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 OLD MEMORIES 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 JULIA MELVILLE. 
 
 IN THKEE VOLUMES. 
 
 " I think we are not wholly brain 
 Magnetic mockeries, 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Uontion: 
 THOS. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHBE, 
 
 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 185C.
 
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 M^')^ 
 
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 P* Iiir n t f J) 
 
 (By PETtMISSIoN.) 
 
 TO THE 
 
 VISCOUNTESS HAEDINGE.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from. 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/oldmemoriesnovel01melv
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 I WONDER who has the old house where I first saw 
 the light. I wonder if any rosy children play 
 on that lawn, with its old elm trees, where I 
 used to play in the days of yore. I wonder — 
 but these wonderments are idle. I am a grey- 
 haired woman now; but sitting here in this 
 quiet room, at the open window, with the ivy 
 leaves clustering round it in the sunset light, 
 these old times rise up before me, distinct and 
 real. Mine has been an eventful life, che- 
 quered with much joy and much sorrow, but 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " at evening time it is light." Let me dream 
 tliose days over again for a while. 
 
 ik ^ * * 
 
 My mother! What hosts of memories, sad 
 and joyful, start up into life at these two magic 
 words. My mother has been dust these twenty 
 years, but she rises clearly before me now — a 
 tall, stately, handsome lady, generally dressed 
 in black, with a reserved mien and haughty 
 carriage. "Why have I no tender or softening 
 memory of her? Why, when I dream of her 
 now, as an old woman, is she always the same 
 cold and stately lady that she was in my child- 
 ish dreams? That most lovely and tender of 
 all earthly names — " Mother" — was a frigid 
 sound enough in mine and my brother's ears. 
 We never used to run to our mother, to kiss 
 or cling about her — very far indeed, at an im- 
 measurable distance, was such a thought from 
 us. She was a handsome lady, dressed in rust- 
 ling silks, who used to come sometimes into 
 our nursery, sit down, talk to us for a while,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 3 
 
 question us about our lessons, stroke our heads, 
 kiss us, and go away. Her presence was a cold 
 restraint on our childish merriment, and I be- 
 lieve we all felt a sense of relief, though we 
 dared not acknowledge it, when she was gone. 
 She was a calm, reserved, unimpulsive person, 
 who considered it beneath the dignity of woman- 
 hood to give way to any tender emotion, and 
 the thought of taking any fond pleasure in our 
 childish prattle and caresses was a wild delusion 
 that never disturbed her brain. My father 
 was a country gentleman of some property, and 
 he dwelt in the pleasant old-fashioned house 
 where his forefathers had lived before him. 
 A pleasant old house in truth it was, shut out 
 from the high road by great gates, with a broad 
 gravel sweep before the door, flanked by masses 
 of flowering shrubs and rock- work, and with a 
 broad green carefully kept lawn, sloping down to 
 a clear running stream, overhung by the massive 
 leaves of the horse chesnut. 
 
 Two enormous old elm trees stood on the lawn, 
 B 2
 
 4 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 their hoary trunks overgrown with grey moss 
 and creeping ivy ; and from these old sentinels 
 of our race, the house had earned its name of 
 " Elm Manor." 
 
 We were allowed on hot summer days, to take 
 our lessons out on the lawn, under the elm trees, 
 though it was rather an idle place, a place for 
 lying on the green sward, gazing up into the 
 thick roof of leaves, and catching glimpses of the 
 blue sky, rather than for learning. My father 
 would come out often and sit down beside us,.and 
 talk to us in his kind, mild voice — my father 
 was tall, slight, and pale; slightly grey, with 
 dreamy, melancholy eye>, and an absent manner. 
 He was in very delicate health, and saw very 
 little society. I believe my mother was passion- 
 ately attached to him : though she never showed 
 it ; but sometimes in the twilight of a summer's 
 evening, when we were allowed to come into the 
 drawing room, and he was lying on the sofa, in 
 the deep recess of the old-fashioned window, I 
 have seen my mother's eyes resting on him with
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 5 
 
 such an expression of deep, intense affection, 
 mingled with a strange sort of agony, that startled 
 me, child as I was. 
 
 }»Iy mother played brilliantly on the piano with 
 great taste and execution. I used to stand by, 
 and gaze on her white fingers darting so rapidly 
 over the keys, with a mixture of stupefaction 
 and awe. And my father used to like to hear 
 her, in the summer twilight, as he lay on the 
 sofa in his recess. She would go on playing till 
 long after it was dark ; and sometimes I have 
 fancied that her hand faltered over the keys, and 
 a strange sound, something like a sob, came from 
 her. 
 
 This mysterious sound, the faintly-played 
 music, and the dark room, used to fill my childish 
 brain with terrified fancies: and I have often 
 ran trembling out and darted up the shadowy 
 stairs so full of mystic terrors, to seek refuge in 
 the cheerful nursery, and Susan's lap. But, 
 there is another form that rises up in my childish 
 memories, and a fair one too, that I have not
 
 6 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 yet spoken about : my father had been married 
 before, and I had a step-sister of fourteen — An- 
 nora. She was a handsome, romping, high- 
 spirited girl, brilliantly fair, with long-floating 
 golden curls, and large, light-blue, liquid eyes, 
 full of joyous flashing — I never saw blue eyes 
 flash before, but hers did. She had a haughty, 
 exacting temper, and a strong will of her own ; 
 but she was good-natured and generous; and 
 though she made even me give way to her, and 
 ordered all the servants about as though the end 
 and aim of their existence was to do her pleasure, 
 she mingled presents and commands so judiciously 
 together, that they all adored while they feared 
 her. 
 
 I looked upon her with admiration unspeak- 
 able, mingled with awe. I so admired and won- 
 dered at her pretty silk dresses, and gay mus- 
 lins, and glistening trinkets, of which she had 
 a large stock for a girl of her age, for my father 
 loaded her with presents. She was very fond of 
 me and my brothers, though she scrupled not to
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 7 
 
 turn US out of her room instantly if we offended her 
 by pulling about any of her treasures. Sometimes 
 she would let me comb out her long glistening 
 curls, and how proud was I of the privilege ; and 
 what a treasure-house to me was her pretty 
 dressing-table, with its pink and white cover, 
 and its cut scent bottles, and half-open box of 
 trinkets, its bracelets, and ribbons scattered 
 about. 
 
 She was a privileged being, who did what she 
 liked, and nobody scolded her; her lightsome 
 bounding step, and sweet shrill voice, as she 
 went singing over the house, seemed to lighten 
 up the dark old passages and sombre staircases 
 like a ray of sunshine. But in the last holiday 
 that I remember Annora's gaiety was hushed, 
 and she did not sing and dart up and down 
 stairs quite so lightly as she used to do. There 
 was a gloom over the house that I could not 
 then understand, but which filled my childish 
 heart with vague misgivings. My father kept 
 a pretty grey pony for Annora; he used to ride
 
 8 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 out with her, and very pretty she looked in her 
 dark habit, and little round hat with its plume 
 of feathers ; but there was no riding this year. 
 My father never went out now, except now and 
 then when the day was very warm, when he 
 would sit on the lawn, in the sunshine, for 
 awhile; he generally lay on the sofa all day, 
 and my mother and Annora took turns to read 
 to him. I thought a dreary change had come 
 over everything ; my brother was sent to 
 school at the clergyman's, who was an old friend 
 of my father's, and I cried myself to sleep in 
 the dismal nursery. 
 
 One evening, we were all three in the draw- 
 ing-room — my father, Annora, and I ; my mother 
 was unwell with a head-ache, and had gone to 
 lie down. I was sitting in my usual corner, 
 watching the moon rising over the dark elm 
 trees ; they had forgotten I was there : I think 
 Annora had been reading to my father, but she 
 had laid down her book now, and laid her head 
 on his sofa. By daylight, her young rosy face
 
 OLD MEMORIES. ^ 
 
 would have formed a strange contrast to my 
 father's pale emaciated features; but now the 
 moonlight fell on both, tinging them alike with 
 an unearthly glory, and glimmering on Annora's 
 bright curls. My father was softly stroking them, 
 and twining them round his thin fingers. 
 
 "They are like threads of gold," said he: 
 " may they shine brightly, my Nora, long after 
 my eyes have closed upon them, and brighter still 
 in the courts of the house of our God!" I saw a 
 quiver run through her frame. 
 
 "What do you mean, papa dear?" she asked 
 quickly. " Why do you talk so sadly ? I must 
 scold you ; and, as a punishment, you shan't have 
 my curls any more." 
 
 She playfully snatched them from his hand. 
 
 "Nora," he said, gravely and sadly, "listen to 
 me. You are scarcely a child now." 
 
 " Yes, I am," she rejoined, cutting him short. 
 "I am a child, — a baby, if you want to say 
 anything miserable to me. I never can under- 
 stand anything of that sort." 
 
 B 5
 
 10 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Do you remember that song you sing to me 
 sometimes?" he said, — " Tm wearin' awa' to the 
 land o' the leal.' " 
 
 " Well, papa," she said breathlessly. 
 
 '' I am going there, my child," said my father's 
 kind, soft, melancholy voice, with such a deep 
 conviction of the truth of what he said that 
 smote me to the heart with a vague, but terrible 
 sense of desolation. " Going there very, very 
 soon." 
 
 I saw Annora tremble and sob in the clear 
 moonlight that now streamed into the room, 
 filling it with white, light, and ghastly shadows. A 
 look of deep awe and terror came over her face. 
 
 "Oh, papa; hush! hush!" and I saw her 
 twine her arms about him, and cling to him con- 
 vulsively. "You are trying to frighten me; I 
 know you are." 
 
 " Dearest child," said my father tenderly; " I 
 am only preparing you for what must be. I 
 must soon leave my beloved motherless darling ; 
 but I leave her to her Father in heaven. You
 
 OLD MEMORIES. U 
 
 are young and lovely, my own dearest. Pray 
 that you may have strength to choose the good 
 part that shall not be taken away. Give your 
 young heart to your Saviour, my sweet Nora, 
 and then " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ; but don't speak so," she sobbed. 
 "Oh! papa — dear, dear papa." 
 
 By this time I was wound up to such a pitch 
 of grief and terror, that with a wild cry (which 
 I was quite unconscious of uttering) I darted out 
 of my corner, and flew to my father, sobbing 
 piteously. I heard him echo my cry \ for he was 
 quite ignorant of my being there, and, in his 
 weak state, was easily startled ; and then I re- 
 member nothing more till I found myself in the 
 nursery, sitting in a low chair, and crying vio- 
 lently, with Susan bathing my forehead, which it 
 seemed I had struck, and my mother standing 
 by in her black dress, cold and still as a marble 
 statue. 
 
 " AVTiatever could make you go and behave so, 
 Miss Helen," said Susan.
 
 12 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 "Papa won't die, will he?" I cried, turning 
 my beseeching eyes to my mother's cold impas- 
 sive face. " Oh ! don't let him die." 
 
 I thought she turned whiter still, and her lips 
 quivered; but she answered sternly — 
 
 " Helen, you have behaved extremely ill, and 
 I am much displeased with you. You gave your 
 papa a severe shock, and have probably made 
 him very ill. Go to bed instantly, and to-mor- 
 row, as a punishment, you will not come into the 
 drawing-room." 
 
 She turned and glided away, and I was left 
 alone with Susan, who went on applying the wet 
 sponge to my forehead, and heroically striving to 
 maintain an unmoved face. What with grief^ 
 fright, and the pain of the blow on my head, I 
 felt choked. 
 
 " Susan, dear," I whispered, throwing my arms 
 round her neck, " do tell me if papa will die." 
 I thought there were tears in Susan's eyes, but 
 she said quietly — 
 
 "Lord forbid! Miss Helen; whatever has put
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 13 
 
 that in your head. How could you be so naughty 
 as to go and fright your papa so when he ain't 
 strong. You'll be like to kill him, I can tell 
 you, if you play those tricks again." 
 
 " No, Susan, no," I faltered, for that added 
 the agonies of remorse to my previous sor- 
 rows. 
 
 " Well, well, be a good girl. Miss Helen, and 
 go to bed and try to sleep. That's a hard knock 
 you've given your forehead, poor dear; there'll 
 be quite a lump there to-morrow." 
 
 So Susan put me to bed, and then stole down 
 to the housekeeper's room to get for me some 
 sweet consolation in the shape of raspberry jam, 
 which, greatly to her surprise and vexation, I 
 could not eat. And then I knelt on the bed to 
 say my prayers, and with my arms clasped round 
 my nurse's neck, prayed — poor little soul — with 
 large tears dropping down my face, that God 
 would not let papa die. I have offered up many 
 prayers since then, earnest agonising prayers,
 
 14 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 uttered from the depths of a wounded spirit, but 
 I question if any were more earnest, more heart- 
 felt than that childish supplication, or if I have 
 ever felt a heavier burden of woe than that my 
 childish bosom bore on that sorrowful night.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I DID not see my father for nearly a week after 
 this; he was worse, and did not come down to 
 the drawing room, and I bore in my little heart 
 a crushing load of sorrow and remorse, never 
 doubting but that it was I who had made him 
 so. At the end of the week we had an ar- 
 rival : my uncle came from Hertfordshii'e to see 
 my father. 
 
 Mr- Brotherton was a gentleman farmer, who 
 had married my father's sister, an Aunt Mary, 
 of whom I had heard, but never seen. He was 
 a tall, stout, fine-looking man, with keen grey 
 eyes, and a healthy, ruddy, country complexion.
 
 16 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 He had frank, hearty manners, a jovial laugh, 
 affected country phraseology sometimes; and I 
 could see, child as I was, that my stately mother 
 looked upon him with something like contempt. 
 He, in his turn, regarded her with a considerable 
 deal of awe, and an uncomfortable restraint came 
 over his hearty, blunt manner when she was in 
 the room. He utterly set at nought all my 
 mother's forms and ceremonies, used to walk up 
 in the nursery and bring me down stairs by force 
 of arms, to my intense discomfiture, ignored there 
 being such things as lessons, and was always 
 begging holidays for me, giving me rides on his 
 back round the lawn, to my mother's great 
 horror, galloping me through the plantations on 
 my brother's pony, and walking over to Chedbury, 
 our market town, to buy me dolls and cakes. 
 
 He was rather afraid of Annora I fancied 
 shrewdly, as a handsome, brilliant young lady, 
 who was always quizzing him and laughing at his 
 country ways, though she protested she was 
 very fond of him.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 17 
 
 My father was always longing to see his sister, 
 and accordingly she was sent for. He was very 
 much attached to her, and used often to speak to 
 me and my brothers of our Aunt Mary, who 
 seemed his idea of womanly perfection, as she 
 well might be. 
 
 " She had not been able to come on account of 
 the illness of ' poor Charles,' " my uncle said. 
 
 I wondered at first who " poor Charles " 
 was, and what was the matter with him, till I 
 learnt that he was my uncle's eldest son, and a 
 great invalid. However, he was better, for Aunt 
 Mary came, and the meeting between my father 
 and her was a touching thing to see. I loved 
 Uncle Edward very much, but I grew to love 
 Aunt Mary better still. Truly my father was 
 right when he so lauded her. I have always 
 thought my whole life through that she was the 
 most perfect specimen of a Christian wife, mother, 
 and friend, I ever saw. To be appreciated she 
 must have been seen at home, for the household 
 virtues shone bright and clear in her. 1 saw her
 
 18 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 at home, and shared her motherly love and care 
 from childhood to womanhood, and so can speak 
 to her value. She has been one of the jewels in 
 her Redeemer's crown for many years now, but 
 in my heart dwells a sweet and sanctifying re- 
 membrance of her that no years can efface — 
 no joy or sorrow ever damp. There was a large- 
 hearted generosity, a liberality of soul about her, 
 that I have never seen equalled — tempered by a 
 clear judgment and strong sense. 
 
 All who were in sorrow and trouble went to 
 Aunt Mary, and were sure to find wise counsel 
 and tender sympathy. She was the helper, 
 friend, and adviser of all the poor round about 
 her; she gave as largely as she could, and with 
 a tender Christian charity that added double to 
 the value of her almsgiving. 
 
 Her husband was a kind-hearted, hospitable 
 country gentleman ; a character not much above 
 the common, and he adored her, and placed in 
 her the implicit confidence that such a woman 
 merited. She grew very fond of me, and I soon
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 19 
 
 learnt to love her with a love that grew with my 
 years, and strengthened with my strength. 
 
 My father looked much better ; a brightness 
 came into his eye, and a flush into his cheek 
 while his sister was with him. It was but one 
 of the turns of his delusive disorder, but I think 
 it deceived us all — it did me, poor child! I 
 think, however, it did not deceive my aunt, and 
 I saw she was sad at going away, for she was 
 obliged to return to her large family and many 
 household cares ; and my uncle to his farming, 
 which he declared must be going all ^vi'ong in 
 his absence. To my intense delight, my aunt 
 asked leave to take me back with her ; she said 
 I was looking pale and ailing, that I was dull 
 and lonely without any playmates, and my 
 romping cousins should bring back my roses. 
 My mother consented, greatly to my surprise 
 and joy, and my dear father kissed me — alas ! 
 alas! I often thought afterwards, though not 
 then, what a long lingering kiss it was, and said 
 I might go.
 
 20 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 So we' went on a calm bright August day, and 
 as the carriage rolled out of the old home gates, 
 I little knew what I left behind me. My father 
 was lying in his usual place when we went to 
 wish him good bye, and the brother and sister 
 that were to meet no more on earth, but are now 
 united for ever in Heaven, clasped each other in 
 one long lingering embrace. 
 
 "You will come again soon, Mary; promise 
 me that," said my father. 
 
 " Yes, soon again, soon again." 
 
 Then my father took me in his arms and kissed 
 and blessed me in the clear mild voice I was to 
 hear no more, and we went. 
 
 And then, turning round for a last look, as I 
 went out at the door, I saw my mother fall on 
 her knees by the sofa, and clasp my father's hand 
 and kiss it passionately, as if to say he was all 
 her own now, for a little while at least. And 
 wondering at this in my childisli way, I got into 
 the carriage that was to take us to Chedbury to 
 meet the coach, and sat between my uncle and
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 21 
 
 aunt, anticipating the new world I was going to. 
 I had never left home before, and the travelling 
 by coach (there were no railways then) was a 
 delightful marvel. The whirling along with fonr 
 such such splendid horses, over hill and dale, 
 town and country, all so fresh and new; the 
 cheery blowing of the guard's horn, the enchant- 
 ing bustle of stopping to change horses, and 
 getting out and having dinner in comfortable 
 little inns, and then on again through more new 
 places, was a delight that comes back to me even 
 now, and which I smile to think of. But even 
 novelty wearies at last, and long ere the journey 
 was over I fell asleep with my head on Aunt 
 Mary's shoulder. Then there was the coach 
 stopping, and being aroused and getting sleepily 
 out, and finding to my amazement that the stars 
 were shining in the clear blue heavens ; and then 
 there was getting into a little carriage with a 
 brown horse, that had come to fetch us, and being 
 wrapped up so tenderly in cloaks and shawls, and 
 placed between my uncle and aunt, and then
 
 22 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 whirling away again in a delightful dreamy state. 
 Then there was getting home, and alighting in a 
 cheerful old-fashioned little hall, with pictures 
 hung round it, and guns and fishing rods, stands 
 for caps and plaids; and seeing my aunt and 
 uncle struggling in a chaos of embraces, and an 
 apparently endless stream of boys and girls rush- 
 ing forward into the night, and being seized upon 
 and kissed by one cousin after another into a 
 frantic state of bewilderment and confusion. 
 
 Then there is the recollection of my uncle's 
 jovial voice rising clear from the tumult : " Well, 
 boys and girls, are glad to see us back again? 
 We've brought thee a new cousin." 
 
 And then the going into the large comfortable 
 drawing-room with its cheerful fire, and bright 
 lamp, and table spread for tea. Dear old room, 
 how well I remember it, with its pictures and its 
 piano, its large old-fashioned arm chairs and sofas, 
 its bright, cheery, loving air of home ! Where 
 are the joyous young faces that thronged around 
 that glowing fire-side; where the hearty boyish
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 23 
 
 laughter, the happy household mirth, the looks 
 and words of love ? An echo from the remorse- 
 less past is the only answer. Some of that joyous 
 group are scattered far and wide, others are gone 
 home, and are united for ever in the mansions of 
 their Father's house. 
 
 Well I remember my aunt putting gently 
 aside her noisy crew of welcomers, and making 
 her way to a pale, slight, fragile-looking young 
 man, whom she embraced and kissed with a deep 
 earnest anxious love, that surprised me, and 
 then she tenderly asked how he was? This I 
 instantly set down as "poor Charles," and I was 
 right. There were no foreshadowings of the 
 future on us as they drew me forward, a little 
 shy, shrinking girl, to speak to him and receive 
 a friendly kiss. My cousin Mary had made the 
 tea by this time, and we all sat down. I was 
 wide awake now, and fully alive to the attrac- 
 tions of the tea, ham, and eggs, and home-made 
 cakes, and did ample justice to them. Aunt 
 Mary sat at the head of the table, and how well
 
 24 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 she looked there; and how she shone in her 
 home sphere ! 
 
 She was tall, and in person, rather large and 
 full, with a pale, clear, pure complexion, fine 
 features, and large dark deep eyes, full of truth, 
 and nobleness, and kindly tender feeling. She 
 had an air of mature dignity, that suited her 
 well; and her eldest girl, called after her, was 
 strikingly like her. Mary, the eldest, was 
 just nineteen, she was tall and slender, but fully 
 rounded, with her mother's clear complexion, 
 and dark truthful expressive eyes, with dark 
 hair, long, and thick, and shining, with a joyous 
 laugh (though she was generally grave), and 
 white even teeth. She had a light springing 
 step, and a naturally commanding look, and was 
 full of life and earnestness. 
 
 By the time tea was ready, I had quite for- 
 gotton my shyness, and I sat on the sofa between 
 Mary and Esther, holding a hand of each, and 
 chattering away more familiarly than I had ever 
 done in my life before. Brought up as I had
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 25 
 
 been at home, with so much cold reserve and 
 stateliness, the easy confidence, the hearty mirth, 
 the joyous laughter of this happy family circle, 
 filled me with wonder and delight. They were 
 a handsome group as ever gladdened a mother's 
 heart to look upon. 
 
 Esther, the second girl, was a pretty brunette, 
 with dark joyous eyes, and dancing curls of 
 black hair, tall and slim, and light of foot, as a 
 fawn of the forest. James and Stephen were 
 handsome, brown, dark haired lads of sixteen 
 and fourteen, full of life, and fun, and mischief. 
 Maude, the youngest, was eleven, just one year 
 younger than myself, and of course we were 
 bosom friends before bed-time. She was the 
 wildest, happiest, little thing I ever saw, brim- 
 ming over with fun and spirits, wonderfully swift 
 of foot (but that they all were), light, agile, and 
 restless as a squirrel, never still for five minutes 
 together, not absolutely pretty, for her mouth 
 was rather large, and her nose slightly of the 
 snub order, but she had the roundest, rosiest, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 happiest little face that ever gladdened human 
 vision, with large blue eyes, melting with fun 
 and merriment, and long streaming chestnut 
 curls. 
 
 She was sitting on a low stool, by her eldest 
 brother's sofa, laughing and talking to him as 
 he played with her long curls. He formed a 
 striking contrast to his handsome, healthy bro- 
 thers and sisters ; and I could not help stealing 
 a glance at him, every now and then, of childish 
 compassion and interest. His features were pale 
 and sharp from illness, and he had that wan 
 look about the mouth, which was small and 
 delicate, and that habitual air of languor, that 
 indicates constant suffering. His hair, unlike 
 the rest, was light brown, soft, and waved, and 
 his eyes, which gave a peculiar beauty to his 
 face, were large and deep blue, and generally 
 wore a look of melancholy weariness. I learnt 
 afterwards that he had had a severe accident a 
 few years ago, from the effects of which he never 
 recovered, having always been delicate. It had
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 27 
 
 rendered him slightly lame, and condemned him 
 to continued ill-health. 
 
 Of course, he was the idol of his mother and 
 sisters — a privileged being, who was never to 
 be teased or taxed on any subject whatever, and 
 who had to be exempt from all sorts of trouble. 
 
 "Well, Mary, lass," said my uncle, putting 
 his arm round his eldest girl's waist, and play- 
 fully pinching her cheek : '^ how many new 
 lovers hast got since I've been away?" 
 
 "Mr. Tremordyn proposed to Mary yesterday," 
 exclaimed Stephen, mischievously, " and they 
 are to be asked in church next Sunday;" upon 
 which Mary blushed indignantly ; my aunt said, 
 "for shame, Steenie;" and Uncle Edward pulled 
 Stephen's ears, and told him " to go along for a 
 saucy lad." 
 
 I wondered what made Maiy blush, and why 
 she left the circle, saying, ' the fii'e was too hot,* 
 and going to the piano began to play a waltz. 
 
 "And where's my little Maude?" said my 
 uncle, looking round. " Oh, here she is, nest- 
 
 c 2
 
 28 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 ling up to Charlie as usual; come here, you 
 little minx, and tell me what you've been up to. 
 How many bird's nests hast robbed, and how 
 many frocks hast torn, eh?" 
 
 " Only three," said Stephen gravely. " The 
 pink muslin has the flounce torn off, and half 
 the blue cotton was left on the orchard paling, 
 and the green what do you call it was split all 
 up the back, in frantic efforts to climb the apple 
 tree." 
 
 "For shame, you naughty boy!'* said poor 
 Maude, slipping off her father's knee and run- 
 ning to sit down by me. 
 
 " And how have you got on by yourselves," 
 enquired Aunt Mary; "what sort of a house- 
 keeper was Mary?" 
 
 " Famous — only a screw with the puddings," 
 answered Stephen, " for she said she^must be 
 economical; but Jem and I revenged ourselves 
 on the apple trees." 
 
 " And the jams," said Esther laughing. 
 
 "Oh, yes! the jam, mother! Maude and
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 29 
 
 Esther were in the store-room yesterday for two 
 hours pretending to tie up the jars; so I leave 
 you to imagine what there is left." 
 
 My aunt pretended to box his ears with her 
 soft white hand, which Stephen captured and 
 kissed. 
 
 "And, oh, mother!" exclaimed James, "Mr. 
 Tremordyn came to tea! Mary asked him." 
 
 " James !" cried poor Mary indignantly from 
 the piano. 
 
 " Oh, no, of course he came to see Charlie, 
 and of course he must sit till tea was on the 
 table, and of course Mary must ask him in — " 
 
 " Certainly she must," said his mother. 
 
 " Oh yes ! and he came, and sat looking as 
 stiff and as solemn as a poker while Mary was 
 pouring the tea into the slop basin and the 
 milk into the sugar, in her agitation." 
 
 " Stephen, I wish you would not be so ab- 
 surd," exclaimed his sister indignantly. 
 
 " Never mind him, lass," said my uncle, who 
 was heartily enjoying Stephen's wickedness.
 
 30 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " And Mary had made a cake, mother, was'nt 
 that lucky ; and oh ! it was such fun to see her 
 looking so flustered, and old Tremordyn staring 
 at her over the tea cups. Esther and I laughed 
 so awfully that I was nearly tumbling off my 
 chair, and to make matters worse, old Trem. said, 
 ' Miss Esther, you seem amused at something,' 
 which sent Jem off into a perfect shriek, and he 
 nearly choked himself with cake, and had to 
 bolt out of the room." 
 
 "Yes; really mamma they behaved most 
 shamefully," said poor Mary. 
 
 "Charlie, why did you not keep them in 
 order?" 
 
 " They were quite beyond me," said Charles 
 .languidly. " Esther was totally unmanageable." 
 
 " So old Trem. seemed to think," said Stephen, 
 *' for he said — " 
 
 " Steenie, lad," interrupted Uncle Edward, 
 trying to look solemn, " that's not a right way 
 to speak of thy minister." 
 
 " Is he my minister," said Stephen with an
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 31: 
 
 expression that made every one laugh in spite of 
 themselves. " I thought he was Mary's minister. 
 I beg his pardon — I mean the Eev. George 
 Tremordyn, M.A." 
 
 " Well," said my aunt, cutting short Stephen's 
 eloquence, " ring the bell, dear, and let us have 
 prayers for its getting late, and poor little Helen 
 is almost asleep." 
 
 Of course I said I was'nt a bit sleepy, though 
 my eyelids had been gradually drooping for the 
 last five minutes; but aunt Mary shook her 
 head and smiled. Then Esther placed a large 
 family Bible on the table, and distributed smaller 
 ones all round, and the door opened, and a file of 
 servants came in with Bibles too, and then uncle 
 Edward read a psalm and a chapter in the New 
 Testament, in his clear, strong, and manly 
 voice. 
 
 I thought I liked his reading so much better 
 than any I had ever heard; and when he knelt 
 down, the way he spoke the prayers was so ear- 
 nest and solemn, that it made a deep impression
 
 32 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Oil me — an impression that never left me, but 
 was always renewed every night and morning, 
 though with lesser force. 
 
 Then came the kissing and saying good night 
 to everybody (what a number there were to kiss ! ) 
 and Stephen insisted on carrying me up stairs in 
 his arms, which he did, in spite of my struggles 
 and protestations : seizing me up, and running 
 up a long, wide staircase, and down a long pas- 
 sage with me, as easily as though I had been a 
 doll ; and then setting me down at the bedroom 
 door, very hot and ashamed, and clamorously in- 
 sisting on a kiss for his trouble. 
 
 I was to sleep in Mary and Esther's room — 
 what a large, cosy, cheerful room it looked, with 
 its pictures on the wall, and its little bookshelves ; 
 and how delightful was the aspect of my little 
 white-curtained bed, and how quietly I lay down ; 
 and after two more tender kisses, floated softly 
 off into dream-land !
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I was awoke at six the next morning, by Maude 
 creeping in, in her night dress. It was a bright 
 and glorious August morning; and she wanted 
 me to come out and see everything. So I jumped 
 up, and we dressed ourselves softly, taking care 
 not to wake Mary and Esther, and stole down 
 stairs and out the back way, where the servants 
 were up and doing — for my uncle's was an early 
 house, and he was out already at the farm. 
 
 How the glad, fresh, rejoicing air gushed over 
 our faces, and lifted our hair, as we went out 
 into the lovely morning ! 
 
 It was harvest time ; and never could Holmsley 
 c 5
 
 34 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 — SO my uncle's farm was called — be seen to 
 better advantage. The house was a large, old- 
 fashioned building, overgrown with ivy, with 
 a large porch covered with climbing roses. It 
 stood among meadows and orchards, now glowing 
 with ripe fruit; and had an air of plenty, con- 
 tent, and happiness, that struck you forcibly. 
 
 The farm was a little way from the house. 
 We saw the farm-yard, and heard the lowing of 
 the cattle; and Maude promised she would 
 take me there by-and-bye, but it was too early 
 now. We saw the golden corn fields and barley 
 fields, where the reapers were at work, and which 
 Maude said all belonged to my uncle ; and the 
 cows and flocks of sheep feeding in the meadows, 
 which were all his. I began to have colossal 
 ideas of my uncle's wealth and importance. 
 
 Then we went into the corn field, and looked 
 at the reapers wielding their long bright scythes ; 
 and then when we were tired of that, into the 
 copse to see if any black berries were ripe, 
 and so round into the orchards, where we wan-
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 3S 
 
 dered about among vistas of long branches 
 bending to the grass with their load of glowing 
 apples and juicy pears. 
 
 "We shall have an apple gathering soon," 
 said Maude, " to make cider, and to lay up for 
 the winter, I am so glad you are here, it is such 
 fun; and then the harvest home. Oh! Helen, 
 it is so beautiful! After all the harvest is 
 gathered in papa gives all the men and their 
 wives a dinner in the large barn. It is all 
 dressed up with evergreens and flowers, and they 
 have roast beef, and boiled beef, and plum-pud- 
 ding, and apple tarts, and papa makes a speech, 
 and then afterwards they have two fiddles and 
 dancing. And we go in and see them, and 
 James and Stephen go in and dance with the 
 prettiest girls ; and Mr. Tremordyn is there, and 
 last year he made a speech, and everybody liked 
 it very much, though he is generally such a 
 grave and severe man, that everybody is fright- 
 ened of him. And ! there is something else 
 beside. Mamma always gives a ti'eat to the
 
 36 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 school children on my birthday, but she couldn't 
 this year, as she was away with you, so I suppose 
 we shall have it now. I'll ask mamma about it 
 this very day. But come along, we must go 
 home now, breakfast will be ready." 
 
 So we ran along through the orchard and into 
 the garden, with the skirts of our frocks filled 
 with apples, and burst into the parlour with 
 glowing cheeks and ruffled curls. Aunt Mary 
 was there making the tea. 
 
 " Ah !" said she, in her dear kind voice, " here 
 are two rosebuds. Where have you been, wicked 
 ones?" 
 
 " Everywhere, mamma," said Maude, dancing 
 up to her for a kiss. 
 
 " Shewing Helen all the wonders of Holmsley ?" 
 said Aunt Mary, kissing me tenderly. 
 
 Why did tears come unto my eyes, and a 
 choking feel in my throat as I received that 
 loving caress? Why did my own mother never 
 kiss me so ? 
 
 " Who's been stealing my apples ?" said Uncle
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 37 
 
 Edward gruffly, " a couple of little burglars ! 
 That's what you get up so early for is it, to go 
 about thieving while honest people are in bed? 
 Come here and have your ears pulled, both of 
 
 you." 
 
 So we went, but Uncle Edward kissed us in- 
 stead of pulling our ears, and Maude gave him 
 the biggest and rosiest apple in our store " to 
 keep him quiet" as she said. Here Mary and 
 Esther entered. 
 
 " Helen, you little scapegrace," said Esther, 
 "where have you been? Mary and I found 
 nothing but your empty bed this morning, and 
 thought you had run home again." 
 
 " A couple of lazy hussies," said Uncle Ed- 
 ward, as he kissed them both heartily: "why 
 don't you take example by these two little early 
 birds? Come, run away, little ones, and get rid 
 of your apples, for we must have prayers and 
 breakfast. Where are the lads?" 
 
 The lads came in just then, and after prayers 
 we sat down, and I was very soon quite en-
 
 38 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 grossed with the substantial country-house 
 breakfast, for my morning ramble, had given 
 me an appetite ; I sat between Maude and 
 Stephen, who kept heaping everything on my 
 plate. I saw, however, that Maude would not 
 touch anything herself till she had carried up 
 her brother Charles's cocoa. 
 
 " I suppose I must give a holiday to-day," she 
 said, smiling at us ; " Maude has a great deal to 
 shew Helen, no doubt." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, mamma ; the farm-yard, we have 
 not been to the farm yet, and the poultry-yard, 
 and the pigs, and the big dog, and — " 
 
 " Take care, and not go too near the big dog, 
 Helen," said Stephen, gravely ; ''he eats little 
 girls. " 
 
 "And the ducks, mamma," went on Maude; 
 " and oh, such lots of things." 
 
 " Ah ! you'll be falling into the pond, I see that, 
 and I'll have to pull you out with a pitchfork." 
 
 " Come," said Uncle Edward, " it's time for 
 you two lads to be off."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 39 
 
 I found, rather to my sorrow, that Stephen 
 and James went every day, from nine till five, to 
 a gentleman who took pupils and "finished 
 them," as Esther said, though what that might 
 be I did'nt know. He was a clergyman by pro- 
 fession, and a very clever man, but amongst 
 other innocent weaknesses had a very strong 
 objection to his establishment being called a 
 school, and consequently no one ever did call it 
 a school except Uncle Edward, who out of pure 
 forgetfulness was perpetually talking to the poor 
 man about his school and his scholars, and so 
 forth, to the Rev. Theodosius Bircher's infinite 
 annoyance. 
 
 Although a quiet child I had a great love of 
 fun, and had taken a great fancy to Stephen ; I 
 liked his handsome face, and clear, honest, boy- 
 ish eyes, his joyous frolicsome spirit and sense of 
 humour. However, his going was but a very 
 slight shadow on my happiness, I had so many 
 new delightful things to see, and dear little merry 
 Maude to run about with, and every one so kind.
 
 40 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Ah me ! what a bright, joyous, thoughtless, 
 happy time it was. After breakfast my uncle 
 went into the corn field, my aunt and Mary 
 went off about some household business, and 
 Esther sat down to practice. Maude took me 
 all over the house, and how I admired the wide 
 old staircases and rambling passages, and queer 
 old fashioned cupboards and nooks and corners. 
 Such a delightful house for playing hide and 
 seek, and they did very often, Maude said. 
 
 "When the Leesons come to tea we have 
 capital fun," said Maude, " and the other day 
 Stephen was chasing Kate Leeson he took a 
 jump from the top of this staircase to the bot- 
 tom, ten steps, only think ! and then James went 
 into old Peggy's room, and dressed up in her 
 gown, and bonnet and shawl, and went down 
 into the kitchen, and old Peggy was so cross for 
 it was her new gown and Sunday bonnet." 
 
 "Who is Peggy?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh she is our old nurse, and now we are all 
 big she sees to the dairy, and the butter and
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 41 
 
 cheese, and she makes such nice cakes. This is 
 the garret up here, so we wont go up — they say 
 it's haunted, but I don't believe such nonsense, 
 do you? but we wont go for there are rats 
 there. James and Steenie had a rat hunt there 
 last week, and James's terrier killed two such 
 big ones." 
 
 However, I was adventurous, and would go, 
 so we climbed up 1he narrow ladder-like stairs, 
 and peered rather fearfully down the long, gloomy 
 expanse, over hung with black rafters, and con- 
 taining several huge, mysterious looking chests. 
 A very place it looked for rats and ghosts; 
 so we ran down again very quickly, and went 
 down to the lower reo^ions to see the dairv. 
 
 A pleasant dairy it was, with its cool stone 
 floor and latticed windows, with its clean, shiny 
 pans of new cream and fresh cheeses, and dewy 
 pats of butter. And there, skimming a bowl of 
 cream, was Peggy, whom I thought the ugliest 
 woman I had ever beheld. She had a hard, red, 
 brick-dust face ; small, round, black eyes ; a sharp.
 
 42 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 square, angular figure; and the most decided 
 turn-up nose I ever saw in my life. She was an 
 old retainer of the family ; had nursed Charles 
 when he was a baby, and all the rest in succes- 
 sion ; was dotingly fond of them ; always scolding 
 and petting them, and altogether the crossest- 
 looking, best-tempered, most faithful creature 
 that ever lived. 
 
 We were too full of restless life and joy, to 
 stay long anywhere ; so, after admiring the dairy 
 and tasting some of the delicious country cream, 
 we ran off to the corn field, taking some of our 
 rosy apples with us ; and sitting down in a shady 
 nook, began an epicurean feast. 
 
 We had sat for some time looking at the 
 reapers, and making garlands of the bright-red 
 poppies, that twined round the sheaves, when we 
 saw two gentlemen coming across the meadow 
 that joined the corn field. One I recognized as 
 my eldest cousin, Charles; he walked slowly, 
 and rather lame, leaning on a stick, as thougli 
 the exertion gave him pain. As he came near,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 43 
 
 I thought he looked paler and more weary in the 
 sunshine, than he had done last night. 
 
 As soon as Maude caught sight of her brother 
 she sprang up and ran to him, crying out joy- 
 fully, " 0, Charlie, I am so glad you have come 
 to the cornfield; it is lovely here." 
 
 I was a terribly shy child, and had some 
 thoughts of diving into the copse to escape two 
 new pair of eyes, but shame prevented me, and 
 Charles saying, " Ah, little shy Helen, are you 
 here? come and speak to me," obliged me to move 
 from the shelter of the beech tree, and give him 
 a reluctant hand. 
 
 The other gentleman did not shake hands with 
 me — he only nodded; and Uncle Edward coming 
 up from the lower end of the field to speak to 
 him, Maude and I went back to our nook, where 
 I had an opportunity of scrutinizing the stranger. 
 
 I saw he was dressed all in black, with a white 
 cravat ; and Maude whispered to me that he was 
 their clergyman, Mr. Tremordyn, whom Steenie 
 was always teasing Mary about. His face, I
 
 44 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 thought exactly like a statue, pale, with straight 
 well- cut features. It was handsome, I suppose, 
 but I never saw a face that expressed such stern 
 determination, or such immovable purpose. It 
 was a face that never could express (so I thought, 
 but I was wrong) love, tenderness, pleasure, or 
 any soft emotion: it was all stern, hard, un- 
 flinching. His eye was very remarkable : large, 
 dark-grey, and very deep — an eye to quail under. 
 His whole attitude expressed stern immovability 
 as he stood with his arms folded, returning short, 
 curt answers to my uncle's remarks about the 
 weather, the corn, etc. 
 
 Charles seemed tired of the discussion, for he 
 left them, and sat down on the bank, and began 
 talking to us in his languid voice. 
 
 I liked to scrutinize his pale, sharpened fea- 
 tures as he lay half reclining on the bank, in the 
 weary attitude that seemed natural to him; his 
 large, melancholy blue eyes and long lashes ; and 
 then, when he looked up suddenly, I felt the 
 blood rush up to the roots of my hair, and my
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 45 
 
 very ears tingling. So I took up the bunch of 
 poppies and corn-flowers I had gathered, and be- 
 gan making them into a wreath. While thus 
 occupied, I heard scraps of the conversation 
 between my uncle and Mr. Tremordyn : 
 
 "Is that unlucky fellow, Holmes, convicted 
 yet?" said Uncle Edward. 
 
 "Yes: to three months' imprisonment," was 
 Mr. Tremordyn's answer. 
 
 " Poor devil ! he has a large family," said my 
 uncle, compassionately. 
 
 " Very !" 
 
 " Six children, I think," said Uncle Edward. 
 
 " Seven," replied Mr. Tremordyn. 
 
 " Poor wretch !" said my dear uncle, "we can 
 hardly wonder at a man in such a situation com- 
 mitting a theft. Were his children starving, do 
 vou think?" 
 
 " Very nearly so," was the cold answer. 
 
 " Poor — poor little souls !" said Uncle Edward, 
 "they must be looked after. Mrs. Brotherton 
 shall go this afternoon — "
 
 46 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Quite unnecessary : they have been looked 
 after," said Mr. Tremordyn. 
 
 " I am glad of it — I am glad of it," my uncle 
 said, quietly. " Come, you are not so harsh as 
 you would have me think. But I fancy they 
 dealt hardly with the poor fellow. Do you think 
 he deserved his punishment?" 
 
 " There is no doubt of it : his guilt was clearly 
 proved." 
 
 " It was his first offence," pleaded dear Uncle 
 Edward; trying, I thought, to get some mer- 
 ciful words from the cold, stern man before 
 him. 
 
 " And therefore, should be the more severely 
 punished." 
 
 " You are severe, my good sir," 
 
 " I am just." 
 
 " Remember it is written : ' Blessed are the 
 mefciful, for they shall obtain mercy. "' 
 
 "True; but it is also written: ' The way of 
 transgressors is hard.' " 
 
 "Well— well," said Uncle Edward, a little
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 47 
 
 impatiently, "I can't quote Scripture against 
 you, and I am wanted below there." 
 
 And so he walked away to the other end of 
 the field. I found afterwards that these skir- 
 mishes between my uncle and the clergyman 
 were of frequent occurrence. Mr. Tremordyn 
 was not a hard hearted man, but he was sternly 
 and strictly just, and so careful to avoid any- 
 thing like weak indulgence, that he sometimes 
 fell into the opposite error. I used to think my 
 dear uncle had more of the spirit of his Heavenly 
 Master than the Minister of Christ had. Mr. 
 Tremordyn took leave, and went away almost 
 immediately, saying he had several parishioners 
 to visit, to the great relief of Maude and I. 
 
 It grew hot under the hedge, so we went into 
 the shady copse, and sat down under a large 
 beech tree. 
 
 Then Esther found us out. She came Aun- 
 tering up the shade in a large gipsy hat with 
 green ribbons, looking very pretty, I thought, 
 with her sketch book and pencil. Charles took
 
 48 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 possession of this, declaring it was just what he 
 wanted, and he sketched the old beech tree, and 
 Maude and himself lying under it. I thought 
 it beautifully done, for I had scarcely ever seen 
 any drawing before ; but I fancied Esther looked 
 vexed, though she had yielded up the book to 
 " poor Charlie " very readily. 
 
 Then he took a sketch of the church tower, 
 which was seen in the distance, and so the 
 morning slipped away, till Esther looking at her 
 watch, pronounced it to be half-past one and 
 time to go and get ready for dinner. 
 
 After dinner there were more delights; Aunt 
 Mary's poultry yard was close to the house, with 
 its crowd of feathered pets, its pretty bantams, 
 and Guinea fowls, which I was allowed the 
 felicity of feeding; and the farm-yard, which 
 Uncle Edward took me tu see ; and the flower 
 garjien behind the house, with its pleasant flower 
 beds, and peaches ripening on the sunny wall ; 
 and at the further end its large, shady, cool
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 49 
 
 summer-house, with its thatched roof, and the 
 green foliage drooping over. 
 
 The afternoon melted into evening — a golden 
 August evening — and Stephen and James came 
 home. We were all congregated on the wide 
 lawn before the house enjoying the coolness and 
 beauty; my uncle smoking, Charles reading on 
 a garden chair; dear, ever busy Aunt Mary 
 watching at the open glass doors of the drawing- 
 room, and ever and anon speaking to us in her 
 sweet cheerful voice; Esther, Maude, the boys 
 and I having a game of hide-and-seek, and 
 making, unchecked, no inconsiderable amount of 
 noise. 
 
 Esther had gone to hide, and whilst waiting 
 her summons, I fell into a musing fit as was not 
 unusual with me. 
 
 " Here he comes," said Charles, quietly tap- 
 ping Mary's hand, as she stood behind his chair. 
 I saw a bright flush come into her face, and a 
 gleam light up her eyes. I turned and saw Mr. 
 Tremordyn coming towards us. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Here's the minister, father," said Stephen, 
 loud enough for him to hear. 
 
 " Why, we had him here this morning," said 
 Uncle Edward, in a rather lower, but impatient 
 tone, " I wish that young man would attend to 
 his parish." 
 
 " He does attend to his parish," said wicked 
 Stephen, " Mary's one of his stray sheep, and 
 he comes to look after her. Come, Helen, 
 Esther's calling," and off we both ran. Esther 
 was found, and chased us bravely, till she saw 
 Mr. Tremordyn and then she stopped, and 
 coloured, and half-laughing and half-ashamed 
 came forward to shake hands with him. I tried 
 to detect some signs of admiration, for the pretty 
 flushed, sparkling creature, but there was none 
 in his stern, dark eye. He apologised slightly 
 for coming again, but said he had brought a 
 book that Mary wanted to see. 
 
 Our game was at an end, for it was im- 
 possible to romp before him, and extremely 
 indignant we all were, at the interruption.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 51 
 
 Stephen was the most irate, and irreverently 
 apostrophised the offender as a " wet blanket," 
 and "a stuck-up jackass;" and persisted in 
 making hideous faces at him behind his back, to 
 the infinite dismay of Esther, Maude, and my- 
 self. However, tea was announced and we were 
 obliged to smooth our rebellious spirits, and go 
 in and behave decorously. Mr. Tremordyn being 
 there, a dead silence prevailed among the younger 
 ones of the party, even Esther was dumb. After 
 tea there was another ramble in the garden, to 
 see the glorious harvest moon rise, and 1 noticed 
 that Mr. Tremordyn walked by Mary all the 
 time, and spoke chiefly to her. 
 
 It was strange to see how his keen eye^softened 
 as it turned on her, and how his stern voice be- 
 came perceptibly gentler when he addressed her. 
 After rambling for some time in the dewy moon- 
 light, where the old trees cast gigantic shadows 
 on the lawn. Aunt Mary said it was growing 
 chilly, so we went in. The lamp was lit in the 
 
 D 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOJS
 
 52 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 large cheerful drawing-room, and we had music 
 to my great delight; Mary and Esther sang 
 duets, and their clear voices floated out into the 
 calm, summer, evening air. 
 
 Maude took her usual seat on a stool by 
 Charles's sofa, and I nestled by her on the rug, 
 drinking in the music with eager ears. 
 
 Esther's voice was clear, shrill, and joyous; 
 Mary's was deeper and more powerful; and as 
 they joined, I thought I had never heard such 
 music before. Stephen, whose wounded feelings 
 were not yet soothed, gave, as his opinion, that 
 so much singing was all humbug, and proposed a 
 dance, but nobody seconded him; and meeting 
 with a disapproving shake of the head from 
 Aunt Mary, with a half- glance towards Mr. 
 Tremordyn, he relapsed into a misanthropical 
 state, and soon after went to bed. 
 
 The bright room, the music and singing, the 
 cheerful laughing and talking, gave me a sense 
 of glad liberty before quite unknown. Surely 
 bed-time never came as soon, as when Aunt Mary
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 53 
 
 beckoned Maude and me to her, and whispered it 
 was half-past nine. What more perfect than 
 that childish happiness ; that pure unreasoning 
 joy? What more sweet than the rest that fol- 
 lowed, and the dreams of Eden?
 
 54 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 My second day at Holmsley was also to be a 
 holiday for Maude. It was Saturday, and we 
 were to begin our lessons on Monday together. 
 Saturday was Stephen and James' half-holiday, 
 and we children set off on a blackberry excur- 
 sion to Bramble Mountain, as it was termed — 
 some steep wooded hills about a mile from 
 Holmsley. We stored a basket with a bottle of 
 milk, apples, and some cold currant tarts, coaxed 
 from Peggy, and pic-nicked on the hills under a 
 group of nut trees. It was rather early for 
 blackberries, so we did not find many; but the 
 fun was running up and down the steep hill- sides,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 55 
 
 playing hide and seek in the nut thickets, and 
 making the echoes ring with our joyous laughter. 
 How brilliant was the gushing sunshine; how 
 free and exhilarating the pure laughing air, that 
 seemed to echo our mirthful shouts, and tossed 
 our hair about as if it was playing with us. 
 
 How well I remember our going home in the 
 pleasant August evening, with the sun sinking 
 amid battlements of gorgeous clouds ; our having 
 to cross a brook, and Stephen insisting on car- 
 rying me over in his arms, and Maude pulling off 
 her shoes and stockings, and dashing through it 
 to my admiration and envy ; of climbing stiles to 
 gather the wealth of wild roses and honeysuckles, 
 wdth which the hedges were hung; of Stephen 
 calling me his little wife, and saying he would 
 speak to Mr. Tremordyn about marrying us ; of 
 my believing him for a moment, and looking 
 grave and solemn, and then Maude and James 
 laughing at me ; of watching a flight of swallows 
 across the clear evening sky ; of passing through 
 the village and seeing the old men sitting at
 
 56 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 their doors, and the smoke of their pipes rising 
 into the pure evening air, and the younger 
 women leaning and chatting over their garden 
 palings, and the children playing and shouting 
 on the green ; and then, as we reached the gates, 
 Mary and Esther running down the avenue to 
 meet us. 
 
 " And are these all the blackberries you have," 
 exclaimed Esther, seizing on the basket. " Fie 1 
 you lazy monkeys ; why its scarcely enough to 
 make a tart. I'll warrant Steenie has eaten 
 them half — I knew how it would be. And what 
 lovely roses," cried she, snatching away half my 
 store, " the very thing to make a wreath for 
 Monday, and bewitch Harry Macdonald with;" 
 and oif she set up the avenue, and I in pursuit, 
 with Maude after us, loudly lamenting the roses 
 we scattered by the way, and scolding us both 
 for a couple of ne'er-do-wells, a favourite ex- 
 pression. However, when we reached the lawn 
 before the house Mary held up a warning finger. 
 
 " You must be quiet, and make no more noise
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 57 
 
 no^w," she said ; " poor Charlie has one of his 
 terrible headaches, so go in softly, and mind 
 your boots Steenie." 
 
 " Aye," said Steenie, " I suppose its the heat 
 poor fellow. However, come and give us some 
 tea, old girl, for I'm half famished." 
 
 As soon as Esther saw I had eaten my last 
 slice of bread and butter, she made up some of 
 the roses we had gathered into a bouquet with 
 green leaves, and insisted on my taking them 
 in to Charles. This proposal I strenuously re- 
 sisted, feeling very red and bashful, till aunt 
 Mary came out, and with her kind smile bid 
 me take them in, that Charles would be pleased. 
 There was a quiet authority in the smile that I 
 could not resist, so they pushed me, shrinking 
 and shame-faced, to the drawing-room door, 
 Esther saying, " Charlie, here is a lady has 
 brought you some flowers." 
 
 The good-natured tone in which he answered, 
 emboldened me a little, so I went slowly up to the 
 
 D 5
 
 58 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 sofa, and he took the flowers from my shy hand. 
 The lamp was turned down to a low glimmering 
 light, but I saw that he was lying with his hand 
 on his forehead, in his usual head-ache position, 
 and that his eyes looked heavy and dull with 
 suffering. 
 
 He thanked and kissed me, and I felt his lips 
 were hot and burning, and then he said the 
 flowers were very sweet, and it was kind of me 
 to bring them. 
 
 Truly there is potent magic in a sweet voice, 
 a divine gift it is, " an excellent thing in woman," 
 but perhaps the more excellent, because so much 
 rarer in man. Treasure the gift you who have 
 it, and use it well and deftly, as a precious thing ! 
 Its influence was strong on my child's heart, as 
 I crept softly out of the room, thinking how sorry 
 I was for him, and how much I liked him that 
 night. 
 
 Next day was a bright, cloudless, Sunday 
 morning, and I, dressed in my best frock and 
 straw bonnet, with white ribbons, was in a flutter
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 50 
 
 of pleased excitement at going to a new church 
 and hearing a new clergyman. 
 
 We had breakfasted and were standing round 
 the low open windows of the breakfast room, 
 Stephen and James looking solemn and fidgetty 
 in their stiff Sunday collars and best neck-ties, 
 all gazing out on the soft sunshine on the green 
 meadows, and the distant hills robed in shining 
 mists, and listening for the church bell, when the 
 door opened, and Charles coming in slowly and 
 painfully, astonished the party by announcing 
 that he was going to church. Aunt Mary asked 
 him tenderly if he were equal to it, but he re- 
 plied impatiently that he was, and despatched 
 one of the boys to have the pony put into the 
 chaise. 
 
 Further talk was put an end to by uncle 
 Edward marching in with : " Come, boys and 
 girls, don't you hear the bell going?" 
 
 So we all set forth, leaving Charles and Mary 
 to follow in the pony carriage. We wound down 
 a shady path, and across meadows to the church.
 
 60 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 which was a very old one, with a square, ancient 
 brick tower, and a green churchyard dotted with 
 graves. The rooks built their nests in the belfry, 
 and there was a heavy old stone porch with seats 
 inside. 
 
 Mary came driving up with Charles just as we 
 reached the door, and we all went into my uncle's 
 large family pew, while the pony was taken out 
 of the shafts and left to graze in a field close by. 
 I was gazing about with a child's curiosity, at 
 the young farmers in their Sunday coats and 
 gorgeous waistcoats, the labourers in their clean 
 smock frocks, and the women in their bright 
 shawls and print gowns, till the organ began and 
 Mr. Tremordyn came into the reading-desk. My 
 eyes did not wander often after that. I thought 
 his manner of reading the prayers very forcible 
 and impressive, but his preaching struck me still 
 more. 
 
 Child as I was, it startled and almost fright- 
 ened me. He did not use much gesture or action, 
 he gave you no idea of striving for effect, but his
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 61 
 
 words seemed to strike at the very root of the 
 matter, and sink deep into your hearts. His 
 clear powerful voice, commanding air, and eagle 
 eye, rendered him the most striking and remark- 
 able preacher I have ever heard in the course of 
 my long life. True to his nature, however, he 
 preached by no soothing or comforting doctrines ; 
 he dealt faithfully the thunders of the Word, and 
 employed all the force of his strong native elo- 
 quence to drive them home to the hearts of his 
 flock. 
 
 The force and reality of his preaching was 
 sometimes terrible. He taught his people what 
 he himself knew; he was rigidly strict and 
 sternly conscientious in the performance of every 
 duty; as I came to know afterwards, he denied 
 himself many comforts to give more to the poor. 
 He would rise from his bed on a bitter winter's 
 night, and walk two or three miles through the 
 snow to visit a sick or dying person; he went 
 wherever his duty called him, regardless alike of 
 fatigue, distance, rain, frost, snow, or wind; but
 
 62 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 of the loving and merciful spirit of his Divine 
 Master, the " Charity that sufFereth long, and is 
 kind; beareth all things, hopeth all things," he 
 had none ; in that one respect he was more un- 
 taught than the youngest babe in Christ. 
 
 I drew a long sigh of relief when the service 
 was over, and after the usual pause, the con- 
 gregation passed out of the Church. 
 
 The impression wore off as I came out into the 
 bright sunshine, and summer air, and watched 
 the people scattered into groups and couples as 
 they spoke to their friends : and saw my uncle 
 and cousins nodding and smiling to differ- 
 ent neighbours. One group of new faces joined 
 and greeted us as we left the church-yard — a 
 Captain and Mrs. Leeson, as I heard, with their 
 two daughters, who seemed on intimate terms 
 with my cousins. 
 
 I took a great delight in scrutinizing new 
 faces, and I thought that Captain Leeson was a 
 sunburnt, upright, soldier-like man, with thin 
 hair, mixed with grey; and that his wife was
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 63 
 
 little, silly, and simpering, and rather over- 
 dressed. One of the daughters was a little, 
 dark, lively thing, with quick, restless black 
 eyes, and a mouth that was always laughing; 
 the other seemed fair, and rather pretty, but I 
 could not well see her face, for she kept her veil 
 down, and was whispering to Mary, who did not 
 seem very attentive. 
 
 One of Uncle Edward's farm labourers had 
 put the pony into the carriage and brought it up. 
 
 " Maude," said Mary, in a low tone, " will 
 you drive Charles home ?" 
 
 Maude gave one quick roguish glance into 
 Mary's face, and another to the vestry door 
 where Mr. Tremordyn was coming out. He only 
 looked once towards our party, and walked away 
 to his own house, which lay at the other side of 
 the church. 
 
 Mary crimsoned to the top of her forehead, 
 and springing into the carriage drove off, merely 
 nodding to her friends. "We all followed after 
 bidding the Leesons good-bye, and went home to
 
 64 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 our roast beef and plum pudding, the invariable 
 Sunday dinner at Holmsley. 
 
 After dinner Maude and I were set to learn 
 our collects to repeat to Mary, and at three we 
 all went to the afternoon service except Aunt 
 Mary, who stayed with Charles. He was so 
 wearied she said, that he had fallen asleep in 
 his own room, and she would not leave him. 
 Mr. Tremordyn joined us after the service, 
 and as it was a lovely evening, he proposed a 
 walk, to which Mary and Esther gladly assented. 
 Uncle Edward went home to see how mamma 
 and Charlie were getting on, he said, and left 
 Mr. Tremordyn to take care of the girls. 
 
 Mary looked sweetly happy Maude said, run- 
 ning on with me in front, and talking and laugh- 
 ing with the boys. We went through meadows 
 and by a mill stream overhung with beech trees, 
 to a place Maude called the waterfall, a stream 
 of water that, dashing down between two rocky 
 banks in wreaths of foam, formed a clear crystal 
 pool at the bottom.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 65 
 
 We sat down on tlie green banks, and Esther 
 came over to us, while Mary and Mr. Tremordyn 
 sat attid talked apart. I saw he was speaking 
 earnestly, and that there was a grave shade on 
 her young face, but we were thoughtless enough ; 
 Stephen lying outstretched on the grass, forgetful 
 of his Sunday jacket, and we girls dipping 
 water from the pool in a hollow shell, and 
 sprinkling drops in his face. 
 
 We sat some time by this pleasant pool, and 
 might have sat for hours, for Mary and Mr. 
 Tremordyn seemed to have forgotten all about 
 time, but Esther looking at her watch and saying 
 it was nearly the tea hour, made us all start up. 
 We met Uncle Edward near the house, and he 
 said Charlie felt better, and asked Mr. Tremordyn 
 to come in and have some tea, to the great grief 
 of Maude and me. 
 
 Running on before to announce their coming, 
 I found Charles, who had come down from his 
 room, lying on the sofa ; his mother was sitting 
 by him, and reading aloud. I heard the words
 
 66 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 in her sweet, calm, impressive voice, " Call upon 
 me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, 
 and thou shalt glorify me." 
 
 His hand was in hers, and his large blue, 
 weary eyes fixed stedfastly on her. She laid 
 down the Bible as we came in, and Charles 
 stretched out his hand to welcome Mr. Tremordyn 
 whom he seemed to like very much. He looked 
 very ill, I thought, and every now and then a 
 contortion of pain crossed his pale wan features. 
 
 After tea we sat talking into the summer 
 twilight; I liked that quiet time, and the 
 solemn Sabbath hush that seemed to rest on 
 everything. When lights were brought, my 
 uncle asked for some sacred music. 
 
 Mary and Esther went to the piano, and I sat 
 at Aunt Mary's feet and listened eagerly. 
 Stephen and James drew near and joined in, and 
 their clear boyish voices, united to the deeper 
 music of Mary's and the shrill triumphant sweet- 
 ness of Esther's, had a beautiful effect. 
 
 I listened with suppressed breath and intense
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 67 
 
 delight, fearful of losing a word. The solemn 
 melody had a strange effect upon me. As it 
 swelled on strange thoughts of death and eternity 
 swept over my childish soul; my father's pale 
 and tender mournful eyes rose distinct before me 
 — fancies dark, shadowy, and unutterably sad. I 
 looked up at Aunt Mary and saw tears stealing 
 down her cheeks; there needed no more, — my 
 head sunk on her lap in a burst of hysteric 
 sobbing. 
 
 There was a universal pause, and alarmed en- 
 quiries of "what's the matter?" 
 
 Aunt Mary spoke to no one; she took me in 
 her arms and carried me to her room, where she 
 laid me on the bed, and let me cling to her and 
 weep out my childish terrors on her bosom. She 
 was weeping too. She pressed me to her heart, 
 and called me her darling Helen, her sweet child, 
 her dear dear brother's beloved one. She spoke 
 to me tender, loving words, and took me to my 
 own room, and stayed with me till I fell asleep. 
 And so ended my first Sunday at Holmsley.
 
 68 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 My gloomy fears and fancies fled with the night. 
 The next bright, golden, August morning, I was 
 a happy thoughtless child again. Maude and I 
 began our lessons together in the school-room, 
 under Mary's superintendence, but we were not 
 kept very strictly to-day. Uncle Edward had 
 fixed the next day for the harvest feast, and all 
 the house was in a bustle of preparation. Maude 
 and I gloried in it, and as soon as we were 
 liberated from the school-room plunged into the 
 fuss with genuine delight. 
 
 Aunt Mary was busy in the store-room, giving 
 out lemon peel and citron and sugar, and jingling
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 69 
 
 keys ; Esther and the boys were out in the plan- 
 tations, cutting branches of evergreen and laurel 
 to ornament the great barn ; and Maude and I 
 were darting in and out, helping and meddling, 
 and getting in everybody's way. 
 
 The kitchen was a fiery furnace, and poor 
 Peggy's face and temper nearly in a like condi- 
 tion, not a little aggravated by our marauding 
 inroads in the flour and raisins in which she was 
 plunged up to the elbows. These malpractices 
 were put an end to by Aunt Mary's appearance ; 
 so we both ran out to help Esther and the boys, 
 who were working away with courageous ardour 
 in spite of the heat. 
 
 The large barn had been swept out early in 
 the morning; Maude, Esther, and I formed the 
 green branches into garlands, which Stephen, 
 mounted on a short ladder, fastened on the walls, 
 placing in the middle small coloured flags, which 
 produced, we thought, a military and artistic 
 effect. We had not half done when we were 
 summoned to dinner, which, in the ardour of our
 
 70 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 labours, we would willingly have abjured alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Then after dinner Maude told me, in confi- 
 dence, what I did not know before; that they 
 were to have a party to-morrow evening after the 
 harvest feast, which was a new marvel. Our 
 decorations were finished about four o'clock, 
 much to our delight; and Maude and I, rather 
 tired, sat down in the shade, I resting my sleepy 
 head on her lap, and talked over the joys of to- 
 morrow. 
 
 To-morrow rose bright and cloudless, a golden 
 August morning, and all the household were astir 
 early enough. Maude and I were out by seven 
 to look at the barn, and I question if any of us 
 younger ones ate much breakfast that morning. 
 How was it possible to thin"!; of so common-place 
 a matter as breakfast while in such a state of 
 restless happiness and giddy anticipation? 
 
 The long table, Avith its white cloth, was set 
 out at twelve o'clock, and Maude, the boys, and 
 I, plunged into the thick of the bustle, helping to
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 71 
 
 place knives, plates, and mugs, till all was 
 arranged, and we were sent off by Aunt Mary to 
 change our frocks and make ourselves tidy. About 
 one o'clock the guests began to pour in, to my 
 great delight. I liked to watch them : the men 
 in their clean smock frocks, and hob-nailed shoes, 
 with their brown, hard hands, and honest weather, 
 beaten faces; the women in their print gowns, 
 plaid shawls, and marvellous bonnets, and all 
 wonderfully bashful, and smiling very hard, and 
 curtseying confusedly, and my uncle walking 
 about among them all and talking in his frank, 
 hearty voice. 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn was there, stern and grave, as 
 usual; his keen eye softening a little, I fancied, 
 when it fell on Mary, moving about in her simple 
 blue dress, with her graceful stately presence, and 
 calm smile. 
 
 Then there was Harry Macdonald, a good- 
 looking, fair-haired young Scotchman, who seemed 
 a stricken slave of Esther's, and patronised 
 Maude and me most graciously ; and there was his
 
 72 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 sister, Jessie, a bright-faced, merry girl, of about 
 fifteen, with a neat little figure, blue, dancing 
 eyes, and a profusion of glossy brown curls. 
 • Charles was leaning against the ivy-grown 
 trunk of a beech tree, looking weary and languid 
 as usual : and Jessie was charitably trying all she 
 could to amuse him, and not succeeding very 
 well, I thought. By this time it was two o'clock, 
 and all were marshaled to the barn, Maude, and 
 the boys, and I in a perfect ferment of delight to 
 see the grand eifect of our labours, and to mark 
 the good-humoured brown faces ranged down the 
 long, well-spread table, loaded with its hearty 
 fare of cold roast and boiled beef, mighty plum- 
 puddings, giant apple pies, and foaming jugs 
 of ale. 
 
 Uncle Edward took the head of the table, and 
 Mr. Tremordyn the foot ; grace was said by the 
 latter, and everybody fell to. 
 
 How I loved my uncle, beaming with jovial 
 kind heartedness at the head of the table, and 
 carving away at a gigantic round of beef, with
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 73 
 
 a knife and fork amazing to behold. How happy 
 everybody looked, even Mr. Tremordyn's stern 
 features looked softer than usual, though I fan- 
 cied he cut the beef as if half ashamed of his 
 office. 
 
 What a merry group we were outside on the 
 grass. How wild Stephen was, and how Harry 
 Macdonald, cutting jokes in« his dry manner and 
 Scotch accent, kept us all laughing ; and how we 
 enjoyed the plum-pudding sent out to us, and 
 eaten with two forks in a most gipsy-like 
 fashion. 
 
 Then what healths were drunk in ale : Uncle 
 Edward's, Mr. Tremordyn's, Aunt Mary's, and 
 the young ladies', to which one of the -younger 
 labourers added, in a distinct whisper, "Lord 
 bless their pretty faces," to Esther's great de- 
 light. 
 
 Then there was a speech from Uncle Edward, 
 as kind, frank, and hearty as himself, wherein he 
 said how glad he was to see them all, and to have 
 the means of giving them any innocent pleasure, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 and spoke of the gratitude they owed the great 
 Lord of the harvest, for the blessing of an early 
 and abundant one, and hoped He would spare 
 them to meet in health and friendliness at many 
 more harvest feasts. 
 
 Then Mr. Tremordynmade a very short speech, 
 which savoured somewhat of his usual sternness, 
 and was not nearly so much applauded as my 
 uncle's ; warning them of the danger of slighting 
 God's mercies, and enforced the duties of temper- 
 ance and watchfulness. 
 
 Then Charles's health was drunk, " the young 
 master," as the old grey-headed ploughman who 
 proposed it, called him; and the young master 
 rose and kindly thanked them, and wished them 
 welfare in his natural sweet voice, languid from 
 illness. I thought it had an effect on those 
 Jionest, weather-beaten sons of toil. 
 
 Then we all withdrew, and left the men to 
 their pipes, and the women to their gossip, and 
 after a run in the plantations, and a great deal 
 of talking about the forthcoming party, Jessie
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 75 
 
 Macdonald tripped away to see about her dress, 
 her brother started off with Steenie and James 
 to the farm, to see a new horse, and Charles went 
 to his room to get a little sleep to fit him for the 
 evening festivity. 
 
 The long, drowsy afternoon seemed to lag a 
 little to our impatient spirits, but the sun waned 
 at last, the harvest folks went home, and Maude 
 and I were called to be dressed and turned out 
 of hand, to make room for our elders. We 
 came down into the drawing-room about half-an- 
 hour before the arrival of the company, rejoicing 
 in the festive aspect of everything; tables and 
 sofas wheeled aside, chair-covers removed, fresh 
 flowers in all the vases, and wax lights on the 
 piano; and Maude and myself in our white 
 frocks, and pink sashes, and bronze shoes, 
 Maude's glossy ringlets in an elaborate state of 
 smoothness and silkiness; and my hair which 
 was darker, brushed so amazingly flat and smooth 
 that it seemed to me no human power could ever 
 ruffle it again. 
 
 E 2
 
 76 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 I remember feeling sorry as we both stood 
 before the long glass, in Aunt IMary's dressing- 
 room, that my hair did not curl like Maude's, 
 and that I was not pretty. I felt grieved that I 
 was so tall for my age, that most people took me 
 for thirteen, and so thin in proportion, and that 
 my features were sharp, wdth none of the pretty 
 plumpness of childhood; I believe my eyes were 
 the best part of my face. 
 
 " Child, you have my brother's eyes," Aunt 
 Mary often said to me in after days, when that 
 brother's eyes had closed on all earthly things. 
 But my regret for my lack of beauty, did not 
 prevent a pleasant consciousness of my festive 
 attire, and it was in a very contented frame of 
 mind that I watched — shyly holding by Maude's 
 hand, the guests arriving, in the calm, summer 
 twilight, and Aunt Mary receiving them ; a very 
 fair and stately vision to my eyes, in her rich 
 silk dress, and black lace shawl, and Mary and 
 Esther in pure white, with wreaths of dark green 
 ivy in their hair, in which Esther looked like a
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 7/ 
 
 wood nymph, and Mary like a queen. I thought 
 none among the other young people were to be 
 compared with my two fiiir cousins. 
 
 The Leesons were there ; Kate, a little, dark, 
 lively girl, with quick black eyes, a pretty 
 figure, and a large mouth, full of white teeth, 
 always laughing, and Isabella, the eldest, who 
 seemed to think herself a great beauty, languid 
 and affected, with blue eyes, brown hair, and a 
 transparent complexion. I thought her pretty, 
 but it was a face soon tired of. 
 
 Mrs. Leeson was there, tittering and simper 
 ing to every one in turn. I wondered what made 
 her do so, and soon got tired of looking at her 
 sky-blue silken dress, her bright Chinese scarf, 
 and head-dress, loaded with flowers and feathers. 
 Her husband never looked at her, but stood in a 
 corner talking to Uncfe Edward about the war, 
 though she was always appealing to him as 
 *' dearest Frank," which I thought he did not 
 seem to like. 
 
 Then there were the Misses Crawfords — Lady
 
 78 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Crawford's daughters — tall, elegant-looking girls, 
 very beautifully dressed, who seemed to treat 
 everybody with a sort of lady -like scorn. Lady 
 Crawford was a tall, stiff, haughty person, who 
 eyed everybody through her glass. I heard her 
 say to Aunt Mary that I was an aristocratic- 
 looking child, though what that meant I did not 
 know. 
 
 We had singing first, and then dancing began, 
 and then little merry Jessie Macdonald sat down 
 to play a waltz. She played as merrily as she 
 danced, and her little feet kept time to the 
 music. The principal partners were the two 
 young Crawfords — very fine young gentlemen 
 indeed, Henry Macdonald, James, and Stephen, 
 and two or three of their school-fellows, and 
 young Huntley, a wild, handsome lad, the son of 
 an old officer in the village. 
 
 There was one more, who came in late; this 
 was a Captain Raymond, who belonged to a re- 
 giment quartered at Haverford, tlie neighbouring 
 town. My uncle had met him out riding the
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 79 
 
 day before, and invited him. He was a very 
 handsome man, with black hair, and large black 
 curly whiskers, and moustachios, between which 
 his teeth gleamed white and brilliant. He had 
 a musical laugh, and a way of bending over 
 those he spoke to, and a soft voice, which I 
 thought strange, and did not like. 
 
 I thought aunt Mary did not much like him 
 either, for she was very cool in her manner, but 
 he did not seem to heed, but laughed, and talked, 
 and jested, and made himself very agreeable to 
 everybody. 
 
 Mr. Tremor dyn was there, but he did not stay 
 more than an hour, and as he did not dance he 
 had scarcely an opportunity of coming near 
 Mary. I saw her glance nervously at him while 
 Captain Raymond was talking and jesting with 
 her, and I also saw that he watched -her un- 
 ceasingly with his dark severe eyes. 
 
 Charles looked wonderfully well and cheerful, 
 there was quite a flush in his pale cheek, and a 
 light in his eyes I had never seen before, and he
 
 80 OLD MEMOraES. 
 
 talked and laughed with every one in the room. 
 Maude danced away merrily, but I had never 
 learnt dancing, and was too shy, so I sat by 
 Charles, or Aunt Mary, or good-natured old Mrs. 
 Macdonald, and looked on, and enjoyed the 
 lights, the music, the laughter, and dancing, 
 which was to me like a bright panorama. 
 
 Steenie, who was indignant at my not dancing, 
 dragged me through one country dance; but 
 when he found I had really much rather sit 
 still, he charitably left me to my own devices. 
 He danced chiefly with Jessie Macdonald and 
 Kate Leeson — the former had quite won my 
 heart by her joyous good nature. Just as they 
 were beginning a quadrille, Mr Tremordyn bent 
 over Charles, by whom I was sitting, and asked 
 him in a low tone who Captain Raymond was. 
 
 " He belongs to the — th Dragoons, who are 
 quartered at Haverford," Charles said. 
 
 "Do you know much of him?" 
 
 " No ; hardly anything. My father has met 
 him out at dinner once or twice, and he is one
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 81 
 
 of those men who can make himself universally 
 agreeable it seems. You are not going?" 
 
 "Yes; good night;" and he moved away. 
 
 Charles looked sharply after him. He passed 
 close by Mary and Captain Kaymond, who were 
 dancing in the quadrille — so close that he 
 brushed Mary's dress. She looked up quickly 
 in his face, and dropped her eyes immediately 
 with an almost frightened look. 
 
 The supper was laid out very prettily in the 
 parlour, and every one was going in with their 
 partners. Stephen, who had Jessie Macdonald 
 on his arm, insisted on taking me in with him, 
 saying, " his little wife was not to be neglected," 
 and getting me the most tempting fruit and 
 cakes. Maude whispered to me that Aunt Mary 
 had said I was to learn dancing with her in 
 the winter, and that she would teach me all 
 her steps before hand. 
 
 The supper room resounded with laughing 
 and talking, and clinking of glasses and plates ; 
 everybody finding Aunt Mary's cold fowls and 
 E 5
 
 82 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 ham, cakes, cream, and other good things, very 
 much to their satisfaction. 
 
 After supper, dancing began again; though 
 Lady Crawford and her three stately daughters 
 soon left. James had inexorably offended one of 
 them, by upsetting some ice over her dress, and 
 seemed very much relieved when they went. 
 Charles had gone to his room before this ; and 
 I was so sleepy in my sofa corner that lights 
 and figures swam before me in a mist, and the 
 music and buzz of voices, sunk into an indistinct 
 hum. I fell asleep at last, and was roused up 
 by Maude, to find everybody saying ' good-night,' 
 and to be pulled upstairs by her and Esther, 
 both laughing at my drowsiness.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 83 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 We were all rather dull and tired the next day 
 as people generally are after the excitement of a 
 party, all except Esther and Stephen, who never 
 could be dull under any circumstances. 
 
 The day was not enlivening : a grey, vapoury 
 hue, with steady, pouring rain — a contrast to 
 the brightness and sunshine of yesterday. There 
 was such a damp, chilly feel in the atmosphere, 
 that a fire had been lit in the drawing room; 
 where all the family, except Uncle Edward and 
 Aunt Mary, were assembled. 
 
 Uncle Edward was in the back parlor usually
 
 84 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 called the study, where he kept his books and 
 papers, and looked over his family accounts, and 
 paid his labourers. Aunt Mary was busy down 
 stairs. 
 
 I stood at the window looking out on the 
 streaming clouds, and wet lawn, and dripping trees, 
 till I was tired, and then went back to the group 
 round the fire, to see if there was any amusement 
 there. Stephen, whom the hard rain had kept 
 back from school, was luxuriating in Uncle 
 Edward's deep arm-chair, over the newspaper, 
 and reading the articles with a critical air. 
 Charles, leaning back in his sofa corner, was deep 
 in a new magazine. James was groaning and 
 yawning over a Latin exercise, rubbing out 
 almost every word he wrote, by letting his pen 
 fall, and smearing it. Esther was drawing cats 
 and dogs' heads over a sheet of letter paper ; 
 and Mary was laudably trying to be industrious 
 by knitting a sofa-cushion cover, and letting her 
 needles fall into her lap every other minute. 
 Maude, sitting on a high stool, with her head in
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 85 
 
 Mary's lap, was shading her face with a book, 
 from the fire, and doing nothing particular. 
 
 " Come here, Helen," said Esther, *' and tell me 
 if this is like Harry's deer-hound." 
 
 " The ears are too large," said James, looking 
 over at it, " they'd do best for the dog's master.'* 
 
 " Hold your tongue child, and mind your 
 Latin." 
 
 " Harry's ears do look as if they were meant 
 to be pulled," Maude pronounced. 
 
 " It's awful how you and Harry flirt," said 
 Stephen, with the gravity of a judge, " mamma 
 spoke to me quite seriously about it. ' Steenie,' 
 says she, ' I really wish you would speak to 
 Harry about his flirtations ; I can't have Esther's 
 young afiections trifled with.' " 
 
 ''Now, now, Steenie, don't tell more stories 
 than there's any occasion for." 
 
 " Where did my father pick up that Captain 
 Raymond?" asked Charles, looking up from his 
 magazine; " I don't admire him at all."
 
 86 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 "He met him at the Crawford's, and at Haver- 
 ford," Mary replied, colouring rather. 
 
 " You and he seemed very thick ; you should 
 not encourage such a confounded puppy." 
 
 " I did not encourage him ; I think him very 
 disagreeable. " 
 
 " So it appeared." 
 
 "Wasn't Bella Leeson's singing awful," broke 
 in James ; " Harry and I nearly split our sides 
 up in one of the corners, over it." 
 
 "Harry likes no singing but Esther's; see 
 how he hung about the piano, though he doesn't 
 know one note from another, while she was sing- 
 ing." 
 
 "Old Mrs. Macdonald would be better pleased 
 if Mary was Harry's love," said Maude, laugh- 
 ing; "she says Esther is a wild shilpit lassie, 
 while Mary is a sweet douce bairn." 
 
 " I adore Mrs. Macdonald," said M^y, " her 
 broad Scotch is delightful, too, and her oat cakes 
 and scones still more so."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 87 
 
 "How handsome Lilla Crawford looked," said 
 Esther, " in that beautiful blue crape of hers; she 
 moves like a queen ; I admire that style of 
 beauty." 
 
 " Yes : but those sort of girls look as if they 
 were meant to be set on a pedestal, to be looked 
 and wondered at," answe.ed Stephen; "regular 
 statues. I like flesh and blood best; little Jessie 
 Macdonald is the girl for me — such a little, 
 merry, good-humoured thing; if ever I marry 
 any girl it shall be she." 
 
 " I'll tell her so, Steenie ; it will make her 
 happy," said Esther, laughing. 
 
 " How savage old Tremordyn looked to see 
 Mary flirting with Captain Raymond ! What a 
 fellow he is, with his big whiskers ; ah ! I always 
 thought the red coat would cut out the black. 
 It's wonderful how you women run after scarlet." 
 
 Mary crimsoned indignantly. 
 
 " I wish you would let my name alone, and 
 choose some other butt for your wit. It's rather 
 hard because a shower of rain keeps you from
 
 88 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 school, that everyone is to be made uncomfort- 
 able." 
 
 " Whew ! " whistled Stephen, rather astounded 
 at this sudden outburst. 
 
 Charles looked keenly at Mary, and Esther 
 laughed, but there was no encouragement for 
 mirth in her pale, wrathful face. 
 
 We 1 ad little more talking that morning, and 
 it rained heavily all day, but in the afternoon 
 Harry Macdonald came in, dripping through the 
 rain for some music of his sister's, which she had 
 left the night before, and there was more laugh- 
 ing, and talking, and jesting then, in which 
 Mary took no part. 
 
 Harry stayed to tea as usual, but I had no heart 
 for fun that night. I know not how it was, but 
 as that rainy autumn night darkened and deep- 
 ened, there fell over me the shadows of a myste- 
 rious fear — a dark, undefinable dread, to which 
 I have been subject from childhood, but which I 
 never have been able to explain or account for. 
 Always before some great sorrow, that strange
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 89 
 
 and silent messenger has come to me. The 
 phantom wings of the coming woe always have 
 to me darkened the air beforehand and heralded 
 its advent. 
 
 Aunt Mary was sitting in Charles's room, 
 writing letters, and I crept up to her, longing for 
 sympathy and comfort. I remember well one 
 strange delusion; I was sitting in her lap, and 
 she was talking gently and soothingly to me, in 
 her sweet voice, when on raising my head from 
 her bosom, I thought I saw in the dark corner 
 of the room my father's face, white, sunken, and 
 emaciated. It was but the effect of a distem- 
 pered imagination, but it looked distinct and rea- 
 then. I remember crying out wildly that I saw 
 papa there, that I knew he was dying, and shiver- 
 ing with terror. Aunt Mary turned pale, but 
 she gently scolded me for my foolishness, and 
 taking me in her arms carried me to Mary's room. 
 There she put me into bed, and sat by me till I 
 cried myself into a hot and feverish sleep, but even 
 then I was haunted by terrifying dreams, and
 
 90 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 started up more than once, shaking with fright, 
 and calling for Aunt Mary, and not to be pacified 
 till she came and sat by me, and gently soothed 
 my terrors. 
 
 It was not till the grey morning began to 
 break, that I fell into a deep and heavy slumber, 
 still holding Aunt Mary's hand fast. Even the 
 morning sunshine, and the cheerful stir of the 
 family, could not drive quite away the vague 
 fear that hung about me. 
 
 The letters were brought in just as we had 
 finished breakfast, and given as usual to Uncle 
 Edward. 
 
 Aunt Mary turned white, and said eagerly: 
 " Is there—" 
 
 He glanced at her, and then told Maude and 
 me to go into the garden and play. 
 
 We went out, but instead of going into the 
 garden, I went into the drawing-room and waited 
 — I knew not what for. 
 
 Presently there was a strange, indistinct,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 91 
 
 stifled cry. I fell on my knees and hid my face 
 in a chair ; my heart beat thick and fast. 
 
 Presently the door was thrown open, and Esther 
 rushed in, her eyes large with terror. " Mary, 
 Mary, come to mamma." 
 
 I darted to her and caught her dress : 
 
 " Esther, Esther ! what is it, tell me, tell 
 me!" 
 
 She snatched her dress away, not unkindly, 
 but in her haste and terror, " not now, child, 
 nothing — its nothing. 0! where is Mary?" 
 and she ran out again. 
 
 I did not dare to follow, I felt sick and cold 
 with terror, and I sunk down on the rug, hiding 
 my face in my apron. There was a great bustle 
 in the house, footsteps ran to and fro, and every 
 now and then when the parlour door was opened, 
 I heard a sound of faint hysterical sobs, which 
 made my blood run chilly through my veins. 
 
 How long I sat thus I do not know, but it 
 seemed a very long dreary time, and well can I 
 recall the images of terror that chased each other
 
 92 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 in dismal array through my childish brain, 
 churchyards, and tombs, and white gliostly 
 figures pointing to open graves. I think Esther 
 and Maude roused me up from this painful trance. 
 I saw they had both been crying, but I did not 
 dare to ask why. 
 
 They were very affectionate and kind, even more 
 so than usual, took me out for a long walk, and did 
 all they could to amuse me. I did not see Aunt 
 Mary all that day, they said she was unwell and 
 had gone to bed. They said I should to-morrow. 
 
 In the evening Uncle Edward took me on his 
 knee, and kissed me, and called me his dear little 
 Helen, and caressed me with a sort of pitying 
 fondness that frightened me, while I loved him 
 for it. Maude and I were sent to bed early that 
 night, and next day Stephen and James did not 
 go to school ; there was a sort of strange hush 
 over the house, and every one seemed to speak 
 in whispers. We were kept in the school-room 
 all the morning, and we had our dinner there 
 with Mary.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 93 
 
 As the day drew towards evening I was told 
 to go to Aunt Mary in the drawing room. I 
 went down slowly and fearfully. Old Peggy met 
 me on the stairs, and to my surprise she caught 
 and kissed me, calling me her poor dear father- 
 less child. Fatherless? Very slowly I opened 
 the drawing room door, the blinds were drawn 
 down, and the half gloom gave me a sort of shock 
 in contrast to the sunset light that filled the hall. 
 
 There sat by the table Aunt Mary and Mr. 
 Tremordyn. They tui-ned their heads as I en- 
 tered, and Mr. Tremordyn beckoned me. I sprang 
 all trembling to Aunt Mary's arms, and hid my 
 face in her bosom. How her face was changed 
 since yesterday, how white, and what deep lines 
 seemed marked on it. My heart seemed to stand 
 still, and I felt cold all over like ice. 
 
 " Come here, little girl," said Mr. Tremordyn, 
 in his cold grave voice. 
 
 I went unwillingly enough, and stood at his 
 knee, trying, poor child, to read the awful secret 
 in his handsome, statue-like features.
 
 94 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Do you know what is the matter with that 
 rose, Helen?" he asked, pointing to a withered 
 one in a vase of flowers that stood on the 
 table. 
 
 " It is faded," I said, looking at him wonder- 
 inglj. 
 
 " True, my child," he said very gently, " and 
 we must all fade and die like those flowers. We 
 shall all have to go one day or other away from 
 those we love — shall we not?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir," I faltered with tightened breath, 
 trembling with suspense. 
 
 "Would you be very unhappy if some one 
 you love very much had gone away to that 
 beautiful country beyond the grave, never to 
 suffer or die any more?" 
 
 The overwhelming truth flashed over me, and 
 smote me like an icy wind. I cried out wildly , 
 " Oh ! not papa, not dear papa !" and in my 
 agony of sorrow fell down on the floor between 
 them. 
 
 Aunt Mary took me to her own room. She
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 95 
 
 sat by me and wept over me, and strove to soothe 
 me by her sweet voice and tender words, but I 
 was past the power of soothing then. Oh ! the 
 recollection of that miserable time, when I cried 
 myself into a feverish sleep, and woke and cried 
 again with the same dull sense of desolation ever 
 resting on me. 
 
 Then when the first keenness of childish misery 
 and terror had worn off, how strange and sor- 
 rowful it was to think that the loved voice of 
 that dear father should come to my ears no more, 
 nor his kind eyes smile on me. How I tried to 
 think of him, cold, stiff and rigid in his coffin, 
 and failed utterly ; and how my sore heart bled 
 with sorrowful pity to think of him lying in the 
 cold, damp, dreary churchyard vault, with the 
 rain and snow falling over him, and the winter 
 wind whistling round his last dwelling-place. 
 
 I did not rightly understand then, but I do 
 better now, how aunt Mary loved that beloved 
 and only brother, and how she mourned for him. 
 She always looked older from that day, and there
 
 96 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 were lines in her forehead and a sorrowful look 
 in her eyes that I never had seen before. 
 
 I thought of my mother often, as I should 
 about some comparative stranger, wondering 
 whether she wept as bitterly as Aunt Mary had 
 done, or whether she was the same stately, un- 
 moved lady as ever, and how strange and dreary 
 it must be to sit alone in the empty drawing-room, 
 with the vacant sofa before her, in a black dress 
 and widow's cap. 
 
 These thoughts would fill my head as I lay 
 wakeful in bed at night, and then the thought of 
 my father, cold and stiff, and awful, would smite 
 me with a sharp pang of agony, and I would 
 weep till the pillow was wet with my tears. It 
 was about a fortnight after this time, I remember, 
 that Annora came down to Holmsley; I think 
 she wrote a few lines to Aunt Mary, saying she 
 was so utterly wretched at home, that the house 
 was so dreadful to her, and begging her to let 
 her come. 
 
 She came, and I remember well that the
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 97 
 
 violence of her grief frightened me. She had 
 grown thin and pale, and her blue eyes* were 
 heavy and swollen with weeping. She refused 
 all food, and would lie on her bed all day, sob- 
 bing in a very agony of sorrow. Her continual 
 violent crying brought on a low fever, and for 
 some days she was very ill. How tenderly Aunt 
 Mary, and the younger ^lary nursed her, and 
 how glad every one was when she was able to 
 come down stairs, and join us all again. 
 
 She looked very lovely, pale and thin, in her 
 deep mourning dress, and I saw how everybody 
 admired and pitied the beautiful orphan girl. 
 Who could resist her fair face, and caressing 
 ways? Stephen and James fell in love w^ith her 
 immediately; even Charles said she was very 
 handsome. 
 
 Uncle Edward had gone to the Manor to be 
 present at the reading of my father's will. I 
 learnt afterwards that the house and property 
 were left to my brother Clement, and that the 
 rest of us had all our portions, and that Uncle 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Edward was appointed our guardian. But I 
 understood nothing of all this at that time, and 
 cared nothing for it. 
 
 I overheard Uncle Edward tell Aunt Mary 
 that Mrs. Marsden was much changed, and 
 looked very ill, but was as cold and haughty as 
 ever. She was going to the sea-side for change 
 of air. It never entered my head that I should 
 have to leave Holmsley and return to my mother. 
 I had grown to look upon that dear old house so 
 completely as my home, that it never came into 
 my childish calculations that a day must come 
 soon when I should know it no more. 
 
 Still, as time went on, a vague fear crept over 
 me that that cold grave stately lady, whom I had 
 been taught to call mother, would come and 
 claim me ; and the thought of that lone, cheer- 
 less, loveless life with her in the dreary house, 
 haunted by sad memories of my dear father — 
 dead and gone — seemed to chill my very heart. 
 
 ! strange and woeful mystery ! That word 
 "mother;" that sound of hope, and love, and joy
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 99 
 
 that thrills most children's souls, brought to me 
 nothing but chills, fears, and dreary forebodings. 
 The fear was verified at last. 
 
 One evening about two months, perhaps — or 
 more — after that shadow of death had darkened 
 my new home, and my childish heart. Aunt 
 Mary called me to her. She was sitting with 
 Uncle Edward alone in the di'awing-room ; it was 
 a dreary jSTovember evening; but the shutters 
 were closed and the curtains were drawn, and the 
 bright intense glow of the piled-up fire lit parts 
 of the room, and left others in mysterious 
 shadow. 
 
 Uncle Edward took me on his knee, and, 
 patting my cheek, said kindly that he had had a 
 letter from my mother ; that the sea air and the 
 change had done her much good, and that she 
 intended coming to Haverford for a few days, 
 where she had some old friends, and then return- 
 ing home, taking me with her. 
 
 " You will be glad to see your mamma again, 
 Helen," he said, half doubtfully. 
 F 2
 
 100 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 I did not speak, for I felt stupified. The blow 
 had fallen ; and I knew not how to bear it : it 
 seemed to crush all hope out of my little forlorn 
 heart. I shrunk away from my uncle: for I 
 almost felt him cold and unfeeling to speak so 
 calmly of my going away, I held out my arms 
 to Aunt Mary 
 
 " Well !" said my uncle. 
 
 "I don't want to go !" I cried out — for Aunt 
 Mary's sad looks gave me courage ; " I want to 
 stay here — I am much happier here. I — " I 
 could say no more for my choking tears. 
 
 " Hum !" said Uncle Edward, trying to look 
 stern. 
 
 I felt Aunt Mary strain me closer to her, and 
 that her tears were dropping on my head. I 
 clung closer to her. 
 
 " Let me stay here, dear aunt : pray, pray do 
 — I love you all so much, I can't bear to go 
 away." 
 
 " My dearest!" Aunt Mary faltered, " we all 
 love you very dearly; but your mother has a
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 101 
 
 greater right to your love, and we have none to 
 keep you from her." 
 
 " But, indeed, mamma does not care for me," 
 I pleaded ; " she will never force me to go, if you 
 will let me stay," and the tears stopped me again. 
 
 Uncle Edward got up, and blew his nose very 
 hard, and gave a great stamp with his foot. 
 
 "Am I to stand all this, Mrs. Brotherton?" 
 said he, trying to look very fierce at my aunt. 
 
 Aunt Mary wept and kissed me again, but she 
 did not speak. 
 
 Uncle Edward began to stride up-and-down 
 the room. 
 
 " Perhaps you think my heart is made of 
 stone, Mrs. Brotherton! If so, you had better 
 say so." 
 
 " Dear Edward," said Aunt Mary, softly, "you 
 know I feel with you, but we must remember, 
 we must strive to do right." 
 
 "Yes, yes; but — confound it," said Uncle 
 Edward. He came up to us, and sitting down, 
 took me on his knee —
 
 102 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Thou shalt stay here as long as thou likest, 
 child," said he in his kind, blunt way ; " none 
 shall force thee away against thy will. Ah! 
 Mary, lass, I'll have my own way here: none 
 shall say the child poor Ernest loved, asked for 
 the shelter of my roof, and was refused. If she's 
 happier here than at home, here she shall stop. 
 True, we've bairns enough, but this little lass more 
 or less, will make small odds. Ay, little one, 
 that's it, dry up thy tears." 
 
 How his kind, rough voice and hearty words 
 brought comfort to my little fear-stricken heart. 
 I was to be his child, Aunt Mary's child, and 
 Mary, Esther, and Maude's sister — the dear old 
 house was to be my home. I was to have a part 
 in that bright home circle. No fear or misgiv- 
 ing crossed me ; I lay still in a state of rapturous 
 contentment, with my head on Uncle Edward's 
 shoulder. That night, there was no shadow on 
 my sleep ! 
 
 But a storm was at hand. The day but one 
 after a carriage drove up the gravel sweep, and
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 103 
 
 from it descended a tall lady in black, with a 
 crape veil over her face. Aunt Mary led me into 
 the drawing room, white and trembling. Uncle 
 Edward was there I think, and Charles, Mary, 
 and Esther, but a mist was before my eyes, and 
 I saw nothing distinctly, except the door opening 
 and that tall black figure entering with its usual 
 stately step. 
 
 Uncle Edward and Aunt Mary went forward 
 to meet her, and greeted her kindly. She had 
 raised her crape veil, and I stood frightened at 
 the change in her face. Quite white, perfectly 
 colourless, even to her lips, with a worn, con- 
 tracted look about the mouth and forehead, but 
 handsome still, and haughty as ever, tho' framed 
 in a widow's cap, which made her look almost 
 unearthly in her whiteness. 
 
 She shook hands with Charles, and put her 
 lips to Mary and Esther's forehead, then she sat 
 down on the sofa. I stood by Aunt Mary, 
 holding her dress in a tight, frightened grasp. 
 
 *' Come here, Helen," said my mother, and the
 
 104 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 sound of her voice made my heart leap into my 
 mouth. 
 
 I went to her. She pressed her cold colour- 
 less lips to my cheek, and laid her hand on mine, 
 looking at me all the time with a strange troubled 
 look. 
 
 " I trust she has been a good child," she said 
 at last, still keeping her eyes on me, though she 
 spoke to Aunt Mary. 
 
 " She is a very good, a very dear child," said 
 Aunt Mary, and her tears fell as she spoke, " we 
 shall miss her sadly." Despair gave me courage, I 
 cried out, scarcely conscious of what I was saying — 
 
 " I don't want to go, I want to stay here. 
 Aunt Mary, do keep me." I ran to her, and 
 trembling hid my face in her lap. 
 
 My mother rose. I clung close to Aunt Mary, 
 and saw she was crying very much. Charles 
 stood at the window looking out, drumming 
 nervously with his fingers on the pane. Uncle 
 Edward blew his nose very loud for the fifth or 
 sixth time since my mother's entrance.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 105 
 
 " I am sorry for this wilful child causing you 
 such annoyance," said the cold statue : "I 
 am very grateful for your kindness to her. 
 Perhaps" and she turned to Mary, " you would 
 be kind enough to see that she is got ready. I 
 must not keep the carriage waiting long." 
 
 Still my grasp on Aunt Mary's dress, my entreat- 
 ing eyes on her face, still her fast falling tears. 
 Uncle Edward blew his nose again, and spoke — 
 
 " My wife and I are in a painful situation, 
 Mrs. Marsden." 
 
 " Indeed ! " she turned her haughty colourless 
 face upon him. 
 
 " Tour little girl wishes to remain here. She 
 has grown fond of us all, and thinks herself 
 happier here than at home. This may be very 
 unreasonable and ridiculous, a child's whim, I 
 have no doubt, nothing more." 
 
 She quickly cut him short, looking full at him 
 with her haughty eyes. 
 
 " I believe you are a man of sense and judg- 
 ment." 
 
 F 5
 
 106 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 He bowed slightly and went on in his frank 
 hearty voice. 
 
 " Still, I will never have the pain of reflecting 
 that a child, poor Ernest loved as his own, asked 
 for the shelter of my roof, and was refused it. 
 I am aware that our position is painful; n your 
 eyes, it must appear a wrong one. I well know 
 that we have no right to keep your child from 
 you, and that you have a perfect right to take 
 her away by force, if you please. Still, I must 
 earnestly entreat you, and in this I am sure, we 
 all unite, not to use that right." 
 
 There was a murmur of " Indeed we do'" from 
 every body, even Charles turned his head to join 
 in it. Not a change appeared in my mother's 
 calm, colourless face; she stood motionless, her 
 eyes on my uncle, not on me. 
 
 " I must entreat you to believe, Mrs. Marsden," 
 said Aunt Mary, flushing earnestly, "that we 
 have no desire to encourage her in any rebellious 
 ideas against you."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 107 
 
 My mother gave a slight, haughty bend of the 
 head. 
 
 *' You are very good. You allow, if I under- 
 stand rightly, that I have a right to compel this 
 child to follow me ? " 
 
 " I believe no one could deny it." 
 
 "Thank you, I will use that right. Helen 
 come with me." 
 
 Her voice had strange power over me, and I 
 wept and trembled very much, but still I resisted. 
 I earnestly and passionately begged with many 
 tears and sobs to be allowed to stay. 
 
 " Helen, I am your mother — your mother; do 
 you hear? " in a low, deep, distinct tone, " come 
 with me." 
 
 Aunt Mary in a whisper, begged me, though 
 very tenderly, to go. But through all my grief 
 and terror I held on. 
 
 " Mamma, you never cared for me, you know 
 you never did." 
 
 A ghastly look came over my mother's face for 
 a moment; slie looked like a breathing corpse.
 
 108 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Helen, I command you to come with me." 
 
 " Go, my dearest child," entreated Aunt 
 Mary, in a low tone. 
 
 Oh ! the difference of those two voices. 
 
 " I cannot go home ; dear papa will not be 
 there. Oh! mamma, let me stay here?" 1 pas- 
 sionately cried. 
 
 " I have to thank you," said my mother, turn- 
 ing her white face on Uncle Edward, and there 
 was a nervous twitching about her lip ; " I have 
 to thank you for your work. It is well and 
 speedily done. I thank you for robbing me of 
 my child." 
 
 Dear Uncle Edward ! I saw his mind's gene- 
 rous pity for her, his eagerness to speak; but 
 she checked him with a wave of her disdainful 
 hand. 
 
 " I wish to hear no more; you have done and 
 said enough. I will not force that child away, 
 though you generously allow me a right to do 
 so. But, mark me ; if I give her up now I give 
 her up for ever. If she refuse now to come
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 109 
 
 with me, my doors shall be shut against her 
 henceforward, to open no more; she has chosen 
 her own lot in life, she must abide by it. Are 
 you ready to assume your guardianship?" 
 
 " I am ready," Uncle Edward said firmly and 
 calmly. 
 
 " You hear, Hehm," my mother said, in the 
 same icy voice, " henceforth you are nothing to 
 me, nor I to you. You will see me and your 
 brother no more; your home is here. I will 
 not tell you that you are a sinful and unnatural 
 child, for you have been well taught your 
 part." 
 
 Aunt Mary strove to speak, but she stopped 
 her with another haughty wave of her hand. 
 
 "I will hear no more; I leave you. Child, 
 the time may come " 
 
 She stopped abruptly; I was very much 
 frightened. I gazed at her with tightened 
 breath and a throbbing heart. 
 
 " You have made your choice," were my
 
 110 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 mother's last words, and never to my dying hour 
 shall I forget the voice in which they were 
 spoken, nor the last look she fixed on me. The 
 next moment I dimly saw, as in a dream, the 
 skirts of her black dress slowly vanish round the 
 door. 
 
 There was silence for one moment, but only 
 for one ; then Aunt Mary took me to her heart, 
 and held me there : Uncle Edward laid his hand 
 on my head and said, " God bless thee ! my own 
 little lass." Oh ! how my little throbbing heart 
 drank in those loving words. 
 
 "I must kiss my new sister," Charles said 
 with a smile, and he kissed me, and touched my 
 forehead with his thin white hand in a caressing 
 brotherly way. 
 
 I clung to aunt Mary. I tried to pour out 
 my love and gratitude, my deep joy, in tears 
 and kisses, and knew not how to do it. 
 
 " Tut, tut," said uncle Edward, and he blew 
 his nose very hard this time. " Take her away,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. Ill 
 
 girls, take her away to Maude. Go, my lassie, 
 and a blessing on thy innocent head ! " 
 
 "Are you to be my sister, Helen?" Maude 
 cried, joyfully kissing me. "Oh! how glad, 
 how very glad I am."
 
 112 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 The winter days came clear, white, and frosty. 
 Maude, the boys, and I, had plenty of snow- 
 balling, for it was a keen winter, the icicles hung 
 glittering from the rising branches of the copse, 
 and the large pond in the meadow was frozen 
 over. Stephen and James luxuriated in the 
 sharp clear Christmas weather. They went out 
 every day to skate on a sheet of water about 
 a mile from the house, and Mary, Esther, Maude, 
 and I, very often went with them to look on. 
 The ice was generally crowded, for all the young 
 gentlemen of the neighbourhood used to skate 
 there, and as there were sometimes many lookers
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 113 
 
 on, it was often quite a merry scene. I enjoyed 
 it wonderfully, the skating was a marvel to me, 
 and the shouts and laughter ringing in the clear 
 frosty air made my heart flutter like a bird. 
 
 Then we used to go home in the winter 
 twilight, over the white frosty roads, the boys 
 with their skates slung over their shoulders, 
 making the air ring with their shouts and mirth- 
 ful laughter. Nora came with us sometimes, 
 she was beginning to recover her health and 
 spirits. She looked very lovely in her mourning, 
 her golden curls glistening from under her crape 
 veil, and there were always many admiring 
 glances sent after her whenever she came out 
 with us. 
 
 I felt proud of her, and so they all seemed to 
 do. Stephen and James were her sworn slaves; 
 everybody at Holmsley petted and spoiled her to 
 her heart's content. (The servants said she was 
 the " beautifullest young creetur as ever they 
 saw," and old Feggy was always making dainty 
 little messes to "tempt her appetite, poor dear.")
 
 114 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Esther and she were especial friends, and their 
 two opposite styles of beauty were a very lovely 
 contrast. Charles, who was poetically inclined, 
 called them Night and Morning, and everybody 
 said it was a beautiful comparison. 
 
 One of his devices while lying on the sofa, to 
 while away, poor fellow, the heavy hours of pain 
 and weariness, was slcetching — over everything, 
 no matter what. The fly-leaf of every book, 
 every scrap of blank paper that came into his 
 hands was sure to be covered with heads imme- 
 diately. He drew with a great deal of clever- 
 ness, I believe, and I often thought it strange 
 that though he drew everybody in the house, in 
 every variety of position, even old Peggy and all 
 the dogs, he never drew me. It pained me 
 rather to think about it at first, till I concluded 
 that I was not pretty enough, and 1 have no doubt 
 that was his reason, though I never had courage 
 to ask him. 
 
 Annora was not to return to our old home. It 
 was arranged that she was to live with a cousin
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 115 
 
 of my father* s, a Mrs. Clayton, a banker's wife, 
 
 in a country town in shire. But she was 
 
 such a pet at Holmsley that everybody cried out 
 indignantly at the idea of her going away yet, 
 
 " She must stay till after Christmas, at all 
 events," said Uncle Edward, and Nora was very 
 glad to stay. 
 
 She delighted in being petted and caressed, 
 and waited on, and that I well knew. (She had 
 been more affectionate and kind to me now 
 than she had ever been before; sorrow seemed 
 to have softened her quick impetuous temper.) 
 
 We had no Christmas gaieties this year, but 
 it was a very busy time for all that in another 
 way. The large table in the store-room was 
 heaped with flannel and warm stuff for gowns 
 and petticoats for the old women of the parish, 
 and Maude and I trotted about with bundles 
 and jugs of soup, delighted with the bustle. 
 
 So there was a quiet cheerful stir going on in 
 the house, and dear aunt Mary was as active 
 and helpful as ever; but there was a sad look
 
 116 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 in her eyes which I had never seen before, and 
 often in the evening, by the glow of the fire- 
 light, when the day's duties were over, and 
 she took me on her lap ; I was not startled to 
 feel her slow tears dropping on my head, and 
 I would wonder, childishly, whether if in Hea- 
 ven my father saw these tears, and if they 
 grieved him. 
 
 We were sitting thus one evening, Charles 
 half asleep on the sofa, when the front door 
 opened, and a tumult of voices and laughter 
 filled the hall. Aunt Mary dried her eyes, I 
 slid from her knee, and in burst the whole 
 skating party, with glowing faces and hair dis- 
 ordered by the wind. I had a bad cold and 
 had not gone with them that day. 
 
 "What an invasion of rebels!" said Aunt 
 Mary, smiling. 
 
 " Oh, what a lovely fire !" exclaimed Nora, 
 running up to it, and falling on her knees on the 
 hearth-rug; while she held up her pretty hands 
 before the blaze, and then throwing off her bon-
 
 OLD MEMORIES. Il7 
 
 net, tossed bax^k her long, shining, disordered 
 curls. 
 
 " What an ocean of cold air you have brought 
 in with you," said Charles, with a shiver. 
 
 "Don't be cross, cousin Charlie," laughed 
 Nora, with an arch glance at him, as she twisted 
 her lono^ tresses round her fins^ers. 
 
 How bold Xora was — I should never have 
 dared to call him "cousin Charlie." 
 
 " That would be a hard matter, to you," he 
 answered. 
 
 "Thank you — quite a pretty compliment; 
 I shall have hopes of you yet. Oh ! talking of 
 compliments, aunty, I have seen to-night, the 
 handsomest man I ever saw in my life." 
 
 "Indeed! who was it?" 
 
 " Esther," said Mary, who had not spoken 
 yet: " come and take your bonnet off," and they 
 both left the room. "Wasn't he handsome, 
 Steenie?" but Steenie had gone to brush his 
 hair, and make himself respectable.
 
 118 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Well, wlio was your Adonis?" asked Charles, 
 rather impatiently. 
 
 " Captain Eaymond." 
 
 " Captain Eaymond !" said Aunt Mary : "how 
 came he to be there?" 
 
 " He had walked over from Haverford, to get 
 some skating," Nora said : " and he skated beau- 
 tifully, beat all the young flourishers there, to 
 nothing; only Stephen and Mr. Macdonald of 
 course would not own themselves defeated." 
 
 "Well, did he speak to you?" asked Aunt 
 Mary. 
 
 " Speak, dear Auntie ! why he marched home 
 with us nearly all the way, by Mary's side; he 
 really seems desperately smitten. We saw Mr. 
 Tremordyn too; he looked daggers at our hero." 
 
 " Very likely," said Chn-les. "You'd better 
 go and get ready for tea, Nora." 
 
 "You are very rude, Charlie, cutting short 
 my eloquence. Where's my other glove?" as she 
 jumped up, "Do look for it, Helen dear."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 119 
 
 "You had only one when you came in," I 
 replied. 
 
 " Oh, true, that tiresome Steenie stole it. 
 Steenie, \rhere's my glove, sir?" 
 
 "Next my heart," said Steenie, folding his 
 hand over his waistcoat. 
 
 " Nonsense ! give it me. They are best black 
 kid, half-a-crown a pair, and I can't afford to lose 
 one." 
 
 " No human power shall rend it from my 
 breast," said Steenie heroically. 
 
 Here uncle Edward walked in, glowing from 
 the sharp frost, and famishing for his tea, and 
 Nora danced upstairs, asking me to come and 
 dress her. 
 
 I thought Mary very quiet that evening; she 
 would neither play, sing, nor talk, but sat at work, 
 and scarcely looked up once. 
 
 The next day I came down from the school- 
 room with a geographical exercise to be corrected, 
 and just as I had given it into Mary's hands, Mr. 
 Tremordyn was shown in.
 
 120 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 He had come to tell Uncle Edward of some 
 meeting on parish business at Haverford. 
 
 " Great nuisance/' said Uncle Edward, who 
 was deep in the newspaper. " It strikes me, my 
 good Sir, that the guardians are a pack of 
 noodles." 
 
 " Very probable," said Mr. Tremordyn com- 
 posedly. 
 
 " They had much better elect you." 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" 
 
 " You are not far wrong, I think," said Uncle 
 Edward. " However, when is this confounded 
 meeting?" 
 
 "Today at three." 
 
 "Well, I'll ride over. By Jove, Sir," ex- 
 claimed Uncle Edward, turning to his newspaper, 
 "have you seen the paper to-day? This last 
 victory was a magnificent atfair. That Welling- 
 ton's a splendid fellow, incomparable. We shall 
 singe Bony's whiskers yet.'* 
 
 " He hasn't got any to singe, Uncle dear," said 
 Nora laughing.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 121 
 
 She was sitting by the window, tormenting 
 Charles, who was sketching the old beech tree on 
 the lawn for her. 
 
 " Hasn't he ? Well you know more of whiskers 
 than I do, you little minx." 
 
 " Helen," said Mary, who had been tapping the 
 slate with the pencil all this time, without seem- 
 ing to know what she was doing, " here's a mis- 
 take. " You see India is in America, and — " 
 
 "India in America!" said Charles; "that's a 
 new discovery in geography." 
 
 " I mean Asia," said poor Mary, colouring up 
 to her forehead. 
 
 I saw that Mr. Tremordyn's keen eyes were 
 fixed upon her so hard, and I am sure she 
 knew it. 
 
 " Miss Brotherton," he said in his quiet cold 
 voice, "is this your property?" 'He drew a 
 handkerchief from his pocket. " I think you 
 dropped it yesterday evening." Mary flushed, 
 then she looked up with her usual calm, open 
 look. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Yes, it is mine, thank you." She stretched 
 out her hand for it. 
 
 " Out upon you, Tremordyn," exclaimed 
 Charles, looking round: "where is your gal- 
 lantry that you did not keep it?" 
 
 " Honesty before gallantry," answered Mr. 
 Tremordyn, with a strange smile. 
 
 " It is the one you had worked your initials 
 on, too," said Nora. 
 
 " Yes, I should have been sorry to lose it," 
 Mary answered, stooping for the slate pencil she 
 had dropped. 
 
 " Her own initials, marked with her own hand 
 too," said Charles : " worse and worse." 
 
 " I should have been somewhat puzzled what 
 to do with so pretty and delicate a fabric." 
 
 "And therefore you very wisely restored it to its 
 proper owner," Mary said, in her proud, clear 
 voice. 
 
 " I am glad you think so," said Mr. Tremordyn. 
 
 I wonder what made her raise her eyes to 
 his face, and then drop them again so quickly.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 123 
 
 " Are there any more mistakes, please Mary," 
 I ventured to ask, for I was rather tired of wait- 
 ing for my slate, and she seemed to have forgotten 
 my exercise. 
 
 " Poor child, your patience must be worn out, 
 I will see,'' Mary said, in a low tone. 
 
 " Here's some one coming up the avenue," said 
 Charles, as we heard the sound of horse's feet on 
 the frosty ground. 
 
 ^' Captain Eaymond," exclaimed Nora : " what 
 a beautiful horse !" 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn took up his hat, shook hands 
 with Uncle Edward, and went away. 
 
 *• Wliat brings that fine gentleman here so 
 early girls?" growled Uncle Edward. I suppose 
 nobody knew, for nobody answered him. 
 
 ^' There are no more mistakes I think, Helen," 
 Mary said, with a sigh. 
 
 Captain Raymond was shown in. I thought 
 him the handsomest and grandest gentleman I 
 had ever beheld, and gazed in wonder at his 
 glittering white teeth, his large glossy moustaches, 
 
 G 2
 
 124 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 and whiskers, and black curly hair, and white 
 hands, and sparkling rings, and handsome watch- 
 chain. He very soon made himself at home, and 
 he had a frank, free, dashing manner that I sup- 
 pose was very taking, for though Mary scarcely 
 spoke at all, and was very grave and silent, 
 Uncle Edward and everybody else were laughing 
 and talking away w th him in five minutes as if 
 he had been an old friend. 
 
 It was arranged he should stay to lunch, (at 
 our dinner), and that Uncle Edward and he 
 should ride back to Haverford together. 
 
 Then they both plunged into a discussion on 
 the war, and I and my slate went up stairs, 
 when I found Maude had finished all her lessons 
 and was wondering what kept me down so long. 
 Captain Eaymond talked away so fast and so 
 fluently all dinner time that I felt quite bewil- 
 dered, and am sure could not tell whether it was 
 mutton or turkey I was eating. I know he ad- 
 mired Mary most, although he talked and 
 laughed with Esther and Nora much more
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 125 
 
 than with her; indeed, Marj scarcely spoke at 
 all, and sat back in her chair, hardly touching 
 anything. 
 
 Uncle Edward could talk of nothing but the 
 war, and Napoleon, and the Duke of Wellington, 
 and Captain Raymond was very eloquent about 
 it all. He expected his regiment to be ordered 
 out very soon. 
 
 "Rather a stirring change from the dull 
 country quarters of Haverford," he said laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " I cannot think how you are so anxious to 
 go," said Nora; "a battle must be such a shock- 
 ing thing, and then the field after it is over." 
 
 " A sight to dim your bright eyes," he said 
 with a smile and a bow : " but would you not 
 rather arm your knight for the field and send him 
 to fame and victory, than have him lie inactive 
 and inglorious at your feet?" 
 
 " There's a fine speech for you, girls," said my 
 uncle. "Come, Captain, another glass of wine; 
 we'll drink the health of our gallant fellows."
 
 126 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 '' With all my heart. It must be a consola- 
 tion beyond measure to them, as it will be to me 
 when I join their ranks, to reflect whose defenders 
 we are," with a bow to all the ladies. 
 
 Aunt Mary whispered Maude and me to go into 
 the drawing-room. We had agreed that Captain 
 Eaymond was a very fine gentleman, and spoke 
 very grandly, but that we did not much like 
 him, when Aunt Mary and the three girls fol- 
 lowed us. 
 
 ''Mary, dear," said Nora, putting her arm 
 round Mary's waist, "what's the matter with 
 you; you did not open your lips once at dinner." 
 
 " I thought dinner never would be over," 
 Mary replied ; " what an odious man he is." 
 
 " Dear Mary," Nora said, her eyes wide open, 
 " how can you — he is so handsome, and talks so 
 well. Don't you think so, auntie?" 
 
 "Yes; he talks nonsense well," said Aunt 
 Mary. 
 
 " You are very fastidious, aunty dear." 
 
 " Yes, surely, he is very handsome, mamma,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 127 
 
 darling," said Esther, giving another twist to 
 her glossy ringlets. 
 
 "Very handsome certainly, and agreeable, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Well, that's something, however; here comes 
 Charlie, we will ask his opinion." 
 
 " Charlie has given his already pretty often," 
 said Mary. 
 
 " Your military friend has talked me to 
 death," said Charlie, throwing himself into his 
 father's arm-chair ; " heaven defend me from such 
 a tongue! I am thankful he's going, or my 
 powers of endurance would not last out much 
 longer." 
 
 xsTora was going to answer, but Uncle Edward 
 and Captain Raymond just then came in. It 
 was a quarter to three, and the horses had been 
 ordered round. Captain Raymond took leave in 
 his usual gay manner, and said something about 
 gratitude for the delightful hours he had spent; 
 then Uncle Edward and he rode away. 
 
 Maude and I watched them ride down the
 
 128 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 avenue. Charles said he was sure he was a 
 humbug; he talked too much to be sincere." 
 
 " You would not have every man as silent as 
 yourself, cousin," Nora said, tossing her shining 
 curls. 
 
 "That's a challenge; I shall talk more in 
 future," answered Charles ; "if I were not so 
 tired I would begin now." 
 
 " You do look very tired, so we will have no 
 more talking," said Aunt Mary ; "so Esther and 
 Nora go out and take a walk." 
 
 " I am for calling on the Leesons; who'll go?" 
 said Esther. 
 
 " I will : I want to ask Bella Leeson to lend 
 me her new song." 
 
 " And I, Esther," cried Maude. 
 
 " Run away then, all three of you ; Helen's 
 cold will keep her a prisoner, so she must bring 
 her pencil and paper, and finish copying the 
 church in Mary's scrap-book. 
 
 I was always delighted to sit down by Aunt 
 Mary*s side, and be allowed to draw what ecccn-
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 129 
 
 trie animals I liked, and to make what charming 
 mess I pleased with paint and water. 
 
 I loved a quiet afternoon in that dear old 
 cozy drawing-room, and was not at all sorry to 
 see Nora, Esther, and Maude, depart on their 
 visiting expedition. 
 
 "Now, Charlie, I am going to exercise my 
 maternal authority," said Aunt Mary, laying her 
 hand on his shoulder. " Lie down instantly." 
 
 He smiled, hut obeyed her, sinking down on 
 the sofa as though wearied out. 
 
 We were a quiet party. Cousin Mary leaning 
 back in Uncle Edward's arm chair, her cheek on 
 her hand, gazing into the fire, and I so absorbed 
 in the marvellous cottages I was drawing, with 
 men and women half as high as the house, and 
 stiff-legged cows and pigs staring, as to forget 
 everything in the world but these works of 
 art. 
 
 A bright sun gleam falling on my paper 
 roused me. I looked up and saw the sun going 
 down, red and gorgeous, shooting fiery gleams of 
 
 G 5
 
 130 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 brightness through the snowy branches of the 
 old beech trees. 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt Mary, look at the sunset." 
 
 She followed me to the window and stood 
 looking out, her white hand resting on my neck. 
 The sun sunk lower and lower, till it was quite 
 gone, and only a faint crimson streak shone in 
 the clear winter sky. The red brightness was 
 gone, and the cold dim grey was creeping over 
 the world. I saw Nora, Esther, Maude, with 
 the two boys, coming home through the frosty 
 avenue, and ran out to meet them. Nora was 
 in high glee, full of going to tea to-morrow at 
 the Leesons, and trying their new music. 
 
 " You are to come too, Mary," said Esther, 
 " Bella was overwhelmingly gracious to day, and 
 enquired lovingly after my sweet sister." 
 
 "I'm very much obliged to her; she saw me 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Bella Leeson is dying of curiosity to know 
 who Captain Raymond is," said Nora laughing, 
 " what regiment he belongs to, and what family
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 131 
 
 he is of, and so forth. Kate picked him to 
 pieces unmercifully — says he has more mous- 
 tache than brains, etc. What a tongue she has." 
 
 "With more sense in her little finger than 
 Bella in her whole composition," said Charles. 
 
 " Come and look at this beautiful bright 
 star, Helen," said Maude. 
 
 I went to the window, and we saw in the 
 flickering twilight two horsemen riding up the 
 avenue. 
 
 " Here is papa and somebody with him," cried 
 Maude. 
 
 Mary hurried to the window. " Papa is 
 bringing that man back again," she exclaimed. 
 
 " To tea — impossible," said aunt Mary, 
 " Surely he must dine at the mess." 
 
 " There he is, however," Mary said, looking 
 very much vexed. "How provoking — I am 
 very sorry." 
 
 I began to speculate what Capt. Raymond 
 would think if he could have heard all this. 
 
 Charles rose languidly from the sofa. " I
 
 132 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 can't stand a second edition of that hero," he 
 said wearily. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! I am so sorry you are dis- 
 turbed," Aunt Mary said tenderly. 
 
 " How shall I ever mount that precipice of a 
 staircase. Steenie, you are the stajBT of my de- 
 clining years, come here and give me your 
 shoulder." 
 
 " All right, old fellow," responded Steenie, 
 with an affectionate pride in aiding his brother 
 shining through his dark eyes. 
 
 They left the room, and I slipped out before 
 them, and ran up to Nora. I was always her 
 little maid; and I liked my office very well. I 
 took a great delight in combing, and curling, and 
 twining round my fingers, those long, golden, 
 silky tresses. I was never tired of admiring 
 them. I delighted to make her sit down on the 
 rug, before the fire, in her bedroom ; while I took 
 possession of her glistening curls, brushing, and 
 twisting, and smoothing, till I had got them 
 into the highest state of glossy perfection.
 
 OLD ME^VrORIES. 133 
 
 She wanted her hair to look particularly well 
 to-night, and so I took especial pains with it; 
 and when each large, shining curl was smoothed 
 and adjusted to perfection, I drew back to admire 
 my work. 
 
 " It is beautiful now, Nora," I said. She rose 
 and went to the glass ; and as she stood before 
 it gazing at her bright face, I fancied shrewdly, 
 that she was very glad to be so pretty. I had 
 just fastened her dress, and was clasping her jet 
 bracelet, when Maude tapped at the door, to say 
 that she and I were to drink tea in the school 
 room with Peggy. 
 
 I liked this very much : for whenever we had 
 tea with Peggy, she was sure to bring up some 
 cakes of her own making, which were particu- 
 larly good. So it proved to-night: for when 
 Maude and I went into the school room, after I 
 had finished Nora, we found Peggy in her blue 
 gown and best cap, pouring out the tea, with a 
 plate of smoking cakes on the table beside the 
 loaf.
 
 134 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Peggy had brought up her own tea-set; one 
 in which Maude and I particularly delighted, 
 and which we always insisted on having when- 
 ever we drank tea with her. ( They were mar- 
 vellous pieces of pottery, with a red cow in 
 the bottom of each, and covered outside with 
 blue humming birds, looking thro' crimson and 
 green wreaths; but we thought them triumphs 
 of art.) The steam of the cakes and the tea, 
 made Peggy's scarlet complexion look more fiery 
 than ever; but she was in a very good humour. 
 
 " Didn't your sweetheart give you that tea-set, 
 Peggy?" asked Maude, as we sat down to tea. 
 
 " Lord love thee !" said Peggy, wiping her hot 
 face in her apron: " I never had no sweetheart." 
 
 " No sweetheart! Oh, Peggy, I am sure 
 you've told told me often that you had, and 
 more than one," cried Maude, laughing. 
 
 "Well, well," Peggy answered, helping us to 
 cakes, " I don't know as ever I had, what folks 
 would call a reg'lar sweetheart. To be sure, there 
 was Joe Sims, who wanted to have me, leastways,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 135 
 
 he said so ; but 'twas lucky for me I war'nt set 
 oa him, for the next week he ran away with the 
 baker's niece, what had a little money. To be 
 sure, my poor old mother warned me of Joe 
 Sims all along." 
 
 " How lucky it was you did not care much 
 about him, Peggy?" 
 
 " Ah, it was, my dear," said Peggy, sipping 
 her tea philosophically ; " moreover, Pve heard, 
 the baker's niece — Nancy Jackson her name was 
 — led him a sad life, and he took to drinking, so 
 'twas like a judgment on him." 
 
 '' Well, and who was the other, Peggy ; I'm 
 sure you've told me of somebody else." 
 
 " Lord bless us. Miss Maude, dear, what set 
 thee off talking about my sweethearts? Well, 
 there was Job Tomkins, who, everybody said, was 
 going to ax me, if he had not got took up for 
 sheep-stealing, and been transported beyond the 
 seas. It was a great pity, too, for he was a 
 quick, smart young chap, and used to dance the 
 college hornpipe beautiful."
 
 136 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Dear Peggy, you were very unlucky with 
 both of them; and who was the other?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Why," said Peggy, blowing at her saucer of 
 tea, to cool it, " there was old Joshua Scraggs, 
 who, I think, wanted to have me — indeed, he 
 a' most axed me out plain one day ; but there, I 
 don't know as I'd have had him, for he had only 
 one eye, and was quite crooked with the rheu- 
 matics, besides being awful crabbed in his tem- 
 per. Oar folks all wanted me dreadful to have 
 him, for they thought he'd saved money, and that 
 he'd die soon, and I should be a rich widder, but 
 they was out in their reckoning, for he lived for 
 ten years 'arter, and when he did die, they 
 only found a half-crown and a crooked sixpence, 
 tied up in an old worsted stocking under his bed. 
 So, Pm thinking, Pd a lucky escape." 
 
 We thought so too. 
 
 "'Tis just as well as 'tis," Peggy went on, 
 after washing down her departed lovers with a 
 long draught of tea, " for Pm doubting I ever
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 137 
 
 should ha' had courage to leave missus. I came 
 to her just after she married, twenty years ago, 
 and she was a sweet, beautiful young lassie, 
 bonnier than even Miss Mary is now, tho' she's 
 handsome enough. Lord love her sweet eyes ! 
 But I never loved any of them, as I did 
 Master Charles, he was my first baby and there 
 never was another like him. What a sweet 
 little lad he were, bless him, always delicate; 
 with the same lovely blue eyes he's got now, 
 though there wasn't then that look of pain on 
 his face that it most breaks my heart to see. 
 Full of mischief be were too, always a climbing 
 up the back o' my chair, and pulling my cap off, 
 and stealing my sugar, and taking my yarn to 
 make nets of. That was before his accident. He 
 were always my pet ; I used to make tarts and 
 cakes for him till mistress used to scold me. Oh ! 
 dear, that's many years ago." 
 
 " And now you make tarts and cakes for us, 
 Peggy," said Maude, " and you make the best 
 cakes of anybody in the world."
 
 138 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Ah ! that's what Master Charles used to say, 
 he were always flattering me with his coaxing 
 ways, bless his dear heart; and you've found out 
 his way too, Miss Maude, you know how to come 
 over the old woman. But you must not sit here 
 a listenin' to my chattering all night, but come 
 along and put on your silk frocks, if you've done ; 
 mistress will be sending up for ye, as soon as 
 tea*s over down stairs." 
 
 How I wished my hair would curl, as my eyes 
 fell envyingly on Maude's long ringlets, while 
 Peggy was combing and plaiting my straight 
 locks. And then she put on my black silk frock 
 and white tucker, and pronounced me a proper 
 genteel looking little lass ; and I looked in the 
 glass, and saw I was a tall thin child, with a 
 look about me of having grown too fast, with a 
 long neck and sharp features, and great black 
 eyes that looked too large for my face. It was a 
 distressing problem to me that Maude was pretty 
 and I not, and I pondered over it all the way 
 down stairs.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The drawing-room was bright and gay when we 
 went down with the cheerful lamplight and 
 blazing fire, and the hum of voices and laughter. 
 Uncle Edward, Captain Raymond, and the two 
 boys were all full of the war ; Stephen and James 
 were longing to be soldiers, and could talk of 
 nothing but battles and sieges, and Napoleon 
 and the Duke of Wellington. I cared very 
 little for all this, so I nestled by Mary's side, 
 who was knitting a purse, and watched her bright 
 needles glancing to and fro. 
 
 Captain Raymond seemed to have enchanted 
 everybody except Mary; he laughed and joked
 
 140 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 SO good huraouredly with the boys that Stephen 
 whispered to Esther that he was a jolly fellow. 
 Then he said gaily to Uncle Edward that their 
 fair audience must be weary of this warlike con- 
 versation, and advised the boys to control their 
 military ardour for to-night at all events. Then 
 he begged for some music, and Nora and Esther 
 sang a duet. 
 
 Nora looked so beautiful in her black dress, 
 that just then I almost admired her more than my 
 two cousins; she was so brilliantly fair with her 
 white arms, and golden curls glistening out from 
 her deep mourning. I felt proud that she was 
 ray sister; I liked to run and fetch her music 
 book, or kneel down by her and hold the silk she 
 was winding, or do anything which I fancied 
 shewed she belonged to me. 
 
 Captain Raymond sang some song about the 
 war, and fame, and victory, I think, and Stephen 
 and James were delighted, and clapped him so 
 loudly, and begged him to sing it over again. 
 Then there was some other song he was asked
 
 OLD MEMOPwIES. 141 
 
 for, and only Mary knew the accompaniment of 
 it, and I saw that she did not wish to play it for 
 him. Captain Kajmond looked at her. 
 
 " If I might presume so far on your kindness," 
 he said, " I need scarcely say how greatly it 
 would add to the pleasure of singing it." 
 
 Mary bit her lip ; then she rose, and sitting 
 down at the piano played it for him, and he 
 thanked her over and over again. I wondered 
 why he was so grateful. 
 
 I stared at his glistening white teeth, gleam- 
 ing in the firelight, and the watch chain, and the 
 rings, till I thought him shining all over, and 
 shut my eyes. The only time he noticed me was 
 once as I stood near him, when he patted me on 
 the head and asked me if I liked lessons or play 
 best. I thought it was a stupid question, and 
 that he was too fine a gentleman to care to talk 
 to nae, so I answered that I liked both and turned 
 away. 
 
 Then he laughed and said something about 
 my scornful eyes, which I did not understand;
 
 142 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 and then Aunt Mary kissed Maude and me, and 
 whispered that it was bed time. When I was 
 in bed Maude went into Charles's room, and 
 came back sorrowfully, said that he was suffering 
 very much. 
 
 " I have been saying all my texts to him," she 
 said, jumping on my bed, and throwing her arms 
 round my neck. " I always think they seem to 
 comfort him, and the psalms I have learnt. There 
 are two he likes so much, the one beginning, 
 ' The Lord is my shepherd,' and then the other, 
 ' I will lift up my ejes to the hills, from whence 
 cometh my help.' They are so beautiful. I will 
 teach you them if you like; I am always trying 
 to learn psalms to say to Charlie. Oh ! dear, I 
 wish I could take all the pain instead of him. I 
 can't bear to see that curvad look on his fore- 
 head. Ever since that horrid accident he has 
 been ill." Maude had settled herself on the bed 
 by this time. 
 
 " Now, Helen, you shall be my baby. Peggy 
 thinks I auJ in bed, so now we will have a talk
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 143 
 
 all comfortable." And a talk we had, which 
 lasted so long that Mary and Esther came to bed 
 and caught us. 
 
 " Maude, you little monkey," exclaimed Esther, 
 "not in bed yet; why, its eleven o'clock; run 
 away directly." 
 
 ** We've only been having a talk," said Maude, 
 jumping off the bed. 
 
 ''A talk; you're talking for ever: run away 
 with you." 
 
 Mary undressed without speaking a word : she 
 looked pale and weary, but Esther was full of 
 spirits, dancing up and down the room, with her 
 dark ciu^ls falling over her white night gown, and 
 her flushed cheeks; what a bright, pretty creature 
 she looked ! 
 
 Mary threw on her dressing gown, and sat 
 down by the fire in the white arm-chair, her dark 
 hair falling in long loose waves 
 
 They were talking softly and earnestly when 
 my eyelids dropped for the last time, and I 
 floated off into the sea of dreams.
 
 144 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 I did not see much of Captain Raymond next 
 morning, only at breakfast, where he was as gay 
 and talkative as ever. After breakfast, Maude 
 and I were sent up into the school-room to our 
 lessons, and he rode back to Haverford. Mary 
 heard us over our lessons, and set us our exer- 
 cises as usual, but she was so strange and forget- 
 ful that morning. Sometimes while we were re- 
 peating our lessons to her the book would drop on 
 her lap, and her thoughts seemed far away, and 
 she would quite forget the next question ; then 
 she would walk up and down the room, and keep 
 going restlessly to the window, and looking out, 
 and several times I saw her lips moving, as 
 though she was talking to herself. 
 
 As it was a bright afternoon, Aunt Mary sent 
 Maude and me into the vili ige; we were to go 
 first on an errand to the shop, and then to seve- 
 ral old women's cottages, whom Mary and Esther 
 used often to go and read to. 
 
 It was a wonderful little shop in an old house, 
 all battered and time worn, so overgrown and
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 145 
 
 hidden with ivy, that it looked more ivy than 
 bricks, and kept by an old woman, who wore the 
 highest and whitest cap ever beheld by mortal 
 eye, and the shortest waist, and the most mar- 
 vellous patterned gown, that ever puzzled a 
 milliner. The shop was no less wonderful — a 
 shop that held everything in the world, so we 
 thought; for besides the bacon, and cheese, and 
 lard, and candles, and butter, and tea, and 
 sugar, and balls of twine, and hanks of yarn, 
 and tubs, and spades, and rakes, and bags of 
 tobacco and snuff, and boots and shoes, and 
 little coloured story-books, and stores of things 
 imaginable and unimaginable; there were dim, 
 dark recesses behind the counter, whence came 
 forth, when asked for, bright prints and marvel- 
 lous shawls, and gorgeous cap-ribbons, on which 
 we gazed with comfortable faith and admiration. 
 There never was such a shop as that, and its 
 very smell, an indescribable odour, compounded of 
 all the things I have spoken of, and divers others 
 VOL, I. H
 
 146 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 besides, was like nothing else in the world, and 
 was therefore curious and delightful ! 
 
 Dame Betsey, the proprietress of this cave of 
 wonders — I never heard her surname, and don't 
 believe she had any — was a good-natured old 
 soul, arid whenever we entered her domain, she 
 seldom failed to put into our hands a fig, or a 
 handful of raisins, or some other dainty, saying 
 that " children were ever a picking ; bless their 
 innocent hearts." Dame Betsey was a great 
 friend of Peggy's, and sometimes came to the 
 " House " — as my uncle's was always called 
 in the village — to drink tea with her. On 
 these occasions her head-dress was a story or two 
 higher than usual, and towered to such a height 
 that it made me giddy to look at her, and she 
 always wore little gilt buckles on her shoes, 
 which were a great source of wonder and admi- 
 ration to me. 
 
 When we had done our shopping and visited 
 all the old women the sun was shining low, and 
 I proposed going home, but on our way through
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 147 
 
 a narrow lane we passed a shabby cottage, with 
 a neglected garden in front, and Maude stopped 
 and said we would go in and see Jane Miller. 
 I would much rather have gone on, for there was 
 a man standing at the door, looking sullenly and 
 gloomily down the road, and I felt afraid of him; 
 but Maude begged me to come in and I went. 
 The man stepped aside to let us pass, and gave 
 us a sort of sullen half nod. We went into a 
 smaU close room, rather dirty, where a young 
 woman, untidy and poorly clothed, sat by the 
 red ashes of a turf fire, rocking a poor little pale 
 wailing baby. Two or three sickly, unwholesome 
 looking children were hanging about her chair. 
 She got up and put us a chair (there was but 
 one), and said the room was not fit for us to 
 come into, and she hoped we would excuse it. 
 
 When Maude asked her how she was, she 
 
 answered she was but poorly, and the "baby were 
 
 very bad ;" poor dear. I felt so sorry for that poor 
 
 wailing baby : I had a biscuit in my pocket which 
 
 H 2
 
 148 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Aunt Mary had given me just before I came 
 out, and I put it into the baby's hand, thinking 
 it might comfort it a little. The little thing 
 seized it with both hands, and the mother thanked 
 me with tears in her eyes; and crumbling the 
 biscuit up, she fed the child with it. The other 
 children looked at it so, and I felt quite unhappy 
 that I had no more. I wondered why their 
 mother didn't give them something to eat ; I had 
 never seen anything of poverty, and knew nothing 
 of it. The woman at first made a slight show 
 of talking to us, but she soon sunk into silence 
 and sat rocking the baby, and looking gloomily 
 into the ashes. At last, when the baby, who had 
 done the biscuit, sent forth a shriller cry, she 
 turned to her husband, and said "Hast any 
 money, John ? " The man thrust his hand into 
 the pocket of his smock frock, and fumbled a 
 little, then he drew out a few pence and gave 
 them to her. 
 
 " Hast thee no more nor this?" she asked. 
 
 " No wench," he answered sullenly.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 149 
 
 Just then a dark shadow fell across the thres- 
 hold. I looked up and saw Mr. Tremordyn. He 
 looked rather surprised at seeing us there, but he 
 only noticed us with his usual slight nod. The 
 man at the door moved a little on one side, and 
 just touched his cap in the same sullen way. 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn came up to the woman. " How 
 are you, Jane," he asked. 
 
 She rose and curtseyed, but answered him as 
 she had done us that she was very weak and 
 poorly. The other children left off cHmbing on 
 their mother's chair, and stared at Mr. Tremordyn 
 with open eyes. 
 
 I tried to take up one of them, a little boy, 
 who looked pretty through all his dirt, to nurse, 
 but he slipped away from me, and ran and hid 
 his face behind his mother's gown. 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn looked at the husband, who 
 still stood leaning against the door posts. 
 
 " Why are you not at work, John ?" he asked. 
 
 " There ain't no work this weather," the man 
 answered gruffly.
 
 150 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " I thought Farmer Hilton employed you in 
 helping to roof his new barn." 
 
 " Ay, but I hurt my hand t'other day." 
 
 " How did you hurt it?" 
 
 The man did not answer. 
 
 " John," said Mr. Tremordyn, " I am afraid 
 you have been visiting the ale-house rather often 
 lately." 
 
 The wife sighed and shook her head. The 
 baby went on wailing more dismally than ever. 
 
 " A man wants summut to keep up his heart 
 these hard times," the father said at last sullenly. 
 
 " Ay, but it does not seem to keep up your 
 heart, my friend. You do not look very cheerful 
 as you stand there." 
 
 " There ain't much cheerfulness with us now," 
 said the woman despairingly. 
 
 The baby sent forth a shriller cry. 
 
 "Is the child ill?" asked Mr. Tremordyn. 
 
 " It's hungry,'* said the father, looking gloomily 
 over his shoulders. 
 
 There was silence for a moment, and I begged
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 151 
 
 Maude in a whisper to come away, for I felt 
 frightened, I scarcely knew why ; but I suppose 
 Maude wanted to hear everything, for she shook 
 her head and remained firm. 
 
 " K you was shut up all day in this here little 
 poked room, wi' that cry soundin' for ever in 
 your ears," said the man sullenly, " you'd be glad 
 to take a drop to make ye forget youi' misery 
 for a bit." 
 
 "Beware of that drop, John; it is the first 
 step down; the beginning of the broad road that 
 leadeth to destruction. The Bible will tell you 
 that in the end 'it biteth like a serpent and 
 stingeth like an adder.' " 
 
 "Ah, Sir," said the woman, almost in a 
 whisper, as if afraid her husband should hear her, 
 "if you could but persuade him o' that." 
 
 "It's fine talking," John went on, gloomily, 
 " its easy enow ; we all knows that, for a parson to 
 preach, but if you were I, mayhap — " 
 
 " That's idle talking, my friend; if you were 
 I, and if I were you — that cannot be : we have
 
 152 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 each our own part to perform ; we have each our 
 own struggle in the battle of life. God has sent 
 us each in our place — we must do our duty 
 manfully." 
 
 " It's a hard battle to some o' us,'^ muttered 
 the man. 
 
 " True : it is harder to some than to others ; 
 but the business of each of us is with himself — I 
 shall not have your sins to answer for ; nor will 
 you have mine. We shall each have to render 
 up an account of our doings on the great day. 
 Serving God is a personal thing — ' No man may 
 deliver his brother.' '* 
 
 " Ah !" replied the man, with a sort of bitter 
 laugh ; " I hears a great deal about 'em all being 
 brothers, but I've begun to think as it's all talk. 
 If we're brothers, we're a rum sort o' brothers. 
 Why's one brother starving and t'other living on 
 the fat of the land?" 
 
 " Your brother does not want you to starve, 
 John; he gives you work. But if you will 
 not do it, and sit guzzling gin and beer at the
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 153 
 
 ale-house, instead, your brother cannot help it. 
 He cannot compel you to work; this is a free 
 country, and you are a free-born Englishman, 
 and may do as you please." 
 
 "Ay! I knows it," replied the man, bitterly; 
 " I'm free to starve." 
 
 " No ; you are free to work. You hurt your 
 hand in a drunken quarrel ; I saw you when you 
 were brawling the other day, outside the ale- 
 house, though you were too blinded by evil pas- 
 sions, to see me. Now you see your sin, though 
 you will not own it ; and your heart is full of 
 wrath and bitterness. You hate me because I 
 am a gentleman, and because I set your sin 
 before your eyes, forgetting that I am your 
 minister, and that it is my part to rebuke you, 
 and that I shall have to give an account of my 
 stewardship to the Judge of quick and dead. 
 You hate every one that has a good coat on his 
 back, and eats meat every day; you have per- 
 suaded yourself that all the world is leagued 
 against you. John, you are reaping now the 
 H 5
 
 154 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 fruit of your wrong-doing ; you are proving the 
 truth of what I have so often told you, that ' the 
 way of transgressors is hard.' " 
 
 The whole time Mr. Tremordyn was speaking, 
 he kept his dark, severe eye fixed on the man, 
 who never once turned round to meet it, but 
 still stood gazing sullenly and gloomily down the 
 darkening road. The poor woman sat all the 
 time sighing and rocking the baby, but did not 
 speak: then Mr. Tremordyn said something to 
 her in a low tone, and I saw that he put some 
 money into her hand ; then he turned and left 
 the cottage, with his usual quick, firm step, 
 without noticing the husband; whom I saw 
 looked after him with a bitter scowl. 
 
 The poor woman was crying, and Maude and 
 I tried to comfort her in our childish way. 
 Maude whispered that Aunt Mary should send 
 down some broth and medicine for the sick baby, 
 and that she should come and see them. 
 
 The woman answered, "God bless thee, my 
 little dear !" and we left her, still sighing and
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 155 
 
 rocking the wailing baby, while her husband 
 stood leaning against the door post, his Qap 
 slouching over his eyes. He took no notice of 
 us as we passed out. 
 
 Maude and I did not talk as we went on up 
 the lane ; I suppose we both felt sad. It was my 
 first glimpse of the dark side of life, and the de- 
 solation of poverty, and it fell like a cloud over 
 my childish heart, and brought a vague sense of 
 sorrow and fear. 
 
 We saw Mr. Tremordyn's dark figure striding 
 up the road before us, seen distinct against the 
 clear evening sky, where the stars were coming 
 out. We both thought of him with something 
 like dread. 
 
 " What a terrible eye he has, and how sternly 
 he spoke to John Miller," Maude whispered, 
 " he's really an awful man : and you see he knew 
 that John had hurt his hand in fighting; he 
 knows everything.'' 
 
 " But he gave the woman some money too." 
 
 " Yes ; but I'm sure John won't thank him for
 
 156 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 it. Did you see how he scowled after Mr. Tre- 
 mordj'-n when he went out? Oh! I wish he 
 wouldn't be so terribly stern. I can't fancy he 
 was ever a boy like Steenie and James ; can you?" 
 
 " Oh ! no," I said, quite startled at the idea. 
 It was such a new one that it set me thinking, 
 and I concluded at last that he never could have 
 been a boy, but that he was born grown up. We 
 had reached the little gate leading to the meadow 
 by this time, and ran through it rather fast, for 
 the twilight was deepening, and the great leafless 
 elms threw ghostly shadows on the grass. 
 
 My aunt and uncle were going out to dinner 
 at Haverford with Mary and Esther. How I 
 remember standing in rapt admiration before 
 that — to me — gorgeous vision. Mary in a black 
 lace dress, from which her dazzling neck and 
 arms shone out like snow drifts, and with crimsom 
 leaves in her dark shining hair. Esther, bright 
 and sparkling, a very queen of gipsies, in pink 
 silk, with a string of pearls twisted in her black 
 curls; and stately, queen-like Aunt Mary, in
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 157 
 
 dark velvet, and soft white marabout plumes, 
 a lace shawl veiling a neck white and smooth as 
 her daughters. 
 
 How proud I was of them — from my earliest 
 childhood I was an intense lover of beauty. 
 How happy to fancy that I belonged to them 
 and they to me, that it was my right to admire 
 and marvel. I had been two or three hours in 
 bed and asleep when ^lary and Esther came 
 home, but I awoke as they entered, and lay in 
 sleepy admiration while they put off their shining 
 attire. They sat long talking by the fire, and I 
 had a dim idea that Mary was crying, but it 
 might have been a dream. The next day Maude 
 whispered to me a mighty secret — that she was 
 sure Captain Raymond had been at the dinner, 
 and, moreover, that he had asked Mary to marry 
 him, and she had said "No." 
 
 " I am so glad, are not you, Nell. I hope he 
 won't come teasing any more." 
 
 We were out on the terrace together, and like 
 an answer to her words came the clatter of a
 
 158 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 horse's feet, and through the leafless elms that 
 divided the side of the house from the front, we 
 saw Captain Raymond on his black horse ride 
 up to the porch. What could he want? If 
 Mary had said she wouldn't have him, that was 
 settled. We were morally certain she would 
 never change her mind. We had some vague 
 notion, perhaps, that he wanted to carry her 
 off on his gallant black steed, like the knights 
 in our fairy tale book. 
 
 He, however, went off in no such romantic 
 fashion, for about half-an-hour afterwards, he 
 came out, and mounting his horse, which the 
 groom had been walking up and down, dashed 
 away down the avenue by himself. Maude and 
 I had run round through the copse, and so 
 reached the lawn in front of the house to have 
 a full view of his departure. 
 
 " I'm sure he's angry," Maude said, '' did you 
 see what a cut he gave his horse with his whip? 
 I wonder what Mary said to him." 
 
 I wondered too. That afternoon Stephen asked
 
 OLl) MEMORIES. 159 
 
 me to go with him and James to a farm-house, 
 about two miles off, to ask about a colt that 
 Uncle Edward wanted to buy. It was a mild 
 winter day — the frost was still hard, but the sun- 
 shine lay in soft gushes over the hills, and 
 the air felt almost summer-like, in sheltered 
 places. 
 
 It was a walk after my own heart, and I set 
 out blithely with the two boys and all the dogs. 
 Dash, Trim, and Fussy. The only drawback 
 was Maude's absence ; she was obliged to go into 
 Haverford in the carriage, for her drawing lesson. 
 We went on merrily, however, through the 
 meadows, trampling a foot path over the gleam- 
 ing snow, and pulling branches of the scarlet 
 hips and haws ; the two boys leaping the stiles 
 and whistling the dogs, and waking the echoes 
 with their shouts ; whilst I, wrapped in my little 
 red cloak, trudged on sedately by Stephen's side, 
 my frock full of holly branches, which he gathered 
 for me, and wondering at the beauty of their 
 dark glossy leaves and rich red berries.
 
 160 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Stephen was my childish beau-ideal of all that 
 was strong and brave and handsome, I loved and 
 admired him with all my heart. He was so 
 bonnie with his large bright, laughing dark 
 eyes, his thick waving curls, his sunburnt 
 kindling cheek, his white glistering teeth; there 
 was such a free, brave, manly spirit in his frank 
 voice, and joyous ringing laughter, and then 
 his gentleness and manly protecting tenderness 
 from a great rough lad like him to a little timid 
 girl like myself, bound me close to him. 
 
 We had settled all about the colt and were on 
 our homeward road. The red sun was going 
 down, and his slanting crimson beams fell on the 
 grey naked roads. The air had grown sharp 
 and cold, and there was a solemn hush and still- 
 ness over everything that silenced our busy 
 tongues. We walked on faster and more quietly. 
 We were very near the gate of our own avenue, 
 the sun had sunk entirely, and the grey shadows 
 were falling over the roads and fields, when a 
 horseman turned out of a bye lane just before
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 161 
 
 US, and rode on, the horse's hoofs ringing sharply 
 on the white hard frosty road. 
 
 " There goes the parson," said James. " I 
 wonder if he's going to our house? Holloa! — " 
 
 There was a sudden shout, I don't know from 
 whom, a tremendous plunge and clatter of hoofs, 
 and man and horse fell together a dark mass on 
 the white ground. 
 
 I believe I shrieked, I don't know what I did, 
 but the next thing I remember was standing, 
 white and speechless with terror, by Mr. Tremor- 
 dyn, and hearing Stephen crying out, 
 
 " It's a blackguard in the hedge — after him, 
 Jem, after him." 
 
 I saw Jem spring over the stile and dash 
 across the fields; Mr. Tremordyn had started to 
 his feet directly, and had seized the struggling 
 horse's bridle to raise him; but he was ghastly 
 white, and I saw that he staggered two or three 
 times. His black coat was soiled by the fall, 
 and the blood was streaming from a deep cut in 
 his lip. He was altogether such a ghastly
 
 162 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 figure in my eyes that I stood staring at him 
 with throbbing head and gasping breath. 
 
 "Are you hurt, sir?'* I heard Stephen eagerly 
 asking him. 
 
 " A little shaken, thafs all," said Mr. Tremor- 
 dyn; "don't make a noise," for Stephen was 
 swearing lustily against the vagabond who 
 frightened the horse. 
 
 James came panting back, crying out that 
 " the fellow had the start of him, and had got 
 away. I am pretty sure who he was, sir." 
 
 " So am I," said Mr. Tremordyn quietly. 
 
 He was examining the horse, who stood by 
 snorting and trembling, to see if it was hurt, 
 holding his handkerchief to his own mouth to 
 staunch the blood. 
 
 " I thought you were killed. Sir," the boys 
 said breathlessly. " By Jove ! I'd prosecute the 
 rascal when I got hold of him." 
 
 "Helen! here, come here, where are you 
 going? Stop — stop." 
 
 He was calling to me, for I was flying, at my
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 163 
 
 full speed, along the road, conscious only of a 
 vague desire to get home safe, away from that 
 ghastly bleeding figure. I heard them all call- 
 ing me, Mr. Tremordyn loudest, but that gave 
 wings to my feet. I dashed up the avenue 
 through the winter twilight, full of misty shapes 
 of terror, and across the hall, never stopping till 
 I found myself in the firelit drawing-room, pant- 
 ing and breathless, in the midst of a circle of 
 frightened faces, and only able to gasp out, in 
 answer to the chain of eager enquiries and ex- 
 clamations, "Mr. Tremordyn is thrown from his 
 horse." 
 
 Some one shrieked, I think it was Mary. 
 I believe they all rushed out into the hall, but 
 I was in such a state of breatliless fear and be- 
 wilderment, that I remember nothing distinctly. 
 I heard uncle Edward calling for the lantern to 
 go down the avenue with. Mary did not follow 
 them, she staid in the drawing-room. I remem- 
 ber her grasping my hands so tight that I was 
 nearly crying out, and asking me, with white
 
 164 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 lips and in a hollow strange whisper, not at all 
 like her own voice, if he was killed. 
 
 I suppose I made some confused, frightened 
 answer, for she let me go, and stood waiting, 
 white as ashes even to her lips, with her hands 
 pressing her heart. I tried to explain, I think 
 that he was not killed, nor much hurt, but a 
 bustle in the hall, and a murmur of voices, 
 stopped me. Mr* Tremordyn walked in; he 
 looked very pale, and seemed to walk with pain ; 
 but he had staunched the blood from the cut oh 
 his lip, and did not look quite so terrible as on 
 the road. 
 
 Uncle Edward was congratulating and swearing 
 by turns ; he forced Mr. Tremordyn into a chair, 
 sent for wine and brandy, and would have poured 
 both down his throat, if he had let him, all the 
 time, exclaiming — " Lord bless me, man, what 
 an escape! why, what would the parish have 
 done without you? Confound the vagabond! 
 I'll prosecute him — I'll hang him, I will, by 
 Jove ! a sacrilegious, infamous dog !"
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 165 
 
 Stephen and James were exclaiming on the 
 narrowness of the escape, and the wickedness of 
 the rascal who frightened the horse. Amongst 
 the confused buzz of voices, Mary did not speak 
 once. Aunt Mary was entreating Mr. Tremordyn 
 to go to bed, or at least to have his bruises looked 
 to. 
 
 He laughed, and said he was not at all hurt ; 
 that he only wanted a little rest, a basin of water 
 and a brushing, and then should be ready to go 
 home. 
 
 " Out of this house you don't stir this night !" 
 exclaimed Uncle Edward, " if the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury wanted you — so make up your 
 mind to that. Holloa there — eh! what is it? 
 what's, the matter?" 
 
 I saw Mary gliding quietly out of the room, 
 from the dark corner where she stood; but just 
 as she reached the door, she tottered — it swung 
 after her ; but then there was a fall and a cry, 
 and Stephen darted out after her, and cried that 
 Mary had fainted. Mr. Tremordyn started up,
 
 166 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 and then sat down again. Aunt Mary and 
 Esther hurried out. 
 
 In the midst of the confusion and bustle, Peggy 
 summoned from below, rushing to-and-fro with 
 salts and hartshorn, and tumbling over everything 
 that came in her way, dogs and human beings in- 
 cluded, scolding and lamenting all in one breath ; 
 I heard the carriage drive up to the door, and knew 
 it was Maude and Nora come home from Haverford. 
 
 I ran put, and throwing my arms round Maude, 
 dragged her into the drawing room, whispering out 
 breathlessly my hurried, frightened story about 
 Mr. Tremordyn being thrown from his horse and 
 Mary fainting, and all the terrors of that evening ; 
 and we both sat huddled up together in a corner, 
 pale, and holding our breath, in fearful expecta- 
 tion of what was to come next. 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn sat gloomily looking into the 
 fire, holding his handkerchief to his mouth. 
 Uncle Edward was walking restlessly up-and- 
 down the room, jerking his coat-tails, (his usual 
 way when disturbed), and muttering to himself.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 167 
 
 We all started when Esther came in, looking 
 very pale, but she said Mary was better, and we 
 breathed again ; when Mr. Tremordyn rose with- 
 out saying a word and walked out of the room. 
 Esther looked at Nora and clapped her hands, and 
 they both laughed, I don't know why, and Maude 
 whispered to me that she was sure Mr. Tremordyn 
 was gone to see Mary, and Uncle Edward sat 
 down and rubbed his hands for five minutes with- 
 out stopping. 
 
 Maude ran over to Charles, who was sitting on 
 the sofa looking very grave, and there was a great 
 deal of whispering, which was stopped by Aunt 
 Mary coming in, looking radiant now, though 
 she had clearly been crying not very long ago, 
 and saying Mary was a great deal better. 
 
 " Is't all right, old woman," said Uncle Ed- 
 ward, jumping up and forcing her into his arm- 
 chair, '' and they've turned thee out I'll warrant. 
 Eh?" 
 
 I don't know why everybody began to laugh, 
 and to kiss and hang about Aunt Mary, but
 
 168 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 they did, and I suppose it was catching, for I did 
 too, and we were all very merry, till steps were 
 heard without, and Mr. Tremordyn came in with 
 Mary on his arm, looking very pale, but very 
 lovely and very happy. 
 
 I am afraid I thought it rather cross of Aunt 
 Mary to send Maude and me up into the nursery 
 to Peggy. Peggy usually sat at work there by 
 the fire, and was generally very glad for us to go 
 and talk to her, and would give us some delicious 
 brown lozenges (what they were made of I never 
 knew), which she always kept in her pocket as a 
 remedy against some mysterious ailment she su? 
 fered from " in her inside," but to-night Peggy 
 was very cross and grumpy, and scarcely a word 
 could we get out of her, except some muttered 
 sounds something like " for lier part she couldn't 
 make it out nohow, but folks mun' please them- 
 selves; talk about lovers indeed! lovers were 
 somethin' different in her young days ; there was 
 never such goings on then ;*' the meaning of which 
 was very obscure to my comprehension.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 169 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 When I went down into the drawing-room next 
 day after dinner, Mary and Mr. Tremordyn were 
 there, with Charles, laughing and talking mer- 
 rily. How happy Mary looked, and what a 
 bright light there was in her clear dark eyes. 
 
 "You look quite pale, Xell," she said, kissing 
 me; "poor little woman, you have not got over 
 the terrors of yesterday," and she laughed, and 
 drew me close to her, making me admire her red 
 lips and white teeth, and sweet smile. " It was 
 quite an awful day, wasn't it, Helen?" 
 
 " I suppose you have not found out the fellow 
 who frightened the horse?" Charles asked Mr. 
 Tremordyn. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Yes : it was the man I suppose," he an- 
 swered carelessly. 
 
 '^ And you don't mean to take any steps 
 against him?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " If you had been killed, a jury would have 
 brought it in manslaughter." 
 
 " Yery likely ; but there is no use speculating 
 on what might have been." 
 
 Charles looked at Mary, and raised his eye- 
 brows, and Mary smiled and shook her head. 
 
 " You are wonderfully magnanimous, Tre- 
 mordyn — quite a practical illustration of forgiv- 
 ing your brother's trespasses," Charles said, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Pshaw ! there is no magnanimity in the 
 case, it is simply laziness and indifference. I 
 have too much to do to be running about seeking 
 vengeance on a vagabond who frightened my 
 horse; John is punished enough by his disap- 
 pointment : he has not killed me ! " 
 
 John! A sudden light flashed across me —
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 171 
 
 was it John Miller who frightened the horse ? 
 That dark, sullen man at the cottage door, who 
 scowled so after Mr. Tremordyn? the very re- 
 membrance turned me cold. 
 
 Uncle Edward came in. 
 
 " All right again, eh ?" he said. " We've had 
 the kitchen full this morning of folks coming to 
 ask 'if the parson really were kiUed or not.' " 
 
 " And proportionably disappointed to hear he 
 was all alive, I suppose," said Mr. Tremordyn. 
 
 "George, George!" said Mary, "do think a 
 little better of human nature." 
 
 " There's an appeal, my boy," said Uncle Ed- 
 ward, clapping him on the shoulder; " you can't 
 stand that, and I really believe the poor souls 
 would have been very sorry if anything had hap- 
 pened to you." 
 
 " John will be a hero," said Mr. Tremordyn, 
 with his strange smile ; " there'll be a sermon at 
 the Ranter's Chapel on the subject next Sunday, 
 and very likely a long paragraph in the Haver- 
 
 I 2
 
 172 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 ford Mercury^ headed ' Outrageous Assault on 
 the Eev. George Tremordyn, the esteemed Kector 
 of Holmsley.' They haven't had such a piece of 
 excitement for a long time." 
 
 "Peggy has been holding forth to a select 
 audience in the kitchen all the morning," said 
 Charles, " about the great tall black fellow that 
 jumped out of a hedge and frightened the parson's 
 horse, by flourishing a pistol right before his eyes ! 
 Of course it's universally believed that he was a 
 regular midnight assassin, with crape over his 
 face, a dark lantern and a bludgeon. Why, 
 moreover, Mrs. Simkins, your housekeeper, Tre- 
 mordyn, came down here this morning in a frantic 
 state about you, and fell into such an alarming 
 state of prostration in the kitchen that some gin 
 had to be administered immediately to restore her. 
 The poor creature had only just heard the news, 
 and was in the most frightful state of uncertainty 
 as to her beloved master's fate." 
 
 '• There was no need of the old hypocrite's 
 coming on here," said Mr. Tremordyn. " I met
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 173 
 
 her on the road, as I went home this morn- 
 ing, and gave her clear evidence that I was 
 alive." 
 
 I heard no more, for I slipped out of the glass 
 door, and ran down the terrace steps to look at 
 the crocuses and snowdrops that were budding 
 brightly in that sheltered part of the garden, and 
 gleaming in the winter sunshine. 
 
 Mary came out after me, and then Mr. Tre- 
 mordyn followed in a minute or two. I never 
 saw her look so bright or so happy before, with 
 her dark locks gleaming in the sunlight, as she 
 gathered snowdrops and held them against her 
 hair, and laughed so sweetly as she asked him if 
 they were not lovely, and he looked almost 
 tenderly on her. 
 
 " Shall I say they are like you?" he said with 
 a smile ; not that strange cold smile of his, but 
 another quite different, and very beautiful, that 
 changed the whole look of his face. 
 
 "No; I am no snow-drop," Mary said, laugh- 
 ing and looking up brightly at him. "Who
 
 174 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 would dare to compare themselves with this 
 pure spotless blossom?" 
 
 He looked at her very steadfastly with his 
 dark deep piercing eyes, and then drew her arm 
 within his, and said, " Come in, you will catch 
 cold," and as they went up the steps of the 
 terrace I heard him say in a very low tone, 
 '' Little one, what a prize I was near casting 
 from me." 
 
 They went in at the open glass door, and 
 presently I heard Mary's voice calling me to 
 go out with her. 
 
 " A run will bring some colour into your 
 pale cheeks," she said, kissing me. 
 
 I was rather dismayed when I found Mr. Tre- 
 mordyn was going too; but there was no help 
 for it. 
 
 Maude was helping Peggy with the cakes, 
 and did not want to go out. Nora and Esther 
 had gone off with Stephen and James to see 
 the skating. So off we set through the frosty 
 lanes, where the white hoar branches glittered
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 175 
 
 like diamonds in the sunlight, I walking very 
 steadily and demurely by Mary's side, trying 
 very hard not to hear what she and Mr. Tremor- 
 dyn said, which it seemed to me would have 
 been a very shameless and blush-exciting action 
 on my part. I don't think there was very much 
 to hear, for they did not talk much. ^Ir. 
 Tremor dyn never did, and what he said was 
 in a very low voice, and Mary seemed to listen 
 as if she would not lose a word. All at once 
 it struck me that to take the little basket she 
 was carrying out of her hand and run on be- 
 fore was much the best thing I could do. 
 When we came to a turn in the lane Mary 
 called to me. 
 
 " This way, Nelly, I am going to Jane 
 MiUer's." 
 
 " Jane Miller ! why do you want to go there," 
 I heard Mr. Tremordyn say. 
 
 " Esther and I have been making two frocks 
 for her children, and I am taking them to her," 
 she answered.
 
 176 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 He made no reply, and we walked on till we 
 reached Jane Miller's cottage ; but the door was 
 locked, and Jane was gone out for a day's wash- 
 ing, a neighbour told us, and had taken her baby 
 with her. The elder children were left under 
 the neighbour's care ; they came toddling to the 
 door, and clambering over the board placed to 
 fence them in, to stare at us. . 
 
 Mary was quite vexed; she wanted to give 
 Jane the frocks, and to tell her to send her chil- 
 dren to the school-tea to-morrow, but there was 
 no help for it. 
 
 " She wants to keep out of my way, poor 
 soul," said Mr. Tremordyn, as we walked on. 
 
 " Are you sure then," Mary asked, hesita- 
 tingly, " of its being John Miller who — " 
 
 " Who frightened my horse? As sure as I am 
 that your little hand is resting on my arm at 
 this instant." 
 
 " What a villain ! " Mary said in a low tone, 
 and shuddering. 
 
 " No : only intoxicated, and blinded with evil
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 177 
 
 passions — with the unclean spirit of drink, who 
 'bringeth with him seven other spirits more 
 wicked than himself;' strong to hold on, and 
 hard to cast out. Besides, John is not satisfied 
 yet; had he given me some sore bones, broken 
 my arm or my leg, he would have sat down — or 
 run away — contented; but as I came off with a 
 whole skin, he still feels himself an aggrieved 
 mortal." 
 
 We walked on silently a little way, then Mr. 
 Tremor dyn said : "I remember when I married 
 those people, five years ago, John was an honest, 
 sunburnt, light-hearted fellow; and she a rosy- 
 cheeked country girl. Now he is a drunken 
 vagabond, and she an untidy, hopeless slattern. 
 The charm of life did not last long for them, 
 Mary; there is not much poetry in this world 
 after all." 
 
 " There is not much in poor Jane Miller's 
 lot, at all events; poor thing she seemed worn 
 down with trouble and hopelessness. Why 
 don't those poor country girls think more before 
 
 I 5
 
 178 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 they trust their life's destiny with these rough, 
 thoughtless clowns?" 
 
 " Why does not Mary Brotherton think more 
 before she trusts hers with me?" he said in a 
 low tone, with the old strange smile curling his 
 
 lip. 
 
 She looked up quickly in his face and laughed. 
 
 "Is she wrong? There is plenty of time for 
 thought yet ; I have spoken no irrevocable 
 words." 
 
 " But my purpose ? Does that go for 
 nothing? I have and will hold; you are fet- 
 tered : don't chafe and struggle." 
 
 " Helen will think us the most incomprehen- 
 sible people in the world," Mary said, laughing; 
 "she wonders what nonsense we are talking. 
 We shall soon be at the gate of our copse, Nelly, 
 and you will have Maude's company to make up 
 for your stupid walk." 
 
 I was glad to get home, to be free of Mr. 
 Tremordyn's stern presence and eagle glance, that 
 kept me in an uncomfortable confused state of
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 179 
 
 mind ; but even Maude's merry round face, and 
 loving prattle, could not comfort me. Some 
 vague heavy sense of the miseries of life, the 
 keen hard struggles of poverty, the sore battle 
 existence was to some of these poor, rough- 
 handed, weather-beaten people — of whom I knew 
 little, or nothing — oppressed my childish heart, 
 and haunted my uneasy sleep. John Miller, 
 haggard, desperate, and ruffianly; Jane, slat- 
 ternly, pinched, careworn, with her wasting baby 
 at her breast, sat on me till morning — a dismal 
 nightmare. 
 
 The poor soul came up to the house next 
 morning, baby and all, through the blinding 
 snow, to tell, with tears and sobs, her dismal 
 story of desertion. John had run away from 
 her, after frightening the parson's horse, whither 
 she knew not, and she was a poor deserted crittur, 
 with no means of earning a crust for her blessed 
 baby. A pitiful figure, in sooth, was she, 
 sitting in the kitchen, drowned in tears, the 
 snow clinging to her thin frowsy cloak and
 
 180 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 crushed black bonnet, hushing the poor pinched 
 baby, and sobbing out over and over again that 
 " She had no hand nor part in John's wicked- 
 ness, Lord forgive him!" 
 
 Peggy received her gruffly at first, but melted 
 very soon at the poor thing's melancholy plight, 
 and gave her some hot tea and womanly consola- 
 tion, though she afterwards gave Maude and me 
 to understand that " a body might always keep 
 themselves whole and right if they tried, and 
 she hadn't no patience with them down-at-heel 
 folks." And Maude and I fed the half frozen 
 baby by aunt Mary's directions, and dressed it 
 up in one of Maude's great doll's night gowns, 
 to our intense delight, and made it a temporary 
 bed in a large drawer by the kitchen fire, 
 where it soon fell asleep with a placid look on its 
 tiny pale face. And then we slipped behind 
 Peggy's chair and held our breath, while Aunt 
 Mary talked gravely and tenderly to Jane about 
 neglecting a wife's duty, and how if she had 
 tried, she might perhaps have kept her husband
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 181 
 
 in the right road, and how he had been a mur- 
 derer in will though not, by Heaven's mercy, in 
 deed, which seemed quite a new view of the case 
 to Jane, for she cried at it with startling violence. 
 
 Here Uncle Edward came in, looking rather 
 stern, and he said a great deal more, till his 
 voice was drowned in her sobs and lamenta- 
 tions, and then he walked out of the kitchen, 
 whispering to Peggy, however, just outside the 
 door, not to let the woman and her baby go 
 home through the snow, but to keep them there 
 till morning. 
 
 How I pitied that poor, tearful, sobbing soul, 
 for having such a fierce barbarous villain as John 
 Miller for a husband; and how firmly I resolved 
 never to have anything to do with husbands, 
 who seemed only a source of trouble and misery.
 
 182 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Poor Jane slept at the house with her wailing 
 baby, and went back in the morning through the 
 snow to her desolate cottage, Maude charging 
 her not to forget to put on the children's clean 
 frocks and send them up by five, particularly 
 little Jemmy, ray fat shy friend. 
 
 Uncle Edward had a talk with Jane before 
 she went, in his little back parlour, and I 
 shrewdly suspected she did not go away empty 
 handed, for the door was ajar, and as I ran by I 
 saw him put money into her hand, and aunt 
 Mary sent down Joe Stevens to her cottage witli 
 a great white jug of soup.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 183 
 
 A queer fellow was Joe Stevens, and a great 
 ally of mine and Maude's. He was a boy on 
 the farm, a great, white haired, shiny faced 
 urchin, of about twelve or thirteen, with the 
 whitest teeth and the roundest blue eyes I ever 
 saw. He always brought us the first nuts and 
 blackberries, he was sure to find them before any 
 other boy in the village, for it is my belief that 
 when not following the plough, or hoeing turnips, 
 or driving sheep or cows, he lived in the fields 
 and slept in the hedges. He used formerly to 
 go to school, but he never could get beyond 
 words of one syllable, or remember that four 
 and five were nine. So the schoolmaster gave 
 him up as hopeless, and thence forward Joe was 
 left to his own devices. He was the best natured, 
 kindest hearted, most stupid, awkward boy on the 
 face of the earth— this great lubberly white 
 haired Joe, but he was a good son to his mother, 
 the deaf widow, for all that, and Uncle Edward 
 used to call him a good lad, and pat his head, and 
 give him sixpence now and then, which Joe
 
 184 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 religiously made over to her, any idea of 
 spending it upon himself never entering his 
 simple brain. He used to bring us hosts of 
 little blue and green speckled eggs, which we 
 regarded as precious rarities, and used to make 
 necklaces and hang up on the walls of our bed- 
 rooms. 
 
 Joe Stevens was admitted to the tea by 
 especial favour ; he had no right to come as he 
 was not a scholar, but Maude and I, in grate- 
 ful recollection of the nuts, blackberries, and 
 birds eggs, declared that Joe must come, and 
 accordingly Joe came. The children began to 
 pour in between four and five, in the dusk of the 
 winter evening, all clean, rosy, and bashful — 
 some brought by mothers or elder sisters, some 
 tiny things toddling through the snow two or 
 three together. Foremost came our Joe Stevens, 
 his white hair sleeked down wonderfully over his 
 forehead, in a clean smock frock and neatly 
 patched trowsers, tastefully diversified with a 
 blue patch on one knee and a brown one on the
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 185 
 
 other, and his ruddy face shining with yellow 
 soap; urged onwards by a wonderfully little 
 shrewd sister, the most complete contrast to 
 himself, who was considered as one of the 
 sharpest children for her age in the parish, a 
 little pert snub-nosed damsel, with her flaxen 
 tails ambitiously tied with brown ribbon. 
 
 Joe was seized with with such a violent fit of 
 bashfulness just outside the parlour door that in 
 spite of his sister's strenuous exertions to pull 
 him forward, he would have most likely remained 
 on the mat till tea was over, had not Steenie 
 given him a push forward, which sent him into 
 the room with very red ears and grinning 
 violently. 
 
 Jane Miller's children toddled in also, under the 
 care of an older girl, with little fat Jemmy, who 
 would not be persuaded to do anything but hide his 
 face in his eldest sister's skirts, and kick violently 
 whenever any attempt was made to dislodge him. 
 Maude and I succeeded, after much exertion, in 
 hoisting him up into a high chair, but finding
 
 186 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 himself in this conspicuous eminence he set up so 
 violent a roar that we were fain to set him down 
 again with all speed. The long table in the par- 
 lour was set out with mugs and plates piled high 
 with home-made cake, and Maude, and Esther, 
 and I, Kate Leeson, and Jessie Macdonald bustled 
 about placing the children on their forms, Maude 
 and I feeling ourselves of the most delightful 
 consequence; and then hastening to fill all the 
 children's mugs, and help them to cake. The 
 cakes were piled on a side-table, and Uncle Ed- 
 ward and Steenie cut them up with enormous 
 knives and Herculean arms, serving out such 
 gigantic slices that Aunt Mary, who stood pour- 
 ing out the tea from an enormous brass kettle on 
 a stand, was forced to remonstrate. 
 
 It was a scene of cheerful bustle ; such 
 as gladdened one's heart to look upon. The 
 handsome old parlour, with its oak wainscot and 
 old family pictures, filled with the red glow of 
 the piled up fire of lumps of coal and great beech 
 roots; the buzz of voices and laughter; the
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 187 
 
 beaming ruddy faces of the children; Aunt 
 Mary's sweet loving smile, dispensing the tea 
 with her white hands, and sweetening it with her 
 kind words; Uncle Edward's jovial face, shining 
 with benevolence and good humour, cutting away 
 hetacombs of cake with such hearty good will, 
 and heaving it out into our plates with injunc- 
 tions to " Give them plenty, poor little souls." 
 
 All this love and life and cheerfulness filled me 
 with that glad sense of joy and liberty that I had 
 never known at home. 
 
 Home! Surely I had never any other home 
 than this. 
 
 Several friends of Aunt Mary's were in the 
 drawing-room, who were to have tea after the 
 children's was over, for Aunt Mary's school- 
 feasts were usually little general festivals. 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn was there, looking on at the 
 feast, and casting his stern glances over every- 
 thing. He looked pale and ill, I thought, and 
 seemed very tired; perhaps he had not quite 
 recovered from his accident yet, for though
 
 188 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 almost every one in the room was standing, or 
 running about, he sat down, saying as an excuse, 
 that he had been walking all day. 
 
 Charles was not able to come down stairs — 
 one of his terrible head- aches kept him a pri- 
 soner in his own room. I felt sorry for his ab- 
 sence, though I scarcely knew why, and seemed 
 to miss him from his usual place, though I was 
 always shy and frightened of him when he was 
 there. 
 
 When tea was done, and grace said, the children 
 sung a hymn, and then filed down to the ser- 
 vants' hall, where they were to play games, and 
 make as much noise as they liked. Uncle Edward 
 said. The servants' hall was dressed up with 
 holly, and there, when Maude and I went to 
 look at them, they were romping vigourously, 
 under the superintendence of the good-humoured 
 red-haired school-master, who was looked upon 
 as the ugliest man, and the best violin player in 
 the parish. 
 
 Then there was a tremendous bowl of snap-
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 189 
 
 dragon, a little later in the evening, in which all 
 we younger ones joined ; and little fat Jemmy 
 Miller waked up from his sleep in a corner, on his 
 sister's lap, by the screams and laughter, was so 
 terror-struck by the darkness and the blue flashing 
 flames, as to be carried out, roaring with fright, 
 and only to be comforted by a pile of raisins, ad- 
 ministered with an infinite deal of coaxing by 
 Maude and myself; but he was consoled at last, 
 and sat upright in my lap, sucking his raisins, 
 and staring with great round, sleepy eyes at the 
 candles and the holly on the walls, with perhaps 
 some dim notion in his baby brain, that this 
 bright, cheery room, with its crowd of rosy, 
 beaming faces, was not home, nor like it. But 
 it was all over at last ; and after a hearty parting 
 blessing from Uncle Edward, the little Christmas 
 guests pattered home through the clear, frosty 
 night ; and Maude and I went to bed, and dreamt 
 we heard carols floating through the starlit 
 darkness. 
 
 All inquiry after the runaway was given up
 
 190 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 as hopeless: Jolin Miller was no where to be 
 heard of; Jane supposed ' he had gone for a 
 soger/ and was continually trudging up to the 
 house, to ask Uncle Edward if there was any 
 news from the wars, and if he had seen " John's 
 name in the papers?" It was clear that the 
 culprit never distinguished himself by any act of 
 valour against his country's enemies, for we never 
 saw his name anywhere ; and it was equally clear 
 that wherever he was, he had deserted his wife 
 and children. 
 
 So Jane got help from the parish, and managed 
 to rub on by going out washing and " charing," 
 and, I suspect, a little aid from Uncle Edward, 
 who, however, always got very angry when it 
 was hinted at ; — and the wailing baby left off 
 wailing, and grew fat; so that it seemed to every- 
 body, that they were much better without John than 
 with him — though Jane was always very tearful 
 on the subject, and called herself a " poor, for- 
 saken, lone crittur." I have since thought, that the 
 poor thing was but woman like, and that though
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 191 
 
 he beat, starved, and abused her when she had 
 him, she must wail and lament him when he was 
 beyond the reach of her love and sorrow. 
 
 The time for Mary's wedding drew on. March 
 had come; and the young buds were sweUing 
 on all sides; and the little streams, free from 
 their icy bondage, were laughing and flashing in 
 the sun; and Mary, in my childish eyes, was 
 more lovely than ever, with the glory of love and 
 hope lighting up her fair, stately beauty. 
 
 Preparations for the marriage went busily on ; 
 and as the Spring days lengthened and brightened, 
 the bustle increased, and Mary seemed lost to us 
 already, in the ferment of trying on dresses, and 
 giving orders, and driving over to Haverford; 
 and ordering and looking at furniture for her 
 new home. 
 
 Dear Uncle Edward loaded her with handsome 
 gifts. He was always riding over to the town 
 and bringing back some wonderful massive piece 
 of furniture, which Mary would laughingly say 
 was a great deal too grand for her little par-
 
 192 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 sonage ; but which, nevertheless, filled Maude and 
 me with wonder and admiration. 
 
 Nora was to stay for the wedding, to be one 
 of Mary's bridesmaids. 
 
 How well I remember her going away, full of 
 hope and spirits to her new home, with none of 
 the shrinking shyness that I should have felt at 
 going amongst total strangers. How I loved 
 her, when she hugged and kissed me on the 
 morning of her departure, and said I was her 
 dear little sister, and she should always love and 
 look after me. '^ I shall be sure to marry some- 
 body with plenty of money, Helen dear, and you 
 shall come and live with me, and do just what 
 you like, and never leave me any more." Most 
 devoutly did I believe, that a prince of the blood 
 would be proud to marry her, as I gave my last 
 kiss, my last touch to the shining curls I was so 
 fond of dressing, and watched her slight, grace- 
 ful figure tripping down the steps, where Uncle 
 Edward was waiting to put her in the carriage. 
 But before I let her go from my last close hold.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 193 
 
 I saw on her white wrist a pretty sparkling 
 bracelet, and when I asked her who gave it to 
 her, she laughed and blushed so prettily amidst 
 her tears, and whispered, " Steenie : hush ! don't 
 tell ! " and then ran down to the carriage ; and 
 when she was shut up inside with Mrs. Clayton's 
 old servant, Steenie jumped on the box with the 
 coachman. He was going to Haverford to see 
 the last of my bright-haired sister — the first real 
 love of his honest, good, boyish heart. 
 
 But this was after Mary's marriage. That 
 day came at last — a fresh, soft, bright Spring 
 morning : bright, and fresh, as the lovely, 
 queenly bride herself. What a grand day that 
 was — what an era in my life ! Maude and I 
 were the two youngest bridesmaids ; Nora, Esther 
 Bella, and Kate Leeson were the other four ; and 
 a very bright, lovely group they made, in their 
 white dresses with blue ribbons — reminding one 
 of a cluster of flowers in their varied style of 
 beauty. 
 
 The old house was full from top to bottom, of 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 friends and relations. Steenie and James had to 
 give up their rooms to the Misses Macfritter, two 
 old maiden aunts, who lived at Brompton, and 
 kept a regular menagerie of cats, dogs, and par- 
 rots. Steenie gravely assured me, that he had 
 to sleep on the kitchen dresser, and James under 
 the table; and I quite believed him. 
 
 Then how grand and awful it was, when we 
 were all assembled in the drawing room, before 
 Mary came in; and how grim and stately all 
 the ladies looked in their wedding dresses ; and 
 how uncomfortable the gentlemen were. 
 
 How everybody tried to laugh and talk lightly 
 and indifferently, and couldn't do it. All the 
 bridesmaids were grouped together by the win- 
 dow — Maude and I delightfully conscious of our 
 bridal dresses, and Stephen, who never could be 
 grave under any circumstances, was trying to 
 make us laugh by making fun of everybody and 
 everything; but my thoughts were astray. I 
 had quite settled that a wedding was a very 
 miserable and awful affair, and I was picturing
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 195 
 
 to myself what Mary was doing up-stairs, and 
 how Peggy in a hysterical state between laugh- 
 ing and crying, and arrayed in a gorgeous silk 
 dress, which was a present from IMary, and a 
 wonderful cap, was putting the last finishing 
 touches to her " sweet lassie's " bridal dress ; and 
 how Aunt Mary was standing by, with love, 
 pride, and sorrow in her dark eyes 
 
 "Where's Tremordyn?" whispered Steenie. 
 " By Jove ! if I was Mary, and he kept me 
 waiting, I'd send him — " 
 
 " Hush! here he is." 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn walked in looking very hand- 
 some, but pale, cold, and composed, as usual, not 
 a wit as if he was going to be married that 
 morning, as Kate Leeson said. 
 
 "He's really very handsome," whispered 
 Bella; "he's got such a lovely Grecian nose;" 
 Steenie threatened to go and tell him, and per- 
 haps he might, but just then there was a hum 
 and a buzz at the door, and Mary entered on 
 her father's arm, a very queen of love and 
 K 2
 
 196 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 beauty, in her white bridal silk and floating 
 laces. Oh! lovely Mary! To marry her to 
 that cold, statue-like bridegroom of hers, seemed 
 like wedding a sunbeam to an iceberg. But 
 whether it was so or not, Mary did marry him ; 
 and though, I am sure, we all grudged him such 
 a bright prize, he won it. Uncle Edward gave 
 it him, and the solemn words were spoken in the 
 old church, where my sweet cousin had knelt and 
 prayed — a child; and she was Mrs. Tremor dyn — 
 Mary Br other ton no more. How strange and 
 incomprehensible that seemed ! 
 
 Then what a gorgeous breakfast there was 
 afterwards ! Such a wonderful breakfast at twelve 
 o'clock in the day, and such drinking of 
 healths in champagne, and returning thanks! 
 And what a beautiful speech Uncle Edward 
 made! And how calm, and lovely, and happy 
 Mary looked ! And what splendid bouquets of 
 flowers adorned the table! most of them from 
 our own green-house, and some from Lady 
 Crawford, who was very gracious and con-
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 197 
 
 descending, and seemed to think that really 
 everything was very well done, considering. 
 
 But the brilliant feast is over at last, and 
 Mary goes up stairs with her elder bridesmaids 
 to take off her bridal white, and lay by the 
 Avreath and veil, I thought so beautiful; and 
 after a time comes down in her pretty travelling 
 dress. Then the carriage, that is to take her on 
 her wedding tour to the Lakes, rumbles round to 
 the door, and I try hard to impress on my 
 bewildered senses, that Mary is really going, to 
 return home no more. 
 
 Then she comes in ready, and gives a cheerful 
 farewell to all the wedding guests, and then 
 leaves the drawing room and hurries into the 
 parlour, where Maude and I follow, and where I 
 see her clinging to her mother's neck. Then 
 Uncle Edward hugs her in his strong arms, and 
 says in a husky voice, '' Tremordyn, I have 
 given you a jewel! Take care of my lassie." 
 
 She must have grieved very much to leave 
 Charles, for they are very long lingering kisses
 
 198 OLD MEMORIES, 
 
 she gives him, and she whispers to Esther more 
 than once, " take care of Charlie." 
 
 Her husband is impatient, for he draws her 
 arm through his and would hurry her away, 
 but Stephen and James are not to be baulked, 
 nor Peggy either, who is standing just outside 
 the door waiting for a last hug of her sweet 
 lass. But they are off at last, and the carriage 
 whirls away, followed by a volley of old shoes 
 from the boys and Peggy, who would not have 
 neglected this time-honoured rite for the world. 
 
 So we have lost Mary for ever, and there is a 
 void at our fireside which may not be filled up. 
 
 Most of the guests stay till the evening, and 
 there is a dance and supper ; but somehow the 
 charm of the day is gone for me, and I am cross 
 and tired, and go to bed early, and so fades into 
 the shadowy past one of my childhood dreams.
 
 OLD MKMOiaKS. 1 Of) 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I AM not going to writc3 a journal of my life. 
 I may pass over tlie next five years that glided 
 on " like the swell of some sweet tune," and 
 bore me on from childhood to womanhood — happy 
 years as they were, guided and strengthened by 
 loving counsel and beautified by love's magic, 
 there was not much incident in them, very little 
 worth relating. About a year after Mary's 
 marriage we lost Steenie and James, to my great 
 sorrow. They obtained commissions in the 
 same cavalry regiment, and sailed for Lisbon 
 full of high hope and glorious dreams. It was 
 a sorrowful parting, and sorely did we miss their
 
 200 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 handsome sunny faces and joyous laughter. 
 The house seemed dull and quiet after they were 
 gone, and it was long ere Maude and I were 
 reconciled to the change, and long before the 
 void was filled up. We used to get letters from 
 them full of love, and hope, and daring, which 
 letters, treasures as they were, went the round 
 of half the village, and then were returned to 
 Aunt Mary, to be treasured up by her as though 
 written in characters of gold. We often had visits 
 from Nora. Five years had improved her won- 
 derfully : she had ripened and developed into a 
 full, rich, luxuriant beauty, with a shape like a 
 Juno, a skin like alabaster, ripe, red, pouting 
 lips, and large, soft, deep liquid eyes, whose pas- 
 sionate glances smote you to the soul. 
 
 Mrs. Clayton was a rich banker's wife, with no 
 children of her own. She had grown very fond of 
 Nora, and heaped on her gifts and caresses in su- 
 perabundance ; and used to talk of her numerous 
 lovers, and complain of her fastidiousness; for 
 my beautiful sister played with hearts as she
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 201 
 
 would with a string of pearls : twisting, tossing, 
 and perchance breaking them round her remorse- 
 less white fingers. She was an empress in my 
 eyes — a wonderful, gorgeous creature. My old 
 reverential, childish feeling towards her, had not 
 changed a wit. Though I had outgrown my 
 awkward shyness, and felt some confidence in 
 myself, I was grateful for her patronizing conde- 
 scending affection for me, as in the days of yore. 
 
 It was a delicious task to dress her for a ball 
 — I was not yet thought old enough for such 
 grown-up delight — and to think, when stopping 
 to look on her fully-adorned beauty, that I had 
 helped in some small degree, to make her look so 
 dazzling ! She was the acknowledged belle of all 
 the balls and parties in the neighbourhood; and 
 her charms turned the heads of half the county, 
 and drove all the youths of Haverford, to the 
 verge of distraction. 
 
 She would come home in high spirits, and 
 count over to me all the heads she had turned, 
 after a ball, when I sat up for her by the fire 
 
 K 5
 
 202 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 in our bedroom, and then she would resign herself 
 to me to be undressed, with all the graceful in- 
 dolence of an empress to the lowest of her slaves. 
 
 And thus stood matters when I »vas seventeen. 
 
 For these five years, I had neither heard nor 
 seen anything of her who gave me birth, but 
 refused me love; but now came startling news. 
 Uncle Edward read one day in the newspaper, 
 that my mother was married again — and strangest 
 and most startling of all, to Captain, now Major 
 Eaymond. I shrunk and shivered when I heard 
 it, as though some one had smote me a sudden 
 blow, and then I cried bitterly. I scarcely knew 
 why — not from grief, but from a strange mixture 
 of shame, anger, and humiliation. I felt that 
 my father's ghost must rise up to shame her. 
 My dear, dear father — so good, so wise, so 
 scholarly, and gentle — how could she forget all 
 the old bebved ties and memories so utterly, as 
 to marry this brainless, heartless coxcomb? 
 
 Major Raymond had come home on sick leave, 
 having been wounded in the last battle in the
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 203 
 
 Peninsula. Where my motlier met him, I neither 
 knew nor cared to know — it was all to me a 
 painful, humiliating, bewildered dream, from 
 which, I could not escape. 
 
 There was sacrilege in the very thought! 
 Nora was indignant at the news. She wrote me 
 a letter, in which she heaped vehement reproaches 
 on my mother ; and though I felt a strange thrill 
 of pain and annoyance at reading them, I could 
 not defend her ; she had taken from me the power 
 — silenced herself the lips that ought to have 
 upheld and blessed her name. Ah! Nora, so 
 pass the dead, and are forgotten ! You too, my 
 sister, have forgotten the dead I 
 
 I had heard before this from Uncle Edward, 
 that Clement had gone out to India in the army, 
 much against his wishes. He wanted him to 
 stay at home, he said, and live in his own house, 
 and take an interest in the property ; but Cle- 
 ment was weary of home, and like all lads, wanted 
 to see the world. He sent a kind message to me 
 in the last letter he wrote before he sailed — a
 
 204 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 message that made me flush suddenly, and burst 
 out crying; and I used to think tenderly and 
 sadly of the pretty, fair-haired boy, my childish 
 playfellow, Ernest Marsden's son, and to wonder 
 if he ever thought of the little girl he used to 
 call his sister. 
 
 It was grim winter weather when these tidings 
 came, and perhaps that contributed to make me 
 listless and dreary, haunted by ghosts of old 
 perished times. February had come in, wrapped 
 in a mantle of gloom, with a heavy sky, and 
 snow falling white, silent and ghastly day and 
 night. 
 
 Esther was in London on a visit to an aunt, 
 and we missed her bright face sorely, and Charles 
 was suffering from his knee, which kept him a 
 prisoner to the sofa in his own room. 
 
 But the snow ceased at last, and the sun burst 
 out to glorify a cold, white, glittering world. By 
 the time the road to Haverford was trodden dow» 
 there came a dinner invitation to Uncle Edward 
 and Aunt Mary from our neighbour Mrs. Selwyn,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 205 
 
 in whicli Maude and I, to our felicitation, were 
 not included. 
 
 ]\Irs. Selwyn was a widow, a kind, pleasant, 
 well-bred woman, who haying a comfortable for- 
 tune and the best house in the town, was de- 
 cidedly one of the great personages of our neigh- 
 bourhood. Everybody allowed that hers were 
 the pleasantest parties in Haverford, one attrac- 
 tion being her son, a dashing cornet in a dragoon 
 regiment, and a powerful lady-killer. 
 
 When the sound of the carriage wheels, 
 crunching the crisp snow, had died away, and 
 Maude and I were left alone, I prepared to make 
 myself comfortable. Throwing another log on 
 the fire, and pushing back the table, so as to leave 
 a clear space before the glowing grate, I buried 
 myself in the soft depths of the easiest arm-chair 
 in the room. 
 
 " Now, Maude, for a delicious winter evening ; 
 come and imitate my example," and I took up a 
 new poem of Sir Walter Scott's and lost myself 
 in its enchanting pages.
 
 206 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Maude did not seem emulous of my felicity. 
 She fidgetted about the room, drummed on the 
 table with her fingers, and finally announced she 
 should go to Mrs. Macdonald's and drink tea. 
 
 " To-night ! Why the old lady's most tempt- 
 ing scones would not induce, me to leave such a 
 fire and such a book." 
 
 " Well, I always feel stupid after seeing people 
 go out without me. I half wish we were going 
 to Mrs. Selwyn's now ; so I'll gang to Mrs. Mac- 
 donald, and get Jessie to make me laugh." 
 
 " No very hard task, Maudie," said I, patting 
 her hand as she leant over my chair. " So go, 
 and benedicite f'^ 
 
 " You won't think it unkind, my leaving you?" 
 laying her cheek against mine. 
 
 " Not a bit. I am going to forget the whole 
 world in these fairy pages. Take some one with 
 you, for I fancy you won't get Peggy to brave 
 this keen air." 
 
 " I think we have forgotten Charlie !" she said, 
 after a pause.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 207 
 
 I felt very guilty. '' Oh, Maude, I am so 
 sorry! Is he all alone, poor fellow?" 
 
 " Yes, but I think he will come down presently. 
 He has been walking about the room to-day, and 
 he said he thought his knee would take him as 
 far as the drawing-room. But perhaps, as it's so 
 late, he won't come this evening." 
 
 " How he suffers from that knee." 
 
 " Yes; ever since that vile accident." 
 
 " Here are my bonnet and shawl on this chair, 
 so I'm off, Helen. I'll coax Peggy to go with 
 me. She can get a cup of tea from her ancient 
 aunt as she comes back. Take care of Charlie 
 if he comes down." 
 
 I did not resume my book after she was gone. 
 I fell into a fit of musing, drawing pictures in 
 the fire ; and I was not much surprised, but very 
 much pleased, to hear Charles's slow uncertain 
 step without in the hall. 
 
 He came in, and in the gladness of my heart 
 I jumped up and ran to meet and welcome him ; 
 and so glad was I, that when he kissed me, an
 
 208 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 act he had never been guilty of before, I was 
 not much amazed and only a very little fluttered. 
 
 I pushed the great chair close to the fire, ar- 
 ranged the cushions, and forced him into it, and 
 then sat down and caught myself blushing very 
 red at my demonstrations of welcome. He 
 seemed tired with the journey down stairs, but 
 very glad to be in the dear old room again. He 
 cast his eyes lovingly over its warm cosiness, 
 the deep red curtains mantling the windows with 
 their heavy folds, the glowing fire, the old- 
 fashioned chairs, the picture frames gleaming in 
 the ruddy light. 
 
 " The room is a picture of comfort, and you 
 are its presiding genius, Helen," he said — " a 
 very household fairy." 
 
 " I am so glad to see you down again," I 
 answered. " You are well now." 
 
 " Pretty well," he said, smiling rather wearily. 
 " I never get higher than that." 
 
 " You have no head-ache to-night." 
 
 "No."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 209 
 
 " I am very glad," I said again, and I felt 
 very glad — an honest sisterly gladness. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, stretching out his 
 hand with a smile. " It is very pleasant to be 
 flattered, Helen, and yet, now tell me why you 
 never came to see me in my prison up stairs?" 
 
 It was very foolish, but through some unac- 
 countable shyness, I never had been, though 
 Maude had often urged me. 
 
 " I thought that perhaps you would not like 
 to see me," I said awkwardly enough. 
 
 " And who told you so?" 
 
 " No one; it was my own fancy." 
 
 " Never trust your fancy again, then. You 
 would not believe me if I were to tell you how I 
 listened for your voice, for the rustling of your 
 dress — how every time the door of my prison 
 house opened I thought it was you, and every 
 time was doomed to ' hope deferred that maketh 
 the heart sick.' You will not believe all this, 
 will you?" 
 
 " It is rather hard to credit, certainly. It
 
 210 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 must be a highly coloured sketch to say the least 
 of it." 
 
 " No ; it is quite genuine — drawn from life," 
 he said, fixing full on me his large deep melan- 
 choly blue eyes. 
 
 I was quite struck with their beauty, shadowed 
 by their long soft dark lashes, they lent to his 
 face, not otherwise handsome, only interesting 
 from its pallor and refinement of feature, a 
 spiritual charm. 
 
 " Well, I will believe you — you shall have 
 your own way to-night, Charlie; the more so as 
 we have not met for a whole week. Maude has 
 gone to Jessie Macdonald's, so we shall be tete a 
 tete. Here comes tea," as the door opened, and 
 the tea-things made their appearance; " and you 
 shall acknowledge that you never drank such tea 
 before as mine." 
 
 Something else made its appearance besides 
 tea : and this something was Trim, old and half 
 blind, now almost tumbling tail over head, in his 
 eagerness to greet his master.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 211 
 
 " All ! Trim — poor fellow ! are you glad to see 
 me again?" said, Charles, fondling him. Trim 
 was very glad — if half devouring his master with 
 caresses, meant anything. " They have shut 
 him out of my room, poor brute, for the last 
 three days : and when he would lie and whine 
 before my door, to be let in, Peggy remorselessly 
 drove him away with a broomstick, in spite of 
 my indignantly telling her that she was a stony- 
 hearted female Xero." 
 
 " Trim shall have a piece of cake to indemnify 
 him for such harsh treatment," I said. 
 
 Trim snapped up the cake philosophically, and 
 then seated himself comfortably on the rug, with 
 his curly head on his master's knee, lovingly 
 blinking at him with great, mild, sleepy, brown 
 eyes. 
 
 I busied myself with making tea; Charles 
 leant back in the depths of his chair, his eyes 
 dreamily fixed on the fire, with a sort of languid 
 content.
 
 212 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 "Are you hungry, Charlie?' I asked him — 
 pouring out tea. 
 
 " Hungry ! I have not been hungry for nine 
 years, Helen ; I should really like to experience 
 again, that forgotten sensation. I have a tender 
 recollection of the time when I was perpetually 
 hungry, and robbed my mother's apple-trees, and 
 made forays on Peggy's larder." 
 
 I laughed. "Well, here is your tea; confess 
 it is nectar." 
 
 " I fancy it is something better. Nectar must 
 be sweet, I suppose, and I have a horror of sweets 
 in every shape — but this is a draught for the 
 gods, Helen !" he said, sipping it. 
 
 I was so glad to see him look cheerful and 
 contented, and free from pain and restlessness, 
 that I resolved to try and prolong this brighter 
 mood as long as I might; and so when tea was 
 over, I took my work and sat down in a low 
 chair near him, prepared to make myself 
 industriously agreeable. 
 
 " A man requires very little to make him
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 213 
 
 happy," he said — " only a good fire, an arm- 
 chair, a Helen near him, and freedom from pain : 
 all of which are mine just now." 
 
 '' So, without noticing your egregious flattery," 
 I said, laughing, " I counsel you to enjoy the 
 present moment, and cast care to the winds — 
 ' Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.' " 
 
 "It is like a pleasant dream," he murmured 
 half to himself, " from which you are to be 
 awakened by a blow." 
 
 "What blow, Charlie?" 
 
 " By some cruel, stinging pain, that smites 
 down courage and resolution in the dust, and 
 then broods black and scowling over its prostrate 
 victim." 
 
 " Well, don't think of it to-night, we will hope 
 the demon far away." 
 
 "I often wish we could live only in the 
 present," he said, "my heart fails me when I 
 look out in the heavy future." 
 
 " You are not to be melancholy to-night — I 
 forbid it!"
 
 214 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Will you endow me with some of your calm 
 courage, Helen ? Women always bear pain better 
 than men. I fancy no suffering could make you 
 chafe and murmur and fret as I do. You would 
 not struggle in the grasp of the demon ; you 
 would lie passive and calm, and look him in the 
 face with your brave patient eyes." 
 
 " Don't be too sure ; I am the veriest coward 
 on earth. Besides I have always heard Aunt 
 Mary extol you for your patience." 
 
 " My mother extols me for every virtue under 
 the sun, Heaven bless her ! " he said, lowering 
 his voice to a tone of deep reverence, as though 
 speaking of some creature of a higher sphere. 
 " Love bandages her eyes, and long may it. It 
 is easy to lie still, when you have not the strength 
 to move, but it is a harder matter to still the rest- 
 less surgings of the tide within, the beating of 
 a proud, wilful, rebellious heart, rising impetu- 
 ously against its fate." 
 
 I looked at him with surprise and compassion : 
 I had never heard him speak thus before.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 215 
 
 " You look amazed," he went on, "but don't 
 condemn me too soon. I was a wild, spirited 
 fanciful boy, and I had my brilliant dreams, my 
 bright prophecies of the future, like all such, and 
 I was only fifteen when those bright dreams went 
 out in darkness, and my life seemed almost a 
 blank. I have been trying to school myself into 
 indifference for nine years, and have not suc- 
 ceeded yet." 
 
 " It is nine years then since — " I stopped. 
 
 " Since my accident," he said with a sigh. " It 
 seems a lifetime. I owe my misery to my own 
 stubbornness and vanity, for like an obstinate 
 little fool as I was, I insisted on mounting a 
 vicious mare of my father's in his absence, and, 
 as might be predicted, she reared and fell back 
 on me." 
 
 " Poor feUow I " 
 
 " I was so dreadfully hurt that for months my 
 life was despaired of, and perhaps it would have 
 been better — Well, I will leave that unsaid, 
 in deference to the look in your dark eyes,
 
 216 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Helen, thougli I cannot help the thought some- 
 times." 
 
 " It is an evil one, Charlie — fight against it." 
 
 "I do sometimes — conscientiously. I must 
 have been an insufferable little monster in 
 those days," he said in a lighter tone, and half 
 smiling, " for being what is called a pretty boy, 
 with flaxen ringlets and a white skin, I was spoilt 
 most industriously by every creature in petti- 
 coats who came to the house, from the stately 
 Lady Crawford, who counts back her ancestors 
 till they are lost in the mist of ages, to Polly 
 Sims, the washerwoman, who used to bring me 
 red apples in her clean clothes basket !" 
 
 "And did Aunt Mary spoil you? I always 
 think her superior to human weaknesses." 
 
 " My dear, angel mother ! " He rose from his 
 chair, and resting his arm on the chimney-piece, 
 leant his forehead on it, and gazed into the fire, 
 " What I have made her suffer ! Wliat days of 
 anxious misery, and nights of fevered watching ! 
 I don't think, with all my faults, I was selfish.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 217 
 
 I still remember the look on my mother's face 
 when she bent over me after my fall, and I think 
 I grieved more for her agony of soul than for my 
 crushed and bloody condition." 
 
 "Poor aunt Mary!" 
 
 " My sorrows have not ended with my child- 
 hood, Helen. As you are a merciful and gentle 
 judge, shall I confess them to you?" 
 
 " I am quite ready to hear your confession ; 
 but lie down first, Charlie. I am sure standing 
 will do you no good, and see how tempting this 
 great lazy old sofa looks, with its heap of 
 cushions," I said, wheeling it close to the fii^e. 
 
 " You are very kind to me," he said grate- 
 fully. " Do you know, Helen, I have taken 
 divers fanciful notions about you that you must 
 not laugh at," he added, as he lay down and let 
 his soft masses of brown hair fall languidly on 
 the cushions. 
 
 " Let me hear them, I will promise to listen 
 with all gravity." 
 
 " I fancy you have a sort of charmed influ- 
 
 VOL, I. L
 
 218 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 ence over me — a something emanating from your 
 own calm, trustful, loving spirit, that I feel 
 better and more hopeful when you are by." 
 
 " Oh ! Charlie ; what an idea to conceive of 
 me, the weakest and faultiest of human beings ; 
 what a poor influence must mine be, when the 
 strength and courage you give me credit for are 
 but phantoms of your own brain.'^ 
 
 "It is a weak brain enough I grant you, 
 Helen, but in this instance it has not erred. 
 Well, let me cherish the delusion if such it be,'* 
 he said sighing, "it is a harmless one, and I 
 have not many bright delusions in this weary 
 existence of mine. I am a hypocrite, Helen, 
 in heart though not in word. Often as I lie so 
 still — everybody giving me credit for patience — 
 there is a fierce struggle going on within, silent 
 and unseent I have been striving for a weary 
 time to conquer this proud, impatient, rebellious 
 spirit within me, often at the cost of keen, 
 mental, and physical torture ; and then some- 
 times when I fancy it quelled, it gives me notice
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 219 
 
 by a fiery throb, of its existence; and yet I suf- 
 fered torture enough in the first months of my 
 illness to tame a boy's spirit, however stubborn 
 it might be. It was not tamed, however," he 
 went on, after a pause, in a lower tone, " and so 
 I found, when I awoke from that long bewildered 
 trance of agony to a consciousness of what I 
 was reduced to, of the wreck of my bright 
 dreams, my boyish aspirations laid low in ashes, 
 lamed for life (an endless vista of hopeless years 
 it seemed to me then), consumed by restless 
 craving desires, joined to prostration of heart 
 and acute bodily sufiering. I am coward enough 
 to shrink at the remembrance of that dark 
 time," and he shuddered as he spoke. 
 
 " Poor Charlie ! don't talk of it — don't think 
 of it." I could not help the tears that sprung 
 into my eyes. 
 
 "My sweet cousin; I do not degerve your 
 tears; dry them or I shall think myself the 
 most selfish wretch on earth. Why you must 
 L 2
 
 220 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 nerve me for tlie fight, Helen/' he said with a 
 smile. 
 
 I could not answer him just then. I wanted 
 much to say something right and comforting, 
 but I could not find the words — perhaps he saw 
 this. 
 
 " Helen, you are honest and sincere, you 
 do not despise my weakness, nor reprove my 
 errors, nor preach me long dreary sermons on 
 my sinful indulgence of desponding thoughts, 
 and then walk away, thanking God, like the 
 Pharisee in the temple, that you are not as I 
 am!" 
 
 "Oh! who would do that?" 
 
 "Many people; virtuous and' highly respect- 
 able members of society." 
 
 " I don't know ; I cannot believe any one 
 would — any Christian I mean." 
 
 " Ah ! but everybody is not a christian, 
 Helen, in the pure sense at least — they are not 
 all Israel that are of Israel." 
 
 "No, Charlie; but all may be, if they will.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 221 
 
 There is room enough and to spare in the king- 
 dom of God." 
 
 He murmured, half to himself, " Straight is 
 the gate and narrow is the way that leadeth unto 
 life, and few there be that find it." 
 
 "Yes; but all may find it, Charlie, if they 
 try hard. A light shines over the entrance of 
 the way that leads to Eternal life, if we will but 
 see it." 
 
 He did not answer immediately, and my old 
 shyness seized me again, at the thought of having 
 been preaching to him. I bent over my work 
 and plied my needle very fast, uncomfortably 
 conscious of my reddened cheeks. 
 
 We were silent for a little time, till seeing me 
 turning over the leaves of the poem which his 
 coming down had inteiTupted, he asked me to 
 read to him, and I began the rich ringing verses 
 of the "Lay of the last Minstrel." 
 
 I was so absorbed to utter forgetfulness of all 
 external matters, in the clear martial music, that 
 I read on a long while, without perceiving that
 
 222 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 his long eyelashes had slowly drooped downwards 
 till they rested on his cheek ; in short, that I had 
 fairly read him to sleep. Maude's voice brought 
 me back to the world again : 
 
 " Well, here I am, ' most froze,' as Peggy 
 says !" 
 
 And Maude, fresh and frosty, with hair out of 
 curl, and her little nose bearing unmistakable 
 signs of an encounter with the sharp air of a 
 February night, knelt down before the fire, and 
 began to unloose her wrappings. 
 
 "Well, Helen!" 
 
 " Well, Maude ! what sort of an evening have 
 you had?" 
 
 " When I'm thawed I'll tell you. Imprimis^ 
 Tom Laing, Jessie's cousin from Haverford, was 
 there; and really he's an amusing monster, with 
 his broad Scotch." 
 
 " Very likely ! I suspect it was Tom Laing's 
 attractions, and not Jessie's, that took you out 
 this snowy night." 
 
 " Pshaw ! wisest of maidens," retorted Maude,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 223 
 
 twisting her disordered locks round her fin- 
 gers, " if you only could behold the creature — • 
 he quite justifies IVirs. Macdonald's eulogium. 
 She says — ' Tom's a douce cannie lad ; but he 
 can speer as far into a mile stone as maist folks/ 
 He really is a droll animal; and, moreover, he 
 saw me home — so I made some use of him. Jessie 
 was full of her wickedness; 'Mrs. Mac. more 
 than usually benevolent; and the oat cakes 
 superlative : so, putting all things together, I've 
 had a very tolerable evening." 
 
 Her prattle awoke Charles. 
 
 "Well, Maudie, don't you speak to me?" he 
 said. 
 
 "My dear, darling boy, I really thought you 
 were asleep " — half stifling him with kisses — 
 "how has Helen entertained you? but I can 
 guess : you both proved so mutually interesting, 
 that one fell asleep, and the other took a book in 
 desperation." 
 
 " Wrong altogether, sister mine — never was a 
 worse guesser."
 
 224 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Indeed! so I havn^t been missed?" 
 
 "Not a whit, child; you might have listened 
 a while longer to Mrs. Macdonald's auld warld 
 cracks." 
 
 " Dear old soul ! you were the chief theme of 
 her discourse, Charlie, I am so glad you came 
 down ; and how is your knee, sweet brother of 
 mine? and how did you manage without my 
 shoulder?" 
 
 " Do you think I never can manage without 
 you, puss ?" 
 
 " No, but I can't bear you to. Don't you re- 
 member, Helen, how you used to laugh at me for 
 being so jealous of Steenie, whenever Charlie had 
 his arm instead of my shoulder, and how Charlie 
 tried to coax me, by saying it was only because 
 Steenie was stronger." 
 
 " Yes, I remember very well, and fifty other 
 silly things besides. Poor Steenie and James ! 
 I wonder what they are doing now. We will 
 fancy them sitting by their watch fire, dreaming 
 of home and us."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 225 
 
 "Yes, and the blaze is flashing high and 
 cheerily, and Steenie is telling a story in his clear 
 blythe voice, and his comrades are laughing. 
 Can't you fancy you hear the echoes of their 
 laughter, Helen, floating away on the night air?" 
 
 "Yes, very clearly, and perhaps they are 
 bivouacking in some old ruinous Gothic church, 
 and the leaping flame throws strange shadows on 
 the shattered walls; and the ends of the aisles 
 are lost in mysterious gloom, contrasting strangely 
 with the ruddy fire, and the handsome English 
 figures grouped around it, and the songs and 
 laughter, and warm life of the centre of the 
 picture." 
 
 " Ye^ and without, like the foot of time, came 
 the still measured tread of the sentry keeping 
 guard." 
 
 "What a life-like picture, Helen; I can see 
 them. Steenie is very loud and merry," mused 
 Maude, looking into the fire, as though she saw 
 the group there, " but Jamie is quiet, lying with 
 his bonnie head on his hand, thinking of mamma 
 L 5
 
 226 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 and Mary, and all of us ; of the old black pony, 
 and the pointers, and old Peggy, and green old 
 Holmsley, with its hills and dales; brave bonnie 
 lads, God send them home safe again !" 
 
 "Amen, amen!" 
 
 The response came from the depths of our 
 souls. We were silent for a few minutes. 
 
 " Here come papa and mamma," said Maude, 
 as the grating sound of carriage wheels was heard 
 coming up the drive. "My dear daddy will 
 want a little something hot to thaw him, this 
 frosty night." 
 
 Maude was a true prophet, for Uncle Edward 
 rushed in with his great shaggy coat thickly 
 powdered with snow, giving him a strong resem- 
 blance to an enormous grizzly bear (for of course 
 he had ridden outside with the driver), and could 
 not be brought to regard dinners and diners-out 
 with anything like complacency until he had com- 
 forted himself with several pulls at a jorum of hot 
 and tolerably strong brandy and water, which 
 Maude had to concoct for him.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 227 
 
 Upon this, however, he waxed very facetious 
 and amiable — drank everybody's health at the 
 dinner party, collectively and individually — all 
 our own, Steenie and James', confusion to 
 ' Bony,' and success to the ' Duke,' and ended by 
 relating divers episodes in his younger days, in 
 such an irresistibly funny manner, as sent Maude 
 and me laughing most ridiculously, to bed.
 
 228 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 A few days after this — one soft, mild afternoon, 
 almost summerlike, except — a large exception — 
 for the naked trees and dull grey sky — I persuaded 
 Charles to come for a stroll in the garden with 
 me, emboldened thereto by his professing to 
 feel much better than usual. I don't know how it 
 was, but passing my arm through his, I drew 
 him on, insensibly pleased to see him stronger 
 and in good spirits, from the garden to the ad- 
 joining lane, which was almost a marvel — for it 
 was seldom, owing to the old injury to his knee, 
 that he could walk any distance without pain. 
 We ended the ramble by paying Mary a visit at
 
 OLD MEMOPwIES. 229 
 
 the parsonage, to her infinite surprise and delight. 
 I was a frequent visitor; but it was such a 
 wonder, Charlie walking down to see her ! 
 
 The very fairest of young mothers was sweet 
 Mary — working some dainty piece of embroidery 
 for the pretty, delicate, dark-eyed boy sitting at 
 her feet, with a little coquettish pretence at a 
 cap, a half handkerchief of black lace, thrown 
 lightly over her raven locks; every little item 
 about her so faultlessly neat and graceful. 
 
 Her only child, called Edward after his grand- 
 father, and of course a wonderful pet of us all at 
 Holmsley, was a little, pale, slender fellow of four 
 years, with his mother's deep, dark, eloquer(^ 
 eyes, that looked straight and earnestly into 
 yours — frail enough to bring many a sharp pang 
 to her loving heart. 
 
 We had so long a chat, that the evening 
 shadows darkened and deepened without, and 
 we never perceived it. 
 
 Mary was looking for and dreading a visit 
 from Miss Grimston, her husband's cousin.
 
 230 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 This expected guest formed the chief theme of 
 our discussion. Miss Grimston was a maiden 
 lady of irreproachable fame and terrifying 
 aspect, with a hook nose — on which feature she 
 was wont to pride herself as resembling the 
 Duke of Wellington — thin lips, and cutting 
 eyes — I knew no term so appropriate — wearing 
 in common the tightest and shortest of black 
 garments, a small bonnet fixed on the top of her 
 head, and a shawl of some grim half-mourning 
 pattern, wherein were never any folds or loose- 
 ness whatever. Add to this that she always 
 wore clogs out of doors — which clogs had a dif- 
 ferent sound from everybody's else, and seemed 
 to grind the stones exultingly — and carried a 
 ferocious cotton umbrella, without any regard 
 for the weather ; and if you have not an alarm,- 
 ing idea of Miss Grimston, there is no power in 
 language. This terrifying virgin alway paid Mr. 
 Tremordyn a visit of a few weeks every year 
 with scrupulous exactness. What she came for 
 nobody could divine, for he could not endure
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 231 
 
 her and took no pains to conceal his sentiments ; 
 but come she did. When he was single his 
 family supposed that she entertained designs 
 upon his heart, but as when he married she 
 shewed no signs of anger, but continued her 
 yearly visits just the same, they gave up that 
 notion, and could only trust to time for the 
 solution of the mystery. As she had some pro- 
 perty it was imagined she meant to make Mr. 
 Tremordyn her heir; but Miss Grimston was in 
 frame and temperament so hard and tough that 
 her heir expectant would have a somewhat hope- 
 less prospect before him. 
 
 We were so long discussing the expected ad- 
 vent of this formidable guest, and laughing over 
 our dread of her, that it grew quite late ere we 
 remembered the hour, and Aunt Mary's probable 
 uneasiness at our absence, and so were forced to 
 wish Mary and her pretty boy, with whom I 
 was a wonderful favourite, good night. 
 
 The darkness of a moonless winter evening had 
 fallen thickly as Charles and I reached the ter-
 
 232 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 race before the house, and out of the darkness 
 came a voice that said, " Miss Marsden," and a 
 hand that touched my shoulder. Both were so 
 sudden and seemed to come so supernaturally out 
 of the thick night shadows that I screamed and 
 clung to Charles's arm, who turning hotly upon 
 the invisible intruder, demanded who he was 
 and what he meant by his insolence. 
 
 The voice that replied, from the dim outline 
 of a man visible now through the gloom, soft and 
 courteous as it was, brought a thrill to my heart. 
 
 "I beg ten thousand pardons for alarming 
 you; pray forgive me. Nothing, I assure you, 
 was farther from my intentions. I fear I have 
 frightened you very much. I shall never forgive 
 myself." 
 
 He stood pouring forth these apologetic sen- 
 tences, in the softest voice in the world, with his 
 hat in his hand. 
 
 " Perhaps sir, before drowning us with apolo- 
 gies, you will condescend to inform us who you 
 are," said Charles, with cool haughtiness.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 233 
 
 " I am really ashamed of my forgetfulness — I 
 quite forgot the darkness of the night makes that 
 ceremonial necessary. I am Major Raymond. 
 But I really fear I have alarmed Miss Marsden 
 very much !" 
 
 "It is very probable, sir : -when gentlemen 
 come prowling about in the darkness, like burg- 
 lars, and clutch ladies by the shoulder." 
 
 " You are very severe, Mr. Brotherton — but I 
 really deserve it. My only excuse is, I havv) left 
 my carriage at a little distance, and in trying to 
 find my way through the garden, got bewildered 
 in the darkness. Pray, let me hear you say you 
 have recovered the alarm I was . unfortunate 
 enough to cause you," he added, addressing me, 
 and slightly lowering his voice : " Perhaps it will 
 further plead my excuse when I add, that I am 
 the bearer of a message — a note, in short, from 
 your — from Mrs. Raymond." 
 
 A note from my mother! My heart beat 
 thick, and a cold fear crept over me.
 
 234 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " Pray come into the house," I forced myself 
 to say : "it is very cold, and — " 
 
 " And so very dark," he rejoined, " that we 
 are nearly invisible to one another." 
 
 " And the next time you honour us with a visit, 
 Sir, perhaps you will have the goodness to re- 
 member that there is a front door, a bell to ring, 
 and a servant to admit strangers," said Charles, 
 who seemed longing to provoke him out of his 
 smoothness. 
 
 " I shall not fail to remember it. There is no 
 need of your exciting yourself, my good lad." 
 
 His tone was very hard to endure. I still 
 held Charles's arm, and felt his frame quiver 
 with suppressed passion. 
 
 " You presume on my inability to resent your 
 insolence," he said, in a tone that strove to be 
 calm. 
 
 Major Raymond laughed, the easiest and most 
 natural laugh imaginable, but still it grated on 
 my ear. 
 
 "My dear Sir, you misunderstand me, and
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 235 
 
 most strangely. I am really innocent of any in- 
 tention to insult or annoy you. I really hoped 
 my deep regret for my unceremonious way of 
 announcing myself had atoned for my fault. 
 Perhaps you will admit me in your hospitable 
 hall, for we really have talked an unconscionable 
 time here in the dark." 
 
 Charles took no notice of the sarcastic tone of 
 the last words, but opening the glass door of the 
 drawing-room, which we had now reached, ad- 
 mitted us. A large fire flung varying lights and 
 dark shadows over the room, but there was no 
 one there. 
 
 Charles, without asking Major Kaymond to sit 
 down, threw himself into the arm-chair by the 
 fire, and rung the bell sharply. ^' Is Mrs. 
 Brotherton at home?" he said to the servant who 
 answered it. 
 
 "No, Sir, she went out in the carriage." 
 
 "Nor Miss Maude?" 
 
 " Miss Maude is gone with missus. Shall I 
 light the candles. Sir ?"
 
 236 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " No, that will do." 
 
 During this parley Major Eaymond was 
 warming his hands over the blaze, and talking 
 courteous common-places about the cheerfulness 
 of the fire and the comfort of the room, to which 
 no one replied. 
 
 I stood silent, striving with the terror at my 
 heart, waiting to hear his errand. 
 
 "I think you had a note for me?" I said at 
 last, feeling sick with suspense. 
 
 " I beg a thousand pardons ! In my relish of 
 this delicious fire I had quite forgotten the busi- 
 ness that brought me here." 
 
 He took from his pocket a little twisted slip of 
 paper, and gave it me. 
 
 I unfolded it with shaking fingers, and bending 
 towards the fire, read the words, in my mother's 
 handwriting : 
 
 " I wish to see you, Helen. 
 
 "E. R." 
 
 The words almost stunned me. I stood with 
 the note in my hand, looking vaguely at him.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 237 
 
 '^ Your motlier wishes to see you," he said in 
 an explanatory tone. 
 
 " To see me, now." 
 
 " As soon as possible. I have a carriage just 
 below here, and I will drive you into Haverford, 
 to our lodgings, and bring you back in about an 
 hour." 
 
 His words were simple enough, but my brain 
 seemed dizzy. 
 
 " She wishes to see me to-night," I reiterated 
 in bewilderment. " She is not ill — there is 
 nothing the matter?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever; she is perfectly well, I 
 pledge you my word. She only wishes to — to see 
 you, and — " 
 
 His wonted fluency of speech seemed to fail 
 him here. I turned and encountered Charles's 
 amazed looks. 
 
 "You are not going surely?" said he. 
 
 " You will trust Miss Marsden to my care, I 
 venture to hope," said Major Raymond, turning 
 round on him with a courteous bow. " I pledge
 
 238 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 you on my honour to bring her back safely in less 
 than two hours. But why should I give any 
 pledge on the subject? I am by my near rela- 
 tionship as deeply interested in Miss Marsden's 
 welfare as yourself." 
 
 " Indeed ! " returned Charles, in a slightly 
 agitated voice. 
 
 "Yes, indeed; I venture to reiterate your 
 words. You will have confidence in me, Helen, 
 will you not?'^ 
 
 His calling me by my christian name made me 
 start and shrink. 
 
 He repeated his question. 
 
 " Yes, I am quite ready to go," I said, quiver- 
 ing with a sort of nameless terror. 
 
 " What shall I tell my mother? " said Charles, 
 looking intently at me. 
 
 Major Raymond was about to reply. 
 
 " I prefer getting my answer from Miss Mars- 
 den herself," said Charles haughtily. 
 
 " Tell her that my mother has sent for me; she 
 must not be uneasy, I shall soon be back."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 239 
 
 " I trust Mrs. Brotherton entertains a higher 
 opinion of me than her son apparently does," said 
 Major Raymond stiffly. 
 
 Charles replied only by a scornful curl of his 
 lip, which I saw by the firelight. 
 
 " You have your bonnet and shaAvl on, I see," 
 continued Major Raymond, " and I have plenty 
 of wrappings in the carriage. I rejoice to see you 
 have confidence in me." 
 
 He offered me his arm as he spoke, and bow- 
 ing stiffly to Charles, led me out. 
 
 A small open carriage, drawn by two ponies, 
 stood ready at the door, with Uncle Edward's 
 groom at their heads. He placed me in it, drew 
 the wrappings over me, and fastened the carriage 
 apron with scrupulous care, then sprang in him- 
 self, and taking the reins, flung the man some 
 money, and dashed down the dark avenue, and 
 through the gates into the high road. 
 
 It was a wild February night, large masses of 
 broken clouds were flying over the moon, that 
 showed now and then white and ghastly through
 
 240 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 the jagged rifts ; the wind was moaning dismally 
 in the naked trees, wandering flakes of snow, 
 borne on the blast, fell stingingly in our faces. 
 
 A fit of shivering seized me. 
 
 "Are you cold? How you shiver!" said my 
 companion, turning to me. " Have you enough 
 on?" 
 
 " Quite enough." 
 
 "Are you afraid?" with an unpleasant laugh. 
 " Tut, child, I thought you had a braver spirit." 
 
 "Is there any need of courage to-night?" I 
 asked. 
 
 He was silent.- 
 
 " Have you no idea what my mother wishes to 
 see me for?" 
 
 "How can I tell? I am not in her secrets," 
 he replied, with the same disagreeable laugh, that 
 was half a sneer. 
 
 " Why did she send at this hour — so myste- 
 riously?" 
 
 " Again, I cannot tell, except that it was her 
 sovereign will so to do. You are a romantic
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 241 
 
 young lady, I doubt not, and should love myste- 
 ries — they give a spice to every-day life." 
 
 I observed that the tone of deferential polite- 
 ness he had used before Charles was dropped for 
 one of easy familiarity, infinitely annoying, but 
 which I knew not how to resent. 
 
 " He's a plucky lad, that cousin of yours," he 
 said, as we drove along the dark road with reck- 
 less speed, the wind gibbering and whispering and 
 waving the skeleton arms of the trees, that shook 
 and bent over us. 
 
 "Is he?" 
 
 " T think so. There is a pretty fiery spirit in 
 that frail, disabled frame of his. I could have 
 thrashed him with intense pleasure to-night, 
 though it would have been a coAvardly action 
 I suppose." 
 
 " It would indeed." 
 
 " I could not help admiring the fellow's pluck; 
 he stood out as saucily as ever did esquire to a 
 fair dame, though he was rather ridiculously im- 
 pertinent. By the way, are you engaged to him ? " 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 "Indeed I am not. What could make you 
 think so?" 
 
 " He assumed the office of a protector so easily. 
 You might go farther, and fare worse, Helen, as 
 the old proverb goes. I suppose he is heir to all 
 old Brotherton's property, if he does not die 
 before his governor." 
 
 The coarse words, and the voice in which they 
 were uttered, filled me with disgust. I drew as 
 far away from him as I could, and covering my 
 eyes with my hand from the flying glimpses of 
 the ghostly moon, thought over my strange 
 destiny. 
 
 He spoke to me two or three times, but I knew 
 not what he said. I returned short random 
 answers, and at last he left me in peace. 
 
 At the speed at which he drove, we soon 
 reached the town, and dashed up the High Street, 
 where the lighted shops and rows of street lamps 
 shed a bright gleam on the black winter night. 
 
 Few people were abroad, the street looked de- 
 serted, but from curtained windows shone a glow
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 243 
 
 that told of bright firesides within. My whole 
 being seemed merged in one sense of torturing 
 expectancy ; I felt faint and sick with struggling 
 doubts and fears, for which there is no name. 
 
 We drove up the street, and paused at a house 
 standing a little back from the others, with a small 
 railed in garden before. 
 
 " This is your mother's lodging," said Major 
 Raymond. 
 
 I glanced up at the house ; it was shut up and 
 dark. As we stopped, the flitting gleam of a 
 candle crossed one of the upper windows and 
 vanished. It seemed we were expected, for a 
 man emerged from somewhere in the gloom, and 
 took charge of the ponies, while Major Eaymond 
 lifted me out, and gave me his arm across the 
 little garden. I had need of support, for from 
 the coldness of the night, and the strange mystery 
 that oppressed my heart, I felt faint, weak, and 
 benumbed. 
 
 Without our ringing a woman opened the door ; 
 she started when she saw us, a look of surprise 
 M 2
 
 244 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 and terror flashed over her face. I looked at 
 her ; it was my own old nurse Susan— she who 
 was bound up with all my earliest memories. 
 She looked much older, wan and haggard. 
 
 I was so glad to see a friend's face that I cried, 
 "Susan, don't you know me?" and threw my 
 arms round her neck. 
 
 " I havn't forgot you, Miss Helen, my dear 
 young lady," and as she hugged me I felt her 
 tears wet on my cheek, " my old nursling. 
 Heaven help me, how tall you are grown!" 
 
 " There, that will do," said Major Raymond 
 impatiently ; " we have no time for these endear- 
 ments. Your mother is waiting for you, Helen." 
 
 Your mother is waiting for you ! Words to 
 most hearts fraught with joy and expectant de- 
 light, to me strange and incomprehensible, darkly 
 ominous of some shadowy ill. 
 
 My companion led me upstairs into a small 
 drawing-room, with a fire, and wax lights on the 
 table, but no one there. I sat down, took off my 
 bonnet mechanically, as he told me, and leaning
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 245 
 
 my head on my hands breathed a silent, falter- 
 ing prayer for strength. 
 
 " You will not take off your shawl?" he said, 
 resuming his former courteous manner. 
 
 I said I was cold, and had rather keep it on, 
 which was true, for I shivered convulsively from 
 head to foot. 
 
 He brought wine and water from a side table, 
 and pressed me to take some. I took a glass of 
 water, for my lips were dry and my throat 
 parched, and after trying in vain to induce me to 
 take some wine, he said my mother would be with 
 me immediately, and went out through a door 
 which seemed to lead into an inner room ; then I 
 heard two stifled voices in earnest talk. 
 
 As I threw an involuntary glance round the 
 room, my eyes were caught by a picture over the 
 fire-place, which struck me so forcibly that in 
 spite of my keen excitement, and anxiety, I rose 
 to examine it closer. It was a woman, leaning 
 with her head on her arm, gazing out of an open 
 window, into the gathering darkness of a stormy
 
 246 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 autumn evening. The face had a wild beauty, 
 on which grief and guilt had set their brand, 
 haggard, forlorn, and desperate, gazing out with 
 a purposeless vacancy of despair into the dark- 
 ness. I fancied I saw a wild resemblance to my 
 mother; it might have been imagination, but the 
 picture had such a strange, inexplicable fascina- 
 tion about its dark, guilty beauty, that I stood 
 riveted before it, my brain filled with a misty 
 crowd of strange fancies and half-formed conjec- 
 tures. How long I stood gazing I cannot tell, 
 but I never think with a shudder of that dark 
 evening, whose influence has extended through 
 my whole life, without that strange picture coming 
 also visibly before me. 
 
 The rustling of silken robes roused me from 
 my dream. My mother stood before me stately, 
 handsome, gracefully dressed in rich, slight 
 mourning. We stood face to face. I felt the 
 influence of her queenly presence; I looked at 
 her with admiration and fear. 
 
 " Helen :" her voice coldly broke the silence.
 
 oldSmemories. 247 
 
 " Mother." 
 
 " That word must sound strange to your lips," 
 she said ; " it has not been spoken for years. It 
 sounds very strange to me." 
 
 I tried to speak; I could not command my 
 voice. 
 
 " I know what you would say — that I have 
 only myself to reproach for that. It is true ; I 
 know it." 
 
 She sat down on the sofa like an empress on 
 her throne, and I stood before her. She shaded 
 her eyes with her white hand, glistening with 
 rings, as though to screen them from the glare of 
 the fire. 
 
 "Look on me, Helen; what am I?" she said, 
 still keeping in that nosture. 
 
 "What you ever were, mother — a stately, 
 handsome lady, as you ever will be in my childish 
 memories." 
 
 '^ That is well," she calmly returned, " is there 
 no anger, no indignant swelling of ths heart 
 against the unnatural mother that cast you off
 
 248 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 to the mercy of strangers, that abandoned the 
 child she should have cherished and fostered with 
 the love that many waters cannot quench?" 
 
 "No; as God knows my heart, there is not. 
 Mother, may I teach you now to love me ? it is 
 not too late." 
 
 She smiled, a kind of pitying smile. 
 
 " You have chosen another home, other ties, 
 other ajffections." 
 
 " I will give them up." It cost me a keen 
 agony to say this, but I did say it. "I will 
 give them up," the thought of my step-father 
 crossed me like a serpent's sting ; I lost all powers 
 of utterance. 
 
 " You cannot say it," fixing her dark eyes on 
 me with a strange, intense expression. 
 
 " I cannot, God help me !" I burst into tears. 
 
 " You cannot, I well know, poor girl ! Why 
 should we mock each other?" 
 
 " I might have said it, I might have done it, 
 mother," I said, struggling with my tears, "had 
 you not so far forgotten my father's grave. Why
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 249 
 
 does an unworthy stranger hold in your heart the 
 place of right belonging to your children, and 
 your sacred memories?" 
 
 I was frightened when I had spoken the words 
 — such a spasm of terror crossed her usually 
 proud, calm features. 
 
 " Oh ! hush, hush ! you don't mean what you 
 say — you speak wildly !" she clasped her hands 
 and her proud, high forehead, with a groan. 
 '' Look at me — look at me !" she went on; " what 
 if I were to tell you that this costly dress, these 
 bracelets, and rings, are but the golden covering 
 of an idol, that within — were you to tear off 
 these glistening trappings — you would find the 
 vilest and most polluted clay ! What if I were 
 to tell you this — if I were to tell you more, that 
 your proud mother — this stately, handsome lady 
 — is vile as those women from whom you shrink 
 aside in the streets at night." 
 
 In the first horror .of her frantic words, I 
 thought she had gone suddenly mad — my heart 
 seemed to stand still. 
 
 M 5
 
 250 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 "Look here," and she plucked the costly 
 bracelets from her arms, and the rings from her 
 fin-.ers, and flung them on the floor at her feet : 
 " these baubles are easily plucked off", but the 
 loathsome clay remains — nothing can pluck that 
 out. Don^t look at me with those horror-stricken 
 staring eyes — they frighten me. Helen, Helen ! 
 do you hear — do you understand me? Shall I 
 tell you everything? Shall I tell you that he 
 who sleeps in the church-yard at home, the mas- 
 ter of the old Manor, the noblest, purest soul 
 that ever breathed on God's earth ; with whom 
 all your tender, childish memories are entwined ; 
 who, in dying, remembered and blessed you — was 
 not your father; that you aro a child of shame; 
 and your father, he who is now my husband !" 
 
 The first wild emotions of shame, diribelief, 
 doubt, and agony, were like a tremendous stun- 
 ning blow — I reeled back, and dropped iuto the 
 chair behind me. Partial unconsciousness fol- 
 lowed. When my faculties revived fro)a the 
 fearful shock they had received, I found my
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 251 
 
 mother and Major Eaymond chafing my temples. 
 I shrank from him with such unutterable loathing, 
 that he turned and walked . owards the lire, with 
 a lo..'-muttere'l laugh. 'Mj mother was on her 
 knees beside me. 
 
 " Helen, my child, be calm. How wild she 
 looks, and how \hite — =he frightens me!" she 
 said, turning to her husband. 
 
 " Psi.;iw ! don^t alarm you. self," he answered 
 carelessly, "it ]ias been a sharp shock, but she'll 
 get over 't — she has a brave spirit of her own." 
 
 His black eyes lighted cm mine with a kind of 
 silent triumph. I was too weak and exhausted 
 to express my abhorrence. I shuddered as my 
 mother's hand passed over my forehead. 
 
 " She luat]ies me," sai- my unhappy mother, 
 in a stifled whispir, in v/hicli ihere \ra.s a world 
 of agjny. 
 
 " No, no ! mother — ^foi'give mo ; imsay those 
 horrible yrords ; tell me ' have been dreaming." 
 
 "Would to God I could!" shegror.ued; "don't 
 curse me, unfortunate child."
 
 252 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " No, mother — be at peace !" 
 
 I rose, I mechanically drew my shawl round 
 me. I felt a wild longing to hide myself in 
 darkness — anywhere out of human sight. 
 
 The remembrance of the light, love, and com- 
 fort of home, the home that had hitherto been 
 mine, rushed over my soul with a pang of in- 
 effable torture — a black gulf seemed to have 
 yawned between me and it ; could I go back there 
 to dishonour that bright fireside, shame-stricken 
 as I was, to feel Maude's innocent arms round 
 my neck, to hear her clear young voice, whose 
 blithe tones were never saddened by grief and 
 shame, calling me sister. I asked nothing more, 
 I wished for no particulars of this blighting 
 story, I had heard enough. A wild resolve to 
 go back, to tell Aunt Mary everything, to fall 
 at her feet and pray her pardon for having so 
 long nestled in her bosom, unknowing what I 
 was, and then to leave her for ever, to go I 
 knew not whither — ^this one thought possessed 
 me.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 253 
 
 " Shall I take you home?" asked Major Ray- 
 mond. " I promised to return you safe to your 
 cousin," he added, in his half sneering voice. 
 
 " I am ready," I answered. 
 
 My mother stood in the centre of the room, 
 as if stricken to the very soul, her hands 
 clasped listlessly before her, her head drooping, 
 and her cheeks a deadly white. 
 
 I dropped on my knees and wildly besought 
 her to unsay her words. 
 
 ''Go, go; I cannot, I dare not." She thrust 
 me wildly from her. "God help you, child; 
 forgive me — say you forgive me." 
 
 " Yes, mother, yes." 
 
 I tottered down the stairs, pressing my hands 
 on my forehead, as though to hold in my throb- 
 bing bursting brain. 
 
 Susan darted out of a side passage and 
 caught my dress, her face looked ghastly in the 
 imperfect light from the hall. " Miss Helen, 
 don't look so wild. The Lord help thee, my 
 poor dear child."
 
 254 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 '* Susan, yon knew of this. Oh ! cruel, cruel ! 
 and you never told me." 
 
 "I could not bear it," and she wrung her 
 hands. " I did it for the best." , 
 
 Major Raymond seized my arm, and drew me 
 down the stairs. I liad no power to resist him. 
 He placed me in the carriage, took his place 
 again by my side, and drove off the way we 
 had come. I remember nothing distinctly of 
 that drive, except that the rushing wind seemed 
 to sing wild mockeries in my ears, and the 
 skeleton branches seemed tossing their long arms 
 derisively. Such a conflicting crowd of agoniz- 
 ing memories, of wild bewildering fancies, filled 
 my throbbing brain, peopling the darkness with 
 phantoms, that I almost feared I was going 
 mad. "Woe is me, for I am undone!" was 
 the dumb cry of my heart. I lost faith, 
 strength, fortitude — all was darkness within and 
 without. 
 
 At last I became somehow dimly conscious that 
 my companion (I could not bring myself to call
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 255 
 
 him what he really was) was speaking to me. I 
 tried to listen. 
 
 " You are near home," he said; ' I have kept 
 my promise. Can you hear me?" 
 
 I looked up, a few stars were shining between 
 the black broken clouds, and I dimly saw at a little 
 distance the white gates of Holmsley. The sense 
 of my desolation wj-s strong wi-h^n me, as 
 I answered hopelessly: "Home! I have no 
 home. ' 
 
 " Pshaw ! don't take it so keenly to heart. 
 You are a pretty girl, with a brave spirit, for 
 which I honor you — I do, by Jovo! «md what 
 signifies ihe little stain on your birth ? Conibund 
 it, keep your own counsel, and wi-o'll be the 
 wiser ? Besides ^he blood of the Eaymonds is not 
 to be snecired at." 
 
 He leant towards me with an insolent laugh. 
 I shrunk fr^^m him with a horror I could not 
 suppress. 
 
 " Let me get down here." 
 
 "What, at the gates? Pshaw! whatll your
 
 256 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 cousin say? I am answerable to him for your 
 safety." 
 
 I believe if we had been going at full gallop, I 
 should have sprung out at the risk of breaking 
 every limb. 
 
 I suppose he saw me determined, for he drew up. 
 
 "Good night. Mayn't I have a kiss? I am 
 your father now, remember. What, not one? 
 Undutiful daughter ! " 
 
 I sprang out, and as I hurried through the 
 gates and up the avenue, his mocking laugh rung 
 behind me. 
 
 As fast as my utter weariness would allow, 
 with tottering, failing feet, I hastened on, gained 
 the porch, and rang the bell, then leant in utter 
 exhaustion against the wall till the door should 
 be opened. At last steps approached, the bolts 
 resounded, and the footman peered out. 
 
 " A woman, and who may you be?" he said, in- 
 specting me doubtfully. 
 
 I turned my face towards him : " Don't you 
 know me, Robert?"
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 257 
 
 "Lord help me, Miss Helen, is it you? and 
 walking too ! How white you are, ma'am, are 
 you iU?" 
 
 Light feet came running across the hall ; Maude 
 caught me in her arms. 
 
 "Helen, dearest, we have been so anxious about 
 you! Good Heavens, how ghastly you look! 
 Papa — Mamma — look at Helen ! " 
 
 Uncle Edward came hurrying across the hall, 
 I stretched out my hands towards him, as if im- 
 ploring help, and as he caught me in his arms, I 
 lost consciousness.
 
 258 - OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 CHArXEE XIII. 
 
 When I awoke to life again I found myself on 
 the couch in Aunt Mary's room. She bathed 
 my temples, w'dlst Miiude and Peggy stood by 
 with salt and water. 
 
 " She is better now. Mamma ; slie is opening 
 her eyes," said Maude. 
 
 I felt so utterly weak, helpless, and weary, 
 that a faint longing to shrink from sight, from 
 human eyes, was all I was conscious of. I 
 turned my head aside and buried my face in the 
 sofa cushions, while tears of sheer weakness and 
 despondency escaped me. 
 
 " Lord save her ! I guess she's had a fright,"
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 259 
 
 said Peggy : " maybe she's seen the ghost in the 
 big avenue; and now I thinks on it, Susan Jen- 
 kins told me t'other evening about dusk as she 
 wa' comin' wi' the clean clothes — " 
 
 " You had better both go, I think," said Aunt 
 Mary, tend^-rly str (king back my h^iir from ray 
 forehead : " she would rather b ^ quit quiet." 
 
 Mv sick desp»nd'ng hear, thank dher for the 
 thonght I Iieard their retreating footsteps, the 
 door shut ; I was aloiie with my more ban mother, 
 but, for the fiist time in my life I felt . strange 
 awe of her, the darkest doubt^i and misgivings 
 possessed my soul. 
 
 She spoke first. "What is ail thi-, my 
 child?' 
 
 I did not ansTcr her : I was stri ing to 
 strengthen my i'ainting heart foi- the effort. 
 
 " You will not tell me, Helen ? I ha . e a right 
 to know ; I ha e borne much anxiety to-night on 
 yonr account." 
 
 I glanced at her face and saw it was very white 
 and troubled. The lo\ing solicitude in Ler eyes
 
 260 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 smote me to the heart, I clasped my hands over 
 my own with a groan. 
 
 "Helen, I implore you clear this mystery. 
 Where did you go with that man ? Why do you 
 return thus?" 
 
 I sat upright on the sofa ; I strove hard to be 
 calm and collected. 
 
 " Aunt Mary, I have heard a horrible thing 
 to night." 
 
 She looked intently at me. " Your mother is 
 not dying; child, don't keep me in this suspense." 
 
 " Listen ; I am not mad, it is true, my mother 
 swore it; I am a child of guilt and shame; my 
 father is Major Raymond." 
 
 In hurried broken accents I poured out these 
 disjointed sentences. I took her silence, her 
 startled look for horror. I made a wild effort 
 to fall at her feet. 
 
 *'0h! aunt, forgive me; cast me out if you 
 will, but forgive me. I have polluted your 
 name unconsciously ; it was ignorantly you fos- 
 tered me in your bosom, and ignorantly I nestled
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 261 
 
 there. I only knew to-night what a vile thing I 
 was!" 
 
 There was no horror, no aversion in her face 
 as she gently forced me to lie down again, and 
 then bending over me held me to her heart. 
 
 "Oh! Aunt Mary, it cannot be; and you 
 don't shrink from me — you still love me, wretch 
 as I am !" 
 
 " Hush ! my child — be at peace ; you speak 
 wildly. I feared the mystery was worse than 
 this, Helen. I have known this for years.*' 
 
 A thrill of amazement shot through me then ; 
 close upon it succeeded unspeakable shame and 
 grief. 
 
 "You knew it? Oh! Aunt Mary, and you 
 never told me; you let me live among your 
 children, on whose good name there is no foul 
 blot; on whose birth, there is no stain — me, a 
 creature without name or fame !" 
 
 " My love, I implore you to be calm. Lie 
 still and rest. How wildly your heart beats!" 
 
 " Oh! Aunt Mary, but you are not my aunt;
 
 262 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 nor are Maude, nor Mary, nor Esther, my cousins. 
 I am nothing to any of you." 
 
 This thought, in the tumult of my heart, had 
 not struck me before, but now it came, barbed 
 with an unutterable pang of anguish. 
 
 " You are more than my niece, Helen, you are 
 my child : the child of my adoption, and my love, 
 the daughter of my heart." 
 
 In her strong, calm tenderness, there was 
 something so exquisitely soothing to my stricken 
 soul and exhausted frame, that I clung to her 
 and blessed her, with every pulse of my heart. 
 She still held me to her breast, talking to me with 
 every tender and loving expression, her sweet, 
 noble, womanly soul could prompt. I lay still 
 awhile in the quiet of exhaustion and despair. 
 
 " You are ill, my child ; liow hot and feverish 
 your hands are ! Let me undress you, and put 
 you to bed. You have been sorely tried to-night, 
 dearest, you want rest." 
 
 "Oh! aunt, were it not best for me to die?
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 263 
 
 Remember those n,wfiil words of s^cripture : ' The 
 seed of evil doers shall never be renowned.' " 
 
 " Hush ! Helen ; God, the all- wise and all-mer- 
 ciful, will not visit on vour innocent head, the 
 sins of your parents." 
 
 There was silence agidn; she still holding me 
 to her heart. 
 
 " Will you not tell me how you kne-v/ the story 
 of my shame ?" 
 
 "Not to-night, my child, waic till to-morrow; 
 you are too ill and too excited to hear it 
 now." 
 
 "No, no!" I implored! "I will be calm — I 
 promise you I will — only tell me. I cannot rest 
 till I know it all." 
 
 She drew me closer to her ; and after a pause, 
 began — 
 
 " It is a short story — there is not much to tell, 
 my child. You did not know before, that your 
 mother and my beloved brother, were first cou- 
 sins. She was left an orphan when almost an 
 infant ; and was brought up under the care of an
 
 264 ^ OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 old infirm guardian. My brother lived near her, 
 he saw her constantly, and at last fell in love 
 with her — she refused him. She was gay, 
 thoughtless, brilliant, and strikingly handsome; 
 he was too quiet, reserved, and shy to please her 
 capricious fancy. Soon after she had refused 
 him, she went on a visit to London; there she 
 met Mr. Eaymond, a handsome young officer, in 
 a dragoon regiment." 
 
 I groaned and shuddered. " Oh, Aunt Mary, 
 I see it all !" 
 
 She pressed her lips to my forehead, and then 
 after a moment's pause, went on in lower tones : 
 " He was, as he is still, and ever has been, worth- 
 less and dissipated. She a proud, beautiful girl, 
 intoxicated with the flush and brilliancy of gay 
 London society, after her dull existence in the 
 dreary manor-house of her old guardian. There 
 is no need I should dwell more on this part of a 
 mournful story. I will hurry on. Her lover 
 proved her betrayer. She returned to the 
 country ; her guardian shut his doors against her.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 265 
 
 She went into lodgings in a farm-house ; there 
 you were born, my child." 
 
 I could not stifle the groan of utter misery that 
 rose to my lips. 
 
 " Shall I leave off? Hush, hush, my daughter. 
 Take courage, there is only a little, a very little 
 more I have to tell. Listen : Shortly after your 
 birth (it is but the old, old sad story) Mr. Ray- 
 mond's regiment was ordered abroad, and he went 
 with it. Then, when your mother stood alone, 
 with her shame and desertion, when all the world 
 turned its back on the fallen angel, when her 
 friends refused to acknowledge her — forsaken, 
 penniless, and shame-stricken, with nothing before 
 her but death, or an alternative more dreadful 
 than death — then," — her voice faltered, and her 
 dark eyes shone with strong emotion, — "my 
 brother, that noble, brave-hearted gentleman, of 
 irreproachable character and stainless name, the 
 truest and noblest of God's creatures, whose soul 
 was a mirror (as far as human soul might be) of 
 chivalrous honour and christian gentleness," — 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 her cheek flushed, and her eye kindled under my 
 earnest gaze as she spoke, — " went to her, sought 
 her out in her shame and loneliness, and saved 
 her from utter ruin ; for in spite of the indignant 
 outcries of his friends and family, he took the 
 repentant sinner to his arms, and made her his 
 wife. He was a widower then, with one little 
 girl, Annora, who was only an infant when her 
 mother died. All honour to him ! Surely in 
 the courts of Heaven he meets his exceeding great 
 reward." 
 
 " He does, he does ! Oh ! Aunt Mary, how 
 true, how noble ! All blessings rest on him, brave. 
 Christian soul !" 
 
 " The old love she had flung from her, in 
 the flush of her proud girlhood, had remained 
 firm and steadfast, and proved her salvation. 
 She married him, and they went on a foreign 
 tour for four or five years. I believe, as far 
 as any one so cold and haughty could love any 
 human creature she loved him, and strong rea- 
 sons she had. You were taken abroad with
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 267 
 
 them, and brought up as my brother's child. 
 No difference was made between you and the 
 two boys born to him afterwards — don't sob so, 
 my own love, it rends my heart to hear you." 
 
 " He is not my father," the bitter cry broke 
 from the inmost core of my heart. "How I 
 loved his memory — how proud I was that he 
 used to love me — how wise, and good, and noble 
 he was, and he is nothing to me. Oh ! Aunt 
 Mary, this is sore to bear." 
 
 "I know it, my love, my daughter, poor 
 stricken lamb, and yet be patient. Believe that 
 God is just and righteous." 
 
 She laid her cheek on mine, and I felt the 
 hot tears gush out on my forehead. 
 
 "He loved you as his own," she went on in a 
 low tender tone; " almost the last words I heard 
 him speak were — 'Mary, by the meeting we 
 hope for in our Father's house, be loving to the 
 child that is thought mine.'" 
 
 " God bless him ! and he is blessed beyond all 
 human knowledge." 
 
 N 2
 
 268 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 "You are my brother's legacy to me, my 
 
 darling. I must tell you, though I would fain 
 
 have done with the subject for ever, that when 
 
 Major Kaymond used to come here five years ago, 
 
 when he was quartered at Haverford, we had 
 
 no knowledge that he — don't shudder so, dear 
 
 child, I beseech you — neither your uncle nor I 
 
 had ever seen him before — poor Emma met him 
 
 in London — arid though I had suspicions there 
 
 was no proof, for there might be a dozen Eay- 
 
 monds in the army, and he had exchanged, as 
 
 we knew afterwards, from his first regiment into 
 
 another. You know that he fell in love with my 
 
 Mary — or thought he had — and it was only when 
 
 he rode over here that day to plead his cause 
 
 with her, that from a few unguarded expressions 
 
 my husband's fears were roused, and he found 
 
 out that Major Raymond was your father — that 
 
 at his door lay your poor mother's ruin. There, 
 
 there, I have done, my darling, never let this be 
 
 spoken of more." 
 
 There was a low earnest whisper at the door.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 269 
 
 Maude asking how I was, they were all so 
 anxious to know down stairs. Mj brain must 
 have been strangely distorted, when I shuddered 
 at the dear familiar voice, and prayed Aunt 
 Mary not to let her see me. I think my head 
 began to wander after this, for I remember 
 nothing more distinctly. I was very ill for two 
 or three weary endless weeks, my tortured mind 
 groping its benighted way through the dismal 
 stages of a fever. I would hurry over these 
 gloomy memories, but that I love to dwell a lit- 
 tle on the tenderness, and love, and exquisite 
 consideration showered on me when I slowly re- 
 vived to life and the world again. 
 
 I love to remember the time when Uncle Ed- 
 ward carried me down stairs so tenderly and 
 carefully on my first coming into the drawing 
 room; how Maude would bring me the earliest 
 violets; how Charles would privately send to 
 Haverford for beautiful bouquets of flowers to 
 surprise me with; how Peggy used to make me 
 all kinds of nameless and delicious dainties ; how
 
 270 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 nobody's kindness, in look or word, ever suffered 
 the slightest diminution. 
 
 There was no difference — none. I was Maude's 
 "dear sister," Uncle Edward's "sweet lassie." 
 Could I but have stifled the haunting memory in 
 my breast I might have been very, very happy. 
 Charles gave up his sofa to me, overcoming all 
 my remorseful objections by protesting that the 
 arm-cliair was fifty times more comfortable. I 
 did not dethrone him, as Maude called it, very 
 long, for with all the tender nursing and petting 
 lavished upon me, joined to Dr. Stirling's skill, 
 I made quick progress. 
 
 Dr. Stirling was a short, pursy man, with 
 wiry black hair, brushed very much off his 
 forehead, and standing nearly upright, who wore 
 always an immense white neckcloth, not so fault- 
 lessly white and stiff as Mr. Tremordyn's, and 
 had a gruff voice, a ferocious manner, stupendous 
 ideas of the dignity of the medical profession, 
 and the tenderest heart in the world. He had 
 lived all his life at Holmsley, as had his father
 
 ^ OLD MEMORIES. 271 
 
 before him ; had known all the younger members 
 of the " House" from their cradles; patted Esther 
 and Maude on the head in a fatherly manner, and 
 was looked upon as an infallible oracle by Peggy. 
 
 I was nearly well when Esther came home 
 from London, to our great joy, brilliant and 
 pretty as ever, with a wonderful secret to tell us 
 which everybody understood perfectly, when she 
 was speedily followed by Mr. Warringtik, "a 
 regular, real lover," to quote Maude, and a very 
 courtly, handsome man, a rich merchant, of 
 about two-and-thirty, with, said Esther, " a 
 wonderful lot of ships at sea, and a great house 
 in Russell Square." 
 
 A little grave and stately he seemed to my 
 experienced eyes, not quite such as would have 
 won pretty Nest's wild heart, but clever and gen- 
 tlemanlike, and clearly very fond of her. Nest 
 said that his gravity was only his way, and that 
 he was the dearest creature on earth, and it being 
 a great match in a worldly point of view, all went 
 on swimmingly.
 
 272 ' OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Esther was satisfied, nay exultant, and of course 
 other people must be so likewise. Mr. Warrington 
 became an inmate at Holmslej, we had constant 
 evening gatherings of neighbours, and excursions 
 on horseback, and the days danced over Esther's 
 pretty head like birds on the wing, in one happy 
 restless flutter. 
 
 Perhaps the only shadow to the sunshine of the 
 old house was Charles' frail health, a ceaseless 
 source of disquiet to all who loved him, and they 
 were many. Not even the elixir of the soft spring 
 air, perfumed with violets, nor the delicious sun- 
 shine, could bring any lasting colour to his wan 
 cheek — the flush of pain was all we ever saw there 
 — nor light up the languor of his large deep blue 
 eyes. Dr. Stirling was at fault, the result of his 
 visits was usually a growl, a shake of the head, 
 and a strong injunction to Charlie to keep up his 
 spirits, and all would come right ; while to Uncle 
 Edward's anxious question of " Well, doctor, 
 what's the matter with the lad?" he was wont to 
 reply, with much solemnity, " Sir, you may mend
 
 ^ OLD MEMORIES. 273 
 
 a broken arm or leg, but not a broken constitu- 
 tion. In this case, you perceive, there's no foun- 
 dation to work upon, but still. Sir, the resources 
 of medicine are infinite." 
 
 And here Dr. Stirling usually blew his nose 
 violently, and went away, leaving his auditors in 
 a perplexed condition. 
 
 I had long ago overcome my foolish shyness of 
 Charles ; a sisterly kindness, I was glad to think, 
 had taken its place. It was impossible not to 
 be interested by his suffering youth and weary 
 disappointed life, by his sweet character, his 
 generous unselfish temper, his tender dreamy 
 fancy, uncrushed by pain, his quick perception 
 of beauty and goodness, and his reverential love 
 of both, his musical voice, and pale spiritual face. 
 I began to like to sit in his room, to read and talk 
 to him, and try to lighten the heavy hours. 
 
 I was busied thus one bright May afternoon, 
 when Esther danced in. I was not to sit reading 
 the whole day, she and Tom were going to drive 
 N 5
 
 274 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 into the town, and I must come too. She wanted 
 mj taste about some dresses. 
 
 " But Charlie and I are at Flodden Field, and 
 are exalted above all sublunary affairs." 
 
 "Oh! never mind Flodden Field just now; 
 you'll spare her, won't you Charlie, darling? 
 Mamma is going to stay at home, so you'll have 
 lier company. Be quick, Nell, for the carriage 
 is coming round," and snatching a kiss from her 
 brother away she flew. 
 
 " Nest has settled it very unceremoniously, 
 Charlie; doesn't it seem very unkind to leave 
 you?" 
 
 " As if you were my bond-slave, Nell, bound 
 day and night to my service; you will make me 
 selfish. Do go and enjoy this sunshiny afternoon, 
 and take my benison for your kindness." 
 
 " I will read to you again when we come back." 
 
 " A thousand thanks." 
 
 He leant back languidly in the arm-chair, and 
 rested his cheek on his worn hand; he took mine 
 as I bent over him, and kissed it. 
 
 ¥
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 275 
 
 " I wish I was a fairy, Charlie, I would bring 
 some colour into this white cheek of yours, and 
 some strength into this nerveless arm." 
 
 " Heaven bless you, Nell !" 
 
 His eyes met mine with a strange look that I 
 had never seen in them before, and could not 
 understand, troubled and sorrowful, full of what 
 seemed a passionate, silent reproach. 
 
 After I had left him, during the drive into 
 Haverford, and often afterwards, I pondered 
 over the look, and it vexed and troubled me. I 
 knew not why. Even the tender influence of the 
 spring sunshine, that lay like a caress over the 
 budding earth, could not drive away the remem- 
 brance. 
 
 Mr. Warrington and Maude went with us in 
 the pony carriage; and then came a long shop- 
 ping afternoon — pulling over silks, muslins, and 
 jewellery. Mr. Warrington buying presents for 
 his pretty fiancee^ with a munificence that filled 
 the heads of the Haverford shopkeepers with 
 awe-struck admiration; and Esther, herself,
 
 276 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 giving her orders with the prettiest air of proud 
 negligence in the world. 
 
 Then, when the shopping was at last con- 
 cluded, we met Mrs. Selwyn, with two or three 
 dragoon officers in her train ; and she pressed us 
 to go home and dine with her, in our walking 
 dresses, and would take no denial. Everybody 
 accepted ; Esther, who took a pretty girlish 
 pride in showing ojff her handsome, stately 
 lover, the most gladly of all. I felt so weary, 
 that the prolonged misery of a dinner and a 
 merry evening, was terrible to think of, and I 
 pleaded so hard to be forgiven, that at last every 
 body admitted that I did look very pale, and 
 must be excused. Just then — sight of joy ! — I 
 caught a glimpse of old Simmons, the groom, 
 " come in to do some marketing for his missus." 
 It was quickly agreed that he should drive me 
 back, when his commissions were done ; and we 
 all repaired to Mrs. Selwyn's : I to wait for the 
 carriage, and the others to prepare for dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn's house was in " The Square,"
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 277 
 
 considered the aristocratic part of Haverford; 
 where stood the post-office, and the lawyers and 
 doctors' comfortable red-brick mansions. 
 
 It was market day ; and the town was full of 
 waggons, farmers, and country people. 
 
 As Maude, Esther, and I, were standing at 
 the window, looking out for old Simmons, and 
 the carriage, we saw a courier, booted and spurred, 
 splashed with mud, and soiled with dust, ride 
 up at full gallop. All hurried to the win- 
 dow to look at him. He rode straight to the 
 post office, gave in his bag, and then dismounted, 
 wiping his heated forehead, and talking eagerly 
 to the people. 
 
 " There is some news," exclaimed Capt. 
 Robertson eagerly, " I must run down and hear 
 what it is." 
 
 He hurried from the room, followed by Capt. 
 Thornton and Mr. Warrington. 
 
 Just as they left, a shout arose from the 
 thickening crowd below, " A victory ! a victory 
 over the French! — huzza!"
 
 278 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Excited people came running from the shop- 
 doors and houses, eagerly demanding news; 
 torches began to flash among the crowd, for the 
 twilight was deepening; then a man sprang on 
 an elevated stone by a lamp-post, and began to 
 read from a newspaper the account of a great 
 battle that had been fought — a breathless silence 
 fell over the listening crowd. The deep rush, 
 the darkening moonless twilight, with here and 
 there the light of a torch flashing on the excited 
 faces, made it an impressive scene. 
 
 Capt. Robertson burst into the room, " Glorious 
 news; we've beaten the French at Toulouse, 
 and entered the town in triumph — a most splen- 
 did aff'air!" 
 
 Maude suddenly caught my arm. I turned 
 and saw she looked deadly pale in the gathering 
 darkness. 
 
 " Oh ! Helen," she rather panted than spoke, 
 " if Steenie or James should be hurt !" 
 
 "Hush! God grant they are safe, darling. 
 Listen how the people are shouting."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 279 
 
 The throng still thickened, people came run- 
 ning from bye-streets and lanes, lights gleamed 
 and flitted from window to window, a low deep 
 hum filled the air, every now and then rising 
 into a shout. Just then, the long dreary winter 
 hardly past, food at famine prices, pale-faced 
 hungry little ones, keen struggles, often fruit- 
 less, with the wolf at the door; want, misery, 
 discontent, were all forgotten — the brave, honest, 
 loyal English heart swelled exultingly at the 
 victorious tidings, and the strong current of 
 their hearty, honest, fearless delight swept away 
 all bitter recollections. 
 
 Capt. Thornton and Mr. Warrington returned, 
 the latter with a newspaper he had contrived to 
 obtain, and followed by other officers quartered 
 in the town, all brim full of exciting intelligence. 
 
 " The Haverfordites are crazy," said Capt. 
 Thornton, "they are going to illuminate the town." 
 
 As he spoke lights were beginning to shine 
 from the windows all round the square, and 
 down the adjoining streets.
 
 280 * OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " There go the bells." 
 
 A merry peal clashed out from the two church 
 steeples. Maude, Esther, and I were silent 
 amidst all this rejoicing. I knew the same 
 vague, cold fear was at the hearts of all. 
 
 " There is papa," suddenly exclaimed Esther. 
 
 We all looked down, and saw by the light that 
 had begun to flash from every widow. Uncle 
 Edward on his strong bay horse, slowly forcing 
 his way through the crowd. He looked up when 
 just under the window, and as we caught his 
 eye, nodded and smiled cheerily ; then dismount- 
 ing, and giving his horse in charge to a bystander, 
 he came up-stairs. 
 
 Everybody saluted him with, "Well, Mr. 
 Brother ton, glorious news; Toulouse is won!" 
 but he made his way to us first of all, drew me 
 close to him, and giving his other hand to Maude 
 and Esther, looked steadily and tenderly at us. 
 
 "Grand news, lassies: weVe beat 'em again." 
 
 "And Steenie and Jem, papa?" whispered 
 Maude.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 281 
 
 *' Hush ! bairn, and the Almighty grant they 
 are both safe. Will you go home now? your 
 mother will be fretting." 
 
 "Yes, oh! yes; take us home," we all three 
 entreated. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn, however, was indignant at our 
 all forfeiting our promise of dining there, that 
 for politeness sake, Mr. Warrington and Esther 
 were obliged to remain, to poor Xest's great grief, 
 for she had now forgotten everything in her fear 
 and anxiety, Tom included. 
 
 Uncle Edward gave his horse into old Sim- 
 mons's charge, and drove Maude and me home. 
 As we left the brightly lit town, with its re- 
 joicing throngs behind us, and came out on the 
 quiet country road, with the stillness and gloom 
 of a calm, moonless night around us, I know we 
 all thought with a terror that was prophetic, 
 how soon, for too many, this short-lived joy 
 would die out in darkness ; how many cries from 
 the stricken souls of widows and orphans would 
 ere long be rising up to Heaven.
 
 282 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 We were silent during the drive home, afraid 
 to whisper to one another the sick fear and 
 anxiety that troubled at our hearts. The house 
 looked gloomy and dark, no festive light shone 
 from the windows ; the night was close and still, 
 and the trees shook with a. stealthy whispering 
 sound. 
 
 We went into the drawing room without 
 speaking. Aunt Mary came in to us, looking 
 pale, worn, and harrassed. 
 
 "Where are Esther and Mr. Warrington?" 
 she said. 
 
 " We were forced to leave 'em at Mrs. Selwyn's 
 to dinner. I'd hard work to get these two bairns 
 away, but they would come," replied Uncle 
 Edward. " Mary, lass," putting his arm round 
 her waist, and drawing her close to him, "there's 
 been a great victory : we've thrashed the Moun- 
 seers, and taken Toulouse !" 
 
 She started, and turned white. 
 
 " They're all gone crazed at Haverford : ring- 
 ing bells like mad, and lighting up the town."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 283 
 
 Aunt Mary clasped her hands together, and 
 her lips moved as if in silent prayer — '* Was our 
 boys' regiment engaged? when shall we hear it 
 all?" broke from her, in a tremulous voice. 
 
 " In a day or two ; we must ha' patience, lass, 
 and trust in God Almighty ! What, tears, Mary ? 
 tut, tut, thou must keep a brave heart !" 
 
 He drew her to the sofa, and sat down beside 
 her, still holding her in his arms, tenderly 
 ridiculing her fears. She lent her head on his 
 shoulder, and gave way to the weak, quivering 
 sobs of one worn out with watching, care, and 
 anxiety. She was usually so calm and dignified, 
 with such perfect command over her feelings, it 
 was so seldom that her brave, strong heart, gave 
 way, that we all felt terrified to see her weep. 
 Uncle Edward soothed her as he would a weary 
 child; while Maude and I knelt beside her, and 
 tried all we could to comfort her ; and we were 
 rewarded soon by one of her own loving smiles, 
 as she rose up calmly, and said she was ashamed 
 of being so weak and nervous — she had been un-
 
 281 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 easy about Charles, who had grown very l-estless 
 and feverish as evening came on, and could not 
 bear her to leave him — " So I have had rather a 
 trying day," she said, with one of her own sun- 
 shiny smiles, while the tears still hung on her 
 long, dark eyelashes : " and that has made me 
 weak and foolish. Is it not strange?" she con- 
 tinued, sinking her voice to a whisper, and 
 speaking only to Maude and me, " that just now, 
 Charles fell asleep for a few minutes, and dreamt 
 that he saw James standing beside his bed ; that 
 he stooped to kiss him, and that his lips were so 
 cold, that he awoke with a start and a cry." 
 
 Maude and I looked at each other, a sick, 
 ominous chill fell on our hearts. 
 
 " It was strange," said aunt Mary, trying to 
 smile; "but I am not superstitious, and ought 
 not to frighten you. We must be brave and 
 hopeful, my darlings. ' God is our refuge and 
 strength, a very present help in trouble.' " 
 
 She kissed us both tenderly, and went back to 
 Charles's room.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 285 
 
 There is no need to dwell on that dreary 
 night, nor the long hours of heart-sick anxiety 
 that dragged their heavy length along, till 
 further news came, and newspapers with the 
 return of the killed and wounded. We sat in 
 dead silence, with beating hearts and hushed 
 breaths, while Uncle Edward ran his eye down 
 the long dreary list. Then I saw his handsome 
 florid face suddenly blanch, and with a desperate 
 wish to know the worst, I sprang forward and 
 looked over his shoulder. It was with no 
 amazement, but with a reeling brain and 
 sickened heart, I read among the list of killed, 
 " Ensign James Brotherton, — Kegt." 
 
 Aunt Mary looked up and met my horror-struck 
 eyes. Her husband dropped the paper, and 
 held out his arms to her. She rushed into them 
 crying, "Wliich? Which?" and then her head 
 dropped heavily on his shoulder — she had 
 fainted. 
 
 " It is God's will ; our boy has died a soldier's 
 death. Mary, Mary, poor lass !" faltered Uncle
 
 286 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Edward, bravely but vainly "struggling against 
 the deep convulsive sobs of a father's agony. 
 
 Aunt Mary lay in a death-like swoon. She 
 was carried to bed. Mary was sent for, and we 
 all watched by her with blanched cheeks and 
 fearfully beating hearts, almost forgetting our 
 own acute sorrow in fear for her. She woke at 
 last to meet the deep agonized gaze of her hus- 
 band, who was holding her on his breast, and 
 in her sweet unselfishness prayed Mary Tremor- 
 dyn to go to Charles, not to let him know it yet 
 — till he was better. And Mary went out with 
 her white cheek and quivering heart bleeding 
 for the brave and darling young brother, to 
 watch by the sick bed of another, and to chain 
 down every sore and throbbing pulse to silence. 
 
 And while the mother and father sat together 
 in the darkened room, in their deep and voice- 
 less affliction, Maude and Esther drew me away 
 to sob out their own wild impetuous grief for 
 their darling Jem, their brave fallen young 
 soldier ; to clasp me, and cry out their passionate
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 287 
 
 sorrow on my bosom, for I forgot I was not his 
 sister and had no right to weep for him. 
 
 And then the still unbroken gloom that comes 
 when there is nothing more to hope or fear, fell 
 over the house. What availed fame and glory to 
 the mother's stricken soul? What cared she, 
 mourning over " her beautiful, her brave," that 
 he lay on a victorious battle-field, his face to the 
 enemy, fighting for home, king, and country? 
 She only knew he was dead, lying shot through 
 the heart, in the flower of his youth and bright- 
 ness of his promise. She only thought that the 
 light of his dark eyes was quenched, and the 
 music of his boyish laughter hushed for ever- 
 more. 
 
 Poor Jem! He had many mourners — the 
 simple village people, the rough, sturdy, farm- 
 labourers, they all knew his light step, and hand- 
 some eyes, and clear cheery voice, and loved him 
 for his merry frankness and his brave good- 
 humour, and they all sorrowed for the " young 
 master," who had gone away so gallantly to the
 
 288 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 war, full of high hope and daring, to return never- 
 more. 
 
 Poor Peggy ! Foremost amongst my mournful 
 memories of this time, comes the remembrance of 
 her deep, honest, vehement sorrow for her "dar- 
 ling youngest lad;" and poor Joe Stevens, our 
 bird-nesting ally of yore, who when he first saw 
 Maude, laid down his rough red head on the table, 
 and sobbed like a child, and then showed her a 
 crown-piece, which James had given to him 
 before he went, and which he had drilled a hole 
 in, and wore round his neck as a precious relic. 
 Then came a letter from the colonel of the regi- 
 ment to Uncle Edward, speaking highly of the 
 bravery of his lost son, and how he was beloved 
 and mourned by his brother officers, and sending 
 his watch, a ring he wore, and several locks of 
 his dark curly hair. What a glow of honest 
 pride lit the father's face as he read the praises. 
 What priceless treasures were the watch and ring, 
 and above all the glossy curls, which were divided 
 amongst us all !
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 289 
 
 Then every word of Steenie's letters was read 
 and re-read, and kissed, and wept over; where 
 he told how he was near James when he fell, and 
 how he died almost instantly, without pain, and 
 when he bent over him, there was a bright, ex- 
 ulting smile on the dead boy's face. 
 
 Sleep in peace, young hero ! tears from loving 
 
 and riven hearts, bedew thy untimely grave on 
 
 the far battle field ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 Esther's wedding had of course been put off; 
 and Mr. Warrington, perhaps instinctively feeling 
 that he had no place in the hushed house, dark- 
 ened with the gloom of a mighty sorrow, had 
 made an excuse of pressing business, to return 
 to London. 
 
 If poor ' Nest ' felt some natural disappoint- 
 ment, she never showed it. Tom seemed well- 
 nigh forgotten, in the fulness of her passionate 
 grief for the brave, darling brother, that engrossed 
 every pulse of her being. 
 
 It was a bright May morning, when we went 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 for the first time to the old church — a melancholy 
 train in our deep black — and sat beneath the 
 white marble tablet — 
 
 " Sacred to the Memory of Ensign James 
 Brotherton, youngest and dearly beloved Son of 
 Edward Brotherton, Esq., Holmsley; who fell 
 bravely fighting for his King and Country, at 
 the Battle of Toulouse, April 10th, 1814. ' Take 
 ye heed, watch and pray: for ye know not 
 when the time is !'" 
 
 Mr. Tremordyn preached a gentler sermon 
 that day than he had done for many a Sunday 
 before, on a tender and merciful text — " For whom 
 the Lord loveth, he chasteneth ; and scourgeth 
 every son whom he receiveth." 
 
 It was a sacrament Sunday ; and we all went 
 up to the altar, and came away calmed and 
 strengthened. 
 
 A hush lay over the house all day — the hush 
 of still, resigned sorrow, and calm trembling, yet 
 unquenched hope, suiting well the soft, bright 
 Sabbath of early Summer, when the birds filled
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 291 
 
 the air with low, quivering notes; and the sun- 
 shine lay, like the smile of God, on the budding 
 woods and meadows. 
 
 As the day melted into evening, and the sun 
 was sinking, and the glory streamed across the 
 quiet drawing-room, I sat there alone reading 
 and thinking what a quiet solemn hush seemed 
 to rest on my life now, and how the clouds 
 rested on all beyond. Be it so— I had no wish 
 to pierce them. Little cause had my ungrateful 
 heart for fear or doubt, blessed as I had been, so 
 far beyond by deserts. 
 
 My reverie was broken by the entrance of 
 the housemaid — she carried matches, and kneel- 
 ing before the grate, began to kindle the fire. 
 " A fire to-night, Lucy?" 
 " Mr. Charles is coming in, Miss." 
 He had been very ill lately : the death of his 
 brave and beloved young brother — though the 
 news was cautiously and tenderly broken to 
 him — had struck him to the heart, and the 
 shock had brought on an attack of nervous 
 2
 
 292 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 fever. I had not seen him since the tidings 
 came. 
 
 " He is likely to be very chilly you see, Miss," 
 explained Lucy, " so I thought I'd just light up 
 the fire. He looks terribly ill, poor young 
 gentleman, and he seems to take this trouble 
 very hard." 
 
 The fire had caught, so she wheeled the sofa 
 closer to it, piled up the cushions according to 
 her notion of comfort, and left the room. 
 
 Charles came in, leaning for support on his 
 stick: his pale, wasted, melancholy looks, and 
 his deep mourning were touching enough. I 
 went to meet and kiss him, as I would my 
 brother. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you down again, dear 
 Charlie." 
 
 " My darling Nell." he said, as he laid his 
 lips on my forehead, speaking with an earnest- 
 ness that startled me. 
 
 " You are better now?" 
 
 ''Yes."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 293 
 
 He sunk wearily down on the sofa, and after 
 settling the cushions easily, I sat down beside 
 him. He took a locket that hung from his watch 
 chain, and opening it, showed me a round dark 
 curl. 
 
 "This is my lock of poor Jem's hair," he 
 said. 
 
 His lip quivered as he spoke, and then, his 
 strong emotion overcoming his weakened frame, 
 he covered his face with his hands and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "Oh! Charlie, don't cry! I am so very, 
 very sorry for you. Think that dear, brave, 
 handsome Jem, died in a glorious cause, and has 
 only gone before us to the better land." 
 
 He grew calmer after two or three deep, 
 strong sobs, and lay still, his face half hidden 
 in the cushions, and his hand in mine. There 
 was silence for a time, and then a long quivering 
 ray of glory, a very gleam of living light shot 
 across the room, and fell on his hair. 
 
 " See, Charlie, that tells of hope and trust, 
 5
 
 294 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Look how gloriously the sun is going down. 
 What a bar of intense gold in that ocean of light." 
 
 He lifted his weary eyes, and shading them 
 with his hand, gazed at the gorgeous West, 
 streaked with bars of living fire. Then he 
 murmured, half to himself, " As the cloud 
 consumeth and vanisheth away, so he that goeth 
 down to the grave shall come up no more." 
 
 He sunk down into his former position, and 
 after a moment's silence said, with a long, 
 quivering, deep-drawn sigh, " Why should he 
 die, that brave, noble, handsome fellow, while I, 
 an unfortunate wretch, whose life is a long 
 misery, a never ending source of trouble, grief, 
 and disquiet to those I love, still drag on my 
 weary existence?" 
 
 " Don't speak so, Charlie. Think how your 
 mother values your life ; how precious it is to all 
 who love you. Cheer up, and try to look on 
 hopefully ; you are weak and exhausted now, and 
 everything looks black and gloomy • brighter 
 days will come, Charlie, never fear."
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 295 
 
 " You are my better angel, Nell," he said, in 
 a low, broken tone. 
 
 We heard a step in the hall, and Mr. Tremor- 
 dyn came in. Since our sorrow he came oftener 
 to the house, and always on Sunday evenings. 
 
 I instinctively withdrew my hand from 
 Charles as he came near. He gave us both 
 a quick searching glance, and shook hands with 
 me; an unusual act of favour, as Maude and 
 Esther seldom got more than a nod. 
 
 "How are you to-night, Charles?" said Mr. 
 Tremordyn, placing one hand on the sofa and 
 bending over him, with more of kindly interest 
 than I ever saw him show towards any other 
 human being. 
 
 " Betler, thank you,'' Charles muttered faintly. 
 
 " That's well. Better and braver I hope than 
 when I saw you last night." 
 
 " I can't speak much as to courage. It will 
 return again, perhaps, but the last three weeks 
 have nearly crushed whatever remnants of spirits 
 I may have possessed."
 
 296 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 " But you must learn to be strong and self- 
 reliant. We must climb the hill Difficulty, and 
 flounder in the slough of Despond; ay, and march 
 through the valley of the shadow, ere we reach 
 the Delectable Mountains." 
 
 " But my weary and shattered frame is a sore 
 burden to drag up that hill. Difficulty, and I 
 have been struggling so long in the slough of 
 Despond, that I begin to despair of ever getting 
 through it." 
 
 " So did Christian, but he struggled through 
 at last. Hopeful got on faster ; the road was 
 lighter and easier to him." 
 
 " You talk easily of being strong," returned 
 Charles, moving restlessly and painfully on the 
 sofa; "but will you give me strength. You 
 speak bravely, standing there in the pride of 
 your health ; but if your soul were in my soul's 
 stead, would you feel as you do now? How can 
 I, worn out with pain, and sleeplessness, and 
 dreary, unavailing thought, stand up bravely to 
 meet the buffets of fate? I know your theory,
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 297 
 
 and admire it; but put yourself in my position 
 for a week, and see then if you could put it in 
 practice." 
 
 " In a less degree I would. I am not speak- 
 ing of bodily strength, but of mental- The mind 
 does not depend upon the body half as much as 
 it is the fashion to think, and the weakest fol- 
 lower of Him who drove out the demons with 
 His word may go to the armoury of God and get 
 weapons for the conflict." 
 
 " Ay ! but suppose his lame and tottering feet 
 will not carry him thither, and his fainting hand 
 cannot grasp the weapon when obtained?" 
 
 " Let him ask for strength and he shall re- 
 ceive it. It is written, ' If ye have faith as a 
 grain of mustard seed, ye shall say to this moun- 
 tain, remove hence to yonder place, and it shall 
 remove,' and nothing shall be impossible unto you. 
 Apply that leveling power to the mountains of 
 your difficulties." 
 
 I looked up at him while he spoke, and his 
 dark, keen, searching eyes met mine.
 
 298 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 He was standing with his back to the fire, 
 looking, with his strong, close knit, compact 
 frame, erect head, and piercing eye, the very- 
 embodiment of strength and firmness, as if no 
 touch of human weakness or infirmity could ever 
 come near him. Who could fancy that proud 
 head prostrate on the earth, and the cry of a 
 fainting, despairing heart, breaking from those 
 firm, close, compressed lips? How could he, I 
 thought sadly, give comfort to the mourner, who 
 scarcely knew what sorrow, and despair, and 
 faintness of heart meant? 
 
 Charles lay silent for a moment, then, with a 
 restless sigh, he spoke again, " I ought to thank 
 you, I suppose, for trying to encourage me, but 
 I don't. I may say, as Job said to his friends, 
 ' I have heard many such words, miserable com- 
 forters are you all.' You, strong swimmer as 
 you are, may breast the waves that engulf me." 
 His weary despondent accents touched my heart. 
 
 A silence fell over us. I sat looking at the 
 fire, and pondering over Mr. Tremordyn's words.
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 299 
 
 and glancing at his black, erect, immoveable 
 figure. He had none of the gentler qualities of 
 the minister of Christ, but I admired him ; stern, 
 resolute and unbending. I fancied that, had he 
 lived in the old times of fire and persecution, he 
 would have gone to the stake and died for the 
 Incorruptible Crown with the same unmoved re- 
 solute look, yielding up his unflinching soul into 
 the hands of Him who gave it, without a groan 
 of human weakness. 
 
 And yet he must have some tenderness in him 
 I thought just afterwards, for on Charles giving 
 another restless sigh of weariness and pain, he 
 bent over him, and said some kind soothing 
 words about his soon being stronger and fitter 
 for the conflict. 
 
 That night at prayers, when we were all met 
 together, in the solemn hush of the Sabbath 
 evening, the tender, sorrowful memory of the 
 brave darling son resting upon us, like a holy 
 influence, he read the 12th chapter of Hebrews: 
 " Therefore seeing we also are compassed about
 
 300 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 with SO great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay- 
 aside every weight and the sin which doth so 
 easily beset us, and let us run with patience the 
 race that is set before us." The sublime words 
 had never before sounded so deep and solemn as 
 in his full, clear, earnest voice. 
 
 1 did not wonder that Uncle Edward leant 
 back in his arm-chair with his broad hand over 
 his eyes. I thought tenderly of him as I sat in 
 my quiet room, with the moonbeams streaming 
 on the floor, and of the far-away grave on which 
 the same quiet moonlight fell ; and I prayed that 
 we might all meet where parting was unknown, 
 and then I slept in peace. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 T, C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck- street, Cavendish-square.
 
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