L I E> RARY OF THE UN IVERSITY Of ILLI NOIS 82 3 Sm9br v. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/brideelectnovel01brid THE BRIDE ELECT, % Boiief. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE JILT," "THE BREACH OF PROMISE," "THE LIFE OF A BEAUTY," "COURTSHIP AND WEDLOCK," &c IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 1852. • $11 v. \ TO EDWARD GORDON, OF LESMOIR, Esq., M.A., BARRISTER-AT-LAW OF THE INNER TEMPLE. " Mr beloved Brother/' " I am aware that I am conferring an honour on these volumes rather than on you, by this dedication ; but the fact is, I am glad of an opportunity of publicly expressing what I have long privately felt — namely, a truly feminine reverence for your finished scholarship, and a lively admiration for your varied talents, with a genuine esteem for your character, and a warm sense of your tenderness as a brother, and integrity as a friend. " You will read this work with indulgence I know, because you will bear in mind that the first part was written in much anxiety, and the latter in much anguish of mind. The critics, however, have sometimes blamed my earlier works for too lively a spirit, and too ex- 11 DEDICATION. huberant a mirth — they will not find this fault, at least, in < The Bride Elect.' And if it be true that the school of suffering is the best of schools for us all, I ought to be found improved indeed. That suffering you have shared and solaced. Yes ! gene- rously solaced, even while so deeply bewailing your* self the loss of that dear dear brother, who " bore the grand of name of gentleman," as Tennyson so fondly says ; and that grander still of Christian, so meekly yet so nobly thoughout his guileless life, and to his early grave. With the bitter memoires of this the darkest year of our lives, and of our irreparable loss, will ever be blended the recollection of your love and patient efforts to comfort. And oh, how much dearer is the pale companion of the wreck than the laughing partner of the plea- sure boat ! convinced of this I am, my dearest brother, Ever, and more than ever Your obliged and affectionate sister THE AUTHORESS. Vicarage Buckland, Dover. Nov. 4th., 1852. THE BRIDE ELECT CHAPTER I. l'homme aux petits soins. The Bride-Elect ! How enviable, or, oh how pitiable a being! How enviable, if she be indeed about to bless with her hand the first love of her young heart, the first, the only idol of her maiden fancy. If she can indeed vow not only with her lips, but with her very soul, that — " forsaking all others, she will keep her only unto him, so VOL. i. B 2 THE BRIDE ELECT. long as they both shall live." If the thought of that long journey of which the goal is the GRAVE — with its ups and downs — its long, unbroken plains — its bright spots, and its gloomy wastes — with one companion only, ever by her side — one friend, one comforter, one adviser — if in- deed this prospect bring nothing but joy, triumph, and confidence to the heart of the Bride-Elect — then does she indeed de- serve the warmest congratulations of her warmest friends ! Then words were in- deed "poor to convey that happiness which best translates itself in blushes." Then do we do well to strew her path with flowers — emblematic of that she has to tread. Then is the golden circle to be placed upon her finger, not the first link of a heavy galling chain — but the bright pledge of woman's freedom. Her freedom from parental sway, however gentle — from ma- ternal power however kindly — from the thousand invisible, but binding bonds, which fetter the free-will of the maiden in THE BPJDE ELECT. X this world of small tyrannies and petty conventionalisms. No longer the slave of the many, the happy Bride-Elect, who has chosen wisely, owns now only the gentle influence of the one — but let her see that she do choose wisely, for against that one there is no appeal. Let her so love and honour him — and let him so deserve her love and honour, that not to obey him in all important matters (and in no others would a wise man exact obedience) would be to disobey her God and her own con- science — and having chosen one to whom she can resign her very judgment, let her remember that to obey is better than sacrifice — and to hearken than the fat of rams ! Oh for the Bride-Elect, so blest in her choice, so happy in her prospects, loving and beloved — a christian maiden, affianced to a christian lover ! no earthly emblems of happiness are bright enough — the silvery leaves with the golden chalice of the orange blossom are bright — the veil that B 2 4 THE BRIDE ELECT. hides her happy tears and happy blushes is spotless — the favors gleam — the white satin glistens — the banquet is costly, and furnished with guests, but within is the festival. In the bosom of a good, young, pair that truly love ! there is the all — Of Paradise that has survived the fall. There are such brides — there are such bridegrooms — there are such weddings. Few and far between we own ! and Eever to be found among the worldly and the vain. Whenever woman chooses her partner to please others, not herself — whenever low ambition, sordid interest, grovelling vanity, coward expediency, or even filial and sisterly affection, lovely in themselves, but not so when they sway the heart that sub- lime and loyal love alone should influence — then have offences come, and woe unto those through whom they come. And of all the causes of wedded misery so rife in THE BRIDE ELECT. 5 our land ; of all the reasons why the bride is so often a languid and unwilling victim — the freshness of her cheek and of her feelings alike gone — her first warm af- fections frittered away, and her anticipa- tions rather of a dull bondage, than a happy undivided household sway — of all the causes to which we can trace the evil the unmeaning attentions of a set of vain, idle, but fascinating men, who win hearts only to waste them, and raise hopes only to disappoint — are the most frequent and certain, — vanity, ambition, interest, all give way, especially in woman's heart, before a fond and true affection ; and. therefore, a girl educated even on the false, ungodly principles of the present day, may be reclaimed by love. The love she feels, reacting on that she inspires. But of her, whose power of loving has been wasted on some frivolous " Man of unmean- ing attentions" — and the bachelor world is fdl of such — and vain mothers welcome, and fond girls worship them — of such an one 6 THE BRIDE ELECT. there is little hope. According to the fiat of her own inamma, and the whole world of mammas, she must marry some- body. He, the first idol, the first admirer — the cruel but unpunishable felon of her affections — he was very fascinating, but he w r as not a marrying man. And some true-hearted, earnest, trusting being, who is — and who believes her to be all '•' mam- ma" represents — all she alas! pretends — before whom "7/e" is never mentioned or alluded to, he, mistaking indifference for modesty — and distaste for dignity, he gives that pearl of price, his true love, for the glittering casket, from which all the real gems have been filched — (bright hopes — golden confidence— perfect faith — passionate love) — and receives in exchange frippery imitations and audacious or molu — for what else are the sham interest, the pretended preference, the false sentiment, and the coy delays of the un- willing Bride ? THE BRIEE ELECT. CHAPTER II. THE DETRIMENTALS. Were I the mother of a family, of fair " Demoiselles a Marier" and anxious, as all good mothers should be, that they should marry well — and by marrying well, I mean, not only marrying men who can bestow on them this world's good gifts, but on whom they can bestow their heart's first love, (without which all else is naught,) for on est plus heureux par V amour qu'on ressent que par celui qu'on inspire, and to 8 THE BPJDE ELECT. 1 ove is a gre atr luxury than to be loved ? I would shun, as the worst of detrimentals, what the French call, Vhomme mix petits wins, in other words, " the man of un- meaning attentions." There is a peril for the young girl's heart in the haughty, sarcastic, and exclu- sive officer, who seems so impressed with his own importance, that a damsel at her first ball may well be deceived into taking him at his own valuation ; nor is that the only danger connected with him — to at- tempt to conquer the apparently invincible is the very instinct of the female heart ! To subdue the haughty — to thaw the frigid — and convert the tyrant into the slave — this may well be a favorite but a dangerous enterprise with a young and beautiful girl ! That she will lose her own heart and her own freedom in the process is much to be dreaded, and, therefore, these exclusives are dangerous men. There is danger in the eloquent and zealous curate, with his THE BRIEE ELECT. V £100 a year, and no house! For we can- not separate the minister and his ministry. We attribute to him, something of the holy comfort and sublime inspiration of the beautiful language of scripture. He speaks as one having authority. He blames, and she blushes — he condemns, and she trembles. He mourns, and she weeps. Of how many maiden hearts is one eloquent preacher — young, middle- aged, or even old — the unconscious idol ! Some women, too ! and those not merely girls — but women of all ages, think that though it may be weak or foolish to love any other man, to love the clergyman is a sort of virtue. That they are serving God by adoring his minister — and securing their entrance into Heaven by their devo- tion to him on earth. That this is all wrong, there can be no doubt. To wor- ship the priest of the altar is as blameable as to make any other idol. But that it is most true, and universal — what impas- B 5 10 THE BKIDE ELECT. sioned anonymous effusions ! what count- less tributes of all kinds, and what crowded, excited congregations of the lady-race, reward or rather distress any eloquent and earnest preacher, and if young, fervent, and handsome — alas ! alas ! more to be dreaded than the exclusive guardsman is, then, the handsome, eloquent young curate with .£100 a year, and no house. The sporting man is to be dreaded, and the fearless rider, who looks so well in his scarlet coat, white buckskins, and top- boots — who smiles so frankly in the bright morning sun, and bows so gallantly on the spirited thorough-bred so few could ride ! — Timid herself, woman so sympathises with daring — He is, he is very dangerous ; for he goes forth rejoicing, and may be brought back on a shutter ! Geniuses are dangerous — sham as well real — appreciated— for woman so worships Fame, and so glories in success — very peril- ous; unappreciated, or who can make them- THE BRIDE ELECT. 11 selves out so, perilous too 1 For she loves to atone, and is prone to pity; and when we learn to pity how soon we learn to love. And, therefore, all disappointed authors, pale, long-haired, thread-bare poets, aye ! even necessitous music, singing, drawing, and even dancing masters ! — all servants of the Muses, alas ! in the shabby livery of the Nine. All are dangerous to you, who wish to keep for some good and suita- ble aspirant the fond affections of your daughters. But more dangerous than all — more dangerous than haughty guardsman, eloquent curate, daring and scarlet-coated hunter on his glistening thorough- bred, or triumphant or disappointed genius — more dangerous than one or all is ' the man of unmeaning attentions.' He may be found in the person of any one of the detrimentals named above, or he may have nothing in common with them ; he may be neither soldier, curate, sportsman, or poet ; but, inasmuch as he is 12 THE BRIDE ELECT. some * ami de la mahon ' intimate even ■with the daughters of the house, some pleasing, elegant idler, ever ready with fascinating flatteries, and unmeaning atten- tions. He is of all the dangerous members of the unfair sex the most to be dreaded and avoided. Think then, oh, ye mothers! whether such an one has crept into your homes, if he has, ye daughters seek him in your hearts ; for ye will find him there ! THE BPwIDE ELECT. 13 CHAPTER IIL THE AS-HTONS. Mrs. Ashton was a wicjow, the widow of a general-officer. She had had a fortune, much of which was spent, and the remnant entailed on a nephew in India, and she had possessed great beauty, which was in- herited by her daughters. Of these there were three, all very pretty in different styles — a fortunate thing for them, since nothing produces so little effect as a family of handsome girls all 14 THE BEIDE ELECT. singularly alike, particularly if, to add to the monotony of the " Family picture,'' they insist on being all similarly attired. Little children of a family look very in- teresting, all dressed alike, even to a sash or a shoe ; but it is a great mistake for young women, and of course all must rank as young women who are (degrading thought) in the matrimonial market! I believe that whole families of fine girls dwindle into maiden ladies, merely because Nature having made them much alike, Art was summoned to make them still more so. And I have heard of many who per- severe in this custom, and lend to the autumn, and the ' winter of their dis- content' the conformity of colour and costume, which marred the spring and summer of their charms. It is woman's duty, as woman, to man as man, by the tasteful variations of colour, material, and fashion in dress, to animate and embellish places of public resort. Man in the hideous costume of the nineteenth THE BRIDE ELECT. 15 century can do little to help her, and even in his a registered tile, and his light paletot " is only a dull background to the picture. However, Mrs. Ashton's daughters had not the bad taste we complain of. Both their mother and themselves had excellent taste in dress ; and suitably attired, Pene- lope, the brunette ; Blanche, the pretty blonde; and Isabel, the auburn beauty con- trasted without eclipsing each other, and never produced individually more effect than when looked at collectively. Had they all had long dark, or long light ringlets, long black or blue eyes — long Roman or short German noses — and all appeared in pink flounces — blue tunics — or white robes —how different would the effect have been ! Man loathes repetition and monotony — if he sown gets tired of one pretty face and form, what must he do of the number of copies, or rather similar originals, though by the same great Mas- ter. 16 THE BRIDE ELECT. Mrs. Ashton lived at Kensington ; she had a pretty little villa called Ashton Lodge ! With three clever and accom- plished daughters, weli connected, well introduced, and with an income sufficient for all the comforts and some of the elegancies of life, Mrs. Ashton and her daughters lived happily together. Happily enough, as the world goes ; though anxiety for the future, (at least, in the mother's heart) often threw a gloom over the present. It was all very well now. With her pension as the widow of a general, and the income of the fortune settled on her nephew ; but when she died, and Herbert inherited all that remained of her once line property — Oh ! but such pretty girls were sure to marry well — if not. Alas ! she had her fears — but Hope was heir prophet, for they were very young ; of course, in such a family as Mrs. Ashton's, with so many pretty smiling faces to attract, and no stern father or proud brother to repel THE BRIDE ELECT. 17 or enquire, men of 'unmeaning attentions' would abound. At the time we speak of, there were three of that detrimental race, almost domesticated at Ashton Lodge, and the only check upon their frivolous and in- jurious intimacy was found in the person of a bachelor uncle, Mr. Percy Ash* on. He, looking upon his sister-in-law as a weak old fool, and his nieces as romantic young ones, did sometimes take them all seriously to task for the encouragement they gave to idlers, who, little as they had to offer, did not even pay them the com- pliment of offering that little. The old man of the world, for such he was, once a courtier and a coxcomb of the last century had a keen and deep insight into mankind and womankind too. He was, when he chose it, very polished, for he had passed his life at Court, and now blase and jaded in spirit, and much shattered in body, he enjoyed a handsom e 18 THE BRIDE ELECT. income and a good pension, as much as he could enjoy anything. Courtly as he was in society, he could be very rude and cutting with his relations ; and yet, the solitary affection of his some- what stoical heart, was for the orphan family of his brother. Bitter, sarcastic, and very irascible ; sus- picious by nature, and incredulous by ex- perience, he was a sad bug-bear to Mrs. Ashton — for he did not extend to her the affectionate interest he did feel in his brothers children. He thought her a great fool and a wretched manager. He had seen his brother obliged to give up his country house and town mansion, and retire to Ashton Lodge to die ; and though the greater part of the fortune, on which he had once lived in style, had been Mrs. Ashton' s, he felt no pity for her. " Serve her right," he would say. " It is a woman's place to see that the ex- THE BRIDE ELECT. 19 penditure of a family never exceeds, nor even reaches its incomings. If a man, who is neither a gambler, a speculator, a brute, nor a roue, outruns the constable, it must be his wife's fault. It is her duty to keep the accounts — ' to suckle fools, and chronicle small beer/ Let her see that she have neither too many fools to suckle, nor too much small beer to chronicle. A man, as I said before, who is neither a gambler, a roue, nor a brute, is always open to a wife's gentle but earnest representations on such matters. My poor brother was a fool ; but he was no brute. When he pro- posed to build Ashton Hall, if she had dis- suaded him, he would have desisted. True, she brought the fortune ; but she brought four children too! and, therefore, she should have husbanded the fortune she brought. And now, instead of good for- tunes, the girls haven't a penny — and instead of encouraging none but marrying men, the house is full of detrimentals, and 20 THE BPJDE ELECT. the girls spoiled by unmeaning attentions. Oh ! Mrs. Ashton is a total fool I" This opinion, Mr. Percy Ashton took no pains to conceal from his sister-in-law, who always did all she could to conciliate his favour and win his approbation — a process with such a man as Percy Ashton very much like that of stroking a hedge-hog. The girls, on the contrary, laughed at his sarcasms, disputed his philosophy, scouted his experience, and disbelieved his prophecies, and had him in much better order than their nervous and conciliating mamma. Mr. Percy Ashton was a small man, very erect, and with a head so bald that his very large organs of self-esteem and combativeness stood out in alarming relief. He was a very fair man naturally, and the few hairs Time had not thought it worth his while to steal, were, like his eye-brows and eye-lashes, snowy white ; his eyes were of the lightest blue, and of a keen THE BRIDE ELECT. 21 phosphoric brightness ; his teeth beautifully white, and even his hands soft, fair, and taper as the most delicate lady's, and kept with a nicety almost feminine in its pre- cision; for unless the half moon of each pink and filbert nail was clearly defined old Percy A shton was in a perfect fidget. In his dress he was as particular as in his person ; no speck of dust or mud was ever seen on his black dress-coat of super- fine cloth, his pantaloons, (for he scorned trousers, or his glistening shoes.) His linen seemed as if it had been got up by the fairies ; so fine, so white, so clear ! and the plaits of his frilled-shirt and small ruffles so even and minute. He was very proud of a fine leg, and a small and beautiful foot, and with the singular whiteness of his face and hands ; his snowy linen, and exquisite neatness and cleanliness ; his brilliant brooch and ring, and his very courtly and aristocratic bearing, no one could pass him un- 22 THE BRIDE ELECT. noticed, or fail to regret that so very few specimens remain of the London Gentle- man of the Old School ! As to his life, and his whereabouts, no one knew much ; and, indeed, there was not much to be known. " 77 raid mieux, nerien fairs que defaire des riens /" said the active-minded, energetic Frenchman ; des riens, however, we fear, we must own it, engrossed the mind and time of Percy Ashton. His nominal home was his club — a fashionable Conservative Club in St. James's — in the bav- window of that club, or by one of its delightful fire-sides, Percy Ashton was to be found according to the season. He had apartments near his club ; he dressed to go to his club — dined at his club — received his friends at his club — wrote his letters at his club, and, we verily believe, would have wished to die in one of its arm-chairs, and be buried in its area. Thus Percy Ashton, by living at his club with only £1.000 a-year, enjoyed the state, THE BRIDE ELECT. 23 luxury, cooking, and attendance, to say nothing of the society and amusements of a man of £10,000 per annum. True it was a life of mere luxurious habits with no great pursuit, no lofty aim, no noble purpose. And how such a life might look on the tablets of the recording angel, we fear to ask, because we rather like Mr. Percy Ashton; but if indeed a good income lavished on self — Time, unem- ployed in any preparation for Eternity — a costly table in which the poor have no share — (nor, as far as we are concerned) — en- joy even the crumbs — a life of small talk, small objects; newspapers, whist, and ecarte — if these, indeed, are the items of the dread account ; and there are no good deeds to balance it on the other — then we do fear to ask how Percy Ashton, and thou- sands like him, will look when their clubs have crumbled away, and they stand houseless and appalled by the side of the poor brother they have not fed — the widow 24 THE BKIDE ELECT. they have not comforted, the orphan they have not succoured 1 But no such thoughts as these had as yet found their way into the bald head or withered heart of Mr. Percy Ashton. ltegular as clock-work he rose every day at nine ; every day the hair-dresser, who had dressed his hair when he had any, called to powder his head now he had none ? and to shave him so tha,t no lady's chin was smoother. His toilet then, with its minute and scrupulous nicety, occupied him till eleven, at which hour he breakfasted at his club ; and few things took him from that club except his visits to his sister-in-law at Kensington, or a prowl in the sun arm-in- arm, with some old crony, up and down St. James's Street. Mr. Percy Ashton's visits to Kensington were always paid in a hired cab — he kept no carriage — The waiters knew his tastes so well, that they always called the nicest, newest, and cleanest brougham on THE B1UDE ELECT. 25 the stand. He entered his cab at the club door, he left it at the gate of Ashton Lodge ; and thus of the squalor, the misery, the want, he might have met in a walk from St. James's to Kensington, he saw nothing. His health was bad — bad enough often to sour his temper ; but never bad enough to make him keep his bed, or give up his club even for a day. Chronic rheumatism, flying gout, and similar disorders pre- vented his ever being very well — but, to his misfortune, we own he was never very ill! And it is a misfortune to a man of the world never to be very ill — an illness which confines a man to his bed, and shuts out the world! Oh! how often has it saved a soul ! It was a lovely day in. June. The sun was shining brightly on the poorest huts, and very brightly it shone on the green trellis work, the porch, and verandas of Ashton Lodge. Early roses, honey-suckles VOL. i. c 26 THE BRIDE ELECT. clematis, the American creeper, with the dark relief of the glossy ivy, united to make a fragrant bower of this pretty villa. Mr. Tercy Ashton had been absent for some days, having had a little tiff with his sister-in-law and his nieces, about certain detrimentals he had found domes- ticated there. The exquisite beauty of the day, and the solitary affection of his heart, that for his brother's orphan girls, had induced him to order a cab, and call to see how matters were progressing. He was in an unusually good-humour ; for one of his noble club-mates, Lord Pompadour, to whom he looked up as to an oracle, had publicly declared, that at Lady Revel's ball of the night before, Miss Ashton was the undoubted belle. " That niece of yours, Ashton/' (had his worclly lordship said ) " ought to make a good match. I saw Addington the banker pay- ing her great attention. By George, that man 's a catch ! and the best of it is, he THE BRTDE ELECT. 27 doesn't know it ! A marrying man with- out suspecting it, ha ! ha ! ha ! However he'll soon find it out. You should have seen Lady Pry — what a dead set she made at him, for her scare-crows ; however, he scorned to see, hear, and understand anything but your handsome niece, Ashton. If she plays her cards w T ell, that man will propose. I'll take any odds that he does. Why, I should say Addington 's worth half a million — and a good old family too. Don't let that fop Brydges spoil the girl's market, Ashton — if she were my daughter, I'd kick that fellow down stairs." " Ah, so would I, my lord/' said Major Sneak, " I quite agree with you — Miss Ashton — is a deuced fine girl — and-'Adding- ton's over head and ears in love with her." u I always said she was the handsomest woman in London," said Colonel Codger, an asthmatic old veteran, " and I quite agree with Lord Pompadour ; indeed his lordship has such an eye for a pretty c 2 28 THE BRIDE ELECT. woman, that when I want something to admire, I follow his glance, and I am sure to be rewarded ; ha ! ha ! ha !" The colonel's laugh brought on an attack of his annual hay -asthma so alarming, that his summer friends dispersed. Lord Pompadour patting Percy Ashton on the shoulder, said — " Don't you let your niece lose Adding- ton — £ee to it, old boy ! Fou're a man of the world ; Addington's interest is worth something — we mustn't let him slip. Get him for jour niece, and let's make him one of us. I'll propose, and Sneak will second me I bound — he's a good card." THE BRIDE ELECT. 29 CHAPTER IV. THE OLD MAN OP THE WORLD. Mr. Percy Ashton who was dreaded, and yet always made a great deal of, by his sister-in-law — was really liked and almost loved by his pretty nieces. When they were children, he used often to delight them by bringing them the silver ticket of Lord Pompadour's private box at Covent Garden, then worth going to — or of the Duchess of D — — 's box at Drury Lane. He would cater among his SO THE BRIDE ELECT. club friends for admission to any novelty worth seeing. He would talk to them, as if they were little women, of the beauty they would possess — the hearts they would break — and the offers they would receive. All in the exaggerated style of the old school ; but alas ! for the rapid growth of personal vanity, and love of precedence, (in woman's heart) only too delightful to three lovely and petted little girls, Then, too, uncle Percy, with no children of his own — no establishment — no servants, but one valet on board wages — was so very generous. At the age when sixpence from papa or mamma seemed a little hoard of wealth, uncle Percy would slip a new sovereign into each little rosy palm — and latterly, a five, or even a ten-pound note was not an unfrequent addition to their very slender pin-money. All their prettiest trinkets were given by uncle Percy — not that he was given to shopping, or possessed much judgment in such matters ; but he had dealt all his life THE BRIDE ELECT. 31 at Storr and Mortimer's, and when he wanted some pretty bijou for his nieces he trusted to their taste, and he could not have done better. Since the Misses Ashton had grown up, and were all introduced, uncle Percy was far less familiar and affectionate in manner, but even more generous in his presents both of money and of ornaments. He was at heart much ashamed of the reduced style in which they lived, and very anxious to awaken in his nieces' bosoms a determination to marry well — well in his sense of the word. With their beauty, accomplishments, connections, and what is far more important, their introduc- tion — he felt certain, in his own mind, they might all make good matches, but his cue was, to affect to doubt ! And when he found both mother and daughters encouraging a set of idle hangers-on — men who neither meant anything, nor had anything — he began to have very serious misgivings about their prospects in life. 32 THE BRIDE ELECT. He was not too polite to remind Penelope* the eldest, that she had reached the age of two-and-twenty without an offer, and he took care to let Blanche and Isabel know that, in his opinion, they had not the ghost of a chance till Penelope was married. Well, on the morning in question, he sate, in (for him) a very tolerable humour in one of the most comfortable arm-chairs in Mrs. Ashton's pretty drawing-room. The girls were all looking as fresh and blooming as the China-roses that peeped in at the window. All were busied about him — they knew he liked them to be so — Penelope was em- broidering his initials on some handker- chiefs of the whitest and finest French cambric ; Blanche was netting him a card- purse of blue and silver, and Isabel was weaving him a watch-guard of her own bright, long, hair of golden auburn. Mrs. Ashton, in a nervous fidget as she always was, when uncle Percy called, was knitting him a comforter of scarlet wool, THE BRIDE ELECT. 33 a thing he would rather have been guillo- tined than have worn. u Very industrious ! upon my word, ladies," he said, u I should have thought Lady Revel's ball, and all the havoc cer- tain bright eyes did there, would have un- fitted them for such work this morning. Pray did you stay very late V " No, indeed, brother," said Mrs. Percy, anxious to conciliate. " I do not choose to make my girls too cheap. I remember you're saying, when first Pen • was intro- duced — always go late, and come away early ; and your maxims are so good, Percy, I always try to act upon them." " I wish you acted upon all of them, Mrs. Asliton. As a general rule — Go late, and come away early ; but there may be exceptions, and if, instead of dancing that odious mixture of a jig and a hug, the polka, with some impudent Detrimental, a girl were making any real impression on a marrying man — a mother would be a total fool to hurry her away !" c 5 34 THE BPJDE ELECT. " So, uncle, you are still so old-fashioned as to hate the polka." " Hate it ! I loathe it. I am ashamed of any lady who dances it." " And we are ashamed of you, uncle, for being such a Goth as to dislike it — It's the only dance worth dancing," said the pretty Blanche. u The men think so, I believe," said old Percy. " One can't expect men to object to hug up a pretty girl. At the last ball I went to, (a fancy ball,) a powdered beau, of George the Second's time, was polking with a pretty Swiss peasant with braided black hair, and a bunch of scarlet flowers in her bosom ; her black hair was powdered, too, before the end of the polka, and on his white satin waistcoat, em- broidered with gold, the print of her scar- let flowers was taken as by transfer. I leave you to judge what sort of a dance that must have been. How the lady's and gentleman's heads must have come together, and how close must have been the contact THE BRIDE ELECT. 35 to leave on his breast the print of the flowers in hers ! Oh, it's odious ! it's de- grading — it's indecent even ! and worse still, it's vulgar — ugly, inelegant ! A girl never looks so awkward — never seems so little — as when she's being jogged along in this hideous innovation on all our national feelings — I will not say prejudices. In England, too, it's so badly done — such a clumsy exaggeration, such a caricature ! Oh, I've no patience with it. It has been remarked that since the polka came into fashion matrimony has gone out ! Spin- sters are alarmingly on the increase, and I don't wonder at it. As the cleverest woman I know said to me at that same ball : ' The girls of the present day begin, where we used leave off!' id. est., with an embrace. The severest thing that has been said yet." " Well," said Isabel, " I quite agree with uncle Percy, and that is the reason I never will dance the polka." 36 THE BRIDE ELECT. " There spake a girl after my own heart," said, Percy Ashton — "what would my mother, the stateliest beauty of her day — whose exquisite grace in dancing the menuet de la cour, at a ball of Mane A ntoinettes, made her the rage in Paris, what would the proud soul say, to see her de- scendents jigging and jogging along in the close hug of some clumsy no-body. She who never deigned to figure with any but the noblest partners, and the most finished dancers! Pray, Pen, did you polk, as you call it, last night V " Yes, uncle V " And with all the upstarts in the room V " No, only with one excellent partner and perfect gentleman/' " Mr. Addington, niece P- " Mr. Addington, uncle ! and Penelope and all her sisters burst into a laugh — no, Mr. Addington does not polka/' " With whom then may I ask V 9 " With Mr. Bernard Brydges," said THE BRIDE ELECT. 37 Penelope, and the blush that rose at the name belied the assumed nonchalance of her manner." u Upon my soul, madam," exclaimed Mr. Percy Ashton, his white head and face be- coming crimson with wrath —one would think you and your daughters had fine fortunes to fall back upon — why none but a mad woman would have let her daughter polk with that frivolous, penniless, detrimental, when Ad- dington — a marrying man with half a million had honoured her by his notice." " Mr. Addington a marrying man V ex- claimed the girls, in chorus, laughing mer- rily at the idea ! Why he is forty-five at least — a confirmed old bachelor. La! uncle, he's a great deal too old to marry." " He's too old toremaia single. At least I hope Pen will be able tc persuade him so." Pen shook her pretty head. '• Indeed, brother," said Mrs. Ashton, u Mr. Addington did not at all seem to dis- approve of the polka. lie joined our 38 THE BRIDE ELECT. party at first, and remained with us all the evening ; and when gentlemen begged the girls to dance, he urged it too, and said when Pen was polking, that, though he did not like the dance in a general way, yet in the manner in which she and Mr. Bernard Brydges danced it, it was really beautiful, and quite a treat to look at them." " And you were taken in by that, Mrs. Ashton. Why that was just what a jealous man, too proud to shew his jealousy, would say." Oh! I hope not," said Mrs. Ashton, " if I thought— " " Mamma," exclaimed Penelope, u it's all nonsense. Mr. Addington is no more a marrying man than uncle Percy himself, and—" u Kay, my fair niece, I am much more of the school of your favourite, Bernard Brydges, at least, I was — and therefore, on the principle of the vulgar old maxim : * Set a thief to catch a thief.' I'm up to THE BRIDE ELECT. 39 all his manoeuvres. I was once what he is now — c a man of unmeaning attentions ; and I do believe that a dozen — aye, two or three dozen — fine girls once — now hope- less old maids, owe their confirmed spinster- hood to me." " Oh, uncle. You ought to portion your income between them, and retire into La Trappe yourself." " I am employed more to my taste, Miss Pen, in exposing and defeating the manoeu- vres I used to glory in. There was a whole club of us — it was called the * Gay Bachelors ;' and our pride and glory was, by glances — sighs — bouquets — small talk — notes — morning calls — evening attend- ance — and any thing not actually action- able, to lead damsels on through the flowery meads of flirtation ; and when they thought to reach the promised land of matrimony, sidle off to some other novice, and play the same game over again — leaving each successive victim in that slough of despond confirmed, spinsterhood." 40 THE BltlDE ELECT. " Oh, uncle, I wonder you are not ashamed of such a cruel sport. I should blush to own it." " Well, T leave blushes to you, niece ; but I am ashamed of what was once my glory ; and I only allude to, and expose the system now, to put you on your guard. Bernard Brydges, Trevor Templeton, and Captain Beresford, are all, except that they have not the same advantages of person and position, just what I was/' '*'• What are they V " Men of ' unmeaning attentions/ It is true, there is not so much danger in fellows like them, without a good leg, or a tolerable foot between them to stand upon — with nothing — to offer worth accepting — without money, and without manner. Men who cannot turn a compliment — dance a menuet or a gavote — make a bow — or write a letter worth reading — but still they are in these degenerate days — the detri- mentals we were in more glorious times — xhey mean nothing." THE BRIDE ELECT. 4L " Indeed, brother," said Mrs. Ashton, " of course I do not mean to say Penelope would accept Bernard Brydges ; but I am quite certain he means something." " Are you, madam ; pray has he said anything — written anything ;" "No; but then— "Pshaw! if a man says nothing, and writes nothing, be quite sure he means nothing." " Oh ; but you should see his looks." " Ha ! ha ! ha ! You should have seen mine forty years ago." " Mamma," said Penelope, u pray do not go on with this subject — it is very dis- agreeable to me ; and as for uncle Percy, if he wishes to retain the affection and respect we all feel for him, he will not per- severe in making himself out so heartless and odious a character, nor attribute to Bernard Brydges, feelings and objects, he would, I know, despise and detest. It is true that his means are very small ; but I 42 THE BRIDE ELLCT. am certain he is a most generous and noble- hearted creature." " And as for Trevor Templeton," said Blanche, blushing till her snow-drop com- plexion was of the deepest rose all over, " I am certain he would cut any man capable of behaving in the way you describe. So take care, uncle Percy, or he will cut you. " If he would but include you in the cut, I should receive it as a favour." " Oh ! indeed, brother," said Mrs. Ashton. Trevor Templeton is almost certain of the living of Bichlands, and nothing can be more constant and re- markable than his devotion." " To himself?" sneered Mr. Percy Ashton ; u pray let me ask has he made any kind of proposal." " No, not exactly ; but — " Has he alluded to any wish to form an engagement of any kind ?" " No ; but no one can mistake his looks — his manner." THE BRIDE ELECT. 43 " No one in his senses can, I tell you, Mrs. Ashton ; they are the looks and manners of a man who means nothing ; now, with regard to Captain Beresford — " u Oh, as to him/' said Isabel, haughtily, " he neither means nor pretends to mean anything, uncle, and if he did, I am not sure it would be to any purpose." * Ah ! if he is aware of that, he may propose. The others are about as likely to offer their frivolous selves as I am to pro- pose to Miss Pry ; but where dues that fine bouquet, and that pink, glazed, scented billet doux come from?" he exclaimed, as the page brought in a splendid nosegay, and a note. "That's from some detri- mental — no man who means anything writes on pink paper." " Oh ! what exquisite flowers," exclaimed the ladies. "That's Bernard Brydges hand," said Isabel. " Oh ! that it is," cried Blanche. Penelope said nothing ; but she trembled, 44 THE BRIDE ELECT. and coloured as she took the note, which, by a sort of common consent, was handed to her, and directed to " The ladies of Ashton Lodge." To so importnnt a document, we must devote another another chapter. THE BRIEF. ELECT. 45 CHAPTER V. THE PROPOSAL. Mr. Percy Ashton fixed his glasses on his nose, and being verv curious — as idle people generally are — he drew near the group, to listen to the contents of the little pink billet. " Read it, Isabel," said Penelope, (per- haps a little disappointed that it was not addressed exclusively to herself — and per- haps fearing her trembling voice might betray the agitation of her heart. 46 THE BRIDE ELECT. " What a pretty seal," said Isabel. " Two willows on opposite banks ; and the motto, le destin nous separe — le penchant nous unit" "Ah! just the sort of motto those fellows always choose — I could furnish him with a hundred. However, I am glad he owns that destiny does separate him from you, Pen." " Pray, uncle, choose some other object for your jokes." " Don't tease her, Percy," said Mrs. Ashton ; " but let us hear what he says. Isabel, read." Will the fair ladies of Ashton Lodge allow poor Bernard Brydges to present him- self before them at seven o'clock this even- ing, an humble petitioner for a cup of tea. His old school-fellow, Lord Amelius Sedley, has given him a box at the Haymarket to see the new play — a very tolerable affair, a 'ce qu'on dit — at least with a pleasant THE BRIDE ELECT. 47 party, but intolerable to poor Bernard Brydges if he is to sit it out by himself. Bernard Brydges will present himself at the hospitable gates of Ash ton Lodge, at half past six precisely ; for once his fair friends must dine early — Plebeian soul ! the ladies exclaim, but the first act is the gem and the overture fait furenr. Ber- nard Brydges has been into the country betimes, to collect a few flowers, which he humbly offers to his fair friends. They will find the bouquet, though united as it is forms four separate nosegays. Each lady will recognise her peculiar favourites of the floral tribe, and he trusts honor him by appropriating and wearing them this evening!" Street, Hyde Park. " How very gallant," said Mrs. Ashton. " He really is a charming young man." " Let me divide the bouquets," said Blanche. a This is raammi's — Here are 48 THE BRIDE ELECT. her favourites, double violets, lilies of the val- ley — and heliotrope. Here are my favour- ites — scarlet geranium, Cape jasmin and verbena. Here the maiden's blush,the blue- bell, a bunch of immortelles, and a sprig of bay for Isabel — that is figurative of her poetical pursuits and propensities — and for Tenelope — Here is the moss-rose, the pas- sion flower, the forget-me-not, myrtle, a little bit of love lies-bleeding, and a small branch of cypress. There, uncle, can }'ou read the language of flowers — their natural language I mean — their mother tongue, and not see a declaration in that bou- quet!" " I'll tell you what I see in it, Miss Blanche." " What, uncle?" " Humbug — fudge — a wish to deceive Tenelope without committing himself. Why what woman can bring a bunch of old flowers into court as evidence in a case of ' Breach of Fromise ? your Sergeant Buzfuz THE BRIDE ELECT. 49 himself could make nothing out of them, though ' Chops and tomata sauce' gained his cause. But whose groom is that, at the gate, on that beautiful horse/' " I don't know," said Mrs. Ashton. " Nor I." " Nor I." - Nor I* " Then I can tell you ; that groom and that horse belong to a man worth half a million — to Mr. Addington!" " The banker!" * Yes, ma'ara, the banker — a very fine man, of good family — good person, and who might be a peer to-morrow if he chose." " Well never mind him," said Penelope. " Bernard Brydges' tiger is waiting. Who will write 1 — you Blanche \ or you Isabel V " No, you Pen." " Just say the ladies of Ashton Lodge expect Mr. Bernard Brydges at half past vol. i» D 50 THE BRTDE ELECT. six, and will have tea on the table," said the Mama. " The more fools they," muttered Mr. Percy Ashton. " And thank him for the flowers, Pen." As if Pen, would have forgotten that ! but she said, " Oh ! yes if you like," and went into the next room to write her note just as the page brought in a letter — a large letter — not pink, not glazed, not scented. It was written on thick paper, gilt edged — sealed with a large seal, on which .the letters (g.a.) were intertwined — and directed in a manly, legible, but rather mercantile hand — Mks. Ashton, Ashton Lodge, (g.a.) Kensington. " The groom will wait for an answer, ma'am," said the page. THE BRIDE ELECT. 51 " Very well," said Mrs. Ashton, trying to take the letter with an air of uncon- cern, but her mother heart standing still and her matron cheek by turns pale and red. Mr. Percy Ashton got up and walked about the room, his white head and face were suffused — and over his glasses his eyes shot phosphoric rays of impatience at Mrs. Ashton. It soon appeared that the large letter enclosed a smaller one, which Mr. Percy Ashton detected was to his niece — Miss Ashton. " What news, sister V he said at length, seeing that Mrs. Ashton had read in silence the letter to herself, and kept that to her daughter in her hand. " Wonderful !" said Mrs. Ashton, burst- ing into tears. " Pshaw — folly ! What is wonderful 1 Is it wonderfully good or wonderfully bad news?" D 2 52 THE BEIDE ELECT. u ! brother," said Mrs. Ashton, hold- ing out her letter, " Mr. Addington asks nry permission to propose to Penelope V " Well what do you keep the man wait- ing for?'' said old Percy Ashton, pushing Mrs. Ashton's desk towards her. " Oh ! but I must consult Penelope first, and here is a letter to her, which she must answer." " Consult ! Why you're all mad, stark staring mad — consult whether a girl with- out a. sou — (with two younger sisters,) who has been out from sixteen to two-and-twenty without an offer — will accept a man like Addington with half a million — a man who could be made a peer, to-morrow — a man — " '•Ah! but, dear brother, though T am sure I am more surprised and delighted than I ever was in my life — even I do not think him quite the sort of man to win the heart of a girl like Penelope." " And pray why not, madam ?" said ol & THE BRIDE ELECT. 53 Percy, grinding his teeth, and his phos- phoric eyes almost igniting Mrs. Ashton's gold coloured cap ribbons. " Why, he's a plain man — a middle-aged — a mercantile-looking man, and so much older than she is." a He's in his very prime ; none but a fool marries before forty. He's a very fine man — in reality a better looking man than the puppies you pet and court. Adding- ton has a very good leg — Ay ! I remarked it at the Lord Mayor's dinner ! — But non- sense, call Penelope — give her his letter, and appoint this evening for the man to come, propose, and be accepted — Pene- lope, come hither/' " I cannot come till I have finished, and despatched this note." " That note, fudge ! Come directly, Penelope," said her uncle. " It is some- thing very particular." " So is this, uncle dear !" And Penelope, having finished a note in which we fear 'the maiden's heart was legible, 54 THE BRIDE ELECT. privately despatched by Bernard Brydges 7 tiger, a beautiful plant, she had reared for him, and tied to which was a card in- scribed — " From the ladies of Ashton Lodge I" but written in her well-known hand ; and then she ran upstairs to try to wash away her flush, and still her beating heart ; and, before, she came down, Mr. Percy Ashton had read Mr. Addington's letter to Mrs. Ashton aloud. The letter was dated, not from Mr. Ad- dington's town residence Russel, Square, but from his banking-house in Lombard Street. " Wednesday, May 22nd. 1845, " 201 Lombard Street. " Dear madam, " May I request your permission to pay my addresses to your eldest daugh- ter — to whom, I fancy, you must be aware I have been long and ardently attached. THE BRIDE ELECT. 39 u While begging you to oblige me by placing the enclosed in her hands, I must avail myself of the opportunity of request- ing you to use your influence in my behalf ; I feel convinced that a young lady so care- fully educated, and so discreet as Miss Ashton, will not trust her own unaided judgment in so important a matter ; but will take counsel of your experience, and acknowledged good sense. With regard to settlements, I hope to meet your highest expectations, and to satisfy my good friend, Mr. Percy Ashton — a gentleman I highly esteem — With best respects to him, and I hope I may say, my future sisters, I re- main, " Dear madam, " Your obedient, humble servant u George Addington. " To Mrs. Ashtox. " P. S. — I need not add an early answer will oblige." 56 THE BRIDE ELECT. " There," said Mr. Percy Ashton, " there is a straightforward proposal, from a straightforward man. I dare say the only one you have ever seen, or ever will see — Ah! here comes the Bride-Elect — Come, Penelope, come ? I shall live to be proud of you yet I" Poor Penelope! there was no pride, no joy, no triumph in her beautiful face as Mr. Percy Ashton read aloud to her the letter to her mamma, and begged her to peruse that to herself. She turned very, very pale, and large tears slowly gathered in her eyes. " Do you read it, mamma," she said, handing her letter to her mother. " Were there ever such a set of born fools V muttered Mr. Percy Ashton. Mrs. Ashton read : " My dear madam, " From the exclusive atten- tions I have had the pleasure and the honour of paying you (whenever we have THE BRIDE ELECT. 57 met in society) for some years past, I think you must have been led to anticipate the step I am about to take, and which I could not have delayed so long; but that the pressure of business, and the difficulty of finding a suitable partner to supply the place of defunct Mr. Tocld, made it im- possible forme to enter on the pleasing but too engrossing duties of courtship. Now that Mr. Time well is become an active partner in the firm, I have a little more lei- sure, and the recovery of our head clerk, Mr. John Dot, will enable me to pay my devoirs where they have long been due. I hope I am not taking too much upon trust, in believing that you have, by your gracious condescension, and kind accep- tance of my attentions in public, under- stood, and not discouraged, the hopes on which my happiness depends. Yours, my dear madam, if you deign to entrust it to me, shall be the study of my life. I have taken Oak Park, in order that in ray long and inevitable absences on business, you D 5 58 THE BRIDE ELECT. may be able freely to enjoy the society of your excellent mother, your charming sisters, and your worthy uncle, Mr. Percy Ashton. Whatever I can do to prove the depth and sincerity of my attachment, that I shall be most proud to do. I have loved you ever since I saw you at your first ball, and since that time you only have seemed fair in my eyes ! Therefore, I venture to beg that you will meet me with a spirit open and confiding as that in which I address you, and shorten, as much as may be, by a favourable verdict, the anxiety and suspense of, dear madam, " Your devoted admirer, and mcst a Humble servant, " George Addington. a Miss Ashton." " There's a noble fellow for you !" said Mr. Percy Ashton, rubbing his white hands. My dearest child, let me wish you joy ! THE BRIDE ELECT. 59 " Oh, sister," cried Blanche, " what a rage aunt Wylie will be in V " And to think," said Isabel, " of his taking that splendid place, Oak Park. To think you will be mistress, and we be all at home — where we have never been but to pay a stiff morning visit, and hardly ever been admitted !" " Yes !" said Mr. Percy Ashton, " and to think of a man taking a noble place like that, that his wife may be near her mother and sisters. Generally the thing the mean, grudging husbands of the present day so try avoid ! — and not without some reason ; for half the impertinences and exactions of wives are prompted by their mothers, and half their romantic absurdities and extra- vagant vanities are suggested by sisters — that a sensible man should be anxious his wife should see a good deal of an uncle, like me, I can understand." A faint smile stole over even Penelope's pale lips. 60 THE BKIDE ELECT. " Well/' said old Percy Ashton, " all this time Addington's groom is waiting, and he begs Pen not to keep him in suspense." " Suspense !" exclaimed Penelope, with scorn, " he owns he has delayed for years on account of a dead partner and a sub clerk — I don't think a few hours will hurt him, who has himself postponed proposing for a few years." " No ! but they may hurt you." " How so uncle ?" " Why, when a girl has such a capital offer as this — an offer an Earl's daughter might envy her, the sooner she's en- gaged—aye ! and married, too, the better — delays are dangerous." " I wish they may prove fatal," mur- mured Penelope. " Well," said old Percy Ashton, " I pre- sume you do not mean to keep the groom waiting all day. Sister, you have some sense (It was the first time he had ever said so) — write yourself to accept this noble THE BRIDE ELECT. 61 offer for Penelope, and make her do the same for herself." " So, I am to have no voice in the matter V a Why, what voice can you have, except to echo your mother's and mine. When my sisters were young women, if a gentle- man proposed they meekly enquired what they were to say, and if it was a good offer, a modest yes ! was all any man could get from their lips ; and with a low curtesy on one side, and a low bow on the other, the parties were affi ; need; but now the lady's malapert tongue and pedantic pen come into play, and between them half the matches, that might come off, are first put off, and then broken off too. I've no patience with you — why you ought all to be jumping for joy, and here you all look as if you were going to be hanged ! Pene- lope, I have always loved you, of all my brother's dear children you have been the dearest to my heart — you may find some day that the selfish old bachelor could 62 THE BRIDE ELLCT. deny himself now and then not to leave you destitute — by this match you will be ensured a fortune, which makes any poor legacy of mine ridiculous except for the love that prompted it ; but those two girls they may want it. When your mother dies, if they are not married, they are beggars. If you marry Addington, you may introduce them into a set of rich mercantile marrying men, and you your- self will secure every thing a woman ought to covet, and the power of adding to your mother's comforts, and of advancing your sisters' interests. I say nothing of myself. My time is short — my wishes matter little; but if anything could gild the evening of my life, and make its setting sun brighter than that of its noon-day has ever been, it would be such an alliance as this for my poor brother's orphan girl !" " Uncle," said Penelope, " I am not ignorant of the great advantages Mr. Ad- dington offers — I am not unmindful of my mother's wishes (none the less lively for THE BRIDE ELECT. 63 the silence for which I bless her) — I am not indifferent to my sister's advancement ; and your ambition, dear, kind, generous uncle, has its weight with me ; but you must not forget that this offer — one, I own, of unmitigated splendour — to all else, is not without its drawbacks to me. For myself, I do not care for wealth, I do not court precedence — I had rather share the humblest cottage with a man I love, than Oak Park, aye, or Buckingham Palace with — with — Mr. Addington. Still I do not wish to be a burden on my mother. I think it very probable I may accept Mr. Addington's offer; but if the cottage I speak of is offered to me instead, do not blame me, uncle — do not blame, dear ones ! if I consider my own happiness a little, par- ticularly if I shall release you of the burden I have so long been, and help, though in a very humble way, to lighten my mother's load, and advance my sisters prospects." " And pray what is to be done with the 64 THE BRIDE ELECT. generous Addington, and his noble offer, while you are awaiting this pitiful but yet unattainable permission to live in a hovel T " Be not so bitter, uncle ! If by the day after to-morrow, the permission you speak of, is not vouchsafed me, on the evening of the day after that, I will accept Mr. Addington. In the meantime, if my dear mother will let me write her a copy of what I wish her to say, she will find, not only that Mr. Addington will wait two days for my decision, but be anxious in proportion to the uncertainty and delay." " I will do what you like, my love/' said the mother. Penelope left the room to write the copy of what she wished sent by her mother. " If it is really to depend on that fop Bernard Brydges' proposing, the girl's as good as married — that's a fellow who means nothing, and never will mean any- thing, unless when over head and ears in THE BRIDE ELECT. Q5 debt, in order to get out of it, he marries some woman of fortune." "Let us hope so," said Mrs. Ashton ; " but own, brother, in spite of all your evil prophecies, the girls have no reason to despair, if they do but play their cards well." " I don't see that they have any cards to play." " No cards, brother ! why surely youth, beauty and accomplishments — " ' k Will never earn one trick in the rubber of life. I'll tell you what are good cards — Political influence — good fortuue — good sense — and that Queen of Trumps, a sen- sible mother ! but here comes Penelope — now what has the little diplomatist said." " Mamma dear," said Penelope, u take your pen, and write rapidly ; the man is in haste, and has waited a long time." Mrs. Ashton sat down to her desk. Mr. Percy Ashton cast up his eye. Penelope dictated. 66 THE BRIDE ELECT. " My dear sir,/ " I beg to return you my best thanks for the generous and flattering proposal you have made my daughter. She is not insensible to the preference you have shown, and the honour you have done her ; but desires me to say, that in a matter of so much moment, she cannot decide hastily, and is, at present, too much surprised and agitated by your unexpected proposal, to be able to sound the depths of her own heart, or take counsel of her own judgment. She desires me to add, that you are quite mistaken in imagining she ever attributed to any thing but universal politeness and individual amiability, the attentions to which you allude, and which she assures me have not exceeded those of other gentlemen to her sisters and herself. She insists on two days reflection before giving a final answer. On Thursday, she will have the pleasure of writing to you. THE BRIDE ELECT. 67 So much for Miss Ashton. As far as I am concerned, } r ou have my warmest approba- tion and encouragement ; and my other daughters and Mr. Percy Ashton unite in best remembrances, and cordial wishes for the success of your suit. u I am, dear sir, u Your obliged friend and servant, "Ellinor Ashton." Mrs. Ashton wrote. Mr. Percy Ashton had scarcely patience to hear the letter to an end. He took up his new and glossy looking hat. " Good day to you Mrs. Ashton, good day to you all," he burst forth at last, u if that cursed piece of heartless diplomacy doesn't lose you the best match in London — and the only offer you've ever had — my name's not Percy Ashton ! You'll see me no more, at least unless you come to your 68 THE BRIDE ELECT. senses. If I'm wanted you'll find me at my club. Mrs. Ashton you're acting the part of a fool, ma'am — a total fool ; and as for you — you three romantic, ridiculous victims of unmeaning attentions, I shall live to see you not only old maids — but old maids in the union." " Uncle, let Peter call you a cab." " Not I— I'm suffocated here— I'll walk to the stand. Oh ! mad, mad, mad ! what a thing it is for the daughters, when the mother's a total fool." These last words were muttered, and Mrs. Ashton thought it best not to appear to hear them. THE BRIEF. ELECT. 69 CHAPTER VI. L HOMME AUX PHTITS SOINS. Bernard brydges, punctual to a minute, presented himself at the gates of Ashton Lodge, just as the French clock, on the drawing-room mantelpiece, struck the half hour. Bernard Bridges possessed all the minor virtues in perfection. Punctuality, polite- ness, neatness, order, cleanliness, et cetera paribus. He never failed to return anum- 70 THE BRIDE ELECT. brella. He never neglected to answer a note or a letter. He never used a wafer or an adhesive envelope, even in addressing an inferior. He never dined in muddy boots or frock coat, even where he was most intimate or among men. He never forgot to shave ; his hair, black, crisp and glossy, never exceeded or fell short of a certain graceful length. In small matters he was immaculate — no speck of dust ever lighted upon him — but the extreme care he took to avoid all minor and outward blemishes left him no thought whether upon his inward soul, there were no stains — Alas ! alas ! Sel- fishness, heartlessness, falsehood — though only where women were concerned — treachery towards hearts that trusted him. The mean ambition to excite affection that must be misplaced, and raise hopes that must end in despair, and the meaner am- bition still to close the career of a male coquette by a mariage de convenances. The THE BRIDE ELECT. 71 determination, indeed, some day — having jilted all he could have loved — to marry — id est — to swear to love, honour and cherish one he, perhaps, even loathed. All this was something like the black smoke and blacker grease of the interior workings of the complicated engine, which, outside, is so bright and fair to view. But Bernard Brydges never looked within, and, there- fore, of these foul blots and stains l The Immaculate' was, perhaps, not even aware. Never had he looked more handsome, elegant, and bewitching than on this im- portant evening. Never had his hair seemed so dark and glossy in its well ar- ranged profusion. Never had his eyes and coat appeared so black, or his teeth, his neckcloth, and his gloves, and his satin waistcoat so white ! His little foot was like a jet ornament, and his very urbane, cordial and pleasant manner seemed to Isabel and Blanche, who, at Penelope's request, were ready to 72 THE BRIDE ELECT. receive him before she appeared, more winning and charming than ever. •' Poor, poor Pen./' they both mentally ejaculated, " how different to Mr. Adding- ton," and oh! how blessings brighten as they take their leave. Penelope, who, poor girl, could not be- lieve that Bernard Bryclges would quietly resign her to another — had resolved, before she gave Mr. Addington a final answer, not only to indulge herself in the dangerous luxury of this evening at the play with Bernard, but she had resolved to keep to an engagement, of some stand- ing, to see a review in Hyde park, from the windows of his bachelor abode. She had arranged that Blanche and Isabel should tell him before she appeared, of the splendid offer she had received, and let him know too that Mr. Addington was still in suspense. On Bernard Brydges' behaviour under these trying circum- stances, and on the result of this evening THE BRIDE ELECT. 73 at the play, and the morning at the re- view, her answer to Mr. Addington was to depend. It was by no means fair to that open and honourable man ; so affectionate — indeed, so devoted, so generous, and so true ! The world's sympathy is generally enlisted on behalf of the reluctant bride with her reserves, her deception, and her concealed antipathy ; but the honest man, who gives his frank hand to receive in re- turn the ' itching palm ' of a woman who marries him for money; for after all that is the homely truth, that is a manage de con- venances in plain English — Such a man is, if undeserved misfortune make us interesting, fifty times more a hero than his Bride Elect is a heroine ! " No blessing can attend the part poor Penelope is playing," Isabel, who was all truth, has whispered to Blanche who was all love. " A double game only ensures double loss ! " ' Oh, what a tangled we web weave When once we venture to deceive.' VOL. I. E 74 THE BRIDE ELECT. lt But here comes Bernard; now let us see whether Pen's is love in a cottage, or indifference in a palace ; for really Oak Park is little less." u Poor Bernard Brydges has taught his fair friends punctuality," said the amiable visitor, taking a hand of each. " Tea and coffee actually made ; the toilet complete, no finishing touches wanting — Awful beauty has indeed put on all her arms. You must forgive me, almost a brother in intimacy and regard, if a little personal in my re- marks ; but I never saw either of you look so — nay ! I may say it, so bewitching — only excuse one little criticism ; that rose is a little too high on your forehead, Miss Isabel, and I think that turquoise bracelet not quite in your wonted good taste with your pink trimmings, belle Blanche. Again you must change fans ; the classic for Miss Isabel, the modern for Miss Blanche ; and, if I might suggest, there is a pin showing its saucy head in your sash, and bags, for- give me, are quite gone out." THE BRIDE ELECT. 63 " Oh, you hypercritical creature ! There now, shall we do V " Now you are indeed perfection." " Well, in return for your making us so, while Blanche gives you a cup of tea, I will tell you a piece of news — wonderful news !" " Good, or bad ? Don't upset me by any bad news — Fm \ery nervous to- day?" " I do not know whether you will think it good or bad." " Don't keep me in suspense. I can bear anything but suspense." " Well, then, Penelope has had a splendid offer." For a moment Bernard Brydges did not speak, and that he felt something of emo- tion is certain — for he turned very pale — rallying, however, directly, he forced a smile, and said — " And who is the happy man V u Mr. Addington !" said Isabel. E 2 76 THE BEIDE ELECT. " What, the millionaire f happy, happy man!" " What makes you conclude he is a happy man V asked Isabel, with a smile. " He must be a happy man/' said Ber- nard, " to be in a position to follow the dictates of his heart— to be able to offer to the woman he loves all that makes that love seem noble, generous, sincere. Oh! such a man is the happiest of his sex." " Nav ! but," said Isabel, " if a man offers his all, there can be no doubt of the truth and devotion of his love !" " I do not agree with you there, Miss Isabel. I think there is nothing more selfish than the poor man, who unfortunate enough to love and be beloved by some sweet girl whose charms are her dowry, and who, but for him, might secure the position all women really covet — though in the brief romance of youth and passion they lose sight of the very instincts of their nature ■ — No man, I say, is so utterly selfish as he THE BRIDE ELECT. 77 who would induce a girl, who might make some brilliant match, but for him, to share his poverty, and sink into a miserable, a vulgar, a monotonous seclusion !" " But," said Blanche, " ' Love in a cot- tage ' is not that. There is nothing vulgar in some sweet rustic home, in some romantic spot in Wales, or Switzerland — roses, clematis, and woodbine peeping in at the window — affection — music — books — poetry — painting — long, delightful walks — the neat and modest repast ! Oh, I think that, to a pair who really loved, such life would be Elysium." " Exactly, could love and summer last for ever." "But winter has its charms; the fire- side — the little sledge — the dear, delight- ful snow — the long evenings." " Ah, sweet Miss Blanche, these things do very well in books and dreams ; but, trust me, though a Swiss cottage, with its fragrant porch, and festooned by varied creepers- —close to London, or some fashion- 78 THE BRIDE ELECT. able watering-place, with good society, and plenty, a double coach house, and a con- servatory ; in short ' a cottage of gentility ? is pleasant enough for a ' honeymoon,' that is the only sort of cottage in which love — the love of a certain class — can condescend to dwell. It has been often tried, and is always a miserable failure. The love that would last through life, when properly supported and varied by society, elegant pleasures, change — travel — and all the accessaries of wealth — left to its own unaided resources, soon exhausts them. " Fancy a couple — of our own class we will say — The man acts a tolerable figure in society on two or three hundred a year; the lady is a fortune in herself ; but she has no money. They love — they marry. He enfringes a little on his small capital for the wedding tour — and to furnish a cottage, where they are to realize the Eden of the poets. Their expenses leave them just £200 a year. THE BRIDE ELECT. 79 '' They begin with her maid, a common servant, and a man. He cannot groom his horse himself; he cannot do without a man. They get a little pony-chaise, and he makes a great sacrifice to Love, and puts his mare in the chaise, and drives his pretty bride about the pretty country. They are in a new scene, far from old family associations and hereditary respecta- bilty. u After a few weeks, bills come pouring in. The brides-maid has been house- keeper — the husband, alarmed, adds up the bills. £200 a year, is £4 a week — they have been living at the rate of £10. " To pay his debts — (and his tradesmen will not wait) — he must already infringe still further on his capital. They take counsel together — not, alas ! sweet counsel, for such counsel is most bitter. '•'Lisette, with her long ringlets, and longer tongue — her trim waist, and neat hands — her £20 a year wages — and her 80 THE BRIDE ELECT. frightful waste and perquisites ; Lisette must go. The bride weeps — She cannot dress her own hair — she cannot wait on herself ; but she is a woman, and, there- fore, ready for sacrifice, and Lisette goes. This is not enough ; the groom, a little later, he must go — the mare must go. Summer is gone. The flowers are gone. Passion is gone ; reality and the maid of all work remain ! A wretched cook ; but their only one ! Cold mutton is a great disenchanter. The British plate they were so proud of, proves that ' all that's bright must fade/ " Winter closes in — the country is cold — coals are dear, and must be economised. Christmas, dull and rainy, comes — with 1 The compliments of season,' — in the shape of bills almost forgotten. His trousseau — some items of hers unpaid for. Then comes estrangement — mutual recrimina- tion — indifference — and, at last, perhaps, even hate. "The dreary, dreadful hate of those who THE BRIDE ELECT. 81 have loved not wisely, but too well ; but I have driven the roses from your cheeks, sweet friends. My sketch is too real — it is taken from life. Its heroine a relative of my own, who died of a broken heart. For, two years after they began to try the dangerous experiment of Love in a cottage, he was carried off to jail. Said I not well, sweet friends. The wealthy lover is a happy man; I only wish the story I have told you were written by some powerful pen, and put into the hands of every young pair about to entertain the same pleasing delusion." Bernard Bridges took out his delicate cambric handkerchief, with B.B., worked in the corner by some fair hands, and entert wined with forget-me-nots and pea- sees, richly embroidered ; and sighing, " My poor cousin, my poor Edith," he walked to the window. The girls exchanged a look that said — " Poor Penelope ! He will never offer her the cottage she wants." At that moment, dressed as woman E 5 82 THE BRIDE ELECT. dresses for the man she loves, and looking as she looks when the warmth of her heart lights up her eyes and her cheeks, Penelope entered the room. Mrs. Ashton followed immediately. Her greeting to Bernard Brydges was colder, and more constrained than usual. What mother who saw a male flirt stand- ing between her darling and a good hus- band, with eight thousand per annum, could be very cordial to that dreadful de- trimental. Bernard Brydges very quickly felt the change — and it re-acted on his manner to Penelope. A woman who loves can ill brook the slightest shade of change in the manner of him she loves. Poor Penelope, it required all her woman dignity and maiden pride, to draw back to her heart the tears ready to gush from her eyes — Bernard's half- playful, half- tender manner was changed for a sort of half- melancholy respect. He touched, bowing, as he did so, the THE BRIDE ELECT. 83 hand, cold even through her glove, which she extended. He placed her chair and footstool as for a queen ; but he did not hang over that chair, nor play full J kneel, (as of yore) on that footstool. Penelope read his heart, and her own dreary prospects in his averted eyes and reverential manner ; but the sole blossom on the plant she had sent him, was in his button-hole, and she felt that when she was not looking at him, his mournful gaze was rivetted on her. She did not know how anxious the man of unmeaning atten- tions always is to impress on the woman he will not marry, the mournful and tender devotion of his heart — thus embittering both her future, and that of the honest being, who does offer his all, (whatever that all may be !) There is nothing so distressing to a woman who really lores, as the slightest change of manner in the object of her affections ; but a change so palpable to her anxiety, (although so little remarkable to 84 THE BPJDE ELECT. a casual observer) particularly as she could trace it to such a cause as her supposed, expected, and even admitted, acceptance of another! This was, indeed, almost more than poor Penelope could bear and — smile. And yet she did feel it to her inmost heart— and like the Spartan of yore, who smiled while the fox gnawed his bosom — Penelope smiled, and even laughed a light and artificial laugh — but oh ! how hollow it sounded to her own ears and those of her mother and sisters. Tea and coffee over, Bernard Brydges reminded the ladies that the overture was worth hearing. Blanche exclaimed : rt I do not think the fly is come yet." " The fly I" said Mrs. Ashton. " Pray, Blanche, as even a fly is a carriage, do call it by its genuine, not its specific, name; a fly always seems to me a ruinous dis- grace — a woman never looks so little, so mean, as when she steps out of a fly." THE BRIDE ELECT. 85 " Well," said Isabel, * one is always rather ashamed of a fly ; and yet flys are really very clean and very respect- able. ■ " Then they are so slow," said Blanche ; " they protract ones shame and fortune so much." u Well," said Penelope, " I am not at all ashamed of a fly. I think a fly is very comfortable, very safe — and much better for people of small fortunes, than a car- riage of their own, which they cannot afford, and which bears them full speed along the road to ruin." "But flys are very dear," said Mrs. Ashton ; " if one goes out much, they are almost as dear without any of the style of one's own carriage. Well, my dear girls. It does not matter so much in the evening of life — flys are very safe, good things to bear an elderly lady, once a week, to play a rubber, or take her to church on a rainy day ; but let no girl of spirit begin life with the prospect of jogging along in 86 THE BRTDE EELCT. a fly ; one may come down to that, as I have done ; but as vulgar old Mrs, Bolde says, ' Marry to your carriage/ v " Well/' said Penelope, rt I would rather begin humbly. I think youth aud health ought to be independent of a carriage ; age requires indulgence, and dearer plea- sures; you may fall back on pomp and parade. Have you so great a dislike to a fly, Mr. Bernard Brydges V she asked, timidly. " I — I — I — own I do not like a fly — I hate all hired vehicles — for ladies especially — I do think a fly has a very mean, hum- ble, toady-like appearance among a set of gay equipages. I am always rather ashamed to see an elegant woman stepping out of a fly. Besides, I think them very dangerous." " Dangerous ! Oh, that's too absurd !' ; laughed the ladies. " I don't mean dangerous from the speed or spirit of the poor jaded old horse ; but I believe half the fevers, small- pox, THE BRIDE ELECT. 87 and measles people suffer from, are caught in flys — and when you consider that people are taken to hospitals in a fly, and that in- valids always go airings, as they are called, in a fly, you will think with me that they are very dangerous conveyances." " Well, at any rate, we must run the risk to-night," said Mrs. Ashton, " but I sincerely hope the time is not far distant when even / shall not have to pay a pound to look a nobody — if my girls some day have a carriage each, it will be a hard thing if one does not always find a plac: to spare for poor mamma I" "Oh/' cried Blanche, "how delightful to drive up in high style in an elegant car- riage, and bear away dear, beautiful mamma to Operj, Park, or Play/' " That would be a pleasure, indeed !" said Isabel. Penelope said nothing ; Bernard Brydges was humbly handing her her shawl instead of folding it over her, as he used to do. 88 THE BRIDE ELECT. " Here it comes, poor maligned old fly P said Blanche. Bernard Brydges insisted on going on the box ; he would not incommode the ladies — here was another change ! Fene- lope felt more incommoded as it was. Poor Bride Elect ! THE BRIDE ELECT. 89 CHAPTER VII. THE LADIES AND THEIR LOVERS. The Haymarket was already full, and very fashionably attended. The overture had just began as our party entered. Three such pretty, elegant girls could not appear in public, without exciting a good deal of attention and admiration. Nothing seems more to enhance and set beauty off than a private box ; the crimson background throws out the fair forms and light drapery — the round fair arm rests so gracefully on 90 THE BRIDE ELECT. the crimson cushion — Beauty looks at once exalted and secluded, and many an ap- prentice in the pit is slain by the unconsci- ous idols of the side boxes. Before long Trevor Templeton had shown his handsome smiling face, and that it was a welcome one might be read in Blanche's blue eyes, bright blushes, and happy excitement. A little later Captain Beresford, of the Guards — handsome, scornful, and a lion — took his seat behind Isabel, and began to ridicule the most affecting parts of a very touching scene ; he was the sort of man who ridicules every- thing. Bernard Brydges took his station in the back of the box, leant back, and appeared lost in melancholy reverie ; once or twice, when Tenelope turned her head, and asked him some trifling question, he affected to start, collect his senses, sigh, and then assume a gaiety he did not feel ; and more than once Penelope suddenly met a tearful gaze, rivetted on her, withdrawn the mo- THE BRTDE ELECT. 91 ment she met it, as if it had been a sin to look so now. Trevor Templeton had his pockets full of bon-bons, and, instead of attending to the beautiful play, which it had cost some poor genius so many weary days and sleep- less nights to perfect, he was parodying the miserable mottoes, and disturbing both Blanche, and all near him, until her un- heeded ; c for shame ' was echoed by those who were not afraid to add something verv like ' Turn him out P this quieted him for a time, and taking out his pocket-book and pencil, he began caricaturing the irrate inhabitants of the adjoining boxes. AYhile he is thus engaged, we will give our readers a little portrait of himself. He was a handsome, merry, amusing Oxford man, enjoying his long vacation as much as if Oxford life to a fast man was not all holiday. Good health, and good spirits, united to give him the reputation of a good heart and a good temper— how far he deserved that reputation this is not the place to re- 92 THE BRIDE ELECT. veal. Blanche, at any rate, thought him perfection, and he certainly loved Blanche as much as a fast man can love any woman. He was an orphan, and had been left so by both parents at a very early age — a hundred a-year was all he had inherited ; but his uncle, Sir Trevor Templeton, had brought him up, sent him to Eton and to Oxford, and allowed him, on his promise not to run in debt, four hundred a-year while at college, and in the event of his passing his examination without a pluck, the beautiful living of Richlands in his uncle's gift, and in the parish of which he was the Squire, was to be bestowed on the young Trevor. This living was at present held for Sir Trevor's nephew by a very good, pious, and learned young man — the Reverend Erasmus Mercy. His father and Sir Trevor had been at College together — that is, the old Erasmus had been a poor scholar when the rich baronet was a gentleman commoner. He THE BRIDE ELECT. 93 had been a great part of his life curate to old Doctor Drone, Rector of Richlands, and when the old Doctor died, which he did of apoplexy, the old Erasmus held the living for the future Rector ; but dying himself within the year of typhus fever, caught in attending a dying parishioner, Sir Trevor kindly allowed his son, who had been a year in the church with the sole care of a manufacturing parish and £80 a-year, to hold the living in his father's place. At the time of which we speak, he had held it some six years, and had laid by a very pretty little fortune out of its noble rent charge, besides devoting to the poor as large a proportion of the incomings as he would have done had he held the living for a permanency. His mother, a clerical widow of the old school, lived with him ; simple in her habits, and frugal in her expenditure as when the curate's wife, the mother of the temporary Rector of Richlands had still a large heart, and while boiled mutton sufficed 94 THE BRTDE ELECT. for her own simple taste, the finest poultry, the nicest jellies, and the choicest pud- dings, were sent from the Rectory into the cottages of the invalid poor. Mrs. Mercy had one vanity — Burke calls it " a sublime vauity " — it was centered in her son, the only child she had ever had — born when she was forty-seven ; for though she had been affianced at seventeen it was not till she was forty seven that her own father would consent to her marriage, or that Mr. Mercy could show that, in case he died, his widow would not be a beggar. Of course she little expected to be blest with a child, and the arrival of a fine boy, a-year after her marriage, was treated as a peculiar boon from Heaven to reward her long suffering, and entire constancy ; and, like the holy women of old, she received the blessing with a trembling joy, a fervent gratitude, and, in her heart, she dedicated him at once to the service of her God. And a more fitting object, for such a dedication — a more spotless Nazarite — was THE BRIDE ELECT. 95 never trained in pious seclusion for the ser- vice of the Temple. From early boyhood he was a quiet, thoughtful, contemplative child; he loved to muse, and wander alone — reading was his great delight, and he early evinced a wonderful power of acquiring and recreat- ing. His features were almost feminine in their delicate and regular beauty, his large hazel eyes had the upward look of those who love Heaven better than Earth ; his complexion was pale, or rather purely white, and his chesnut hair — naturally parting on his forehead, and falling in waving masses on his collar, gave him all the beauty and much of the inspiring charm of a young St. John. His father was an excellent man, and at once a first-rate scholar and divine. William Mercy was, therefore, not subjected to the frightful but, alas ! often necessary ordeal of a public school. He was not sent from a home where truth and purity, and 96 THE BRIDE ELECT. obedience and diligence, were cultivated and honoured as virtues — to see them de- fied and indicated as girlish weaknesses — no obscene words, or impure thoughts and images defiled the native modesty of the young William's mind. He had a brave spirit — brave to excess in a good cause — because no servile feeling had a place in his heart ; he was fearless because he was so true, so confident in the triumph of right, and there was so much fortitude and en- durance in his nature. As a child, the extreme delicacy of his features, his complexion, and his form often made his father anxious and his mother unhappy ; but as he grew up, pure air, ex- cellent training, a country life, and, better still, an approving conscience, and a happy though a quiet spirit, ensured him a good constitution— he grew tall, his chest ex- panded, his limbs became firm and power- ful, and though he never lost the delicate purity of complexion and outline, which misled many into an idea that he was THE BRTDE ELECT. 97 sickly and weak, he was in reality — at twenty — unusually, and to the delight of those who loved him, eminently strong and powerful. At seventeen years of age he obtained an open scholarship — thrown at once among reading men — brought up with a horror of debt, which to his pure and honest mind was what Richelieu says plain men call 'theft' — like Jordan which passes pure and untainted amid the corrupt and sullied waters around — so passed young William Mercy through all the temptations to sin and to squander, with which Oxford abounds. Not that to him they were temptations — a boy who has been reared to think it dishonest, to take from a tradesman what he is not certain of paying for, would as little dream of doing so as of carrying off his goods surreptitiously; and the boy who has been taught what sin is, will shrink from it with the fear and horror of a jail. Studious, and well-trained, William Mercy, VOL. i. F 98 THE BRIDE ELECT. without destroying bis health, gained the highest honours at Oxford. He became of course a fellow of his college, and at his father's death, held in his stead, the living of llichlands for young Trevor Templeton. Sir Trevor Templeton, his squire, uncle to Blanche's lover, loved and respected him. Sir Trevor was a kind-hearted, two- bottle, fox-hunting squire — very high church, as high church was before the Oriel heresy spread throughout the land ; but a surplice in the pulpit, candlesticks on the altar — the intoning of the service, and all the new fashions of a certain set — viz : the High Church dissenters — would have en- raged him as much and even more, than the introduction of a methodist preacher or even a Quaker, into the pulpit of the church in his own gift. Sir Trevor had a wife, and one daughter. His wife, very delicate, only escaped confirmed consumption by living in Italy. His daughter, whose hand, many supposed was to go with the living of Eichlands, THE BRIDE ELECT. 99 was. or at least, so vouns: Trevor described her to his fair friends at Ashton Lodge, a freckled, red-haired Tom-boy, with a cast in her eye. Her mother having been an invalid from the time of Gertrude's birth, she was left much to her father's training, and her own inclination. She grew up a sort of Die Vernon, or Grace Harkaway — fond of riding — hunting — fishing — every sort of manly sport en- chanted her. When she went to Italy with her mother, at the age of thirteen, she could read, but hardly write. She could not have hemmed a pocket-hand- kerchief any better than the stable-boy ; but she could ride any horse in her father's stable — hit any mark — and catch more trouts in an hour, than most men in two. Trevor, who always, as a boy, spent his vacations at his uncle's, hated and tormented her. She did not yield to ham, either in dislike, or the power to annoy. f 2 300 THE BRIDE ELECT. As a boy, Trevor was something of a tyrant — a fop — a boaster — and a bully. Gertrude delighted to make him look small — challenged him to matches, riding, shoot- ing, fishing — matches in which she often beat him. She laughed at his tight boots — hid his curling tongs — and betrayed his premature razor. She resisted his autho- rity, and would not let him bully even a groom. Trevor Templeton, greatly over- rating his own merits — his advantages, and his uncle's affection for him, and believing that uncle's heart entirely bent on his marrying Gertrude, because he had once laughingly said, he should like the old title and estate to go together at his death — Trevor Templeton, much as he liked and even loved Blanche, in his own selfish way, never, for a moment, contemplated marry- ing any woman but the cousin he de- tested. Of course he was cunning enough to keep this intention a profound secret from the Ashtons ; and he often made the girls THE BRIDE ELECT. 101 laugh, in spite of themselves, at the caricatures he made of his ugly Tom-boy cousin, and the sanctified William Mercy — whom he hated as an idle sensual fast- man always does hate a steady, learned, aud religious contemporary. Gertrude had always defended William Mercy from her cousin's attacks — partly, because Gertrude Templeton had a good heart, and always took the part of the absent, and partly, because she delighted to oppose her cousin in everything. Sir Trevor Templeton loved his delicate wife, and to his notion, his daugther was a fine promising girl — but he was a fox-hunter — an agriculturalist — a sports- man in every sense of the word; and he hated foreign parts — detested foreign living, and preferred a fog at home, to unclouded sunshine abroad. Still he spent three months every year with his wife and daughter ; and as he hated the Pope, was very anxious for the orthodoxy of Lady Templeton and Gertrude ; and some- 102 THE BEIDE ELECT. times feared William Mercy would go into a decline, he always insisted on his taking a vacation of three months, and spending it in Italy. This, he thought, would secure the pro- testantism of wife and child, even in the very stronghold of papacy, and lay in a stock of health for the young (pro-tempore) Rector of Eichlands, which might carry him safely through nine months of laborious devotion to his calling, and dangerous days and nights spent in the lone, little cottage- rooms of poor sufferers in every variety of contagious and inf ctious diseases. We have said that both his cousin Ger- trude, and the young and excellent William Mercy were the objects of Trevor's ridicule, both in conversation, by letter, and with his clever pencil. Mrs. Ashton and her daughters ex- claimed fie — for shame ! but they laughed ; and Trevor was the more encouraged be- cause they said that he made them laugh in spite of themselves. THE BRIDE ELECT. 103 They declared "it was too bad!" but they kept a very clever sketch, in which Trevor himself, as Rector of Richlands, was turning from a hideous, raw-boned, squint- ing, shock-headed, Tom-boy of a girl, and offeriug his hand to a graceful creature, with long light ringlets, and unmistakeably like Blanche. In the distance, the deposed Rector, William Mercy — thin to absurdity, and with long, lank hair, and upturned eyes — was holding out his lean arms to the rejected Tom-boy. It was a favourite joke of Trevor Tem- pi eton's to couple William Mercy and Ger- trude, and this, of course, helped to mislead the Ashtons ; and vet, in spite of all this, the 4 fast man ' had made up his mind to marry no one but his cousin, and but that he had no perseverance or self- denial, he would have lost no time in oust- ing the present Rector — so much did he covet the fat living and beautiful Rectory house of Richlands. 104 THE BRIDE ELECT. CHAPTER VIII. BERNARD BRYDGES. Bernard Brybges never once drew near Penelope, while Blanche was gaily smiling at and occasionally whispering with Trevor Terapleton ; and while Isabel was listening to Captain Beresford's rather envious criticisms of the successful tragedy, Pene- lope found herself, for the first time, isolated, neglected — isolated and neglected, though Bernard Brydges was within a few feet of her, and nothing to estrange him but his own determination not to approach her! THE BRIDE ELECT. 105 Now, if out of regard for her advance- ment in life, and what, to a worldly man would appear to be her real interests, he had manfully and frankly withdrawn all pretensions and attentions, he would have acted well — but no, no. The man of un- meaning attentions could not behave in a straightforward and generous manner, even in resigning the woman who loved him, and who would so much rather not have been resigned. Probably, his own interests had much more to do with his determination than hers could have ; but, at any rate, about the merit of withdraw- ing — there might be a question, about that — of trying to perpetuate an interest in a heart soon to be affianced to another, there could be none. But love throws the purple light of his roseate lamp over every point of view in which his votaries see the actions of the loved one. Penelope, pale, trembling and forcing back the tears that would fill her eyes, and trying to meet the glance he studiously P 5 106 THE BRIDE ELECT. but yet mournfully averted — Penelope still saw all that Bernard Brydges did in selfishness and vanity — Couleur de rose indeed ! Once or twice she heard a half stifled sigh — once or twice she all but met the mournful yet resigned gaze of those dark eyes, moistened with tears — and just at this moment, during the entre acte, Mrs. Ash ton exclaimed, " Oh ! Penelope, that gentleman in the pit with his opera glass levelled at our box — he is, yes I declare he is Mr. Ad- din gton/' Mr. Addington, like most old-fashioned people, thought a play was seen and heard best from the pit. Penelope shuddered ; yes, that bald, mercantile-looking head, with a little hook of sandy hair, slightly grizzled, on each temple — those grey eyes, peering through gold rimmed spectacles — that quiet, grave, respectable looking man who bows, rises, and leaves his seat in the pit to join therrj THE BRIBE ELECT. 107 in their private box — that is Mr. Adding- ton. In a minute or two there was a knock at the box door. Penelope cast an imploring look at Bernard Brydges to induce him to take the seat behind her. Bernard sighed, drew back, and made way for Mr. Adding- ton! Mrs. Ashton tried by the warmth of her welcome to atone for the coldness of Penelope's. Blanche and Isabel, remembering his generous intention of taking Oak Park, and their hopes of visiting him there, ex- pressed great delight at seeing him. By common consent he was installed in the seat behind Penelope, and her pale cheek, trembling voice, and shy manner did not displease one who had some old-fashioned notions about maiden modesty and female reserve. " What a quaint old mercantile bird," whispered Trevor Templeton to Blanche, " who is he?"' 108 THE BRIDE ELECT. "Mr. Addington — an aspirant of Pe- nelope's." " You don't say so — Why he's rich as Croesus ! What a match for her ! Curious, shy old bird, is'nt he ? I say, Blanche, do ye think if a fellow was hard up that old bird would do a little bit of billing for one. " I don't know what you mean," laughed Blanche, " but as my brother, that is to be, I'll have you treat him with all due respect." " Brother! the old Trojau ought to be an uncle." " Hush—" " What luck," whispered Captain Beres- ford to Isabel, " to get so close a view of such a character — I wanted just such a model for an old fellow in my new novel ? ' The Banker's Daughter.' A bit of life is worth anything to me just now. That's quite my beau ideal of a respectable man — that's my heroine's father to a t ; THE BRIDE ELECT. ]09 just look at the cut of his coat, look at his neckcloth, look at his white but banker- like hands. Oh ! he's rich, he's invaluable, he's so thoroughly respectable." " He is every way entitled to your re- spect, and — as — I tell you he will one day, I hope, be ray brother, I trust you will spare him the unenviable honour of figur- ing among those absurd caricatures you call sketches from life." %t Why you don't mean that Miss Ash- ton is going to sell herself to that old quiz. By Jove if she does I'll have her in too. Ah ! that gives me an idea, My respectable man shall fall in love. Come now I must see how he does it — I must study him." u It would be well for you if you did, and imitated him too/' laughed Isabel. M You fancy yourself exclusive, for one such man as Mr. Addington I will show you fifty like Captain Beresford." Captain Beresford bit his handsome lip, twirled his moustache, and turned from 110 THE BUTDE ELECT. Isabel to level his lorgnette at a fashionable beauty in an opposite box. Soon after, a gracious bow from the fair object of his scrutiny induced hira to leave the Ashtons and join the party of the rival beauty. There Isabel could see that his sarcasm, if not his wit, was making all the Revel family merry at the expense of Mr. Addington, and, perhaps, herself and her relations ; but Isabel, young as she was, knew charac- ter well — from instinct, not experience — ■ She knew that Lady Revel and Clara Revel, too, would readily accept as a suitor the very Mr. Addington they were so glad to hear ridiculed as an " aspirant " of Miss Ashton's. And in the affectionate courtesy of manner, which Lady Revel, (generally cold and distant) assumed towards Penelope, and in some degree towards all her party, Isabel saw the first dawn of that bright sun of po- pularity and adulation, which was to await the Bride-Elect of the reported millionaire. Isabel saw Lady Revel's practised eye wander THE BRIDE ELECT. ]11 from the diamond pin in Mr. Addington 's shirt-frill to the priceless ruby on his little finger ; Lady "Revel knew (for she was a judge of jewelry) that that one brilliant so unostentatiously, and almost unconsciously worn, would have bought up all the showy chains, studs, pins, and rings, not only of the beaux of the Ashton party, but of all the dandies in the lobby ; and that that ruby was worth more than all the jewels herself and her daughter boasted between them. " Will you not sup with us, Bernard?" said Penelope, in a trembling, hurried whisper, while Mr. Addington called ' the flxj\ — The beautiful, imploring eyes she raised were full of tears, and one fell even on her pale cheek. Bernard sighed, and shook his head. " At least, let us set you down/' she whispered. " Not for worlds I" he answered. Mr. Addington had found the fly. He 112 THE BRIDE ELECT. offered his arm to Penelope, she turned to wish Bernard good night. He was gone. Penelope leant back in the fly, and the large tears stole down her cheeks. Trevor Templeton was on the box; Blanche, her mother and Isabel alone inside. Mr. Addington had offered Captain Beresford a place in his brougham ; for Mrs. Ashton had invited the whole party to a petit souper. Captain Beresford, finding Clara Kevel as silly as she was pretty had re- turned to Isabel. " My dearest Penelope," said Mrs. Ash- ton, " I fear you are far from well." " Very far from well," said Penelope. u Cheer up my love ! It will soon be over, and after what you have seen to-night of Bernard Brydges' selfish indifference, you will surely not postpone accepting the hand of that noble Mr. Addington." " Selfish indifference, mamma V* said Penelope, " oh ! how you mistake Bernard THE BRIDE ELECT. 113 Brydges' character. What you call selfish indifference, I call disinterested devotion ! It is because he will not destroy my grand but odious prospects, that he sacrifices hi3 own happiness !" u Well, dearest ! at any rate, he might have given you the option — he might have offered himself, and his poor £300 a-year." " Ah ! and so he would, did he not think I might one day regret accepting them." " And so you would." " Never !" " Ah! I know better." " I still believe, if he sees I should prefer to be his with nothing than any other man's with millions, he will propose." u Penelope, do not deceive yourself. He is not a marrying man. He is a man of unmeaning attentions. I do not say, that if you had a hundred thousand pounds he would not propose. I dare say he would, and prefer you to any other woman with a similar fortune — that is all" 114 THE BEIDE ELECT. " Well, to-morrow will decide that point ■ — to-morrow shall — to-morrow must /" " Ah !" sighed Mrs. Ashton, " I had hoped you would accept Mr. Addington to-night. I know he expects it, any girl of spirit would — particularly after that fellow's impertinent neglect." " Mamma, one word more on that sub- ject, and I will not accept him at all." Mrs. Ashton burst into tears. 44 Forgive me, mamma," said Penelope, " but I am very miserable — leave it to me — if you are right, and Bernard does not propose to-morrow, the next day I accept Mr. Addington." " Very well— So be it !" And Mrs. Ashton embraced her daugh- ter. The supper passed off rather heavily; but Mr. Addington was too much in love to find anything dull in the company of Penelope. He had great hopes when Mrs. Ashton in the next room played a polka, and Isabel THE BEIDE ELECT. 115 and Captain Beresford, with Blanche and Trevor began to dance, that Penelope would grant him the desired tete-d fete, but she complained of so bad a head-ache, and looked so pale and ill, that he himself urged her to retire, which she did, leaving her sisters gaily dancing a polka, which she had so often, under similar circumstan- ces, enjoyed with Bernard Bridges. Mr. Addington drew near Mrs. Ash ton and took his leave. u Where is our sweet Pen," she asked. "I have persuaded her to go to bed," he said. " Ah, ;; sighed the mamma, u she is a sensitive creature, any surprise connected with her feelings upsets her, we little thought we should have had the pleasure of seeing you to-night.'"' " You do not mean ! — you cannot think ! — Oh ! Mrs. Ashton ! — could my presence?" " I do not mean to say or think anything to gratify the vanity of that conceited creature, man ! Come to dinner with us the 116 THE BRIDE ELECT. day after to-morrow — and then you can plead your own cause, and hear what my poor darling has to say — if she has courage to say anything. If not, you know silence gives consent." Mr. Addington crimson with pride and joy to the top of his bald head, and the tips of his ears ; shook hands with his future mamma — bowed to his sisters -elect, jigging and jogging in a mad polka. He gave the page, Peter, a sovereign, and jumped into his brougham, to the surprise of his coachman, who had never seen him jump before. Oh love ! love ! who shall escape thy sway — when thou canst make a middle aged banker jump for joy. THE BRIDE ELECT. 117 CHAPTER VI. A WORD WITH MAMMA. The next day a rather lively discussion (amounting almost to a dispute), occurred between Mrs. Ashton and her daughter Penelope. It ran thus : — Mr. Addington had intimated his inten- tion of calling to ask after Miss Ashton's health, Miss Ashton, resolved not to disap- point herselt and Bernard Brydges, was de- termined to keep her engagement of seeing 113 THE BRIDE ELECT. the review from his windows, and taking lunch with him, and consequently of not staying at home to receive Mr. Adding- ton. " You are losing a good husband and a brilliant establishment, Penelope/' said her mother, angrily, " to be laughed at as one of the many disappointed ob- jects of Bernard's unmeaning attentions. You sacrifice a man who loves you well enough to throw his splendid fortune at your ieet, for one who does not care enough for you, to induce him to ask you to share his poor three hundred a-year." " He hesitates to do so I see, mamma, but that is a proof of his love. He cannot bear me to sacrifice such an establishment to him. I am quite sure he must mean something, see how miserable he looked last night — how he watched me, actually with tears in his beautiful eyes ! 1 saw him furtively kiss a flower I dropt." " J udas's kisses and crocodile tears !" said Mrs. Ashton. " I am quite convinced THE BRIDE ELECT. 119 he means nothing — and jour madness and folly break my heart." And Mrs. Ashton began to weep. a To have such a chance, and to throw it away ! Think how your aunt and consins would envy you such an establishment — they who have so often declared they believe you will none of you ever get married at all ! — they who would jump at any old fright who would offer them a fourth of Mr. Addiugton's income. Oh what pride and delight to me to have you call in an exquisite new equipage and invite them all to dine and sleep at Oak Park ! How should I triumph over my sister-in-law, who has so censured the in- dulgence with which I have brought you up, and the money I allow you for dress ! But she it will be, who will triumph — you will lose Mr. Addington — Bernard will jilt you — and you will die an old maid ! I only wish I were in my grave.' 7 " Do not weep, mamma; I promise you, Bernard does not propose to-day, to- 220 THE BRIDE ELECT. morrow, (the time appointed) I will accept Mr. Addington, and fix the day." " There spoke my own sweet sensible girl/' said her mother " But mamma you must not prevent my having the opportunity of a tete-a-tete with Bernard, we shall walk after the review, let me take the arm I am sure he will offer, and do not try to watch or listen/' The mother promised — Mr. Addington called and was denied — the Ashtons saw the review from Bernard Brydges' windows' and lunched with him. " Oh, he must mean something," thought Penelope, as she entered his gay little bachelor sitting-room, and found it decked out with quite an air de fete, so prettily set off with new white net curtains, with jardinieres so full of myrtles, scarlet gerani- ums, Cape jasmines, heliotropes, and all her well-known favorites of the floral race. " He mast mean something" she thought, as she sat down to an elegant little dejea- THE BRIDE ELECT. 121 ier, tea, chocolate, coffee, ices, jellies, >atties, tarts — the Swiss cakes he knew he liked — chickens, tongues, Champaigne ind maraschino. Trevor Templeton and captain Beresford were of the party, and .hey too, must mean something, (at least so Blanche and Isabel thought,) for with 2very glass of champaign they grew more complimentary, and after the maraschino I hey seemed entirely devoted. All were in high spirits, except Mrs. Ash ton — who having been married once, md proposed to, several times, had con- siderable experience in all symptoms con- nected with " serious intentions," and did not feel quite satisfied that any such were antertained by the beaux of the party. Blanche, she thought, had the best chance; for when Trevor did get his degree it would be principally owing to Blanche, of which of course Trevor would be fully aware ; and when Rector of Richlands, what could he do better than marry a beautiful girl, whom he certainly loved, and who was VOL. I. G 122 THE BRIDE ELECT. quite clever enough to write his sermons for him. A thing he had neither in- dustry nor talent to do for himself." The merry party sat an unusually long time, and even when Mrs. Ashton begged them to prepare to return home, they lin- gered, and prayed for a short respite. But Mrs. Ashton was now quite decided, for she felt pretty sure that Trevor Tem- pleton, in leaning across Blanche to reach something he pretended to want, had pre- sumed to kiss one of her " long floating ringlets of gold ; n and as though sitting on the same side with her, she could not be certain of the fact, she had a wretched sus- picion that Bernard Brydges was holding the hand of her all but affianced Pene- lope. When they arose to return home, Captain Beresford, who had been engaged in a warm, literary discussion with Isabel, which had excited his irascible temper, was the only one disposed to have his tete-a-tete broken in upon. Perhaps, he THE BRIDE ELECT. 123 thought, by doing so, to punish Isabel, who had been disputing the consistency of a character in his last new novel j and had positively proved to him that a line in a song, introduced therein, did not scan ! For a time, while his irritation on the subject lasted, the " lion' could gladly have crunched the gentle critic, like a cat crunching a mouse. Gaily Blanche and the future Rector tripped along — love with them, being the child of Euphrosyne— and of Momus. Merry were their sallies — playful their criticisms on the passers-by — and not few the practical jokes, with which Trevor elicited the — "oh fies— the for shames!" and the laughing lectures of pretty Blanche. But Bernard Brydges and Penelope lagged considerably behind, both pale, both dejected, in earnest conversation. Once or twice he took out his handkerchief, and, at the same time, Penelope let down her veil. G 2 124 THE BRIDE ELECT. It was a long walk — a very long walk — but Mrs. Ashton and her daughters were great walkers — and long as the walk cer- tainly w r as — the literary dispute between Captain'Beresfordand Isabel — the jokes and pranks of Trevor — and the earnest confer- ence of Penelope and Bernard Brydges, so beguiled the way, that all were sur- prised and annoyed, when the pretty verandahs of Ashton lodge appeared in view. Mrs. Ashton asked all the party to dinner. Captain Beresford was obliged to decline, because he expected his uncle from India, that very evening. The cele- brated General, Sir Hector Loftus, (his mother's brother,) a man who, though, at the time we speak of, only fifty, had seen as much service as the oldest officer in the army — having, at sixteen, distinguished himself in the old Peninsular war, been present at most of the important engage- ments, and been wounded in some — had his horse shot under him at Quatre Bras, THE BMDE ELECT. 125 and himself left for dead on the field of Waterloo, where his life was saved by a suttler woman, who came to rifle and, per- haps, dispatch him, but struck with his likeness to a son who had died in battle, bound up his wounds, and tended him like a mother. To all these Spanish and Portuguese laurels, this wreath from Quatre Bras, and crown from Waterloo, he had recently added many daring exploits and brilliant conquests in India. There were few men in the service entitle^ to half so many orders as Sir Hector Loftus ; and it was fully expected that government would recognize his services by raising him to the peerage. He, too, was a lion — but a lion of the old school. He looked upon his nephew, William, who had seen no service at all, as a mere carpet knight ; but he was fond of " the boy," as he called him ; and William liked the old hero for himself, and cultivated him as a patron, 126 THE BRTDE ELECT. whose interest with the commander-in- chief would be, of course, of the greatest service to him — a cornet in the regt. of Dragoon Guards. Our ladies of Ashton Lodge loving the u brave," as the "fair" ought to do, had made Captain Beresford promise that, on his un- cle's return, he would introduce him to them— and this he again promised to do on the first opportunity, as he declined Mrs. Ashton's invitation. Trevor Templeton, who knew not where he could be more comfortable, or half so well amused, gladly accepted the offer of a family dinner. Bernard Brydges declined it in a very mournful tone, but very decid- edly for all that. When Penelope retired to her dressing- room to prepare for dinner, her mother followed her there. As she did not speak, but sat in an arm-chair, apparently lost in thought, Mrs. Ashton drew near, and gently took her hand. THE BRIDE ELECT. 127 " Well, dearest," she said, rt what have you to tell me V* "That all is over ! that I have not one hope of happiness in this world — that my life henceforth must be one long regret — but that I am ready for the sacrifice. To- morrow I accept Mr. Addington.'' " My good, dear girl, you have decided nobly — wisely. Mr. Addington adores you — Bernard Brydges is only a vain, false, treacherous fop I" " Mamma, one word of stipulation, if you please — I believe, in my heart of hearts, that it is Bernard Brydges who adores me, and that he sacrifices his own happiness to what he believes to be my interest. If possible, never let me hear him named ; and, least of all, with cen- sure. Let no allusion to my disappointed hopes, my wretched struggle be ever made either in my presence or out of it. Let the whole affair be carried on as quietly and silently as possible. Dream not of wishing me joy — for the first and last 128 THE BRIDE ELECT. time, mother, hear the truth — I am most miserable. But on the terms I propose, and on those alone, will I comply with your wishes, and those of my uncle and sisters, with these provisos — I am ready for the sacrifice." " Nay, my love, if indeed you feel it to be a sacrifice, refuse Mr. Addington, and—" " Dearest mother, no — my mind is made up — do not try to unsettle it — but leave me now ! I want to be alone ! and fear not but that I will do my duty, and the full performance of one's duty, brings a blessing with it — does it not, mother 1 God bless you, dear, dear mother, remember" Mrs. Ashtonleft the room in tears, Penelope gently bolted the door, threw herself on her knees, buried her face in her hands, and wept the bitter, gushing tears of dis- appointed love ! Vain man, behold one of the many victims of unmeaning attentions! THE BRIDE ELECT. 129 CHAPTER X. THE FAST MAtf. While one victim of "unmeaning atten- tions" was playing the first part in that deep but quiet tragedy, which a disap- pointed affection is to woman — a light comedy of love and laughter, but in which there was such an under current of feeling on the lady's side, as to make it more of a melodrama, was going gaily on in Mrs. Ashton's drawing-room. G 5 130 THE BRIDE ELECT. Trevor Templeton and Blanche were en- joying a tete-a-tete — for though Isabel was present in substance, she was absent in mind. She sat at her own writing-table, in the recess of one of the back drawing- room windows. She was inditing a few stanzas in support of her opinion in the literary discussion she had had with her admirer, Captain Beresford ; and as she had felt a good deal nettled and an- noyed at his assumption of superiority and ill-concealed contempt for her opinions, Isabel was writing con amore, and entirely engrossed by her subject. Modest as she was, she could not help an occasional convic- tion that Captain Beresford had in reality no advantage over her, but that of having ap- peared in print. i\s an acknowledged author, whose works were, as the adver- tisements stated, to be had " at all the libraries in the United Kingdom/' he per- mitted himself to treat her as a mere amateur, and affected towards her produc- tions the sort of half disparaging, half THE BRIDE ELECT. 131 patronising tone which the Regulars assume when speaking of the Militia — or still more of the Volunteers ! This had often mortified Isabel, in whom that consciousness of power which always attends genius, was checked by a more than usual timidity of disposition and extreme susceptibility of feeling — But it was slowly working a result — the very reverse of what Captain Beresford would have expected or desired — a desire, fast becoming a determination, to appear in print, (albeit anonymously) was forming in Isabel's mind ; and often had her mother and sisters thought — from her entire abstrac- tion and absorption — that her fancy was busy with the web of her own fortunes, and the entanglements of her own affair de c^r,when she was far aw r ay, leading her hero and heroine through all the tips and downs of three volumes post octavo, to unite them happily in the last page — Isabel being then as we have said, no gene upon the flirtation of the merry pair 132 THE BRTDE ELECT. though her presence satisfied ' Mama's sense of propriety. Trevor Templeton, and Blanche sat together on a large comfortable old sofa — whose high back prevented their being seen by Isabel at all — they were very close together, certainly, but surely, their studies required such proximity ; for how can two people pore over one book, without putting their heads together? Blanche was, as Trevor said, teaching him, and exacted a great deal of deference, and insisted on being addressed as "Madam" during the lecture — and sometimes in des- pair at his inattention, Blanche gave him a little slap, which emboldened him to kiss the hand that corrected him — sometimes, in a fit of impatience, he flung the book to the other end of the room, and had to bring it back like a penitent school-boy, and beg pardon, which he did by throwing himself on his knees, burying his face in Blanche's lap, and preteuding to sob and even roar. Then once or twice, in his ennui THE BRIDE ELECT. 133 and despair, he let his head, as if un- consciously to himself, drop on Blanche's shoulder and pretended to faint away — and when Blanche, humouring the joke, threw in his face a wine-glass full of water in which some violets stood near her, he sprang up, in — well acted frenzy — pushed back his hair, caught Blanche round the waist, waltzed round the room with her, whirled her, laughing, screaming and trying in vain to be serious or angry, into the back drawing-room, and down the steps that led into the garden, where the romp ended in a game of hide and seek — For the honour and diguity of Blanche, we must impress on the reader, that at this time, she had not the slightest doubt that Trevor regarded her as his affianced wife — and that the only obstacle to his declaring himself openly and entirely, was, his fear, lest he should not obtain his degree and the rich living that depended on it. 134 THE BRIDE ELECT. Blanche merry and light-hearted as she seemed in general, had shed some tears in private over this touching proof of Trevor's timidity, and real regard for her interest; Poor fellow/' she would say to herself, and to her favorite Isabel — wt He knows he is so idle and volatile, and perhaps/' she added blushing, " he feels too much in love to be a very good student, and is too modest to remember how very, very quick and clever he is — and he thinks unless he takes his degree and gets Ilichlands, 1 would not have him, and while there is the risk of failure before him, he will not urge our engagement — He little knows that love in a cottage with him would be my pride and delight, that I should glory in proving that I love him for himself alone, and that, but that I could not endure his distress, disgrace and disappointment, it would be a luxury to me to comfort him when all looked coldly on him, to stand by him when all forsook, and to rouse him, even if he were plucked, THE BRIDE ELECT. 135 to go up again and take a double first as I know he can, and cut out all who had dared to disgrace him. But this is all non- sense and romance — He is sure to pass, he is certain of Bichlands, and to make secu- rity doubly sure I will make him come back and say all the thirty-nine articles by heart ; " and Blanche did so — and believing in looks, and sighs, and ejaculations, and playful but yet exclusive attentions, ( the unmeaning attentions of a heartless man,) who can blame her \ but who will defend him for thus deceiving, beguiling, and in- juring a girl who loved him, and whom he loved or rather fancied as much as 'a fast man ' of the most frivolous description was capable of loving any one, but whom nevertheless he was treacherous enough to ' show up, ' to heartless idlers, like himself, ridiculing her eager "coaching' and anxiety for his success, as tne stepping stones to a husband and to Pvichlands, and ending the whole detestable and flippant caricature of 136 THE BIUDE ELECT. Blanche's true love, with the vulgar and heartless slang, " I say old boy, don't you wish she may get it ; the old cat keeps aloof, and lets me do much as I like with her pretty and playful little kitten — she — the old puss — is all patte de velours now, but I suspect no mouse ever had a sharper run for his life than I shall have for my liberty, when she discovers that I don't mean to let her and her daughter " walk into " me and my good living — what fangs and claws then old boy, wont it be glorious sport %— I should'nt wonder if the gentle smiling Blanche herself shewed fight then — though just now I've waltzed with her in my arms all round the room, into the garden and in return for two or three tender slaps and pinches, stolen more kisses than you'll ever get in your unadventurous life — I say old boy, w T hat about the mare ? — remember I'm dying to have her if she's to be sold — and if you'll lend me Ponto for the moors I'll keep him like the apple of my eye and say THE BRTDE ELECT. 137 not only that you're a devilish good fellow, but that I'm more than ever, yours, Trevor Templeton. This heartless piece of treachery, boast, and slang, Trevor indited from Blanche's desk while she was gone to refresh her toilet in the hopes of seeming lovelier still in the eyes of him she loved, when they met at dinner. How many a love -sick maid would be cured for life, could she peep into one con- fidential letter to a 'chum ', or overhear one little summary of her ' true love's story *, as told by her idol to one or more ' sporting ' friends over a bottle of Oxford port. Sporting, indeed ! not merely with the lives of those who far surpass them in intelligence and natural feeling — the noble stag, the clever fox, and the gentle hare — but more, far more cruel still, with that life of life, the first love of a true and devoted girl. 138 THE BRIDE ELECT. CHAPTER XL THE BRIDE ELECT. Penelope, the Bride-Elect, came down to dinner ; any one who knew her well, might have detected a secret and feverish excite- ment beneath the forced composure of her manner. She w T ould have been very pale but for the sort of scorching red, her scald- ing tears had left on the centre of each cheek. She had been assiduously bathing her eyes with rose water, in the hopes of concealing how bitterly she had wept; but they were red and swollen, and while Mrs. Ashton and her sisters forbore to notice THE BRIDE ELECT. 139 her at all, Trevor Templeton, naturally tactless and disposed to be impertinent, fixed his saucy eyes upon her, and began some whispered queries to Blanche, such as — " I say, Blanche, what's the matter with Pen ? Has Bernard Brydges moved off? and has the old lady been Kicking up a shindy f I could have told them Ber- nard was no go ! — he's not made for double harness — and with all his pretence of love and sentiment, tin is his idol ; and by Jove ! he's right — take my word for it." 11 Well," said Blanche, offended for her sister, and a little, perhaps, for herself, " if you suspect that Penelope is so very unhappy, as to love such a man, pray con- ceal such a conviction from her; and never, if you think a woman has been weak enough to weep for some unworthy trifler, make her blush, too, by scrutinising her unhappy countenance." Trevor was much piqued, he was ac- customed to such ready approbation and 140 THE BRIDE ELECT. admiring attention from Blanche that to be " taken to task," as he called it, by her, was as new as it was disagreeable, and with the prompt and petty vengeance of a mean mind, he anticipated, with a sort of pleasure, Blanche's some day shedding the same bitter tears Penelope was so strug- gling to repress. Trevor's manner becom- ing cold and distant, Blanche had too much spirit not to assume an offended air in her turn. In reality this was torture to Blanche, who was of a very affectionate nature, and could not bear the altered ex- pression of Ids eyes, and the cold and bantering tone of his bitter words. Trevor tried, in his insolent defiance of poor Blanche, to get up a flirtation with Isabel — Penelope, he saw, was completely absorbed, and Isabel only answered with an absent smile and a monosyllable, his sudden and rather awkward attempts at exaggerated compliment. The dinner, dull beyond description, since the little quarrel between Blanche and THE BRIDE ELECT. 141 Trevor had ended in a sulky silence on both sides, came to a close. The ladies left the dining-room ; Mrs. Ashton beg- ging Trevor to join them in the drawing- room, whenever he grew tired of his own company. Blanche cast a timid glance at him (which glistened through her tears) as she slowly left the room ; but he was frowning as he twirled his ring, and did not seem to see her. Trevor was very anxious to punish Blanche, and revenge himself, by a very protracted sojourn in the dining-room — he felt that she, poor loving girl was listen- ing with benting heart, pale cheeks, and lips apart, for his step on the stair. He was certain that she would meet him with ap- pealing eyes, perhaps full of tears, and with a cold, a trembling, but an eagerly, extended hand. And so he drew a couch to the table, arranged the cushions in the most luxurious and comfortable manner; placed near him, two decanters of Mrs. Ashton's 142 THE BRIDE ELECT. excellent wine, (widows generally contrive to get good wine ; they trust to some real connoisseur to choose for them, and do not depend, like men, on their own unaided, and, perhaps, injudicious selection), he drew within reach, the dishes of the fruits and confections he preferred ; took Bell's Life out of his pocket, and stretching him- self at his full length on the sofa, gave himself up to a complication of enjoy- ments, at the least ; such being the revenge he was indulging, and the pain he was in- flicting on her, whose love alone gave him power thus to torment her. After an hour spent in sipping his wine, crunching his German biscuit, and revel- ing in the sporting intelligence, so highly seasoned by c Bell,' a balmy sleep stole over the senses of Trevor Templeton, and he dreamt that, to make it up with him, Blanche had given him a long ringlet of her golden hair, which he had long begged for in vain — and that he was displaying it amid shouts of laughter at a wine party THE BRIDE ELECT. 143 of Oxford fast-men, who, together, ministered similar pledges enough to have made a wig for Lord Burleigh. He thought, even in his sleep, how much longer, more silky and bright was Blanche's ringlet, than that of any other victim of • unmeaning attentions ;' and that one of his drunken guests, clutching at it, swore he would not only have that curl, but Blanche Ashton herself, adding, " It must have been a pretty girl to have such pretty hair." In Trevor's dream, a violent wrestling match ensued between him and his guest, in which he lost the lock of hair, and received a good thrashing ; and with this night-mare, (caused, perhaps, by the quantity of delicacies he had consumed) Trevor awoke. It was some little time before he could quite shake off the unpleasant sense of defeat and discomfort ; but even in a dream, a vague jealousy had been awakened, which haunted him yet, and the 144 THE BFJDE ELECT. fear of losing her, though only in a dream, reminded him that he was in love, though meanly and selfishly enough. To shake off the painful impression left by this dream, Trevor walked about the room, planning a condescending speech, with which he meant to answer Blanche's apologies. In one of his rapid turns, he approached the window — a large French bay-window, opening on a little terrace, which, by a few stone steps, enabled you to reach the garden. As he looked out, he thought he saw two female figures in white, flitting about some walks, which, through the trelliswork that bordered them, and the vines and jessamines with which they were festooned, enabled those who were there, occasion- ally to get a peep at the dining-room win- dows. " I dare say she has been walking there for the last hour," thought Trevor, " vainly hoping, some sympathetic influence, (in which she, romantic little simpleton, be- THE BRIDE ELECT. 145 lieves.) would send me to her side. " Ah ! there she is, standing at that arch — there they are, both of them, looking eagerly out — fine girls, by Jove ! Isabel's a noble animal ; but what a little thorough-bred is Blanche! There's a throat! a bust! an ankle! and as for her little taper hand, with which she puts back that silken shower of gold, it's quite unique. I'll have it modelled to make one of those book-weights and pen-wipers. I dare say, I could get something by it — do end of tin and glory. But come, I think I must relent — how pale she looks, and there goes her handkerchief to her eyes. I declare I'm going too far. I must mike some decent excuse to be off, before I commit myself. If I don't take care, all this will end in an action for breach of promise ! and I shall lose my red-haired, squint-eyed heiress — my beautiful Richlands — and have a portionless damsel, or heavy damages. No, no. I'm off to-morrow ; so I can VOL. I. H 246 THE BRTDE ELECT. afford to be a little kind and merciful to- night." So saying, the fast-man leapt out of the dining-room window, and approached the trellis- walk, a false smile parting his hand- some lips, and showing his fine teeth, and a delusive expression of relenting love in his treaclurous but beautiful eyes. Blanche grew very pale and very cold — for Blanche really loved — she trembled in every limb, and a shiver ran through her frame ; a choking sensation was in her throat, as, nervously clutching Isabel's arm, she said — c< Oh, do not go, I cannot be alone with him." But Isabel, looking upon the whole affair as the quarrel of lovers whose hearts (if not their hands) were pledged, hurried away, and Blanche, sinking on a rustic seat, as she felt, rather than saw, that Trevor drew nigh, hid her face in her hands, and in spite of all her efforts — of THE BRIDE ELECT. 147 pride and shame — of the sense of slight and wrong, she burst into a passionate fit of tears. Trevor, touched by her distress — in- terested by the beauty of her figure, and his vanity delighted by her devotion, forgot his cold and selfish prudence for a moment, and seating himself beside her, gently passed his arm round her waist, drew her head upon his shoulder, and almost unconsciously to himself, poured forth words of love, of comfort, of con- trition. He swore that, for every tear he had cost her, he would gladly give a drop of his heart's best blood — he vowed that till she smiled on him again, he could never know a moment's peace — and that, till she whispered, " Trevor, 1 forgive you," and sealed that pardon with a kiss, he should be the most miserable of outcasts and of culprits. Poor Blanche ! what a pity that so much trust and tenderness should be thrown away on so false an egotist. She was too h 2 148 THE BRIDE ELECT. sincere, too pure, too rauch in earnest herself, to see that in all this there was nothing binding, nothing actionable — binding ! could she have dreamed, he felt, or thought, or wished himself free, her heart would have broken ere an audible sigh had escaped it — and no redress that law or wealth could offer, could have atoned to her for this most cruel of felonies ; her love was too unselfish for revenge, too entire for suspicion ; and so she smiled, and whispered, "Trevor, I forgive you," and with the first kiss she had ever given him — though he had snatched some by stealth — Blanche made up this first quarrel ; and the moon came out, and Blanche, still sitting in her leafy bower, with her head on Trevor's shoulder, and her hand in his, met that moons pure light, and she was not ashamed ; and the poetical influence of the hour and the scene refined and spiritualised, for a moment, even the worldly and selfish heart of Trevor, and he began to think THE BRIDE ELECT. 149 whether for love and Blanche, he could not give up wealth and ambition. Whether love in a cottage was the contemptible absurdity, he had hitherto considered it — and whether he could resign the lovely, loving, and beloved girl beside him — with her haunting blue eyes — her snow-drop complexion — her golden tresses — her sweet and melting manner, for a squint-eyed, red-haired, freckle-faced Tom- boy of a girl, with a harsh voice, and rude address — and who, perhaps, would care for him as little as he did for her 1 While his young heart asked these questions of his old head, Blanche's name was gently called — steps were heard ; and Isabel ap- pearing at the end of the avenue, told her sister that her mother was wondering at her absence, and that it was high time Blanche and Trevor should appear at the tea-table. 150 THE BRIDE ELECT. CHAPTER XIL THE PROPOSAL. The day, the hour, the man, are all come ! — Penelope is dressed with an elegance, habitual to her — and the absence of all consciousness of beauty, and in fact of all nervous solicitude to please and shine, gave a quiet dignity and composure to her man- ners, which had a charm all their own — Mrs. Ashton's dinner-hour is six, but Mr. Addington, for the sake of the impor- tant tete-a-tete which is to precede the THE BRIDE ELECT. 151 repast, has begged leave to present himself at half-past five. Mr. Addington is a model of punctuality; exactly at half-past five, his handsome but quiet looking, dark green chariot, with his fat, solemn looking coachman, steady foot- man, and handsome well-fed, well groomed horses, stopped at the pretty little gate of Ashton lodge. Mrs. Ashton and the sisters of the Bride- Elect, (assembled in the maternal dressing room, which had a view of the entrance), were far more anxious than the bride her- self— But to them, the match was all gain — to Penelope it seemed all sacrifice. Mrs. Ashton was positively flushed — Poor Mother ! she had so often trembled for the fortune of her three portion- less girls ! — her relatives and soi-disant friends, niggard of everything else, had been so lavish of mortifying advice, disparaging inuendoes and evil prophecies — Her sister- in-law, who had two plain daughters, so 152 THE BRIDE ELECT. censured Mrs. Ashton for the expense she incurred in dress, and masters ! She had that very morning received a letter from her sister-in-law, part of which we will presently lay before our readers — It was in reply to one, in which Mrs. Ashton, being a little overdrawn at her banker's, and sadly dunned by her milliner, had asked that sister-in-law — who though, with a better income than her own, lived at about a third the expense, and therefore Mrs. Ashton thought, could well afford it — to lend or advance her a small sum, till her dividends were due. After expressing some surprise at the request — and after assuring Mrs. Ashton that she made it a rule never either to borrow or lend — that her compliance was out of the question, and that she shunned all borrowers in general, and bor- rowing relations, in particular ; she pro- ceeded as follows — " It is all of no avail that you embarrass yourself thus — beauty, accomplishments, dress, are all nothing, unless a girl has a THE BRIDE ELECT. 153 few thousand pounds to throw into the scale — I, like you, was left a widow -my income tolerable — but only a life interest, — my fortune out of the Wylie property, returns at my death, to my odious step-son — What then, I lived in the closest manner — gave no parties, had no company, allowed the girls no masters — had everything made at home, and of the plainest materials — I saved two thirds of my income, Mrs. Ash- ton ! one third, I put by, to form a fund for my daughters' portions; the other for policies — one on my own life, a good one too — the others insuring the girls' lives up to the age of twenty-one. The result of this is, that my two girls have already five- thousand pounds a-piece, certain — and if they outlive me, some thousands more — and let me ask you, sister, whether this will not do much more towards getting them well married, than gay dresses, which frighten away all marrying men — and beauty, and accomplishments, which, if penniless, only expose a girl to unmeaning H 2 154 THE BRIDE ELECT. attentions, and leave her at last, an oft jilted old maid ! — If my girls never marry, they will not be destitute; but I assure you in spite of their plain straw bonnets and home- made ginghams — their little black aprons and thread gloves — they have had some pretty good offers already ; and as 1 told their prospects in strict confidence to Miss Golightly and Mrs. Glib — I feel pretty cer- tain there's not a bachelor in the neigh- bourhood, who does not know by this time, that my girls have pretty little fortunes, and though not given to murder Mozart, and Beethoven, to spoil good paper, daub canvass — run up milliners' bills, or practise airs at the glass — though no conceited gaudy beauties, or jigging, hugging Polkers, are likely to make good wives, excellent managers and capital mothers ! " Take my advice sister, Ashton, what's done can't be undone ! and what cannot be repaired should not be regretted — but it is never too late to mend — and the past is useful as a warning ! Here from sixteen THE BRIDE ELECT. 155 to twenty-three have you been squandering on Penelope's dress, education, and dissipa- tion, what, if laid by, would be a portion for her in wedlock and a maintenance in spinsterhood ! — and the same with the others, only a year or two less of such mad folly — and what is the result? why you own yourself Pen has never had an offer — and take my word for it, she never will ! — none of them ever trill! — Men will flirt w T ith them, enough — none will marry them ! — Take my advice, let Ashton lodge to some other gay fool, fond of gimcracks — and the gardens and the park — sell all your ruinous finery, for what the purchasers of ladies' wardrobes will give ! — your new Broad wood, your double-action harp, all your vanities, get rid of them all — hire a small house, not in the country — the coun- try is ruinous for bad managers — best in some very quiet Country Town, near the market and the Church — then begin to save — effect a policy on your own life, and temporary ones on the girls' — give up 156 THE BRIDE ELECT. music, painting, dress, dancing, keep one maid of all work, and let my nieces fill up the time, hitherto squandered in dressing, squalling Italian, and husband -hunting in hot-rooms, or dusty drives — in mending and making their own clothes — knitting stockings, getting up fine linen, ( a very lady- like employment,) keeping accounts, pickling, preserving, making pastry, and reading — not new novels, but old divines — In short- let them take Bridget and Prudence for their models ; and waste no more time or money in an idle, mortifying speculation (for it is nothing else), which must end in dis- appointment — and perhaps the union I" " My love to them, if, they deserve it. " Your distressed, " But affectionate sister-in-law, "Peudence Wylie/ " If I hear that you take my advice I will have all my nieces by turns (one at a THE BPJDE ELECT. 157 time) to stay with me, and learn economy, plain work, and housekeeping ; and though I will not lend a shilling towards sinful extravagance, idle vanity, and indelicate and unsuccessful husband hunting, if all these are given up, you and my nieces will find that you have a true friend in me and that I shall always be ready with good advice — good example and a quiet, well ordered home, for one at a time, of my poor misguided brother's unfortunate family ! " " You think," said Mrs. Ashton as her spirit rose, and her lip quivered at the second perusal of this letter — "you think Blanche, that Penelope read this through V "Oh yes Mamma, and I think it had some effect, though she only said she thought Aunt Wylie was right, and she wished we had been brought up like our cousins ! but I saw her eyes flash, and her hands trem- ble two or three times, and the only real smile I have seen on her face since, (ah, no matter when,) we all promised not to name him, was when she said" Poor Mamma," 158 THE BRIDE ELECT. after this insulting tirade she will enjoy inviting them all to my wedding ! " and then she rang for Estelle to dress her hair. It was just at this point of the conver- sation that Mr. Addington's carriage drove up, and while Mrs. Ashton nervously clutched and crumpled '* Aunt Wylie's" letter, the girls peeped from behind the blind, and the clematis, and Isabel ex- claimed — " What a handsome equipage it is, though so plain ! but oh, as he walks along the avenue he does look very staid, middle- aged and mercantile. His large gold re- peater in his hand too ! with its old-fash- ioned chain and bunch of seals ! so like a banker!" " Ah," cried Blanche, "I am glad I was not put to the test, Poor Penelope is — / would not marry such a man." " But then Blanche," said her mother, " Trevor Templeton and the living of Bichlands are prospects that would well justify you in refusing any one else, for THE BRIDE ELECT. 159 love, Trevor (dear, frank, generous creature!) and so elegant a competence, are better far, than rank and riches, without affection — but Bernard not only had scarcely enough to support himself, but had no idea of offering that little. My opinion now is, that he never meant anything serious, and would have jilted our darling Pen after all." " W 7 ell mamma/' said Isabel, " we have promised Penelope never to discuss, hardly to name him, and so let us keep faith with her ; look mamma, you can catch a glimpse of your future son — he is giving his orders to the coachman — what do you think of him." " I think him a very well grown gentle- manly looking man, and one any woman may be proud of — at the bottom of her table, by her side in her pew, or in a handsome carriage ! he has a white hand a very good foot and leg — now his tights, let one see it — and as for his age / think a 160 THE BRIDE ELECT. man is in his prirae at forty — I always did." "Yet you married one of four-and- twenty, mamma." " So much the worse for me ! I hope, girls. Penelope is ready." He had caught her to his bosom, and kissed her forehead, and was about, in spite of her resistance, to press his lips to hers, when her mother entered the room. Delighted at seeing matters progressing so much more favourably than she had ex- pected, she was about to retire, when Penelope, tearing herself from Mr. Ad- dington's embrace, and covered with con- fusion, rushed past her, and darted upstairs. Mrs. Ashton could not leave the Bridegroom 176 THE BRIDE ELECT. Elect alone and discomfited ; and so, with ready tact, she approached him, extending her hand, and said — u Let me congratulate you, my dear Mr. Addington, on the affection with which you have evidently inspired my sweet girl's hitherto impregnable heart. You have, indeed, wrought miracles. I little thought that any man could so soon make so much way in the favour of a girl by nature a prude, and by education so extremely re- served. I should be very very angry, my dear sir, but for the frank and straight- forward manner in which you have be- haved. Under existing circumstances, however, I cannot scold you — I am too glad to see, that, in addition to all worldly advantages, my child will enjoy that greatest of all, the luxury of loving and being loved." Mrs. Ashton had worked herself up into a fit of enthusiasm, and she took out her handkerchief to wipe away some real tears. It had greatly surprised and delighted her THE BRIDE ELECT. 177 to find the affianced ones, apparently on such excellent terms — she had feared on entering the room to see them far apart. Mr. Addington looking vexed and flushed — Penelope cold, pale, and repelling — to find her in his arms with her head on his shoulder, and his lips on her forehead, had amazed as much as it enchanted her — Mrs. Ashton, though a worldly and am- bitious woman — had a kind heart, and was a very fond, anxious mother, and the idea that Penelope disliked her Intended, and loathed her brilliant prospects, had taken much from her own delight in the contemplation of them ; and yet — so contra- dictory and inconsistent is a worldly heart — she was all anxiety to accelerate what she could not but half lament, as a sacrifice, even while she gloried in it as a triumph ; "and the sooner it is over the better," she said to her other daughters. " That odious detrimental Bernard Brydges may yet, from mere vanity, pre- vent our Pen's establishment — when she is 178 THE BRIDE ELECT. Mrs. Addington, and feels all the delight- ful importance of wealth — particularly when set off by youth, beauty, grace, and so much talent... she will naturally grow fond of the donor of so much importance and elegance — a girl must have a very bad heart not to love a man who is always contributing to her comfort — who delights in decking out her beauty — forestalling her wishes — studying her tastes — and raising her consequence. All this no poor man can do — a man always seems unkind if he is obliged to be strictly economical, and a woman never feels so irritable, so small, or so little loved as when she is obliged to ask for money, which... if he cannot afford it... her husband must give with a bad grace (if at all) or when bills come in, which she has felt obliged to incur in order to keep up appearances — but which always have to be paid at the most inconvenient times — and the discussions about which mortify the wife, embitter the husband, and estrange and exasperate both ! All THE BRIDE ELECT. 179 this a woman escapes "who marries a wealthy and liberal man." " Oh how dreadful a picture you have unconsciously drawn dearest mamma, of the miseries of poverty in wedlock !" said Blanche. " How degraded a wife must feel," added Isabel, " when a bill comes in, which she cannot settle herself, and which her hus- band either cannot or will not pay, with a good grace. I would rather dress like a charity girl." "Ah, but that would never do — whatever her means, a wife must not be a dowdy — nothing so completely disenchants a man as seeing his wife look less stylish, less ele- gant, less fresh in her toilet than other ladies — she may save a few pounds, but she will inevitably lose her husband's love — women are fond enough of dress them- selves — but men are still more fond of dress in them — and by dress I do not mean gaudy, showy, cheap finery — but 180 THE BRIDE ELECT. real taste, elegance and fraicheur — these being — simple — as they may look — by far the most expensive qualities in dress — and involving not only first-rate taste in the wearer, but the choicest materials, and a really good milliner — all home-made things are dowdy — all cheap things are in bad taste/' " Then what can one do, mamma, if one marries a poor man % At any rate, I will have a certain allowance, and if I can only have a few good dresses, I will only go out now and then." " Ah ! but, my love, a certain allow- ance requires a certain income ; and butchers' and bakers', and grocers' bills, must be incurred and paid, whatever mil- liners' may be. 1 had £20,000 of my own, a good settlement, and a certain allowance — I never could get my allowance, or half of it, paid me — I would never be a dowdy, and so I ran in debt — and my bills were a constant source of discussion and dispute — as for ready money I never had a sou." THE BRIDE ELECT. 181 " What then, as I said before, can one do P asked Isabel. a Determine," said her mother, * not, from romantic, and yet selfish motives, to marry a man who cannot afford to see his wife always elegant, and yet would hate to have her otherwise. Whatever a man in love may say, swear, feel, and even sin- cerely think at the time, his happiness is not only not ensured but it is destroyed by marrying a poitionless girl, if he is himself a poor man. Passion blinds us all, and to a man in love, beggary with her he loves seems Paradise ; but no penniless woman of a certain class and station ever married a poor man of certain tastes and habits — from the fear of making him miserable — that she has not lived to be reproached with her very compliance, and learnt too late that though her refusal might have cost him some days, perhaps weeks, of distress — her acquiescence has ensured to both a life of discomfort and dissension. She will live to 182 THE BRIDE ELECT. see the man, who has knelt and wept at her feet to ensure her acceptance, reproach her with the very compliance which has entailed poverty on both." " Oh, mamma, how fortunate Bernard Brydges did not propose to Fenelope ! She would certainly have accepted him." " Yes ! and how very fortunate Mr. A d- dington did propose to her ; and now, if Blanche marries Trevor, though she will not be in such luxury and affluence as Pen, she will have an elegant competence ; and you, dear Isabel — Captain Beresford is his uncle's heir — and, if you please the old man, I dare say he will make him a handsome allowance." " Ah, mamma, my prospects are very uncertain. I am not sure Captain Beresford ever will propose, and I am not more sure that I would have him if he did. I dare say I shall be an old maid." " There is no hurry for you, Isabel, at eighteen, and Pen's marriage will be a good THE BRIDE ELECT. 183 introduction — I only hope nothing will happen to defer so great a piece of good fortune. Poor Pen ! poor Pen !" This conversation took place between the mother and daughters while Penelope was granting a first tete a-tete to Mr. Adding- ton. We will now resume (for this is re- trospective) the conversation between the delighted mamma and her enraptured son- in-law elect. lie sat for some time rubbing his hands, blushing and smiling ; but said nothing. Mrs. Ashton wished to bring him to the point, she wanted to hear about settle- ments, and to make him propose an early day. She said, playfully — " Oh, you men ! you men ! How soon you undo all our work % — Have you really obtained my little prudish Pen's consent V " I flatter myself I have P " And has she accepted this splendid gift V " I hope so/' said Mr. Addington ; H but oh ! will you believe, dearest madam, that 184 THE BRIDE ELECT. your lovely, your exquisite daughter took greater interest in this portrait of what I once was, than in this poor token of my great affection V "Oh ! I quite see my child in that" said Mrs. Ashton — "such a heart ! such a mind!" " Nay more," said Mr. Addington, elated out of his habitual reserve and timidity — " when I lamented for her sake, that I am not like that portrait now— the angel assured me she preferred me, as I am — n "Well, I agree with her — You have gained in expression what you have lost in bloom —and in style and air, what is gone in mere youthfulness or rather boyishness — and has she really accepted these costly gems? — " " Oh yes! — with so great a conde- scension — and she dropped a tear on them worth all the gems of Golconda." "She cannot wear so costly a gift till she has the dignity of a matron to support, no mere demoiselle can appear in such aparure as this — I must put my veto upon that, and you must not be in too great a hurry THE BKIDE ELECT. 185 to rob me of my darling ! It is a sal thing to part with such a treasure." " Oh ! but I will do all in my power to prevent its seeming like a parting — I have taken Oak Park that Miss Ashton may not feel lonely during the long daily absences my business may entail on me — I hope you will be almost as much together as yon are now, and in return I trust you will use your influence with Miss Ashton to induce her not to protract my suspense" — " T will do all I can, since I am not quite to lose my darling ; about what time do you wish the marriage to take place?" " October is the month I have at my disposal — it is in short my vacation; it seems a long time, for this is only July — but next month, Brere'on takes his girls to Baden-Baden, and in September, Aimwell would not be in Town for the world — : ' " October is a very pleasant month," said Mrs. Ashton, who, seeing it must be so, thought she had better make the best of it — It is a very short time to make up 186 THE BRIDE ELECT. my mind though; the lovers will, I dare say, think it long enough/' " To me it will seem an age. " And from what I saw just now, my Pen will be of the same opinion !" Mr. Addington rubbed his hands — smiled, blushed, and thought Mrs. Ashton the most delightful creature in the world — kl Of settlements/' he said, " I had better speak with Mr. Percy Ashton — few ladies understand business, but I may say, that I intend to settle half my fortune, on Miss Ashton." " Oh my dear Sir, you forget that my poor girl has nothing but herself to bestow — " " The greater reason, why I should secure her prospects to the utmost of my power — she is much my junior — in the nature of things, she will survive me — God grant she may — and whatever children it may please heaven to bless us with, I know none will ever be dear to me as she is — My income exceeds seven thousand a year THE BRIDE ELECT. 187 — therefore, her settlement will be respect- able, and as to pin-money, I so despise men's niggard views, in such matters, that I wish hers, to be fixed at five hundred a year !" Mrs. Ashton burst into tears — " Why many of our nobility, hare not so much!" " No matter, some have one hobby, some another — I have no expensive tastes — my Father left me a choice collection of pic- tures, and a capital library — they suffice me; horse-racing, cards, speculations of all kinds, I dislike — my luxury consists in making my wife happy — and all my de- lights will centre in my home — " " Happy Penelope !" said the mamma. " I have to beg of you, and of Miss Ash- on, a great favour. My mother, of course, wishes to see, and know my bride-elect. She is in delicate health at her marine villa, near Brighton, and we venture to hope you will allow Miss Ashton to spend a few weeks there, in order that she and my mother may become acquainted. My 188 THE BRIDE ELECT. mother, who has long wished to see me settled, is all anxiety to know my fair in- tended; and my sister will come to town on purpose to have the honour of being intro- duced, and of attending her down to my mother's villa." " I can have no objection," said Mrs. Ashton, "nor, I am sure, can my Penelope; indeed, I should think she will be all anxiety to know your excellent mother and sister." " You may well call her an excellent mother, my dear madam. She is only too anxious, too partial, too devoted; and her anxiety to see my choice is in keeping with her watchful care from my cradle till this hour. I run down to see her twice a week if not thrice, and I never consider the day's business done till I have sent her a few lines of love and comfort." " Such a son must make a good hus- band," said Mrs. Ashton ; " and now I hear a carriage — Yes ! the few friends I have asked to meet you are arriving fast — THE BRIDE ELECT. 189 I am in such a flatter of joy at so fair a prospect for my darling — I am hardly fit for the commonplace duties of a hostess." Mrs. Ashton smoothed her braids, settled her bracelets, put on a smile of welcome, shook out her flounces, and rose to receive Sir Hector Loftus, introduced by his nephew Captain BeresforJ. Sir Hector was a noble, martial- looking man, and the loss of one arm in his country's cause, added to his interest with- out taking from his grace — so adroit and even elegant had he become in doing with- out it — He was a much taller, darker, and statelier man than his nephew ; and he had that air of command which nothing but the habit of command can give ; his black and curly hair was slightly streaked with silver, and his noble, massive brow was marked with a deep scar, while a sabre cut had left a seam in the ruddy bronze of his left cheek — and yet all these defects spoke so eloquently to the heart and the fancy, of danger and bravery, of long service and 190 THE BRIDE ELECT. exile, that the nephew's glossy auburn locks, smooth — but much lower brow — clear, white, and red, and smaller form of perfect symmetry, seemed almost effeminate in comparison with the stately veteran. Sir Hector was courteous to Mrs. Ashton — the true soldier is generally gentle and gallant to all womankind — His manner, be- sides its warrior frankness, had a little trifle of the fascinating courtesy of the old school ; his nephew was an exquisite of the new one. He affected a little hauteur, nonchalance, sarcasm ; tried to ridicule everything and everybody a little, and went on the nil admirare system. Sir Hector, of so much more real im- portance, was all condescension, took an interest in everything, was accessible to every body, thought it rude to be satirical, and impertinent to make fun of people, and felt and expressed a hearty and genuine admiration for everything that seemed to him good, or clever, or beautiful. However, the nonchalance and sarcasm of THE BRIDE ELECT. 191 the nephew's manner did not extend to his behaviour to his uncle ; but whether genuine respect, or sordid interest affected his conduct, it is not easy to decide. Sir Hector Loftus returned, with true politeness, Mr. Addington's somewhat solemn mercantile bow. Captain Beresford acknowledged it with a half bend of his stiff back — a peer through his saucy eyes— a curl of his handsome whiskered lips, and a whisper to Isabel. " Thank you for getting me another setting of that quiz — he's unpayable. I have sketched him in my new novel the ' Lounger of Long's ;' he's quite a new hit ; but now I can fill up from life — he'll be a gem — he will, indeed." " You must be careful what you do now," said Isabel, with some dignity, " for he is Penelope's Intended." a Is he indeed ? Come, that furnishes me with another hint. I'll have Penelope in too! She deserves it, if she really 192 THE BRIDE ELECT. means to marry that quiz for the sake of his thousands/' " I believe his real attachment has much more to do with it," said Isabel, a little piqued. " Well, I shall certainly shew her up if she does. I could make a good thing of Pen/'' " If I may judge by your other sketches," said Isabel, " your forte does not consist in taking likenesses. I think Penelope and Mr. Addington will not run much risk of being recognised. I am quite easy on that score ; and the more you caricature, the less danger is there. No one recognised old Sir B. C — , in your Colonel Lanky Spanky, nor the O'B — s, in your Irish fortune-hunters. Your fancy pictures are very fair ; but, indeed, you have no talent for portraits." " Perhaps you have no eye for a like- ness," growled the lion, very much piqued. THE BRIDE ELECT. 193 u Cda reste a prouver," laughed Isabel. M When I bring out my work in which you figure, I fancy you will be recognised at once." " Why, surely," said the lion, " you are iK>t going to publish — " « Why not l M ' ; The risk is so very great — unless you could get a publisher to take your work at half profits." " And why should I not ; you did." " Yes ; but there is a prejudice against young ladies' works." " Kay ; by far the greater number of our most popular novelists are ladies." a Yes ; but most of them of a certain age." " Many are now — not all — and all begin in early youth. 'Evelina' was written by a girl of seventeen." " Yes ; but every scribbling girl is not a Miss Burney." M Nor every young gentleman author a Bulwer or D'Israeli, whatever he may VOL. i. K 194 THE BKIDE ELECT. think/' retorted Isabel, not a little net- tled. Captain Beresford looked at her with surprise. He had never seen her so an- gry. They were always sparring it is true ; but she had always been on the defensive — such an attack surprised as much as it enraged him. " Well, Miss Isabel Ashton," he said, " I only advise you as a friend ; run no risk for the sake of an ungrateful public. If some interested publisher induces you to publish on commission, you will find he will bring you in a bill of some hundreds. If some enterprising speculator will take your work on half profits, you will find it a whole loss — at least you will gain nothing but experience, and lose nothing but time." " I presume," laughed Isabel, '' you are bestowing on me the fruits of your own experience of this idle trade." Captain Beresford colored — bridled — stammered — coughed. At last, he said — THE BRIDE ELECT. 195 u I always sell my copyright. n u Oh, then that is what I shall do." Ci Yes. if you can find a purchaser — take my advice, don't waste your time — to be sure, a young lady's time is not very valuable." 4f You may well say so, Sir William, see- ing how we squander it, and with whom." The announcement of dinner put a stop to this warfare. Isabel had had the best of it, and the last word. It was with a very bad grace Captain Beresford offered her his arm. An excuse from Trevor Templeton, for whom dinner had been kept waiting, filled poor Blanche's e} r es with tears, and her heart with trouble, Sir Hector Loftus, of course, escorted Mrs. Ashton — Mr. Addington his intended — the Lion his u fair foe" — and Blanche, instead of her heart's idol, found herself beside her snappish, but, just now, highly delighted old uncle, Mr. Percy Ashton. The dinner went off pleasantly enough K 2 1.96 THE BKIDE ELECT. — for Mrs. Ashton was in high spirits — Sir Hector Loftus had a great deal of conver- sation, no little fun, and so much good humour, that it became quite infectious. Not only the happy mamma saw Pene- lope safely seated by her unexceptionable intended, and behaving with a gentle and modest dignity, more engaging in a fiancee than any outward show of tenderness, saucy agaceries, or coy reserve ; but Sir Hector Loftus, on whose opinion of Isabel Mrs. Ashton believed his nephew's propo- sals would depend, was engaged in a lively conversation with that very damsel. He evidently admired her extremely, and she, as evidently, seated between the uncle and nephew, was trying to amuse the former in spite of the marked ill- humour of the " Lion of the Coteries." Mrs. Ashton thought she detected some symptoms of jealousy in the handsome nephew — and owned to her own heart, as she saw, the frank, kind smile of the one, and the cold sneer of the other, that the THE BRIDE ELECT. 197 uncle would be much more to her taste than the nephew. However, she thought, girls see things so differently — and all that nonchalance is the fashion of this day as much as courtesy and deference were of mine. " I fancy, Miss Isabel/' said Sir Hector, after Isabel had given a lively description of some scenery she had once visited in Wales, " I fancy you must be both a poet and a painter." " Which is as much as co say, uncle, though I know you mean a compliment, that the young lady has not perfected a talent either for painting or poetry," said Sir William Beresford. " Why, who," retorted the uncle, " could look at Miss Isabel Ashton, and fancy she had had time to perfect — a talent for any- thing — to possess the talent is the great thing — that is inborn. Perfection is of very slow growth, my boy ! and beauty has generally left the possessor of genius 198 THE BEIDE ELECT. before he can bestow it on his composi- tions." "Yet Rafaelle, sir, came very near per- fection in very early youth. And Byron, I fancy, was a first-rate poet before he was thirty." "Yes, but Rafaelle's latter paintings show that his genius, great as it was, w r as an improving one; and Byron, at thirty-six, was ashamed, and justly, of many poems he gloried in at twenty-six. All men, too, nephew, who paint and who write) are not llafaelles and Byrons. And the general run of young artists and young authors have more daring than prudence — more imagination than judg- ment — more power to conceive than to execute. However," he added, bowing gallantly to Isabel, " don't let that dis- suade you, young as you are, from giving the world specimens of the talents I feel sure you possess — woman's mind, like her person, comes to maturity long before THE BRIDE ELECT. 199 man's ; and though, with very few excep- tions, man's muse is an impertinent cox- comb under thirty — woman's is often a graceful and dignified genius at twenty- five, approaching perfection, though it has not yet reached it." " I must say, uncle," growled the Lion, concealing his wrath, under a sneer, u you are a dangerous adviser for young ladies." " How so 1 I have never, to my know- ledge, advised any but for their good. I wish all of my cloth, nephew, could say as much." " But surely it cannot be for the good of any young lady, who has a talent for rhyming, to incur the risk of failure and expense by giving her productions, pretty enough for the silken albums of her friends, perhaps, to a cold and sarcastic public." " Nay," said Isabel, " private friends are often colder and more sarcastic than the public, Captain Beresford." " I believe," said his uncle, " the public, 200 THE BKIDE ELECT. though a plain speaker, is a very fair deal- ing fellow in the main. But I strongly advise, whether for publicity or not, that all young ladies should cultivate their mental powers. I am certain the highest pleasures spring from the intellect — and all the countless woes entailed by idleness, such as unhappy attachments — silly flir- tations — vain ambitions, ruinous expenses and so forth, would be avoided by the ear- nest pursuit of literature and the arts — there is besides a peculiar pleasure in poetic pains, which none but poets know, as Cowper says. And the other day, in support of my opinion of the pleasures of composition, I produced an impromptu which I will try to remember." " Oh, pray do, Sir Hector V 9 said Isabel, a I did not know you were speaking from experience/' said the young lion. " Oh T have my autobiography now in the press." " Indeed, who is the publisher?" " That you will know in good time." THE BRIDE ELECT. 201 " Had I known it before, I might have been of some service/' "As how r " In getting a good publisher to under- take the work." "There was no difficulty in that my boy. What I have to tell is too stirring, too interesting to require puffing. The best house in town jumped at my pro- posal." "But the impromptu," said Isabel. " Well, some blue stockings were dis- cussing Mithridates and his offer of a king- dom for a new pleasure, I said I should have won the prize had I lived in his day." '• How so, Sir Hector, asked a Miss Snarl." " I would have persuaded him to become a poet, I added." " For when the Pontic Monarch of old times. Offered a kingdom for some pleasure new, If they had bade him rhyme and read his rhymes, They'd won the prize and well deserved it too." K 5 202 THE BRIDE ELECT. a Bravo," said Isabel — and bravo she re- peated, though within hearing of the Lion, while the other guests, hearing the bravos, insisted on knowing the cause, and Sir Hector's impromptu was encored. He was pleased at his success — and so amiable and condescending that he soon eclipsed the snarling lion who was in a very ill humour indeed. Soon after this the ladies rose, and Sir Hector was not only the soul of reasonable jollity among the gentlemen in the dining- room, but the theme of universal praise in the drawing-room. " How much more fascinating he is than any young man !" said Mrs. Ashton. " I would not give much for his nephew's boasted heir-ship 1" said Penelope, " such a delightful man as Sir Hector will hardly escape the manoeuvres of mothers and daughters who will certainly drag him nolens volens into the matrimonial market, lie is the most interesting man of a cer- tain age I ever met — " and the Bride Elect THE BRIDE ELECT. 203 sighed — for she thought if she must give up Bernard Brydges — Sir Hector would have been more to her taste than her Banker lover — and quite as good a match — but she recalled the intense love poor Addington had betrayed rather than ex- pressed. She remembered his almost un- conscious ejaculation that he had loved her since her debut, now, she blushed to think, six long years ago. She remembered what he had so innocently revealed of the rival- ship of the Breretons— tried to triumph in her complete though unsought conquest over one so evidently the object of the ambition of the two dashing, handsome Misses Brereton with very fair fortunes — and then she joined her mother and sis- ters in a minute examination of Mr. Ad- dington's costly gift. " How generous he must be !" said her mother. " To think," said Isabel, " that Pen, who so prized and hoarded up that little iamond heart and cross, and would only 204 THE BRIDE ELECT. wear them on state occasions, should ever possess such a set of brilliants as these V " Do try them on, dearest I" said Mrs. Ashton, who did not quite like Penelope's silence, the quiver of her white lip, and the gathering moisture of her dark eye. " Of course, to show them quite to ad- vantage," said Isabel, " Penelope ought to be in full dress — black velvet, or white satin ; but, if she will take the geraniums out of her hair, and the scarlet ribbons off her dress, one can judge of them a little, even in that white muslin." " Sit down, darling, in this arm-chair, and we will soon array you." Penelope mechanically obeyed ; her mother and sisters wheeled the bergere to a pier-glass, and lighted the candelabra on each side. At first Penelope gazed ab- stractedly, and listened idly to the ex- clamations of deluht and wonder of her mother and sisters ; but when the tiara was on her brow, the girandoles in her ears, the sparkling river on her bosom, THE BRIM ELECT. 205 and the dazzling bracelets on her wrists — ■ the love of splendour, and the conscious- ness of beauty prevailed — the colour re- turned to her lips and cheeks, the lustre to her eyes. At that moment Sir Hector Loftus, and Mr. Addington, entered, and joining, the group, the former exclaimed — " Venus attired by the Graces ! indeed,' 5 and Mr. Addington, fortified by an excellent dinner, and a good glass of Port, drew nearer his idol, and whispered — a How much more you adorn them, than they do you ! Thankyou, sweetest! and best ! for your con- descension in so honouring my poor offer- ing — Nay, do not remove them, while you wear them, it all seems more like a reality, less like a dream. I know by your wearing my gift that you love me, and by your ac- cepting it that you have not rejected the unworthy donor." Penelope could not refuse gently to re- turn the pressure of the hand, which fur- tively stole hers for a moment; again tears filled her eyes, again her cheek grew pale 206 THE BEIDE ELECT. Mr. Adclington mistook, indeed, the cause of her emotion, and his unutterable bliss found no language but a sigh. Meanwhile, the other gentlemen had joined the party ; Mr. Percy Ashton's pale face, and perfectly bald head, were flushed with wine and pleasure. In his own cynical way he was fond of his nieces, and proud of them ; and he had, like most men of the world, a lively sympathy with success of any kind, and in any department. " Upon my word, Miss Penelope,'* he said, bowing (as he had never bowed before to his lovely niece, and gallantly kissing the fair hand set off by the dazzling bracelet), *•' upon my word, I scarcely know which most to congratulate, you on the conquest, of so princely-hearted a lover, or my good friend, Addington here, on the possession of the handsomest wife in Europe." " Oh, Mr. Percy Ashton," said Adding- ton, overcoming his mercantile reserve and precision, in the excitement of the mo- THE BRIDE ELECT. 207 ment, and tears glistening in his small grey eyes, " you, who know the world so w T el!, can ' strike the balance ' more justly than that compliment implies. You know very well that Miss Ash ton can choose from a host of admirers with far greater advantages than I possess ; but that the world does not contain another laly so lovely, so accomplished, so charming, and withal," and here is voice faltered, " and withal, of so condescending, so affectionate a disposition." Ashamed of the emotion he could neither master nor conceal, Mr. Adding* ton hastily rose, and the French window being open, stepped out on the balcony. " Go to him, Pen/' said her uncle, who, to Penelope's surprise, wiped, with his 'snowiest of kerchiefs/ a tear, partly the child of the heart, partly of the bottle. " Go to the noble-minded fellow, and tell him what, if you've a heart worthy the name, you must feel — tell him that you love him as man was never loved before — 208 the Bride elect. and that the study of your life shall be to deserve him." But Penelope did not move — a tear in the eye of a man she loves has a magic influence, indeed, on woman's heart ; and a moonlight tete-a tete on a balcony with an intended, under such excitement from such a cause, if he were, indeed the choice of her heart as well as her lip, would be a rapture she could scarcely resist ; but Penelope felt her conscience, rather than her heart, touched by the emotion she did not share ; and as for a tete-a-tete, she positively dreaded it. What to real love is such a luxury, to her pre-occu pied heart, would be almost a torture. She had nothing to say, nothing to do, in a tete- a-tete with Mr. Addington, except as an actress, in what was to her the most tame and insipid of dramas ; and the con- sciousness of playing a part, humbled and degraded her in her own eyes, and put her out of humour with herself. THE BRIDE ELECT. 209 " Come, Pen, you beautiful little tyrant ! go to the poor fellow. Don't you see his heart is so full, that unless you help him to unburthen it, it will break before you're Mistress of Oak Park and several thousands a year." " I thought, uncle, that you did'nt be- lieve in broken hearts," laughed Penelope. " At least, when mamma feared that poor young Cornet, who was in love with Elanche, might die broken-hearted, you were quite in a pet at the idea," " Well, I certainly was a sceptic both as to broken hearts and true love ; but Ad- dington has converted me in to a full belief in the one, and, I dare say,- ere long, I shall not disbelieve in the possibility of the other ; but listen, my lovely niece, to the advice of an old fellow, who knows the world, and wishes you well. Les rigueurs cl' tine belle, none approve or ad- mire more than I do, with your cold non~ chalants, impudent off and on puppies— your Trevor Templetons, Bernard Brydges, 210 THE BRIDE ELECT. and Captain Beresford; but your thorough- paced lover, like your thorough-bred horse, wants nor whip nor spur, use him gently, — pat him kindly — feed him well ; lover's food is smiles — kind glances — gentle words — pretty little billet douoc — a flower now and then — an almost inperceptible pressure, perhaps, once in a month of the white gloved hand — so soft, that as the poet says — ' 'Twas but a doubt/ — and with such a lover as Mr. Addington — so distrustful of his own merits — so impressed with yours — I should even advocate, just once in a way, a stealthy kiss/' A shudder passed through Penelope's heart ; but she suppressed its evidence. " Well, uncle, all this is new, indeed, as coming from you. You always declared that love begins with the first sigh, and ends with the first kiss." " And so it does with most men ; but Addington is an exception to all my rules — why, his liberality about settlements surpasses anything I have ever met with THE BRIDE ELECT. 211 in my long experience of this huckster world. Instead of shunning the subject, as most men do, he was all eagerness to enter upon it. Is determined to settle half his realised and noble fortune on you — and when I rather demurred, and sug- gested the probability, nay, almost cer- tainty of children." — (Here Penelope grew paler still) — * What do you think he said. 4 True, God may so bless our union ; but dear as any children, by that angel, would be to me, they could never be to me what she is. I am not a man of many words, or many affections — and, therefore, I can give you no idea of my devotion to your niece — nor is it likely I can ever feel for any human creature, not even her child and mine, a tithe of what I feel for her V Those, Pen, were his own words ; and as for pin-money, which most men so grudge, and which, if agreed to before marriage, they generally contrive to evade after ; he not only wishes yours to be such as a countess might envy you, but to be 212 THE BRIDE ELECT. secured to you in the most binding, legal manner, so that you may feel perfectly in- dependent even of himself." Tears slowly filled Penelope's eyes. " Now I am," continued Old Percy, "a man of the w T orld, and have always held that the proper study of mankind is man. To that study I have devoted the years some squander, on what have been cleverly termed two old songs. Some on delusive speculations about worlds which are nothing to them, and which perhaps, after all, may turn out to be no worlds at all. For the theories of one century are generally dis- proved by the next — some on loathsome insects — some on senseless strata and ves- tiges of creation, which like the fools they mislead, are forever contradicting each other. Well, not to detain you, lovely Bride Elect, with all the rubbish I have eschewed, I only wish to observe that in that noble study in which I thought I had made so great a progress, namely, that of mankind^ I find I have yet much to learn, THE BRIDE ELECT. 2lo and to unlearn. And I am come to this conclusion. Since my recent conversation with your, intended." " How so, uncle ?" said Penelope, list- lessly, for the subject, alas! did not inter- est her. " Why, my dear niece, my opinions are formed a good deal on those of Rochefo- cault (one of the few people who have dared to tell us the truth) to paint us as we are — to summon us, great mental ana- tomist as he was, to a dissection of " that hideous thing," a naked human heart — and J have never, till to-night, met with any exception to his great rules. I have never met a man more anxious in love, for the happiness of his wife than for his own, never met one generous enough to delight in promoting a happiness which was not to centre in himself alone — T believe, I was once half in love myself — but I never be- fore met with a love undebased by jealousy, distrust and many other mean and worth- less, and little ingredients which make up 214 THE BRIDE ELECT. what is called wie grande passion in other men, but from which Addington's devotion to you seems to be quite free. I believe he loves you for yourself alone, and he is as anxious for your comfort as his widow — as for your happiness as his wife." " I am glad you think so highly of him." said Penelope, languidly, " I dare say he deserves all your encomiums." " Oh, Pen ! Pen ! you true woman," said Mr. Percy, shaking his head "the most valuable conquest once made, becomes valueless in your eyes, while any idle fop you have failed to subdue, becomes, in your sill} 7 heads and hearts, an object of interest and importance. Come, take an old man's advice, and step out and see after him!" "Fly and they'll follow ! follow and they'll fly !" said Penelope, archly, " whose favorite maxim was that, uncle?" " Mine, in all ordinary cases — mine as applied to Trevor Templeton — Bernard THE BRIDE ELECT. 215 Brydges, and that dandy-lion Beresford ; but it does not hold good with Addington. That it does with Beresford you can easily see — just look, because Isabel is paying a little attention to Sir Hector, and not as usual, entirely taken up with that coxcomb who means nothing — how much less inso- lent and nonchalant is his manner! He actually is condescending to listen to her remarks, and seems, for once in his life, aware not only that he is in the presence of a lady, but of a young and pretty one too — and he might, if he were not so vain a coxcomb, find out that though he has spoiled much good paper, and puffed him- self into a little ephemeral notice, she has twenty times his talent even in the three volumes post octavo line !" "You judge him harshly," said Pene- lope, " he has the manners of a certain class." 11 Of a certain clique rather." " Well, of a certain clique uncle — but for that sort of man. he pays Isabel a good 216 THE BRIDE ELECT. deal of attention — and I believe he is in love with her." " What proof has he ever given of being so?" " Why, he follows her everywhere — reads her all his novels in manuscript — calls almost every day — walks — rides — drives — dances — and quarrels with her/' added Penelope, smiling. " Exactly... just as I thought ! he proves he is passionately in love — with himself ! and to gratify that passion, he does not caie what injury he does her. None of those fellows do ! When he is a little out of conceit with himself — and your vain men have no real comfortable confidence in themselves or their productions — they are subject to a miserable reaction, from the high fever of conceit to the chill of despondency and self-distrust — then the smiles and the praises of such a sweet, bright, clever girl as Isabel, put him in good humour with himself. The incerest THE BRIDE ELECT. 217 she takes in his high-sounding nonsense, and even the little disputes between them excite and amuse him — and so he would go on for } r ears frittering away all her prime and all her prospects — and then all at once he pounces on a city heiress, and Isabel, soured, disappointed, and in the world's opinion, jilted — dwindles into a hopeless old maid. I don't believe he means any more than Bernard Brydges or Trevor Templeton — he cannot mean less." " Oh, uncle ! Trevor Templeton is all but engaged to Blanche." " All but ! exactly — just as I thought — he has all but proposed — that is, he has ogled — philandered — followed — flirted — squeezed her hand — and, for all I know, though if I knew it, I'd kick him out of the house, kissed her — poor dupe ! but he has taken care, heartless scoundrel ! not to say one actionable word-r-never to name matrimony — never to write a line one could produce in court against him ! By George ! Penelope, though I played the VOL. I. L 218 THE BRIDE ELECT. same cursed shuffling game myself for half a century — and though I do believe I have made a dozen women, who might be happy wives, portionless old maids, it makes my blood boil, and my fingers itch, when I see the same tricks played off on my brother's children. You, Pen, have done wisely ; you have narrowly escaped being the scorned and ridiculed victim of unmeaning attentions. If Isabel has one particle of womanly spirit, she will tread in your steps. I do believe the girl has made a conquest of the uncle — on whom, too, that fop is dependent. She will pay Beresford off for all his slights and insults — for unmeaning attentions are nothing else — walk into church with Sir Hector and cut my young scribbler out of the fine fortune he is fool enough to reckon on ! As if, in the matrimonial market, a fine fellow of fifty, like Sir Hector, with fame, fortune, and good breeding to boot, were not much more certain of bidders, (good ones too,) than a young puppy, who THE BRIDE ELECT. 219 spends more than he has, and reckons on his heirship to set all right, ha ! ha ! ha I" " But Isabel couldn't marry a man with one arm." " Why not \ with the other he has de- fended his country, and could her ! besides, niece, be quite sure a woman is much hap- pier married to a man without an arm, than one without a heart ! I do hope 1 shall yet have to give her to that brave fellow ! though, mark, if things seem tend- ing that way, the nephew will, in all pro- bability, be roused then to propose him- self, rather than be jilted by the lady and disinherited by the uncle — he will do what else he never would — offer his worthless self" " How severe you are on those you own, uncle, to be no worse than you have been yourself." " I am — I know the game so well — as the vulgar proverb says, ' Set a thief to catch a thief V Penelope, little as I may sometimes express or betray it, I love my L 2 220 THE BRIDE ELECT. poor brother's, fatherless children almost with a father's love, and am not the less anxious about them, because your mother, (forgive me Pen,) though a good sort of woman enough in her way, is, in all worldly matters, a total fool ! I have always feared, through her sad mismanage- ment, and your very natural, but most inju- rious, girlish predilections I should live tosee you all deserted old maids ; but now I am easy on your account- -and the triumph I feel in your success convinces me that you are, as I always suspected — my especial favorite. I have not been to a drawing- room for many years — but I shall go to see you presented; though I hate weddings, and think them generally sadder and more stupid affairs than even funerals, I shall give you away myself. T have always shunned going to parties with you, because I am so ashamed of handing my brother's daughter into a miserable fly— and I have constantly declined yonr mother's dinner parties, because a wretched page and THE BRIDE ELECT. 221 china dishes, contrast so painfully with his well remembered suite of servants and splendid service of plate — but now that instead of blushing for your establishment I shall be able to glory in it — see you at the head of an elegantly appointed table installed in a noble mansion, and borne about in a perfect equipage, I dare say I shall be tempted out of my seclusion and induced to avail myself of Addington's pressing invi- tation to make his house a second home- but see, here he comes ! now smile on him Pen ! I never chose to play the part of Monsieur de Trop, so, I shall leave my chair to him and go and see what all this gui tarring and serenading is about." Mr. Addington silently took the seat Mr. Percy Ash ton vacated, and out of his now very red eyes, stole a furtive glance at his beautiful intended. A lover's tete-a-tete is proverbially dull — it is all the more so when all the love is on one side— so we will follow Mr. Percy Ash- 222 THE BRIDE ELECT. ton, the old man of the world, to see what mean the guitar with its scarlet ribbon, just brought into play — by Isabel ; and the interest Sir Hector Loftus is taking in its tuning ; what causes a sneer on his nephew's lip— and a little prelud- ing and excusing his deficiencies in Sir Hector. " Before I lost the good friend, who lies at Corunna", he said, glancing at his empty sleeye, I had, like many other young subs, thrummed a good deal on the guitar — sere- nading the dark-eyed beauties of Spain — and indeed one of the loveliest Donnas of that land of beauty, condescended to make me her pupil — of course, I cannot accom- pany myself now — but I believe I can still hum one or two of the little songs, I wrote at that time, suggested by incidents of the war, and which this beautiful Inez set to an air of her own composing. " Oh, that will be most interesting," said Isabel— THE BRIDE ELECT. 223 " Vastly romantic indeed," sneered the dandy-lion. Quite unaffected and unsuspicious of his nephew's jealousy, Sir Hector struck with his right and only hand a few chords on the piano, as an accompaniment, and hummed a pretty plaintive air. " Now, Miss Isabel,'' he said, " that will be enough, just play those chords on the guitar." Isabel did so. The little song I am going to sing, he said, was written in honor of a young couple, who had been long attached, but at length were married, and before the bride and bridegroom had reached the home which he had hoped she would find a little Eden, he was summoned to one of the stirring engagements of that day of peril and of blood. The poor girl followed him, aye, even to the field — where alas ! he fell, — it sounds romantic but it is quite true that she roamed about after the battle among the dead and dying, till she found him, and 224 THE BRIDE ELECT. that when she was missed, and discovered at last, she was lying dead on her lover's bosom... " Credat Judseas..." whispered Captain Beresford. " Ah boy," said Sir Hector, who had caught the words, " those only disbelieve in the power of true love who not only have never felt its influence but are quite incapable of doing so ; as well talk of scenery to one born blind, music to the deaf, wit to the dullard — aye ! better, than of love to the heartless, the egotist, or the coxcomb — of course, I mean nothing per- sonal, only don't let those, who would pass for having hearts themselves, doubt their existence in others P Captain Beresford bit his whiskered lip ; but made no reply. Isabel began a pretty prelude, having caught the plaintive air Sir Hector had hummed, she adroitly mixed it with the symphony and the accompaniment, Sir Hector began : THE BRIDE ELECT. 225 Joy to the warrior ! and joy to the maid ! They are wand'riDg alone where the spring flowers smile ; She has listened at length to his vows, and has laid Her heart on his bosom awhile. Hail to the warrior, and hail to the maid ! They have wept ; but the season of sorrow is o'er, The orange wreath blends with her hair's sunny braid, They are kneeling the altar before ! Woe to the warrior ! and woe to the maid ! Ere she smiled by his hearth, War's stern trumpet was heard — 1 Bear up, my beloved !' he mournfully said, Then forth his proud charger he spurred. Peace to the warrior ! and peace to the maid ! He fell on the battle plain —she sought his grave, She laid herself down where her hero was laid, And o'er those true lovers the wild flowers wave. Sir Hector had a beautiful voice, and a fine taste ; the ladies were moved — So -was his nephew ; but with a different feeling. l 5 226 THE BRIDE ELECT. " Quite Words worthian, in their simplicity, I must say, uncle — " " What the lovers V " No, the lines.' , " Is that a fault % — I ask for information as you are one of the acknowledged literati of the day, and I am a rough, old soldier, whose muse has had no higher aim than to lighten my own or a comrade's watcb, or to pay a tribute to love, valour, or beauty." " Do sing us that again," said Mrs. Ashton. " Oh, do !" echoed all the ladies, and " do" re-echoed even Mr, Percy Ash- ton. " No, not again ; but I have another little ballad, also founded on fact, but which ended happily. A friend of mine was erroneously returned among the killed, and was mourned as dead by his mother and intended, till he appeared in person to con- tradict the report. A few chords in the THE BRIDE ELECT. 227 key of F major, triple time, if you please, Miss Isabel/' Isabel complied. Sir Hector began : 1 Weep not for me,' said the blue-eyed Medora, 4 Weep for the mother, who mourns for her son, 4 If you have tears/ sobbed the youthful adorer, 1 Shed them — oh, shed them for her who has none.' f Yet how I loved him !' she sighed, wildly seizing The hand that would wreathe the black veil in her hair, * But tears come in torrents, my bursting heart easing, Then tremble for that tearless sorrower there.' There sate that mother, the fresh morning found her Still grasping the tidings which told that her son, The tie, the sole tie that to this sad world bound her, Was slain ! and that she was a desolate one. That morning's fresh breezes new tidings waft over, Who heeds them, those tidings of glory and joy r t The lovely affianced who mourns for her lover, The desolate mother bereaved of her boy 1 228 < THE BRIDE ELECT. Oh, no ! but her handmaid though poor and depen- dent, Was rich in a heart to a brave soldier true, She seize those dispatches — with blushes resplen- dent — She shrieked, ' Oh, Tie lives ! and my master lives too.' ' Where is his mother V Medora cried, throwing Her beautiful form at the pale mourner's feet, f Joy ; for he lives ! and the tears that are flowing From the eyes of his destined-one, mother, are sweet !' ' Who says he lives V groaned the mother, ' oh i hear her Who would a desolate widow deceive ? 1 I say he lives,' cried a martial voice near her, 1 Mother ! Medora ! look up, and believe !' You, who have said that this world has no pleasure, Gaze on that mother who weeps o'er her boy. — Gaze on that maiden who smiles on her treasure, And own that on earth there is fulness of joy ! " And now," said Sir Hector, smiling in delighted acknowledgment of the praises THE BRIDE ELECT, 229 and thanks he received, " I am entitled to call on you all, in turn, fair ladies. So, having done my poor best to entertain you, 1 shall ensconce myself in this com- fortable arm-chair, and prepare to be en- chanted." Isabel, who seemed possessed this even- ing with a great spirit of independence, in spite of Captain Beres ford's scruti- nising glances, and impertinent sneers, played and sang with considerable spirit. Penelope, probably to break up, a to her, most tedious tSte-d-tSte, drew near the piano, and offered to join her in a duet. Blanche, albeit, unusually pale and de- jected, was called upon next, and finally the w dandy-lion/ perceiving that no one asked, or wanted his aid, proposed to take a part in a glee. A very pleasant concert was thus en- sured, in which all, except Mr. Addington, joined. He found pleasure enough in gazing at 230 THE BRIDE ELECT. Penelope, and listening to her clear, flute- like notes. It was very late before Sir Hector seemed to remember that his horses had been wait- ing a long time. He cordially thanked Mrs. Ashton for one of the most delightful evenings he had ever spent, offered his services whenever they wanted an escort, he would not say a beau — playfully re- marked he had still one arm at the service of the fair — to say nothing of a hand and heart; and, with graceful and courteous cordiality, the uncle took his leave, fol- lowed by his handsome nephew, who half lisped, half drawled " adieu, au revoir !" and, thinking he looked very grand, but in reality appearing rather ' small/ as Trevor would have said, he stepped into his uDcle's carriage, and listened with well affected nonchalance to the General's enthusiastic admiration of Isabel, and warm encomiums on all the Ashton family. His only com- ment was — THE BRIDE ELECT. 231 " Of course they're tolerable people, uncle, or you wouldn't find me intimate with them, and if Isabel wasn't deuced handsome and rather a clever creature, I shouldn't bore myself with coming out here — still less have inflicted them on you." 232 THE BRIDE ELECT. CHAPTER XIV. THE CONSULTATION. For some time after their guests were gone Mrs Ashton and Isabel remained in the drawing-room, talking over Sir Hector's merits and Penelope's prospects. Mrs. Ashton was in high spirits, — Poor Mother ! she had so often after a party, expensive to her to give, and troublesome and fa- tiguing too, retired to her own room, dejected, disappointed, with a miserable THE BPJDE ELECT. 233 sense of failure, not merely as far as the entertainment was concerned, but what was so much more important, its object ! ' ; How pretty they all looked I" she had sometimes thought to herself, as she re- flected on the appearance of her daughters, and their prospects. " How pretty they all looked I" how sweetly Penelope sang ; how gracefully Blanche danced ; and how cleverly Isabel talked, and recited her own sweet poetry — And yet in spite of all the expense I have incurred by this party and their new dresses ; not one is positively engaged — Trevor of course cannot but mean to propose to Blanche — I am pretty easy about her, but Bernard is I fear a sad detrimental — an unmeaning, dangerous hanger-on, and even if he meant immediate marriage, what a lot for Pen — three hun- dred a year, and an expensive lady's man ; then Captain Beresford — true he is as he says, his uncle's heir, and he may be waiting to see if Sir Hector approves his choice — he may, but his manner is very 234 THE BRIDE ELECT. nonchalant, and I did not at all like his remarks about men marrying young — oh, dear, oh dear ! how will it all end ? If they do not marry, poor girls, what will become of them when I die ? Perhaps Mrs. Wylie is right and I ought to have risked nothing to get them husbands — but have hoarded every penny to secure them something to live on \" Yes, often and often with reflections like these had Mrs. Ashton been kept awake after a gay party at Ashton lodge. How different were her emotions now ! The thought of Penelope's marriage was fraught with triumph, with rapture, and Penelope had hitherto been her greatest care ! and now that Sir Hector Loftus had turned out so delightful, so loveable a person himself, Mrs. Ashton began to hope that his nephew meant nothing after all, and that Isabel, once convincedof his indifference, would appreciate the admiration with which she had evidently inspired the uncle, THE BRIDE ELECT. 235 and by her affability encourage him to propose. "An officer so distinguished, he is almost certain to be made a Peer!" said Mama, thinking aloud. " And oh, how well he deserves all the rewards his conntry can bestow," said Isabel, with enthusiasm — it is the peerage would be honoured though, not Sir Hector/' The mother smiled a quiet smile, not meant for Isabel to see, who engaged in trying on the guitar the air he had sung, did not notice it at all — " What a pity he has lost an arm/' said the mother, (this was a feeler), " Oh mama ! a pity ! I think it makes him so very, very interesting, and he is so graceful in managing without it ! and when one thinks, how and where he lost it ! He is so brave, so poetically brave ! and so gentle too — How paltry seem all carpet knights, with their fine dandy figures, and pink and white complexions compared to a hero scarred in so many battles — bronzed 236 THE BRIDE ELECT. by such burning suns — and who, though evidently accustomed to command men, is so courteous, so kind, so gentle to women !" " Well, he certainly is a fine man, and a brave soldier — " " He is my beau ideal of a hero," said Isabel, her cheek flushing and her eyes sparkling— "Indeed! Well, I fancy you are his beau ideal of a heroine." " Me ! Oh, mamma ! what a maternal delusion. Me ! As if Sir Hector Loftus, who might chose among the noblest, the wealthiest, the loveliest — who is already above all praise, and entitled to all his country can do — who will be a peer directly he chooses to accept of a title, and will have his choice of the most brilliant appointments, as if he would ever throw away a thought on one so every way insignificant as I am." "But if you admire him so much, Isabel, he would not throw his thoughts away. He would not sigh in vain." THE BRIDE ELECT. 237 u He sigh in vain ? there is no woman in the world, whose affections are not pre- engaged, who would not adore him, mamma." " And are not my Isabel's affections somewhat engaged !" asked Mrs. Ashton, who had never been able quite to make out her youngest daughter's sentiments. " No — not in the least." " Has Captain Beresford made no way in your favour by all his attentions V " Attentions, mamma ! Do you think I value such attentions \ — the only object of which is to show off his own talents, to inspire, as he thinks, hopeless love and unrequited devotion for his own person. No, no, mamma, I am no husband-hunter ; and with all his faults, I like Captain Beresford better than any other young man of our acquaintance — or rather I like his society better, because he has read and thought a little, and can and will converse on something more interesting to me than the new opera, the last ball — a 238 THE BRIDE ELECT. fashion or a flirtation ; but I think he is vain, conceited, egotistical, and, I fear, mean, jealous, envious. He may captivate for an hour ; but I would not make such a man the master of my destiny — the guide of my life — the dictator of my conduct — the idol of my heart — in short, my hus- band — no ! not if to all the gifts nature really has lavished on him, were added all the choicest blessings fortune can bestow." " And how long have you thought thus, my darling'?" said her mother. "lam sure Captain Beresford thinks you admire him beyond anything, nor can I wonder he should imagine so — since, even I believed he was an especial favourite." " He was rather a favourite at first — that is, mamma, I was struck with his elegance and his great personal beauty — I admired his talents, for he is very clever, if nothing more ; and if he does not think deeply, or feel passionately, he cer- ainly writes with grace and freedom, THE BRIDE ELECT. 239 tells a story well, and has a light, sketchy style, brightened by occasional flashes of wit, and gleams of humour — then, too, he certainly singled me out for more notice — (it was rather notice than at- tention) than he deigns to pay to most young girls — and that rather flattered me, until I saw, that everything I did, and said, and wrote, was thrown away upon him ; all was nothing to him, except as it afforded an opportunity for him to do, or say, or write something to outshine me ; if you make a remark, he listens only to be ready with a quibble, a retort, or a sarcasm. If you tell a story, however amusing, touching, or interesting, he is impatient till it is done, in order to turn it into ridicule, and thus raise a laugh him- self instead, or eclipse it by some highly coloured fiction of his own — all this is very egotistical, and, at last, becomes very irritating. Then, too, he has rather dis- gusted me by his sweeping, contemptuous, and shallow condemnations of whatever 240 THE BRIDE ELECT. little effort of mine I have been silly enough to show him ; but certainly it was not till I saw him, young, handsome, fashionable as he is, brought into close comparison with a man of real character, real merit, real importance — a gentleman, asoldier, albeit, middle-aged, scarred and mutilated — nay, a hero — that I felt what a paltry creature, what a mere carpet- knight he was after all — for certainly, with all Captain Beresford's faults, he, to my mind, gains, when compared with that frivolous lady's man, Bernard Brydges, and that shallow, sporting, boyish Trevor Tera- pleton" " Ah, well, I quite agree with you, Isabel, in your estimate of Bernard Brydges — but I do think there is much that is good and generous about Trevor — and at any rate he suits Blanche, who, dear girl, though quite clever enough, has not the lofty mind, the devoted heart, and lively fancy of my Isabel." " Ah, mamma, Blanche has far too lofty THE BEIDE ELECT. 241 a mind, and too devoted a heart for that trifle. I fear he, like Bernard Brydges, and like Captain Beresford, means nothing ; nay, never meant, or will mean anything." " Oh, do not say so — he will break Blanche's heart, if so." " I hope not. Bernard has not broken Penelope's ; nor Captain Beresford mine." '* No ! but then Trevor Templeton has gone so very much farther — he has all but proposed — and it seems certain to me he does not feel sure of his degree — and therefore not of Richlands." rt Well, beloved mamma, I hope you may be right. Blanche, gentle, quiet, and placid as she seems — has deep feelings — and I fear she truly loves, with a girl's first, ardent and sanguine devotion, a man I have long suspected of being anything but what he seems — I do not mean that he is not idle, ignorant and in many respects imprudent — all those things he both seems and is, but after watching him closely, I VOL. i. M 242 THE BRIDE ELECT. am led to fear that his idleness is the idle- ness, not of the thoughtless boy, but of the selfish roue — his ignorance the ignorance, of good, not of evil, and his imprudence of a kind more likely to injure others than himself." " I fancy while he is destroying our dear Blanche's prospects — he has a keen eye to his own — and though I believe he has a sort of selfish love for her, he will marry solely from interested motives after all — In all probability to secure Eichlands he will propose to the very cousin he so ridi- cules and dislikes." " Let us hope for once your lively ima- gination, and sisterly anxiety have deceived you, dearest ! I cannot think so ill of poor Trevor — he seems so very frank and open — and then think how young he is T " Yes, in years ! At least, had be been brought up in seclusion, and were he all that you think him, two-and-twenty would be very young, but when you re- THE BRIDE ELECT. 343 member he went to Eton at seven — and has had to fight his own way at school and college, one of a daring, wily, experienced community, from seven to two- and- twenty — and though with a frank manner, I believe with a cunning head and a close heart — he does not appear to me at all a young or inexperienced man. However, such as he is, Blanche, I fear, loves him but too well ! and it is, I believe, equally vain to try to alter him or her — to make him other than he is, or to make her see him as he is — so good night, dearest mamma." "Let us trust in Providence !" Alas ! how seldom do we come to that wise con- clusion until we find there is nothing else to be done — as if that should not be the alpha and omega of all human under- takings. Isabel knocked gently at Blanche's door as she passed it on her way to her own room ; as no answer was returned, she entered, softly — Blanche was asleep — but M 3 244 THE BRIDE ELECT. it was an uneasy sleep — and broken by quick, convulsive sobs — her eyelids were red and swollen — her cheeks wet with tears — her hands clasped as in prayer, and ' Trevor, dear, dear, Trevor f she murmured in some dream, evidently of trouble and distress/' " Poor Blanche \" muttered Isabel, as she wiped away the tears from her own eyes — " Oh that you could see him as I do ! And to think that I have narrowly escaped the doom I see awaiting thee ! gentle loving girl." She stole away and stopped a moment at Penelope's door. Alas ! Alas ! Penelope could not rest — she was denied even the tearful slumbers of poor Blanche, she was pacing up and down her room. Mr. Ad- dington's rich and sparkling gifts lay neg- lected on the table — and in her hands and ever and anon clasped to her bosom were a locket and a chain Bernard Brydges had won at a raffle, and presented to her at the THE BRIDE ELECT. 245 time.'' It was a pretty, smart, and modish-looking trinket, and no bad emblem of the donor. It looked far better than it was, for the whole affair was sham, brittle, and as far as the intrinsic worth goes, valueless ; the metal was mosaic gold {id est no gold at all) and the emeralds set round the locket, and which he had whispered, were endowed by secret spell. " Her truth in absence to divine/' were bits of green glass, as trumpery and as deceitful as himself. And yet how had the worthless bauble been treasured ! What true, and even holy tears, had been shed over it — and even now — now, before Pene- lope, as in duty bound, consigns it with a bunch of dead violets — Bernard's first calling card — and a few paltry notes, to a casket, to be locked and sealed up, and 246 THE BRIDE ELECT. never opened by her again ; what fervent kisses and wild farewells does she lavish on the frippery bauble — and as she pressed it, for the last time, to her scorched lips and aching bosom, she feels how gladly she would purchase, with all those costly gems that sparkle in the gloom — (like vir- tue in distress) — the right to w r ear it for- ever on her heart. Alas ! that the worship of the False and the Ideal should be so much more fervent than that of the Real and the True. Bernard Brydges and his brass chain, gaily gilt — bright and brittle ! — that a true-hearted, gifted, im- passioned woman, should be ready to die for them ! and poor Addington with his lasting, unselfish love, and its genuine and costly tokens, that she should think of them, and them only with a shudder. Isabel felt it was no time to intrude — for Penelope was taking her last farewell of ' The Past' — but Isabel could not sleep while she could mark the hurried and agi- THE BRIDE ELECT. 247 tated footsteps of her poor sister pacing to and fro. It was dawn before she heard Penelope throw herself on her bed — and not till then Isabel fell asleep. 248 THE BE1DE ELECT. CHAPTER XY. THE OLD LADY OF THE OLD SCHOOL. After the dinner party we have described, Mr. Addington came regularly every evening to ' wait' on his fair Bride Elect, except when he was obliged to go down to Brighton to see his mother. Old Mrs. Addington was very anxious to see her son's intended, but an attack of rheumatism, from which she was still suffering, com- pelled her to postpone that pleasure for a time. THE BRIDE ELECT. 249 To Penelope every day she might reckon on before she was called upon to leave her dear home, and alas! all chance of seeing one she ought never to have wished to see again ! } r es, every day of freedom, seemed to her a reprieve. She had ascertained that old Mrs. Ad- dington was proud, reserved, industrious, frugal, quite of the old school, devoted to her son, and impressed with an idea that no woman in the world was, or could be in any degree worthy of him. That a young lady of the present day, should have won his affections, was to her a miracle, and a most distressing one too. That her George should throw himself away on a girl who understood nothing of housekeeping, pickling, preserving, making £ne shirts, and superintending domestic affairs in the style of the last century, was a dreadful blow, and that this idle, fashionable miss, should have no fortune to help to supply her extravagant m 5 250 THE BRIDE ELECT. wants, and pay her ruinous bills, but that she should be one of three portionless daughters, of an almost ruined family, and have been for years the object of her George's devoted, timid, and almost des- pairing love ! all this was, in the first in- stance, so irritating, so mortifying to his proud and adoring mother, that the fever of her spirit brought on and kept up the inflammation which caused her complaint ; and but for the power of female curiosity, and maternal anxiety, she would have re- fused to receive Miss Ash ton at all. However, a long conversation with her son, in which he laid bare the secrets of his honest heart, and let her see how en- tirely his happiness was bound up in his Bride-elect, determined this fond mother and resolute woman, to put self out of the question. In probing her own heart, she had ascertained that a vague jealousy of any new object of her son's love had much to THE BRIDE ELECT. 251 do with her dislike and disapproval of his marriage. After all, she thought Miss Ashton must have great merit, or he would not love her so well ! He has a right to please himself — a right purchased by a whole life devoted to business. If he were a poor man, such a wife would be as absurd and out of place as any other costly luxury, but George's wife need not be very thrifty ; and, indeed, if she is, the docile, sweet, and noble-minded crea- ture he describes her, as his mother, I shall have great influence with her, and, perhaps, be able to mould her to my own wishes after all. At any rate, she is to be his wife, and I had better try to make the best of it, and receive her with a good grace," Having once made up her mind, old Mrs. Addington determined to be well enough to receive her son's Bride- elect, and so great is the power of the mind over the body, and of the will over the nervous 252 THE BRIBE ELECT. system, that in a few days from that self- command, Miss Addington was dispatched in the old-fashioned travelling chariot, at- tended by a man, who had lived thirty years, and a lady's-maid who had been twenty-five years in the family ; and as Mrs. Addington could not be reconciled to railways, or keep pace with the times, four post-horses conveyed Miss Addington and her mamma's letter to Mr. Addington's house in Russell Square. THE BRIDE ELECT. 253 CHAPTER XVI. THE VICTIM. Miss Addixgtox was some years older than her brother — at least, so their bap- tismal registers informed the curious — but, both in tastes and feelings she was much his junior. Indeed, her father considered his son so much more sedate and sensible than his daughter, that he made the former both guardian and trustee for his sister, 254 THE BRIDE ELECT. and, in the event of her marrying, he made Miss Addingtoir's fortune, (fifty thousand pounds), dependent on her brother's approval of any match she wished to form. This extraordinary arrangement was supposed to be the result of Miss Adding- ton's having, in early girlhood, betrayed a somewhat sentimental turn — formed several fervent friendships at a boarding school with misses of romantic names — carried on some dangerous flirtations with their brothers — and narrowly escaped an un- principled fortune-hunter, who had re- solved on eloping with her. This aspirant was the brother of Miss Addingtoir's bosom friend. He was handsome, profli- gate, a gambler, and a fortune-hunter. Poor Miss Acldington fell desperately in love with him ; and the discovery and pre- vention of their elopement, which was to him only the defeat of a pecuniary specu- lation, was to her a bitter and lasting dis- THE BRIDE ELECT. 255 appointment of the heart ! Shortly after her father died. Her mother left London and retired to a remote country-house, where she lived in complete seclusion. Miss Addington opened her heart to her beloved Evelina — announced to her that, the death of her father left her hand at her own disposal ; but that by a codicil to his will, no fortune would be hers if §he married Adolphus ; and, indeed, her form- ing any other match depended on her brother's sanction. As such a contingency was out of the question, (for how could she ever love another) ; she, thoroughly despising all pecuniary advantages, was ready, when a proper interval after her father's death had elapsed, to redeem the pledge she had given her Adolphus. The poorest cottage with him would be a paradise to her ; and his pay as an ensign in a foot regiment, satisfy her moderate tastes and wishes. To this romantic effusion, Evelina, after 256 THE BRIDE ELECT. a few weeks, replied, that in a fit of despair, Adolphus had thrown himself away on the deformed but wealthy daughter of an army tailor. Strange to say, he died within a year. Poor Miss Addington, on hearing this, gave herself up, for some time, to despair ; but, by degrees, she recovered her com- posure — though not her spirits. The se- clusion in which she lived kept all fortune- hunters away. She gave up the Future, and professed to live only in the Past. She always spoke of herself as a victim — and considered all concerned in her early disappointment rather in the character of enemies. Even her brother she could not quite forgive, (though she loved him dearly), for his involuntary control over her destiny. And yet he was so thoroughly disinterested, that although in case of her dying childless, her whole fortune was to revert to him and his heirs, he had more than once felt and expressed a wish to see her settled- — but he did not know how to THE BRIDE ELECT. 257 set about it ; and the only person he could think of as suitable — namely, his partner, Mr. Airawell, and who, encouraged by him, did propose, was so stout, bald, middle- aged, and mercantile, so unlike the young ensign of the long ago, that Miss Adding- ton, primed with old novels, aye, and new ones, too, to his utter amazement, when he made a formal proposal — burst into tears, threw herself at his feet, and im- plored him not to persevere in his en- deavour to win a blighted thing, with a broken heart, nor by persisting in his ad- dresses to sow dissension between her brother and herself. Mr. Aimwell, a complete matter-of- factor, with whom to be romantic and to be crazed were synonvmous terms, hastened to assure Miss Addington that he would instantly withdraw his pretensions — that had he not understood from her brother that her heart and hand were free, he should never have presumed to propose. 258 THE BRIDE ELECT. He was very sorry to have distressed her, and would never allude to the subject again." " Generous being \" exclaimed Miss Ad- dington, taking his hand, and pressing it to her lips, " accept ray gratitude, ray friendship, my entire esteem, they are alas ! all I have to offer. My heart, oh, Mr. Aimwell! is wedded to the past! Nay, do not leave me ! at least, not so abruptly. Let me pour my tale of love and woe into your sympathising bosom ; it will be such a luxury to so forlorn a thing as I am to find a friend in him whom I reject as a lover ! Listen, good and generous Mr. Aim- well, while I tell you the story of a life." " The story of your life must be a pretty long one/' thought the unfeeling and matter-of-fact merchant, as he noted the streaks of silver in Miss Addington's ringlet crop of sandy hair, and the lines that marked her agitated face. Then rising, he said — THE BRIDE ELECT. 259 " Excuse me to-day, madam, I cannot stay a moment longer — I shall lose the coach." " I will send you a journal I have kept for years, a record of past events and by-gone adventures — you will see, oh ! Mr. Aimwel), why I can never be to you more than a friend." Aimwell bowed, and hastily retreated. Dora Addington looked after his burly figure, as long as it was visible, from the balcony — and, for some time, remained with clasped hands and tearful eyes. " Oh, no ! oh, no !" she muttered, there is no second love ! if I could have given to another the heart once bestowed on thee, Adolphus ! that noble, generous being would have deserved the boon — but it cannot be — it were treason to the past! Still his devotion entitles him to my full confidence — he shall know all !" and so say- ing, Miss Addington repaired to her boudoir to look up and retouch the journal which 260 THE BRIDE ELECT. she called ' The history of a Heart/ and which she secured with black riband, sealed with black wax, and directed to Mr. Aim- well. Mr. Aimwell, who only felt as if he had cut a ridiculous figure, and failed in an in- judicious enterprise, was in no humour to waste any more time on Miss Addington, in any way — He briefly and rather angrily related to Mr. Addington, what had occurred, and placed in his hands (unopened) the funereal looking packet he had received. Mr. Addington, at that time engrossed by his own attachment, in rather an absent manner, expressed his regret at the upshot of his scheme, and placed c The history of a Heart/ in one of the drawers of his own writing table, and while Miss Addington's fancy was busy night and day with its probable effect on the mind of her generous Aimwell — It was as completely buried and forgotten, as many other manuscripts, from THE BKIDE ELECT. 261 which sanguine and unhappy writers expect even more, than did poor Dora — since she only anticipated private sympathy — they that public sympathy, which becomes fame. 262 THE BRIDE ELECT. CHAPTER XVII. DOKA. It was about three years before Miss Ad- dington's introduction to the reader, that the event recorded in our last chapter, dis- turbed the tranquil monotony of her maiden existence. " The history of a Heart" never found its way back to her, but, as she thought it THE BRTDE ELECT. 263 might atone in some degree, to her 'generous Aim well/ for her loss — she nobly resolved to resign it to him, and to set about re- writing it from memory; as it was very vo- luminous and very closely written, this was no small sacrifice and no trifling labor! Still it was better for her in every way, than morbid and moody regrets of the past. Her mother had vainly tried to make her what she called a rational and useful mem- ber of society — and always looked upon and spoke of her as a silly, romantic girl ; spoiled by a fashionable boarding-school, by poetry and novel-reading — aware that she was ever busy with her pen, she con- cluded that to her other follies, she was adding that of authorship, and to the epithets of a Lydia Languish, romantic, crack-brained, ridiculous — she now added that of a genius ! All Mrs. Addington's pride was centred in her son — and she bitterly regretted that the impossibility of undertaking so long a journey, in her deli- 264 THE BRIDE ELECT. cate state, made it necessary to send in her place, so mean and degenerate a repre- sentative of the females of the house of Addington, as she felt her daughter to be ! To poor Penelope, however, it was a relief to find that the austere Mrs. Ad- dinoton was not to be her tete-a-tete COm- panion in the travelling chariot, which was to convey her to Brighton. Of the old lady, with her severe notions, her high standard of female excellence, and her absurd estimate of her son's merits, Penelope felt some involuntary awe but cue glance at the nervous, weak, sentimental Dora Addington set the Bride Elect, quite at her ease, with re- gard to her — she felt she was and must be the masterspirit, there; superior knowledge of the world — usage — presence of mind, all united to give her boundless superiority o\ er her future sister in-law. Her eccentricities amused her, and the romantic attachment — Dora instantly con- THE BRIDE ELECT. 2G5 ceived for her brother's beautiful fiancee made Penelope feel at once quite at ease with her, and certain that whatever she did or said would be, by this simple creature, deemed"wisest,virtuousest,discreetest,bestr' Mrs. Ashton and her daughters dined in Kussell Square on the day of Miss Ad- dington's arrival — Mr. Addington, too much in love to think of anything but himself and Penelope, had not asked any other gen- tlemen except Mr. Percy Ashton, to meet the ladies — This was a great oversight, and of course made the party, in spite of a noble dinner and the finest old wines, a very dull affair. To Mr. Addington however it seemed Elysium ; and Mr. Percy Ashton was so delighted with the good style in which everything was done — the wines, the plate, the servants were all so entirely first rate, and Penelope was looking so handsome, and Addington so devoted, that Mr. Percy Ashton thought it the most agreeable VOL. i. N 266 THE BRIDE ELECT. evening he had spent for a long time, and was actually gallant in his attentions to Miss Addington- — Mrs. Ashton engrossed by the future, and delighted with the present, was all smiles. Blanche and Isabel of course found it dull — to Blanche all places were dull where Trevor Templeton was not ; and Isabel could not but think Mr. A ddington a stupid creature for not inviting Sir Hector Loftus and Captain Beresford, to help him to en- tertain such a party of ladies. However, what with dinner, coffee, tea, a little music, and some pretty bridal pre- sents, the time passed away, and eleven o'clock struck, and the carriage was an- nounced (the carriage, alias the odious fly) before Mr. Addington could believe that half the evening was really gone. The next day Penelope and Miss Ad- dington were to set out for Brighton, where the lover was to join them in a few days. THE BRIDE ELECT. 267 Dora clasped Penelope in a fond embrace, and whispered — " Farewell till to-morrow, beautiful sister of my heart P And after a protracted leave-taking, when our party were fairly shut into, their fly, Mrs. Ashton exclaimed — " Thank Heaven ! This is the last time Penelope will return home in such a con- veyance as this. We have kept the odious thing waiting so long, we shall have I know not what to pay ! And I felt so ashamed that that perfect butler, and those fine footmen, should see their future mistress stepping into a one-horse fry. Oh, Pene- lope, from my heart I congratulate you." " Thank you," murmured Penelope, in a hollow voice, and leaning back in the car- riage, she dashed away some bitter tears ! " How often," she thought, " has this very fly borne me full of sweet memories, and joyous hopes, to the parties where I was to meet Bernard Brydges, or to the home N 2 268 THE BRIDE ELECT. where I was sure to dream of him ? Some- times, oh brief but delightful moments, we made room for him between us, to set him down at his own door, or take him to some scene of pleasure we w r ere to share with him. Oh, that 1 could forget the thrill of joy caused by the inevitable, the accidental con- tact with his dear hand, his noble form — the light touch on my flushed cheek of his fragrant hair, the intoxicating perfume of the scent he always w r ears — Oh, the dull, the dreary pomp, the cold, the stiff mono- tony, the utter insipidity of the hand- somest equipage with the unloved husband by my side. And yet mamma congratulates me — the world envies, friends applaud — Oh, miserable, miserable, most miserable — more so because I am w 7 retched enough to accept of w r ealth, while I am weak enough to regret — yes, even to anguish — the liberty I resign. But I will not, I may not act a part so base, so treacherous. Bernard would not make me his, even were there no THE BRIDE ELECT. 269 Mr. Addington in the world, and if I cannot be Bernard Brjdges's wife, who so unex- ceptionable, who so good, who so devoted, as my — alas ! can I call him so, my future husband \ My mother, too — my sisters — even my uncle — The world, my wretched prospects if I do not marry — No, no, no, I will be firm— I will give my heart with my hand — Bernard, I will forget thee. A h, en duant ilfaut oicblier, on se souvient !" 270 THE BKIDE ELECT. CHAPTER XVIII. THE JOURNEY. At an early hour the next day (at least early for the fashionable Ash tons though late enough for the mercantile Ad- dingtons), Miss Addington arrived in her mother's travelling chariot to convey the Bride-Elect in her long planned excursion to visit the mother of her Intended. Pene- lope, who had passed a sleepless night, and been in a nervous flutter all the morning, THE BRIDE ELECT. 271 had just begun her first cup of tea when the door was flung open, and not only Miss Addington, but, to her, alas ! painful sur- prise, Mr. Addington was ushered in. An early riser himself, punctual and exact, he was not very much pleased, not only to find Penelope so far behind her time ; but so very indifferent, and non- chalante about the matter. " Not ready yet, Miss Ashton V he said, with a grave look, and a reproachful tone ; " did we not agree that nine o'clock should be the hour for your starting V " Yes," said Penelope, " I fancy some- thing about that time — it is not much later now." " No, it is not much later certainly,'' said the lover, taking out his watch, ■' in- deed, it is just striking nine at this mo- ment; but if you have only just begun breakfast, and have yet to dress, it will be very much past nine before you start." " I never was, and never shall be 272 THE BRIDE ELECT. punctual," said Penelope, piqued at being reproved where hitherto she had been so lauded. " I think excessive punctuality betrays a little mind; all great anxiety about trifles (and that is one) has something paltry about it." " I am surprised at such a remark from you, Miss. Ashton, for punctuality is to my mind, a species of honesty, and no one> even in trifles however minute, can be honest over much/' Penelope reddened and tossed her head —but perversely seemed resolved to daw- dle — Mr. Addington looked hurt and a little angry, and the romantic Dora took out her handkerchief, and anticipating a lover's quarrel walked to the window. Mrs. Ashton, who had been busy in the adjoining room, superintending the safe packing of Penelope's best bonnet, but who had overheard all — now thought it high time to come in — she is just in the mood to offend him, rash, silly girl, thought THE BRTDE ELECT. 273 the mamma, as she put on a winning smile, and smoothed at once her brow, and her silk wrapper. " What do I see?" she said, giving her hand most cordially to Mr. Addington ! "What, a lover's quarrel already? What have you been saying to my poor child, you cruel tyrant, you ! to make her look so pale and miserable ! and there is my dear Miss Dora, and in tears too ! What does it all mean? You silly creatures — quar- relling I dare say for the mere pleasure of making it up again ! Tell me all about it, my dear Miss Addington!" added the mamma, approaching her, and extending her hand. "Oh do not let them quarrel, do not let them quarrel!" cried Dora, throwing herself into Mrs. Ashton's arms. "It is so dreadful to quarrel with what we love, and on the eve of parting too." " Of parting," the words were a reprieve to the Bride Elect ! He was not going to » 5 274 THE BEIDE ELECT. escort them. She was not to be shut up for a whole day with him, with whom, oh, wretched one ! she had agreed to set out on the journey of life, and yet dreaded to undertake that of a day. At this dis- covery her good humour returned — but she still affected to be much offended — —aware that in such cases, right or wrong, woman must always seem rather to grant than to implore forgiveness — and that man who generally asks pardon with a very good grace, accords it with a \evj bad one. He seems indeed born to sue for, rather than to grant favors. " What is it all about, you naughty man?" asked Mrs. Ashton, having embraced Dora, and placed her in a chair. " Indeed I am at a loss how to answer that question/' said Mr. Addington, who being so adroitly put on the defensive, unconsciously forgot he was the plaintiff'. "Well then, Penelope, what is it all? and why, after getting up and dressing in THE BRIDE ELECT. 275 such a hurry, in spite of your bad night, and nervous head-ache 1 Why are you now dawdling away the whole morning, and keeping Mr. and Miss Addington waiting ?" '• Had you a bad night, Miss Ashton, and have you still a bad head-ache ?" asked the lover, turning pale, and tears trembling in his eyes. " She never slept till morning," said Mrs. Ashton, " she was so anxious and ex- cited about her journey, that it was six o'clock before she fell asleep, and then the post-man awoke her, and she would get up — she was so afraid of keeping you wait- ing." " Of keeping Miss Addington waiting, mamma," said Penelope, " I had no idea Mr. Addington was going to honor us with his company, or, as he thinks punctuality to a minute, the greatest of the virtues, I ought not to have gone to bed at all I suppose." "Oh, Penelope/' said poor Addington, "you know I did not wish that, I would 276 THE BRIDE ELECT. rather wait all day than that you should suffer the slightest inconvenience. I had no idea you were unwell or had had a bad night. I do attach great importance to punctuality, all mercantile men do, but there is nothing on earth I care so much about, as you, your comfort, your happiness, your — love. I cannot escort you, dearest !" he added, seizing her hand, and drawing her to his heart. "And if you could," put in the mamma, " from what I see I should oppose it, lovers are no fit chaperons for young ladies." Mr. Addington smiled, the remark pleased him. " Ah/' he added, " if I could have managed it, I think I should have been able to coax over mamma, but it cannot be — my own interest I would gladly re- sign, but not yours dearest — and they are one now ; but come, my mother will fancy some accident has happened to you, and knowing such a thing would be my death, THE BRIDE ELECT. 277 the idea will half kill her. Am I forgiven ? Oh, Penelope, do not trifle with a heart so entirely your own." Something in his words or manner touched the feelings of the Bride Elect, and she burst into tears. Great and wondrous power of love ! — Mr. Addington, hitherto the cold, the self pos- sessed, the mercantile Mr. Addington clasped her in his arms drew her head upon his shoulder, kissed away her tears, poured forth words and vows of love, as if he had been born a poet rather than a banker, and accused himself as the veriest wretch alive for having cost her one tear. What became of Mrs. Ashton and Dora he neither knew nor cared — they had glided out of the room when they saw the lover's quarrel about to end in the renewal of love. Penelope was so absorbed by her dis- tress, and Mr. Addington by his passion, that they did not hear a cab drive up to 278 THE BRIDE ELECT. the gate — they did not hear steps on the stairs, nor a hand on the door ; and Pene- lope was still weeping on Mr. Addington's breast, and he was calling her by every name in love's vocabulary, when the page announced Mr. Bernard Brydges ; and Penelope, tearing herself with a shriek from Mr. Addington's embrace, met the surprised and somewhat sarcastic glance of Bernard Brydges, who advanced with cold politeness to meet her. THE BRIDE ELECT. 279 CHAPTEB XIX, THE FALSE POSITION. How true it is that however deep we may fancy the abyss of misery into which we are plunged, there is yet a lower depth yawning to receive us. To Penelope, the evident interpretation, or rather misinterpretation, Bernard Brydges put upon the tete-a-tete he had interrupted, was that lower depth. She could bear that Bernard should know she 280 THE BETDE ELECT. was going to marry Mr. Addington. She could not endure the thought that he should fancy she loved him. She wished to be embalmed in his memory as a victim ; she could not tolerate the thought of figuring there as the contented, prosperous, affec- tionate wife of a middle-aged banker. And yet, how could she undeceive him 1 Had he not seen her weeping by Mr. Ad- dington's side, his arm round her waist, her head on his shoulder. What agony she felt at the idea that he would never believe that she had sacrificed herself ! How surprised would she have been could she have discovered that the idea that she was not so entirely his at heart as he had imagined raised her in the eyes of the futile Bernard — a little touch of the passion of jealousy re-kindled his half extinguished penchant, and Tenelope, happy in her brilliant prospects, appeared, to him, much more desirable and lovely than Pene- lope, wretched, broken-hearted, and for THE BRIDE ELRCT. 281 ever devoted to the past and to him- self. Mrs. Ashton hearing of the inopportune arrival of the dreaded detrimental, and in haste to prevent mischief, hurried down stairs, followed by Blanche, Isabel, and Miss Addington, who had been engaged, in true heroine- style, in bathing her eyes with rose water, smelling salts, and in- haling the odour of burnt feathers. Bernard gracefully explained that his visit had two objects, the one to ask for a little song he had left with the ladies, of his own composition, called, u A Smothered Sigh, a Smothered Sigh, * and the other to tell them that he had at length been promised the Consulship, he had so long been trying to obtain. a I know," he said, " how kindly you have all interested yourselves in my pros- pects, and directly I received the Marquis of M — 's letter, I hastened hither to tell you of my good luck ! — " 282 THE BRIDE ELECT. "Are you quite sure of the appointment then \ asked Mrs. Ashton who had her doubts, and who besides greatly disliked the introduction of Bernard and his prospects at such a time. rt One can never feel quite sure of any- thing," he replied with a glance at Penel- ope, that, smiling and short as it was, pierced her breast like a poisoned arrow. 4i I shall never feel sure of anything again, I have been so often disappointed and deceived, but as far as one can make sure of anything, not actually possessed, the appointment is a certainty." Bernard Brydges who was not truthful, though he would have shot any man who doubted his veracity, was stretching a point indeed, in order to increase his own im- portance and Fenelope's regret; instead of a promise of the appointment, he had had a promise that the noble Marquis would bear his application in mind ! " So that probably when we meet again," THE BRIDE ELECT. 283 said Bernard, " it will be in some marble palace in Italy, where you will come to me to have your passports " vised" and I shall have to promise you " aide et secours" in all emergencies — Depend on a courteous re- ception for the sake of the dear long ago, and if ever, dearest Mrs. Ashton, Bernard Brydgescaninany way shew his sense of your delightful hospitality and constant friend- ship, the opportunity will afford him more happiness than he will trust himself to express; and now I must say adieu, I had brought one of the dear old orders for the Colosseum but as there is a travelling chariot at the door I presume you are on the wing." " Blanche and Isabel could go with you," faltered the unhappy Penelope who pre- ferred anything to the losing sight of him entirely ; from her sisters she might still hearwhathehad saidand done, and how he looked — but Isabel expected Sir Hector Loftus and his nephew with tickets for a 284 THE BRIDE ELECT. morning concert, and Blanche pleaded a headache. •' Well, I must look up some other young ladies/' said Bernard — " Mademoiselle CoralieLatour will rejoice to see the Colos- seum, or the little Fanshawes, fresh from school — it will be all so new to them, and they are so fresh, so young, and so very pretty, it will be a treat to see them enjoy what to us is so ' stale, flat and unprofitable/ Farewell — and God bless you !" These words he seemed to address to all, but Penelope felt they were for her alone. He left the room — " Now, dearest, get on your bonnet and cloak!" said Mrs. Ashton, anxious to give Penelope — whose varying color and ill re- pressed agitation alarmed her mother — an opportunity of eluding observation. Penel- ope glad to escape, was hastening up-stairs; Bernard Brydges was still in the hall, rolling up " The Smothered Sigh — " at the sound of her step he looked up. At the risk of all her prospects, but yielding to the mad- THE BRIDE ELECT, 285 ness of the moment, and to the magic of bis large black eyes filled with tears, half false, half true, she glided down. The dining-room door was open. He had caught her extended hand, he gently led her into the room and drew her behind the door. " God bless you Penelope !" he cried as he clasped her to his bosom. "You love him, and you will be happy — and I — that thought ought to make me happy too, alas, it only maddens me I" u Bernard, I do not love him, I never can love him. You only ! — " " Hush, hush my love — " " Nay Bernard, for your sake I would gladly resign ! — " " Not for Bernard Brydges shall you resign aught, too fondly loved one ! I can sacrifice myself — but not you — " " It would not be a sacrifice." « Hush, hush r '•' But why V "Not a word more my love, you — 286 THE BKTDE ELECT. are on the brink of a precipice — Ber- nard shall snatch you from it?— there, there, — one kiss, the first, the last — and now farewell for ever ! Go up stairs, dearest, I hear them coming. I will slip out quietly." " But Bernard !— " u Not another word— except farewell — but go, for heaven's sake, for your own sake, for all our sakes! — " How like a guilty thing did Penelope steal up-stairs ! How like a guilty thing did she watch, lest Bernard should not escape unnoticed ! How with the passio- nate remembrance of that first embrace, that first long wild kiss was blent a feel- ing of abject shame, that he would not let her offer to resign the prospects she loathed. How mean ! how false ! how very degraded she felt, as she saw in her glass, her cheeks flushed with unholy joy — her hair disordered by his passionate embrace and the intoxicating perfume he THE BRIDE ELECT. 287 always wore, pervading all her garments, and penetrating to her very soul. " I cannot marry another !" she exclaimed as she recalled that wild embrace, " and yet he will not believe I would be coutent with the lot he can offer me — content, ah ! it seems too much like Heaven to be realized on earth — a home in Italy with thee — oh Bernard ! Ah! they come, they call me — I must go now, but I cannot marry Mr. Ad- dington — Oh ! poor, poor Addington, if he feels for me one tithe of what I feel for Bernard — but he cannot, I have never been to him what Bernard has to me. Ah ! what has he been ? if he loved me as I do him, would he not ask me to share his destiny be it what it may, and now too that it brightens beyond his expectations! Oh it must be that he fancies, it would be a sacri- fice ! He shall know the truth ! poor mother! poor sisters ! and poor Mr. Addington ! Well, I need not take any decisive step to-day ! 288 THE BRIDE ELECT. I shall not see him for a week —I can re- flect and I can write to Bernard — No, I never can marry another now !" The Bride Elect with all this treason in her heart, has taken leave of mother, sisters, and him who loves and trusts her so entirely. Her cheek was flushed, her manner unna- turally excited and gay, and while her In- tended remarked, with pride, on her good spirits, and took his leave in a quiet sort of ecstasy ; Mrs. Ashton was no sooner alone with Blanche and Isabel, than bursting into tears, she exclaimed — " That odious Bernard Brydges, what could send him here at such a moment ! 1 did not half like Penelope's manner, and I have a horrible presentiment that that false fellow's visit will ruin her prospects and make her break off, her intended marriage." " Well mama, if she cannot love Mr. THE BRIDE ELECT. 289 Addington and Bernard Brydges gets the consulship." " The consulship is all a fudge —invented merely to make Penelope regret him the more. He is such a vain, boasting, flirting, egotis- tical fop ! and to think Penelope should throw away such prospects, as I foresee, she will, for that paltry pretenders unmeaning attentions. What a contrast he is to the genuine, frank, generous and truly devoted Addington." " They are striking contrasts certainly," said Isabel — " and could ladies look within, no doubt it would be all in Mr. Addington s favor — but as they cannot, I am afraid poor Penelope felt the contrast to be only too favorable to Bernard Brydges — Ah ! there is Sir Hector's bold knock. Mamma amuse him and Captain Beresford, while Blanche and I get on our bonnets. Sir Hector can- not bear to be kept waiting — come Blanche be quick." END OF VOL. 1. T. C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square.