®m 
 
 ■■■•••■ 
 
 
 *■•'"'..■■
 
 LI E> RAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVERS ITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 v.l
 
 THE LOVER'S GRAVE 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 
 
 A DOMESTIC TALE, FOUNDED ON FACTS. 
 
 By R. ROWLATT. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 G. BERGER, HOLYWELL STREET, STRAND ; AND G. ODELL, 
 18, PRINCES STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1840,
 
 /, i 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 VISCOUNT BURGHERS H, 
 
 THIS LITTLE UNPRETENDING WORK 
 
 IS, 
 
 BY PERMISSION, 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 WITH THE MOST LIVELY GRATITUDE FOR BENEFITS 
 
 RECEIVED FROM HIM, 
 
 AND OTHER BRANCHES OF HIS NOBLE FAMILY, 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS LORDSHIP'S MOST OBEDIENT 
 
 AND HUMBLE SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 3
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/loversgraveortra01rowl
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Although the Editor of the following narrative 
 feels himself fully justified in sending it to the 
 press, he deems it his duty to state, for the satis- 
 faction of the curious reader, the manner in 
 which it came into his possession. 
 
 It so happened that at the close of the last 
 autumn, two friends had occasion to leave Lon- 
 don, at the same time, to transact some business 
 in the south of Kent; the one at Dover, the 
 other at a town called Marshend, situated about 
 twelve miles from it. 
 
 Avoiding the more frequented and speedier 
 travelling Dover road, they chose that which 
 passes through the heart of the county, con- 
 ceiving that what they lost in speed, would be 
 more than compensated for by the more beau,- 
 tiful and picturesque scenery, through which 
 
 they should pass. After a delightful ride, they 
 
 a 2
 
 IV. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 dismounted from the coach at Marshend, about 
 five o'clock in the afternoon. The one whose 
 business called him to the town, purposing to 
 remain a few days, the other to proceed on to 
 Dover early the next morning. 
 
 As neither of the party was much attached 
 to the comforts of a country inn, they had pro- 
 vided themselves with an introductory letter 
 to an elderly lady, who kept a lodging-house at 
 Marshend, for the accommodation of travellers; 
 and who, from a scrupulous care for the re- 
 spectability of her house, admitted few that 
 presented themselves, unless they were recom- 
 mended by her friends. As our travellers ap- 
 peared before her thus happily provided, they 
 were permitted to enter without hesitation, and 
 soon found to their satisfaction, that the com- 
 forts and respectability of her house had not 
 been over-rated. 
 
 After having done full honor to the eatables 
 set before them, they sallied out for a ramble, 
 bending their steps towards the sea-shore, which 
 was thence distant something less than half a 
 mile. When the day closed in, they returned to 
 their lodgings, and purposing to be up very 
 early on the following morning, retired to rest.
 
 INTRODUCTION. V. 
 
 As early as half-past five, ere the sun had 
 risen, the coach was ready to start; the two 
 friends were there ; the one in his place, the 
 other shaking him by the hand, and making an 
 appointment to meet him in Dover two or three 
 days hence. The "all right" of the guard put 
 an abrupt finish to their conversation, and caused 
 the one who remained in the street to look some- 
 what amazed after the coach, as it whirled from 
 him, feeling at the same time a strange sensa- 
 tion of loneliness steal over him. 
 
 What's to be done ? thought he, turning and 
 walking gently from the office ; it is too early for 
 business, and I am in no humour for study. To 
 kill time, if for no better purpose, I'll e'en stroll 
 up the hill to the church, which last night, 
 when viewed in the distance, seemed to invite a 
 more friendly acquaintance. 
 
 Up the hill, therefore, the traveller went, and 
 after having sufficiently satisfied himself with 
 gazing on the time-worn structure from the 
 road, entered the burial-ground by its side. 
 He found it a very pleasant and peaceful spot, 
 so much so indeed, that it almost seemed to 
 tempt him to its cold bosom, as to an asylum of 
 
 a 3
 
 VI. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 happy tranquillity. The church, and in the 
 homely language of the country, the church- 
 yard, is situated on the side of a hill, beneath 
 which the town is built, in one continuous line, 
 from east to west, stretching out to a distance of 
 something less than a mile at its base, and 
 thereby protected from the north wind. 
 
 At that early hour the town, with its present 
 generation, was peaceful and quiet, as that which 
 had passed away, and now lay mingling together 
 beneath the traveller's feet, save that here and 
 there might be seen an individual, with his im- 
 plements of husbandry thrown carelessly over 
 his shoulder, pacing his way to some distant 
 scene of labour. At the distance of about half 
 a mile to the south, lay the English channel, 
 upon the margin of which were seen several 
 towers and batteries ; thereby rendering the des- 
 cent of an enemy upon that part of the coast 
 almost an impossibility. No such attempt at 
 that time being expected, peace and silence 
 reigned within and without the warlike struc- 
 tures ; while upon the water, and within reach 
 of their deadly guns, the fishermen in their boats 
 were gliding about in all directions. Some just
 
 INTRODUCTION. Vll. 
 
 returning from the night's labour, others pre- 
 paring for the day's. Further in the distance, 
 and apparently quiet, as its representative on 
 canvas sailed along before the wind, on the 
 bosom of the water, the large and majestic ship, 
 the honored bulwark of our "sea-girt isle;" 
 while on the opposite course, battling with wind 
 and tide, and conquering all obstruction, was 
 seen one of the children of philosophy, impelled 
 onward by the mighty power of steam, ever and 
 anon marking its arrow course with a dark qui- 
 vering line of smoke, as if in its haste it had 
 borne away a portion of the night, and was now 
 at intervals breathing it forth again, and driving 
 it back to its old abode of darkness; while it 
 pressed onward, embracing and being embraced 
 by the balmy morning air. Beyond which, and 
 over the wide expanse, the towering and chalky 
 hills, forming the French line of coast from 
 Calais to Boulogne, stretched their white and 
 rugged sides above its glassy mirror. 
 
 Withdrawing the eye from foreign land and 
 turning to the right, it rested upon a long con- 
 tinuation of the hill, on which he stood, indent- 
 ing the country for several miles, and half encir-
 
 Vlll. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cling an extensive marsh, rich and thickly popu- 
 lated, at the extremity of which, in the dim and 
 hazy distance, it again became the boundary of 
 the channel. 
 
 Varied as was this scene, still there was nothing 
 in it to distract the mind in its contemplation on 
 the mansions of the dead. The eye might 
 pass around from one object to another, but the 
 imagination would blend them in sweet harmony 
 together, and return soothed and tranquillized 
 to the spot on which the traveller stood ; while 
 his tongue involuntarily exclaimed, " And must 
 it all come to this ! " A moment, and truth re- 
 echoed the words, adding, " It must! " 
 
 As it was not possible to gain ingress into the 
 church at that early hour, the traveller's atten- 
 tion was turned more particularly to the inscrip- 
 tions on the tombstones. There were many 
 possessing sufficient merit to arrest his progress, 
 but one in particular struck him, as alluding to 
 something characteristic, if not interesting. Yet, 
 in itself, it contained no further information 
 than that the mortal remains below were of an 
 inhabitant of the town, who had departed this 
 life about twenty years since; beneath which.
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX. 
 
 in italics, were engraved the two well-known 
 lines, 
 
 " Speak of me as I am, nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice." 
 
 After having wandered musingly about for 
 some time, he returned to his lodgings, and 
 finding his breakfast prepared, sat down and be- 
 gan the cheerful meal. Just at that moment 
 his landlady entered the room, to know if he 
 had every thing to his wish; and on learning 
 that he had, was about to quit it to make the 
 same inquiry elsewhere; but he, unacquainted 
 with her active habits, and pleased with her 
 manners, begged her, if she had not breakfasted, 
 to sit down and partake of his; she looked 
 pleased in return, but said she had breakfasted 
 some time since, and indeed was very busy, and 
 therefore hoped he would excuse her. Per- 
 ceiving, however, that he looked disappointed, 
 she continued, " But, sir, if you should want for 
 anything which you have not by you, if you will 
 be kind enough to ring, I will attend you." 
 Having said this, she remained by his side, as if 
 undetermined how to act. 
 
 " My dear landlady," said he, iv I feel it neces-
 
 X. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sary to crave your pardon, for wishing to detain 
 you, for, in truth, it arose from a selfish motive. 
 I have been this morning," he continued, " wan- 
 dering amidst the mouldering remains of the 
 former generations of your town, and have had 
 my attention strangely excited about an in- 
 scription which I have there met with." Hav- 
 ing said this, he looked earnestly at her, in the 
 hope that she would know which he meant, and 
 be able, in some manner, to give him the appli- 
 cation of the verse. But she knew not to which 
 he alluded; none appeared to her more pro- 
 minent or interesting than the unadorned 
 stone which pointed out the spot where she had 
 deposited the remains of a beloved husband, 
 and two darling children. 
 
 Seeing this, he continued, " There is, near 
 the upper part of the ground, by an angle in the 
 wall, a tombstone, on which are engraved these 
 words." He then repeated the quotation. 
 
 " The person's name was Smith," replied she, 
 at once discerning which he meant. 
 
 "Can you tell me why those lines were placed 
 there ?" was the next inquiry. 
 
 * I can't exactly say," replied she, " I knew
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI. 
 
 Mr. Smith when alive; he was then a kind- 
 hearted old man, but rather eccentric, and by 
 some supposed to be a little unsettled in his 
 mind. I have heard," she continued, "that 
 when he was quite young, a very severe disap- 
 pointment in love, caused him for some time to 
 lose all regard for himself, and the world in which 
 he lived ; and that he did not, although in the 
 course of time he recovered a portion of his self- 
 possession and respect, and was married to 
 another person, ever become the man his youth 
 gave promise of." 
 
 " Had he any children ?" enquired the traveller. 
 
 " You have observed a house built with white 
 bricks near the sea, and surrounded with trees ? " 
 was the reply. 
 
 The traveller assented. 
 
 "In that house," continued his landlady, 
 " his eldest son now lives ; as rich and kind a 
 hearted man as any in the town. He made his 
 own fortune, and built that house ; and thus, by 
 his prudent conduct, retrieved the errors of his 
 father, for whom he ever appeared to entertain 
 the tenderest affection." 
 
 " Did you ever hear the particulars of that
 
 Xll. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 love story?" said the traveller, interrupting her. 
 " O yes, many times, sir," was the reply, and 
 then, as if suddenly recollecting herself, she 
 continued, " I have an old friend whom I expect 
 to come to drink tea with me this evening ; she 
 lived in the town at the time, and was well 
 acquainted with the parties." 
 
 "Indeed," said the traveller, "she must have 
 reached a great age!" 
 
 "I believe she is upwards of eighty," replied 
 the landlady, " but that she has not outlived her 
 memory, if you will join our little party at tea, 
 you will soon be satisfied. The love story you 
 have alluded to, is a favourite theme with her, 
 and I have no doubt but she will answer any ques- 
 tions you may wish to ask her, with pleasure." 
 
 "I shall rejoice to make one of the party." 
 said the traveller. 
 
 This having been agreed upon, the landlady 
 took her departure, and her guest having finish- 
 ed his breakfast, proceeded to transact the bu- 
 siness which had brought him to that part of 
 the country. 
 
 At the appointed hour in the evening, the 
 traveller returned to his lodgings. As he went
 
 INTRODUCTION*. Xlll. 
 
 in to join the little party. Mrs. Betts, the per- 
 son spoken of, had just arrived, and was seating 
 herself, complaining to her friends that she was 
 afraid she should not long have the pleasure of 
 visiting them, as the little journey was even 
 now almost too much for her. 
 
 The stranger begged to know if she were in 
 good health. 
 
 v Why, yes, sir," replied she, " pretty well, I 
 thank you, with the exception of some ugly 
 rheumatic pains which are flying about my 
 limbs. Ah!" sighed she, as she finally settled 
 herself in her chair, " I can't now get about as 
 I did sixty years ago." And in truth no one 
 could look upon her and doubt her words. She 
 appeared to have been of the middle stature, 
 well formed, and good looking. But now a 
 change had come over her ; she was stout, and 
 bent almost double from the effects of the 
 rheumatism, and her features were deeply in- 
 dented with the furrows of age. Yet, might it 
 be perceived, that amidst this wreck of the body, 
 her mind had still preserved its youth, — in that 
 she was young and cheerful, and when grim 
 pain was absent, apparently happy.
 
 XIV- INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Of course the tombstone almost immediately 
 became the subject of their conversation. In a 
 short time the curious traveller heard with 
 pleasure many particulars relating to it, of so 
 interesting a nature, that he was led to inquire 
 if any account of it had been ever written. 
 
 Instead of his being answered, he saw the 
 tears gathering in the eyes of the old lady, and 
 not knowing what it meant, or how to inquire, 
 he sat silent, waiting patiently for her expla- 
 nation. 
 
 " You see I am affected," said she, wiping 
 her eyes ; " when you asked me if an account 
 of it were ever written, you brought vividly to 
 my mind the sorrows and sufferings of a kind 
 brother, who has long been mouldering in the 
 grave." No one attempting to speak, after 
 again wiping her eyes, she continued, " At the 
 time to which the story relates, my brother was 
 confined to his room with a lingering and incu- 
 rable disease. To amuse himself he used to 
 read a great deal, and at times to write an 
 account of any little incident of more than ordi- 
 nary interest, which occurred in the town. 
 Thus, what I have been telling you about, be-
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV. 
 
 came a subject for his speculations, and ulti- 
 mately for his pen." 
 
 " Did he die? What became of the writings ?" 
 were the eager questions of the traveller. 
 
 "Alas! he died," said Mrs. Betts, "it could 
 not be otherwise, but his writings have been 
 fondly kept ; not so much from my knowledge 
 of their merits, as that they serve to remind me 
 of a brother's goodness, who when dying gave 
 them to me, to be preserved as a memorial of his 
 esteem and affection." 
 
 "Then you have them now?" enquired the 
 traveller soothingly, 
 
 "I have," was the reply, "but it is a long 
 time since I saw them. For some years I have 
 not been able to read myself, and I never could 
 bear to see them in any other hands than my 
 own." 
 
 " I am sorry for that," said the traveller, "as 
 I was thinking of begging you to let me see 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Betts, at hearing this, remained for some 
 time silent. " Do you look upon them as writings 
 fit for publication?" continued the traveller. 
 
 " Indeed sir, I have never even thought of it," 
 was her reply. b 2
 
 XVI. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " Then," rejoined her questioner, " I trust 
 you will let me see them, I do not wish to take 
 them from your sight, and you may be assured 
 I will not injure them." 
 
 After a brief silence she replied to this, in a 
 tone of deep sadness, saying, "I cannot doubt 
 you sir — you shall see them; I have become old 
 and infirm, and cannot hope to remain amidst 
 these transitory scenes much longer. Why then 
 should 1 refuse you what, perchance, in a few days 
 may become a prey to hands, which, heedless of 
 the care that I have taken of them, may commit 
 them to the flames. You shall see them, sir — 
 you shall see them ; but use them as my dearest 
 treasure ; I would not, ere I go hence, part with 
 them for the world's price." 
 
 The gratified traveller answered with many 
 thanks, and promised to use them with the ut- 
 most possible caution. 
 
 It being thus determined that he should be 
 favoured with their perusal, it became his object 
 to allay the excitement which he had at first, 
 unintentionally, kindled in her bosom ; nor was 
 it long before he, assisted by others of the party, 
 in a great measure succeeded.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV11 . 
 
 When the time arrived for her return home, 
 her new-made friend accompanied her, with 
 which attention she was sensibly pleased, and on 
 entering her house introduced him into a little 
 parlour, and begged he would excuse her for a 
 few minutes. When she returned, she brought 
 in her hand a large bundle, done up in canvas, 
 and placing it on the table said, " This, sir, con- 
 tains the narrative you want, but there are also 
 some of my private papers, which some years 
 since, when I found my eyes failing me, I se- 
 parated from others of less consequence." 
 
 "It is one of these — oh, here it is I" she con- 
 tinued. "I know it well! Let me, my dear brother, 
 in this, kiss you once again, and assure you that 
 you are as dear to me in my old age as you were 
 in my youth." Saying this, she gave him the 
 packet, and after a few more words had passed 
 between them, they parted for the night. 
 
 The traveller was fond of poring over old 
 manuscript, and therefore hurrying back to his 
 lodgings, he took a candle and retired to his 
 room. Seating himself at the table, he undid the 
 packet, and found it contained many different 
 papers, each one apparently as had been stated by 
 
 b3
 
 XV111. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Mrs. Betts, noting down some little incident which 
 had formerly occurred in and about the town. 
 Looking them hastily over, he took from among 
 them the one he was most anxious to see, and 
 was soon lost to everything else but the interest 
 it created in his mind. 
 
 On the following day he was led to crave per- 
 mission to take a copy of it, which he was 
 readily permitted to do. The worthy woman's 
 affection for it was not of a selfish nature; to 
 possess the original in the hand- writing of her 
 brother was all that she desired. 
 
 The copy, therefore, was accordingly taken, 
 and it is that which is now presented to the 
 public, with the earnest hope, that it will not be 
 found altogether unworthy of attention, either 
 as an amusing or instructive tale.
 
 THE LOVERS GRAVE, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The present year, 1769, will be long and pain- 
 fully remembered in Marshend; since it has 
 been stained with a crime unparalleled and un- 
 heard of during the life of the oldest inhabitant. 
 For the honor of my native place, I am tempted 
 not to note down this dreadful affair — yet, why 
 should I hesitate ? since it really has happened, 
 and, whether noticed by me or not, will exist in 
 tradition to its dishonor ; besides I feel an incli- 
 nation, nay, almost an obligation to write, that 
 my friends may at any future time be enabled 
 to discover how much a few years has added, or
 
 2 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 left out, in the recitation of this very sad event. 
 I shall, therefore, proceed to recount all that has 
 happened, consulting my notes, which I have 
 constantly taken from day to day, that I might 
 not, through forgetfulness, be deprived of any 
 portion of my former thoughts or information. 
 Yet, ere I begin, I must beg my dear friends 
 not to think that it is vanity alone that prompts 
 me to write, but rather to remember my present 
 state, and from that to judge kindly of my poor 
 attempts to amuse myself, and pass away some 
 very heavy hours, which, but for this amusement, 
 might be full of complaints, repinings, and dis- 
 content. 
 
 That I may be enabled to pass regularly on 
 with the course of events, I must leave the pre- 
 sent time and return to the year 1764; at that 
 period I was about twenty- one years of age, in 
 joyous health, not regretting the past, and full 
 of hope for the future. Edward Smith, of
 
 THE TBAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 6 
 
 whom I shall have much to say, was then in his 
 fifteenth year, and had been articled to Mr. 
 Layton, the architect and builder, for about 
 twelve months ; he was then a lad of much 
 promise, rather tall of his age, of a slight figure, 
 yet having a florid complexion, which ever wore 
 the characteristic of cheerfulness. Mr. Layton, 
 his master, was at that time something above 
 fifty, of the middle height and well-made, 
 though rather inclined to corpulency, which, 
 afterwards sensibly increased with his years ; 
 his face was one of those, which we delight to 
 call a true English one, full, broad and florid, 
 bearing the stamp of generosity and truth, which 
 no stranger could look upon without an inclina- 
 tion to talk with him, and eventually to be con- 
 sidered his friend. He was a widower, his wife hav- 
 ing died about five years previously, by whom 
 he had several children, but save one girl they all 
 preceded their mother to the grave. Eliza, the
 
 4 THE LOVER S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 one living, had, at the time of which I write, 
 been a few months married to a young farmer, 
 about thirty miles distant. For some time pre- 
 vious to her leaving her father's house she had 
 acted as his housekeeper, assisted by a widow 
 woman, of the name of Thomson; who after her 
 departure, became sole-manager. Mrs. Thomson 
 was an active, bustling kind of a person, evidently 
 partaking more of the animal than the poetic 
 character ; and, therefore, having little or no 
 imagination, her mind was seldom absent from 
 her present business, and when employed in 
 setting the house in order, or in attending to her 
 master's visiters, she was at the height of her 
 ambition, and consequently did every thing in 
 the most satisfactory manner. She, like her 
 master, had been left with one child, a daughter, 
 who had, up to the time of her taking the sole- 
 management of the house, continued at school; 
 but then, as it was necessary she should have
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 5 
 
 some one to assist her Susan, instead of being 
 apprenticed, as had been proposed, was taken 
 home for that purpose. She was then a fine 
 girl, with pleasing manners, and beautiful to 
 look upon; and had been but a short time a 
 resident in our little town, before her loveliness 
 became the general talk, and many young fellows 
 there were whose ambition would have been 
 completely gratified, at least for a time, if they 
 could have had her company for their Sunday 
 afternoon walk. But her mother had not passed 
 that dangerous period of life herself, without 
 some little trouble and anxiety, and remembering 
 that, resolved to have her child, for the future, 
 as completely as possible under her own eye; so 
 that few had the pleasure of which all were so 
 eager to obtain possession. 
 
 From living in the same house, and being 
 much respected, Edward Smith became her con- 
 stant companion. He was young as herself.
 
 THE LOVER S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 and of course no harm was thought of their 
 being together ; although a partiality immedi- 
 ately began to shew itself between them, and 
 which, as they advanced in years became, as it 
 were, a part of their growth. I was well ac- 
 quainted with both of them, and felt assured, 
 with many other persons, more experienced than 
 myself, that (although they were not spoken of 
 as lovers.) they would, at some future time, be 
 happily united together. Nothing occurred, in 
 the slightest degree, to oppose itself to this opin- 
 ion, until they had attained their eighteenth 
 year, or were within a few days of it, when I was 
 told that their intimacy had been suddenly and 
 effectually interrupted by Mrs. Thomson. I was 
 then, as my friends know, confined to my bed, 
 but, from what I had before seen and heard, I 
 found myself bold enough to tell my informant 
 that it could not be, in short, that I did not be- 
 lieve it ; nor indeed did I, although, as it after- 
 wards proved, it was quite — nay, sadly true.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 7 
 
 For the information of my friends, I need 
 scarce say, that Sunday, with us, is not only em- 
 ployed as a day of religious rest, but also of inno- 
 cent recreation. Who has not seen on its fine sum- 
 mer evenings each house sending forth its little 
 family party, to inhale the healthful breezes 
 that dwell upon the hills around. Then it is 
 that the happy couple taste the blessings of life, 
 while forgetful of their daily toil, and surrounded 
 with their cherub offspring, they witness them 
 free from all restraint, gamble in the sun as 
 light and joyous as its brightest beam. Then is 
 it, likewise, that the aged with a kindly eye, 
 look on a generation which will be gay, when 
 they are still and cold beneath the flowery turf. 
 Then, too, the lovers, linked arm in arm, pass 
 fondly on, recounting in mutual confidence the 
 little troubles that beset their sphere. On such 
 a day as this, and in such a manner, might be 
 seen Edward and Susan leaving the town, to 
 
 c
 
 8 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR. 
 
 take, what proved to be, the last evening's walk 
 they should ever indulge in together. Mrs, 
 Thomson had intended to accompany them, but 
 she had been kept at home by her master, who 
 just as she was going out, told her he had some 
 business to transact which would require her 
 presence at home. What that business was I 
 shall shortly have to relate, but my present 
 object is to accompany my young friends in 
 their walk. Passing to the eastward the whole 
 length of the principal street, they turned to 
 the left by a small public-house, which is situated 
 but a few yards from the commencement of a 
 hill, that rises far above that on which the 
 church is built, and is parted from it by a very 
 picturesque little valley, in days of yore occu- 
 pied by the sea, and no doubt forming, if there 
 was then occasion for such a thing, a fine and 
 safe harbour ; but now laying, at least, a mile 
 from its former occupant, and having no other
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 9 
 
 water in its bosom than a murmuring mill- 
 stream, on each side of which are small hut 
 very profitable meadows. To reach the fields 
 on the right, you have to cross a little rustic 
 stile, from which the path winds rather abruptly 
 up the hill, so that in a few minutes, on turning, 
 the town is seen quietly reposing beneath the line 
 of hills, in a westerly direction, and beyond that, 
 to the extent of many miles, a low marshy flat, 
 studded with towns, villages and farm-houses, 
 and apparently offering pasturage to almost 
 innumerable flocks of cattle; while to the south 
 dwells the noisy and ever restless sea, over 
 which the white sails are seen to flutter, impel- 
 ling through the pathless wave, the product of 
 of distant lands to and from each other. 
 
 Having gazed for a few seconds on the scene 
 around, Edward and his lovely companion re- 
 sumed their walk through meadows and corn- 
 fields, full of promise to their grateful masters.
 
 10 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 For some hundred of yards, near its summit, the 
 hill rises so abruptly, that in its natural state it 
 must have been nearly impossible for any vehicle 
 or beast of burden to have crossed it ; in conse- 
 quence of which a road has been cut directly 
 through it, by which horses with loaded waggons 
 are enabled to ascend and descend from the sur- 
 rounding country. By the side of this road, 
 about half-way up from the bottom to the sur- 
 face, a narrow path has been formed for the 
 accommodation of the pedestrian traveller. The 
 view, from this spot, is one of the most engaging 
 description, and during the hours of day it is 
 the favorite resort of many ; perhaps its beauty 
 is not a little heightened by the caution it re- 
 quires to traverse it with safety. By the side of 
 this path, while gazing on the far stretched 
 ocean, the young couple seated themselves to 
 enjoy the fresh glowing breeze, while resting 
 from the toil of the ascent.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR MARSHEND. 11 
 
 " How beautiful ! " exclaimed Susan to her 
 companion; "What a view is here! do you 
 think," she continued, " that there is such a 
 view from yon distant white hills in France ?" 
 
 " That I cannot say, " replied Edward, " but 
 I should think we may fairly venture to suppose 
 there is not one more beautiful ; and, indeed, if 
 there be, I have no inclination to seek it." 
 
 " You are content with this?" said Susan, in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 " Being here yourself, how can you ask me 
 such a question?" replied Edward, his eyes 
 sparkling with pleasure. " How could I ask 
 you, if I were not here — tell me that Edward? " 
 rejoined his companion, laughing. 
 
 " You are too witty for me," said Edward. 
 " but, to be serious, you surely cannot think I 
 could indulge in a thought of leaving you for 
 those lonely looking hills ? With whom should I 
 enjoy my walk there?" 
 
 c3
 
 12 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 " O, with some pretty French girl, no doubt 
 — but, Edward, you look as grave as a judge, nay, 
 you will go to sleep if we remain here— come let 
 us proceed in our walk;" saying which, with a 
 light heart and thoughtless playfulness, she 
 sprang from his side, his outstretched arm ar- 
 rested her progress, while a cold tremor over- 
 spread his frame, for the gulf was before them, 
 into which her very happiness seemed about to 
 plunge her. 
 
 " If I did not look serious before," observed 
 Edward, "I may well look so now ; you forget that 
 the narrow path on which you stand, is but one 
 step from destruction." . 
 
 " You are fearful," replied Susan, laughing 
 at her companion's anxiety, " but come let us 
 leave this place for a more safe and easy path." 
 
 " Nay, Susan, you must sit down, I am tired, 
 besides there is no danger, if we use but a little 
 caution." 
 
 " Now, pray don't talk to me of caution," she
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 13 
 
 answered, while seating herself again by his side, 
 " my mother talks to me so much about caution 
 that I almost hate the word, besides I do not 
 wish to be thought over cautious ; why should I 
 not enjoy myself? Where is the caution of the 
 birds around us ? Where the caution of the spor- 
 tive lambs? No, no, Edward, let us not talk of it, 
 but enjoy ourselves in the innocence of our hearts. 
 I was not so near falling into that ugly hole as 
 you imagined, I did it purposely to alarm you." 
 
 " And can you find any pleasure in my alarm ?" 
 
 " Why, I don't know, so pray don't ask me, 
 for fear I should answer, yes." 
 
 "You could not, I hope you could not?" 
 continued Edward. 
 
 i; I don't know, but oh ! what's that ?" 
 
 she exclaimed, starting now in earnest, alarmed 
 by the sudden report of a gun a few yards from 
 them, and at the same moment, a number of 
 the gay birds, so lately alluded to, were seen scat-
 
 14 THE LOVERS GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 tered on the earth, fluttering in the agonies of 
 death. 
 
 "It is you that are frightened, now," said 
 Edward, " and look," added he, pointing to the 
 birds, " can you now admire their thoughtless- 
 ness ?" 
 
 " Poor, poor birds !" said Susan, "What harm 
 can they have done to provoke such murderous 
 treatment?" "Doubtless," replied Edward, 
 " the farmer finds it necessary to destroy them 
 to protect his harvest." " It is a cruel world !" 
 said Susan. 
 
 " I fear it is," rejoined Edward, " and that 
 much caution is indeed required to prevent our 
 falling into the snares of the wicked, as these 
 poor birds have fallen within the reach of that 
 instrument of death." 
 
 " Indeed, Edward, you should have been a 
 preacher ; I do confess it appears to me that you 
 speak to the purpose, but I cannot bear to be
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 15 
 
 serious, therefore let us pity the poor birds, and 
 forget them. What think you of the treat Mr. 
 Layton purposes to give us on Wednesday?" 
 
 " I have not heard of it." 
 
 " But you will, and be invited too ; we are to 
 go up to the castle and have tea in the open air, 
 and, if the day proves fine, a dance on the lawn." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall not be invited." 
 
 " O yes you will, or I shall be very much dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 " What, if I am not there ?" 
 
 " Certainly ! why do you ask?" 
 
 " Can you doubt why?" said he, taking her 
 hand. - ; Do you not observe that your favour 
 has become the only thing I am really ambitious 
 of obtaining. I know that there are many like 
 myself, anxious to be thought kindly of by you; 
 but Susan they cannot think of you as I do. 
 They would follow you but for the present gra- 
 tification — they think not of the long future — - 
 they do not really love you."
 
 16 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR. 
 
 " And would you, Edward, persuade me that 
 you do?" 
 
 " I would not only persuade, but convince 
 you," replied Edward, " if it were in my power, 
 instead of being content, as I now must be, with 
 the bare expression." 
 
 " And if I were to feel that I could return 
 your love, think you not that that would content 
 me also ? Be assured it would. I should be 
 happy in listening to you of the future." 
 
 "And can you be thus happy ?" asked Edward. 
 
 " I think I can," replied Susan, " if you will 
 promise faithfully not to read me too many lec- 
 tures, nor to chide me more frequently than I 
 deserve ; in short, not to do a thousand things 
 which I may chance to disapprove of, and above 
 all, to look always cheerful and happy." 
 
 " Nay, nay, I cannot promise all this," said 
 Edward, " yet be assured your happiness shall 
 be the chief aim of my life. You do not an- 
 swer," he continued; nor did she, but she looked
 
 THE T RAGED? OF MARSHEN'D. 1/ 
 
 kindly and smilingly upon him — he saw it, and 
 required no other answer ; in a moment she was 
 pressed to his bosom, as he imprinted on her 
 rosy lips the first kiss of expressed love ; after 
 that Susan had not to complain that her com- 
 panion was dull or sleepy, or inclined for preach- 
 ing. How could he be otherwise than cheerful, 
 when his heart was overflowing with happiness. 
 
 Before they returned home, they resolved 
 that what had passed should be held a secret be- 
 tween themselves ; even Mrs. Thomson was not 
 to know it. ' ; Why should she ? " argued Susan. 
 " we shall be much together, we can talk and 
 be happy ; if you speak to her, she will perhaps 
 only throw difficulties in the way, on account of 
 our age, or some other equally simple reason." 
 
 " In that I will not attempt to overrule you," 
 replied Edward, " we are promised to each 
 other in our own hearts, and I have all sorts of 
 confidence in your truth."
 
 18 THE LOVER'S GRAVE OR, 
 
 " But can I have in yours, Edward ?" 
 
 " Would you have me swear by ?" 
 
 " No, no, I will, like yourself, be all con- 
 fidence." 
 
 And with such like talk they wiled away the 
 hours of evening, and returned home as happy 
 as their young hearts could desire. Alas ! that 
 happiness was not fated to continue. But it is 
 time for me to leave them, and to precede them 
 home, that the reader may learn why Mr. Lay- 
 ton required the presence of his housekeeper on 
 that eventful evening.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The old gentleman was seated in his arm- 
 chair, in the little parlour fronting the street. 
 He had, as we have seen, requested Mrs. Thom- 
 son not to leave the house, as he had some 
 business to transact, and would most probably 
 want her assistance. Yet he had now been for 
 near two hours shut up in the little room, with- 
 out books or papers. Mrs. Thomson had, like a 
 good christian, when her little bustling work 
 was over, taken out her Bible from its weekly 
 resting place, and with seeming serious atten- 
 tion, perused a portion of its sacred lore, per- 
 haps a sufficient portion to occupy the space of 
 an hour ; but she was no great reader, therefore 
 it might not have been so much. Becoming- 
 weary, she arose from her chair, and walked 
 
 D
 
 20 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 about the room, wondering what Mr. Layton 
 could have wished her to remain at home for, 
 on so fine an evening ; and then, what business 
 he could have to transact on a Sunday. But he 
 was still quiet; therefore, after a few turns 
 about the room, stirring-up the fire, sweeping 
 the hearth, and re- arranging a few things 
 which had got misplaced, she again sat down to 
 her book. It was very good, it was very true, 
 but Mrs. Thomson was not in a 'fit state of mind 
 for contemplation. She closed it again, and 
 went up stairs to the room above the one in 
 which her master was sitting. Seating herself 
 at the window, she insensibly became occupied 
 in observing and criticising the dresses and ap- 
 pearance of her neighbours and town-folk. What 
 she thought of such or such an one, is not for 
 me to say ; enough, the time passed silently on. 
 the shadows of the passengers became length- 
 ened, the air grew cold, the sun sunk beneath
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEXD. 21 
 
 the house-tops, and the shades of evening 
 began to spread themselves throughout the air. 
 Still Mr. Layton was seated quietly alone in his 
 little parlour. It was time to close the windows 
 in the sleeping rooms. Mrs. Thomson arose — 
 accomplished the task — and then, as a last re- 
 sort, arising from her impatience and determi- 
 nation to know what her master was doing, 
 went down stairs, and tapping gently at his 
 door, enquired if he wanted the candles. After 
 waiting some time, and no answer being 
 returned, she ventured to enter, and in a 
 louder key repeat the question. Now, whether 
 Mr. Layton was asleep, or deep sunk in medi- 
 tation, I will not attempt to decide ; certain it 
 is, that when Mrs. Thomson repeated her in- 
 quiry, he appeared a little startled, and eagerly 
 looked up, as if surprised to hear it. " I did not 
 think it was so late," he murmured, half audi- 
 bly, and then, raising his voice, said " No, Mrs. 
 
 d2
 
 22 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 Thomson, I do not want them yet, but " 
 
 He checked himself, as if uncertain what to say, 
 at last adding " are you very busy, Mrs. Thom- 
 son?" "I was just going to shut up the house 
 and get your tea," replied the attentive house- 
 keeper. 
 
 "I do not want my tea at present," said her 
 master, and then, after a slight pause, added, 
 " as soon as you are at leisure, Mrs. Thomson, 
 I should be very glad to speak with you for a 
 few minutes." " I will come, sir," was the soft 
 reply, and with that the old lady bustled from 
 the room, intent on her household duties, but 
 she lost no time in their performance, as she felt 
 very anxious to learn what her master could 
 possibly have to say. " Come in," cried he, in 
 answer to her tap at the door, and further on 
 entering, at his bidding, she seated herself at 
 the opposite side of the window ; and now 
 thought she, I shall, at last, know what this bu-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 23 
 
 siness is about. But Mr. Layton appeared in no 
 mood to proceed ; he was restless, and betrayed 
 to the anxious eyes of his companion, marks of 
 excitement on his otherwise easy, quiet counte- 
 nance. She became alarmed ; and, fearful that 
 something very serious had, or was about to 
 occur to him, began as follows : 
 
 " I fear something very unpleasant has oc- 
 curred — " This was enough for her companion. 
 he only wanted a beginning, so without waiting 
 for her to finish the sentence she had com- 
 menced, he answered " No, Mrs. Thomson, 
 nothing of the sort has, or is likely to occur, that 
 I am aware of ; I want to talk to you about 
 a rather serious matter, but as it may not 
 appear so serious to you, or to others, I am 
 sadly puzzled how to begin." 
 
 " I am sure, sir," answered Mrs. Thomson, 
 " if you have any serious business you wish to 
 make me acquainted with, I am not a person to 
 
 d3
 
 24 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 make light of your kindness, or to abuse your 
 confidence." 
 
 " I know it, I know it," ejaculated Mr. Lay- 
 ton, " but you know I am getting old." 
 
 Mrs. Thomson looked surprised, but answered 
 smilingly, " With your health and strength, sir, 
 there are few persons, I should think, who 
 would charge you with being old ; why should 
 you think of it?" 
 
 " O, I do not wish to think of it, Mrs. Thom- 
 son," replied Mr. Lay ton, " but I wish to know 
 what you would think of my age, if I were to 
 tell you that I had some thoughts of, of, of ." 
 
 Mrs. Thomson waited for some time, in si- 
 lent expectation that he would finish the sen- 
 tence, but seeing that he remained silent, ven- 
 tured to say " Sir, I hope you are sufficiently 
 master of your own actions to feel careless what 
 any one may be pleased to say about you." 
 
 " Well, you shall hear," replied he, and as he
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR MARSH END. 25 
 
 made a sort of a shuffle in his chair, he con- 
 tinued, " I have been thinking, and seriously 
 too; yes, I have been thinking of getting mar- 
 ried." " Married, sir !" almost screamed Mrs. 
 Thomson, in an accent of surprise and fear. 
 
 •' Yes, married ; now I have got it out, I can 
 explain myself." 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Mrs. Thomson, interrupting 
 him, " you have no reason to complain of your 
 house-keeping, or of the manner in which any 
 of the duties you have intrusted to my care are 
 performed ? I am sure, sir, I am always anxious 
 to oblige you." 
 
 " I believe it, I believe it, Mrs. Thomson," said 
 her master, " you may rest satisfied it is not 
 from any dissatisfaction of your proceeding that 
 I have thought upon it." 
 
 " I should be very sorry if it were, sir," was 
 the timid answer. 
 
 " You have no reason to be sorry," added her
 
 26 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 master; " you will still, I hope, continue to be 
 my housekeeper." 
 
 " When you are married, sir," replied Mrs. 
 Thomson, " you will, perhaps, alter your mind. 
 Marriage, sir, makes a great difference in a 
 house, but, for my own part, I shall be always 
 anxious to oblige you." 
 
 " I am satisfied," said Mr. Lay ton, " and now 
 I will tell you who alone can be my wife." 
 Again he became as if fearful or ashamed to ex- 
 press himself more fully. What a situation for 
 Mrs. Thomson, (she herself was not much 
 older than Mr. Layton,) should he have fixed his 
 affections upon her ! but it could not be. No, 
 no, thought she, I am, at all events, too old for 
 that. I have often heard him wish for a son. 
 Well, well, I must bear to see him married, and 
 submit myself to be ordered about by a stranger, 
 one who will not study his comfort, or be half 
 so careful of the house as I have been ; she will
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 27 
 
 marry him for his money. I shall not like to 
 see him imposed upon — indeed I feel that I shall 
 not be able to bear it, so I must leave my place. 
 
 Having come to this noble resolution, she 
 was about to tell her master how she should be 
 obliged to act ; but he saved her the trouble, for 
 the present, by resuming his speech. Stretching 
 out his legs to their full extent before him, and 
 speaking as if suffering under a sense of suf- 
 focation, he said " Mrs. Thomson, if I am mar- 
 ried, my wife will be near forty years younger 
 than myself; what think you of that ?" 
 
 " I think, sir, there will be rather too great a 
 difference in your ages." 
 
 " Do you not feel inclined to laugh at me ?" 
 
 " No, sir, you certainly must be allowed to do 
 as you please. 
 
 " Will not the town's people ?" 
 
 " Surely, sir, you are not a child, why should 
 you care what any one may say about you ?"
 
 28 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 " Aye, why indeed !" said he, with almost an 
 air of satisfaction. " And now, Mrs. Thomson, I 
 must tell you, that the young person I have 
 been speaking about, and on whom I have long 
 looked with admiration and love, is no other than 
 your daughter, my little pretty innocent Susan!" 
 
 What a change in the tide of fortune was here 
 for Mrs. Thomson ! She now, in her turn, be- 
 came silent, for she was taken completely by sur- 
 prise, having a moment before decided that all 
 was lost, being well assured that the introduc- 
 tion of a wife would have been the death blow 
 to her authority ; what a change then to find 
 that this wife, this dreaded stranger, was to be 
 no other than her own daughter ! 
 
 Mr. Layton seeing her hesitate, added, *« you 
 surely, Mrs. Thomson, will not refuse your con- 
 sent? " 
 
 " You have taken me so by surprise," replied 
 Mrs. Thomson, " that I scarce know how to an-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 29 
 
 swer, but I am sure that both myself, and Susan, 
 ought to be very much obliged to you for your 
 kind consideration; and if you will allow me till 
 to-morrow morning, to think of it, I hope I shall 
 then be prepared to answer you in a suitable 
 manner?" 
 
 " O, certainly," said Mr. Layton, •* but you 
 will think cf it kindly, as I shall never more be 
 happy until I can call Susan my wife." By this 
 answer it would appear that he had lost all fear 
 of making himself ridiculous, or of being 
 laughed at by his friends, or pointed at by his 
 town's folk, as the doating old man with the 
 young wife.
 
 30 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When Edward and Susan returned home, 
 they found Mrs. Thomson alone, her master was 
 just gone out to meet his fellow- townsmen, at 
 the inn, to hear the news, and pass away an 
 hour or two in social conversation. Mrs. Thom- 
 son's heart was too full for her to continue silent 
 without the most painful sensation, she therefore 
 formed an excuse to send Edward out, on a 
 message to a friend, to a distant part of the town; 
 and he, happy in the thought of obliging the 
 mother of Susan, listened respectfully to her 
 desire, and in a few moments left the house 
 for its accomplishment. As soon as they were 
 alone, Mrs. Thomson, after motioning Susan 
 to sit down by her side, began to question her 
 kindly about the weather, where she had been,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 31 
 
 who she had met, and so on ; to which Susan 
 replied in her usual lively manner, without 
 study or hesitation, as the thought presented 
 itself to her mind. There was nothing new in 
 this, it was customary for Mrs. Thomson to 
 inquire about such things; but, after a short 
 time. Susan noticed something more particular 
 than general in her questions, and therewith 
 began to fear that her mother had some know- 
 ledge of what had passed between her and 
 Edward, though how she could even suspect it, 
 she had no means of guessing. It had been her 
 anxious wish that her mother should not, for the 
 present, be made acquainted with her sentiments 
 towards Edward. — This wish, I must stop to re- 
 mark, for the information of my young readers, 
 was both foolish and unnatural. All children 
 ought ever to bear in mind, and females in par- 
 ticular, that any thoughts they may wish to in- 
 dulge in, unknown to their parents, are conse- 
 
 E
 
 32 THE LOVER S S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 quently improper, and must, in the common 
 course of things, lead them into much perplexity, 
 if not into irredeemable misery; and hence it 
 follows, that thoughts, which with a parent's 
 knowledge may be safely indulged in, are, if 
 cherished in secret, full of mischief, and threaten 
 at the best to give a false bias to the mind, and 
 thereby prepare it for greater improprieties. 
 But, although Susan had inconsiderately fallen 
 into this error, when she thought her mother 
 suspected her love, and the engagement she had 
 entered into with Edward, she had too much 
 regard for truth, to think of using any further 
 disguise. No sooner, however, had these thoughts 
 been aroused in her mind, than they hastily gave 
 way to others. Her mother began to hint 
 something of love and marriage, and after some 
 time having cautiously approached her subject, 
 she at last spoke out, to the no small surprise 
 and disappointment of her daughter.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 33 
 
 "You know, Susan," said Mrs. Thomson. 
 " I have always felt and acted towards you as 
 an affectionate mother; it is not becoming in 
 me to say what privations I have suffered, or 
 what difficulties encountered for your sake, but 
 that such things have occurred, be assured, and 
 also that I have borne them all for your good." 
 
 " You are my very dear mother," said Susan, 
 playfully, " and are doubtless very fond of the 
 object of your care." 
 
 "I would I could indeed be so," said Mrs. 
 Thomson. 
 
 •• Why, what have I done?" asked Susan in a 
 more serious tone ; her mother did not answer, 
 and she continued, " I know you often talk to 
 me of thoughtlessness and indiscretion, perhaps 
 I treat your cautions too lightly, but I hope 
 you do not suspect me wanting in affection to- 
 wards you." "No, never, my dear child, "said her 
 mother, and having kissed her, to make the assu- 
 
 e 2
 
 34 the lover's grave ; OR 
 
 ranee more perfect, she continued " no, Susan, I 
 love you much, too well, to indulge in such sus- 
 picions ; but I want you to be very serious to- 
 night, for I have something of consequence to 
 tell you, and something in which you are deeply 
 concerned, and will be at once called upon for 
 an answer." 
 
 " I shall not hesitate to give it, if the subject 
 be not above my comprehension, " said Susan. 
 
 " I have told you," continued her mother,"that 
 it has fallen to my lot to have much trouble, and 
 many disappointments to contend with during my 
 past life; but even my sorrow arising out of those 
 I have been able to turn to your advantage, since 
 it has given me experience to teach you, what to 
 avoid, and what to cling to. I have, thank God, 
 enjoyed a good state of health, and do so at pre- 
 sent, but I cannot disguise from myself that I 
 am getting into years." 
 
 w My dear mother," said Susan, laughing," you
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 35 
 
 surely do not wish to be set up for an old wo- 
 man ! " "Life is uncertain,' ' replied Mrs.Thomson, 
 " what I ever pray for, is, that I might 
 live to see you married, and settled comfortably 
 in the world." 
 
 " And you have been kindly looking out a 
 husband for me ? " said Susan, half seriously. 
 
 " Your youth," replied her mother, " has given 
 me scarce occasion for that; my charge thus far 
 has rather been to teach you to be guarded against 
 the snares of the wicked and ungodly; but now 
 another duty, unsought for, has devolved upon 
 me." " Surely no one has been so kind as to make 
 me an offer!" said Susan, jestingly. 
 
 " Do not treat the subject so lightly, Susan," 
 replied her mother, " when I have told you who 
 the person is that has made the offer, you will 
 be sensible, that if you cannot make him happy 
 with your love, you ought at least to treat his 
 proposal with respect." 
 
 E 3
 
 36 the lover's grave ; OR 
 
 "I am all anxiety to know who the kind gal- 
 lant is," replied Susan, still striving to appear 
 cheerful, though her voice betrayed her heart 
 was not at rest. 
 
 " I cannot pretend to say that he is young, or 
 handsome," continued her mother, " but I can 
 say with truth, that I know no man on earth 
 who has a more kind or generous heart — need I 
 add that I am speaking of Mr. Lay ton." 
 
 "Mr. Layton! " cried Susan, in the utmost 
 surprise, "you surely are laughing at me as a 
 punishment for my thoughtlessness !" 
 
 "No, my dear child, lam not," replied her 
 mother, " I am telling you the plain simple truth ; 
 I am not surprised at your doubts — two hours 
 since I should have doubted it myself." 
 
 •• And has the proposal been only made this 
 evening?" asked Susan. 
 
 •' I had not an idea of his purpose when you 
 went out," replied her mother; "you know he
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 37 
 
 wished me not to leave the house, and you may 
 guess my surprise at discovering the cause." 
 
 "And just this evening too !" said Susan ; " it 
 is very strange ! " she added in a tone of voice, 
 far different from its usual music. 
 
 Her mother looked at her with a tearful eye, 
 anxiously eager to catch her answer. She had 
 persuaded herself she would leave it entirely to 
 her child to determine. Happy, happy indeed 
 had it been for her, had she adhered to that reso- 
 lution ! But I will not anticipate. 
 
 Susan sat for some minutes almost motionless, 
 without answering a word, while her beautiful 
 features successively assumed all the various 
 shades from the bright scarlet rose to the pale lily. 
 At length her mother, willing to hear her senti- 
 ments before they were disturbed, begged her not 
 to be afraid of speaking w T hat she thought about 
 it ; whereupon Susan took courage, and replied, 
 that however willing she might be to oblige her
 
 38 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 mother, and however tempting in a worldly 
 point of view the match might appear, she could 
 not consent to it, adding, she had the greatest es- 
 teem and respect for Mr. Layton, but that she 
 never could feel that love for him which would 
 justify her in becoming his wife. 
 
 Her mother did not speak, but she looked up- 
 on her daughter — and that look was full of dis- 
 appointment. Susan saw it, and continued, "you 
 look surprised, my dear mother, but I have to 
 tell you, not only that I cannot love him, but 
 also that I have this very evening let my tongue 
 witness that I have bestowed my heart upon 
 another; but hear me, my dear mother, I did 
 not mean to take any rash step without your 
 consent." 
 
 " Have you not already done it," asked Mrs. 
 Thomson, with some bitterness, " to confess your 
 love, without first consulting me ? Do you call it 
 not being rash? " " I did hope you would not con- 
 sider it so, " replied Susan, " I thought you had
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 39 
 
 observed how much Edward was attached to 
 me." " Edward attached to you ! Do you mean 
 that you have been pledging yourself to him ? " 
 
 Susan, in the very innocency of her heart, an- 
 swered " yes, " and began to argue that she had 
 often heard her mother speak very much in his 
 praise, and that it could not be denied bat that 
 
 he was very steady, and " " Nonsense ! " said 
 
 her mother, " how could I suspect anything be- 
 tween you and Edward ? I have spoken of him 
 only as a good and attentive lad, not as a young 
 man fit to become your husband ! You know he 
 is but an apprentice, and if he were not, he could 
 scarce earn enough to support himself, much 
 more a wife! " 
 
 il I do not know that we need be in a hurry," 
 said Susan, very innocently, " we can wait until 
 he can do something better." 
 
 " Nonsense, girl ! " said Mrs. Thomson, in a 
 tone of anger ; then stopping to take breath, she 
 added more kindly, " I do not wish to speak to
 
 40 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 you again to-night about Mr. Lay ton, but I must 
 beg you will at once and for ever dismiss from 
 your mind all this trash about Edward." 
 
 " It would be very wrong I think," replied 
 Susan, " to promise what I feel I could not per- 
 form ; but if you will let me speak to him when 
 he comes in, I will tell him that you do not ap- 
 prove of our love, and then if he is willing to 
 forget me, I promise you I will endeavour to 
 think no more about him." 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Thomson, "I do not wish 
 you to make any promises to-night ; go to bed 
 and think of what I have said, and then, if in 
 the morning you have altered your mind, I shall 
 be the happiest of mothers, otherwise perchance 
 the most miserable." 
 
 " I will endeavour to approve myself your 
 affectionate daughter," replied Susan. 
 
 " I do not doubt it," said Mrs. Thomson, and 
 with that she kissed the burning cheeks of her 
 child, and bade her good night.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSH END. 4l 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In due time the tranquil hours of night passed 
 away, and the morning sun, as was his wont, 
 again peered smilingly into the bed-room of Mrs. 
 Thomson ; but he saw her not in her usual spirits, 
 in truth she was weary and restless, for she had 
 passed the hours of darkness in unsatisfactory 
 meditation on her future prospects. That there 
 was a great desparity between the age of her 
 daughter and Mr. Layton she knew full well — 
 too well for her, to think of disguising it from her- 
 self, much more from her daughter ; but then 
 he was possessed of house and land, and suffi- 
 cient money, she doubted not, to make them com- 
 fortable for life ; and then, she was his house- 
 keeper,and had avery comfortable place ; cf course, 
 if he married Susan she would not be worse off:
 
 42 the lover's grave ; OR 
 
 but how, if on hearing her refusal he should 
 determine (as is too often the case with the disap- 
 pointed lover,) to marry some one else. This idea 
 was fraught with mischief, and thus her mas- 
 ter's love, which at first seemed to promise so 
 much gratification to herself and Susan, seemed 
 now to threaten nothing but confusion : and, 
 turning her thoughts towards Edward, only added 
 to her perplexities. She could not deny but he 
 was very steady, and after some consideration 
 and remarks upon his attention to Susan, was led 
 to admit, that he might fancy himself very fond 
 of her — still he was young, and there was much 
 reason to doubt whether he would be always 
 able to withstand the temptation to evil. But, 
 even supposing he did remain steady, his youth 
 would be a sufficient reason for her to refuse her 
 consent to their union, at least for some years to 
 come. Thus passed the night, and thus came 
 the morning, without showing her any escape
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 43 
 
 from her troubles, unless indeed the mind of 
 her daughter should have undergone a change 
 during its continuance. Such, however, not prov- 
 ing to have been the case, she was obliged to 
 see Mr. Layton, and give him a very unsatisfac- 
 tory answer ; he could not be deceived ; he com- 
 plained of his sufferings, and would not be 
 satisfied until she had promised to use her 
 utmost authority to overcome her daughter's 
 scruples. 
 
 What motive Mrs. Thomson had in her si- 
 lence does not appear, but it is necessary to 
 remark, that at that time she did not acquaint 
 Mr. Layton with the fact that Edward was his 
 rival in her daughter's affections ; perhaps she 
 hoped in a few days to be able to reason her out 
 of her unfortunate attachment. With how much 
 zeal she set about endeavouring to accomplish 
 her object, her after repentance would lead one 
 to form an idea. Alas ! that she should have in 
 any degree succeeded. f
 
 44 THE LOVER S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 Susan did not leave her room that morning 
 until much later than usual, indeed not until 
 Edward had become seriously alarmed about the 
 cause, therefore his first question on meeting her 
 was respecting her health. Being assured that 
 she was quite well, he said " I am afraid, Susan, 
 you are deceiving me, for you look very pale, 
 perhaps your walk last night was rather too 
 much for you; and you went to bed, Susan, with- 
 out bidding me good night." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Susan, not appearing to 
 notice the last sentence, " that we were much too 
 happy last night, and that I promised you too 
 much." " How? Can you so soon repent of your 
 kindness, Susan?" inquired Edward, in a tone of 
 surprise and agitation. " No, Edward, " replied 
 Susan, " I do not, I cannot repent, for I feel that 
 my heart is entirely yours ; but my mother dis- 
 approves of our love." 
 
 " How knew she ought of it ? " hastily rejoined
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 45 
 
 Edward, "what eaves-dropper, what busy-body, 
 has been endeavouring to do us mischief? " 
 
 44 You have no one to complain of for such 
 a meanness," replied Susan despondingly, " no, 
 it is to fate alone that our misfortune is to be 
 attributed." 
 
 " Do not talk of fate," said Edward, "it is an 
 ill sounding word ; and, if what is understood by 
 it, can exist in the councils of an all- wise Provi- 
 dence, it is by far too high a theme for us to handle. 
 I know," he continued, " it is a common word in 
 the mouths of many ; but believe me, Susan, those 
 who use it most, do so, rather with a view to 
 disguise their idleness, than for any belief they 
 have in its existence." 
 
 " Do you think so, Edward ?" asked Susan, 
 doubtingly. "Nay, Susan," replied Edward, "I 
 do not charge you with idleness, I only wish 
 you to bear in mind that no evil can approach us. 
 but through the instrumentality of some earthly 
 
 f 2
 
 46 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 agent. Consider, if your mother has learnt 
 what passed between us last night, is it not 
 plain that some one must have told her, and 
 with a free-will to do it, or to leave it undone ; 
 how is it possible that fate could direct the ac- 
 tion?" 
 
 " You will then be angry to learn that I told 
 her myself," said Susan. 
 
 " You told her," echoed Edward, adding, half 
 reproachfully, after a moment's silence, " I 
 thought, Susan, you told me last night, that it 
 was your most earnest desire she should not be 
 made acquainted with it for the present." 
 
 " I confess I did," replied Susan, " but indeed, 
 Edward, I was almost obliged to tell her." 
 
 Edward repeated the word "almost!" and 
 then added quickly, " but Susan I am not angry, 
 I will not be angry, I will believe you acted for 
 the best, and, although disappointment may for a 
 time hover over us, we shall in the end be happy. 
 It is easy to conceive your mother may think she
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 47 
 
 has much reason to be displeased with our pro- 
 ceeding, she may think we are too young and 
 giddy, to be long attached to each other ; but it 
 shall be my business, by my actions and attentive 
 behaviour towards her, to obtain her present 
 kind consideration, and ultimate consent to our 
 marriage." 
 
 " I am afraid you are too sanguine, " said Su- 
 san, smiling through the tears that glistened in 
 her eyes. "Why too sanguine ?" asked Edward, 
 "will not my employment place me in a respect- 
 able station in life? and, what with the kind- 
 ness of my friends, and the fruits of my own 
 patient industry, may I not hope that in a few 
 years I shall have the means, and sufficient ex- 
 perience, to set up in business for myself ? but 
 above all, do I not love you ? and am I not by you 
 equally beloved ? How then can I be too sanguine ? 
 Nay, dearest Susan, I shall grow more and more 
 so every day while thus cheered onward." 
 
 f 3
 
 48 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 " I do not in any way doubt your intention or 
 abilities," said Susan; "but, Edward, there is 
 one thing you seem entirely to forget !" 
 
 " Pray do not look so serious, Susan," replied 
 her lover, " but tell me what it is?" 
 
 " Does it follow," asked Susan, "that if my 
 mother disapproves of our intimacy, it must be, as 
 you have concluded, entirely on account of our 
 age ; cannot you imagine that another cause may 
 exist?" 
 
 "What mean you? " enquired Edward, and a 
 shade of gloom overspread his fine countenance 
 as he asked the question. " You are silent," he 
 continued, " 1 beseech you, dearest Susan, tell me 
 what you mean ? for be assured that I fear no- 
 thing but a rival in your affections." 
 
 " And should my mother desire such a thing 
 — " began Susan. 
 
 "You would not consent!" exclaimed Ed- 
 ward, interupting her, "I am sure you would
 
 THE TRAGEDY GF MARSHEND. 49 
 
 not ! ' ' and again, and again he repeated the words 
 with all the warmth and self satisfaction of youth, 
 and then added, "but tell me, Susan, is such the 
 cause, or are you trifling with me? Pray let me 
 know the truth, that I may be determined how 
 to act?" 
 
 " Indeed I am not trifling," answered Susan, 
 "and yet I scarce know how to tell you; the idea 
 is so hateful to me." After being silent for a few 
 moments, she continued," last evening, Edward, 
 when we returned home so happy, I little thought 
 what a miserable night would follow. After my 
 mother had sent you out, and I was left alone 
 with her, I discovered that she had done it pur- 
 posely to obtain an opportunity to tell me, that 
 some one had been during the evening to ask 
 her permission to be allowed to propose to me." 
 
 "She refused him?" said Edward, eagerly, 
 " you are mine, you must be mine ; she must 
 have refused him?"
 
 50 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 " You forget, Edward," observed Susan," that 
 even if my mother could have approved of our 
 union at that time, she was unacquainted with 
 our desire for it." 
 
 "I did indeed forget," replied the devoted 
 Edward, "the very fear of losing you makes 
 me almost beside myself — tell me what did you 
 say to her? " 
 
 "I answered her in the best manner my surprise 
 would allow me," said Susan, "I told her I could 
 not do as she seemed to desire, and when she 
 pressed me for my reason, I told her what had 
 just passed between us, and how impossible it 
 was for me to alter my sentiments." 
 
 "Kind, kind, generous-hearted girl!" cried Ed- 
 ward, imprinting on her lips a kiss of affection, 
 ''but you have not told me who your lover is> 
 and how much I have to fear from your mother, 
 
 and " the sentence was left unfinished, for 
 
 at that moment Mrs. Thomson entered the room.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 51 
 
 and, observing Edward, desired to know, with an 
 unusual degree of sharpness in her manner, " if he 
 had nothing better to do than to be idling his 
 time away there?" Adding that Mr.Layton Was 
 inquiring for him in the office. Edward left the 
 room without a word ; he would have spoken, 
 but Susan, fearing that at that time it would 
 only irritate her mother, motioned him to go in 
 silence. As soon as Mrs. Thomson supposed he 
 was out of hearing, she began to talk about un- 
 dutifulness and ingratitude ; but seeing the big 
 tears standing in the eyes of her child she was 
 softened, and said with kindness, " perhaps I 
 ought not to blame you, but in truth I am so per- 
 plexed that I scarce know how to act," saying 
 this, she wiped her eyes, and Susan for the first 
 time perceived that they had been full of tears, 
 " My dear mother," said she, "why are you 
 thus grieved? I am sure Mr.Layton has too good 
 a heart to act ungenerously towards you on my 
 account." 
 
 LIBRARY ~ _ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 1"-W n «
 
 52 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 Whatever fear Mrs. Thomson might secretly 
 have to the contrary, it was evidently her inte- 
 rest, for the progress of her heart's desire, to speak 
 in his praise, she therefore replied, " my child, I 
 am not grieved for myself, I know he is too good 
 to resent any wilfulness of yours towards him, 
 upon me ; but when I see him wretched and un- 
 happy, and know that you are the cause of his 
 being so, I should ill disguise my feelings could 
 I lead you to suppose I should not grieve for 
 him." 
 
 "My dearest mother," said Susan, "I cannot 
 think you will have occasion to grieve in such a 
 cause, for I have ever understood that the dis- 
 consolate lover is only to be found in thoughtless 
 youth and childish old men : surely Mr. Layton 
 has too much good sense to be classed with 
 either of them." 
 
 " I know not," said Mrs Thomson with an air 
 of despondency, "disappointment changes the
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 53 
 
 nature of men very much ; there may be much 
 to fear should you continue in your present reso- 
 lution." 
 
 " And can my dear mother," inquired Susan, 
 with much emotion, " wish me to alter it, when 
 she knows that my heart and happiness are really 
 concerned in adhering to it? " 
 
 •• You are young, Susan," replied her mother, 
 " and through inexperience mistake the shadow 
 for the substance. Believe me, your love for Ed- 
 ward, which you think so sincere and lasting, is 
 only a childish passion, light and fantastic as a 
 dream. I would have you rational and thought- 
 ful for your future welfare." 
 
 ••My dear mother," said Susan, "I shall be 
 very sorry to see you grieve, but I cannot help 
 expressing my firm belief that all you can say, 
 either in anger or kindness, will not make me 
 feel less partiality for Edward; yet, for your hap- 
 piness, I am ready to give you my word that I 
 will never become his wife without your consent."
 
 54 the lover's grave ; OR 
 
 "Susan, Susan ! " said her mother, " your 
 thoughts are full of rashness, but come, let us 
 argue the matter without anger or deception. 
 Suppose I did approve of your intimacy with Ed- 
 ward, I could not for many, very many reasons 
 consent to your marriage for some years; with 
 Mr. Layton the case is very different, yet I would 
 not attempt to persuade you to the match, but 
 that lam satisfied he is very fond of you, and 
 
 " Pray do not talk to me about it," interposed 
 Susan. "This is both ungenerous and ungrateful," 
 said her mother ;"what has Edward done, that 
 even in conversation he is to be preferred before 
 Mr. Layton? From which have we received the 
 greater benefits ? Can there be a doubt, or a sha- 
 dow of a doubt, about the answer? Do we not 
 owe every thing to Mr. Layton?" 
 
 "Pray do not call me ungrateful," said Susan, 
 with the tears streaming from her eyes, for indeed,
 
 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 55 
 
 indeed, I am not ; my heart is fnll of acknow- 
 ledgment to the goodness of Mr. Layton : it 
 throbs towards him as to a father or a kind be- 
 nefactor; but — " 
 
 " Well, well," said her mother, interrupting 
 her, " if you feel all this, it surely cannot harm 
 you much to listen to what I have to say." 
 
 "Mother!" sobbed Susan, "I could listen 
 to you all day with untiring pleasure, if you 
 would speak of his goodness as you ever did 
 until last night." 
 
 " I was not aware," said her mother, " that 
 I had adopted any new method in speaking of 
 his goodness." 
 
 "I mean," again sobbed Susan, "if you did 
 not couple it with that proposal which sounds 
 so hateful to me." 
 
 " Hateful! Susan," said her mother, in a tone 
 of surprise. 
 
 Perhaps Susan had spoken out rather plainer
 
 56 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 than she intended, as she did not repeat the 
 word ; but, wiping her eyes, walked towards 
 the window, as if struggling to overcome her 
 excitement. 
 
 After observing her a short time in silence, 
 her mother approached her, and taking her by 
 the hand, said kindly, " Come, come, Susan, 
 you will think better of this." 
 
 "If I am wrong," replied Susan, kissing her 
 mother, "I hope I shall." 
 
 " That you were wrong," observed her mo- 
 ther, " in applying such a word in any manner 
 to Mr. Layton, I will not attempt to prove, as 
 your own heart must convince you ; and I am 
 persuaded it would do more than that, if you 
 did not think Edward was very much attached 
 to you." 
 
 " Alas ! perhaps it might," replied Susan 
 doubtingly. 
 
 " Consider then," replied her mother, " is it
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 57 
 
 not possible that Mr. Layton may be as much 
 attached to you as Edward is ? And can there 
 be any justice in paying so much regard to the 
 feelings of one, while you so totally disregard 
 those of the other?" 
 
 " If I thought," said Susan, " that Mr. Lay- 
 ton's disappointment would be anything like 
 Edward's, I should be very heartless to think 
 of him without pity." 
 
 " To convince you," replied her mother, " I 
 think I need mention no more of what I have 
 observed in him, than that this morning when 
 I told him what you desired me, he was 
 almost like a distracted man, and wanted to 
 come and throw himself at your feet ; nor could 
 I prevent him but by promising to come and 
 talk to you again." 
 
 " And can you still persuade me to this mar- 
 riage?" inquired Susan. 
 
 " I will answer your question, Susan," re- 
 
 g 2
 
 58 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 plied her mother, " by asking you if you have 
 advanced any argument against it?" 
 
 " I cannot argue ;" said Susan, " but, my 
 dearest mother, if you could feel as I do, I am 
 sure you would be convinced that an argument 
 might be offered." 
 
 "Can you not conceive," said her mother, 
 " that I have felt as you do? Nay, I will con- 
 fess that, at your age, I acted even as you 
 would act now, and that I lived to see my 
 folly." 
 
 " Your folly ?" said Susan, inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes!" replied her mother. "lean call it 
 nothing better than folly ; for the fine picture 
 that my fancy had drawn of my future happi- 
 ness, I soon found was a fiction." 
 
 " Yet you did not live unhappily with my 
 father?" said Susan. 
 
 " No ! he was very good and kind to me ;" 
 said her mother, " but yet there were a thou-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 59 
 
 sand hopes in which I had indulged before mar- 
 riage, that were never realized. I used to 
 think, when a girl, as you do now — that if I 
 could have the man I loved, I could live on 
 bread and water without complaining; but I 
 soon found it was all nonsense." 
 
 " But you cannot tell what misery you es- 
 caped in not being disappointed," said Susan. 
 
 "I can only judge by others," replied her 
 mother. " I have seen many as eager to marry 
 their first love, as it is called, as I was — and, 
 being disappointed in their object, have mar- 
 ried others, and become the gayest of the 
 
 " In company ?" asked Susan. 
 
 11 Certainly !" replied her mother. 
 
 " And when alone ?" asked Susan. 
 
 Mrs. Thomson did not hear, or rather, did 
 not answer the question until it was again re- 
 peated. As I stated once before, she was not 
 
 g 3
 
 60 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 blessed with a very lively imagination, and 
 therefore, perhaps, was not able to answer with 
 truth and satisfaction to herself, from the fact 
 of her never having lived much in the society 
 of the persons she described; and never having 
 once been able to imagine what sort of a per- 
 son she would have been — how very different 
 from her present self, had her first entrance 
 into the world been chequered with the seeds 
 of disappointment, scattered abroad in her heart, 
 to produce in after years a load of heart- sick 
 misery, not to be shaken off but by death. — 
 Such persons are the gayest in company. 
 
 " And when alone?" asked Susan. 
 
 " And why not alone, as well as in company ?" 
 replied Mrs. Thomson, after some hesitation. 
 " For instance, is not a person like Mr. Layton, 
 with a kind, generous heart, a good business, 
 and well respected in the town, and indeed, 
 everywhere where he is known, well qualified
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 61 
 
 to make any woman happy ? It is true he is 
 much older than you are, but, can you suppose 
 he would on that account be less fond, or treat 
 you the less kindly ? It is not likely that his 
 love would have the playfulness of a boy about 
 it ; but, if at first it proved less violent, I am 
 persuaded that it would be more constant and 
 lasting. Come, my child ;" she continued, in 
 a coaxing tone, " Come, you will think of this ; 
 you will consider of your future station in the 
 town; and how happy I should be to see you on 
 an equality with the first tradesmen around us." 
 
 " I have told you," said Susan, " that I can- 
 not love Mr. Layton ; but your happiness is 
 very dear to me, and I think I could sacrifice 
 every thing but my heart to please you." 
 
 "Well!" replied her mother, relapsing into 
 a tone of anger ; "I shall leave you to think 
 and consider. I have done my duty, both to- 
 wards you and my kind master. If you per-
 
 62 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 sist in your own wilfulness, on your head rest 
 the consequences ; I shall not live long to up- 
 braid you with your folly." 
 
 " I hope you will not have occasion to up- 
 braid me;" said Susan, struggling to restrain 
 her tears. 
 
 " I hope not, Susan," rejoined her mother, 
 and left the room. 
 
 Susan watched the departure of her mother, 
 with something like an undutiful satisfaction ; 
 but, alas! her peace of mind did not return. 
 Her heart was full of strange emotions, that 
 alarmed and frightened her ; and, fearful that 
 her mother might return to re-commence her 
 persecutions, she rushed to her own room, and 
 having secured the door, vainly hoped that her 
 bosom would soon be freed from every sordid 
 thought, and restored to the tranquility of yes- 
 ternight. 
 
 I have said that Susan was attached to Ed-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 63 
 
 ward, and I believe at that time she loved him 
 — not as her mother wished to persuade her, 
 through the agency of a mere fickle, childish 
 passion ; but with that fervency of soul, which 
 fills to bursting the awakened heart of woman- 
 hood. But, alas ! how few in such a situation 
 are proof against the arguments her mother 
 had continually to advance. She could not 
 but be sensible that her marriage with Mr. 
 Layton would give her a consequence in the 
 town, very flattering to her pride. In this 
 the circumstance itself had a natural tendency 
 to undermine the moral rectitude of her 
 heart. How blindly, then, did her mother 
 argue to improve such a tendency — Without 
 supposing the sense of religion and morality 
 blotted from the mind of the young female, 
 if she be led to doubt their efficacy but ever 
 so little, how dreadful is the scene presented 
 to our view ! In appearance she certainly is
 
 64 the lover's grave, or 
 
 the same as before ; but where shall we seek 
 for the spring of her actions? Surely not in 
 her own sense of right and wrong ; when she 
 has been taught to doubt the most heavenly- 
 faculty of the soul — conscience ! How then is 
 she to be guarded against running into all sorts 
 of errors ? Will the censure of a surface- 
 seeing world be enough to guide her through 
 its many mazes, or keep her faltering steps in 
 the path of virtue ? No ! let her be taught to 
 scorn the voice of conscience, and the fear of 
 shame will soon cease to operate upon her mind, 
 at least, in its most essential form — self-con- 
 demnation. 
 
 It is true a base fear of the world may in- 
 duce her to cover her depraved thoughts with 
 the cloak of hypocrisy ; but, can this wish to 
 be thought good, better the condition of her 
 heart ? Nay, doth it not rather tend to greater 
 depravity? since, by practising it, she grows
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 65 
 
 into the belief that if she can hide her faults 
 from the eyes of the world, she has nothing to 
 fear ? How different must this feeling be from 
 that arising from the innocent heart of 3'outh, 
 when the sentiments of love and friendship, 
 glowing with truth, burst unrestrained from 
 the lips. What mother, having a daughter, 
 could wish her to exchange such thoughts for 
 selfish, worldly ones? And yet, alas ! doth not 
 daily experience bid us rather ask the question 
 of, What mother would not ?
 
 66 THE LOVER'S GRAVE: OR 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mrs. Thomson fearing that time would only 
 strengthen Susan's partiality for Edward, on 
 thinking over the matter again, deemed it her 
 duty to inform Mr. Layton of this obstacle to 
 the consummation of his happiness. 
 
 Her master, though surprised and amazed, 
 listened to her with the most patient attention. 
 It opened to his eyes a scene which had not 
 once crossed his imagination ; nor did he ap- 
 pear to wish to disguise from his informant 
 how far he thought it might go in opposition 
 to his wishes ; yet, at the same time he was 
 ashamed to express his fear for so contemptible 
 a rival. " The lad !" he began, " What can he 
 want with love ? What has he to support a 
 wife with ? Surely there will be plenty of
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR MARSHEND. 67 
 
 time for him to think of such matters some 
 dozen years hence ? We must take measures to 
 prevent his folly from growing upon him. I 
 am indeed veiy much indebted to you for your 
 confidence and attention. You say that you 
 only became acquainted with it this morning." 
 " Last night, sir," replied Mrs. Thomson. 
 "Aye! last night — I forgot;" resumed he, 
 "but you have no reason to think their court- 
 ship is of any long standing?" 
 
 " On the contrary, sir, I think last night was 
 the first of it." 
 
 " Very unfortunate that you were not with 
 them ; it would then, perhaps, never have 
 taken place." 
 
 "Perhaps not;" said Mrs. Thomson, "but 
 you know, sir, it was your wish that I should 
 remain at home." 
 
 " O yes, I do not deny it : I know it was all 
 my own fault ; but we must endeavour to mend
 
 68 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 it now. You must not allow Susan to throw 
 herself away in such a manner. I suppose 
 Edward is not aware of what has been pro- 
 posed on my part?" 
 
 " I found him talking to Susan this morn- 
 ing ;" replied Mrs. Thomson, "but I do not 
 think she has told him that." 
 
 " You will be good enough," said Mr. Lay- 
 ton, in an imploring tone, " to avoid letting 
 them meet again this morning. I was 
 thinking of sending Edward out to-day, to col- 
 lect a bill or two ; perhaps, I may now find it 
 necessary to send him to a distance that will 
 keep him from home for two or three days ; 
 during which time I trust we shall be able to 
 come to some final arrangement. Do you 
 not think I may hope as much?" 
 
 " What I can do, sir," said Mrs. Thomson 
 confidently, " be assured I will do, to render 
 you happy, and to obtain so much good for 
 my silly girl."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 69 
 
 " I depend entirely on you," rejoined her 
 master. " You will think in what manner it 
 is best to proceed with her ; in the meantime, I 
 will send Edward away;" and he left Mrs. 
 Thomson, fully bent on his purpose. 
 
 Edward listened to his master's instructions, 
 little suspecting the cause of their origin ; 
 and, as he appeared very anxious for him to set 
 off, lost no time in the necessary preparation 
 for his journey. As he had no idea of Mr. 
 Layton's design upon Susan, so also had he 
 no suspicion that he was employed on the pre- 
 sent occasion for any other than its ordinary 
 ostensible purpose. He had long enjoyed his 
 master's confidence to its fullest extent; and, 
 consequently, had been previously many times 
 employed on a like errand. The only thing 
 that disappointed him, and chequered his 
 happiness on the present occasion, arose 
 from the fact of his not being able to get an 
 
 h2
 
 70 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OK, 
 
 opportunity of again speaking to Susan alone. 
 Her mother was now very civil to him; but, 
 continually, though apparently undesignedly, 
 in the way. He perceived too plainly that she 
 was favourable to whoever his hated rival 
 might be ; still, he knew that Susan must be 
 the mistress of her own actions ; and, had she 
 not assured him of her unalterable love, to 
 doubt that she could, in the course of a few 
 days, be wrought upon to love him less, or even 
 to think one jot differently of him, never once 
 entered his head : all that he feared was, that 
 she would be persecuted, and made unhappy 
 on his account — and hence he would, had he 
 been possessed of empires, have freely yielded 
 them up, could he thereby have purchased a 
 few minutes conversation with her, to sympa- 
 thize with her, and talk of the happiness their 
 affectionate constancy would garner up in their 
 hearts, to be enjoyed in the hopeful future, as
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 71 
 
 a recompence for their present little perplex- 
 ities. Having made the attempt several times 
 to speak to her, but having been, by the pre- 
 sence of her mother, as many times defeated 
 in his object, he was at last compelled to give 
 it up as hopeless, and content himself with a 
 homely " Goodbye;" — alas! little suspecting 
 that he should never meet her again under 
 similar circumstances, or hear her unalterable 
 assurance of love renewed. 
 
 Mr. Lay ton, not willing to leave anything to 
 chance, after seriously considering with Mrs. 
 Thomson what was best to be done, came to 
 the resolution of sending Susan into the 
 country to a trusty friend of his own ; 
 thereby at once to assure himself that all 
 further opportunity for an increase of friend- 
 ship between herself and Edward, would be, 
 for the present at least, entirely broken off. It 
 must not be supposed that he could resolve on 
 
 h 3
 
 72 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 this course, without suffering a degree of pain 
 not easily to be described. Dissimilar as their 
 ages were, he felt the utmost affection for 
 Susan; though, compared with him she was 
 a mere child. The present opposition only 
 tended to increase his passion, and render her 
 presence almost necessary to his existence. 
 Yet prudence so clearly pointed out the folly 
 of keeping her at home, while Edward was an 
 inmate of his house, that, for the security of 
 his future happiness, he could not hesitate to 
 sacrifice her presence in its present equivocal 
 application to his comfort. 
 
 It was, therefore, determined that she should, 
 before the return of Edward, be sent away. 
 Mrs. Thomson had no objection to offer to any 
 proposal her master made ; for she had become 
 so impressed with the immense advantage the 
 marriage would prove to her daughter, that 
 she willingly fell in with his views to obtain
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 73 
 
 his object — almost regardless of the means his 
 selfishness compelled him to adopt. 
 
 Susan, though in part suspecting why this 
 offer of a holiday was now made to her, ap- 
 peared not altogether averse to it. Perhaps 
 she thought of it only as a child — of the fine 
 things she would see and have ; or, it may be, 
 that she thought she should thereby at once 
 avoid the temptations her mother had to offer 
 against her keeping faith with Edward, and her 
 consequent anger at their rejection; though 
 it has always appeared to me, that her motive 
 in accepting the invitation was of a more cal- 
 culating nature. 
 
 It is to be observed that I am not writing a 
 tale of fiction. The Susan of this little his- 
 tory is not a faultless heroine of romance, but 
 a fine, handsome girl — full of all the weakness 
 and fallibility that human nature is subject to. 
 Who can doubt, then, but that the pernicious
 
 74 THE LOVER S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 arguments of her mother had some weight with 
 her? How was it possible for her to hear 
 them so often repeated, without reflection ? 
 Perhaps this reflection, however, had she been 
 left to herself, might have proved sufficient to 
 re-assure her that the promptings of her 
 own fond heart would prove her best guide to 
 happiness; but she was not alone, and all be- 
 came confusion. She had been told that what 
 appeared to her to promise in its result con- 
 tentment and happiness, was but a vague pas- 
 sion — a mere ignis fatuus — a glimmering of 
 reason not to be depended on — and this, too, 
 by her mother — one to whom she believed she 
 was as dear as her own heart's blood. Which, 
 with an affectionate, dutiful heart, could she 
 most readily suspect? — her mother's experi- 
 ence, or the whisperings of her own heart ? 
 Judging from the result, it does not appear to 
 me that, at that time, she was willing to suspect
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. JO 
 
 either. The moral rectitude of her heart had 
 been assailed ; she knew not truth, or what to 
 doubt, or what to believe. It, therefore, appears 
 probable that she embraced the offer of a holi- 
 day with a degree of pleasure scarcely to be 
 expected in her situation ; vainly hoping that 
 she should be able at a distance to recover her 
 wonted spirits ; and with understanding to de- 
 termine on the future actions of her life.
 
 76 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The spot fixed upon for the visit of Susan was 
 about fifteen miles from her home, at a mode- 
 rate sized farm house, situated at the extremity 
 of a village. Its principal inmates were a mo- 
 ther and son. The mother, an elderly woman, 
 about sixty years of age ; the son, who managed 
 the business for her, a healthy, robust man, 
 about thirty. They were considered very good 
 farmers ; so that, of course, there were several 
 servants kept, in and about the house. Mr. 
 Hay ling (Hay ling was the family name), the 
 father, when alive, had been a particular friend 
 of Mr. Layton's; indeed, it may be said, that a 
 degree of intimacy and friendship had existed 
 between them that would not have been un- 
 becoming in brothers. At the time of Susan's
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 77 
 
 visit he had been dead three or four years ; yet 
 the same degree of intimacy continued to exist 
 between the families as during his life-time. 
 Mrs. Hayling was a particularly kind-hearted 
 woman, and one who, after her husband's 
 death, when she had occasion to mention his 
 name, never did so without tears of regret 
 gathering in her eyes. 
 
 Charles Hayling, the son, had, in his early 
 years, been very much indulged; he being 
 their only child, all their fondness and affections 
 were lavished unsparingly upon him. Yet, alas ! 
 as is too often the case, he grew up in habits any- 
 thing but those such treatment and examples 
 seemed to promise. In short, at the age of 
 twenty, he was not only the grief of his 
 parents, but the terror of the surrounding 
 neighbourhood. Those who had sons were 
 very anxious that they should avoid his com- 
 pany ; while with many it was a crime for
 
 78 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 their daughters to be seen speaking to him; 
 not that he had been guilty of any atrocious 
 crime, but that those with whom he chose to 
 resort had for years established for themselves 
 the unenviable distinction of being notoriously 
 bad characters ; and by whom, it was whispered 
 by many, that, although Charles Hayling was so 
 young, he was looked up to as their chief. His 
 father would often, with tears in his eyes, talk 
 to him, and point out the ultimate consequences 
 that such evil company must bestow on who- 
 ever should indulge in it. But such caution 
 came too late ; the boy that might have been 
 corrected, and won from his waywardness, was 
 now too old for such correction, and too insen- 
 sible to be awed by his father's words, even 
 though accompanied with tears : late and un- 
 certain became his hours of returning home to 
 rest; and many times, for nights' together, 
 in sleepless affliction, his hapless parents
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 79 
 
 mourned his absence, not wotting where he was, 
 but fearing every moment to be aroused with 
 the announcement that some dire calamity had 
 befallen him. They could but weep, and pray 
 for his amendment, for, as for attempting to ex- 
 ercise any authority to produce it, they knew too 
 well it would be useless, and feared to drive him 
 entirely from the shelter of their roof. 
 
 Thus, for some years, at the expense of his 
 own constitution, and his parent's happiness, 
 heedless of all the good examples around him, 
 the son progressed in his depravity. But at a 
 time when by his well-wishers he had been long 
 given up as a lost character, and even his parents, 
 when thinking of him, dreaded to speak of the 
 future, he ^suddenly gave indications of becom- 
 ing an altered man. 
 
 An accident of the most frightful description, 
 which hurled one of his boon companions from his 
 side into a premature grave, was generally sup-
 
 80 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 posed to have been made the means, in the hands 
 of Providence, to arouse him to a full sense of 
 his own awful situation. But it will not be sup- 
 posed that his parents were half so curious as to 
 the cause as they were rejoiced at the effects 
 which ensued. 
 
 With a degree of satisfaction, scarcely to be ex- 
 pressed,they saw him return home of a night much 
 more early than he had long been accustomed to 
 do, and in a state of mind bordering on sadness 
 bid them good night, and retire to his room. 
 His intimacy with many low unprincipled cha- 
 racters, from this time, began sensibly to decline ; 
 so sensibly, that in the course of a few months it 
 appeared his study to avoid them altogether. 
 
 It was soon admitted, not only by his friends, 
 but by the inhabitants of the village generally, 
 that he was very much altered ; and many young 
 persons, from being no longer, by their parents, 
 or their own sense of propriety, interdicted his
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 81 
 
 company, appeared desirous of his friendship; 
 but, he treated their advances with coldness, and, 
 as others thought, with contempt, which had the 
 effect of keeping him as much alone as ever. 
 
 He appeared fully sensible that his company 
 had once been shunned, and whether from shame, 
 bashfulness, or a less worthy motive, he showed 
 no anxiety that he desired the future should 
 be different from the past. He was in con- 
 sequence looked upon as a solitary, thoughtful, 
 and by some, ill-natured man, not half so much 
 changed at heart, as his altered mode of life 
 seemed to imply ; of course his parents were not 
 of this number, they saw nothing in his silence 
 but a noble sorrow for his past follies. 
 
 The farm, which he had entirely neglected, 
 now received from him the utmost attention ; so 
 that at his father's death he was able to under- 
 take, and by his mother readily entrusted with. 
 ; ts entire management; and he did not prove 
 
 i 2
 
 82 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR. 
 
 himself unworthy of the trust reposed in him ; 
 while his behaviour to her was full of considera- 
 tion and kindness. 
 
 I have deemed it necessary to enter into these 
 particulars though they may appear to be little 
 needed, as being unconnected with my story; 
 but events that occurred to Susan at this place, 
 and which too strongly coloured the remainder of 
 her days are to be narrated, in which the said 
 Charles Hayling will be found to act so con- 
 siderable a part, that it was necessary that the 
 reader should in some manner be made acquaint- 
 ed with his previous character. It was said by 
 some persons, and credited by many, that he had 
 been disappointed in obtaining the object of his 
 early affection. That a virtuous daughter of 
 one of his dissolute companions, the one who 
 has been mentioned as having met with an un- 
 timely end, had scorned his love and taunted 
 him with the baseness of his life, and although
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND, 83 
 
 he was the son of a farmer, and also passionately 
 attached to her, had most emphatically refused 
 to become his wife, and, despite her father's bru- 
 tal threats of what he would do if she persisted 
 to reject his friend, had spoken and acted with 
 such a constancy of purpose against it, yet with 
 the meekness and respect of a child when op- 
 posing a parent's wish, that he could in no wise 
 bring her to consent to his desires, though con- 
 tinually buoying up the mind of his friend with 
 the certainty that he would do it. This being 
 the state of the case, at her father's sudden death 
 Charles saw with that, his last ray of hope de- 
 part for ever. 
 
 I do not give this as truth, but I think there is 
 a great degree of probability attached to it, from 
 the little notice he took of females ever after- 
 wards. 
 
 In the morning of the day on which Susan 
 arrived at the farm, Mrs. Hayling received a 
 
 i3
 
 84 the lover's GRAVE ; OR 
 
 letter from Mr. Layton, making her acquainted 
 with her visit, and begging her to treat her 
 kindly for his sake. Then entering more fully 
 into the matter, he made his friend acquainted 
 with his intentions towards Susan, and begged 
 her to improve, by all the means in her power, 
 any good impression his kindness might make 
 upon the mind of his soul's idol. 
 
 This letter was not read by Mrs. Hay ling 
 without surprise or pain, not that she was aware 
 of Susan's love for Edward, but that she never 
 had approved of such unequal matches. " How," 
 she would say, " can a man expect to be loved 
 by a woman young enough to be his own 
 child?" But Mr. Layton was her friend, and 
 moreover, had been the friend of her husband, 
 and if he chose to act in so inconsiderate a 
 manner it was not for her to school him for his 
 folly ; she, therefore, prepared to receive her 
 visiter in the most friendly and welcome
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 85 
 
 manner, so that when she arrived every thing 
 that could concern her comfort was in the best 
 possible order. 
 
 Mr. Layton, knowing the almost dislike that 
 Charles Hayling had for female society, did not 
 once, even for a moment, dream that he had 
 anything to fear on his account ; of this he had 
 given proof by forwarding a letter to him, in 
 which he had particularized more fully on the 
 occasion and intention of Susan's visit. The 
 intimacy which he had discovered to exist be- 
 tween her and his apprentice, was set forth at 
 large, and, closely connected with it, his firm de- 
 termination to put an end to it. In conclusion, 
 he begged his friend not to lose an opportunity, 
 should any occur, of rendering Edward as ridi- 
 culous in her eyes as possible. Alas ! he little 
 thought the spirit he was invoking to his as- 
 sistance, or the misery he was preparing for 
 her he thought he loved.
 
 86 the lover's grave; or 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In the afternoon of the day on which Susan left 
 her home, Edward returned to it ; he had ac- 
 complished the task he was employed upon, 
 agreeable to his instructions, and little doubted 
 but it would prove satisfactory to his master. 
 With the sanguine spirit of youth, during his 
 absence, he had continually pictured before his 
 eyes the form of his beloved Susan. 
 
 He was satisfied he possessed her heart, and 
 his whole thought and study was, how he could 
 render it happy. 
 
 Did he dream of disappointment, or of losing 
 her, a death-like dullness fell upon his spirits, 
 but a moment's hope served to warm them into 
 life, as the integerity and constancy of his own 
 heart chiseled out the model of her devotion to 
 him.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 87 
 
 Having reached home, and given his master 
 a satisfactory explanation with respect to the 
 business on which he had been sent, he was 
 much surprised and hurt at not seeing his be- 
 loved Susan ready to greet him with her cheer- 
 ing smiles. On meeting Mrs. Thomson, and 
 having first made inquiries respecting her own 
 health, he ventured to ask after Susan's. 
 
 " Oh, she is quite well," was the ready reply. 
 
 " I began to fear she was ill," resumed Ed- 
 ward, in as uninterested a manner as he could 
 possibly assume. " She is not at home," said 
 Mrs. Thomson, in a tone well calculated to put a 
 stop to all further questions. Edward, supposing 
 she was only gone out to visit an acquaintance 
 in the town, curbed in his impatience, and pro- 
 ceeded quietly to his ordinary occupation. 
 
 The afternoon drew slowly to a close — the 
 evening advanced — it grew late, still she did not 
 return. He might have gone out, but he staid.
 
 OO THE LOVERS GRAVE; OR 
 
 lest by so doing he should miss her ; the latest 
 hour he had ever known her to be out alone, 
 came and passed. He began to be seriously 
 alarmed for her safety — something thought he 
 must surely have happened to her. He hinted 
 his fears to Mrs. Thomson, when she told him, 
 with seeming unconcern, that Susan was not in 
 Marshend, but gone on a visit into the country 
 for a few days, In a moment, surprise and 
 doubt were depicted on his countenance. Is 
 this, a contrivance to part us, was the question 
 self-engendered in his mind. He struggled to 
 disguise his fears, while with all the calmness he 
 could command, he inquired where she was 
 gone. 
 
 " There are reasons," said Mrs. Thomson in 
 her former tone, " which at present make it ne- 
 cessary to keep it secret." 
 
 His worst fears were realized, and he asked 
 no more questions. She had made her voice a
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 89 
 
 discord to his ears ; so, taking up his lighted 
 candle, with a tremulous accent he bad her 
 " Good night," and proceeded to his bed-room. 
 to vent his disappointment in tears. 
 
 As he left the room, Mrs. Thomson's eyes 
 were upon him, and she half murmured to her- 
 self, " Poor fellow, how unhappy he thinks 
 himself; and, yet, in a few days, we shall see 
 it all forgotten. Changing, ever changing, is 
 the mind of youth." 
 
 " You are right, Mrs. Thomson," said Mr. 
 Layton, who just at the moment happened to 
 come into the room; " the mind of youth is 
 ever changing ; and blessed is the mother who 
 seeks to provide for a daughter's happiness in 
 something more substantial than its fleeting 
 passions." 
 
 "You are very good, sir," was the reply. 
 
 " And how does Edward seem to bear his 
 disappointment?" asked Mr. Layton.
 
 90 THE LOVER'S GRA.VE; OR. 
 
 ■• Why, sir, as you might expect ; when I 
 told him Susan was out on a visit, and refused 
 to tell him where, he looked very uncomfort- 
 able ; but he is gone to bed, and I dare say will 
 awake well enough in the morning." 
 
 •• I am very glad, very glad indeed, to hear 
 you say so." And with that, the house having 
 been secured, they each proceeded to their 
 separate rooms, alike to dream of fallacies. 
 
 I will not venture to remark how Edward 
 spent that, to him, eventful night — whether in 
 the sleepless agony of despair, or the fond 
 dreams of hope. On the next morning he was 
 seen in his office as usual, busily engaged in 
 copying some architectural designs, which he 
 had borrowed from a friend. 
 
 It has often struck me as strange, that, 
 considering the easy terms Edward was on with 
 his master, that he never opened his heart to 
 him about the object of his secret thoughts,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 91 
 
 and begged him to exert his good offices with 
 her mother for their mutual happiness. Doubt- 
 less, those only possessed of a like spirit, and 
 placed in a similar situation can perfectly under- 
 stand his silence. However, the knowledge is 
 common to all, that, be the object whatsoever 
 it may, on which the ardent mind of youth 
 becomes concentrated, it enshrines it with such 
 dear — such unearthly imaginings, that it be- 
 comes absolutely painful to hear it spoken of in 
 the business-like manner, in which the aged are 
 too apt to indulge, when talking to young persons 
 of passions which they themselves once keenly 
 felt, but which they are now eager to forget that 
 they were ever weak enough to writhe under. It is, 
 therefore, possible that Edward might have feared 
 his master would take up the matter, in some such 
 uncongenial manner. Or, perhaps, he went on, 
 from day to day, feeding on that hope which 
 has been so bountifully meted out to youth, to 
 
 K
 
 92 THE LOVERS GRAVE; OR, 
 
 still his excited but unsatisfied passions, trusting, 
 that some fortunate event would occur to make 
 it unnecessary for him to strengthen his cause 
 with the interference of any one. 
 
 There can be no doubt that his situation did 
 not warrant his acting offensively. Making, 
 therefore, a virtue of necessity, he continued to 
 go quietly on in the routine of his business, 
 endeavouring to conceal the emotions of his 
 heart from those who were too closely observ- 
 ing him. Yet, despite all his caution, neither 
 Mrs. Thomson, nor his jealous and too selfish 
 master, failed to observe that a great change 
 had, and was daily taking place in him, in direct 
 opposition to their hopes to the contrary. 
 
 Partly from pride, and partly from a dread of 
 being quizzed, Edward had secretly resolved to 
 shun observation, by avoiding his friends and 
 acquaintances as much as possible. But, in 
 forming this resolution, he had failed to remark.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 93 
 
 that by removing himself so entirely from the 
 conversation and amusements of those around 
 him, he should thereby give them full scope to 
 imply that his thoughts were fully and com- 
 pletely taken up by one engrossing subject. 
 What that subject was, can it be for a moment 
 doubted that Mrs. Thompson, or his master, 
 remained in ignorance? Thus then, his over 
 carefulness to shun observation, caused the same 
 measures to be adopted towards him, as if his 
 disappointment had taken a noisy or inquisitive 
 turn. 
 
 Day followed day, and the family affairs were 
 discussed as usual by Mr. Layton and his house- 
 keeper, seemingly careless of his presence ; nor 
 did they appear to avoid mentioning the name 
 of his beloved Susan, yet it was in so casual 
 and uninteresting a manner, that he could never 
 learn aught from such conversations. At times 
 he would endeavour to lead them insensibly on 
 
 k2
 
 94 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OK, 
 
 to mention the place of her holiday abode ; but 
 such endeavours never failed to end in his vexa- 
 tion and disappointment. In the course of time, 
 without being scarce aware of it, he yielded 
 himself up to almost absolute silence, never 
 taking part in their conversation, unless when 
 duty or business obliged him to do so. And so 
 reserved had he become to the town'speople, 
 that it was the general talk of how much he was 
 altered, while some, by accident more deeply 
 versed in his feelings, whispered as he passed 
 them, how desperately he was in love. 
 
 At the close of each busy day, the evening 
 became dedicated to a solitary walk of hopeful 
 musing ; for, amidst all his disappointment and 
 vexation, it was something to know that he was 
 beloved by his dear Susan. And that he was 
 loved ardently and sincerely as he loved her, he 
 never once doubted, for the echo of her own 
 sweet voice still sounded in his ears, the blest — 
 the all- satisfying assurance.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 95 
 
 The thoughtless and gay, on reading this, may 
 perhaps feel inclined to laugh at him, for not 
 acting a more manly-^-more determined part ; 
 but they should remember, that he was but an 
 apprentice, entirely at the mercy of his master, 
 as his beloved Susan was also at her mother's ; 
 and that to have entered the lists against them, 
 while so circumstanced, would have proved but 
 the prelude to his own discomfiture, without, in 
 the slightest degree, advancing his interest with 
 Susan. 
 
 He could but perceive, although he had not 
 the slightest idea that his master was his rival. 
 that Mrs. Thomson had done much of late to 
 win him to her confidence, and sometimes he 
 even doubted whether he was not acquainted 
 with the real cause of Susan's absence. 
 
 Therefore, although at first sight it may 
 appear he acted a coward's part, a very little 
 attention to his real situation suffices to prove 
 
 k 3
 
 96 the lover's grave; ok, 
 
 that lie did no such thing ; but, on the contrary, 
 that he acted in the most thoughtful, manly, 
 and determined manner, any one in his circum- 
 stances could have done. 
 
 In less than two years, argued lie to himself, 
 I shall he freed from this thraldom, and com- 
 mence a life independent of control. I have 
 read and heard of many, who through frugal 
 habits, joined to much study and attention to 
 their duties, have been enabled early in life to 
 commence business, and to conduct it to a pros- 
 perous issue ; and why may I not do the »ame ? 
 •' Bear witness, heaven," said he, raising his eyes 
 to the starry firmament, "if sobriety, industry, 
 and study, will do it r how earnestly I will set 
 about its accomplishment. Yes, Susan, I feel — 
 I know we sh-ali be happy. Be thou but true — > 
 yet why should I say it ? Can I, for a moment. 
 think that a few days absence — nay, months or 
 years, can in aught blunt your fondness for me !
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR .MARSHEN'D. y/ 
 
 Forgive the false thought, dear, dear Susan, I 
 feel that not even death itself can part us ! You 
 are mine — wedded to me in the sight of heaven, 
 with the approval of your own virgin heart. I 
 feel that nothing can quench my love, and as 
 firmly believe in the sincerity and constancy 
 of thine." 
 
 Thus would Edward comfort himself in 
 secret, with pictures of the happy future ; and 
 thereby obtain for the present lonely hours of 
 night, in place of restlessness, a tranquil and 
 refreshing sleep. 
 
 He had never been one of those thoughtless 
 youths, who having never troubled themselves 
 with half an hour's thought or self examination, 
 have a multitude of acquaintance, without so 
 much as one sober thoughtful friend amongst 
 the number, whose time is taken up in talking 
 nonsense, and arguing without so much as the 
 weight of a single hair to argue upon ; who liv^
 
 98 the lover's grave; or. 
 
 like butterflies that flutter from flower to flower, 
 without being able to distinguish so much as 
 one colour from another ; careless of all things 
 but the present time, and their own pleasurable 
 sensations, until the winter's frost seizes them 
 in its unrelenting grasp— hence it has been justly- 
 said, that death, even in old age, rushes untimely 
 upon the vain and thoughtless. 
 
 Edward had long loved to indulge his mind in 
 contemplation, and his tongue in arguing on a 
 theme ever beautiful and present to his senses. 
 
 " The mysterious simplicity of nature." 
 
 This budding of the mental faculties, and love 
 of study, had been observed by his friends when 
 he was a mere child; and it became their care 
 to promote its development, rather with a view 
 to the quality, than the quantity of fruit it 
 should bring forth in the coming years of its ma- 
 turity. This will, doubtless, in a great measure, 
 account for the beautiful sentiments of love
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 99 
 
 and friendship which filled his heart, as also 
 for the devotion to truth and justice of his 
 understanding. 
 
 Before I was cast upon a bed of sickness by 
 my present grievous malady, I spent many 
 hours in his company, and I can truly say, I 
 ever found him a pleasant and sensible com- 
 panion. When it pleased God to afflict me, be- 
 fore trouble had cast its chilly shroud upon his 
 mind, he used often to visit me, in company with 
 a youth of about his own age, named Henry 
 Sheldrake, who was also, like himself, in the 
 midst of his apprenticeship. 
 
 1 observed, with pleasure, that they treated 
 each other almost like brothers — I say with 
 pleasure, because I clearly saw that their minds 
 were constituted as if for the express purpose of 
 being closely united in the bonds of a rational 
 and lasting friendship. 
 
 Yet. sincere as their attachment had been. and
 
 100 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 much as they had been voluntarily together, 
 Edward, for some time after Susan's departure, 
 in his shyness of company, appeared even desir- 
 ous of shunning him. But, as days and weeks 
 passed on, and he had in some manner argued 
 himself into patient resignation^ he became less 
 careful of escaping his notice. 
 
 Henry Sheldrake was the son of a respectable 
 farmer, who lived about seven miles from 
 Marshend. He being a younger son, and the 
 farm not being of sufficient magnitude to keep 
 the rising family in idleness, his father deter- 
 mined that he should learn a trade. The choice 
 having been left to the youth, he fixed upon 
 that of a book-binder and stationer, at which 
 he continued to work contentedly and happy, 
 frequently, as an opportunity offered itself, 
 running over, as he said, to see how all was 
 going on at home. 
 
 Near two months had elapsed from Susan's
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 101 
 
 departure, without Edward's having been able 
 to discover where she had been removed to. 
 Of this he had often spoken and complained to 
 his friend ; but at the same time had comforted 
 himself that she was — she must be, equally 
 anxious as himself, and, as he well knew she was 
 aware of his address, he was willing to be per- 
 suaded that she was acting with a degree of 
 caution perfectly consistent with their situation.
 
 102 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It was on the evening of a Sunday, in the 
 month of August, when Edward, indulging in a 
 solitary walk, reached that spot where he had 
 first tasted perfect happiness — where he had 
 first openly and fervently breathed his passion 
 to Susan, and where his secret hopes had ex- 
 panded into the blest assurance of mutual love. 
 
 Seating himself on the green bank, he began 
 seriously to think whether Susan was justified in 
 her long continued silence ; and if she were 
 not, what other cause could have prevented her 
 from communicating with him. Was there not 
 a probability that she might be persuaded that 
 he knew where to address her if he felt disposed, 
 and might she not, therefore, be waiting as im- 
 patiently, as himself, for a letter. This was a
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 103 
 
 question not easily, or rashly, to be replied to ; a 
 thousand times in various ways it was repeated, 
 yet repeated to be answered in a similar way as 
 at first. He could not tell why he had not heard 
 from her, but he was satisfied she would be true 
 to him, as he was to her. 
 
 From these perplexing thoughts he was 
 aroused by his friend Henry, whom chance had 
 directed that way, on his return from his day at 
 home with his father. Edward was not a little 
 surprised at seeing him, as it was some time 
 before he had looked for his return, nor was he 
 less so, to observe, that he wore not that face of 
 unwrinkled care, which he was ever happy to 
 remark in his friend, although, it often served 
 to remind him, the more severely, of his own un- 
 happiness. 
 
 " Ah, Edward ! what at the old spot and the 
 old thoughts again!" began Henry, but was 
 instantly checked by his friend's inquiries, 
 
 L
 
 104 THE LOVER S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 whether he were not well, or whether anything 
 unpleasant had occurred to his friends, that caused 
 him to look so unusually serious. 
 
 " You forget," replied Henry, "that I have 
 had a long walk, and may fairly be supposed to 
 be a little tired." 
 
 "I have often seen you returning from the 
 same walk before," observed Edward, " but 
 never saw you look half so sadly in my life !" 
 
 " Go on," said Henry, "I suppose you thought 
 if you did not attack me, that I should you, and 
 therefore were determined to make the onset; 
 but be assured, with thanks for your inquiries, 
 that I am quite well." 
 
 " And your friends ?" added Edward. 
 
 " They are in health," replied his companion, 
 v ' but something out of spirits to-day, which 
 may, perhaps, account for my looking a little 
 more serious than usual — but come along and 
 you shall hear all about it."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 105 
 
 " You remember," began Henry, " that I told 
 you my brother Thomas, like yourself, the last 
 time I saw him, was complaining sadly about 
 the interested interference of parents, with 
 their children's happiness. Thomas, you know, 
 has long loved and been beloved by Mary Elgar. 
 the only child of my father's nearest neighbour — 
 Miser Elgar, as he is usually called. What my fa- 
 ther might have done, had Mary been a poor 
 labourer's daughter, I cannot say ; but as it was, 
 he never seemed to know anything of what was 
 going on between them, and they, in consequence, 
 were not shy of him. 
 
 " But with her father, it was a very different 
 affair, and I verily believe that my brother 
 would by him, as soon have been seen in com- 
 pany with all the rogues in the kingdom, as with 
 his daughter. I need, therefore, scarce say, 
 that they were very anxious to keep the old 
 gentleman in total ignorance of their love. Not 
 
 l2
 
 106 the lover's grave; or 
 
 but Thomas is a respectable fellow enough for 
 any farmer's daughter, but Mary's father looked 
 forward to something more than respectability 
 for her. Besides, my brother has long had the 
 misfortune to labour under his displeasure, ap- 
 proaching to hatred, for having, when a mere 
 boy, expressed his opinion rather too plainly of 
 the old gentleman, and which some good natured 
 friend was kind enough to repeat to him." 
 
 " But what is all this to lead to?" exclaimed 
 Edward, " Is the miser dead " 
 
 " No, it is on Mary," replied Henry, mournfully, 
 " that death is likely to lay his chilly hand." 
 
 " On Mary !" echoed Edward, " do you say 
 that Mary is dead ?" 
 
 " No, I do not say she is dead," replied his 
 companion, " but, alas ! I fear she cannot live 
 many hours longer." 
 
 " Mary die — the youthful, the healthy Mary !" 
 said Edward, " It cannot be — you trifle with me."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 107 
 
 •'Indeed, I do not," replied his companion, in 
 his former mournful tone ; " yet it is not her 
 mere death that will prove the most shocking 
 part of the story." 
 
 " In God's name," asked Edward, " what can 
 be more shocking ?" 
 
 " The manner," replied Henry, and he spoke in 
 such a tremulously subdued tone of grief, that 
 his companion looked upon him, in mute 
 astonishment, unable to utter a word ; while 
 he continued, " you know, Edward, I have not 
 been home before for the last fortnight, during 
 which time what I am about to relate has taken 
 place. 
 
 " One evening, I know not exactly which, my 
 brother had, by appointment, met his dear Mary, 
 and was enjoying one of those stolen interviews 
 of mutual pleasure, which are enhanced in 
 value by being attended with fear of discovery ; 
 when fate, assisted by some ill-natured person. 
 
 l 3
 
 108 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 brought her father within ear shot of their 
 words. Enraged, even to fury, at finding what 
 had been but a vague suspicion, realized in 
 truth, he rushed upon the lovers, and with the 
 handle of his heavy riding whip, struck my 
 brother a violent blow upon the head, which 
 felled him senseless to the earth. 
 
 " Mary, though surprised and terrified, almost to 
 death, had yet sufficient presence of mind to 
 endeavour to save her prostrated lover from fur- 
 ther violence. She well knew the effects of her 
 father's passion, or rather madness, when excited 
 against others, but had no fear that he would 
 attempt to injure her. With this conviction, she 
 threw herself upon the body of her apparently 
 lifeless lover, to shield him from the upraised 
 arm of her infuriated father. But he saw her 
 not, or, seeing her, would not stay the blow ; so 
 that, that which was intended for my brother, 
 fell upon his daughter, from the effects of
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 109 
 
 which, she is now threatened with a premature 
 grave." 
 
 " Dreadful!" muttered Edward, with a shudder, 
 and then added quickly, as if desirous of further 
 information, " And your brother — " 
 
 " He was but stunned," continued his com- 
 panion ; "at the moment the whip fell upon 
 Mary, he became conscious of his situation, and 
 having freed himself from her close embrace, as 
 we read, the tiger springs upon his prey, so 
 sprang he upon the unnatural and brutal father. 
 
 " The old man, as you may suppose, stood but as 
 a reed against him, with one effort the whip was 
 wrenched from his hand, and in a moment he 
 lay wallowing in the mire. I do not believe that 
 my brother struck him, but rather that he fell 
 from the effects of his struggle to retain the whip. 
 Foaming with rage, he recovered his legs, but, 
 not deeming it safe to assail his youthful adver- 
 sary, he ran from the spot, bestowing as he went
 
 110 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 his deep eternal curses upon him. As my brother 
 saw he had nothing further to fear from the 
 passion of the baffled father, he was enabled to 
 bestow his undivided attention upon Mary, who 
 lay writhing in agony, insensible at his feet. 
 Fortunately there happened to be a clear stream 
 of water at hand, which was instantly taken 
 advantage of, to bathe her lips and temples ; 
 but it was sometime before she betrayed a word 
 of consciousness, and when at last she did, her 
 lover was grieved to observe, that it was accom- 
 panied with a degree of wildness, such as he had 
 never seen any one exhibit before. With all the 
 gentleness his excitement permitted him to use, 
 he strove to comfort her as he led her towards 
 his father's house, deeming it better, in her pre- 
 sent state of alarm, to take her there, than suffer 
 her to return home. But they were near a mile 
 from the house, which distance they had not 
 passed half over, when they were overtaken by
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. Ill 
 
 her father, accompanied by several other persons, 
 who had been induced to follow him from his 
 raving declaration, that a villain was running 
 away with his darling child ; and by whom, 
 merely for persuading her to return home, he 
 had been furiously attacked and brutally ill-used. 
 When they came up with the fugitives, a few 
 minutes served to convince them of the falsehood 
 of the old man's story, and they accordingly re- 
 fused to interfere. But he had gained his point, 
 for although they would not take part with him, 
 he felt assured that they would restrain my 
 brother's violence, should he be urged, by his 
 passion, to attempt anything against him. As- 
 suming, therefore, all the authority a parent is 
 allowed to possess over his child, he paraded, with 
 confidence, all the injuries he had, or was likely 
 to be subjected to on his daughter's account, and 
 insisted that she should instantly return home 
 with him. But Mary, much to his annoyance ;
 
 112 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 seemed only to imagine that further violence 
 was intended towards her lover ; and, therefore, 
 without making any answer to his angry raj- 
 quest, clung the more earnestly to my brother. 
 
 " Mr. Elgar seeing this, and having the vio- 
 lence of his passion held in check by the pre- 
 sence of those around, assumed a different 
 position. Bursting into tears, like a child, he 
 gave way to all kind of extravagant speeches, 
 ever and anon in an imploring tone, demanding 
 of his daughter if she would forsake her poor 
 old father. 
 
 "Recovering sufficient reason to perceive that 
 the tumult of her father's anger had passed 
 away, Mary no longer resisted his importunities ; 
 but, expressed her satisfaction to do as he 
 desired. As she thus withdrew herself from 
 my brother's protection, he felt that he had no 
 power to detain her ; but he still had her arm 
 linked in his own, and in that manner he pro-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 113 
 
 ceeded with her towards her father's house, 
 endeavouring to whisper words of comfort in 
 her ear. Her father, however, although he 
 could not part them on the instant, was too 
 watchful to let anything pass between them 
 which he did not hear; but, until he saw his 
 daughter safely lodged under his roof, he gave 
 no further evidence of the passion that was 
 gnawing at his heart. Then again it burst 
 forth anew ; for, on my brother attempting to 
 follow Mary in, he stood in the door-way, and 
 roughly forbad him admittance, concluding by 
 calling him many ill names, and, with an 
 emphatic declaration, that, should he ever 
 attempt to enter his door he would shoot him 
 through the heart. 
 
 " This renewed intemperance brought some 
 mutual friends to interfere, who, having 
 cautioned the father against using any such 
 violence, persuaded my brother to return home
 
 114 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 with them, by telling him how little he could 
 advance his cause by staying ; and that it would 
 be far better to give the old man time to cool 
 and consider of the step he had taken, ere he 
 took any means to convince him of its injustice 
 and folly. 
 
 ''Overcome by their argument, or, perhaps, 
 rather by his own feelings, my brother returned 
 home, but too much agitated to speak to any 
 one about it. The next morning, however, he 
 made my father acquainted with the particu- 
 lars of the sad occurrence, who readily promised 
 to use his interest with Mr. Elgar for the 
 mutual happiness of their children, and with 
 this promise he went directly over to visit him. 
 
 "What passed between them I do not know, 
 further than that it was far from being in ac- 
 cordance with the lover's desire ; for my father, 
 though one of the most generous and even 
 tempered of men, returned a short time after-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 115 
 
 terwards, flushed and angry, and told Thomas 
 it was beneath him to think anything more of 
 Mary, since her father had proved himself the 
 most selfish, ungenerous, and brutal man he had 
 ever met with. My brother listened to this in 
 silence, not daring to ask a question or offer a 
 remark, lest it should provoke his father, in his 
 just resentment, to interdict him from ever 
 thinking of his injured Mary again. 
 
 " Being thus left to himself, and, knowing how 
 little Mary partook of the ungenerous spirit of 
 her father, he used every exertion to see her. 
 Meantime she was kept a close prisoner in the 
 house, the bottom part of which was kept con- 
 stantly shut up, so that it appeared to the eye 
 anything rather than an inhabited farm-house. 
 
 u Hour after hour he now passed concealed in 
 its vicinity, ready to take advantage of the 
 slightest chance which might offer itself for his 
 unobserved ingress. In the beginning of last
 
 116 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 week, while thus occupied, he was surprised and 
 alarmed at observing Mr. Blair, the doctor, ride 
 up to the house, and obtain instant admission. 
 He well knew Mr. Elgar would not have had 
 him called in, unless something serious had or 
 was likely to occur ; as he had almost as much 
 dread of a doctor's bill as he had of death itself. 
 Trembling with excitement,my brother remained 
 stationary until he observed Mr. Blair leave the 
 house ; then, creeping from his hiding-place, he 
 hastened after him, resolved, if possible, to 
 ascertain the cause of his visit. But, as he 
 thought it advisable to get some distance from 
 the house before he made the attempt, he ran 
 along a bye-path which crossed some fields, and 
 led into the road again about half a mile 
 distant, in the expectation of reaching the spot 
 before Mr. Blair had passed it. From this cir- 
 cumstance, or some other equally unfortunate, 
 he missed him. But as he was too much ex-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 117 
 
 cited to return home unsatisfied, he determined, 
 after waiting until all hope of meeting him had 
 left his bosom, to walk directly over to Mr. 
 Clair's house, and, if he were not at home, to 
 await his coming ; which he accordingly did — 
 but, with how much impatience, I will not at- 
 tempt to describe.
 
 118 THE LOVER'S GRAVE: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Blair, though a doctor, is a very kind- 
 hearted man. He had found Mary confined to 
 her bed in a state of delirium ; and a very few 
 questions served to convince him of the des- 
 peration of her case, if his prescriptions were to 
 consist of mere medicine. From her symptoms 
 he felt assured that some sad event had oc- 
 curred, which had not only destroyed the 
 healthy tone of her body, but threatened also to 
 annihilate her reason. 
 
 " To this effect he spoke to her father, and said, 
 that before he could pronounce an opinion as 
 to the way in which her disease might termi- 
 nate, it was absolutely necessary for him to 
 ascertain the cause of her excitement. As 
 might have been expected, her father did not
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 119 
 
 tell him, nor suffer him to learn from her 
 attendants — on each of whom he had laid the 
 most solemn injunction of secrecy. After pre- 
 scribing what was necessary for her immediate 
 treatment, Mr. Blair left the house, determined 
 to learn, if possible, in the neighbourhood, if 
 anything extraordinary had occurred to the 
 farmer or his child. It was for this very 
 purpose that he had gone into a labourer's 
 house near at hand, which occasioned my 
 brother to miss him. Of course, what he was 
 enabled to leam there, was but a mere sketch of 
 what had happened ; but it was enough to 
 satisfy him of the correctness of his previous 
 opinion, and to give him a clue to further dis- 
 covery, whereby he might be the better enabled 
 to contend with the disease of his distressed 
 patient. 
 
 ' ; It was very fortunate for my brother that 
 Mr. Blair had taken such an interest in the fate 
 
 m 3
 
 120 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 of Mary; for, on his arriving at home, and 
 finding one there awaiting his return, so able 
 to give him every information respecting the 
 the cause of her excitement, he received him with 
 the utmost kindness ; and freely, but feelingly, 
 told him the state in which he had found her. 
 After they had been some time together, and 
 Mr. Blair had listened with the utmost patience 
 to the many doubts and fears which my brother 
 had to speak of, he assured him that he would 
 exert his utmost skill to restore Mary to health ; 
 and that, with the blessing of God, he did not 
 doubt but he should succeed. At the same 
 time, he thought it necessary to caution her 
 lover, in the most impressive manner, not to use 
 any means unknown to him to see her ; ending 
 with the assurance, that should he succeed in 
 any such attempt, the shock arising from it, in 
 her present state, would, in all probability, be 
 attended with the most serious and distressing 
 result.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF SIARSHEND. 121 
 
 11 To all my brother's inquiries about the na 
 ture of her disease, Mr. Blair seemed only to an- 
 answer evasively, till at last he confessed he had 
 not had sufficient time to discover, not having 
 known anything of her previous habits or state 
 of mind when there in the morning. He then 
 again begged my brother, as he valued his own 
 and Mary's happiness, not to attempt to see her, 
 as, considering the great dislike her father had to 
 him, he could not expect to enter the house 
 without raising a whirlwind of passion, the 
 effect of which might render it unnecessary for 
 him to pay even another visit. 
 
 " After thanking Mr. Blair a thousand times 
 for his kindness, my brother took his leave of 
 him, convinced, very much against his inclina- 
 tion, that the best possible course he could pursue 
 would be to attend strictly to his directions. 
 Accident, however, soon decided that it should 
 be otherwise ; for, as he was leaving the town, he 
 was met by a messenger from Mr. Elgar, begging
 
 122 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 him to come instantly to his house, as both he 
 and Mary were very poorly. 
 
 " The person who brought this message, knew 
 nothing more about it, than that he had heard 
 Mary had been taken very ill the night before ; 
 and since which time her father had been 
 running about the house like a madman ; 
 alternately abusing his child for her obstinacy — 
 vowing vengeance against my brother — and 
 following the threat up, almost in the same 
 breath, with curses on his own head for his 
 cruel folly towards them. After Mr. Blair had 
 left the house, having pronounced Mary in a 
 very dangerous state, her father had become 
 more violent than ever, so much so, that his 
 servants were obliged to use force to get him 
 from her room, where he had fallen down 
 almost as delirious as herself. After some time, 
 becoming a little more calm, he dispatched the 
 messenger in all haste for my brother. Why
 
 THE TRAGEDY OK MARSHEND. 123 
 
 he wished to see him no one could tell ; but, no 
 one suspecting it was in anger, they were all 
 eager that he should come as quick as possible. 
 
 " Thomas was too much excited by the sud- 
 denness of the request — too eager to get to the 
 house by any means in his power, to hold any 
 consultation about its advisability. In a 
 moment all his proper resolution to resist going 
 was given to the wind, and with it the re- 
 membrance of the disinterested and kind coun- 
 sels of the doctor. 
 
 " As an arrow from a bow, he almost flew to 
 the house, without so much as allowing himself 
 time for one moment's preparation for the ex- 
 pected interview. 
 
 " Mr. Elgar received him at the door in sullen 
 silence ; but, before his guest could remark upon 
 it, he clasped his hands together, and exclaimed, 
 ' Poor Mary ! we have killed her — she is dying!' 
 • O, do not say so !' cried Thomas, with a heart
 
 124 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 bursting with grief. ' Say so, or not,' ex- 
 claimed the old man, with the energy of mad- 
 ness, ' it is a fact ! She is already dead to me, 
 for I cannot save her ; but, come,' he continued, 
 seizing his guest by the arm — ' come, come, she 
 shall be yours ; and the gold, and the farm — all, 
 all shall be yours, if you can bid her live. Come, 
 come, you shall see her. You shall tell her, she 
 may be happy, since she will not listen to me.' 
 So saying, he dragged his half- resisting com- 
 panion towards the bed-side of his daughter, 
 which, when they reached, a yell of horror 
 burst from the father's lips — for the bed was 
 unoccupied. 
 
 " The curiosity of the attendant having been 
 excited, she had left the room a few minutes 
 before, to listen to what was passing between her 
 master and my brother, when the patient, in 
 her delirium, had risen from her bed, and passing 
 down stairs, left the house unperceived.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 125 
 
 "The old man, seeing she was gone, continued 
 to gaze for a few moments on his companion 
 with a most woe-begone countenance ; then, 
 giving a deep groan, he fell senseless on the 
 floor. My brother staid not to comfort him ; but, 
 as if by instinct, rushed down the stairs, and 
 through the door, which he found open, little 
 less distracted than she who had passed it a few 
 minutes before. 
 
 "Some labourers, who were at work in a field 
 at a little distance, were the first to see Mary 
 after she had left the house, and being attracted 
 by her strange dress and manner, were prepar- 
 ing to follow her, when Thomas came up with 
 them for the purpose of making inquiries. 
 Observing the direction of their eyes he staid 
 not for a word, but rushed onward. In a 
 moment he saw the object of his pursuit, and 
 but for a moment — for, in the next, the river that 
 runs all joyously along, received her in its cold 
 embrace.
 
 126 THL LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 •• Whether she had a consciousness of the 
 action she was about to commit, or whether she 
 were not sensible of her danger, you may well 
 suppose my brother staid not to consider. On 
 reaching the bank, he discovered that, supported 
 by the buoyancy of her dress, she had floated 
 some distance down the stream ; but it appeared 
 that every moment threatened to take her from 
 his sight for ever. After running along the 
 margin of the river, until he came opposite to 
 her, he plunged in, just in time to rescue her from 
 a watery grave ; but not from the effects of the 
 sudden transition from her warm bed to the 
 cold chilly stream. Without loss of time she 
 was conveyed back to her chamber, where she 
 now lies, in the most dangerous state." 
 
 •• What has beeome of the wretched father?" 
 asked Edward. " He lives," replied Henry, 
 and is able to get about ; but he has become so 
 violent in his grief, that Mr. Blair has ordered
 
 his servants not to permit him to enter the sick 
 room of his child." 
 
 "And your brother!" added Edward, almost 
 frightened at the sound of his own voice. 
 
 " O, he is wretched indeed !" answered Henry, 
 *'yet, to all appearance, he has armed himself with 
 resignation against the worst that may happen 
 still there is something so grievous in his whole 
 manner, that it shocks and alarms me when I 
 think of it." 
 
 " It is a sad tale," murmured Edward. 
 
 " You are not surprised, then, at my want of 
 spirits." 
 
 " Most truly not/' again murmured Edward. 
 
 " Ought not this," continued Henry, " to he 
 looked upon as a lesson sent, not only to teach 
 us to moderate our view of happiness, but also 
 to fortify our minds against trouble, that when, - 
 if perchance it must come, we may be the better 
 enabled to meet it, and counteract its influence ?" 
 
 N
 
 128 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 " Doubtless it ought," replied Edward, " yet 
 Henry," added he, his thought recurring to him- 
 self, " it is a hard thing to bear the doubt ; the 
 fear arising from the uncertainty of the fate that 
 may await us, when we are once truly excited 
 with the full force of expectation." 
 
 " I believe it," said Henry, " and hence we are 
 told to put our trust in Him who is able to de- 
 liver us — that is, either by granting our request, 
 or by giving us sufficient strength to bear up 
 against its disappointment. But, at present, I 
 have no wish to proceed further with so serious 
 an argument. For my own individual self, I 
 have nothing to complain of, and, perhaps, I have 
 intelligence that may render you somewhat 
 happier." 
 
 " After the dreadful tale you have recited," 
 replied Edward, " do not, in God's name, trifle 
 with me, nor teach me to trifle with my own 
 feelings. Tell me, have you heard anything of 
 Susan?"
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 129 
 
 "I have," replied Henry, "and something 
 which, I trust, you may turn to advantage. If 
 my information prove correct, which I have no 
 reason to doubt, she is staying with a friend of 
 Mr. Layton's." 
 
 " Mrs. Hayling, of Fieldhill!" ejaculated his 
 companion." 
 
 " The same," continued Henry, " but I see 
 you have been before-hand with me. I thought 
 I should have been the first to tell you." 
 
 " You are," said Edward ; "I did not know she 
 was there, though I confess I have often sus- 
 pected it, and would have gone over to ascertain 
 the fact, but that I feared it would only render 
 my case more desperate. I must, however, soon 
 resolve on some plan of action, for I feel my 
 thoughts are becoming quite insupportable. I 
 have often comforted myself into patient resig- 
 nation, by thinking that Susan would write to 
 me. I have fancied a thousand reasons why she
 
 130 THE LOVER ? S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 has not; but I cannot continue to do so. It is 
 a false thing to make one's ignorance argue one 
 into happiness. I must have proof — proof, alas ! 
 of what ? I cannot doubt her constancy, and O 
 God ! if through an idle feeling, I run any risk 
 of plunging her into such a gulph, as your 
 brother and Mary now are in, what folly were 
 mine !" 
 
 Henry, seeing how much his friend was likely 
 to be excited by their discourse, endeavoured to 
 alter its subject, in which attempt, on their way 
 home, he in part succeeded. Before they parted 
 for the night, Edward was made calmly to pro- 
 mise that he would not attempt to see Susan, 
 without having first consulting his friend on the 
 practicability of the plan.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OP MARSHEND. 131 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It has been stated, that when Susan arrived at 
 Ficldhill she found everything prepared with 
 the utmost attention to her comfort, and that 
 even the morose Charles departed for a time, 
 from his almost habitual silence in his welcome 
 to his young guest — happy, happy had it been for 
 her had his attention ended there ; but, alas ! 
 each passing day soon gave evidence that he had, 
 apparently, again become an altered man. 
 
 It appeared his whole study to please her, but 
 he possessed many opportunities of doing so 
 without its exercise. A thousand things which 
 were likely to prove interesting to her, were as 
 common as the day to him. Each woodland 
 path was familiar to his very feet. He knew 
 where, from beneath the gloom of lofty trees, a 
 
 o
 
 132 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 single step displayed a wide extended scene of 
 animated beauty. The silver streams which 
 irrigate and fertilize the country, he had traced 
 up to their source. Discoursing of their various 
 windings, he could lead her to where the 
 spring, pure and bright, burst, gurgling and 
 glittering, from the bosom of the earth. In 
 fact, there was not a spot that Susan could wish, 
 or was likely to visit, that he had not passed 
 over, again and again; but with what different 
 sensations from those they were likely to awaken 
 in the breast of Susan — the reader, if he would 
 imagine, has only to remember the habits of his 
 early life. 
 
 At the period of Susan's arrival, and for some 
 weeks afterwards, the days were filled with one 
 continual burst of sunshine, while bountiful 
 nature clothed in her most pleasing, rich, and 
 gorgeous attire, outdid even description's love- 
 liness. Who can doubt that the soothing 
 tranquillizing spirit of all this did not reach
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 133 
 
 ner heart, or that, amidst such scenes, her 
 young and ardent mind could sink into the last- 
 ing miseiy of despair. That she was perfectly 
 happy I do not assert, for, doubtless, when any- 
 thing more beautiful or pleasing than usual en- 
 gaged her attention, her thoughts would recur 
 more earnestly to Edward, and she would se- 
 cretly wish that he was by her side. But even 
 that wish, it may be fairly supposed, was not so 
 continually uppermost in her mind as it would 
 have been had she been quite alone. 
 
 Charles was her constant companion, and 
 while she became insensibly pleased with his 
 attention, she was, sometimes, not a little amused 
 with his every-day remarks on the beauties 
 around them. She saw that, from having gazed 
 on them from infancy, his perceptions had be- 
 come blunted, and that he could not have un- 
 derstood her, had she been able to give a tongue 
 to the enthusiasm which ever and anon she felt 
 burning in her bosom. o 2
 
 134 THE LOVERS GRAVE; OR, 
 
 This view of her companion, as far as itwent, 
 was favourable to Edward, as it served to make 
 her more highly prize the nobler faculties of his 
 mind, and to store up a number of things in her 
 memory, to talk to him about at the first fa- 
 vourable opportunity. But, as no such oppor- 
 tunity did, or appeared likely to occur, she 
 began to debate in her own mind the propriety 
 of writing to him ; and, not being able to per- 
 ceive anything very improper in the action, she 
 shortly afterwards commenced her letter. Yet, 
 not wishing to be observed, she resolved to 
 write it secretly in her bed-room, which, as she 
 felt bound to write a very great deal, kept her 
 letter about much longer than she had calcu- 
 lated upon; indeed, before she had half completed 
 it, she looked upon it as an irksome task, and often 
 threw is aside for a ramble through the fields. 
 
 Of Mr. Layton she still felt as she had done, 
 with this addition, that her convictions became 
 stronger and stronger every day — that she
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 135 
 
 should never be able to love him. Still she 
 could not but be sensible of his attention and 
 kindness, and her mother's selfish pride-beget- 
 ting words ; if she married him, it would place 
 her on an equality with the wives of the first 
 tradesmen of the town, would, sometimes, be 
 remembered, despite her love for Edward. How- 
 ever, it never failed to call forth the better 
 qualities of her heart, and she would conclude, 
 and thereby strive to banish the selfish thought 
 for ever from her presence, " No, no ! I can never 
 do it. Poverty with Edward would be better 
 than abundance with his master." 
 
 She had been a fortnight at Fieldhill, the 
 period originally fixed upon for her return home, 
 but which had been, afterwards, lengthened to 
 a month, when she was agreeably surprised by 
 a visit from her mother. 
 
 Of this visit I do not find further occasion to 
 speak, than to state that the exchange of kind 
 
 o 3
 
 136 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 words between the mother and daughter was 
 mutual and affectionate. Susan had long since 
 determined that she would not be the first to 
 mention the unhappy difference which had arisen 
 between them. Greatly, however, to her surprise, 
 she discovered that her mother appeared, in a like 
 manner, anxious to avoid the subject. It is true, 
 she spoke both of Mr. Layton and Edward ; but it 
 was in her ordinary manner, without the slight- 
 est allusion to what had passed. Susan, therefore, 
 from the entrance of her mother up to the moment 
 of her departure, felt a gladness springing up in 
 her bosom from the hope thus excited, that 
 some unexpected happy cause had freed her for 
 ever from further persecution on that most 
 painful subject. But, at the moment when this 
 hope was bursting into certainty, she was pain- 
 fully undeceived by her mother's clasping her 
 to her bosom, and exclaiming, " Be dutiful, O 
 my child, and God will bless you."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 137 
 
 Before Susan had sufficiently recovered her 
 surprise to be able to make any answer to this 
 sudden and unexpected attack, they were joined 
 by Mrs. Hayling and Charles ; whereupon her 
 mother instantly resumed her former every day 
 tone of speech, and Susan saw, with renewed 
 surprise, that she was not expected to answer. 
 After taking an affectionate leave of her daughter, 
 mingled with many thanks and good-byes to her 
 friends, Mrs. Thomson departed from Fieldhill. 
 The little party watched her to a distance, and 
 then returned to the house. When Susan, feeling 
 flushed with excitement and ill-disposed for 
 conversation, retired to her chamber, leaving 
 Mrs. Hayling and her son together in the room, 
 who having drawn their respective chairs near 
 to the window, seated themselves, and almost 
 involuntarily commenced a conversation respect- 
 ing the prospects of their guest. 
 
 " Poor Susan • " began Mrs. Hayling, " I can-
 
 138 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 not look upon her without pity. The idea of 
 this strange marriage, I am sure, hangs heavily 
 upon her mind ; and every day adds to my con- 
 viction, that if it ever does take place, it will be 
 productive of the greatest misery." 
 
 "Did you tell her mother so?" inquired 
 Charles. 
 
 "No;'' replied Mrs. Hayling, "it is not for 
 me to go uninvited between the desires of a 
 mother and her child, for I perceive Mrs. Thom- 
 son is quite as eager for the match as, I am sure, 
 Susan is to escape from it." 
 
 " Mrs. Thomson is a thoughtful woman," ob- 
 served Charles. 
 
 " That may be ; " replied his mother, " and 
 in a worldly point of view, she may be very sen- 
 sible, as, doubtless, it is very natural for her to 
 desire it should take place. Yet, I cannot help 
 thinking, she would better consult a mother's 
 duty, if she would pause, and consider how it
 
 THE TRAGED7 OF MARSHEND. 139 
 
 will look in its effects, as well as how it does 
 look in prospect, lest her child, through her filial 
 affection, should be led to mistake the shadow 
 of happiness for the substance." 
 
 " I do not see how Susan can well do that in 
 the present instance," said Charles, with seem- 
 ing unconcern. " Her marriage with Mr. Lay- 
 ton must, in her situation, be positively advan- 
 tageous. I admit she is as amiable in her mind 
 as she it beautiful in her person ; but we must 
 remember, that she is only the daughter of a 
 poor housekeeper, who of herself will probably 
 never have more to bestow upon her than would, 
 if depended on, reduce her, in a few months, to 
 beggary." 
 
 "But the Almighty," said Mrs. Hayling, 
 " has wisely ordained that this world's open 
 show of prosperity should be widely different 
 from that pure and silent feeling arising from a 
 contented mind, no matter whether it be clothed
 
 140 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 in princely splendour, or clad in the garb of the 
 humblest peasant." 
 
 "You would then argue, that the good tilings 
 of this world should be held as nought?" said 
 Charles. 
 
 " Not so ; " replied his mother, " but I would 
 separate the real good from the seeming. I 
 would have that peace of mind, which all may 
 possess, rightly valued and considered of, ere it 
 is bartered for that which, after all, is, perhaps, 
 a mere shadow. For what is this world's 
 wealth, even in its most extended sense ? Will 
 aught that it can purchase bear comparison 
 even with the beggar's peace of mind that 
 breathes of happiness for ever ? No ! The 
 good things of this world bestow not such hap- 
 piness ; nor have they any stability even in that 
 which they do. The merchant of this year, 
 who revelling in riches, is surrounded with 
 luxury, may, in a few short months, be plunged
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 141 
 
 into the very depths of poverty, where even the 
 common necessaries of life are hungered for in 
 vain. The humbler farmer, too, now rejoicing in 
 plenty, may, in like manner, and in as short a 
 time, be reduced for the means of living, to beg 
 to be allowed to labour, even on the farm which 
 he now proudly calls his own. No, no, Charles," 
 continued his mother, in an impressive tone, 
 " if we would be really happy, we must act in 
 such an upright manner, that the consciousness 
 may live within our hearts that we are possessed 
 of that wealth which this world has neither the 
 power to bestow or to take away." 
 
 " I know mother," said her son, "that we can 
 never agree in our estimation of such things, 
 although I am ever ready to confess that you, 
 having had most experience, must best under- 
 stand the matter. Yet, if I cannot think as you 
 do, is it wise for us to argue ourselves into 
 anger about it. It appears far better that I
 
 142 the lover's grave; or 
 
 should patiently await the teaching of years. 
 But to return to Susan. Tell me, does Mr. 
 Layton still continue as anxious as ever for the 
 marriage ? I suppose Mrs. Thomson thought 
 Susan could be here without my once suspecting 
 what was going on. She was as silent on the 
 subject, as if I had been her master's real Simon- 
 pure of a lover." 
 
 " That seems strange !" remarked Mrs. Hay- 
 ling, "but, perhaps, she was not aware that you 
 knew anything about it. To me she was any- 
 thing but silent, repeating, over and over again, 
 how very anxious Mr. Layton had become 
 about it ; and that each succeeding day appeared 
 only to add to his impatience." 
 
 '* And what says his noble apprentice to all 
 this ?" 
 
 ** Oh, he, Mrs. Thomson says, she has reason 
 to believe, is not acquainted with the person 
 of his rival, although she is in continual fear
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 143 
 
 that he will, by some means or other, discover 
 it." 
 
 "And why should she fear it?" inquired 
 Charles. 
 
 " Edward is a young man of spirit," replied 
 Mrs. Hayling, " and would not fail to be very 
 earnest in the matter with his master, which 
 might, perhaps, lead to his leaving the house, 
 and provoke him to use unfair means to obtain 
 possession of the person of her daughter, ere her 
 affections have been sufficiently weaned from 
 him." 
 
 " That would be a disappointment, doubt- 
 less;" said Charles, "but I think, while Susan 
 is here, her mother need give herself no further 
 trouble about it. Youknowtheold gentleman has 
 constituted me her guardian ; and, if he is to be 
 warned of danger, I would advise him to look 
 about him, for perhaps he may yet find a greater 
 rival in another place than he has at home."
 
 144 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 Mrs. Hayling looked at her son with a degree 
 of fear and curiosity not easily to be described. 
 The errors of his youth were still fresh in her 
 memory; and although of late he had acted 
 openly — in the most sensible and sober manner, 
 she had often had occasion to observe, that when 
 speaking of serious subject, he either did wil- 
 fully pervert the sentiments of his own heart, 
 or that — dreadful fear, there was still a void 
 there — a sad deficiency of every noble and dis- 
 interested thought. 
 
 Charles observing his mother's anxiety, burst 
 into a fit of laughter, crying out at the same 
 time, " I thought I should surprise you. Now 
 I do think, mother, if you would speak a good 
 word for me, I might manage to end the dispute 
 of these good sensible town's-people, much as 
 the monkey did, in the fable, with the two cats 
 and the cheese." 
 
 " I am glad to see you are jesting," said Mrs.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 145 
 
 Hayling, yet, making it appear, by her manner, 
 that she almost feared he was not. 
 
 " It is my only resort from your too serious 
 view of the subject," added Charles. "If she 
 were possessed of a few thousands, then indeed I 
 might need your assistance ; as it is, why she 
 may e'en marry Mr. Layton if she pleases, as I 
 believe it would be much better for her than to 
 have his poor apprentice." 
 
 " You do not think her heart is much inte- 
 rested in the matter then ! " 
 
 " A girl's heart," said Charles, rising from 
 his seat and taking up his hat, " is much beyond 
 my comprehension, if love and poverty are 
 dearer to it than the fine things of the world. 
 But you know I am no favourable judge of their 
 motives or actions." 
 
 " It was not always so," said his mother. 
 
 " It was not," said Charles bitterly, as he left 
 the room, " but you know I have learned better 
 now." p 2
 
 146 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 Alas ! thought Mrs. Hayling", I am miserable 
 even in my happiness. "When he left his wild 
 companions, and again became a member of our 
 fire-side, I blessed God for the change, and 
 thought that all my troubles were ended. Yet 
 this seeming hardness of heart frightens me, lest 
 the change should not have been complete. But 
 I will not repine, but rather believe that his 
 present manners are assumed, and that he did 
 not feel less worthily, although he spoke with 
 the careless wilfulness of youth. As she was 
 thus musing, Susan came into the room, upon 
 which, making some idle excuse about the wea- 
 ther, she began bustling about, to hide from the 
 keen eyes of her youthful guest the tumult of 
 her bosom. 
 
 Susan, after having in the silent loneliness 
 of her room struggled to get the mastery of her 
 feelings, had in part succeeded, and now re- 
 turned to her friend with a proposal for an
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR MARSHEND. 147 
 
 evening's walk. This being readily accepted 
 by Mrs. Hayling, they sallied out together into 
 the fields, where they were soon joined by 
 Charles, when, if any little unpleasantness had 
 existed between them during the day, it was 
 now buried in forgetfulness beneath their inter- 
 course of good feeling and attention to each 
 other. 
 
 During the next week, Mr. Lay ton paid them 
 a visit ; but as he did not seek a private inter- 
 view with Susan, nothing particular occurred 
 towards the progress of my story. As a 
 matter of course, he was very kind to her, and 
 desirous that she should command every com- 
 fort and attention during his absence. Susan 
 could but feel nattered with all this, and how- 
 ever much she might dislike the cause that 
 gave rise to it, she was possessed of too much 
 good natural feeling to show any dislike to him 
 at such a time. 
 
 p 3
 
 148 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 " Should he seek my ear privately," thought 
 she, "then indeed I will open my whole heart to 
 him, and trust all to his generosity." But neither 
 did he then, or her mother, at a subsequent 
 visit, in any such way mention the subject which 
 she had reason to believe was uppermost in 
 their thoughts. 
 
 For this consideration she was indebted to 
 the kindness of Mrs. Hayling, who had secretly 
 made it a condition with her mother and Mr. 
 Layton, that while she remained there, and did 
 not show an eagerness to get back to Marshend, 
 or to correspond with Edward, she should not 
 be urged to commit herself with Mr. Layton 
 before a sufficient space of time had elapsed to 
 allow her to coolly consider and determine on 
 the line of conduct her unbiassed mind would 
 lead her to pursue. As Susan knew nothing of 
 this, the continued silence of her mother and 
 Mr. Layton filled her with the utmost surprise ;
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 149 
 
 but in no wise made her unhappy, as it encou- 
 raged, rather than otherwise, her mind to dwell 
 upon her future prospects with Edward, which, 
 up to this time, she felt as earnest about as on 
 the day she left her home. 
 
 She had been at Fieldhill near upon a month, 
 still her letter to Edward remained unfinished. 
 The forbearance of her mother had, in a great 
 manner, disarmed her of her resolution to write. 
 The thought would arise in her mind : if she does 
 not seek to take an unfair advantage of me. 
 why should I of her ? There would be plenty 
 of time to write when she knew what was in- 
 tended towards her. Mr. Layton might, per- 
 haps, after all, think better of his foolish pro- 
 posal. Why, then, should she make herself 
 ridiculous by writing about it? Thus, from 
 day to day, the letter was put off, until she began 
 to look upon herself as fortunate for not having 
 written what would have filled Edward with
 
 150 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 groundless apprehension, and made herself ap- 
 pear very vain and foolish. 
 
 That there was the slightest probability of 
 her letter never reaching Edward, even if she 
 did send it, she never for a moment suspected. 
 Whether there was or was not, the reader, after 
 reading a few pages more, will perhaps be better 
 able to form an opinion. 
 
 In the fifth week of her abode at Fieldhill, on 
 a beautiful day, in the month of September, 
 when the country is gloriously rich in the full 
 promise of peace and plenty for the approach- 
 ing winter, she had been with Charles to a 
 market-town, a few miles distant in a contrary 
 direction to Marshend. During their ride she 
 had been so much pleased with the kind atten- 
 tion of her companion that, almost without 
 her being aware of it, he had become a con- 
 fident in her thoughts. She had been led to 
 speak of Marshend, and of associations there-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 151 
 
 with connected, which were still likely to have 
 an influence on her mind ; and he, with a tone 
 of feeling, far different from that assumed by 
 idle curiosity, appeared really interested in her 
 welfare, and, by his manner more than by his 
 words, showed that he felt himself flattered by 
 her confidence. This, of course, tended but the 
 more to improve his position in her good opi- 
 nion, and cause her with less reserve to give 
 utterance to her thoughts. Thus Charles, find- 
 ing all things conspiring to his wishes, just be- 
 fore they reached home, ventured to make the 
 offer of his friendship and advice, should she 
 ever have occasion to employ either. 
 
 Susan replied, with many thanks, concluding 
 with a promise, that she certainly would not 
 forget his kindness. 
 
 Mrs. Hayling had never thoroughly gained 
 the confidence of Susan, although she had ever 
 treated her with the utmost kindness. There
 
 152 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 was always such a tone of seriousness about 
 her conversation that made it appear to her 
 youthful companion tame and uninteresting — 
 nay, at times, I believe almost irksome. She 
 was too light of heart to imbibe instruction in 
 so grave a manner, while a person far less 
 worthy than Mrs. Hayling might have gained 
 an ascendancy over her, by entering a little 
 more into the tendency and sanguine tempera- 
 ment of her mind. 
 
 But, perhaps, this was not the only reason. 
 There might be on Susan's part a little doubt 
 with respect to the part Mrs. Hayling was 
 playing in her own little history. How knew 
 she but she might be in frequent correspondence 
 with her mother ; and, if so, would not the most 
 trivial circumstance she could mention to her 
 be conveyed to Marshend ; and, if occasion 
 offered, taken advantage of by Mr. Lay ton. 
 But if, after all, the cause is doubtful, it is no
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 153 
 
 less certain that she did not feel inclined to trust 
 Mrs. Hayling, which, unhappily, made her the 
 more readily fall into the snares of the design- 
 ing and unprincipled Charles,
 
 154 the lover's grave ; OR 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mr. Layton becoming impatient to make open 
 proposals to Susan, whereby to discover what 
 effect his late kindness had produced upon her 
 mind ; and at the same time, not being able to 
 understand that there was anything to be 
 gained by the cautious policy adopted by his 
 housekeeper and Mrs. Hayling, secretly deter- 
 mined, that, should they refuse to prepare her 
 for his reception, he would go over alone in a 
 day or two, and trust all to the energy of his 
 own tongue. Mrs. Thompson, from a few un- 
 guarded words which he let fall, was led to sup- 
 pose that some such scheme had taken posses- 
 sion of his mind, and being as eager for the 
 match as he was ; after having again thought 
 it over in the silence of the night, arose betimes
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 155 
 
 the next morning, and going to her master, pro- 
 posed that she should go over that very day and 
 talk to Susan about it. This, being exactly in 
 accordance with his desire, met with his most 
 unqualified approbation. 
 
 On arriving at Fieldhill, Mrs. Thompson was 
 received at the farm, by its inmates, with all the 
 outward marks of affection and regard, but she 
 was there too intent on business to let much time 
 escape in compliments ; in a few minutes after- 
 wards, after managing to be left alone with Mrs. 
 Hayling, she commenced a conversation respect- 
 ing the project that filled her whole soul. 
 Being listened to with patience, she progressed 
 so well, that with some difficulty and many 
 words, she in a manner squeezed from her host- 
 ess her consent to be allowed to overstep the 
 bounds of their agreement, that she might in- 
 duce Susan, without further delay, to close with 
 the advantageous offer of Mr. Layton. 
 
 Q
 
 156 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 "And so you enjoy the country very much?" 
 said Mrs. Thomson, to her daughter, after the 
 above conference was over, at the same time 
 taking her arm as if desirous for a walk. 
 
 44 I am more delighted with it than I can pos- 
 sibly tell you," replied Susan, accepting her 
 mother's invitation, " dull as I once thought 
 the country would be to live in, I now find a 
 charm in everything around me, from the merest 
 wild flowers that lie scattered over the fields, to 
 the grand and extensive prospects which ever 
 and anon, as we reach different elevations, are 
 ready to burst upon the sight, and fill the mind 
 with wonder and delight." 
 
 44 It gives me great pleasure," observed her 
 mother, ' 4 to see you so happy ; can you not 
 show some of these views to me ? " 
 
 44 Oh yes, but — " 
 
 *' But what?" asked her mother with surprise. 
 
 44 Oh, nothing," replied Susan, <4 only just at
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 157 
 
 the moment, I remembered I had promised 
 Charles to go a little journey with him to-day." 
 Just as Susan finished the sentence, Charles 
 came up with them, saying, he was quite ready 
 to set off, but that as Mrs. Thompson was come, 
 he supposed he should not have the pleasure of 
 Susan's company. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson replied smilingly, " she 
 thought it would be scarcely fair, considering 
 that she had but so short a time to stop, to de- 
 prive her even for a few minutes of her pet's 
 company, when he could have such frequent 
 opportunities of being with her on the morrow, 
 the next day, and so on." 
 
 After a little more parleying of the same 
 kind, Charles proceeded on his journey alone, 
 and Susan and her mother continued their walk. 
 
 '• I don't know how it is," observed Mrs. 
 Thomson to her daughter, " but you never seem 
 anxious to learn anything about your home. 
 
 Q2
 
 158 the lover's grave; or 
 
 Every time I have been to see you, I have come 
 prepared to answer a thousand questions about 
 your old friends, and yet have returned without 
 having once mentioned their names." 
 
 And I have been anxious to learn a thousand 
 things, thought Susan, but she only replied, 
 " she should be very glad to hear it all now, 
 and make up by her patient attention, for her 
 past neglect." 
 
 " I do not charge you with a fault," said her 
 mother, " and indeed, since you are so happy 
 here, and there is little or nothing doing at 
 Marshend to interest you, I can be hardly sur- 
 prised at your silence." 
 
 " My dear mother — " began Susan, willing at 
 once to come to an explanation, now that so 
 favourable an opportunity presented itself, 
 " My dear mother, previous to my leaving 
 Marshend, I told you that my determination 
 was unalterably taken," — but suddenly check-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 159 
 
 ing herself, as if she thought she was saying 
 more than the occasion warranted, she con- 
 tinued in a playful manner, '• and yet the place 
 of my birth is very dear to me." 
 
 " I remember very well," said Mrs. Thomp- 
 son, answering the first part of her sentence, 
 " that you did tell me so, and also, that you 
 would be very miserable if sent away from it." 
 
 " And, indeed mother, I have been so." re- 
 plied Susan. 
 
 " How ?" inquired her mother, " did you not 
 tell me you were very happy here?" 
 
 ' ; No, not happy, mother, but that the coun- 
 try was more interesting than I expected to have 
 found it." 
 
 " You said you were more delighted than I 
 could imagine," added her mother. 
 
 "I do not deny it," replied Susan; "but, 
 mother, can you not suppose that even that 
 may have, in part, arisen from my mind being 
 
 Q 3
 
 160 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 less subjected to the influence of a painful 
 argument." 
 
 " I should rather suppose, that the kindness 
 of Mrs. Hay ling and her son had done it," ob- 
 served her mother. 
 
 " I confess," said Susan, meekly, " that since 
 I have become thoroughly acquainted with my 
 kind friends here, I have had less reason to 
 regret the happiness of home." 
 
 " You are sensible then," observed her 
 mother, " of the debt of gratitude you owe to 
 him, whose considerate kindness placed you 
 Avith such friends ? " 
 
 " You speak of Mr. Lay ton," said Susan, 
 " one for whom I have ever felt the most un- 
 bounded respect — but my dear mother," she 
 continued in a tone of heartfelt earnestness, " I 
 have thought of him too much as a father, ever 
 to allow any other sentiment to usurp its place ; 
 I would sacrifice much to please you, but, oh ! do
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 161 
 
 not make me miserable by desiring too much !" 
 This appeal, simple and earnest as it was. 
 touched her mother's heart, and for a moment, 
 made her almost waver in her purpose. Happy 
 had it been for her, had she done that to which 
 the impulse of her heart first prompted her; but, 
 alas ! the calculating mother prevailed, and all 
 softer emotions were banished from her mind, 
 while she replied, " it is in the very nature of 
 youthful impulse to run into these extravagant 
 idle thoughts. When one gets a few years older, 
 the mistakes and follies of youth are seen in 
 their naked characters, without the gloss that 
 passion throws over them." 
 
 " I am not able to dispute with you," said 
 Susan, " and. therefore, am most anxious to 
 avoid the attempt." 
 
 " I am very happy to hear it," replied Mrs. 
 Thomson ; " it is the duty of an affectionate 
 child, to listen with attention to a mother's
 
 62 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 counsel — a mother too, who has ever been sin- 
 cerely attached to you, and who has cherished, 
 and still lives to cherish, nothing on earth so 
 tenderly as your happiness and welfare." 
 
 " Need I, my dear mother," said Susan, " re- 
 peat how deeply sensible I am of the many obli- 
 gations I am under to you; or how very willing 
 I am to listen to your counsel, or to obey your 
 instructions, save in that one thing, in which I 
 feel, were I to do as you desire, I should thereby 
 only add to your present unhappiness, and much 
 endanger my own eternal peace ? Oh ! my 
 mother, why should you wish such a thing of 
 me, when I tell you, I am persuaded it would 
 render me wretched for ever?" 
 
 " Did I think so," replied her mother, with 
 a resolution to resist being in any manner led 
 from her purpose, " I would be silent, but I 
 know to the contrary, and, therefore, feel it my 
 duty to speak ; I hoped, and I trusted not with-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 163 
 
 out reason, that your being here in quiet, and 
 having had time to coolly consider your circum- 
 stances, your own good sense would have clearly 
 pointed out to you the path of duty, I could 
 not think you would still persevere in this 
 foolish passion for a boy." The mention of 
 him, and the thought that her daughter could 
 be guilty of such an act of folly, as still to re- 
 fuse the master with a fortune already made, to 
 the man, or rather the boy, as she called him, 
 who, perhaps, might never live to make one, 
 proved too much for her good nature, and, for- 
 getting her previous profession of living for 
 her daughter, she concluded by saying, "But, if 
 you are determined to pursue your self-willed 
 course, you must think hereafter of providing 
 for yourself, for I am getting too old to be 
 depended on, and it would be both ungenerous 
 and unjust in you, to continue here any longer, 
 feeding on the bounty of a man that you cannot 
 even speak respectfully of."
 
 164 the lover's grave ; or 
 
 " You mistake me," said Susan, in her turn, 
 displaying more spirit than she had previously 
 done, " not only do I wish to speak of Mr. Lay- 
 ton with respect, but with the utmost venera- 
 tion and gratitude." 
 
 " You have a strange way of doing it !" added 
 her mother ; " but do as you please, if my happi- 
 ness is so little worth your attention, I again 
 repeat it, do as you please. If I had possessed 
 your heart, as I hoped I did, it would not have 
 ended thus." 
 
 This was said in a manner totally different 
 from the preceding ; and Susan seeing the tears 
 gathering in her mother's eyes, felt nothing but 
 that she was unhappy, and, obeying the impulse 
 of the moment, threw her arms about her 
 neck, and begged her to tell her what she de- 
 sired, and she would, if possible, conform to her 
 wish. 
 
 Thus the effects arising from the angry feel- 
 ings of Mrs. Thomson's defeated purpose gained
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 165 
 
 more for her than all her previous argument ; 
 for it need scarce be remarked to the reader, 
 that her grief arose more from a vexatious 
 selfish disappointment than from any worthier 
 cause. 
 
 She was, however, too much in earnest to 
 accomplish her purpose, and too little scrupulous 
 as to the means employed, to hesitate for one 
 moment about taking advantage of her daugh- 
 ter's excited feelings ; nattering herself, that if 
 she followed up her present vantage, her object 
 would be soon attained. The sourness of her 
 heart became suddenly sweet, and her mind 
 tilled with gentleness and affection ; to prove 
 which, she began by saying that Susan must 
 be well aware that she would not thus have 
 urged her, had she not felt convinced it was all 
 for her good. 
 
 Susan could only answer, that she was per- 
 fectly satisfied of her mother's intention ; and
 
 166 the lover's grave. 
 
 although she still felt an unconquerable objec- 
 tion to receive Mr. Layton as a suitor, on that 
 account she was willing thus far to comply ; 
 at the same time, resolving in her own mind, 
 to be very plain and candid with the old gentle- 
 man. But of this, Mrs. Thomson knew nothing, 
 and, therefore, her thoughts continued un- 
 ruffled. Happily for her daughter's present 
 peace, the intelligence she had to convey to Mr. 
 Layton made her very anxious to set out for 
 home, which, in a short time afterwards, she 
 accordingly did, nodding and smiling, and look- 
 ing as happy as if she had really cause to be so. 
 As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Hayling having 
 been previously informed that Susan had con- 
 sented to see Mr. Layton. thought it not an unfit 
 opportunity to read her a lesson on a married 
 life, not doubting, for a moment, but she would 
 soon become a wife. Now this, of all things in 
 the world, was what Susan could least bear to
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 167 
 
 listen to; being, at the time, as fully resolved as 
 ever, never to become the wife of Mr. Lay ton, 
 in spite of her mother's sanguine expectations 
 to the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. Hayling had just commenced her expo- 
 sition, when Charles, who had a few minutes 
 before returned from his journey, came into the 
 room, and by his presence cut short the thread 
 of her discourse; and further, to her annoyance, 
 after a few remarks on the fineness of the day, 
 he invited Susan to take a walk, which she, 
 happy by any means to escape from Mrs. Hay- 
 ling's threatened lecture, eagerly consented to. 
 
 Charles saw that something unpleasant had 
 occurred, and, as soon as they were alone, begged 
 to know if he might be made acquainted with 
 the particulars. Susan would have passed it 
 off as a trifle not worth talking about, but 
 he, attending rather to her manner than her 
 words, insisted that it must be something more
 
 168 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 than a trifle that could have excited her so 
 much. 
 
 From the confidence which Susan already had 
 in her companion, it needed, in the present 
 state of things, but a little insinuating pity and 
 flattery to complete his conquest over her mind; 
 and this, being applied with all the art he could 
 command, which, unfortunately, was not a 
 little, she was brought to make him her con- 
 fident in her most secret thoughts. 
 
 " 1 do not see that your case is so very des- 
 perate," said Charles, after having compla- 
 cently listened to all that his companion had 
 to say. " Your mother, doubtless, thinks she 
 is doing all for the best, with respect to your 
 present and future welfare; and, Mr. Layton 
 will, with her assistance, doubtless, do the best 
 he can towards making himself happy ; k, 
 therefore, plainly becomes your interest to do 
 the best you can to protect yourself from the
 
 THE TRAGEDY OP JIARSHEND. 169 
 
 effects of the over-kindness of the one, and the 
 over-selfishness of the other." 
 
 " Ah ! but in what manner can I do it ?" in- 
 quired Susan. 
 
 " By secretly, and quickly, marrying Ed- 
 ward," added Charles. 
 
 This was spoken in a tone of firmness, and 
 caused Susan to spring almost from his side 
 with delight. It exactly agreed with what she 
 had often thought would be the best means, 
 should she be pressed too closely, of freeing 
 herself at once and for ever from their impor- 
 tunities. But, when her eyes met his, there was 
 nothing in them to encourage the spirit that 
 his words had called to life. She only saw that 
 they were fixed upon her with a keenness that 
 threatened to penetrate her very soul. 
 
 Charles, observing her confusion, continued, 
 " I see you have thought of this before ; nor 
 am I surprised at it : but, you should remem- 
 
 r 2
 
 170 the lover's grave; ok 
 
 ber, that, although such a marriage would 
 effectually protect you against your mother's 
 and Mr. Lay ton's desires, it does not follow that 
 it would be attended with the blessing you 
 fondly anticipate from it." 
 
 "And why not?" asked Susan, very inno- 
 cently. 
 
 "I have no particular reason to give," re- 
 plied Charles ; " but, you are young, and Ed- 
 ward is young, and it has been remarked that 
 the love of childhood and youth seldom fit 
 a couple for the every-day troubles and vex- 
 ations of life." 
 
 " My mother has told me so a thousand 
 times," said Susan, despondingly. 
 
 "As for your mother," observed Charles, 
 " in talking over this, it will be, perhaps, best 
 not to mention her; for, doubtless, as she de- 
 sires you to marry Mr. Layton, she is fully 
 satisfied that you could not be happy if you 
 were to marry one nearer your own age,"
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 171 
 
 " But, you," said Susan, " you who have no 
 such desire to accomplish ; why should you talk 
 in the same manner ?" 
 
 "• Simply, because I believe there is a great 
 deal of truth in the assertion," replied Charles, 
 11 from the fact that our affections and desires 
 are continually undergoing a change." 
 
 " Is it possible !" said Susan, " can you ima- 
 gine that I shall ever think differently to what 
 I do now?" 
 
 " Certainly !" said Charles. " Nay, you would 
 do so even now, were you in other circum- 
 stances than what you are." 
 
 " You frighten me," said Susan; " but I hope 
 you cannot prove that we are placed in a world 
 where our firmest resolves are as likely to be 
 founded in foolishness and error as in truth and 
 justice." 
 
 " I should be sorry to frighten you," observed 
 Charles ; and then, after a few moment's 
 
 r 3
 
 172 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 silence, he added, " we are growing too se- 
 rious. Therefore, if you please, we will talk of 
 something else." 
 
 " But," said Susan, " I have not yet obtained 
 your advice as to how I ought to act." 
 
 " I have placed myself in a very awkward 
 situation," replied Charles; " when I offered to 
 give you my advice, I did not think it would 
 prove half so serious an undertaking as I now 
 find it. It is certainly a very serious thing to 
 give advice," he continued, half audibly, at the 
 same time inwardly rejoicing that he was called 
 upon to do it. 
 
 " It is, however," observed Susan, " what a 
 friend is bound to do, and no more than you 
 have promised," 
 
 " Well ! if I must give an opinion," replied 
 Charles, " I should say, that, for the present, 
 it would be well to let things take their natural 
 course. You have promised to see Mr. Layton.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 1?3 
 
 and you cannot now recall your words without 
 appearing very fickle-minded, or very seriously 
 offending him." 
 
 " But, I must offend him if I do see him," 
 observed Susan, willing to hear what further 
 argument her friend could advance, to urge her 
 to her disagreeable duty. 
 
 " That, of course, you will do as you please 
 about," answered Charles. 
 
 " Will it not offend him," asked Susan, " if I 
 tell him the reason I cannot listen to him?" 
 
 "Doubtless!" said Charles; "but I do not 
 see why you need, at present, tell him any such 
 thing. Be sure he will be content and happy 
 with a very little show of kindness, that will 
 encourage him to look with hope to the future." 
 
 "But, that little encouragement," argued 
 Susan ; " how can I give it, when I feel so deci- 
 dedly impelled to the contrary course?" 
 
 " There are many reasons," said Charles,
 
 174 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 " why you should endeavour to overcome that 
 great repugnance which renders you unable to 
 bear his presence." 
 
 " You mistake me," said Susan; " I have no 
 repugnance to his company ; in truth, I believe 
 I am fond of it : but, then, it is accompanied 
 with a feeling which, I think, I should have ex- 
 perienced for my father, had he lived to appear 
 to me as Mr. Lay ton has ever done." 
 
 " Old children, as well as young ones, must 
 be humoured in their whims," observed Charles. 
 
 " He has been very kind to me," continued 
 Susan, " and I feel I should not be acting right, 
 if I were to encourage him to make himself 
 still more ridiculous about me than he has 
 already done." 
 
 " You mistake," said Charles, " and are too 
 scrupulous You forget, that, if he is acting a 
 ridiculous part, it is not you that have made him 
 do it — although you may have been the un- 
 happy cause."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 1~5 
 
 11 But, if I were to encourage him in it, would 
 it not then be different ?" asked Susan. 
 
 "Certainly!" replied Charles; "but, as it 
 would be his own foolish selfishness that would 
 compel you to do so, he would still be the 
 author of his own disappointment. But, grant- 
 ed, that it is not quite right, and, consequently, 
 that you reject it ; consider what will be the 
 consequence, if you return him a decided an- 
 swer. — You will offend him, and grieve your 
 mother ; and, either be cast off by them alto- 
 gether, or sent to a greater distance from 
 Marshend — as they will consider Edward at 
 the bottom of all your obstinacy, as they will 
 be pleased to call it. I will not say," continued 
 he, musingly, " that I should advise you as I 
 have done, could I see a possibility of your ob- 
 taining your wishes by any other means. As 
 I cannot, I do most earnestly beg you to see 
 him ; and, if needs must be, rather to encourage 
 his foolish passion than otherwise."
 
 17t> the lover's grave; or 
 
 " That I will not promise to do," said Susan. 
 
 " It would make him feel the more secure in 
 obtaining his object, and, consequently, less at- 
 tentive in watching you." 
 
 " But, I should hate myself for having prac- 
 tised such deception," added Susan ; " and. 
 therefore, will not attempt any such thing — at 
 least, for the present." 
 
 " I have merely given you my opinion," ob- 
 served Charles, " of what I consider you ought 
 to do in the present state of your fortune ; and 
 I have given it as a humble friend who has 
 your interest most sincerely at heart, but, who 
 would not wish you to adopt more of his ad- 
 vice than you think would tend to your own 
 advantage." 
 
 " I am grateful — very grateful, for your kind- 
 ness," said Susan; " and I trust I shall be able 
 to act in a manner to warrant its continuance." 
 
 Having thus given and received mutual pro-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR MARSHEND. 177 
 
 fessions of friendship and esteem for each 
 other, they concluded their walk, and with it — 
 their conversation. 
 
 It was yet early in the evening, but Mrs. 
 Hayling, having had a busy day with her house- 
 hold duties, and intending to be up betimes the 
 following morning, was glad to get to rest. 
 Susan, although she did not feel inclined for 
 sleep, felt an equally strong desire to be alone, 
 that she might indulge her thoughts unob- 
 structed and unobserved. 
 
 Pleased, therefore, with the opportunity that 
 thus offered itself, she immediately retired to 
 her room, and seating herself by the little win- 
 dow, that commanded an extensive and beauti- 
 ful view of the surrounding country, now smi- 
 ling beneath the full orb of night, gave herself 
 up, unreservedly, to a sort of musing medita- 
 tion. 
 
 And here I cannot help observing, although
 
 178 THE LOVERS GRAVE; OR, 
 
 such observations may have been repeatedly 
 made, that a young female, situated as Susan 
 then was, is one of the most interesting, and, at 
 the same time, pitiable object, in the whole 
 world. Full of the animation of youth — in 
 feature and form, wanting little of a perfect 
 beauty — possessing an easy and unsuspecting 
 mind, not confident in its own resources, yet 
 sanguine of its desires. There sat Susan, as 
 many have sat before her, gazing listlessly on 
 the bright full-moon, amidst disappointment 
 and vexation — dreaming of happiness yet to 
 come ; while, alas ! she stood, as it were, upon 
 the brink of a gulph of unfathomable and 
 eternal destruction. 
 
 From her infancy she had been brought up 
 in the knowledge and reverence of the one true 
 God — she had been taught to look humbly up 
 to Him as to a kind and indulgent Father, who 
 would not forsake her while she continued to
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 179 
 
 observe his commandments ; and, in all simpli- 
 city of thought and action, walk virtuously, ac- 
 cording to his will. Never having had occasion 
 to doubt the truth of this doctrine, she had thus 
 far passed on, ever ready to declare for its purity 
 and due observance. But, doubts, dark and 
 many, began now to crowd upon her mind ; 
 every day appeared to be scattering contradic- 
 tions in her path ; while those persons whom 
 she had been led to suppose possessed the power 
 to solve them, only added to their perplexity in 
 the attempt. To whom, or to what, therefore, 
 could she now turn for real comfort or consola • 
 tion ? Mr. Lay ton, her father and her friend — 
 could she appeal to him ? Did not his desire to 
 usurp the place of her innocent heart's first 
 choice, prove, beyond doubting prove, that he 
 was not actuated by that religion she had so 
 often heard him speak with reverence of? And, 
 yet, she had always thought him serious in his
 
 180- the lover's grave; or, 
 
 profession. Could he possibly think it all a 
 cheat ? Was it a mere matter of form for old 
 people to keep the unruly thoughts and actions 
 of the young within reasonable bounds ? Alas ! 
 what questions were these to have birth in the 
 the mind of a young and inexperienced female ! 
 And then, her mother, even her mother — she, 
 who had been at the pains to instil all her early 
 notions of justice and heaven into her mind — ■ 
 she, who had taught her that a conscience void 
 of reproach is productive of the greatest bless- 
 ing the mortal state is susceptible of ! Did her 
 present actions agree with her former precepts ? 
 Was she not now foremost in the desire for her 
 to sully, not only its purity in thought, but, by 
 an action of selfishness; which, if she believed 
 in her own precepts, she must feel assured would 
 be sufficient to chequer with misery the whole 
 of her future life? Could she believe, and feel 
 assured of this ? It seemed not possible.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. J81 
 
 And then, passing over Mrs. Hayling, who 
 was too severe even to gain a hearing, there 
 was Charles, her new-made and disinterested 
 friend. He had not scrupled to speak, and almost 
 plainly declare, that religion and its observances 
 were mere shadows, beneath which, the old 
 and the cunning found a shelter to hide their 
 impositions and indolence from their more en- 
 terprising and youthful associates : he had not 
 feared even to advise her to enter in the path of 
 dissimulation and deception. If he thought it 
 wrong, what possible advantage could he 
 wish, or expect to derive, in striving to lead her 
 astray ? His advice, at least, must be quite dis- 
 interested. But, then, he might be in error, so 
 might her mother, so might Mr. Layton : but, 
 then, again, was it for her — inexperienced and 
 young as she was — to condemn them of error, 
 who were ever ready to boast of their know- 
 ledge ? 
 
 8 2
 
 182 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 These were perplexing and unsatisfactory 
 thoughts, from which she gladly turned, to re- 
 fresh her mind in the sun-shine of past happi- 
 ness. As she gazed upon the mystic and silvery 
 moon, she thought of the many pleasant walks 
 she had had with Edward ; and how, in the in- 
 nocent gaiety of her heart, she had enjoyed the 
 present time without one perplexing thought 
 about good or evil — the world's Almighty great 
 Creator, or the condemned spirits that lan- 
 guish beneath his frown. 
 
 Passing from this, she began to accuse her- 
 self of inattention to Edward, and to wonder 
 how he would advise her to act were he present. 
 She was now well assured that her mother had 
 never, for one moment, given up the hateful 
 project for her marriage ; and, accordingly, all 
 her scruples about corresponding with him were 
 entirely removed. Why, then, had she not 
 written to him on the instant she discovered
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 183 
 
 it? It was very wrong, and very neglectful 
 and unkind. 
 
 Preparing, therefore, for her task, she sat 
 down and completed her letter, and then retired 
 to rest, determined to send it to him the next 
 morning as early as possible. 
 
 On the following day a letter was received 
 by Mrs. Hayling, from Mrs. Thomson, to inform 
 her that Mr. Layton would not be able to pay 
 them his intended visit, as a fall from his horse, 
 which he had had the day before, though not 
 considered dangerous, was yet sufficiently se- 
 vere to oblige him to keep at home for a few 
 days. This proved an actual relief to Susan, 
 for her last night's meditation had almost made 
 her waver in her resolution to see him, or, at 
 least, for any other purpose than to put an im- 
 mediate end to his pursuit. Having, there- 
 fore, through the assistance of Charles, for- 
 warded her letter to Edward, she began to hope, 
 
 s 3
 
 184 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 and, apparently, not without reason, that he 
 might come and see her, as she had desired him, 
 before she was called upon for her dreaded in- 
 terview with Mr. Layton. But, Charles, her 
 disinterested and kind friend, had taken effectual 
 means to prevent any such happy consum- 
 mation of her wishes, by forwarding the letter 
 — not to Edward, as directed, but to the 
 destructive fire. He would have sent it to Mr. 
 Layton, of course with strict injunctions for 
 secrecy, had it not struck him that the natural 
 yearning of her heart, which she had there, 
 without restraint, given scope to, might pro- 
 duce an effect on Mr. Lay ton's mind very differ- 
 ent from what he could desire — in fact, there 
 appeared a possibility that the old gentleman 
 might repent of his folly, and forthwith resign 
 Susan to Edward, with his protection and 
 favour : this, for certain reasons of his own, 
 was a state of things he had not the remotest 
 wish to bring about.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 185 
 
 The illness of Mr. Layton, however, answered 
 his purpose quite as well, or better, than 
 his visit could have done ; as it allowed him 
 time to work upon the sensitive and sanguine 
 mind of Susan, with all the insinuating arts of 
 an unprincipled man. Can it be a matter of 
 surprise then with the reader, to learn that 
 Susan began to look up to him for advice on 
 every little occasion that perplexed her — that 
 she should begin to feel attached to his 
 company ? 
 
 The silence of Edward, too, did not make 
 her feel less sensibly her companion's kind- 
 ness. She never doubted for a moment but 
 Edward had received her letter ; and, as he did 
 not come, or answer it, she at first feared he was 
 offended with her ; but, as she felt satisfied she 
 had intended no such offence, her pride came 
 to her assistance, and soothed her disappoint- 
 ment. '
 
 186 THE LOVKR's GRAVE ; OR 
 
 Meantime, Charles strove to tell her, by in- 
 direct means, that her lover could care but 
 little for her, and to throw out hints that he 
 might, perhaps, have been consoling himself in 
 her absence, with the attention of one of her 
 female friends. This was what Susan could, 
 by no means, bring herself to think ; though 
 she could not disguise from herself that it 
 was possible.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 It so happened the second day after the last 
 conversation recorded as having passed between 
 Edward and his friend Henry, that the latter 
 was sent by his master on business to within a 
 short distance of Fieldhill. As he was slightly 
 acquainted with Mrs. Hayling, he determined to 
 embrace the opportunity, thus unexpectedly 
 offered, of calling upon her ; and, without 
 seeming to be interested in the fate of Susan, 
 endeavour to see her; and, if possible, learn 
 the state of her feelings towards Edward. 
 
 Yet, he did not, previous to his going, think 
 it proper to inform his friend of his intention, 
 lest he should thereby excite expectations which 
 the merest accident might deprive him of the 
 power to gratify.
 
 188 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 After having satisfactorily arranged his mas- 
 ter's business, he left his horse at a road-side 
 public-house, about a mile from Fieldhill, and 
 then proceeded on foot across some fields on his 
 errand of discovery. Mrs. Hay ling, received 
 him with the utmost cordiality, and on learn- 
 ing that he had been from home since the 
 morning, invited him to sit down and partake 
 of the homely fare her house afforded. So 
 far all was well ; but, he had not yet accom- 
 plished the object of his visit. Fearing to 
 make any direct inquiry, he was obliged to 
 content himself with a few observations that had 
 a tendency to draw Mrs. Hayling into a con- 
 versation respecting her guest; but, she, either 
 not understanding him, or purposely avoiding 
 the subject, replied in so general a manner that 
 he could not learn anything from her, and yet 
 had not occasion to complain of being treated 
 uncivilly.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF JUARSHEND. 189 
 
 At length, during a pause in their conversa- 
 tion, footsteps were heard in the passage; and, 
 on Henry turning eagerly to the door, he saw 
 the object of his solicitude enter, accompanied 
 by Charles. 
 
 Susan was overjoyed to see him ; she knew 
 that he and Edward were very intimate, and, 
 therefore, did not doubt but he could tell her 
 much of which she was most anxious to learn. 
 On hearing that he was immediately about to 
 leave them, she proposed to accompany him 
 a little way on his return. This was what 
 he very much desired ; and, therefore, without 
 allowing her time to change her mind, ex- 
 pressed his pleasure at the proposal, and bidding 
 Mrs. Hayling and Charles " Good night," took 
 his departure. 
 
 " You will come with us, Charles ?" said 
 Susan, turning to him.
 
 190 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 "No !" replied Charles, somewhat doggedly, 
 "I am sorry I cannot !" 
 
 " Well ! I will only just go across the next 
 field," continued Susan; and then, turning to 
 Mrs. Hayling, she added, playfully, " I shall 
 soon be back; you need not fear that I shall 
 run away." 
 
 "No!" muttered Charles, "I will take care 
 of that :" and, turning away, he went off in a 
 different direction, apparently not observing 
 them. 
 
 " You have made a long stay at Fieldhill?" 
 said Henry to Susan, as he took her arm and 
 placed it within his own. 
 
 "Yes!" replied Susan, "and I have been 
 here much longer than I expected." 
 
 " It has caused you to be much missed at 
 Marshend ;" observed Henry. 
 
 " Did he tell you I was here ?" asked Susan. 
 in a somewhat tremulous voice.
 
 IHE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 191 
 
 " He did !" replied Henry. 
 " And why did he not come himself?" 
 " You would have been little interested at 
 seeing him, I think." 
 
 " And why should you think so ?" 
 " I had no reason to suppose you could be 
 very anxious to see my brother," replied Henry. 
 •Your brother!" echoed Susan, " Did you 
 hear I was here only from your brother ?" 
 
 •Who else," asked Henry, "do you sup- 
 pose I could hear it from ?" 
 
 " I thought," replied Susan, " that you were 
 
 on very friendly terms with ." She had 
 
 nearly added " Edward," when what Charles 
 had said to her about his inconstancy, shot 
 across her mind, and pride prevented her from 
 finishing the sentence. But, she had said enough, 
 to satisfy her companion that she alluded to 
 him, and, consequently, that he was still 
 dear to her. He, therefore, without a moment's 
 
 T
 
 192 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OK, 
 
 hesitation, filled up the blank, by adding " Ed- 
 ward ;" and then continued "Yes, Susan; I 
 am ! and, I trust, shall be so for a very long 
 time to come." 
 
 •'And is he quite well?" asked Susan, with 
 as much unconcern as she could possibly throw 
 into her voice and countenance. 
 
 "Yes, quite well!" replied Henry; "but 
 very unhappy in your absence." 
 
 "If such were the case," said Susan, " he 
 surely, ere this, would have taken an opportu- 
 nity to see me. When did you see him last ?" 
 
 " Yesterday !" replied Henry, "and he was 
 then particularly lamenting the necessity he 
 supposed you were under for not letting him 
 hear from you." 
 
 " Not hear from me !" again echoed Susan, 
 in a tone of surprise. " Has he not heard from 
 me ?" 
 
 " I have no reason to suppose he has," re-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 193 
 
 plied Henry; " indeed, to be candid with you, 
 Susan, I am afraid he feels that you have been 
 guilty of unkindness towards him." 
 
 "Alas!" said Susan, "I am afraid he feels 
 too truly ; but you must be mistaken about the 
 letter, for I really have written to him." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it," observed Henry, " al- 
 though I am persuaded he has never received 
 any such letter : still, I repeat, I rejoice to hear 
 it, as it assures me that you have not grown 
 quite careless about him, as, I confess, I was 
 almost afraid you might have done." 
 
 •' You could have little reason for that," ob- 
 served Susan ; and, yet, from some cause or 
 other, she found now that she had an opportu- 
 nity to inquire everything about him : she felt 
 a strange, unaccountable coolness steal over her 
 mind, which seemed to deaden her desire for 
 knowledge. 
 
 " I was afraid." continued Henry, " that the
 
 194 the lover's GRAVE; or, 
 
 temptation of wealth, to which I understood 
 you were exposed, might prove too much for 
 your disinterested love for Edward, but, I am 
 glad, very glad, to observe to the contrary." 
 
 " And what do the town's-people say about 
 it?" asked Susan. "Do they not think Mr. 
 Lay ton is acting a very foolish part ?" 
 
 "Mr. Layton!" repeated Henry, "I have 
 not heard that he is particularly interested in 
 the matter. You surely do not mean to say 
 that he is become the rival, whom Edward has 
 so much reason to fear and hate ?" 
 
 " Can he be still ignorant of the fact ?" said 
 Susan. 
 
 "lam certain he is," replied Henry; "for, 
 it was but the other day he was lamenting to 
 me his master's misfortune in falling from his 
 horse, and telling me how very kind and consi- 
 derate he had become to him since you left 
 home. It was but last week he mentioned your
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 195 
 
 name, and would, thereby, have entirely won 
 Edward's confidence, had he not spoken harshly 
 of you, and proposed to him, that, it was both 
 his interest and duty to forget you ; and, fur- 
 ther, to do this effectually, it would be best for 
 him to marry some one else — at the same time 
 proposing- to him, above all others, one of my 
 sisters; and. in conclusion, saying, that, if he 
 thought proper to follow his advice, he would 
 do all sorts of good-natured things to set him 
 forward in the world." 
 
 " And what said Edward to all this?" asked 
 Susan; while all her former affection glowed 
 for a moment in her bosom with its spring-tide 
 freshness. 
 
 ' ; That question I cannot answer," replied 
 Henry, " with more certainty than what arises 
 from my own conviction; for, indeed, I did not put 
 it to him — feeling well assured what the answer 
 must be : that, doing well — nay, that even life 
 
 t 3
 
 196 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 itself, without your companionship, would be to 
 him a dreary waste, not worth a single thought." 
 
 " You would flatter me," said Susan. 
 
 "Indeed, I would not;" replied Henry, in a 
 tone of the utmost earnestness. " I would only 
 act a friend's part, and tell you how much Ed- 
 ward's happiness depends on you." 
 
 Thus they continued to talk for some time, 
 not going in a direct line from the house, but 
 passing to and fro in the fields. The failure of 
 the letter was, again and again, referred to ; 
 yet could they not arrive at any satisfactory 
 conclusion respecting it. Susan could not, for 
 a moment, doubt that Charles had acted dis- 
 honestly or carelessly with it, but she resolved 
 to mention it to him, that he might discover 
 were the fault lay. 
 
 Henry now began to think seriously of his 
 return home; therefore, after a few more words, 
 chiefly in the shape of promises to Susan, that
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 197 
 
 he would not forget to tell Edward all she had 
 desired him, and to be very particular as to the 
 spot at which she proposed to meet Edward on 
 the following day, with the least possible chance 
 of his being observed, he, with many kind 
 14 Adieu's," took his departure. 
 
 Susan had not parted many moments from 
 her companion, before she was met by Charles, 
 who, having disposed of the business which 
 prevented his accompanying her, had kindly 
 come to conduct her home — at least, so he said, 
 and so Susan was willing to believe ; yet, she 
 could not help remarking, that he looked as if 
 something very unpleasant had occurred since 
 she last saw him ; and she was not suffered to 
 remain long in doubt as to its origin. 
 
 " I hope you have been well entertained by 
 your young friend," began Charles. 
 
 " I have known him for a long time," said 
 Susan, " and, of course, was very glad to see 
 him."
 
 198 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 " No doubt ! and he had much to tell you : 
 but, Susan, I must tell you, in my turn, that I 
 fear you have not acted wisely." 
 
 " You surprise me, Charles ! I hope I have 
 not offended you !" 
 
 "No, no! Susan; I am not offended with 
 you," said Charles, and he bit his lip. " No, 
 no ! Susan ; I am not offended, Yet, as you 
 have not unfrequently applied for my advice, it 
 did but seem natural that you should have con- 
 sulted me before you had entertained your 
 young friend with so much seeming cordiality." 
 
 " J could not well do otherwise : you are 
 aware I was surprised into the meeting, as 
 also that he is the first person I have seen 
 from Marshend since I left it, excepting my 
 mother and Mr. Lay ton." 
 
 " But, I have yet to learn," said Charles, 
 "that he would be a proper person to be made 
 acquainted with your wishes. However, you
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 199 
 
 will do as you please ; of course I have no 
 business to interfere between you and your 
 friends." 
 
 "I see you are offended," replied Susan; 
 " and, if, as you say, I have acted unwisely, I am 
 very sorry for it : but, if you will look kindly at 
 the action, I hope you will be induced to alter 
 your opinion of it. You know how very dear 
 Marshend, and some persons there have long 
 been to me." 
 
 " One person!" observed Charles, correcting 
 her. 
 
 " I cannot deny it," replied Susan; " indeed, 
 I have been very anxious about him, more 
 particularly of late, on account of my letter 
 remaining unanswered." 
 
 At the mention of this, there seemed to pass 
 a smile of triumph over her companion's 
 features ; but it reached not his words, for he 
 answered directly, without excitement or con-
 
 200 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 fusion, which at once confirmed Susan in her 
 opinion that he had sent it, 
 
 He said, she was very welcome to his poor as- 
 sistance in any way in which she might consider 
 it serviceable to her. At the same time, how- 
 ever, he could but express his regret and disap- 
 pointment at seeing her so heedlessly act a part 
 that, doubtless, would be attended with quite a 
 contrary result from that which she so earnestly 
 desired. 
 
 Again Susan expressed her sorrow that she 
 should have offended him, and to prove that she 
 had no intention of doing so, recited to him the 
 greater part of the conversation which had just 
 taken place between herself and Henry, not 
 even concealing that part which related to the 
 letter, or of the visit she expected from Edward. 
 
 The reader is entreated not to condemn Susan 
 as guilty, at this particular time, of any great 
 impropriety, in being thus explicit with her 
 companion.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 201 
 
 It has been before intimated that she had the 
 most unbounded confidence in him, to which it 
 is only necessary now too add that her caution 
 in appointing a place from the house to meet 
 Edward, was merely to avoid the observation of 
 Mrs. Hayling. 
 
 Charles having listened to all she had to say, 
 felt himself called upon to condemn her pro- 
 ceedings in the most unqualified manner. " If," 
 said he, "this love-sick youth — (you must pardon 
 me for calling him love-sick, as he really, by 
 what you tell me, appears so.) I repeat, then, 
 if this love-sick youth having met with the en- 
 couragement he has from you, should have 
 no better sense than to come here now Mr. Lay- 
 ton is ill, what will be the consequence ? Most 
 certainly, however, he may strive with false- 
 hood, to disguise the object of his absence, his 
 master will discover the true cause ; and what 
 will be the result? Simply this : Mr.Layton will
 
 202 the lover's GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 be but the more earnest for your immediate an- 
 swer to his proposal, and you will be obliged, 
 without due consideration, to accept him or give 
 him a final denial. Supposing, for a moment, 
 that your answer is favorable, or rather as I see 
 you seem to say, it is impossible it can be so — 
 suppose, then, you are compelled to an immedi- 
 ate refusal ; then will come the consequences 
 that I have so often endeavoured to impress upon 
 your mind — you will be left to yourself; and, 
 being so left, will in spite and anger become the 
 wife of Edward, when, in all probability, a few 
 years will serve to metamorphose your loving 
 swain into the surly and dissatisfied husband." 
 
 " I do not fear that;" said Susan, striving to 
 bear up against her companion's "confusion 
 worse confounded" counsel, "yet, admitting I 
 now see that I have done wrong, it is too late to 
 avoid the consequence." 
 
 " But not too late to amend it," observer! 
 Charles,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 203 
 
 " How may it be done ?" inquired Susan ; " I 
 cannot now send to tell him not to come until 
 Mr. Lay ton recovers." 
 
 " No ! that would be only putting off the 
 evil, not curing it." 
 
 " What, then, would you have me do?" 
 
 " I," said Charles, " can have no reason to 
 wish you to do or to act different from the 
 prompting of your own judgment." 
 
 "I am satisfied," replied Susan, "that you 
 have no interest in it but to serve me." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Charles, "to be- 
 lieve so much. You ask me, what I would 
 have you do ? I answer, that the best manner 
 in which you can now act, at least, so it appears 
 to my poor simple judgment, is, if possible, to 
 avoid Edward when he comes ; or, if you must 
 see him, make your conversation with him as 
 brief as possible. But, you had better think it 
 over in your own mind ; and, meantime, in all 
 
 u
 
 204 the lover's grave ; OR 
 
 things, and at all times, rest assured that I 
 shall be ever ready to act the part of a stedfast 
 friend." 
 
 It was by such conversations as this, that, 
 strange as it may appear, Charles gained a com- 
 plete ascendancy over the mind of his unsus- 
 pecting companion. He had a thorough con- 
 tempt for Edward, and did not fail, on the 
 slightest possible occasion, to present him to 
 her mind in as ridiculous a shape as might be. 
 Nor did he less boldly attack what he was 
 pleased to call "the prejudice of her age;" 
 namely, a love of truth and justice. 
 
 Alas ! this did not pass like the idle wind 
 through the trees around them, ruffling and 
 agitating their foliage for a moment, and then 
 leaving it to rest as quietly as before. No ! the 
 effect produced on her mind, corresponding 
 with the cause, became an indelible impression. 
 She could but be sensible, when meditating
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR MARSHEND. 205 
 
 alone in her chamber, that the world began to 
 assume a deeper shade in her imagination ; she 
 did not view it now as she had done a few 
 weeks previously, and fancy it was overflowing 
 with generosity and happiness; although she 
 had not quite arrived at the opposite opinion 
 which proclaims it sunk in selfishness and cor- 
 ruption. 
 
 There were, however, doubts running riot in 
 her mind, of a tendency that threatened the 
 most fearful consequences. She was, as it were, 
 in a vista, travelling at an accelerating pace 
 from good to evil; while, at the end from which 
 she had started, stood her mother, urging her 
 forward, yet, fondly imagining, that when she 
 arrived at a certain point and had obtained the 
 object of her chase, she would be able to stop 
 and gaze around with composure, and then re- 
 turn with ease to her original position : or, in 
 plainer language, after having arrived at the 
 
 u2
 
 206 the lover's grave ; OR 
 
 altar of her God, under the banner of selfish- 
 ness and deception, to take a first part in a 
 sacred ceremony— to declare that true which 
 her whole heart, in rebellion against her tongue, 
 cried out "'Tis false!" After having offered 
 all this violence to her God, her fellow-creature, 
 and her own heart, having, at the same time 
 become a wife, her mother fondly hoped that 
 every doubtful, perplexing thought, would be 
 hushed to rest, and that she would again re- 
 sume her station amongst the most virtuous of 
 her sex. Unhappy, misguided woman ! she 
 had yet o learn, from dreadful experience, that 
 the first foot-print in the path of sin is, of all 
 subsequent ones, the most easy to be avoided, 
 and, yet, when once imprinted, the most diffi- 
 cult to be obliterated. 
 
 " Out of evil cometh good," saith the pro- 
 verb : but, alas ! the misery of the object who 
 has gone to evil is not the less real or acute^
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 207 
 
 though the picture thus offered to our view, by 
 warning us of our danger, preserves many for 
 a happier end. 
 
 On the day following that of Henry's visit to 
 Fieldhill, Susan was awaiting, with a trembling 
 excitement, the arrival of Edward. She had 
 had sufficient spirit to reject an invitation which 
 Charles had given her to accompany him on a 
 visit to a friend, a few miles distant. 
 
 But, the complacency arising from this action 
 was destined soon to give place to sensations 
 which made her heartily wish she had accepted 
 the invitation. The cause of her repentance 
 arose from the appearance at Fieldhill, not of 
 the expected Edward, but, his master. He 
 having sufficiently recovered the injuries re- 
 ceived from his fall, to be permitted to go out, 
 had taken the earliest opportunity of riding 
 over to accomplish the object of his long-threat- 
 ened visit. 
 
 D 3
 
 208 
 
 THE LOVERS GRAVE ,' OR 
 
 Susan 5 at seeing him, was overpowered witli 
 confusion and disappointment. It seemed, that 
 even fate itself, had planned every thing against 
 her. Filled with despondency, her spirit sank 
 within her. A carelessness of self stole over 
 her heart — she was taken by surprise, and saw 
 no escape ; and yet, must at once decide on 
 action. To gain time was still the desired ob- 
 ject ; but Mr. Layton was by her side, and . 
 
 The consequence of all this was, when he 
 left her, he thought he had every reason to 
 congratulate himself on the nattering reception 
 he had met with; for, with wonder, he con- 
 fessed to himself, that it was more flattering 
 than even he had dared to hope. Nor was 
 Mrs. Thomson a whit the less delighted when 
 he returned home in the evening, and dilated, 
 with self-satisfaction, on the prospect of his 
 future happiness.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 209 
 
 CHAPTER XTII. 
 
 Nothing could equal the astonishment of Ed- 
 ward when he learnt from Henry that it was 
 his kind and generous master, Mr. Layton, who 
 was at the bottom of all his disappointment 
 and misery ; and, situated as he was, it, for 
 some time, rendered him almost desperate. Yet, 
 it was a comfort ! yes, a great comfort, to learn 
 that the beloved object of his heart's choice still 
 thought kindly of him — that she had thus far 
 passed unscathed through the temptations in- 
 tended to lure her from his side, and, as he 
 justly thought, from the path of honesty and 
 truth. His first impulse was, after listening to 
 what Henry had to tell him, to go immediately 
 to Mr. Layton, and upbraid him with his double- 
 dealing; but, a moment's reflection served to
 
 210 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR 
 
 convince him of the impolicy of this course, 
 and determined him to go on, if possible, as 
 usual; so that neither he nor Mrs. Thomson 
 might have reason to suppose that he was ac- 
 quainted with their secret. Nor did he less 
 resolutely resolve not to let the slightest chance 
 slip by, that could, in any degree, throw any 
 light on the disappearance of the letter — a loss 
 which he looked upon as a treasure far superior 
 to gold. 
 
 Having thus proposed and approved a mode 
 of proceeding, his first and grand object was to 
 get away, for a few hours, that he might once 
 again, without loss of time, behold his beloved 
 Susan. He nattered himself he should be able 
 to go the very next day, according to Henry's 
 appointment with her; but in this he was sorely 
 disappointed, for, instead of his being sent out, 
 as he expected, to transact some business for his 
 master, Mr. Layton proposed going himself,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MAR8HEND. 211 
 
 saying, he felt much better ; and, as the doctor 
 advised his getting into the air as much as pos- 
 sible, he thought a ride would do him good. 
 
 Thus, then, for another day, Edward was 
 obliged to delay his visit, while he had much 
 reason to suspect, now that his eyes were opened, 
 that Mr. Layton was gone to Fieldhill himself. 
 But, he had sufficient command over his own 
 feelings, to be able to hide the bitterness and 
 anguish of his spirit from Mrs. Thomson. 
 
 The next morning, at breakfast time, while 
 he yet lingered in the office, in a state of mind 
 quite unfit for his sober duty, and yet unable 
 to resolve on an excuse for wishing to absent 
 himself from it, he was joined by Mr. Layton ; 
 who, being much excited with his own pleasurable 
 sensations, did not notice that Edward looked 
 very much confused as he entered. After having 
 made a few observations on some work, then in 
 progress, he told Edward, that, not having felt
 
 212 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 himself yesterday quite equal to the task he had 
 undertaken, a portion of it remained unper- 
 formed, which he now wanted him to go and 
 settle. Edward had the utmost difficulty to 
 disguise the unbounded joy this intelligence 
 gave him. With a throbbing heart he listened 
 to his master's instructions ; and, although the 
 places he was desired to call at, were in a part 
 of the country directly opposite to Fieldhill, it- 
 did not damp the ardour of his spirit, or for 
 one moment persuade him that it was impos- 
 sible that he could see Susan before another 
 day. 
 
 That he might not raise any suspicion of his 
 intention in the mind of his master, he con- 
 tented himself with very little preparation ; 
 concluding, and not unjustly so, that, if Susan 
 was as anxious to see him as he was to see her, 
 the commonness of his dress would not, for a 
 moment, disturb her thoughts; more particu-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 213 
 
 larly, when he explained the reason. Being 
 thus fully prepared, he was quickly on the road, 
 convincing his horse (if horses are open to con- 
 viction,) that he was very anxious for him to 
 put his best leg foremost, and get on as quickly 
 as possible. 
 
 It was yet early morning, and he had 
 a sufficient distance to go on his master's ac- 
 count, to require that his horse should stop to 
 feed, and rest for an hour or two in the 
 course of the day. He, therefore, proposed to 
 himself, to get on with his business as fast as 
 possible, and then ride to within a few miles of 
 Fieldhill ; and, then, while his horse was bait- 
 ing, to run over and see his beloved. 
 
 When Mr. Layton had left Susan the previous 
 day, Charles needed not be told how worthily 
 his pupil had obeyed his instructions. Susan, 
 however, something to his vexation, retired to 
 her room, and did not give him an opportunity
 
 214 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 to speak to her for some time. She had felt, on 
 Mr. Lay ton's taking his departure, stunned and 
 confounded at the success of her own duplicity, 
 whilst she scarce knew for what purpose it had 
 been put in practice ; save, only, that it was in 
 accordance with the desire of her friend 
 Charles. After thus allowing her thoughts 
 to range at large for some time, little to her 
 satisfaction, and finding they became less and 
 less so every minute, she left her room to join 
 Mrs. Hayling and Charles, whom she could 
 hear were below; not so much, however, for 
 any pleasure she expected to derive from their 
 conversation, as to escape the bitter and tor- 
 menting reflections that were crowding upon 
 her mind. 
 
 Charles, observing her restless manner as she 
 entered the room, and, not doubting the cause, 
 proposed, as the evening was very fine, to take 
 a walk, and enjoy the fresh air. Mrs. Hayling
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 215 
 
 was against it ; she told them that so much of the 
 evening air, as they had been lately in the habit 
 of taking, was very pernicious to health; and, 
 therefore, they had better stay in, particularly 
 Susan, as she wished to have some very serious 
 talk with her. 
 
 Had the air been charged with the infectious 
 plague, Susan would not have hesitated to 
 plunge into it, so that she might escape, in her 
 present state of mind, from the sermon-talk 
 of her correct-meaning but ill-judging friend. 
 
 Charles saw her desire, and said, " No, no, 
 mother ! Susan will take no harm from a little 
 walk, and I am sure she would like it." 
 
 " She had better not go," replied Mrs. Hay- 
 ling, " the dew is falling." 
 
 " Oh ! I do not mind the dew," said Susan, in 
 as careless a manner as she could command. 
 
 "Come," continued Charles, "just for one 
 little half-hour; you can't object to one little
 
 216 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 half-hour, mother," and he handed Susan her 
 bonnet and shawl. 
 
 Mrs. Hayling, seeing that she was not very- 
 likely to be attended to, whether she could or 
 could not object to it, contented herself by beg- 
 ging them not to stay long, and to be sure and 
 keep off the grass. 
 
 " You appear very dull and low-spirited this 
 evening ! ' ' observed C harles to his companion , as 
 soon as they had left the house. 
 
 " I do not feel very well," replied Susan. 
 
 " I was wrong, then, in wishing you to come 
 out." 
 
 "No, no, the air will do me good — at least I 
 hope so." 
 
 " I hope so, too," added Charles, " but if I 
 might be allowed to judge, I should say your in- 
 disposition arises rather from the agitation of 
 your mind than from ill health." 
 
 " I fear you are right," replied Susan. 
 
 " And why should you fear it?" askedCharles,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 21? 
 
 " O ! I feel," replied Susan, ■* that I am mise- 
 rable ; and that I never more can be happy on 
 earth!" 
 
 "I do not understand you," said Charles, in 
 his most even-tempered tone. 
 
 " O ! I am indeed most wretched — most miser- 
 able," continued Susan. "I have entered in the 
 path I was ever taught to shun; and, which both 
 reason and imagination ever pictured to my 
 mind as leading direct to destruction." 
 
 " And what path may that be?" coolly inquired 
 Charles. 
 
 " Can you ask me ?" cried Susan, with surprise 
 and increased emotion. " Did you not observe 
 with what a steadfast gaze Mr. Layton's eyes 
 were fixed upon me — with what kind words, and 
 with what a self-satisfied air, he took his leave of 
 me, and can you ask why I am unhappy ?" 
 
 " I did," said Charles, replying to her first 
 question ; " and very glad I was to observe it, as 
 
 x 2
 
 218 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 it gave me the much-wished for assurance that 
 you had acted like a sensible girl, which I hope 
 you are ; but, surely, something more than that 
 must have occurred to cause you so much ex- 
 citement." 
 
 "Something more!" echoed Susan, looking 
 with a sort of mingled awe and wonder at her 
 companion. 
 
 " Why, yes !" replied Charles, gaily, "or you 
 must be one of the most easily-excited person* 
 that I ever beheld. Why, what have you done? 
 But you tell me I need not ask you ; I must, there- 
 fore, conclude that you have proceeded no fur- 
 ther than I advised you ; and if sc — " 
 
 " Alas!" cried Susan, interrupting him, " have 
 I not acted most unbecoming ? Have I not en- 
 couraged Mr. Layton to look upon me with an 
 expression that is hateful to my very soul ? Nay, 
 is he not, perchance, at this very moment, repeat- 
 ing to my mother the answers I gave him; and
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 219 
 
 will not she, fond as she is, and anxious for my 
 welfare, go on her knees, and call down the 
 blessing of God upon me?" 
 
 " And a blessing will rest upon you if you are 
 sensible," observed Charles. 
 
 " Rather, say if I am innocent," exclaimed 
 Susan, " for though Mr. Layton and my mother 
 know not that their prayers and their thanks- 
 givings are full of discord, yet the Almighty 
 God, to whom they address themselves, sees and 
 knows me as I am." 
 
 'i You think of this matter much too se- 
 riously; "observed Charles, " whatever you may 
 think, or however you may be displeased with 
 me, I must — " Charles paused. 
 
 " I do not blame you — I am not displeased 
 with you," replied Susan, hastily, " in giving me 
 advice; I know you did it for the best. It is I 
 that am wrong; I ought to have known better." 
 
 11 You frighten yourself without cause," con- 
 
 x 3
 
 220 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 tinued Charles, " and since you are not dis- 
 pleased with my friendly freedom, I do not scru- 
 ple to say, that, by so doing, you make yourself 
 appear very simple indeed. If you had com- 
 mitted the most heinous crime, you could not 
 condemn yourself more heartily or earnestly than 
 you have done." 
 
 " I have been taught — " began Susan. 
 
 " Oyes! to be sure you have; and so we have 
 all," said Charles, interrupting her. "We have 
 all been taught to hate falsehood and shun ini- 
 quity ; but how act they who have taught us 
 this ? Are our teachers the most godly — the most 
 upright of the earth ? Do they all act in accord- 
 ance with their teaching ? Think of that, and 
 tell me if I am not warranted in repeating, you 
 frighten yourself without cause? In truth, if 
 you have done wrong, the action will justify it- 
 self, if viewed from the situation in which it was 
 forced upon you."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 221 
 
 " I was almost persuaded so myself," said 
 Susan, " until it was too late." 
 
 "Nonsense!" remarked Charles, "it would 
 have been too soon, at any time, if you had let it 
 influence your conduct ; but, if you would so 
 much rather that it had been otherwise than it is, 
 it is not yet too late for you to retrieve the step 
 you have taken." 
 
 "Not too late!" cried Susan, eagerly, "tell 
 me, oh, tell me, how I may make amends for 
 the deception I have practised ?" 
 
 " Confess it all to them, as you have done to 
 me, and the consequence will be — " 
 
 " Do not tell me of the consequence," said 
 Susan, interrupting him, " It is impossible that 
 I can be more wretched than I am at present, 
 but — " and in a moment the emotion of hope, that 
 had been so suddenly kindled in her bosom, was 
 swallowed up in despondency — " but will they 
 not think that it is the mere expression of a 
 childish passion?"
 
 222 THE LOVER S GRAVE ; OR 
 
 "Very likely !" replied Charles. 
 
 " And," continued Susan, "conclude that I 
 have invented the story, and assumed a look of 
 grief the better to prove my sincerity in such an 
 unwished-for repentance ? No, no! since it is 
 done I must abide the consequence." 
 
 " There spoke the noble girl, and yet I think 
 I could tell you a more effectual way to persuade 
 them that what you say is true." 
 
 Susan looked inquiringly at her companion, 
 while he continued, " Tell them that it was I ad- 
 vised it ; but, that you have since thought how 
 very wrong it was to deceive them, and there- 
 fore, have, without delay, confessed the truth." 
 
 "No, Charles," replied Susan, and she spoke 
 with a degree of earnestness that at once as- 
 sured him it came from her heart; "No! you 
 cannot think I could be guilty of such a mean 
 action — we will say no more about it." 
 
 "Nay," added Charles, laughing, " that would 
 be running to the opposite extreme. I trust we
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 223 
 
 may again and again recur to the subject with- 
 out fear or trembling ; you do not mean to fol- 
 low up your kindness by naming the day of the 
 wedding the next time he comes ? What you have 
 said to day, you must remember, they forced 
 upon you; and that, in consequence, you acted 
 purely in self-defence, and, by my advice, put 
 them on a wrong scent, while you the better 
 manage the matter nearer to your heart." 
 
 " And what is that ?" asked Susan, completely 
 confounded and puzzled as to the aim she was 
 pursuing, 
 
 M Your marriage with Edward," continued 
 Charles, in a tone of irony, " or with myself, or 
 with any one else ; always, of course, excepting 
 Mr. Lay ton." 
 
 " Do not laugh at me, Charles." 
 
 *■ Not I, for the world," replied Charles, in the 
 same tone as before. 
 
 Poor Susan, with her gentle, sensitive, and
 
 224 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 excitable mind, it must be confessed, possessed 
 no feature in it sufficiently firm to bear up 
 against the cunning, and often repeated at- 
 tacks of her companion; who, she could but be 
 sensible, was as far her superior in mind as 
 bodily strength. She, therefore, had for some- 
 time, though insensibly to herself, looked up to 
 him with a sort of childish wonder and respect ; 
 for, strange as it may appear, the bold conver- 
 sation, she almost trembled to listen to, acted 
 upon her as a charm, while its spirit entered 
 more deeply into her heart, with an assurance 
 that, henceforth, until an alteration should take 
 place in her circumstances, she must cling to 
 him, not only for advice, but to shield herself 
 from the effects of her own bitter reflections. 
 In short, without her being aware of the fact, 
 she had now tacitly consented to be a mere 
 puppet in his hands, to be moved and acted upon 
 at his pleasure.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 2*25 
 
 And yet, for any vile sin, save the deception 
 he had practised against Mr. Layton, Susan 
 lay her head upon her pillow that night as inno- 
 cent and as pure as the most virtuous of her 
 sex. And, it would be well, should any of my 
 readers feel disposed to judge harshly of her con- 
 duct, to be careful that they do not paint, through 
 the agency of their imaginations, her fault as 
 greater than it really was. 
 
 The bitterness and sincerity of her repentance 
 must not be supposed to have arisen solely from 
 the fault she had committed; but, rather as she 
 expressed herself, because she had entered in a 
 path which she had ever been taught to shun, 
 from the assurance, that at best it could only 
 lead to disappointment and grief. 
 
 Many, very many there are, who have been 
 brought up virtuously and religiously, that have 
 experienced the feeling of Susan that night, and 
 yet have been saved, by the goodness of the
 
 226 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 Almighty, from the consequences which they 
 surely would have partaken of, had they been 
 left to themselves. Let them, then, be rather 
 grateful for their own escape, than too hasty to 
 condemn the object before them. Yet this is 
 not said to palliate her offence, or in the remotest 
 sense to encourage the practice of dissimulation 
 or deception, for, as all actions that are evil are to 
 be caiefully shunned, so these, of all others, being 
 the most insinuating and active, are, above all, to 
 be guarded against with the most scrupulous 
 attention to truth, and the soft whispering of 
 our universal monitor — conscience. 
 
 Full of contending emotions, Susan, on the 
 paiticular night I have been speaking of, courted 
 her pillow for some weary hours in vain. It 
 had no ease — no soothing forgetfulness to be- 
 stow, but appeared encompassed with stern rea- 
 lity, which, like the thorny hedge of the road- 
 side was no sooner touched, than it reminded
 
 THE TRAGEDY OR MaRSHEND. 227 
 
 her of her liability to injury and pain ; she strove 
 to recommend her soul to God in prayer, but in 
 vain ; her thoughts were unsteady, and defied 
 her purpose, travelling over and over again the 
 events of the past day. 
 
 The words of Charles had taken such hold 
 upon her imagination, that, even in her lone 
 chamber, in the midst of darkness, she fancied 
 she heard him continually whispering in hei 
 ear, how very foolish it was for her to think 
 so much about what she had done, since Mr. 
 Lay ton had himself to thank for the treatment 
 he had met with. Weaker and weaker, as the 
 morning approached, became her own thoughts, 
 and the action of conscience upon them, till, at 
 last, exhausted nature gave up the struggle, and 
 sleep insensibly stole upon her senses. 
 
 When she awoke from this not altogether un- 
 blessed slumber, the all-glorious sun was high 
 in the heavens, gladdening nature with its bright
 
 228 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 refulgent smiles, and calling up a chorus of uni- 
 versal praise from hill and dale, all prodigal 
 of life, TO HIM, the great creator of the 
 wondrous whole. 
 
 The husbandman, long taught the necessity 
 of living by the sweat of his brow, forgot the 
 curse of sin in the blessings that his God had 
 showered upon him, in tempering his justice with 
 mercy. The scythe and the sickle were in full 
 operation, for the harvest had fairly set in, and 
 happy was the farmer's gaze, as he looked upon 
 the reapers, as the full-eared corn fell beneath 
 their hands, and the bright sun looked down full 
 of promise, to guard it to his winter's store. 
 Susan, after gazing for a few minutes on this 
 busy scene, descended the stairs, and found Mrs. 
 Hay ling and Charles actively engaged at break- 
 fast ; Charles met her as she entered the room, 
 with a look of anxious inquiry, but said nothing ; 
 while his mother began to make inquiries re-
 
 HIE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEXD. 22H 
 
 specting her health, saying, " She had feared 
 she was not well, and should have visited her 
 some time since, had not Charles persuaded her 
 from it." 
 
 " I was certain," observed Charles, " that you 
 had merely over-slept yourself, and could not 
 see the occasion there was for disturbing you." 
 
 Susan could only plead the truth, and confirm 
 the statement of Charles, at which Mrs. Hay- 
 ling was pleased and satisfied, but she could not 
 let so favourable an opportunity escape her, with- 
 out bestowing on her companions a lecture on 
 her favourite subject — the pleasures and ad- 
 vantages of early rising. 
 
 To this Susan listened very patiently, happy 
 that it was not on a more unpleasant subject, 
 as. she had reason to fear it might have been. 
 It may be remembered, that Mrs. Hayling had, 
 on the previous evening, expressed a wish to 
 have some serious talk with her, which purpose 
 
 y 2
 
 230 the lover's GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 had been defeated, partly by Charles, but more 
 by Susan's own dislike to listen to it. She had, 
 however, no reason to suppose that she had en- 
 tirely escaped the infliction, or that it would not 
 be again attempted at a more favourable oppor- 
 tunity ; but, such was the case, for her friend 
 Charles, taking advantage of her absence when 
 he came in to breakfast, had mentioned the sub- 
 ject to his mother, and begged her for the pre- 
 sent not to say anything more to Susan about 
 Mr. Layton than she was absolutely obliged, 
 as he felt certain it would only retard an object 
 she was most earnest to promote. 
 
 " But I do not wish to persuade her to this 
 marriage," said his mother. 
 
 " Then the mere idle talk about it can do no 
 good," observed Charles. 
 
 " I would only impress upon her mind, the 
 seriousness of the obligation she is about to en- 
 ter into "
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 231 
 
 " And thereby fill her with doubt, fear, and 
 vain regrets," added Charles. 
 
 "Charles, I think," said his mother, with 
 more energy than she was in the habit of dis- 
 playing in opposition to him, " I think I might, 
 in such a case as this, be allowed to know best ; 
 I think I have had more experience than you 
 have, and, therefore, am better able to advise." 
 
 " O !" said Charles, in a careless tone, " if you 
 are anxious to advise, do it by all means — do 
 not fear I wish to oppose you ; I will only beg 
 you to remember, that it is possible, in your 
 over anxiety to advise her for her good, you 
 may proceed in a manner, that will only plunge 
 her back into the gulf of doubt, from which, it 
 may be, she has scarce escaped." 
 
 "How, what do you mean? " asked his mo- 
 ther in her usual complaisant manner. 
 
 " "Why !" replied Charles, after a little appa- 
 rent study, " it appears most likely that Siisan 
 
 y 3
 
 232 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 had many arguments with herself, before she 
 could give up her own childish passion, to the 
 more mature judgment of her mother, and your 
 talking to her — although I agree, if it were 
 at a proper season, it might be very beneficial — 
 would only, in her present state of mind, 
 make her recur to her thoughtless passion with 
 the more regret, as an escape from this, which 
 seems surrounded with so many great and se- 
 rious considerations." 
 
 " And so indeed it is," said Mrs. Hayling. 
 
 •• And so you will say that every action of 
 our life is ;" added Charles, " but, as in the mat- 
 ter before us, Susan has been guided by her 
 duty and filial feeling, it is most probable that 
 she has already considered it in all its obliga- 
 tions and bearings ; but, supposing she has not, 
 as it rests entirely between a mother and her 
 child, I think we cannot be too cautious in in- 
 terfering." 
 
 " There is some reason in your argument ;"
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 233 
 
 replied Mrs. Hayling, " and, therefore, for the 
 present, I will not say anything to her about it." 
 
 At this juncture, Charles thought proper, 
 without further observation, to speak of some- 
 thing else, when the conversation consequently 
 took another turn ; and Susan, coming down 
 soon afterwards, prevented the possibility of its 
 being resumed. 
 
 The want of rest which Susan had experi- 
 enced the previous part of the night, and the in- 
 tense thought she had been subjected to, only 
 tended to make her appearance more delicate, 
 and, if possible, more beautiful. But Charles, 
 after his first earnest gaze, paid no particular 
 attention to her for some time ; his whole mind 
 appeared replete with pleasurable emotions. 
 He had been, he said, amongst the reapers, and 
 was full of joy to observe what fine crops of 
 wheat they had got, he had no idea they were 
 so heavy, before the sickle began its handy- work.
 
 234 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 "■ I am glad to see you so very grateful ;" ob- 
 served Mrs. Hayling ; " indeed, we have much 
 cause to be continually offering up our thanks- 
 givings to Almighty God for his many blessings 
 bestowed upon us." 
 
 " And the oats, and the barley," continued 
 Charles, without noticing what his mother had 
 said. " they seem quite as favourable as the 
 wheat. Would you like to go out and see how 
 busy we are?" added he, addressing himself 
 more particularly to Susan. 
 
 " Not at present!" she replied, "I must en- 
 deavour to make amends for my idleness, by 
 assisting in the house ; that is, if I may be 
 allowed." 
 
 Mrs. Hayling felt flattered, and answered that 
 she should be very glad to employ her, as the 
 harvesting having commenced, all hands would 
 be busy out of doors, and she should be obliged 
 to be cook, dairy-maid, and all sorts of things.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. T6b 
 
 Charles had no objection to offer to this ar- 
 rangement ; indeed, it exactly coincided with 
 his desire. Without reading, or philosophic 
 reasoning, he had observed that, when activity 
 and toil have sunk tranquilly to rest, the mind, 
 (when not unusually excited,) is soothed into 
 peaceful contemplation, and, as it were, feeds 
 on the quiet scene around, allowing all impres- 
 sions received therefrom, or therewith con- 
 nected, to sink deeply into the heart, to be re- 
 membered far above the like occurrences in 
 bustling mid-day life. In the evening, there- 
 fore, he had been alone in Susan's company as 
 much as possible, and to the evening he now 
 looked to have his invitation to walk in the 
 corn-fields accepted of. 
 
 As he was, in every respect, the chief of the 
 little party, the conversation generally took its 
 tone from him ; which, now that he was in such 
 excellent spirits, became, if homely, full of ani-
 
 236 the lover's GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 mation. particularly so on his own part. This 
 was enough to fill his mother's heart with glad- 
 ness; her delight, indeed, was to see him happy. 
 Even Susan thought she had never before 
 sufficiently valued his appearance, so manly and 
 full of energy did he appear ; and, as she thought 
 this, she struggled, if not to feel happy, at least to 
 lead her companions to imagine that she was so ; 
 yet. despite all her care, the occurrences of yes- 
 terday would force themselves upon her mind, 
 returning again and again, as often as dri- 
 ven out. She could not forget the situation she 
 stood in with Mr. Layton, nor think of it with- 
 out "feeling more and more decidedly inclined 
 to prove to him, at the earliest opportunity, how 
 heartily and determinedly she would oppose the 
 completion of his purpose. 
 
 Was it that the seeming happiness around 
 her brought more vividly to her mind the 
 joyousness of heart she had ever experienced
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 23J 
 
 in the company of Edward, and made her value 
 its memory the more, and feel more earnest to 
 hail its return ? It might be so, but, alas ! I fear 
 not ; judging from subsequent events, I should 
 rather say, she had fallen into the snare so art- 
 fully laid for her. Her eyes became ri vetted 
 to Charles, with an expression too fond for 
 friendship, and more yielding than a sister's. 
 ;i Did she love him?" The very question is 
 alarming ; and, instead of suggesting an answer, 
 seems rather to demand, " what is love ?" 
 
 Can that beautiful — that all-confiding passion, 
 as poets paint it, and as youth wishes to identify 
 it, depend on no inward or upright emotion of 
 the soul? Is it excited, as well by hypocritical 
 language and falseness, as by the pure effusion 
 of the heart hedged round with truth ? Alas ! 
 it so appears, notwithstanding all our longing 
 and desiring to the contrary. The false as- 
 sumption of it by one, excites in the breast of
 
 233 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 another the true feeling; and thus it was with 
 Susan. The apparent attention and devotion 
 of Charles to her interest, struck her young 
 imagination — although, she could not bring her- 
 self to approve of the doctrine he taught — as 
 worthy of all gratitude and trust from her. 
 Thus, most strangely, while she was talking to 
 him of her affection for another, she was com- 
 mitting one of the greatest contradictions that 
 our nature is capable of, inasmuch as her pas- 
 sion, insensibly to herself, was reversing its ob- 
 ject. Yet, I much doubt, supposing circum- 
 stances had been favourable, I much doubt 
 whether she could have ever felt that Jove for 
 Charles, which she had experienced for Edward. 
 It appears far more probable, that her dis- 
 turbed state of mind had sunk beneath an illu- 
 sion — that a veil was, as it were, over her eyes, 
 through which she saw but the shadow of the 
 object before her. But, it is now to no purpose
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 239 
 
 to start suppositions as to its cause. The simple 
 fact was as I have stated it ; but, simple though 
 it be, who will say that it does not contain a 
 fearful warning to others, teaching the young 
 and thoughtless to study, above all things, to be- 
 come acquainted with the desires of their hearts, 
 lest at any time, by a strange combination of 
 circumstances, they should find themselves in a 
 like situation to Susan's.
 
 240 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The breakfast was ended, and Charles, with a 
 satisfaction bordering on joy, returned to ob 
 serve and direct the labours of the field ; Mrs. 
 Hayling to the duties of the house ; and Susan, 
 according to her proposal, to her assistance. If 
 she felt less satisfaction in her own thoughts 
 than Charles did in his, it was because she had 
 not meditated to bring about the present state of 
 her feelings; and, therefore, could not exult, as 
 he did, in the success of his plans ; but she felt, as 
 she afterwards said, too much pleasure on a sub- 
 ject which ought to have been painful to her. 
 
 In the afternoon of this very day, when she 
 would, for the first time, have been almost con- 
 tent to learn that there was no such person as 
 Edward in the world ; he, as we have seen, was
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF JIARSHEND. 241 
 
 on his way to pay her his first visit since their 
 unhappy separation. 
 
 Could he have seen with what indifference he 
 was viewed — by her, whose person was more 
 dear to him than all the world beside, would he 
 have proceeded thus, with a light and joyous 
 heart, to throw himself upon her bosom, and en- 
 deavour to forget all the little vexations and dis- 
 appointments in, as he trusted, their mutual 
 dependance for happiness on each other? It has 
 been repeatedly and wisely said, that cur igno- 
 rance makes us happy — that, however terrible 
 the future may appear, when we are excited, 
 to learn how itwilldeal with us at some eventful 
 crisis; and, would have a year rush upon us, and 
 depart as a moment, and yet, must in ignorance, 
 abide its ordinary course — that still it is the sole 
 charm that binds us, not only to happiness, but 
 even to the earth itself; for, deprive us of the 
 gladdening sensation of hope — and what is 
 
 z 2
 
 242 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 hope without ignorance of the future ? — which 
 we must be deprived of if we could look into 
 futurity, as all things must, necessarily, end 
 gloomily here; and who, for a moment, could 
 drink out of the cup of sweet contentment, 
 much more that of happiness. No; it is past 
 dispute, that " whatever is, is best." And this 
 Edward experienced, as he, with a beating heart, 
 and uncontrollable emotions, approached Field- 
 hill, and the presence of his dear Susan, arguing 
 with himself that he had nothing to fear ; he 
 could have nothing to fear, for he was acting 
 in accordance with her expressed desire. 
 
 It was getting towards evening by the time 
 he arrived ; when, not having the slightest hope 
 of meeting her at the appointed place, he went 
 on, cautiously approaching the house. While yet, 
 at a distance from it, he discovered a female 
 looking out of one of the bed-room windows 
 — Was it the object of his hopes ? He could not
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 243 
 
 tell ; a strange dimness gathered over his eyes ; 
 he wiped and rubbed them; still his vision was 
 indistinct, wavering, and uncertain^ he ventured 
 to make the pre-coneerted signal ; he thought it 
 was answered, and was confirmed in his opinion, 
 when the person disappeared from his sight, and 
 in a few moments re-appeared at the door, and, 
 after looking anxiously round two or three times, 
 left the house and came bounding towards him. 
 He was not deceived ; no, no. it was Susan ! his 
 own dearly beloved Susan. He stood as if fixed 
 in the earth : struggling to free himself, yet un- 
 able to command his trembling limbs ; his heart 
 beat violently, and his whole frame quivered as 
 the aspen ; while a fearful sensation of suffoca • 
 tion rose in his throat, which made him gasp for 
 breath. When she had reached to within a few 
 yards of the spot where he stood, he started con- 
 vulsively from his trance, and ran tottering to 
 meet her: which having done, he seized her in 
 
 z 3
 
 244 the lover's GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 his arms, and pressed her again and again to his 
 panting bosom, and, instead of words, heaped 
 kisses on kisses upon her lips. 
 
 As soon as he could speak, he exclaimed, 
 "At last, then, we meet! O happiness inex- 
 pressible! They could not — they shall not 
 finally part us ! Therefore, fear not ! fear 
 not ! If they threaten us more, we will pre- 
 fer beggary to their favour; we will leave 
 them and their sordid views, to combat the world 
 together, young and inexperienced as we are ;" 
 and again he pressed her to his bosom, but, in a 
 moment he drew back with a shudder, for she 
 was passive in his arms. Doubt rushed upon his 
 brain, but it vanished before its hateful form be- 
 came embodied. It was pure bash fulness and 
 modesty that checked her feelings : it must be 
 that, it could be nothing else; and, again and 
 again he pressed her to his heart, exclaiming, 
 " And what says my Susan, will she leave all the
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 245 
 
 allurements of the world's worship for one so 
 poor as I am?" 
 
 " Oh, Edward !" cried Susan, speaking for the 
 first time, " Have I not said I would do so ?" 
 
 " Yes, you have, you have ; and that assurance, 
 and the hope arising therefrom, has been to my 
 heart, in the darkness of our absence, as a beacon 
 of light, shedding its lustre on the future, and, 
 pointing to it, as a scene of happiness, to reward 
 us for present pain. But, Susan, it was not kind 
 of you to let me remain so long in ignorance of 
 the place of your abode. Had I known it, I 
 would have visited you long ere this ; and I do 
 think we should then have escaped much anxiety 
 of heart, and many a sad and weary hour. You 
 see I am nattering myself, by supposing that 
 your sufferings, arising from our separation, have 
 been equally poignant as my own." 
 
 iC Indeed, I have suffered much," said Susan. 
 
 i; We must look the more earnestly to the 
 future," replied Edward.
 
 246 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 " Alas!" began Susan, " the future, as far as 
 we are concerned, appears to me, equally dreary 
 as the past; we have nothing to hope, but — " 
 
 " Nothing to hope !" exclaimed Edward, in- 
 terrupting her, "Nothing to hope !" he repeated 
 again, gazing, with wonder and astonishment at 
 the expression of her countenance, which seemed, 
 indeed, to bear witness that he had nothing to 
 hope, so quiet and passionless, did it appear. 
 " Nothing to hope!" cried he, for the third time ; 
 " Nothing to hope ! You amaze me. Have we 
 not rather got every thing to hope ? Are we 
 not young, in health, and fervent in our desires, 
 dwelling more on the happiness of each other 
 than on one's own?" 
 
 " Need I point out to you how we are situ- 
 ated ?" said Susan; " How, entirely by the will of 
 others, I was sent from Marshend, to be placed 
 here? Have I not been at their mercy, and shall 
 I not so continue?" 
 
 " No, no, you shall not!" exclaimed Edward,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 24? 
 
 ;t let them not urge us too far, or their impru- 
 dence may beget a like imprudence in us, which 
 will for ever put it out of their power to part 
 us." 
 
 ;1 Such thoughts," replied Susan, " have often 
 crossed my mind ; but, we must endeavour to 
 think more correctly, and not rush into a life of 
 trouble and misery." 
 
 " Of trouble and misery ! O, Susan, Susan, 
 you were wont to speak more cheerfully ; but, 
 I will not urge the adoption of any such rash act ; 
 we will submit, contentedly, to your mother's 
 power. But, O ! do not let us deceive ourselves, 
 by supposing it greater than it really is ; I know 
 she disapproves of our intimacy, and will, for 
 some time, throw every obstacle in its way ; but, 
 she will not, she cannot, do so for ever. Let us 
 be constant to each other, and passively dutiful 
 to her, and she will ultimately become our warm- 
 est friend. You do not answer, dear Susan :
 
 248 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 wherefore are you silent? I do not speak against 
 your mother — I will not urge you to act in op- 
 position to her, but, there is a wide difference 
 between your not opposing her, and falling into 
 her every wish." 
 
 " Parents, Susan, I speak it with deference, 
 are not infallible, therefore, neither reason nor 
 justice demands implicit obedience to them, from 
 their offspring, when they have arrived at 
 years of discretion." 
 
 " Would you scorn their counsel ?" inquired 
 Susan. 
 
 "No! indeed, Susan, I would not; the very 
 name of parent is dear to me — I honour it as a 
 mere word, and think with love and reverence 
 on its meaning. In my cool moments of re- 
 flection," continued Edward, " I have long con- 
 sidered, that, for a child to rush headlong into an 
 engagement against their wish, is a most dis- 
 gusting and hateful action ; but with this, I yield 
 not up our natural birthright."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 249 
 
 "Our natural birthright?" repeated Susan, 
 musingly. 
 
 " It is for a child," continued Edward, " to 
 listen with respect and attention to a parent's 
 desire ; but, if the desire cannot be complied 
 with, freely and happily, the child is guilty of 
 no undutif ulness, by remaining passive, stand- 
 ing aloof, alike from the accomplishment of its 
 parent's desire, as from its own ; until, in the 
 course of time, the justice of the one's views, 
 and the fallacy of the other's, shall be proved 
 to their mutual satisfaction. Yes, Susan, if — 
 if we continue virtuous, and constant to each 
 other, the time will come, when those who 
 would part us now, will be foremost to witness 
 our union." 
 
 " I would that I could hope so," cried Susan. 
 
 '•And can you not?" exclaimed Edward, 
 " you surely cannot repent of our engagement ?" 
 As he said this, he fixed his eyes so searchingly
 
 250 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 upon her, that she quailed beneath his gaze, 
 and he continued, " No, no ! I am sure 
 you do not repent it ; be not then fearful. I will 
 throw myself at your mother's feet — will hum- 
 ble myself to Mr. Layton, and implore them to 
 think of what they are doing, ere it is too late. 
 Of you, I ask nothing more than the continued 
 assurance of your love, and all fervency of hcpe 
 for the future." 
 
 " You know," replied Susan, " I did not 
 scruple to own how entirely I was yours, when 
 there appeared a chance of our union ; if I could 
 see any such probability now, why should I not 
 repeat it, and lead you indeed to hope in all 
 things ?" 
 
 " And is there less probability now, than 
 when we last parted ? Oh, Susan, Susan, what 
 have you done? Can I believe that you, in so 
 short, so brief, a time, have been so tempted, as 
 to forget your promise to me ?"
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSH END. 251 
 
 "No, indeed, indeed I have not," replied 
 Susan, " But what could I do, or what can 
 I do ? you know not how I am situated." 
 
 11 Believe me," cried Edward, " I have grieved 
 for your sufferings more than for my own; I 
 have pictured you, lost in grief and disappoint- 
 ment, but never, never, as having withdrawn 
 your affection from me ; no, no, I never could 
 have doubted that, even had your temptation 
 been twenty times as great as it has been. Oh ! 
 do not teach me to curse Mr. Layton or your 
 mother. And yet, can I do otherwise, if I am 
 to believe, that through their machinations, 
 not only my own happiness is to be blighted. 
 but yours also, which God knows, is far dearer 
 to me than my own?" 
 
 The earnestness of true feeling, so passionately 
 displayed by Edward, failed not to produce an 
 effect on the mind of Susan, directly opposed 
 to the pernicious counsels of Charles. Still she 
 
 A A
 
 '1'rl THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 hesitated to yield up her heart to its native im- 
 pulse, and make Edward, as she ought to have 
 done, in pieference to Charles, the sharer of her 
 secret thoughts. After some time, she answered 
 almost in a whisper, that she was under an 
 obligation fur the present, not to enter into any 
 further engagements with him. 
 
 " I do not desire it," answered Edward, 
 quickly, " only do not bid me cancel that already 
 between us." 
 
 "I have not desired any such thing," said 
 the wavering Susan. 
 
 " If I may not hope for the future, to what 
 purpose can it exist?" cried her lover. 
 
 " If to hope," replied Susan, " can add to your 
 happiness, I would have you hope ; but, con- 
 sider well, should it prove but a delusion." 
 
 '• It will not, Susan — it cannot, if you bid me 
 hope," exclaimed Edward, interrupting her. 
 
 ''Let us say no more about it," said Susan.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 253 
 
 "Susan!" replied Edward, in a pointed, em- 
 phatic manner, yet, as free from emotion as he 
 could speak ; " to what purpose can we be silent ? 
 Is not our conversation, as it were, a part of 
 our very souls, which now are lost in doubt and 
 indecision?" 
 
 " I have given you as much reason, for what I 
 have said as I possibly can," replied Susan; and 
 then adding, in a hurried manner, " If you love 
 me — if you have the least regard for my happi- 
 ness, you will not, at present, press me further." 
 
 " That I do love you, and that your happi- 
 ness is very dear to me, I am sure you cannot 
 doubt, why then should there be any mystery 
 between us ? Do you know anything — ought vou 
 to know anything you dare not trust me with ? 
 I see I displease you by my perseverance ; but, 
 indeed, indeed, I cannot forbear — it is unkind — 
 it is ungenerous to suffer me to continue in a 
 state of miserable doubt ; believe me, I never 
 
 aa 2
 
 254 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 shall — I never can cease to assail you thus, 
 while I am permitted to enjoy your company, 
 if I do not also enjoy your whole confidence." 
 
 " How can I think my company is so dear to 
 you, when you would thus rashly risk its loss?" 
 
 " O, Susan ! do not speak so lightly of my 
 anxiety about you." 
 
 " I would not so speak, nor have you suppose 
 I feel — " said Susan, looking feverishly round, 
 as she had done several times before, during 
 the progress of their conversation. 
 
 " I cannot understand you," said Edward, 
 I do not appear even to enjoy your attention j 
 you would not deprive me of hope ! yet, at the 
 same time, you take from me its food — its soul 
 — its essence ; you appear to wish to wrap that 
 which should be plain and simple as day, in a 
 veil of mystery, dark and impenetrable as night. 
 Your eyes wander from me, as if in expectation 
 that something fearful, and to be dreaded, was
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 255 
 
 hanging over us. Tell me, Susan, what does it 
 all mean, I cannot leave you thus?" 
 
 " Your are more curious than wise," said 
 Susan, somewhat pettishly. 
 
 "It is not idle curiosity that makes me m* 
 earnest," murmured Edward. 
 
 "Are you not aware," continued Susan. 
 " that your visit here, if known at Marshend. 
 would be the signal, for my being carried to 
 a greater distance; and, has it not entered 
 your imagination, that we may be observed at 
 the present time?" 
 
 " Observed ! who shall observe us ?" cried 
 Edward, " have you any about you, base enough 
 to become a spy upon the actions of others, or an 
 eaves-dropper to their conversation? If you have, 
 you know not how gladly I would have them 
 pointed out to me, that I might brand them 
 with contempt and scorn, undisguised and un- 
 qualified!" For a moment after this burst of 
 
 AA 3
 
 256 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 honest indignation, Edward was silent, when 
 the face of Charles, livid with rage, rose a few 
 inches above the hedge near which they were 
 standing, but it was withdrawn as suddenly as 
 it had appeared, unnoticed by either of the 
 others; and Edward continued, "Tell me; do 
 you expect the presence of such persons? 
 Yet why do I ask ? — what have we to fear ? 
 The heart full of affection, and love, laughs at 
 distance ; the tyranny or foolishness of our 
 friends, may make your voice a stranger to my 
 ear, but they cannot keep your image from my 
 heart, or stay my imagination from flying to 
 you, or drawing you to it with a satisfaction 
 inconceivable to them. Talk not then of dis- 
 tance, you never can be so far from me, as when 
 your heart is selfish of its knowledge." 
 
 " But, I may have become attached to the 
 place," said Susan, " and not wish to leave it, 
 until my return home!" Again the face of
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 257 
 
 Charles might be seen, but, how different was its 
 expression now — it seemed tosay, " She's mine." 
 
 " I should grieve," said Edward, despond- 
 ingly, " to hear you say, you had become at- 
 tached to this place, or, indeed, to any other, 
 as I fondly hoped that your imagination was 
 too full of past scenes, to allow any new asso- 
 ciations to engage its attention. But, Susan, 
 we trifle with each other sadly. If you love me, 
 as you have done, why — why should you hesi- 
 tate to say so ?" 
 
 Susan did not answer. 
 
 " Were not the thought horrible, and worse 
 than death to my imagination, I should al- 
 most suppose that you had given encourage- 
 ment to — to — to — " Edward struggled with 
 himself, but could not finish the hateful sen- 
 tence ; while Susan continued silent and mo- 
 tionless as a statue, but her face was crimsoned 
 with shame.
 
 258 the lover's GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 " Good God !" exclaimed Edward, after a 
 few moments silence, " am I awake — do you 
 hear me, and strive not to answer? Had any 
 one, one short hour since, whispered such a 
 thing to me — had not my indignation choked me. 
 my hand should so have dealt with the speech 
 of the false and base detractor, as I should have 
 thought him ; yes Susan, I should have called 
 him false, and justly so — say, should I not?" 
 
 " How can I answer?" murmured Susan. 
 
 " How, but with truth and confidence ?" cried 
 Edward. 
 
 " No, I cannot — I must not!" sobbed Susan, 
 with her eyes still fixed on the ground. 
 
 " You must not! Do you tell me you must 
 not?" exclaimed Edward, in a transport of pas- 
 sion; "by heaven!" he continued, seizing her 
 by both her hands, " there is no power under 
 heaven shall rob me of your confidence !" 
 
 The vehemence of his manner alarmed Susan;
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 259 
 
 she gave a faint scream, but did not attempt 
 to escape from his grasp. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, Susan," he added in a 
 subdued tone, " I did not mean to harm you." 
 
 " And if you did, young man," said a voice by 
 his side, "your intention, I suspect, would go 
 without its corresponding action." 
 
 The eyes of Edward and Susan were in a 
 moment turned to the spot whence the sound 
 had issued, when they beheld Charles, full of all 
 the surprise and wonderment, to be expected 
 from one, who had but just become an observer 
 of the scene before him. 
 
 If Susan had felt remorse for her past con- 
 duct, and been wrought upon by Edward to 
 the point of confessing her fault to him, the 
 time for that confession had now passed away 
 for ever ! 
 
 "What, Edward, is it you?" said Charles, 
 M is this dealing justly with your master?"
 
 260 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Edward, "is it so — are 
 you the spy — you the eaves-dropper ? Talk of 
 justice! ' Out, out on ye!'" 
 
 " Go on," said Charles, in an unruffled voice. 
 
 " It is in vain," cried Edward, in a transport 
 of passion and disappointment ; " I have heard 
 that evil is inherent to your very nature ; away, 
 away, my heart sickens at your presence." 
 
 " Go on, go on," again repeated Charles, as 
 calmly as before, " but, let this assurance ac- 
 company your going: I shall not, away, away, 
 but remain here, despite you denunciation, to 
 guard Susan from you brutal violence." 
 
 "It would be well," retorted Edward, "to 
 assure yourself that I have an intention to 
 commit violence, before you impute it to me." 
 Charles was not one to be checked or intimi- 
 dated, when he was opposed to a person he did 
 not fear; he, therefore, replied quietly, "that, 
 whatever his motive might have been, was best
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF 11ARSHEND. 261 
 
 known to himself, but that the effect it had 
 produced on his companion was not to be 
 doubted." 
 
 "Jf I have offended or frightened her." cried 
 Edward, " I do not want to be informed of it 
 by an officious meddler, nor do I see what busi- 
 ness you have to interfere, in the manner you 
 show a disposition to do." 
 
 ••You had better return home with me;" 
 said Charles to Susan. Then turning' to Ed 
 Avard, he added ; " you know, Miss Thomson is 
 a guest of my mother's, and, therefore, with- 
 out further words, I believe, I may venture to 
 say, that I consider myself justified in seeing 
 that she is not abused." 
 
 •• Nor will I be abused ;" began Edward ; but 
 seeing Susan look imploringly towards him, as 
 if begging him to be silent, he checked himself. 
 
 li Come, come," said Charles, '* you must not 
 be too full of passion; I do not desire to interfere 
 farther than is nec^ c ary. If Miss Thomson
 
 262 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 wishes to remain with you, I have no objection 
 to leave you together ; but, if she wishes to 
 retire, I shall assuredly protect her to the house, 
 and leave you to reconcile it with yourself, as 
 best you may." 
 
 "lam not well, I will go in," murmured 
 Susan. 
 
 " And must we part thus ?" said Edward. 
 Charles went a few steps in advance, as if 
 to give them an opportunity to take instant 
 leave of each other. 
 
 " Do not think unkindly of me," said Susan, 
 " I will never become wife to another, with- 
 out your consent." 
 
 " And I," said Edward, " will never refuse it, 
 when you desire it of me ; but, until that 
 
 r 
 
 time — " emotion clicked his utterance ; he could 
 not complete the sentence. 
 
 " Good bye !" sobbed Susan. 
 
 " O God !" cried Edward, and rushed from 
 her side.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Now, tell me," said- Charles, after they had 
 proceeded a few steps in silence, " was I not 
 right when I told you how foolishly this stolen 
 interview would end?" 
 
 "I did wrong," replied Susan, "in sending 
 for him ; but, do not increase my sufferings 
 with your displeasure." 
 
 " I should be sorry to add to them for one 
 moment," said Charles ; "and yet," added he, 
 " the only use we can put our thoughts to when 
 they convict us of having acted foolishly, is, to 
 repeat them over and over again, so that they 
 may be ever ready, like a honest friend, to warn 
 us to avoid the like error in future." 
 
 " Would you have me promise never to see him 
 again while I remain here?" asked Susan, 
 timidly. bb
 
 264 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 " I do not say, never!" replied Charles; "but 
 certainly, not for the present ; at least, not with- 
 out having previously consulted your friend on 
 the matter." 
 
 " I can promise that most freely." 
 
 " Enough," said Charles, " and what has just 
 passed we will say no more about." 
 
 " And yet," said Susan, " if Mr. Layton or 
 my mother should know that he has been here, 
 will they not send me away ?" 
 
 "If you will trust to me in all things," re- 
 plied Charles, " I will manage them so as to 
 prevent anything of the sort from taking place." 
 
 "Who should I now trust but you?" said 
 Susan. " I have implicitly followed your ad- 
 vice, when it was less pleasing to me than it is 
 now : yes ! and I will follow it ; or, at least, 
 will give it my most serious consideration." 
 
 " Fear nothing, then," said Charles, as he, 
 for the first time, pressed the yielding form of
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 265 
 
 Susan to his bosom, and imprinted a kiss upon 
 her lips. This, however, he had no sooner ac- 
 complished, than he hastily released her, and 
 begged her to pardon him if he had, in the ex- 
 cess of his friendship, taken a liberty he ought 
 not to have done ; concluding by saying, that 
 he was so excited with sensations of pleasure at 
 seeing her so well and patiently resolved, that, 
 at the moment, he had been carried quite be- 
 yond his sober senses. 
 
 Susan hung down her head in silence ; a 
 thousand conflicting thoughts possessed her 
 mind, and she knew not what to answer. 
 
 Charles then strove to draw her into conver- 
 sation on the business of the day, but she ap- 
 peared neither able nor willing to attend to it ; 
 and, as they were now near the house, she 
 begged to be allowed to go in, resolved, in her 
 own mind, to plead indisposition, and thus es- 
 cape further observation for the night. But, 
 
 bb 2
 
 266 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 in this she was sadly disappointed ; for, on en- 
 tering the house she heard her mother in con- 
 versation with Mrs. Hayling. 
 
 Mr. Layton, on his return to Marshend, the 
 previous day, had lost no time in calling his 
 housekeeper to council, to impart to her the 
 tidings of his happiness, as also to determine on 
 their future mode of proceeding. After some 
 little deliberation it was resolved, that no time 
 should be lost in appointing a day for the 
 consummation of their most ardent desires : 
 it was also further resolved, that Mrs. 
 Thomson should go on the following day to 
 Fieldhill, and, if she found it necessary to bring 
 Susan to the point, she should exert the utmost 
 authority of a mother. 
 
 The better to disguise what they were about 
 from Edward, Mr. Layton said he would find 
 employment for him each day, in a widely dif- 
 ferent direction ; so that, even should he dis-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 26/ 
 
 cover it, lie might by no possibility have it in 
 his power to see Susan, and plague her with his 
 unreasonable and childish passion. But, autho- 
 rity grows weak ; nay, it is too often dashed 
 aside, and shattered into atoms, when rashly 
 opposed to the young and ardent desires of 
 youth. Such, however, was not, at that time, the 
 case with Edward ; as we have seen that he, 
 without being acquainted with the motive that 
 urged him from home, or without resorting to 
 any extraordinary means, had rendered all their 
 scheming, as far as he was concerned, abortive ; 
 and, had he found the same energy of mind on 
 the part of Susan, accompanied with a like 
 constancy of heart, Mr. Layton, in the midst of 
 his happiness, and on the eve of triumph, might 
 have suddenly discovered an application to the 
 old and trite saying, that — 
 
 " There's many a slip 
 Between the cup and the lip." 
 
 But, to return to my story. 
 
 bb 3
 
 268 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 " You are surprised to see me, Susan !" said 
 Mrs. Thomson to her, as she entered the room 
 with a look of astonishment, 
 
 "I did not expect to find you heie, indeed !" 
 said Susan. " When did you come ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I have not been here long," replied her 
 mother. " I had an opportunity of a ride over; 
 and, as I thought you would be glad to see me. 
 I embraced it." 
 
 ■' And when do you return ?" inquired Susan. 
 
 " In the course of an hour or two. But you 
 look unwell, Susan ; or have you been walking 
 and are fatigued ?" 
 
 ; ' I have not walked very far," replied Susan. 
 
 " Then you are unwell?" said her mother, 
 greatly agitated. 
 
 ' ; Do not be alarmed," said Charles, who had 
 just entered the room : " Susan has been a little 
 frightened, but, I am sure, she will soon re- 
 cover from it."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 269 
 
 •' She was never very subject to fear," ob- 
 served her mother ; and then, turning to 
 Susan, begged to know what it had been 
 occasioned by. 
 
 Charles interposed, by hinting that the cows 
 had done it. 
 
 Mrs. Hayling, having often observed that 
 Susan was not over partial to cows, doubted not 
 but this was the true source of her alarm ; and 
 began, by assuring her, as she had often done 
 before, that they were very harmless, and would 
 not hurt any one. 
 
 Charles could scarcely contain his laughter, 
 at his mother's expense ; and, seeing that no 
 further explanation was necessary, left the 
 room — rightly judging, that whatever Mrs, 
 Thomson might have to say to Susan, would 
 be much better communicated to her in his 
 absence. 
 
 " How could you be so very silly," said Mrs.
 
 270 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 Thomson, in a rallying tone, to Susan, " as to 
 fear a few poor harmless cows ; but, I suppose 
 you have been here so long, and have become 
 so lonely, that you will soon be afraid of your 
 own shadow?" 
 
 " Why, no ! I don't think Susan finds it 
 so very lonely here," observed Mrs. Hay ling ; 
 " and, indeed, I have known some very bold 
 people, in other respects, little less fearful than 
 Susan is of cows." 
 
 ;t I once saw a dreadful accident happen from 
 one," said Susan ; willing to favour the deceit, 
 that her companions might not seek for any 
 other cause for the agitation which she could 
 not controul. 
 
 " O, I dare say," continued Mrs. Hayling; 
 " many accidents may have arisen from them, 
 but those we have now are as quiet as lambs, 
 and quite as harmless." 
 
 " I shall not be afraid of them for the future," 
 observed Susan.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 271 
 
 " I am sure you are treated very kindly here," 
 said Mrs. Thompson; -'but, I dare say, Susan, 
 you will be very glad to get back again to 
 Marshend." In a moment, the countenance 
 of Susan, which had been so pale before, was 
 overspread with crimson. Her mother con- 
 tinued, " You can now do just as you please— 
 remain here, or return home with me." 
 
 " I am very fond of Marshend," said Susan ; 
 •■ but, I have experienced so much kindness from 
 Mrs. Hayling, that I could not think of so sud- 
 denly leaving her." 
 
 " I am not particularly anxious that you 
 should," said her mother; "I only mention it 
 to let you know how entirely you are the mis- 
 tress of your own actions." Seeing that Susan 
 did not answer, her mother continued, " I wish 
 you to understand, that this is the result of 
 your considerate behaviour of yesterday." 
 " I must beg you to remember," observed
 
 272 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 Susan, with more agitation, " that that beha- 
 viour was the result of your own most earnest 
 desire ; and, therefore, it is not proper for me 
 to have all the merit of the action." 
 
 "We will not argue about that," replied her 
 mother. " By doing as you have done, you 
 have filled up an aching void that your previous 
 behaviour had left in my heart — the motive or 
 consideration that urged you to it is nothing, 
 compared with the happiness which must thence 
 arise." 
 
 After this, there was a silence for a few mo- 
 ments, when the conversation, as if by mutual 
 consent, glided into a less interesting strain; 
 and, when its former tone was again renewed, 
 as it was several times in the course of an hour, 
 it was a mere repetition, with slight variations, 
 of what has been recorded above. It will, 
 therefore, be only necessary to state, that Mrs. 
 Thomson remained about two hours at Field-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 2J3 
 
 hill; and, although she could not cause the ob- 
 ject of her visit to progress with all the expe- 
 dition she desired, still she had no reason to 
 complain of the capriciousness of Susan; for, 
 if she had struggled against advancing, she 
 had sought no mean excuse to retreat from her 
 already-plighted word. 
 
 Alas ! Susan felt not a like satisfaction. 
 If she had not advanced her real interest 
 — as her mother was pleased to call her 
 marriage with Mr. Lay ton — she had increased, 
 in a ten-fold degree, the real perplexities of her 
 situation ; and, when she retired to bed that 
 night, it might, with truth, be said, she felt 
 not — 
 
 "The balm of sweet repose, 
 "Nor knew the happiness of a mind at ease."
 
 274 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 When Edward had parted from Susan in the 
 unsatisfactory and distressing manner as related 
 — heated with every emotion that is painful to the 
 human heart, he rushed, he knew not whither, 
 in a state of abstraction from all surrounding 
 objects ; and, in which state he had doubtless 
 long continued, had he not been guided by a 
 plan adopted in the earlier part of the day, 
 which now mechanically urged him, with all 
 imaginable speed, towards home. 
 
 Fortunately, no accident retarded his • pro- 
 gress, and he reached Marshend some time 
 before Mr. Layton had expected him ; who, 
 thereupon, received him very graciously, and 
 commended him for the diligent and trust- wor- 
 thy manner in which he had accomplished the 
 business intrusted to his care.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OP MARSHEND. 275 
 
 Edward, having answered very briefly, ex- 
 pressed an intention of going out for a short 
 time ; to which, it being after office-hours, Mr. 
 Lay ton had no objection to offer — and thus 
 ended their first interview, after Edward had 
 become fully sensible of the gulf that yawned 
 between them. 
 
 As soon as he had reached the street he was 
 joined by his friend Henry, who had been, for 
 some time, impatiently awaiting his return, to 
 learn how he had succeeded in the object of his 
 visit. With the sanguine temperament of 
 youth, he had hoped that all things would 
 happen as he had pictured them in his imagi- 
 nation. — That Edward and Susan would again 
 renew their vow of eternal fidelity ; so that, in 
 the end, Mr. Layton and Mrs. Thomson might 
 repent of their foolish project, and allow Hi* 
 young friends to reap the fruit of their con- 
 stancy. It was, therefore, with much surprise
 
 276 THE LOVER'S GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 that he beheld the clouded brow of his compa- 
 nion, and heard, in reply to his inquiries, 
 answers as desponding and sorrowful as un- 
 looked for. 
 
 At first, he was led to suppose that something 
 had occurred to prevent his speaking to Susan, 
 or, that some accident had befallen her ; but 
 his suppositions were soon set at rest by Ed- 
 ward, who entered fully into the conversation 
 that had taken place between them, and con- 
 cluded by bursting into tears, and asking him 
 how he thought he ought now to proceed. 
 
 This was a question Henry had anticipated, 
 yet he felt utterly at a loss how to answer it. 
 With the interest he felt in the matter, it ap- 
 peared to him that, if Susan could be false 
 enough to have entered into another engage- 
 ment while she had one existing with him, she 
 was not worth a moment's thought or regret. — 
 At the same time, he feared to give expression
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 277 
 
 to his sentiments, as he could not doubt but the 
 distress of his friend arose from his unwearied 
 affection for her, however unworthy she might 
 appear. 
 
 " You do not answer me," said Edward ; 
 M would you leave it to my own thoughts to 
 suggest a remedy?" 
 
 " Indeed, I know not how to suggest one 
 myself," replied Henry. 
 
 "Poor Susan!" cried Edward; "they have 
 surrounded her with difficulties on every side — 
 they have done, I am sure they have done, all 
 in their power to draw her mind from me." 
 
 " But, ought they, in consequence, to have 
 succeeded?" asked Henry; and then, after a 
 moment's silence, seeing that Edward did not 
 reply, he continued, " Judging from my own 
 feelings, I should say, if you have reason to doubt 
 her truth, you ought to endeavour to banish her 
 at once and for ever from your heart." 
 
 cc 2
 
 278 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 " You speak from inexperience," replied Ed- 
 ward, " and, therefore, talk of impossibilities. — ■ 
 Could you have doted on her as I have done — ■ 
 have had no pleasurable thought in your mind 
 that she was not intermingled with, even as 
 the colours of the rainbow are mingled to- 
 gether, you would then know how hard a thing 
 it would be for me to banish her from my mind 
 for a moment; how, then, could I expect to do 
 it for life ? No ! I must either overcome the 
 difficulties which have grown up between us, or 
 misery and wretchedness are mine for ever!" 
 
 Henry was too much affected to make any 
 further attempt to enforce his opinion. He 
 saw that Edward had too long looked upon Susan , 
 as one possessed of goodness equal to her 
 beauty, to allow him, for a moment, to suppose 
 that she could become otherwise, unless, by the 
 machinations and misrepresentations of those 
 about her; and, that it would not only be use-
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 279 
 
 less, but cruel, at the present time, to attempt to 
 enforce a different opinion. 
 
 " In the heat of my imagination," continued 
 Edward, " when her unkindness was yet fresh 
 upon my mind, and my spirit was aroused to a 
 full sense of my wrongs, I did think that I 
 could at once proceed to extremities, and either 
 gain her back to truth, or banish her for ever 
 from my mind." 
 
 " And can you be less resolved now ?" asked 
 Henry. 
 
 "I am even as a child," replied Edward, 
 ••and must be guided by circumstances." 
 
 " You have not, as you proposed, spoken to 
 Mr. Layton?" inquired his friend. 
 
 " No ! I have not. I had almost persuaded 
 myself that that was the best course I could 
 pursue, and that I had sufficient courage for the 
 encounter ; but, I soon found that I had 
 miserably deceived myself. The manner in 
 
 cc 3
 
 280 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 which he would speak of her would only add 
 to my sufferings." 
 
 After a slight pause, Edward continued, his 
 emotion increasing with every word, " I could 
 have borne anything, had I but the assurance 
 that Susan still held me dear ; but, to feel that 
 each day is, with its progress, taking her farther 
 from me — not through my own misconduct, 
 nor her own desire, but, through the hateful 
 selfishness and deception of those who ought to 
 have been foremost to place her happiness on 
 the sure foundation of truth. — God will reward 
 them for their folly ; but alas, alas ! we shall 
 be most miserable." 
 
 Henry, seeing that his excitement was in- 
 creasing, interrupted him with an inquiry as to 
 whether he would like him to speak to Mr. 
 Layton. 
 
 This was sufficient to recall Edward's wan- 
 dering thoughts. After a short time, he,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 281 
 
 with many thanks, eagerly accepted the pro- 
 posal. 
 
 Some days, however, elapsed, before Henry 
 could find an opportunity sufficiently favourable 
 for his purpose. He was afraid to seek an in- 
 terview with Mr. Lay ton, lest he should put it 
 into his power to make it as brief as he thought 
 proper ; and the old gentleman's lameness, for 
 some time, prevented him from indulging in his 
 evening walks by the sea-side, to make his ob- 
 servations on the weather — which he had long 
 been in the habit of doing, for the edification of 
 the good people of the town. In the course of 
 a few evenings, however, to the inexpressible 
 delight of Henry, the walks were resumed ; 
 when, as if purely by accident, ere he had 
 arrived scarce mid-way between the town and 
 the sea, he was met by him, and greeted 
 with the following observation : — 
 
 " A fine warm evening, sir !"
 
 282 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 " Very !" replied Mr. Lay ton, arid was pass- 
 ing on. 
 
 " Do you think we shall have a storm ?" in- 
 quired Henry. " I think I saw it lightning a 
 few minutes since in the south-west." 
 
 In saying this, he well knew he was attack- 
 ing Mr. Lay ton on his weak- side, and was, 
 thereby, almost certain of engaging his atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "You surely must be mistaken," said Mr. 
 Layton ; " I have not observed the slightest 
 symptoms of which you speak ; but, if you will 
 walk with me to the sea-side, perhaps I shall be 
 better enabled to answer your query." 
 
 Henry readily accepted the invitation; and, 
 after a few more observations respecting the 
 weather had passed between them, was about to 
 commence on the real object of their meeting ; 
 but, he was diverted from his purpose by the 
 abrupt and open manner in which his com- 
 panion began to speak of Lis own affairs.
 
 TtiE TRAGEDY OF MARSlIEfcD. 283 
 
 "I suppose you have heard," began Mr. 
 Layton, " that I am going to retire from busi- 
 ness ?" 
 
 " No ! indeed I have not, sir," replied Henry 
 
 " O, I thought every one knew it by this 
 time," said Mr. Layton; and then, after a 
 pause, added, "I believe my apprentice and 
 you are very intimate ?" 
 
 " Yes ! we have long been like brothers to 
 each other," replied Henry. 
 
 " Then I may speak about him without re- 
 serve," said Mr. Layton, " and tell you of 
 something which appears likely to be very in- 
 teresting to both of you, and which I have 
 already, in part, made him acquainted with. 
 I believe it now wants about a year to the expi- 
 ration of his apprenticeship?" 
 
 " Fifteen months, sir," observed Henry. 
 
 " You seem very particular about the time !" 
 
 " I have reason to be," replied Henry, " as
 
 284 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 Edward and I came to Marshend within a month 
 of each other." 
 
 " Well, I was about to say," continued Mr. 
 Layton, " that it will be necessary he should 
 serve his full time, for him to obtain many pri- 
 vileges essential to his getting on in life ; and, 
 yet, after the confidential manner in which I 
 have treated him, I do not like to leave him, 
 unconditionally, in the hands of a stranger ; I 
 have, therefore, made it part of the agreement 
 with my successor, that Edward shall be only 
 nominally his apprentice, during the remainder 
 of his time." 
 
 " You are very good," said Henry. 
 
 "I have been thinking," continued Mr. Lay- 
 ton, " that if, as I am informed, an engagement 
 does exist between him and your sister ; sup- 
 posing your father does not disapprove of it — " 
 
 " I have never heard of any such engage- 
 ment," said Henry, interrupting him.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 285 
 
 " I would give them," continued Mr. Layton, 
 not paying the slightest attention to his com- 
 panion, " a trifle to commence business with a 
 few miles distant; where, at the present time, I 
 know there is a small concern to be purchased 
 cheap, and well suited to a young beginner." 
 
 " You have been very plain with me, sir," 
 said Henry, " and have spoken very kindly of 
 my sister. I do not see that I am called upon 
 to inquire into the motive of this kindness; 
 . but, I must tell you, that our present meeting 
 has been long and earnestly sought by me, for 
 a purpose very closely connected with the com- 
 munication you have just made to me." 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Layton, "you were 
 deputed by Edward, I suppose ?" 
 "I was," replied Henry, earnestly. 
 • Well, what does he think of the matter?" 
 " I cannot take upon me to say all that he 
 thinks," replied Henry, "but I will repeat to 
 you all that he has said respecting it. — "
 
 286 THE LOVER'S GRAVE; OR, 
 
 " Aye ! there is a thick cloudy mist rising in 
 the south-west, certainly," observed Mr. Lay- 
 ton, interrupting his companion. " Did you say 
 you saw it lightning?" 
 
 " I thought so," replied Henry. 
 
 " We had better return to the town," said 
 Mr. Layton; and he began to hurry home- 
 wards. 
 
 " May I beg you, sir," said Henry, " to listen 
 to me for a few moments ?" 
 
 " You can consider my proposal," said Mr. 
 Layton, " and talk it over with Edward." 
 
 " But, he will not patiently listen to me," 
 said Henry. " If I were to begin to talk to 
 him about it, he would hurry away from me as 
 fast as you are going now, sir." 
 
 "Tut, tut!" said Mr. Layton, "I am not 
 hurrying from you — it is from the rising storm." 
 
 " If you will not listen to me at proper 
 length," replied Henry, " I must, to fulfil my
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEXD. 287 
 
 promise to Edward, tell you at once, since I see 
 you are so decidedly bent upon your purpose, 
 that, although he has no reason to dislike my 
 sister — " 
 
 Mr. Layton, hearing this, walked a little 
 slower. Perhaps, (thought he) he means, after 
 all, to accept my proposal ; only, he does not 
 like to be seen to do it, without a little proper 
 hesitation. il Ah, well !" said he, aloud, " per- 
 haps, after all, the storm will wear off — I think 
 I observe it taking a more easterly direction. 
 What were you saying?" added he, turning to 
 his companion. 
 
 " I was endeavouring to impress upon your 
 mind, sir, how much the happiness of two 
 young people was in your keeping." 
 
 " I have told you what I will do for them," 
 said Mr. Layton ; " but, I do not wish you to 
 suppose that I consider I am doing more than 
 my duty in rewarding a faithful and trust- 
 
 DD
 
 288 the lover's GRAVE ; OR, 
 
 worthy servant, and, therefore, not entitled to 
 feel any very extraordinary satisfaction about 
 the matter." 
 
 " I fear, sir," remarked Henry, " that you 
 mistake my meaning. You seem to suppose 
 that I am alluding to Edward and my sister. — 
 Do not leave me, sir, I beseech you; but hear 
 me, and believe that what I say is not the re- 
 sult of a mere officious interference." 
 
 " Well, what have you to say?" inquired Mr. 
 Layton, impatiently. 
 
 k Do not be angry, sir," replied his compa- 
 nion ; "for what I would say requires your 
 most cautious and deliberate consideration. 
 Edward charged me to say, that what you pro- 
 pose is most hateful to him — not on account of 
 any dislike he has to my sister, but, rather, that 
 because his whole soul is in the keeping of 
 another; and that, since you proposed it to 
 him, he has become acquainted with the motive 
 which prompted your apparent kindness."
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 289 
 
 " He is a very foolish young man," said Mr. 
 Layton. " I suppose he still fancies himself 
 attached to Miss Thomson?" 
 
 "I can assure you, sir," said Henry, " that it 
 is no fancy on his part. The engagement which 
 his heart has entered into with her, is an 
 engagement that death alone can termi- 
 nate." 
 
 "What do you say?" inquired Mr. Layton, 
 in alarm ; " a clandestine !" 
 
 "No, sir! you again mistake me. I do not 
 mean that they have entered into any engage- 
 ment which the laws of the country will sanc- 
 tion to enable him to possess her person ; but, 
 that his love for her is equal to that which he 
 feels for his heart's blood ; and, that she, having 
 once accepted him, he will feel justified in 
 believing, that, in the eyes of heaven, she is 
 his, though deception and pride may have 
 wrested her from him." 
 
 dd 2
 
 290 the lover's grave; or. 
 
 "And what is all this to me?" asked Mr. 
 Lay ton. 
 
 " Can you ask that question, sir, of one who 
 must, of necessity, have had much less expe- 
 rience in the ways of the world than yourself? 
 Surely, you cannot fail to observe, that if, from 
 this difference, any unhappiness should come to 
 pass, you will be the great and chief cause of 
 it, if you, knowing what you do, still persist in 
 parting them — the desire of whose hearts, I 
 again repeat, are so interwoven with each 
 other, that neither of them will be able to taste 
 happiness apart. This, sir, is the substance of 
 what I promised Edward to deliver to you. I 
 would have done it in a less abrupt manner, had 
 you been more patient to listen." Having said 
 this, he was going off in a different direction 
 from that in which they were walking, but, Mr. 
 Layton, seeing his purpose, desired him to walk 
 on with him a little farther, apparently, very
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 291 
 
 unwilling that he should leave him with the 
 impression then upon his mind. 
 
 " You appear," said Mr. Layton, " to he 
 only in the confidence of one of the party who 
 has taken upon himself to assume a great deal 
 of what is not true of the other." 
 
 " I should be sorry, sir, to state an untruth to 
 you of myself, or to repeat it from another." 
 replied Henry. 
 
 " But, are you not aware you run a great risk 
 by doing so," said Mr. Layton, in a persuasive 
 tone, " when you presume to know what is 
 passing in the mind of Miss Thomson, when 
 neither Edward nor yourself can have seen her 
 for nearly three months past." 
 
 " I can only answer, sir, by saying, that I be- 
 lieve I have had sufficient means of ascertain 
 ing the truth of what I have spoken. I repeat, 
 I might have taken a more satisfactory way to 
 explain myself, had you been inclined to listen 
 
 dd 3
 
 292 THE LOVERS GRAVE; OR. 
 
 to it. I now, however, trust you will do what, 
 in a more unworthy matter, you charged me— 
 consider it well ; and believe me, that I should 
 be very sorry to offend you :" saying which, he 
 bade Mr. Layton " Gocd night," and hurried 
 off, regardless of his desire that he would stop. 
 
 " There is no such thing as opening the eyes 
 of these hot-brained boys to their own interest." 
 muttered Mr. Layton, as he proceeded on his 
 way home, anything but satisfied with the pro- 
 ceedings of his apprentice. 
 
 Henry immediately went in search of Ed- 
 ward, and found him indulging in, rather than 
 enjoying, a lonely walk. 
 
 " Have you seen him — have you spoken with 
 him ?" were the eager questions put by Edward 
 to his approaching friend — questions, which had 
 been repeated every time of their meeting since 
 the project had been in agitation. 
 
 "I have, at last !" replied Henry.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSflEND. 293 
 
 "And the result?" demanded Edward. 
 
 " Not exactly what I could have desired for 
 your sake ; but you must be patient, time may 
 yet work wonders." 
 
 " Aye, in the production of misery." de- 
 spondingly answered Edward; "but, tell me, 
 what said he ? Did he not become sensible of 
 the ungenerous part he is acting ?" 
 
 " On the contrary ;" replied Henry, M he ap- 
 pears to me to suppose that he is inclined to act 
 most generously towards you ; he talked of re- 
 tiring from business — of making you a present 
 of the time you have yet to serve ; as also, of a 
 sum of money to enable you to commence on 
 your own account ; nay, in his apparent anxiety 
 for your welfare, he has even gone so far. as to 
 notice a place for your business." 
 
 M Oh, Henry!" said Edward, " how vile and 
 worthless does generosity appear, when we per- 
 ceive the motive from which it arises is based
 
 294 the lover's grave ; OR, 
 
 on selfishness ; he would do all this which he 
 talks of to forward my views in the world, as a 
 sort of compromise, for robbing me of a prize 
 that my heart holds dearer than the world 
 itself." 
 
 " From what has taken place, respecting my 
 sister," said Henry, "I feel myself very awk- 
 wardly situated, and unable to speak so freely 
 as I otherwise might have done." 
 
 wi Do not fear to speak out ;" answered Ed- 
 ward, " I hope I know you too well, to suppose 
 for a moment, that whatever you may advise 
 will have anything of selfishness in it." 
 
 " Ycu may trust me, I think," observed 
 Henry. 
 
 " What then, shall I do?" inquired Edward. 
 
 t; You must not think," replied his friend, 
 " that my having spoken to Mr. Layton has ren- 
 dered the matter, in any manner, more desperate 
 than it was before ; it has only served to assure
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 295 
 
 you of that which you previously suspected. 
 He will do anything for you, but that which 
 justice and your future happiness require of him. 
 But, we know that he is an open-minded gene- 
 rous man in other respects, and, doubtless, would 
 yet be so in this, if we could by any possible 
 means, convince him that he is acting unjustly." 
 
 " Can you talk with hope of convincing him. 
 while his refusal to listen to you is yet echoing 
 in your ears ?" 
 
 " You appear to have lost sight of one very 
 important part of the subject," replied Henry ; 
 " you should remember, that he now considers 
 himself to stand, with respect to Susan's affec- 
 tions, in quite as advantageous a position as 
 yourself. You know you told me, some days 
 since, that you sadly feared, that Susan had 
 given him some encouragement." 
 
 " But, I told you," said Edward, passionately, 
 i; that she was to be pitied, even if she had ; for
 
 296 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 that, from her manner, it was certain she had been 
 driven to it by their heartless proceedings." 
 
 "If you could prove that to be really the 
 case," observed his friend, " so that Mr. Layton 
 might be convinced of the fact, I have much 
 hope, even now, that his generous nature would 
 point out a duty his honesty would urge him to 
 perform. But how can you hope to convince 
 him, if Susan has withdrawn her confidence 
 from you?" 
 
 " Do not — pray do not," exclaimed Edward, 
 " employ your imagination in embodying my 
 most unhappy, most miserable thoughts." 
 
 " I am very anxious," replied Henry, sooth- 
 ingly, " to have you thoroughly understand your 
 present position ; which, if you could, I might 
 then argue — " 
 
 " Do not talk of arguing ;" cried Edward, in- 
 terrupting him; "I cannot argue; my whole 
 soul has entered into this one absorbing passion :
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEXD. 297 
 
 and what can my poor weak reason do against 
 that ? No ! I will rather see Mr. Layton— tell 
 him what I feel — what I suffer; and, if necessary, 
 upbraid him with his ungenerous conduct ; and 
 then fly on the wings of the wind from Marsh - 
 end and all its associations, rather than witness 
 this hateful consummation of my unhappiness !" 
 
 As he finished speaking, he hurried on a little 
 distance in advance, but soon resumed his former 
 pace, apparently exhausted with the fuiy of his 
 passion. In a few seconds, he turned to his friend 
 and said; "Forgive me, Henry, if I have 
 spoken in temperately or with unkindness — " 
 
 He could say no more — his voice grew husky 
 with emotion ; and seizing his friend by the 
 hand, he held it a moment as in a vice ; then 
 cried, " God bless you, Henry — good night:" 
 and ran from his side. 
 
 Henry followed him in the distance, fearful 
 of his intention, but when he saw him approach
 
 298 the lover's grave; or, 
 
 Mr. Layton's door, and after a few moments 
 hesitation, enter, he turned to his own lodging 
 satisfied that nothing rash need be feared from 
 him, at least, for the present. 
 
 The next morning Edward learning that Mr. 
 Layton was going to leave home on a visit, for 
 a few days, resolved to embrace the opportunity 
 of speaking to him before his departure. But, 
 if he was anxious to speak, his master was 
 equally so to prevent him ; and, therefore, made 
 a point of avoiding him as much as possible. 
 This, however, did not alarm Edward ; he knew. 
 at least he believed, that Mr. Layton would, 
 according to his usual custom, see him before 
 he left home, to give him the necessary instruc- 
 tions as to what was to be done during his 
 absence. I will speak to him, then, thought 
 Edward — I am resolved he shall not escape me. 
 But, alas, he did escape him ; the instructions 
 were left in writing, and Edward saw him leave
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF MARSHEND. 299 
 
 the house, without having had the least expla- 
 nation with him respecting the subject; which, 
 like a vulture, was feeding on his heart. 
 
 •' Every day serves but to increase my 
 wretchedness," said he to Henry, the next time 
 they met ; " I feel that my situation must be 
 more irksome than the closest prisoner's ; I 
 am at liberty, without the least chance of exer- 
 cising it; I have youth, strength, and vigour, yet 
 feel myself an outcast in the world ; while every 
 noble aspiration of my heart is swallowed up 
 in disappointment and misery." 
 
 " You are more desponding than usual to-day," 
 observed his friend. 
 
 "And have I not cause?" asked Edward, 
 with a bitterness of expression which words 
 cannot describe. " If I were to go to Field- 
 hill, I should be prevented from seeing her; 
 if I were to write, how know I that she 
 would receive the letter: or. if she did, that 
 
 EE
 
 300 
 
 the answer would not be dictated by them?" 
 Then with his open hands, striking his forehead, 
 with an energy that surprised and startled his 
 companion, he exclaimed, " Oh God ! preserve 
 my reason, or I am lost, lost for ever !" 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME 
 
 LONDON : 
 George Odell, Printer, 18, Princes Street, Cavendish Square. 
 
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