduct of his 
 parent, and that the other was guided by 
 duty and principle more than by love. Often 
 would he cling to his mother s side, and in 
 wonder, pity, and fear, look into her gentle 
 face, as words of harsh rebuke, gestures of 
 anger or impatience, broke forth from his 
 father, with or without slight provocation ; 
 and too well Mrs. Graham knew from whom 
 the lesson had been learnt, when a broken 
 plaything, a hard- to-be-mastered task, or a
 
 278 THE SECRET 
 
 slight disappointment transformed her happy, 
 light-hearted child, into one swayed and mas- 
 tered hy evil passions. 
 
 It was indeed often difficult for her, with 
 all her natural tact, to guard Eustace against 
 the pernicious influence of his father's ex- 
 ample ; but never for a moment losing sight 
 of the end she had in view for his good, 
 she generally contrived to dismiss him to 
 his play or his book, when she saw a storm 
 gathering upon her husband's brow. Mild, 
 but firm, as she was in the guidance of her 
 child, it was unspeakably painful to her to 
 witness the opposite line of conduct pursued 
 by Graham, particularly when she was herself 
 compelled to submit to daily slights in his 
 presence. 
 
 She was aware that, for years, the end she 
 had in view would be rendered most difficult ; 
 but her child's happiness was at heart, and 
 to that every consideration was subservient. 
 
 Conscious that fulfilment of her duty was 
 her earnest desire, Mary Graham, notwith- 
 standing the life of neglect and comparative 
 loneliness which she led, was happy !
 
 MARRIAGE. 279 
 
 But to reverse the picture. 
 
 To what tended the yearning towards fu- 
 turity, which was a feeling Graham shared 
 with his fellow- creatures — yes! even with 
 those who apparently were the least busied 
 with concerns beyond the most trivial and 
 momentary ? For Graham's, though an ill- 
 directed, was an active mind — too active not 
 to have been disturbed, during years past, by 
 many a bitter moment of contemplation op- 
 posed to the usual stagnation of his moral 
 feelings. 
 
 Where was to end the restless seeking after 
 a happiness which was ever eluding his grasp ? 
 
 No ties bound him to his home, with a 
 strength that was found at every point of con- 
 tact ; and, a blank as the world comparatively 
 was, dared he dive into the state beyond the 
 finite one limited by time ? 
 
 He had lost his relish for pleasure. Dis- 
 appointment had soured him, and what to 
 others is of inestimable value, was to him but 
 like a pearl cast upon the desert shore. 
 
 He loved his child ; but with a love of so 
 impulsive a character, that it had little effect
 
 280 THE SECRET 
 
 upon his daily life of feeling. He could not 
 conceal from himself that he had established 
 no empire over his affections or his esteem ; 
 and though he could not but admire the mys- 
 terious influence which, with so little apparent 
 trouble, his simple-minded wife had gained 
 over their child, he still almost hated it, as 
 proving the immeasurable distance between 
 himself and her whom he despised in theory. 
 
 Their child was certainly a mutual trust, 
 and should have proved a mutual joy; but 
 neither on this nor any other subject had the 
 ill-matched husband and wife any intimate 
 communion ; and, in thought and hope, Mrs. 
 Graham laboured alone in the cause which 
 was so dear to her. 
 
 Graham did stretch forward into the future ; 
 but it was with an agonised despair that he 
 dismissed from his mind the feelings that 
 rushed miserably towards it. 
 
 The conversation between himself and 
 Lady Lisle had often recurred to his mind ; 
 but, in connection with her, he generally con- 
 jured up such a host of miserable phantoms, 
 that, in pity to himself, he endeavoured to
 
 MARRIAGE. 281 
 
 recall as seldom as possible the image of one 
 who — stern or gentle, kind, approving, or 
 reproachful — was yet so unspeakably dear to 
 him. 
 
 One evening, some weeks after the inter- 
 view which opened to Mary Graham and 
 George Alvanley a new world in which there 
 was an ever- varying play of light and shade, 
 — one evening, in a more melancholy, though 
 less harsh mood than usual, Graham was 
 " tete-a-tete " with his wife. 
 
 Whatever thoughts were passing in reality 
 through Mrs. Graham's mind, she was ap- 
 parently all-absorbed in that greatest of all 
 luxuries — a book, so interesting, so in har- 
 mony with the tone of feeling, that the ideal 
 scenes it describes are capable, for the mo- 
 ment, of obliterating the remembrance of all 
 which makes actual life the hard-fought battle, 
 under which aspect it is known to so many. 
 
 Mary started as if from a reverie, when, in 
 gentler accents than usual, her husband pro- 
 nounced her name. He put aside the paper, 
 his invariable attendant when alone with his
 
 282 THE SECKET 
 
 wife, and turned towards her, as she sat by the 
 gradually fading twilight. 
 
 His countenance was sad — his tone re- 
 solute, though subdued. 
 
 " Mary, I am going to leave you — perhaps 
 for months; perhaps even years." 
 
 Mary listened in silence. The words 
 sounded strangely to her. She lived much 
 in her own thoughts. She had schooled her- 
 self into submission to the life she led. 
 Naturally, any great change for good or evil 
 produces, for the moment, a startling, un- 
 pleasant alteration of feeling. 
 
 Graham proceeded — 
 
 " My life is a burden to myself and others. 
 I have thoughts, anxieties, miseries, which I 
 can neither restrain nor overcome. I must 
 fly them. I must seek change of scene. I 
 want an entire revolution in the inner life." 
 
 He spoke hurriedly, as if more communing 
 
 with himself than with her he was addressing. 
 
 "But will you be happier?" said Mary 
 
 timidly, while a feeling of pity, but scarcely 
 
 affection, stole over her heart. 
 
 "No! not happy. Happiness is not a
 
 MAERIAGE. 283 
 
 word for me. I ought to be happy — but I 
 have no strength or energy to struggle with 
 difficulties that seem to increase in magnitude 
 as I approach them." 
 
 " Be resolute, and you will overcome,"' 
 replied his wife, in a calm, steady voice, 
 which yet spoke volumes to Graham's turbu- 
 lent spirit. 
 
 " Why should I dream of happiness, when 
 my evil influence is around all connected 
 with me ? Where have I a friend, a true 
 sympathising friend ? " 
 
 " You are false to yourself, Arthur ; you are 
 your own enemy. Why is a dark, dreary life 
 surrounding you ? Banish vain, unsatisfied 
 longings. Let not self alone predominate: 
 live for others." 
 
 Graham listened in wonder to words 
 which, as they fell from his wife's lips, seemed 
 dictated by a spirit of whose very existence 
 he was ignorant. For a moment he felt 
 awed in her presence. The magic of simple, 
 perfect truth was around him. 
 
 " I have been haunted by a phantom ! — 
 a dream ! — my life long: your affection I know,
 
 284 THE SECRET 
 
 I feel, I have never deserved." He motioned 
 impatiently with his hand as Mary's lips 
 moved in reply. 
 
 "I do not ask it : I know I am harsh, 
 unbending, stern, hateful. But who knows 
 what weight lies at my heart ? If I have 
 wronged any, it is you : you have been patient, 
 angelic in your patience. You have your 
 reward, and your revenge," he added, bitterly. 
 
 " Revenge ! Oh, Arthur! why speak such a 
 terrible word? — it is not merited — have I ever 
 sought it? If I could be anything to you, 
 any comfort, when the dark spirit of discon- 
 tent is hovering around you; if I could only 
 make you happier, if you could bestow your 
 confidence and affection, it is all I ask." In 
 the trembling tones of her voice, so unused 
 to express the feelings to which she had given 
 utterance, surprise, sorrow, and pity were 
 mingled. " If you would only tell me how I 
 might contribute to make you happier, and 
 make allowances for my deficiencies," she 
 added, as Graham still remained silent. 
 
 A blessing on those words ! A blessing on 
 those who, trampled upon, despised, neglected,
 
 MARRIAGE. 285 
 
 can still look up and utter such words of 
 forgiveness, kindness, and humility. They 
 fell like dew upon Graham's heart, guided to 
 that one green spot over which the waves of 
 evil passions had not yet completely rolled. 
 
 The words of kindness so little merited 
 fell there, and for a moment Graham's nobler 
 nature broke forth — 
 
 " Mary ! I repeat, if I have wronged any 
 one, it is you, and beyond any reparation, 
 even were such in my power. You cannot 
 look upon me but with indignation and 
 hatred ! But do not think I have been 
 utterly unmindful of you, of all your virtues, 
 of your wrongs so nobly borne, in silence and 
 meekness, by day and night. But you, in 
 your pure, simple nature, you cannot under- 
 stand the workings of a hardened heart such 
 as mine, hardened both by will and circum- 
 stance ! It is therefore I have taken my 
 resolution — we part, as I have said, perhaps 
 for years. My presence shall no longer lay a 
 burden upon your naturally joyous spirit. 
 Years roll on; and time redresses all wrongs," 
 he added, in a tone which again recalled the
 
 286 THE SECRET 
 
 stern, unconfiding husband to Mary's agitated 
 heart. 
 
 He little knew, at the very moment he 
 was bestowing praise, in whose accents he 
 had rarely, if ever, before spoken to his wife, 
 how she was passing in review the late 
 episode in her life, and with what blame she 
 was visiting her involuntary weakness. She 
 dared not reveal the secret of her heart, but 
 words of condemnation, even though un- 
 merited, would have pained her less than did 
 the commendation she received. 
 
 " Do not leave me, Arthur," she hastily 
 exclaimed — " I do not deserve your good 
 opinion: I am weak, I want support and 
 guidance." 
 
 But the good spirit had passed away. Of 
 all things, Graham detested what is usually 
 called a scene. He had uttered words of 
 acknowledgment of his own misdeeds, such 
 as hitherto had rarely passed his lips. 
 
 He beheld before him his wife — meek, 
 angelic, he confessed — but with her were 
 connected, of late years, few memories but 
 those in which pity and an indifference almost
 
 MARRIAGE. 287 
 
 approaching to aversion had mingled. Her 
 mind and his had had no' communion — her 
 feelings were not read by him — her last few 
 words, in their deep and earnest meaning, 
 conveyed to him no intelligence. He relapsed 
 into the cold, stern being he usually was in 
 his wife's presence. 
 
 " My resolution is not to be changed. In 
 a few days I shall leave Moorfield and Eng- 
 land. In confiding Eustace to your charge, 
 I leave you no task that you cannot ably accom- 
 plish. My example is pernicious to him. 
 Let other influences be exercised over him 
 than those which shadowed my life. Teach 
 him control over his passions ; and if religion 
 will give comfort, teach him that ! " 
 
 He rose and walked hurriedly away. 
 
 Graham's steps, as, now approaching, now 
 receding, they fell upon the broad gravel 
 walk he was pacing in his agitation, sounded 
 like a knell on Mary's troubled heart. 
 
 " Mine is indeed a hard lot," she said, as 
 she buried her face in her hands, and looked 
 drearily into the future that was opening be- 
 fore her. " I shall be left alone in this wide
 
 288 THE SECKET 
 
 world, with but one bright spot towards which 
 I may turn." 
 
 There was a crushing weight at her heart. 
 One image rose to her mind, whose name 
 she dared not suffer to pass her lips. She 
 dared not permit herself to listen to his voice, 
 or even to take counsel at his hands. 
 
 In the dark night which shaded her life, 
 one ray of inextinguishable light had, alas ! 
 power to shed across it a deeper thrill of 
 anguish than the keenest actual sorrow could 
 produce. 
 
 Silently and secretly, though not the less 
 certainly, George Alvanley had enthroned 
 himself in her heart, arousing feelings which 
 had never been called into existence until 
 she shrank from the fearful rule that he had 
 established over her. And now Mary felt 
 that she was destined to struggle alone with 
 the difficulties of her position — that in all duty 
 he to whom alone her inclination pointed, as 
 to one of whom she could ask assistance — he 
 who had of late so lightened the gloom of her 
 existence — he must hold no more communion 
 with her. He must be dismissed from her
 
 MARRIAGE. 289 
 
 lonely hours. They could never return — those 
 hours, less fraught than at present with the 
 knowledge, the certainty of feeling ! The 
 stern voice of duty imperatively forbade that 
 the past should be renewed. 
 
 Graham re-entered the room in which Mary 
 still remained in serious and painful thought. 
 All traces of an emotion so rarely expressed 
 had passed away, and his countenance seemed 
 fixed in a stern resolution. 
 
 " I purpose being away at least a year," he 
 said, addressing his wife; "if I return" (a 
 cold shudder passed through her frame), 
 " circumstances may have altered, though I 
 scarcely hope," he continued in an under tone. 
 " I will write at intervals. You will not for- 
 get you have a husband. You have servants, 
 carriages, and horses at your disposal. I 
 can hardly hope to be missed or regretted. 
 Invite your friends here. I wish you if pos- 
 sible to be gay and happy ! Pressing business 
 detaining me ever longer and longer will 
 account for my absence to all who are cursed 
 with curiosity." 
 
 " But will you leave me, so unprotected, so 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 THE SECRET 
 
 lonely ? Will you not tell me what is your 
 destination ? If Eustace should be ill, if I 
 were anxious to " 
 
 "I cannot, I cannot," he hastily interrupted; 
 " I can give you no address ; chance and cir- 
 cumstance will guide me. I shall visit Italy, 
 the Tyrol, perhaps Greece, perhaps Constan- 
 tinople. I do not wish to be fettered, but 
 I shall wander wherever inclination leads. 
 Of course I shall write from time to time. 
 I believe you have presence of mind and 
 energy, they will direct you in any emergency. 
 You have control too. You are rising above 
 your nature ; you are no longer the timid, 
 shrinking being of former days. What are 
 your hidden sources of support and com- 
 fort?'' 
 
 Mary could not reply. She shrank in- 
 stinctively from anything approaching to ar- 
 gument or explanation with her husband, and 
 sat for some time in silence musing over his 
 last words. Nor did he seem anxious to 
 penetrate her thoughts. 
 
 Lights had been brought. The shutters 
 were closed. The air of the early autumn
 
 MARRIAGE. 291 
 
 was chilly, and a bright fire threw a flickering, 
 comfortable light around. 
 
 They were alone, each in a separate world 
 of thought — those two beings, who, connected 
 by the strongest tie, were cast in such differ- 
 ent moulds. 
 
 Apparently there was every element of 
 happiness in the lot that had been assigned 
 them, and yet it was far from the heart of 
 both. 
 
 This was the last evening they were for 
 months, perhaps for years, to spend together, 
 and Graham, self-exiled, was about to leave 
 in the lone world, unadvised, unprotected, 
 one whom it should have been his chief de- 
 light to shield from pain and sorrow, and 
 devious paths were to open before her, and 
 temptation, in its thousand glittering forms, 
 and plausible pretences, was to beset her, in 
 her unsupported weakness. 
 
 Even through the very medium of the affec- 
 tions, by means of which he should have been 
 supremely blessed, a snare was to be laid, to 
 which his negligence and unkindness had 
 exposed her.
 
 292 THE SECRET 
 
 Yet naught but the deepest trust and con- 
 fidence in his wife's perfect purity and good- 
 ness ever entered his mind. Blinded by the 
 engrossing nature of his own feelings, what 
 might have been read by all was undiscernible 
 to him. He thought of his wife as of one 
 whose hitherto dormant affection had been 
 called into action by their child alone, and 
 was centred on him with a tenderness which 
 can exist but in a parent's heart. 
 
 So hidden to those therein most concerned 
 are truths often fraught with good or evil un- 
 speakable ! 
 
 There was no outward relenting, as Graham 
 that night bent over his sleeping child, and 
 imprinted a parting kiss upon his cheek. 
 Whatever movements of self-reproach or of 
 natural yearning he experienced, he silenced 
 all. 
 
 Fainter and fainter may sound the voice of 
 such inward monitors, till they may be heard 
 no more. 
 
 The morrow came. Graham was to start 
 early. Sad, and indeed feeling more wretched 
 and lonely than she had ever felt before,
 
 MARRIAGE. 293 
 
 Mary spent the few last moments in prepar- 
 ing breakfast for him, and performing many 
 little kind offices. 
 
 The carriage is at the door. 
 
 There are words, a look of kindness, giv- 
 ing perhaps some clue to what is passing 
 through the mind of each. 
 
 Graham's agitated " Farewell !" — his last 
 parting kiss — were never effaced from Mary's 
 memory. 
 
 One last look, and this man of stern, im- 
 passioned feeling — ever choosing the wrong 
 and resisting the right — despising the bless- 
 ings within his reach, yet secretly longing to 
 enjoy them — left his home and all that should 
 have made life dear, to fly — from himself ! 
 
 Mary turned into the hall and wept bitter 
 tears. 
 
 " Oh! why does he not love me?" burst 
 from her agonised heart. " Why is he not 
 
 to me what " but no name passed her 
 
 lips. 
 
 Mary remained motionless for some mi- 
 nutes ; but she was not indulging in a reverie, 
 for the thoughts that crowded her mind were
 
 294 THE SECKET 
 
 unspeakably painful in the various images 
 they presented to her. 
 
 Self-reproach was most prominent and most 
 galling, for her guileless nature, shrinking from 
 the appearance of evil, represented to her as 
 sinful the admission of any interest so great 
 as that which she was conscious of experienc- 
 ing in George Alvanley. 
 
 Trials had given her strength. Graham 
 himself had owned that she was a changed 
 being. 
 
 Few who had lavished admiration on the 
 lovely, happy, childish Mary Harcourt, would 
 have recognised her in the beautiful, gentle, 
 yet almost dignified woman, who bore in her 
 countenance the impress of thought and sor- 
 rowful experience. 
 
 The year that was before her ! 
 
 She understood her own heart too well to 
 be deceived, by her present feeling of desola- 
 tion, into the idea that it was attributable to 
 affection for the husband who had deserted 
 her. 
 
 Restrain her thoughts as she would, still 
 they flowed perversely into one forbidden 
 channel !
 
 MARRIAGE. 29§ 
 
 Whether through accident or with inten- 
 tion, George Alvanley had of late rarely 
 visited Moorfield. He had been shooting ; 
 had been staying with friends far and near, 
 in Scotland and Ireland. His father deplored 
 his constant absences, and almost wished his 
 son were not such a universal favourite. But 
 a few days before Graham's departure, the old 
 lord had come open-hearted to communicate 
 to him the good news that George had pro- 
 mised to return in the course of the week, and 
 to make amends for his late wandering by 
 devoting a whole month of his long leave- of- 
 absence from his regiment to his father and 
 Heatherton. 
 
 .Mary had also heard the announcement, 
 arid in silence, though a thrill of intense 
 happiness passed at the moment through her 
 heart. Instantly she, however, endeavoured 
 to dismiss from her mind, with as much 
 resolution as possible, the ideas that intruded 
 themselves. Then she was not aware how 
 much she would stand in ueed of resolution. 
 
 But now ! she had not risen from the arm- 
 chair into which she had thrown herself,
 
 296 THE SECRET 
 
 when first she gave way to fruitless tears and 
 retrospections. She felt she must no longer 
 hesitate, but act. 
 
 She dried her tears, and, determined to 
 exert all her newly- acquired firmness, walked 
 with steady step across the hall towards a 
 door, which opened into a small low-arched 
 room, known by the name of the chapel. 
 
 It was lighted from above, and had been 
 used only as a painting room before Mary 
 became mistress of Moorfield. The walls 
 were hung with engravings from the old 
 masters, beautifully illustrating subjects from 
 Scripture. Low-cushioned chairs were placed 
 round the room, a small book-case containing 
 works of devotion stood at one end, and in 
 the centre was a table, supporting a plain 
 black marble cross, the emblem of our 
 Christian faith. Here in prayer and in 
 meditation, at the foot of the unseen cross of 
 which this visible one was a symbol only, 
 Mary was wont to spend a portion of each 
 day. Here she gained a daily renewal of that 
 strength and energy, of which Graham con- 
 fessed he knew not the source.
 
 MARRIAGE. 297 
 
 And now she sought it with more than her 
 usual earnestness. She had a hard struggle 
 before her, but the victory must be hers. 
 
 She at length determined to leave Moor- 
 field, and during the principal part of her 
 husbands absence, to spend her time at 
 Harcourt Abbey, her old home. 
 
 Her first duty was to prevent the constant 
 and only too delightful companionship with 
 George Alvanley which it was probable 
 circumstances would open to her if she 
 remained at Moorfield. 
 
 In a week arrangements could be made, 
 and, regrets unheeded, self-approval would 
 be her reward. 
 
 News flew around, and reached Heather- 
 ton in its circuit, that the establishment at 
 Moorfield was to be broken up. 
 
 Exaggerated reports of a misunderstand- 
 ing, a quarrel, a separation, formed the 
 dinner-table topic of conversation the even- 
 ing of George Alvanley 's return home. But 
 he disbelieved them on the whole, though 
 Graham's sudden departure confirmed their 
 truth to most of the assembled party.
 
 298 THE SECKET 
 
 The next day and the following, George 
 was unable to assure himself of the real state 
 of the case, by calling at Moorfield, owing 
 to the multiplicity of ready-made engagements, 
 to which he found himself condemned by his 
 rather too officious father ; but on the third 
 morning, he boldly announced at breakfast, 
 that it was his intention to employ his " own 
 time" according to his own wishes; and 
 ordering his horse, galloped off to Moor- 
 field. 
 
 Mrs. Graham, in a somewhat pensive 
 mood, was taking a last survey of some late 
 autumn flowers, whose bloom was passing 
 away. 
 
 She had each day expected with painful 
 anxiety that Mr. Alvanley would pay her a 
 farewell visit. 
 
 At the moment that she heard his well- 
 known voice inquiring for her, and his foot- 
 steps as he approached, she inwardly rejoiced 
 that her broad-brimmed straw hat, and the 
 masses of hair which fell over her face, would 
 hide in some degree the betrayal of her 
 varying complexion.
 
 MAEEIAGE. 299 
 
 A " tete-a-tete," attended with any feeling 
 of awkwardness, is certainly much less to be 
 dreaded in the open air, walking or sitting 
 under the shade of trees, or in the sight of 
 glorious mountains, than when feeling and 
 observation are pent up within the narrow 
 limits of walls, surrounded though they be 
 with everything that can make life in its 
 usual routine happy and comfortable. 
 
 " Are you really leaving Moorfield to- 
 morrow?" said George, as he joined Mrs. 
 Graham. 
 
 The various indications of a speedy depar- 
 ture, in the shape of books, work-boxes, 
 drawing materials, &c, in a state of unwonted 
 approximation, had not been lost upon him as 
 he passed through the hall. 
 
 Mary placed her hand within his: she 
 almost shrank from the pressure it received, 
 though she did not trust herself to look at 
 the face, whose expression was so well 
 remembered. 
 
 " I shall remain away probably for some 
 months," she said, " and I trust to you, Mr. 
 Alvanley, now and then to inspect my green-
 
 300 THE SECKET 
 
 houses during the long winter, when you are 
 at Heatherton. I am going home." 
 
 A tumult of thoughts passed through 
 George's mind. Had Graham really deserted 
 her? 
 
 Indignation, and every shade of feeling, in 
 which predominated a fond and respectful 
 admiration for the injured being before him, 
 for the moment overcame his self-possession. 
 
 He could not trust himself to express his 
 thoughts, and for a little time he walked on 
 in silence by the side of Mrs. Graham, he 
 now and then stopping to gather a flower, 
 and she with her eyes cast down on the 
 smooth, green grass on which they were 
 treading. 
 
 "It is cruel of you to leave Moorfield," 
 George at length exclaimed, as they passed 
 under a large clump of trees, which, in the 
 early sketching days of their acquaintance, 
 had served as a key to many a mind and 
 heart discovering conversation. 
 
 " I could not bear the loneliness of this 
 place in winter," said Mary, in a low, trem-
 
 MARRIAGE. 301 
 
 bling voice, which still penetrated deep into 
 George's heart, " Say I am acting right, 
 speak some words of consolation — uphold me 
 in my resolution. For my sake," she was 
 going to add, but she checked herself. 
 
 For her sake she knew that George had 
 been an absentee from his home, that he had 
 allowed his father even to express displeasure 
 at what he termed his decay of filial affection; 
 for her sake she knew that he was struggling 
 with feelings which, in their fresh and tumult- 
 uous flow, had reached a greater height than 
 even she was aware of. 
 
 A moment, a glance, a flushing of the 
 cheek, may express that which words have 
 never disclosed ; and an unheard voice had 
 uttered a secret, which might never pass the 
 lips of either ! 
 
 " Promise me to apply to me as the truest 
 friend you have on earth, if any difficulty 
 press upon you." George took Mary's hand 
 and passed a ring upon one of its fingers. 
 "As a keepsake," he said imploringly, as 
 her first impulse was to return the gift.
 
 302 THE SECRET 
 
 He again took her hand, and sealed the 
 ring upon her finger by the pressure of a long, 
 fervent kiss. 
 
 The ring was one he always wore — an an- 
 tique. It would be dear to Mary to possess it ! 
 
 It would recall so many happy moments. 
 His pleasant voice, his bright smile, his kind T 
 open countenance, his unexpressed, though 
 clearly understood sympathy, his advice so 
 often needed, so beneficial ! 
 
 His influence had been exercised over her 
 for good. Why should she not wish to re- 
 member him, and give him pleasure, too ? 
 
 " I will keep it," she said, while a crimson 
 hue tinged her cheek. " I will keep it as a 
 dear memento, but not for ever — only for a 
 few months. It must be returned to you 
 some day." 
 
 George was but too alive to the charm of 
 her simple, yet feeling nature. Both, appa- 
 rently fearful of prolonging the interview, took 
 the way to the house, while Mary explained 
 the cause of her sudden departure. 
 
 " Arthur is travelling on the Continent — 
 probably he will be away a year, and I shall
 
 MARRIAGE. 303 
 
 have but few and uncertain opportunities of 
 hearing from him, perhaps. I therefore pre- 
 fer to spend the greater part of his absence 
 at my old home." 
 
 She spoke the truth, though much was 
 concealed in her words. She felt that a 
 communication with regard to her husband's 
 movements was in some degree due to the 
 delicacy which had prompted George to avoid 
 the subject. 
 
 " I shall be very busy with Eustace," she 
 added. " I shall also find many avocations 
 ready prepared for me at Harcourt Abbey. 
 The time will pass away very quickly, and we 
 must hope for brighter days." 
 
 It was a relief to George to think that the 
 tyranny which her husband exercised over her 
 would at least cease for some months. She 
 had, he felt, taken a judicious step in resolv- 
 ing to return to Harcourt Abbey, nor was he 
 selfish enough to weigh in the balance with 
 her good, his own loss of her dear society. 
 
 Bitterly he indeed mourned over the in- 
 fatuation which had blinded him to the con- 
 sequences of her dangerous fascinations.
 
 304 THE SECRET MARRIAGE. 
 
 They reached the house. The parting was 
 soon over. 
 
 Another " Farewell, Heaven bless you ! " 
 but on Mary's heart these words sounded 
 producing an agonizing feeling of loneliness, 
 which the same from her husband's lips had 
 failed to inspire. 
 
 The morrow found her and her child en 
 route to Harcourt Abbey. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : SEKCOMBE AND JACK, 100 ST. JIAHTKl'S LANE.
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH ST., LOXDOX. 
 MARCH 1855. 
 
 NEW AND INTERESTING WORKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO M. COLBURN.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF WIL* 
 
 LIAM LISLE BOWLES ; Late Canon Residentiary of Salisbury 
 Cathedral, Rector of Bremhill, &c. By JOHN BOWLES, D.D., 
 Assisted by ALARIC A. WATTS. 3 vols, post 8vo. with Portrait, &c. 
 (In the press.) 
 
 Among the Correspondents of the Poet of Bremhill, including many of the 
 most distinguished persons of his time, may be enumerated the following : — 
 Byron — Wordsworth — Southey — Coleridge — Moore — Campbell — R. B. Sheridan 
 — Crabbe— Rogers— Milman — Warton — Heber — James Montgomery — The 
 Marquess of Lansdowne — Lord and Lady Holland — Lord Brougham — Sir G. 
 and Lady Beaumont — Sir T. N. Talfourd — Dr. Parr — Archdeacon Cox— Arch- 
 deacon Nares — Sir H. Davy — Dugald Stewart — Sir R. Colt Hoare — James 
 Dallaway — Joseph Jekyl — W. Sotheby — W. Giffard — J. G. Lockhart — Professor 
 Wilson — W. Roscoe — W. S. Landor — Madame de Stael — Joanna Baillie — Mrs. 
 Opie — Mrs. Southey, &c. &c. 
 
 LORD GEORGE BENTINCK: A POLITICAL BIO- 
 
 GRAPHY. By the RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI, M.P. Fifth and cheaper 
 Edition, Revised. Post 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 " This biography cannot fail to attract the deep attention of the public. We are bound 
 to say, that as a political biography we have rarely, if ever, met with a book more dexterously 
 handled, or more replete with interest. The history of the famous session of 1846, as 
 written by Disraeli in that brilliant and pointed style of which he is so consummate a master, 
 is deeply interesting. He has traced this memorable struggle with a vivacity and power 
 unequalled as yet in any narrative of Parliamentary proceedings." — Blackwood's Mag. 
 
 " Mr. Disraeli's tribute to the memory of his departed friend is as graceful and as 
 touching as it is accurate and impartial. No one of Lord George Bentinck's colleagues 
 could have been selected, who, from his high literary attainments, his personal intimacy, and 
 party associations, would have done such complete justice to the memory of a friend and 
 Parliamentary associate. Mr. Disraeli has here presented us with the very type and embodi- 
 ment of what history should be. His sketch of the condition of parties is seasoned with 
 some of those piquant personal episodes of party manoeuvres and private intrigues, in the 
 author's happiest and most captivating vein, which convert the dry details of politics into a 
 sparkling and agreeable narrative." — Morning Herald. 
 
 LORD PALMERSTON'S OPINIONS AND POLICY; AS 
 
 Minister, Diplomatist, and Statesman, during more than Forty Years 
 of Public Life. 1 vol. 8vo with Portrait, 12s. 
 
 " This work ought to have a place in every political library. It gives a complete view 
 of the sentiments and opinions by which the policy of Lord Palmerston has been dictated as 
 a diplomatist and statesman."— Chronicle. 
 
 " This is a remarkable and seasonable publication ; but it is something more — it is a 
 valuable addition to the historical treasures of our country during more than forty of the 
 most memorable years of our annals. We earnestly recommend the volume to general 
 perusal."— Standard.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE COURTS AND CABINETS OF 
 
 GEORGE THE THIRD, From Original Family Documents. By 
 the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM AND CHANDOS, K.G., &c. Second 
 Edition, Revised. 2 vols. 8vo., with Portraits. 30s. 
 
 opinions of the press. 
 
 " These volumes contain much valuable matter. The letters which George, first 
 Marquis of Buckingham, laid by as worthy of preservation have some claim to see the light, 
 for he held more than one office in the State, and consequently kept up a communication with 
 a great number of historical personages. He himself was twice Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 
 first, under Lord Rockingham, and secondly, under Pitt ; his most constant correspondents 
 were his two brothers, William and Thomas Grenville, both of whom spent the chief part of 
 their lives in official employments, and of whom the former is sufficiently known to fame as 
 Lord Grenville. The staple of the book is made up of these family documents, but there are 
 also to be found interspersed with the Grenville narrative, letters from every man of note, 
 dating from the death of the elder Pitt to the end of the century. There are three periods 
 upon which they shed a good deal of light. The formation of the Coalition Ministry In 1783 
 the illness of the King in 1788, and the first war with Republican France. Lord Grenville's 
 letters to his brother afford a good deal of information on the machinations of the Prince's 
 party, and the conduct of the Prince and the Duke of York during the King's illness. " — 
 The Times. 
 
 " A very remarkable and valuable publication. The Duke of Buckingham has himself 
 undertaken the task of forming a history from the papers of his grandfather and great- 
 uncle, the Earl Temple (fir3t Marquis of Buckingham), and Lord Grenville, of the days of 
 the second Wm. Pitt. The letters which are given to the public in these volumes, extend 
 over an interval commencing with 1782, and ending with 1800. In that interval, events 
 occurred which can never lose their interest as incidents in the history of England. The 
 Coalition Ministry and its dismissal by the King— the resistance of the Sovereign and Pitt 
 to the efforts of the discarded ministers to force themselves again into office— the great con- 
 stitutional question of the Regency which arose upon the King's disastrous malady— the 
 contest upon that question between the heir apparent and the ministers of the Crown — the 
 breaking out of the French Revolution, and the consequent entrance of England upon the 
 great European war, — these, with the Union with Ireland, are political movements every 
 detail of which possesses the deepest interest. In these volumes, details, then guarded with 
 the most anxious care from all eyes but those of the privileged few, are now for the first time 
 given to the public. The most secret history of many of the transactions is laid bare. It is 
 not possible to conceive contemporary history more completely exemplified. From such 
 materials it was not possible to form a work that would not possess the very highest interest. 
 The Duke of Buckingham has, however, moulded his materials with no ordinary ability and 
 skill. The connecting narrative is written both with judgment and vigour — not unfrequently 
 in a style which comes up to the highest order of historical composition — especially in some 
 of the sketches of personal character. There is scarcely a single individual of celebrity 
 throughout the period from 1782 to 1800 who is not introduced into these pages ; amongst 
 others, besides the King and the various members of the royal family, are Rockingham, 
 Shelburne, North, Thurlow, Loughborough, Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, Burke, Portland, Sydney, 
 Fltzwilliam, Tierney, Buckingham, Grenville, Grey, Malmesbury, Wilberforce, Burdett, 
 Fitrgibbon, Grattan, Flood, Cornwallls, the Beresfords, the Ponsonbys, the Wellesleys, &c." 
 —Morning Herald. 
 
 " These memoirs are among the most valuable materials for history that have recently 
 been brought to light out of the archives of any of our great families."— Examiner. 
 
 "These volumes are a treasure for the politician, and a mine of wealth for the historian." 
 Britannia.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF MAJOR 
 
 GENERAL SIR W. NOTT, G.C.B., Commander of the Army of Can- 
 
 DAHAR AND ENVOY AT THE COURT OF LuCKNOW. EDITED BY J. H. 
 
 STOCQUELER, Esq., at the request of the Daughters of the late General, 
 from Private Papers and Official Documents in their possession. 2 vols. 
 8vo., with Portrait. 28s. bound. 
 
 " One of the most valuable and interesting books that can ever claim a permanent place 
 in a British library."— Standard. 
 
 " These highly interesting volumes give a valuable contribution to the history of India 
 and an admirable portrait of a most distinguished officer." — John Bull. 
 
 " These Memoirs with the Correspondence included in them will do that justice to the 
 part played by Sir W. Nott in the Affghan war, which it is undeniable preceding works have 
 failed to do." — Athenaeum. 
 
 "These memoirs of General Nott, whom the editor very justly describes as a 'model 
 officer,' have been given to the world at the Instigation of the hero's surviving daughters. A 
 more graceful tribute of dutiful affection to the memory of a departed parent it would be 
 difficult to name. It is at once a graphic picture of the soldier's career, and a noble monu- 
 ment of his fame. The work issues from the press at a very fortunate moment. The life of 
 an officer who followed in the footsteps of Wellington, making the Despatches of that 
 illustrious warrior his continual study, will be welcomed by many an aspirant for military 
 renown at this exciting crisis. The volumes form a valuable contribution to the biographical 
 stores of the age. To the young soldier, in particular, they will form a most valuable guide, 
 worthy to be placed by the side of the Despatches of the great Duke of Wellington." — Messenger. 
 
 " When the late General Nott died, the ' Quarterly Review' expressed a hope that some 
 means would be taken for giving publicity to his private letters and official correspondence, 
 because they so completely illustrated his high and chivalrous character, while a memoir of 
 his life would hold out so admirable a lesson to British statesmen, and so good an example to 
 young officers. We are happy, therefore, to find that, under the able editorship of Mr. 
 Stocqueler, the whole of the most valuable portion of the general's correspondence has just 
 been published in two handsome volumes, which comprise also a most interesting memoir of 
 the gallant hero of Candahar, giving a complete account of the stirring campaign in Affghan- 
 istan, and throwing much light upon many important points hitherto left in obscurity. The 
 work will be eagerly welcomed by all — more particularly by military readers and those in- 
 terested in our Indian dominions." — Globe. 
 
 "A biography of a first-rate soldier, and a highly honourable man. The book will often be 
 appealed to as a standard authority. A valuable and most authentic adition Is here 
 furnished to the true history of transactions which will ever hold a prominent place in the 
 annals of our Indian rule." — Dublin University Mag. 
 
 " We know not a book after the Wellington Despatches, more deserving of the study of 
 a young officer. It might be made one of the standard manuals of military education." — 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 - This book is one of the most interesting records of military life that we possess, and 
 a genuine memorial of one who has achieved a right to be reckoned among England's greatest 
 men." — Daily News. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A RESIDENCE AT NEPAUL. BY 
 
 CAPTAIN THOMAS SMITH, late Assistant Political-Resident at 
 
 Nepatjl. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 "No man could be better qualified to describe Nepaul than Captain Smith; and his 
 concise, but clear and graphic account of its history, its natural productions, its laws and 
 customs, and the character of its warlike inhabitants, is very agreeable and instructive 
 reading. A separate chapter, not the least entertaining in the book, is devoted to anecdotes 
 of the Nepaulese mission, of whom, and of their visit to Europe, many remarkable stories 
 are told."— Post,
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 TURKEY: ITS HISTORY AND PROGRESS; FROM 
 
 THE JOURNALS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF SIR JAMES PORTER, 
 Fifteen Years Ambassador at Constantinople, continued to the Present Time, 
 with a Memoir of Sir James Porter, by his Grandson, SIR GEORGE 
 LARPENT, Bart. 2 vols. 8vo., with Illustrations. 30s. bound. 
 
 "These volumes are of an authentic character and enduring interest." — Athencsum. 
 
 " This book forms a very valuable repertory of information in regard to the past and 
 present state of Turkey. Altogether the information is completely given, and for all pur- 
 poses of reference daring the continuance of the struggle in the East, the book will be 
 valuable." — Examiner. 
 
 "To any of our readers desirous of forming an opinion for himself on the condition 
 and prospects of Turkey, we would advise a careful perusal of this work. No work on the 
 subject could have been better timed, while the information which it contains— unlike the 
 great bulk of those hasty compilations which a sudden demand has called into existence — is 
 tiot only accurate, but valuable." — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 "A most interesting, instructive, and valuable work. In no other book that we are 
 aware of, will the reader find the same amount of reliable information respecting the actual 
 condition and resources of the Sultan's dominions." — Morning Post. 
 
 " In these volumes we have the most complete and accurate description of the past and 
 present position of the Turkish Empire to be found in our language." — Britannia. 
 
 " These volumes constitute a work for the future as well as for the present, in other 
 words, a valuable library book as well as a book of great contemporaneous interest. Their 
 permanent value they derive chiefly from the deep research and extensive and minute in- 
 vestigation of their first author, Sir James Porter, their present interest from the acute and 
 lively treatment of the events of the day by his grandson and continuator. In fact, we know 
 not where to find so perfect an account of Turkey in all its relations with the rest of the 
 world, military, political, and, above all, commercial." — Standard. 
 
 "This highly interesting work consists of two parts. The first volume, after a memoir 
 Of Sir James Porter, proceeds to give a general description of the Turkish Empire, of its 
 natural and industrial productions, and its commerce, a sketch of its history from the in- 
 vasion of Europe to the reign of Sultan Mahmud II., and an account of the religion and 
 the civil institutions of the Turks, and of their manners and customs, chiefly from the 
 data supplied by the papers of Sir James Porter. In the second volume we are made ac- 
 quainted with Turkey as it is ; the religious and civil government of Turkey, its Legislature, 
 the state of education in the Empire, its finances, its military and naval strength, and the 
 social condition of the Turks, are all in succession brought under review. The work gives a fuller 
 and more life-like picture of the present state of the Ottoman Empire, than any other work with 
 which we are acquainted." — John Bull. 
 
 "No publication upon the state and prospects of the Ottoman Empire, with which we 
 are acquainted can compare with the work now under notice for general utility. In addition 
 to investigations into the legislature of Turkey, its civil aud religious government, its 
 educational institutions, and the system of instruction, its finances, military and naval 
 resources, and the social condition of the people, ample details are given of its history, and 
 a short account of the progress of the actual struggle. These researches are interspersed with 
 journals and letters, which impart a charming interest to the volumes. We hail the appear- 
 ance of these volumes with satisfaction, as accurate information both on the history and the 
 actual condition of Turkey is much needed. Good books are ever welcome, and this is a good 
 book, coming into our possession at the critical moment when it is most required." — Messenger.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE LIFE OF MARIE DE MEDICIS, QUEEN OF 
 
 FRANCE, Consort of Henry IV., and Regent under Louis XIII. 
 By MISS PARDOE, Author of "Louis XIV, and the Court of France, in 
 the 17th Century," &c. Second Edition. 3 large vols. 8vo. with fine 
 Portraits. 
 
 " A fascinating book. The history of such a woman as the beautiful, impulsive, earnest, 
 and affectionate Marie de Medicis could only be done justice to by a female pen, impelled by 
 all the sympathies of womanhood, but strengthened by an erudition by which it is not in 
 every case accompanied. In Miss Pardoe the unfortunate Queen has found both these 
 requisites, and the result has been a biography combining the attractiveness of romance with 
 the reliableness of history, and which, taking a place midway between the ' frescoed galleries' 
 of Thierry, and the ' philosophic watch-tower of Guizot,' has all the pictorial brilliancy of 
 the one, with much of the reflective speculation of the other." — Daily News. 
 
 " A work of high literary and historical merit. Rarely have the strange vicissitudes of 
 romance been more intimately blended with the facts of real history than in the life of Marie 
 de Medicis; nor has the difficult problem of combining with the fidelity of biography the 
 graphic power of dramatic delineation been often more successfully solved than by the 
 talented author of the volumes before us. As a personal narrative, Miss Pardoe's admirable 
 biography possesses the most absorbing and constantly sustained interest ; as a historical 
 record of the events of which it treats, its merit is of no ordinary description." — 
 John Bull. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE BARONESS D'OBERKIRCH, 
 
 Illustrative of the Secret History of the Courts of France, 
 Russia, and Germany. Written by HERSELF, and Edited by Her 
 Grandson, the COUNT DE MONTBRISON. 3 vols, post 8vo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 The Baroness d'Oberkirch being the intimate friend of the Empress of Russia, 
 wife of Paul I., and the confidential companion of the Duchess of Bourbon, her 
 facilities for obtaining information respecting the most private affairs of the 
 principal Courts of Europe, render her Memoirs unrivalled as a book of interest- 
 ing anecdotes of the royal, noble and other celebrated individuals who flourished 
 on the continent during the latter part of the last century. Among the royal per- 
 sonages introduced to the reader in this work, are Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, 
 Philip Egalite, and all the Princes of France then living — Peter the Great, the 
 Empress Catherine, the Emperor Paul, and his sons Constantine aud Alexander, 
 of Russia — Frederick the Great and Prince Henry of Prussia — the Emperor 
 Joseph II. of Austria — Gustavus III, of Sweden — Princess Christina of Saxony 
 — Sobieski, and Czartoriski of Poland — and the Princes of Brunswick and 
 Wurtemburg. Among the most remarkable persons are the Princes and 
 Princesses de Lamballe, de Ligne and Galitzin — the Dukes and Duchesses de 
 Choiseul, de Mazarin, de Boufners, de la Valli&re, de Guiche, de Penthievre, and 
 de Polignac — Cardinal de Rohan, Marshals Biron and d'Harcourt, Count de 
 Staremberg, Baroness de Krudener, Madame Geoffrin, Talleyrand, Mirabeau, and 
 Necker — with Count Cagliostro, Mesmer, Vestris, and Madame Mara; and the 
 work also includes such literary celebrities as Voltaire, Condorcet, de la Harpe, 
 de Beaumarchais, Rousseau, Lavater, Bernouilli, Raynal, de l'Epee, Huber, 
 Gothe, Wieland, Malesherbes, Marmontel, de Stael and de Genlis ; with some 
 singular disclosures respecting those celebrated Englishwomen, Elizabeth Chud- 
 leith, Duchess of Kingston, aud Lady Craven, Margravine of Anspach. 
 
 "A keen observer, and by position thrown in the high places of the world, the 
 Baroness d'Oberkirch was the very woman to write Memoirs that would interest future 
 generations. We commend these volumes most heartily to every reader. They are a 
 perfect magazine of pleasant anecdotes and interesting characteristic things. We lay 
 down these charming volumes with regret. They will entertain the most fastidious 
 readers, and instruct the most informed." — Examiner.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 THE LIFE OF MARGUERITE D'ANGOULEME, 
 
 QUEEN OF NAVARRE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I., from numerous Original 
 Sources, including MS. Documents in the Bibliotheque Iraperiale, and the 
 Archives du Royaume de France, and the Private Correspondence of Queen 
 Marguerite with Francis I. By MISS FREER. 2 vols., with fine Portraits, 
 engraved by Heath, 21s. bound. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 "This is a very complete and cleverly- written life of the illustrious sister of Francis I., 
 and it may be said of her that the varied and interesting stores of French history offer no 
 theme more worthy of research and study than the career of this great princess, who exer- 
 cised so potent an influence over the politics and manners of the age of which she was 
 herself the brightest ornament. The published and manuscript documents and letters 
 relating to the life of Marguerite of Navarre, and which are indispensable to a correct 
 biography of this queen, are widely dispersed. The author has spared no cost or trouble in 
 endeavouring to obtain all that were likely to elucidate her character and conduct. She ha8 
 furnished us with a very interesting and graphic sketch of the singular events and the 
 Important personages who took part in them during this stormy and remarkable period of 
 French and English history." — Observer. 
 
 "This is a very useful and amusing book. It is a good work, very well done. The 
 authoress is quite equal in power and grace to Miss Strickland. She must have spent a- 
 great time and labour in collecting the information, which she imparts in an easy and 
 agreeable manner. It is difficult to lay down her book after having once begun it. This is 
 owing partly to the interesting nature of the subject, partly to the skilful manner in which it 
 has been treated. No other life of Marguerite has yet been published, eveu in France. 
 Indeed, till Louis Philippe ordered the collection and publication of manuscripts relating to 
 the History of France, no such work could be published. It is difficult to conceive how, 
 under any circumstances, it could have been done better." — Standard. 
 
 " There are few names more distinguished that that of Marguerite d'Angouleme in the 
 range of female biography, and the writer of this work has done well in taking up a 
 subject so copious and attractive. It is altogether an Interesting and well-written 
 biography." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " A work of high literary and historic merit. It is full of absorbing and constantly 
 sustained interest. In these volumes will be found not alone an incalculable amount of 
 historical information, but a store of reading of a charming and entrancing character, and w« 
 heartily commend them as deserving general popularity." — Sunday Times. 
 
 " A work which is most acceptable as an addition to our historical stores, and which will 
 place the author in a foremost rank among our female writers of the royal biography of their 
 own sex." — John Bull. 
 
 "A candidly, carefully, and spiritedly written production, and no one who peruses it 
 with the attention it merits can fail to acquire a complete and accurate knowledge of the 
 interesting life of the best and most graceful woman who ever filled a conspicuous place in 
 the history of mankind." — Morning Herald. 
 
 " This life of Marguerite d'Angouleme is entitled to high rank amongst the many excel- 
 lent memoirs of illustrious women for which we have been largely indebted to female 
 authorship. The subject is eminently attractive." — Morning Post. 
 
 "Throughout these volumes the most intense interest is maintained. Like Carlyle, 
 Miss Freer has written as one whose thoughts and sympathies became assimilated to the 
 age. The biography of Marguerite of Navarre is a work upon which the author has 
 lavished all the resources of her genius." — Britannia.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF JOHN ABERNETHY, F.R.S. WITH A 
 
 View of his Writings, Lectures, and Character. By GEORGE 
 MACILWAIN, F.R.C.S., author of " Medicine and Surgery One Inductive 
 Science," &c. Second Edition. 2 vols., post 8vo., with Portraits, 21s. 
 
 " A memoir of high professional interest."— Morning Post. 
 
 "These memoirs convey a graphic, and, we believe, faithful picture of the celebrated 
 John Abernethy. The volumes are written in a popular style, and will afford to the general 
 reader much instruction and entertainment."— Herald. 
 
 " This is a book which ought to be read by every one. The professional man will find 
 in it the career of one of the most illustrious professors of medicine of our own or of any 
 other age— the student of intellectual science, the progress of a truly profound philosopher — 
 and all, the lesson afforded by a good man's life. Abernetby's memory is worthy of a good 
 biographer, and happily it has found one."— Standard. 
 
 "We hope these volumes will be perused by all our readers. They are extremely 
 interesting, and not only give an account of Abernethy, which cannot fail to be read with 
 benefit, but they discuss incidentally many questions of medicine and medical polity. Mr. 
 Macilwain is fond of anecdotes, and has inserted a great number j this does not render his 
 work less pleasant reading. We recommend it most strongly as an interesting, and, at the 
 same time, instructive treatise."— Medico-Chirurgical Review. 
 
 THE LITERATURE AND ROMANCE OF NORTHERN 
 
 EUROPE ; constituting a complete History of the Literature of Sweden, 
 Denmark, Norway, and Iceland, with copious Specimens of the most cele- 
 brated Histories, Romances, and Popular Legends and Tales, old Chivalrous 
 Ballads, Tragic and Comic Dramas, National Songs, Novels and Scenes from 
 the Life of the Present Day. By WILLIAM and MARY HOWITT. 2 vols. 
 post8vo. 21s. 
 
 " English readers have long been indebted to Mr. and Mrs. Howitt. They have now 
 increased our obligations by presenting us with this most charming and valuable work, by 
 means of which the great majority of the reading public will be, for the first time, made 
 acquainted with the rich stores of intellectual wealth long garnered in the literature and 
 beautiful romance of Northern Europe. From the famous Edda, whose origin is lost in 
 antiquity, down to the novels of Miss Bremer and Baroness Knorring, the prose and poetic 
 writings of Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and Iceland are here introduced to us in a manner 
 at once singularly comprehensive and concise. It is no dry enumeration of names, but the 
 very marrow and spirit of the various works displayed before us. We have old ballads and 
 fairy tales, always fascinating ; we have scenes from plays, and selections from the poets, 
 with most attractive biographies of great men. The songs and ballads are translated with 
 exquisite poetic beauty."— Sun. 
 
 RULE AND MISRULE OF THE ENGLISH IN 
 
 AMERICA. By the Author of " SAM SLICK." 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " We conceive this work to be by far the most valuable and important Judge Haliburton 
 has ever written. While teeming with interest, moral and historical, to the general reader, 
 it equally constitutes a philosophical study for the politician and statesman. It will be found 
 to let in a flood of light upon the actual origin, formation, and progress of the republic of 
 
 *ha TTnitoH Stntpsi " — Naval and 'Milltaru Cinzpftf.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 THE JOURNALS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 GENERAL SIR HARRY CALVERT, Bart., G.C.B. and G.C.H., Ad- 
 jutant-General OF THE FORCES UNDER H.R.H. THE DURE OF YORK, 
 comprising the Campaigns in Flanders and Holland in 1793-94; with an 
 Appendix containing His Plans for the Defence of the Country in case of 
 Invasion. Edited by His Son, SIR HARRY VERNEY, Bart. 1 vol. royal 
 8vo., with large maps, 14s. 
 
 ■ Both the journals and letters of Capt. Calvert are full of interest. The letters, in 
 particular, are entitled to much praise. Not too long, easy, graceful, not without wit, and 
 everywhere marked by good sense and good taste — the series addressed by Capt. Calvert to 
 his sister are literary compositions of no common order. With the best means of observing 
 the progress of the war, and with his faculties of 'judgment exercised and strengthened by 
 experience — a quick eye, a placid temper, and a natural aptitude for language rendered 
 Capt. Calvert in many respects a model of a military critic. Sir Harry Verney has per- 
 formed his duties of editor very well. The book is creditable to all parties concerned in its 
 production."— Atheneeum. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY MILITARY LIFE. BY 
 
 COLONEL LANDMANN, Late of the Corps of Royal Engineers, 
 
 Author of ■ Adventures and Recollections." 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " Much as has been written of late years about war and Wellington, we know of nothing 
 that contains so striking a picture of the march and the battle as seen by an individual, or so 
 close and homely a sketch of the Great Captain in the outset of the European career of Sir 
 Arthur Wellesley." — Spectator. 
 
 " The deserved popularity with which the previous volumes of Colonel Landmann's 
 adventures were received will be increased by the present portion of these interesting and 
 amusing records of a long life passed in active and arduous service. The Colonel's 
 shrewdness of observation renders his sketches of character highly amusing." — Britannia. 
 
 COLONEL LANDMANN'S ADVENTURES AND Re- 
 collections. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " Among the anecdotes in this work will be found notices of King George III., the Dukes 
 of Kent, Cumberland, Cambridge, Clarence, and Richmond, the Princess Augusta, General 
 Garth, Sir Harry Mildmay, Lord Charles Somerset, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Lord Heath- 
 field, Captain Grose, &c. The volumes abound in interesting matter. The anecdotes are 
 one and all amusing." — Observer. 
 
 "These 'Adventures and Recollections' are those of a gentleman whose birth and 
 profession gave him facilities of access to distinguished society. Colonel Landmann writes 
 so agreeably that we have little doubt that his volumes will be acceptable."— Athenaum. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS. 
 
 Second Series. By WILLIAM GRATTAN, Esa., late Lieutenant 
 Conn aught Rangers. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 ■ In this second series of the adventures of this famous regiment, the author extends 
 his narrative from the first formation of the gallant 88th up to the occupation of Paris. All 
 the battles, sieges, and skirmishes, in which the regiment took part, are described.' The 
 volumes are interwoven with original anecdotes that give a freshness and spirit to the whole. 
 The stories, and the sketches of society and manners, with the anecdotes of the celebrities of 
 the time, are told in an agreeable and unaffected manner. The work bears all the character- 
 istics of a soldier's straightforward and entertaining narrative."— Sunday Times.
 
 10 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 PAINTING AND CELEBRATED PAINTERS, AN- 
 
 CIENT and MODERN ; including Historical and Critical Notices of the 
 Schools of Italy, Spain, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Edited by 
 LADY JERVIS. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " This book is designed to give to the general public a popular knowledge of the History 
 of Painting and the characters of Painters, with especial reference to the most prominent 
 among those of their works which are to be seen in English galleries. It is pleasantly written 
 with the intention of serving a useful purpose. It succeeds in its design, and will be of real 
 use to the multitude of picture seers. As a piece of agreeable reading also, it is unex- 
 ceptionable."— hammer. 
 
 " This useful and well-arranged compendium will be found of value to the amateur, and 
 pleasing as well as instructive to the general reader ; and, to give it still further praise, the 
 collector will find abundance of most useful information, and many an artist will rise from 
 the perusal of the work with a much clearer idea of his art than he had before. We sum up 
 its merits by recommending it as an acceptable handbook to the principal galleries, and a 
 trustworthy guide to a knowledge of the celebrated paintings in England, and that this 
 information is valuable and much required by many thousands is a well-proven fact." — 
 Sunday Times. 
 
 " In turning over Lady Jervis's pages, we are astonished at the amount of knowledge 
 she has acquired. We can testify to the accuracy of her statements, and to the judiciousness 
 of her remarks. The work will deserve to take rank with those of Waagen and Passavant. 
 To the art-student's attention it is in every respect to be commended."— Messenger. 
 
 " It is not overstating the merits of the work to describe it as the most complete, and, at 
 the same time, one of the most trustworthy guides to a knowledge of the celebrated paintings 
 in England that has hitherto been published."— Observer. 
 
 CLASSIC AND HISTORIC PORTRAITS. BY JAMES 
 
 BRUCE. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 This work comprises Biographies of the following Classic and Historic Per- 
 sonages : — Sappho, .Esop, Pythagoras, Aspasia, Milto, Agesilaus, Socrates, Plato, 
 Alcibiades, Helen of Troy, Alexander the Great, Demetrius Poliorcetes, Scipio 
 Africanus, Sylla, Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, Germanicus, 
 Caligula, Lollia Paulina, Csesonia, Boadicea, Agrippina, Poppaea, Otho, Commodus, 
 Caracalla, Heliogabalus, Zenobia, Julian the Apostate, Eudocia, Theodora, 
 Charlemagne, Abelard and Heloise, Elizabeth of Hungary, Dante, Robert Bruce, 
 Ignez de Castro, Agnes Sorrel, Jane Shore, Lucrezia Borgia, Anne Bullen, Diana 
 of Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, Queen Elizabeth, Mary Queen of Scots, 
 Cervantes, Sir Kenelm Digby, John Sobieski, Anne of Austria, Ninon del'Enclos, 
 Mile, de Montpensier, the Duchess of Orleans, Madame de Maintenon, Catherine 
 of Russia, and Madame de Stael. 
 
 " A book which has many merits, most of all, that of a fresh and unhacknied subject. 
 The volumes are the result of a good deal of reading, and have besides an original spirit and 
 flavour about them, which haye pleased us much. Mr. Bruce is often eloquent, often 
 humorous, and has a proper appreciation of the wit and sarcasm belonging in abundance to 
 his theme. The variety and amount of information scattered through his volumes entitle 
 them to be generally read, and to be received on all hands with merited favour." — Examiner. 
 
 " We find in these piquant volumes the liberal outpourings of a ripe scholarship, the 
 results of wide and various reading, given in a style and manner at once pleasant and pictu- 
 resque."— Athenceum.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 11 
 
 MILITARY LIFE IN ALGERIA. BY THE COUNT P. 
 
 DE CASTELLANE. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " We commend this Look as really worth perusal. The volumes make us familiarly 
 acquainted with the nature of Algerian experience. St. Arnaud, Canrobert, Changarnier, 
 Cavaignac, Lamoriciere, are brought prominently before the reader." — Examiner. 
 
 "These volumes will be read with extraordinary interest. The vivid manner in which 
 the author narrates his adventures, and the number of personal anecdotes that he tells , 
 engage the reader's attention in an extraordinary manner."— Sunday Times. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ENGLISH SOLDIER IN 
 
 THE UNITED STATES' ARMY. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " The novelty characterising these interesting volumes is likely to secure them many 
 readers. In the first place, an account of the internal organization, the manners and customs 
 of the United States' Federal Army, is in itself a novelty, and a still greater novelty is to. 
 have this account rendered by a man who had served in the English before joining the. 
 American army, and who can give his report after having every opportunity of comparison. 
 The author went through the Mexican campaign with General Scott, and his volumes 
 contain much descriptive matter concerning battles, sieges, and marches on Mexican 
 territory, besides their sketches of the normal chronic condition of the United States' soldier 
 in time of peace."— Daily Xews. 
 
 CANADA AS IT WAS, IS, AND MAY BE. BY THE 
 
 late LIEUTENANT-COLONEL SIR R. BONNYCASTLE. With an Account 
 of Recent Transactions, by SIR J. E. ALEXANDER, K.L.S., &c. 2 vols., 
 post 8vo. with maps, &c, 21s. 
 
 "These volumes offer to the British public a clear and trustworthy statement of the 
 affairs of Canada, and the effects of the immense public works in progress and completed; 
 with sketches of locality and scenery, amusing anecdotes of personal observation, and gene- 
 rally every information which may be of use to the traveller or settler, and the military and 
 political reader.— Messenger. 
 
 ATLANTIC AND TRANSATLANTIC SKETCHES. BY 
 
 CAPTAIN MACKINNON, R.N. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 "Captain Mackinnon's sketches of America are of a striking character and permanent 
 value. His volumes convey a just impression of the United States, a fair and candid view of 
 their society and institutions, so well written and so entertaining that the effect of thelr- 
 perusal on the public here must be considerable. They are light, animated, and lively, full- 
 of racy sketches, pictures of life, anecdotes of society, visits to remarkable men and famous 
 places, sporting episodes, &c, very original and interesting." — Sunday Times. 
 
 SPAIN AS IT IS. BY G. A. HOSKINS, ESQ. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " To the tourist this work will prove invaluable. It is the most complete and interesting 
 portraiture of Spain that has ever come under our notice."— John Bull. 
 
 HISTORY OF CORFU; AND OF THE REPUBLIC 
 
 OF THE IONIAN ISLANDS. By LIEUT. H. J. W. JERVIS, Royal 
 Artillery. 1 vol. post 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 " Written with great care and research, and including probably all the particulars of 
 any moment in the history of Corfu."— Athcnceum.
 
 12 HURST AND BLA.CKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS 
 
 THE MOSLEM AND THE CHRISTIAN; OR, ADVEN- 
 
 TURES IN THE EAST. By SADYK PASHA. Revised with original 
 
 Notes, by COLONEL LACH SZYRMA, Editor of "Revelations of 
 
 Siberia." 3 vols, post 8vo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 " Sadyk Pasha, the author of this work, is a Pole of noble birth. He is now commander 
 
 of the Turkish Cossacks, a corps organised by himself. The volumes on the Moslem and 
 
 the Christian, partly fact and partly fiction, written by him, and translated by Colonel 
 
 Szyrma, display very well the literary spirit of the soldier. They are full of the adventures 
 
 and emotions that belong to love and warj they treat of the present time, they introduce 
 
 many existing people, and have the Danubian principalities for |scene of action. Here are 
 
 sources of popularity which the book fairly claims. Aa a translation, it is excellent.— 
 
 Examiner. 
 
 HOME LIFE IN RUSSIA. REVISED BY COL. LACH 
 
 SZYRMA, Editor of "Revelations of Siberia." 2 vols. post8vo. 21s. 
 
 "This work gives a very interesting and graphic account of the manners and customs of 
 the Russian people. The most interesting and amusing parts of the work will be found to be 
 those interior scenes in the houses of the wealthy and middle classes of Russia upon which 
 we have but scanty information, although they are some of the most striking and truthful 
 indications of the progress and civilization of a country. As such we recommend them to the 
 study of our readers."— Observer. 
 
 "A curious, extraordinary, and very entertaining memoir is contained in these volumes, 
 and at the present crisis cannot but command an eager perusal. The special recommenda- 
 tion of the work to us is the novel view and clear insight it affords Englishmen of the real 
 character of the Russians. Their sayings and doings, and the machinery of their society, are 
 all laid unsparingly bare."— Sunday Times. 
 
 44 So little is known in this country of the internal condition of Russia, or the state of 
 society in that enormous empire, that the contents of these volumes will naturally be perused 
 with great curiosity. The volumes abound in lively dialogue, and are enlivened by satirical 
 and humorous touches, and the manners and customs of the individuals composing what is 
 called the middle rank in Russia are graphically described."— Morning Herald. 
 
 REVELATIONS OF SIBERIA. BY A BANISHED 
 
 LADY. Edited by COLONEL LACH SZYRMA. Third and cheaper 
 Edition. 2 vols, post 8vo. 16s. 
 
 41 A thoroughly good book. It cannot be read by too many people."— Dickens's House- 
 hold Words. 
 
 44 The authoress of these volumes was a lady of quality, who, having incurred the 
 displeasure of the Russian Government for a political offence, was exiled to Siberia. The 
 place of her exile was Berezov, the most northern part of this northern penal settlement ; and 
 in it she spent about two years, not unprofitably, as the reader will find by her interesting 
 work, containing a lively and graphic picture of the country, the people, their manners and 
 customs, &c. The book gives a most important and valuable insight into the economy of 
 what has been hitherto the terra incognita of Russian despotism."— Daily News. 
 
 44 Since the publication of the famous romance the ' Exiles of Siberia,' we have had 
 no account of these desolate lands more attractive than the present work."— Globe.
 
 VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 13 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD, 
 
 Comprising A Winter Passage across the Andes to Chili, with a 
 Visit to the Gold Regions of California and Australia, the South 
 Sea Islands, Java, Sec. By F. GERSTAECKER. 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 31s. 6d. 
 
 opinions of the press. 
 
 " Starting from Bremen for California, the author of this Narrative proceeded to Rio, 
 and thence to Buenos Ayresj where he exchanged the wild seas for the yet wilder Pampas, 
 and made his way on horseback to Valparaiso across the Cordilleras — a winter passage full of 
 difficulty and danger. From Valparaiso he sailed to California, and visited San Francisco, 
 Sacramento, and the mining districts generally. Thence he steered his course to the South 
 Sea Islands, resting at Honolulu, Tahiti, and other gems of the sea in that quarter, and from 
 thence to Sydney, marching through the Murray Valley, and inspecting the Adelaide district; 
 From Australia he dashed onward to Java, riding through the interior, and taking a general 
 survey of Batavia, with a glance at Japan and the Japanese. An active, intelligent, observant 
 man, the notes he made of his adventures are full of variety and interest. His descriptions of 
 places and persons are lively, and his remarks on natural productions and the phenomena of 
 €arth, sea, and sky are always sensible, and made with a view to practical results. Those 
 portions of the Narrative which refer to California and Australia are replete with vivid 
 sketches ; and indeed the whole work abounds with living and picturesque descriptions of 
 men, manners, and localities." — Globe. 
 
 " Independently of great variety — for these pages are never monotonous or dull — a 
 pleasant freshness pervades Mr. Gerstaecker's chequered narrative. It offers much to 
 interest, and conveys much valuable information, set forth in a very lucid and graphic 
 manner." — Athenaeum. 
 
 "A book of travels of a superior kind, both as regards the varied information it con- 
 tains and the spirited style in which it is written."— Literary Gazette. 
 
 A SKETCHER'S TOUR ROUND THE WORLD. BY 
 
 ROBERT EL^'ES, Esa. Second Edition, 1 vol. royal 8vo., with 21 
 Coloured Illustrations from Original Designs by the Author. 21s. elegantly 
 bound, gilt edges. 
 
 "Combining in itself the best qualities of a library volume with that of a gift-book, is 
 Mr. Elwes' ' Sketcher's Tour.' It is an unaffected, well-written record of a tour of some 
 36,000 miles, and is accompanied by a number of very beautiful tinted lithographs, executed 
 by the author. These, as well as the literary sketches in the volume, deal most largely with 
 Southern and Spanish America,— whence the reader is afterwards taken by Lima to the 
 Sandwich Islands, is carried to and fro among the strange and exciting scenes of the 
 Pacific, — thence Bail3 to the Australian coast, — passes to China,— afterwards to Singapore 
 and Bombay,— and so home by Egypt and Italy. The book is pleasantly written throughout, 
 and with the picturesque variety that cannot but belong to the description of a succession of 
 «uch scenes, is also full of interesting and instructive re arks." — Examiner. 
 
 "The garment in which this book comes forth seems to point out the drawing-room table 
 as its place of destination. The nature of its contents, — cheerful, lively letter-press— will 
 assure it a ready welcome there. Yet it is not, therefore, ineligible for the library shelf — even 
 for that shelf which is devoted to « Voyages Round the World.' Pleasanter reading, we 
 repeat, need not be offered than our sketcher brings."— Athenaeum
 
 14 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 AUSTRALIA AS IT IS : ITS SETTLEMENTS, FARMS, 
 
 AND GOLD FIELDS. By F. LANCELOT, Esq., Mineralogical Sur- 
 veyor in the Australian Colonies. Second Edition, revised. 2 vols, 
 post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " This is an unadorned account of the actual condition in which these colonies are found, 
 by a professional surveyor and mineralogist, who goes over the ground with a careful glance 
 and a remarkable aptitude for seizing on the practical portions of the subject. On the 
 climate, the vegetation, and the agricultural resources of the country, he is copious in the 
 extreme, and to the intending emigrant an invaluable instructor. As may be expected from 
 a scientific hand, the subject of gold digging undergoes a thorough manipulation. Mr. 
 Lancelot dwells with minuteness on the several indications, stratifications, varieties of soil, 
 and methods of working, experience has pointed out, and offers a perfect manual of the new 
 craft to the adventurous settler. Nor has he neglected to provide him with information as to 
 the sea voyage, and all its accessories, the commodities most in request at the antipodes, and 
 a general view of social wants, family management, &c, such as a shrewd and observant 
 counsellor, aided by old resident authorities, can afford. As a guide to the auriferous regions, 
 as well as the pastoral solitudes of Australia, the work is unsurpassed." — Globe. 
 
 " We advise all about to emigrate to take this book as a counsellor and companion." — 
 Lloyd's Weekly Paper. 
 
 A LADY'S VISIT TO THE GOLD DIGGINGS OF 
 
 AUSTRALIA. By MRS. CLACY. 1 vol. 10s. Gd. 
 
 " The most pithy and entertaining of all the books that have been written on the gold 
 diggings."— Literary Gazette. 
 
 "Mrs. Clacy's book will be read with considerable interest, and not without profit. 
 Her statements and advice will be most useful among her own sex."— Athenaeum. 
 
 " Mrs. Clacy tells her story well. Her book is the most graphic account of the diggings 
 and the gold country in general that is to be had."— Daily News. 
 
 " We recommend this work as the emigrant's vade mecum." — Home Companion. 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE. 
 
 By MRS. CLACY. Author of " A Lady's Visit to the Gold Diggings." 
 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " In these volumes Mrs. Clacy has presented life in Australia in all its varied aspects. 
 An intimate acquaintance with the country, and with the circumstances in which settlers and 
 emigrants find themselves, has enabled the writer to impart to her narrative a character of 
 truthfulness and life-like animation, which renders them no less instructive than charming. 
 The book is throughout exceedingly attractive."— John Bull. 
 
 "While affording amusement to the general reader, these ' Lights and Shadows of 
 Australian Life,' are full of useful hints to intending emigrants, and will convey to friends at 
 home acceptable information as to the country where so many now have friends or relatives." 
 — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " These volumes consist of a series of very interesting tales, founded on facts, in which the 
 chief features of a settler's life are shown. To intending emigrants the work will be specially 
 attractive, but the ordinary novel reader will find that these narratives are more likely to 
 amuse an idle hour than more ambitious productions— possessing, as they do, the charm of 
 truth with the fascination of fiction."— Sim.
 
 VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 15 
 
 TEAVELS IN EUROPEAN TURKEY: THROUGH 
 
 Bosnia, Servia, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Roumelia, Albania, and 
 Epirus ; with a Visit to Greece and the Ionian Isles, and a Home- 
 ward Tour through Hungary and the Sclavonian Provinces of 
 Austria on the Lower Danube. By EDMUND SPENCER, Esq. 
 Author of " Travels in Circassia," etc. Second and Cheaper Edition, in 
 2 vols. 8vo., with Illustrations, and a valuable Map of European Turkey 
 from the most recent Charts in the possession of the Austrian and Turkish 
 Governments, revised by the Author, 18s. 
 
 "These important volumes describe some of those countries to which public attention 
 is now more particularly directed: Turkey, Greece, Hungary, and Austria. The author has 
 given us a most interesting picture of the Turkish Empire, its weaknesses, and the embar- 
 rassments from which it is now suffering, its financial difficulties, the discontent of its 
 Christian, and the turbulence of a great portion of its Mohammedan subjects. We cordially 
 recommend Mr. Spencer's valuable and interesting volumes to the attention of the reader." — 
 U. S. Magazine. 
 
 " This interesting work contains by far the most complete, the most enlightened, and 
 the most reliable amount of what has been hitherto almost the terra incognita of European 
 Turkey, and supplies the reader with abundance of entertainment as well as instruction."— 
 John Bull. 
 
 A TOUR OF INQUIRY THROUGH FRANCE AND 
 
 ITALY, Illustrating their Present Social, Political, and Religious 
 Condition. By EDMUND SPENCER, Esq., Author of " Travels in 
 European Turkey," " Circassia," &c. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " Mr. Spencer has travelled through France and Italy, with the eyes and feelings of a 
 Protestant philosopher. His volumes contain much valuable matter, many judicious remarks, 
 and a great deal of useful information."— Morning Chronicle. 
 
 ARCTIC MISCELLANIES, A SOUVENIR OF THE 
 
 LATE POLAR SEARCH. By the OFFICERS and SEAMEN of the 
 EXPEDITION. Dedicatkd by permission to the Lords of the 
 Admiralty. Second Edition. 1 vol., with numerous Illustrations. 
 Kb. 6tf. 
 
 " This volume is not the least interesting or instructive among the records of the late 
 expedition in search of Sir John Franklin, commanded by Captain Austin. The most 
 valuable portions of the book are those which relate to the scientific and practical observation! 
 made in the course of the expedition, and the descriptions of scenery and incidents of arctic 
 travel. From the variety of the materials, and the novelty of the scenes and incidents to 
 which they refer, no less than the interest which attaches to all that relates to the probable 
 safety of Sir John Franklin and his companions, the Arctic Miscellanies forms a very 
 readable book, and one that redounds to the honour of the national character." — The Timet.
 
 16 HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS 
 
 FOREST LIFE IN CEYLON. BY W. KNIGHTON, M.A., 
 
 formerly Secretary to the Ceylon Branch Royax Asiatic Society. 
 Second Edition, 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " A very clever and amusing book, by one who has lived as a planter and journalist many 
 years in Ceylon. The work is filled with interesting accounts of the sports, resources, pro- 
 ductions, scenery, and traditions of the island. The sporting adventures are narrated in a 
 very spirited manner." — Standard. 
 
 " We have not met with a more delightful book for along time past." — Lit. Gax. 
 
 "We have no recollection of a more interesting or instructive work on Ceylon and the 
 Cingalese than that which Mr. Knighton has just given to the world. It displays a greatdeal of 
 acuteness and sagacity in its observation of men and manners, and contains a vast deal of 
 useful information on topics, historical, political, and commercial, and has the charm of a 
 fluent and graphic style."— Morning Post. 
 
 TROPICAL SKETCHES; OR, REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 AN INDIAN JOURNALIST. BY W. KNIGHTON, M.A., Author of 
 " Forest Life in Ceylon." 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 "When Mr. Knighton's pleasant volumes on Ceylon were published, we freely gave his 
 publication the praise which it appears to have well deserved, since another edition has been, 
 calledfor. Amongst the writersof the day, we know of none who are more felicitous in hitting off 
 with an amusing accuracy, the characters he has met with, and his descriptive powers are first- 
 rate. Take his Sketches up and open where you will, he touches upon topics of varied 
 nature — now political, anon historical or commercial, interspersed with traits of society and 
 manners, every page teeming with information, combined with lively detail. His style, indeed, 
 is eminently attractive. There is no weariness comes over the reader with Mr. Knighton's 
 work before him — all is vivacity. The Tropical Sketches contains the result of the author's 
 experience in the East in various capacities, but he is chiefly at home when he enters upon 
 the narrative of his mission as a journalist. His revelations of his labours in an educational 
 capacity, are highly amusing, and there is an added charm to the volumes that the impress 
 of fidelity is stamped on every page. In short, Tropical Sketches maybe set down as the work 
 of a man of education and refinement, gifted with a keen observation for all that is passing 
 around him ; such a publication cannot fail in being both amusing and instructive."— Sunday 
 Times. 
 
 FIVE YEARS IN THE WEST INDIES. BY CHARLES 
 
 W. DAY, Esq. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 "It would be unjust to deny the vigour, brilliancy and varied interest of this work, the 
 abundant stores of anecdote and incident, and the copious detail of local habits and peculiarities 
 in each island visited in succession." — Globe. 
 
 TRAVELS IN INDIA AND KASHMIR. BY BARON 
 
 SCHONBERG. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " This account of a Journey through India and Kashmir will be read with considerable 
 interest. Whatever came in his way worthy of record the author committed to writing, and 
 the result is an entertaining and instructive miscellany of information on the country, its 
 climate, its natural production, its history and antiquities, and the character, the religion, 
 and the social condition of its inhabitants."— John Bull.
 
 VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 17 
 
 EIGHTEEN YEARS ON THE GOLD COAST OF 
 
 AFRICA; including ax Account of the Native Tribes, and their 
 intercourse with Europeans. By BRODIE CRUICKSHANK, Member 
 of the Legislative Council, Cape Coast Castle. 2 vols, post 8vo. 
 21s. 
 
 "This is one of the most interesting works that ever yet came into our hands. It 
 possesses the charm of introducing us to habits and manners of the human family of which, 
 before we had no conception. Mrs. Beecher Stowe's work has, indeed, made us all familiar 
 with the degree of intelligence and the disposition of the transplanted African ; but it has 
 been reserved to Mr. Cruickshauk to exhibit the children of Ham in their original state, and 
 to prove, as his work proves to demonstration, that, by the extension of a knowledge of the 
 Gospel, and by that only can the African be brought within the pale of civilization. We 
 anxiously desire to direct public attention to a work bo valuable. An incidental episode in 
 the work is an affecting narrative of the death of the gifted Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. £. L.) 
 written a few months after her marriage with Governor Maclean."— Standard. 
 
 EIGHT YEAKS IN PALESTINE, SYRIA, AND ASIA 
 
 MINOR By F. A. NEALE, Esa., Late Attached to the Consular 
 Service in Syria. Second Edition, 2 vols, post 8vo. with Illustrations, 
 21s. 
 
 "A very agreeable book. Mr. Neale is evidently quite familiar with the East, and writes 
 in a lively, shrewd, and good-humoured manner. A great deal of information is to be found 
 in his pages."— Athenceum. 
 
 KHARTOUM AND THE NILES. BY GEORGE MELLY, 
 
 Esa. Second Edition. 2 vols, post 8vo., with Maps and Illustra- 
 tions, 21s. 
 " Mr. Melly is of the same school of travel as the author of ' Eothen.' His book 
 altogether is very agreeable, comprising, besides the description of Khartoum, many in- 
 telligent illustrations of the relations now subsisting between the Governments of the Sultan 
 and the Pacha, and exceedingly graphic sketches of Cairo, the Pyramids, the Plain of Thebes, 
 the Cataracts, &.c."—Exami?ier. 
 
 TRAVELS IN BOLIVIA; WITH A TOUR ACROSS 
 
 THE PAMPAS TO BUENOS AYRES. BY L. HUGH DE BONXELI,of 
 
 Her Britannic Majesty's Legation. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21*. 
 
 " Mr. Bonelli's official position gave him great opportunities of observation, of which 
 
 he has freely availed himself, and he has furnished us with a very interesting and amusing 
 
 book of travels respecting a country whose political and commercial importance is becoming 
 
 every day more obvious."— Observer. 
 
 THE ANSYREEH AND ISMAELEEH: A VISIT TO 
 
 THE SECRET SECTS OF NORTHERN SYRIA, with a View to the 
 
 Establishment of Schools. BY THE REV. S. LYDE, M.A., Late 
 
 Chaplain at Beyrout. 1 vol. 10s. 6d. 
 
 " Mr. Lyde's pages furnish a very good illustration of the present state of some of the 
 
 east known parts of Syria. Mr. Lyde visited the most important districts of the Ansyreeh, 
 
 lived with them, and conversed with their sheiks or chief men. The practical aim of the 
 
 author gives his volumes an interest which works of greater pretension want." — Atherueum.
 
 18 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SAM SLICK'S NEW WORK, NATURE AND HUMAN 
 
 NATURE. 2 vols, post 8vo. 24s. 
 
 " Since Sam Slick's Ifirst work he has written nothing so fresh, racy, and genuinely 
 humorous as this. Every line of it tells some way or other ; instructively, satirically, 
 jocosely, or wittily. Admiration at Sam's mature talents, and laughter at his droll yarns, 
 constantly alternate, as with unhalting avidity we peruse these last volumes of his. They 
 consist of 25 Chapters, each containing a tale, a sketch, or an adventure. In every one of 
 them, the Clockmaker proves himself the fastest time killer a-going." — Observer, 
 
 SAM SLICK'S WISE SAWS AND MODERN 
 
 INSTANCES ; or, What he Said, Did, or Invented. Second Edition. 
 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 44 We do not fear to predict that these delightful volumes will be the most popular, as 
 beyond doubt, they are the best, of all Judge Haliburton's admirable works. The ' Wise 
 Saws and Modern Instances' evince powers of imagination and expression far beyond what 
 even his former publications could lead any one to ascribe to the author. We have, it is true 
 long been familiar with his quaint humour and racy narrative, but the volumes before us 
 take a loftier range, and are so rich in fun and good sense, that to offer an extract as a 
 sample would be an injustice to author and reader. It is one of the pleasantest books we 
 ever read, and we earnestly recommend it." — Standard. 
 
 *' Let Sam Slick go a mackarel fishing, or to court in England — let him venture alone 
 among a tribe of the sauciest single women that ever banded themselves together in electric 
 chain to turn tables or to mystify man — our hero always manages to come off with flying 
 colours — to beat every craftsman in the cunning of his own calling — to get at the heart of 
 every maid'3 and matron's secret. The book before us will be read and laughed over. Its 
 quaint and racy dialect will please some readers — its abundance of yarns will amuse others. 
 There is something in the volumes to suit readers of every humour." — Athenaeum. 
 
 "The humour of Sam Slick is inexhaustible. He is ever and everywhere a welcome 
 visitor ; smiles greet his approach, and wit and wisdom hang upon his tongue. The present 
 is altogether a most edifying production, remarkable alike for its racy humour, its sound 
 philosophy, the felicity of its illustrations, and the delicacy of its satire. We promise our 
 readers a great treat from the perusal of these ' Wise Saws and Modern Instances,' which 
 contain a world of practical wisdom, and a treasury of the richest fun." — Morning Post. 
 
 THE AMERICANS AT HOME; OR, BYEWAYS, 
 
 BACKWOODS, AND PRAIRIES. Edited by the Author of "SAM 
 SLICK." 3 vols, post 8vo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 " In the picturesque delineation of character, and the felicitous portraiture of national 
 features, no writer of the present day equals Judge Halibmton. • The Americans at Home ' 
 will not be less popular than any of his previous works."— l'ust. 
 
 TRAITS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. EDITED BY 
 
 the Author of " SAM SLICK." 3 vols, post Svo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 " No man has done more than the facetious Judge Haliburton, through the mouth of 
 the inimitable ' Sam,' to make the old parent country recognize and appreciate her queer 
 transatlantic progeny. His present collection of comic stories and laughable traits is a 
 budget of fun full of rich specimens of American humour." — Globe.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 19 
 
 THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF MARY RUSSELL 
 
 MITFORD. Author of " Our Village," " Atherton," &c. 2 vols, post 8vo. 
 with Portrait of the Author and other Illustrations. 21s. 
 
 " We recommend Miss Mitford's dramas heartily to all by whom they are unknown. A 
 more graceful addition could not be made to any collection of dramatic works." — Blackwood's 
 Magazine. 
 
 " Miss Mitford has collected into one chaplet the laurels gathered in her prime of author- 
 ship, and she has given it to the world with a graceful and loving letter of reminiscence and 
 benediction. Laid by the side of the volume of dramatic works of Joanna Baillie, these 
 volumes suffer no disparagement. This is high praise, and it is well deserved." — Athenaum. 
 
 " Miss Mitford's plays and dramatic scenes form very delightful reading." — Examiner. 
 
 " The high reputation which Miss Mitford has acquired as a dramatist will insure a 
 hearty welcome to this collected edition of her dramatic works." — John Bull. 
 
 DARIEN; OR, THE MERCHANT PRINCE. BY ELIOT 
 
 WARBURTON. Second Edition. 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 
 "The scheme for the colonization of Darien by Scotchmen, and the opening of a com- 
 munication between the East and West across the Isthmus of Panama, furnishes the founda- 
 tion of this story, which is in all respects worthy of the high reputation which the author of 
 the ' Crescent and the Cross' had already made for himself. The early history of the * Merchant 
 Prince' introduces the reader to the condition of Spain under the Inquisition ; the portraitures 
 of Scottish life which occupy a prominent place in the narrative, are full of spirit ; the scenes 
 in America exhibit the state of the natives of the New World at that period; the daring deeds 
 of the Buccaneers supply a most romantic element in the story ; and an additional interest 
 is infused into it by the introduction of the various celebrated characters of the period, such 
 as Law, the French financier, and Paterson, the founder of the Bank of England. All these 
 varied ingredients are treated with that brilliancy of style and powerful descriptive talent, by 
 which the pen of Eliot Warburton was so eminently distinguished." — John Bull. 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A MISSIONARY. BY 
 
 THE REV. J. P. FLETCHER. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 "We conscientiously recommend this book, as well for its amusing character as for 
 the spirit it displays of earnest piety." — Standard. 
 
 SCENES FROM SCRIPTURE. BY THE REV. G. 
 
 CROLY, LL.D. 10s. Gd. 
 
 "Eminent in every mode of literature, Dr. Croly stands, in our judgment, first among 
 the living poets of Great Britain — the only man of our day entitled by his power to venture 
 within the sacred circle of religious poets." — Standard. 
 
 "An admirable addition to the library of religious families."— John Bull. 
 
 THE SONG OF ROLAND, AS CHANTED BEFORE 
 
 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS, BY THE MINSTREL TAILLEFER. 
 
 Translated by the Author of "EMILIA WYNDHAM." Small 4to. f 
 
 handsomely bound, gilt edges, 5s. 
 " ' The Song of Roland' is well worth general perusal. It is spirited and descriptive, 
 and gives an important, and, no doubt, faithful picture of the chivalric manners and feelings 
 of the age." — Morning Herald.
 
 20 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 FAMILY ROMANCE; OR, DOMESTIC ANNALS OF 
 
 THE ARISTOCRACY. BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, Ulster King op 
 Arms. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 Among the many other interesting legends and romantic family histories com- 
 prised in these volumes, will he found the following : — The wonderful narrative 
 of Maria Stella, Lady Newborough, who claimed on such strong evidence to be 
 a Princess of the House of Orleans, and disputed the identity of Louis Philippe — 
 The story of the humble marriage of the beautiful Countess of Strathmore, and 
 the sufferings and fate of her only child — The Leaders of Fashion, from Gramont 
 to D'Orsay — The rise of the celebrated Baron Ward, now Prime Minister at 
 Parma — The curious claim to the Earldom of Crawford — The Strange Vicissitudes 
 of our Great Families, replete with the most romantic details — The story of the 
 Kirkpatricks of Closeburn (the ancestors of the French Empress), and the re- 
 markable tradition associated with them — The Legend of the Lambtons — The 
 verification in our own time of the famous prediction as to the Earls of Mar— 
 Lady Ogilvy's escape — The Beresford and Wynyard ghost stories correctly told — 
 &c. &c. 
 
 ■ It were impossible to praise too highly as a work of amusement these two most in- 
 teresting volumes, whether we should have regard to its excellent plan or its not less ex- 
 cellent execution. The volumes are just what ought to be found on every drawing-room table. 
 Here you have nearly fffty captivating romances with the pith of all their interest preserved 
 in undiminished poignancy, and any one may be read in half an hour. It is not the least of 
 their merits that the romances are founded on fact — or what, at least, has been handed down 
 for truth by long tradition — and the romance of reality far exceeds the romance of fiction. 
 Each story is told in the clear, unaffected style with which the author's former works 
 have made the public familiar, while they afford evidence of the value, even to a work of 
 amusement, of that historical and genealogical learning that may justly be expected of the 
 author of * The Peerage.' " — Standard. 
 
 " The very reading for sea-side or fire-side in our hours of idleness."— Athenaum. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM; OR, NARRA- 
 TIVES, SCENES, AND ANECDOTES FROM COURTS OF JUSTICE, 
 SECOND SERIES. BY PETER BURKE, Esa., of the Inner Temple, 
 Barrister-at-Law. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 PRINCIPAL CONTENTS :— Lord Crichton's Revenge— The Great Douglas 
 Cause — Lord and Lady Kinnaird — Marie Delorme and Her Husband — The 
 Spectral Treasure — Murders in Inns of Court — Matthieson the Forger — Trials 
 that established the Illegality of Slavery — The Lover Highwayman — The 
 Accusing Spirit — The Attorney- General of the Reign of Terror — Eccentric 
 Occurrences in the Law — Adventuresses of Pretended Rank — The Courier of 
 Lyons — General Sarrazin's Bigamy — The Elstree Murder — Count Bocarme and 
 his wife — Professor Webster, &c. 
 
 " We have no hesitation in recommending this, as one of the most interesting works 
 that have been lately given to the public." — Morning Chronicle 
 
 " The favour with which the first series of this publication was received, has induced 
 Mr. Burke to extend his researches, which he has done with great judgment. The incidents 
 forming the subject of the second series are as extraordinary in every respect, as those which 
 obtained so high a meed of celebrity for the first. Some of the tales could scarcely be believed 
 to be founded in fact, or to be records of events that have startled the world, were there not 
 the incontestable evidence which Mr. Burke has established to prove that they have 
 actually happened." — Messenger.
 
 WORKS OF FICTION. 
 
 21 
 
 BY MRS. TROLLOPE, 
 
 THE LIFE AND ADVEN- 
 TURES OF A CLEVER 
 WOMAN. 
 
 ■ The ' Clever Woman ' is of the same 
 class with the 'Vicar of Wrexhill,' and 
 •Widow Barnaby.' It is the best novel 
 the season has produced. No person can 
 fail to be amused by it." — Critic. 
 
 "Mrs. Trollope has done full justice to 
 her well-earned reputation as one of the 
 cleverest novelists of the day in this 
 new production of her fertile pen." — 
 John Bull. 
 
 UNCLE WALTER. 
 
 3 vols. 
 *" Uncle Walter' is an exceedingly en- 
 tertaining novel. It assures Mrs. Trollope 
 more than ever in her position as one of 
 the ablest fiction writers of the day,"— 
 Morning Post. 
 
 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 ■ The knowledge of the world which 
 Mrs. Trollope possesses in so eminent a 
 degree is strongly exhibited in the pages 
 of this novel." — Observer, 
 
 BY MRS." GORE. 
 
 MAMMON; OR, THE HARDSHIPS OF AN HEIRESS. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 THE DEAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 3 vols. 
 "One of the best of Mrs. Gore's 
 stories. The volumes are strewed with 
 smart and sparkling epigram." — Morning 
 Chronicle. 
 
 PROGRESS & PREJUDICE. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 " This entertaining and particularly 
 clever novel is not to be analysed, but 
 to be praised, and that emphatically."— 
 Examiner. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF MARGARET MAITLAND. 
 
 MAGDALEN HEPBURN; 
 
 A STORY OP THE SCOTTISH REFORMATION. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 " ' Magdalen Hepburn will sustain the 
 reputation which the author of ■ Margaret 
 Maitland' has acquired. It is a well 
 prepared and carefully executed picture 
 of the society and state of manners in 
 Scotland at the dawn of the Reforma- 
 tion. John Knox is successfully drawn." 
 — Athenaeum. 
 
 "' Magdalen Hepburn ' is a story of the 
 Scottish Reformation, with John Knox 
 prominently introduced among the dra- 
 matis personae. The book is thoroughly 
 enjoyable, pleasant women move to and 
 fro in it, characters are well discrimi- 
 nated, and there is a sense everywhere of 
 the right and good, as well as the pictu- 
 resque." — Examiner. 
 
 ADAM GRAEME, 
 OF MOSSGRAY. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 **A story awakening genuine emotions 
 of interest and delight by its admirable 
 pictures of Scottish life and scenery."— 
 Post. 
 
 HARRY MUIR. 
 
 Second Edition. 3 vols. 
 
 ' "We prefer 'Harry Muir' to most of 
 the Scottish novels that have appeared 
 since Gait's domestic stories. This new 
 tale, by the author of ' Margaret Mait- 
 land,' is a real picture of the weakness of 
 man's nature and the depths of woman's 
 kindness. The narrative, to repeat our 
 praise, is not one to be entered on or 
 parted from without our regard for its 
 writer being increased."— Athenaeum. 
 
 " This is incomparably the best of the 
 author's works. In it the brilliant pro- 
 mise afforded by ' Margaret Maitland ' 
 has been fully realised, and now there 
 can be no question that, for graphic pic- 
 tures of Scottish life, the author is en- 
 titled to be ranked second to none among 
 modern writers of fiction."— Caledonian 
 Mercury. 
 
 CALEB FIELD. A TALE. 
 
 1 vol. 6s. 
 
 " This beautiful production is every way 
 worthy of its author's reputation in the 
 very first rank of contemporary writers."— 
 Standard,
 
 22 
 
 WORKS OF FICTION. 
 
 CONSTANCE HERBERT. 
 
 By Geraldine Jewsbcry. 
 
 Author of " Marian Withers," " Zob," 
 &c. 3 vols. 
 
 OAKLEIGH MASCOTT. 
 
 By L. Howe. 
 Dedicated to Professor Aytoun. 2 vols. 
 
 "A very clever romance. The style 
 throughout is fluent and forcible, and 
 many of the scenes are sketched witfi 
 considerable graphic power."— Morning 
 Post. 
 
 ANTIPODES; 
 
 Ob, THE NEW EXISTENCE. 
 
 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 By a Clergyman. 3 vols. 
 
 HERBERT LAKE. 
 
 By the Author of " Anne Dysart." 
 
 3 vols. 
 «' Many and various are the cross pur- 
 poses of love which run through this 
 cleverly-written tale, from the pen of the 
 talented author of * Anne Dysart.' While 
 administering largely to the entertainment 
 of the reader, the Author has added to 
 a well-earned reputation." — John Bull. 
 
 THE YOUNG HUSBAND. 
 
 By Mrs. Grey, Author of "The Gam- 
 bler's Wife," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 "In this fascinating novel Mrs. Grey 
 has surpassed her former productions, 
 talented and powerful as they were." — 
 John Bull. 
 
 "The merit of producing an admirable 
 story may be justly awarded to Mrs. 
 Grey." — Sunday Times. 
 
 THE CURATE OF OVERTON. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 "A powerfully written story, the cha- 
 racters and incidents of which are por- 
 trayed with great skill." — John Bull. 
 
 "The startling secession of such men 
 as Newman, Manning, and Wilberforce, 
 renders the revelations which the author 
 has made in these interesting and instruc- 
 tive volumes extremely well-timed." — Bri- 
 tannia. 
 
 CONFESSIONS 
 OF AN ETONIAN. 
 
 By C. Rowcroft, Esq. 
 3 vols. 
 
 VIVIA. 
 
 By Mrs. J. E. Dalrymplb. 
 Dedicated to Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 2 vols. 
 
 "'Vivia is an excellent novel. Mrs. 
 Dalrymple paints society in its true 
 colours. We heartily congratulate her 
 upon a production which displays such 
 high purpose, wrought out with so much 
 ability." — Post. 
 
 MATHEW PAXTON. 
 
 Edited by the Author of " John Dray- 
 ton," " AlLIEFORD," &C. 3 VOls. 
 
 " ' Mathew Paxton ' bears a strong 
 generic resemblance to those clever stories 
 • John Drayton ' and * Ailieford,' and 
 awakens in the perusal a kindred gratifi- 
 cation. It displays the same simple 
 pathos, the same homely humour, the 
 same truth to nature, and the same fine 
 sense of national peculiarity."— Post. 
 
 AILIEFORD. 
 
 A FAMILY HISTORY. 
 By the Author of " John Drayton." 3 v. 
 
 " ' Ailieford ' is the biography of the 
 clever writer of 'John Drayton.' It is a 
 deeply interesting tale." — Britannia. 
 
 A PHYSICIAN'S TALE. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 " A vast amount of thought and know- 
 ledge is displayed in this work. Many 
 various phases of society, and different 
 gradations of character, are dexterously 
 given to sight." — Sun. 
 
 CREWE RISE. 
 
 By John C. Jeaffreson. 3 vols. 
 
 "A clever novel, and one that, without 
 any great wealth or diversity of incident, 
 contrives to be deeply interesting. The 
 career of a brilliant young man at college 
 — his temptations, errors, and resolute 
 self-redemption from evil courses — makes 
 the main interest of the story, which is set 
 forth with a vigour and reality that looks 
 like a daguerreotype from facts." — Athe- 
 na urn. 
 
 EDWARD WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 By the Author of "The Discipline of 
 Life." 3 vols. 
 " We like all Lady Emily Ponsonby's 
 novels, and this is, in our judgment, the 
 best of them."— Morning Post. 
 
 PHEMIE MILLAR. 
 
 By the Author of " The Kinnears." 3 v. 
 " We feel obliged to the author for 
 giving us such a fresh pleasant story as 
 « Phemie Millar.' Out of the homeliest of 
 details a certain fascination is evoked 
 which ensures the reader interest to the 
 end." — Athenaum.
 
 WORKS OF FICTION. 
 
 23 
 
 REGINALD LYLE. 
 
 By Misi Pardoe. 3 v. 
 "An excellent novel, containing a great 
 variety of well-drawn characters, and 
 keeping up the interest of the reader to 
 the last page."— Atlas. 
 
 FLORENCE, 
 THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 By A. Baillie Cochrane, Esq. 2 v. 
 
 "The best story that has yet appeared 
 from the pen of the talented author." — 
 Herald. 
 
 THE SECRET HISTORY 
 OF A HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 By the Author of 
 "Alice Wentworth." 3 vols. 
 
 ALICE WENTWORTH. 
 
 3 vols. 
 "This novel reminds us of the tales by 
 Lady Scott, which had power and pathos 
 enough to get a hearing and keep a place, 
 even though Lister, Ward, and Bulwer 
 were all in the field, with their manly 
 experiences of modern life and society." — 
 Athenctum. 
 
 JANET MOWBRAY. 
 
 By Caroline Grautofk. 3 v. 
 "This very pleasant tale of 'Janet 
 Mowbray ' is a love story— and a very 
 good one — full of agreeable variety and 
 interest." — Examiner. 
 
 THE ROSES. 
 
 By the Author of " The Flirt." 3 v. 
 
 "'The Roses ' displays, with the polish 
 always attending a later work, all the 
 talent which appeared in 'The Flirt,' and 
 * The Manoeuvring Mother.' " — Standard. 
 
 CHARLES AUCHESTER. 
 
 3 vols. 
 "Music has never had so glowing an 
 advocate as the author of these volumes. 
 There is an amaiing deal of ability dis- 
 played in them." — Herald. 
 
 THE KINNEARS- 
 
 A SCOTTISH STORT. 3 V. 
 
 THE LADY 
 AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 By Mrs. Maberlt. 3 vols. 
 
 THE COLONEL. 
 
 By the Author of " Perils of Fashion." 
 3 vols. 
 
 THE VILLAGE 
 MILLIONNAIRE. 
 
 By the Author of "The Fortunes of 
 Woman." 3 vols. 
 "Great diversity of character and an 
 endless succession of surprising incidents 
 and vicissitudes impart an absorbing inte- 
 rest to this new production of Miss 
 Lamont's pen."— John Bull. 
 
 MARY SEAHAM. 
 
 By Mrs. Grev. 3 vols. 
 " Equal to any former novel by its 
 author." — Athenaeum. 
 
 AUBREY. 
 
 By the Author of "Emilia Wtndham." 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 "This novel is worthy of the author's 
 reputation. The interest of the story is 
 powerfully kept up, and there is much 
 truthful and discriminating depicting of 
 character." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 CASTLE AVON. 
 
 By the Author of "Emilia Wtndham.** 
 3 vols. 
 
 " One of the most successful of the au- 
 thor's works." — Post. 
 
 "These volumes abound in delicate 
 and passionate writing." — Examiner. 
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 By Mrs. Clara Walbet. 3 vols. 
 Dedicated to the Earl of Carlisle. 
 
 ANNETTE. A TALE. 
 
 By W. F. Deacon. 
 
 With a Memoir of the Author, by the 
 Hon. Sir T. N. Talfourd, D.C.L. 3 vols. 
 "'Annette' is a stirring tale. The pre- 
 fatory memoir of Sir Thomas Talfourd 
 would be at all times interesting, nor the 
 less so for containing two long letters from 
 Sir Walter Scott to Mr. Deacon, full of 
 gentle far-thinking wisdom." — Examiner. 
 
 LADY MARION. 
 
 By Mrs. W. Foster. 
 3 vols. 
 
 THE BELLE 
 OF THE VILLAGE. 
 
 By the Author of "The Old English 
 Gentleman." 
 
 3 vols.
 
 THE ARMY AND THE NAVY. 
 
 COLBURN'S UNITED SERVICE MAGAZINE, AND 
 
 NAVAL AND MILITARY JOURNAL. Published on the first of every 
 month, price 3s. 6d. 
 
 This popular periodical, which has now been established a quarter of a century, 
 embraces subjects of such extensive variety and powerful interest as must render 
 it scarcely less acceptable to readers in general than to the members of those pro- 
 fessions for whose use it is more particularly intended. Independently of a suc- 
 cession of Original Papers on innumerable interesting subjects, Personal Nar- 
 ratives, Historical Incidents, Correspondence, etc., each number comprises 
 Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Officers of all branches of service, Reviews of 
 New Publications, either immediately relating to the Army or Navy, or involving 
 subjects of utility or interest to the members of either, full Reports of Trials 
 by Courts Martial, Distribution of the Army and Navy, General Orders, Circulars, 
 Promotions, Appointments, Births, Marriages, Obituary, etc., with all the Naval 
 and Military Intelligence of the month. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 "This is confessedly one of the ablest and most attractive periodicals of which the 
 British press can boast, presenting a wide field of entertainment to the general as well as 
 professional reader. The suggestions for the benefit of the two services are distinguished 
 by rigour of sense, acute and practical observation, an ardent love of discipline, tempered by 
 a high sense of justice, honour, and a tender regard for the welfare and comfort of our soldiers 
 and seamen."— Globe. 
 
 " At the head of those periodicals which furnish usefu and valuable information to 
 their peculiar classes of readers, as well as amusement to the general body of the public, 
 must be placed the ' United Service Magazine, and Naval and Military Journal.' It numbers 
 among its contributors almost all those gallant spirits who have done no less honour 
 to their country by their swords than by their pens, and abounds with the most interesting 
 discussions on naval and military affairs, and stirring narratives of deeds of arms in all 
 parts of the world. Every information of value and interest to both the Services is culled 
 with the greatest diligence from every available source, and the correspondence of various 
 distinguished officers which enrich its pages is a feature of great attraction. In short, the 
 • United Service Magazine' can be recommended to every reader who possesses that attach, 
 ment to his country which should make him look with the deepest interest on its naval and 
 military resources."— Sun. 
 
 " This truly national periodical is always full of the most valuable matter for professional 
 men." — Morning Herald. 
 
 " To military and naval men, and to that class of readers who hover on the skirts of the 
 Service, and take a world of pains to inform themselves of all the goings on, the modes and 
 fashions, the movements and adventures connected with ships and barracks, this periodical 
 is Indispensable. It is a repertory of facts and criticisms — narratives of past experience, and 
 fictions that are as good as if they were true — tables and returns — new inventions and new 
 books bearing upon the army and navy — correspondence crowded with intelligence — and 
 sundry unclaimed matters that lie in close neighbourhood with the professions, and contribute 
 more or less to the stock of general useful information."— Atlas. 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 r