
 
 <l\v 
 
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 Uv /& ■ "/<f$0 l
 
 KINGSCONNELL, 
 
 A TALE. 
 BY MRS. GORDON, 
 
 author or 
 "THE FORTUNES OF THE PALCONARS. 
 
 " The solemn curse of a widow Bad, 
 
 Above the grave of her darliug dead, 
 Will fester and wither the joy aud fame 
 Of the fairest lauds, and the proudest name : 
 Nor years, nor tears, will efface the shame." 
 
 Hr.v. J. C. Ear i.e. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES, 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 18 5 0.
 
 tv 
 
 
 TO THE BELOVED MEMORY OF 
 
 M. S. W. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING TALE, BEGUN AT HER REQUEST, 
 AND CONCLUDED IN HER SOCIETY, 
 
 30 Susrriiuir 
 
 BY THE SISTER, WHOM HER DEPARTURE HAS TAUGHT 
 THE FULL MEANING OF THOSE WORDS, 
 
 u THE ONE SHALL BE TAKEN AND THE OTHER SHALL 
 BE LEFT." 
 
 i 
 
 "What 'vails the world should know 
 
 That one poos garland, twined to deck thy hair, 
 
 IS HUNG UPON THY HEARSE, TO DROOP AND WITHER THERE.' 
 
 ^K
 
 KINGSCONNELL, 
 
 A 
 
 TALE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " 'Tis true, bright hours together told, 
 And blissful dreams in secret shared ; 
 Serene or solemn, gay or bold, 
 Shall last in fancy unimpaired. 
 
 Even round the death-bed of the good, 
 Such dear remembrances will hover, 
 
 And haunt us with no vexing mood, 
 When all the cares of earth are over. 
 
 But yet our craving spirits feel 
 
 We shall live on, though fancy die : 
 And seek a surer pledge — a seal 
 
 Of love to last eternally." 
 
 Christian Year. 
 
 " How happy they are, Helen ! Look at them, 
 innocent creatures; like two little lambs at 
 play, are they not ? How impossible it is to 
 believe that we were once the same ! If poor 
 Harry could but see the darlings now." 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 2 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " And what shall you do, Beatrice, when I 
 am gone as well as Harry ? My own Beatrice, 
 why must I go and leave you ? Who will ever 
 love me as you do ? Who, next to Harry, will 
 ever love you and these darlings like me?" 
 
 The speaker, a lovely girl of two-and- 
 twenty, turned from the window at which both 
 were seated, watching the gambols of two little 
 children on the grass-plat in front of the house : 
 and as her sister, who might be about four 
 years her senior, entwined her arm around her, 
 hid her face upon her bosom. 
 
 " My own little Helen \" exclaimed the 
 elder, " don't say so ; — don't make me think 
 you regret. You do not mean that, Helen? 
 I trust you will be very happy, dearest. And 
 it is not as if you were going to a very great 
 distance. I shall miss you sadly, my Helen ; 
 
 you know I shall ." She paused abruptly, 
 
 then resumed in a faltering voice, "But to 
 think of you as happy will be the greatest con- 
 solation I can have. To do otherwise would be 
 too dreadful. And yet at times I cannot help 
 feeling so anxious ! My Helen, you have no 
 one but me to advise you; — do not have any 
 secrets from me. Tell me the whole truth
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 6 
 
 whilst there is still time. You do not regret 
 having accepted George Sempill." 
 
 " No, Beatrice," replied the younger sister, 
 raising her head, and wiping away the tears 
 which had been silently falling during these 
 words ; "no, dearest, I do not indeed. I shall 
 try all I can to be happy, and to make him so. 
 I told him the whole truth, you know, and said 
 I could never feel again as I had once felt ; but 
 that was all over, all at an end; and I knew 
 myself well enough to be sure that I could love 
 him, and be happy with him j and with this 
 assurance he was satisfied : and I know I can. 
 It is not difficult to gain my affections ; a little 
 kindness goes a great way with me. I don't 
 think you need be uneasy about my future lot 
 with him. But there are times, Beatrice, when 
 such a choking recollection comes over me, that 
 • I must leave you and these children, and this 
 house, where we have lived together, and never 
 be to you again what I have been. And you so 
 solitary — so sad ; Harry's return so uncertain ! 
 To think of you sitting here alone, and I 
 far away ! And my little darlings — dear, dear 
 little ones ! Who will help you then to nurse 
 and play with them ? I wish he had never 
 
 b 2
 
 4 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 asked me to marry him. Beatrice, I cannot 
 bear to leave you. There never were two 
 sisters all we have been to each other. Why 
 did I promise to leave you ?" 
 
 As she uttered these broken sentences, the 
 tears again burst forth, and were mingled with 
 those which Beatrice could no longer restrain. 
 They were nearly all the world to each other, 
 these orphan sisters ; and it was little wonder 
 that the idea of their approaching separation, 
 though from a cause usually deemed matter of 
 congratulation alone, should fill both their 
 hearts with sadness. It was some time ere 
 either could again command her voice to speak. 
 The elder was the first to regain composure. 
 
 " This will never do, Helen," she said. " It 
 is weak in me to give way; I, who ought 
 to encourage you. Let us remember how 
 much we have to be thankful for : how dif- 
 ferent things might have been ! We have 
 had many many happy days together since I 
 was married, Helen, though some sad ones too; 
 and now that you must leave us, it is not to any 
 immeasurable distance, not as if you were 
 going abroad. You will sometimes come down 
 from London to visit us, as all George's friends
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 5 
 
 are in Scotland too ; and think of the delight 
 of meeting ! Poor Harry, too, may have re- 
 turned by that time. I trust we have many 
 happy days before us, Helen." 
 
 " God grant it, dearest I" ejaculated the 
 younger sister. "And I believe it too; but 
 there are times when one feels such strange 
 forebodings : and why should we not relieve our 
 hearts by speaking the truth to each other? 
 We are alone, and we have not many nights to 
 be alone now. The memories of our youth 
 come crowding upon us at such a time ; and 
 soon, very soon, Beatrice, neither you nor I 
 will have any one near us to whom we can say, 
 ' Do you remember V A husband's affection 
 may be very delightful ; I know it is, because I 
 have seen what Harry is to you ; but in that 
 respect, it cannot equal a sister's or a brother's, 
 what I imagine a brother's love, and what I 
 know a sister's to be." 
 
 ff It is very true, Helen. Certainly it is not 
 so with all sisters. How unlike Harry's sisters 
 are to you and me in that respect, though I am 
 sure they are attached to each other in their 
 own way. How unlike they are to him ! But 
 we two, orphans before we knew the meaning
 
 6 K1NGSC0NNELL. 
 
 of the word, and meeting with so little tender- 
 ness, though much real kindness, there has 
 been something in our situation which has 
 drawn us so closely together. No after-tie can 
 ever replace that one. And why should it? I 
 cannot understand why it should be supposed, 
 that because you love your husband with your 
 whole heart, you are to cease to love your 
 sister so dearly as before. Is one's heart not 
 large enough for both affections, and many 
 more besides V 3 
 
 " Some people think not ;" said Helen . 
 " How they mistake ! That selfish, exclusive 
 affection which can love only one object, is not 
 worth having; and no more is the affection 
 which would have you sacrifice every other 
 object to it ; and yet I suspect many men feel 
 so, Beatrice. It has been the great blessing of 
 our lives that Harry is not one of them." 
 
 w So it has ;" exclaimed Beatrice. " Harry 
 is as much your brother as I am your sister, 
 Helen. He does not know the meaning of the 
 word jealousy." 
 
 " And I am going from all this affection ! 
 Can I hope to meet with its like again ?" was 
 Helen's mournful rejoinder. She leant her
 
 KINGSCONNELL. / 
 
 head upon her hand, and sat in silence for a 
 few minutes, her eyes brimfull of tears, which it 
 wanted but a word to set a flowing, fixed upon 
 the sports of her little nieces, as they rolled and 
 tumbled over each other on the grass. Suddenly 
 the little one tripped her feet and fell, uttering 
 a loud cry. 
 
 " My darling, my pet \" exclaimed the 
 young aunt, springing out of the small French 
 window of the little drawing-room where they 
 sat, and catching up the crying infant. " Did 
 aunt Helen's pet hurt itself? Never mind; 
 we'll kiss it and make it well. Come and have 
 a romp with aunty." 
 
 " Come and have a romp with aunty Elly," 
 repeated the elder of the two little rosy chil- 
 dren, jumping and clapping her hands : and 
 while their mother sat watching them with 
 a sweet sad smile, they chased their favourite 
 playfellow, now laughing as gaily as themselves, 
 from walk to walk of the little garden ; now 
 playing at bo-peep behind a bush of fragrant 
 lilac, now shaking down a shower of white and 
 golden blossoms, as they scrambled through a 
 miniature thicket of syringas and laburnums, 
 loaded with the rich luxuriance of their
 
 8 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 lovely flowers ; and at last, panting and breath- 
 less, sinking all together on the grass-plat, the 
 children clinging round the neck of Helen; 
 their golden curls, as their little bonnets fell off 
 in their sport, mingling in beautiful confusion 
 with her long dark brown ringlets, and their 
 soft cheeks, and bright red lips pressed to hers 
 in innocent endearment. It was an exquisite 
 picture ; illuminated as it was by the warm 
 beams of one of the loveliest sunsets of early 
 June ; and enhanced by the atmosphere of 
 fragrance around, the delicious scent of the 
 flowers, and by the evening songs of the thrush 
 and blackbird from amongst the shrubs and 
 trees of the garden. Long did its memory re- 
 main with her who sat gazing upon it ; long 
 after the flowers had faded, the birds ceased to 
 sing, and summer and sunshine departed with 
 Helen. 
 
 The game of play was brought to a conclu- 
 sion by the appearance of the children's nurse, 
 to announce the unwelcome arrival of bed- 
 time ; and the little Beatrice and Helen, one 
 five, the other two years old, were dismissed 
 with many a tender kiss, after each in turn bad 
 knelt at her mother's knee, and lisped out the
 
 KINGSCONNELL. V 
 
 words of the simple evening prayer. The sisters 
 then drew their chairs to the little round tea- 
 table, placed near the window, which was their 
 favourite seat, and lingered long over that 
 pleasant meal, forgetting the time in talk half 
 sad, half hopeful, as recollections of the past, 
 and anticipations of the future in turn pre- 
 dominated. 
 
 The removal of the tea equipage was at this 
 sweet season the signal for the evening walk, 
 which was the great enjoyment of their quiet 
 day ; and it was not omitted on this night ; 
 though from the hour being later than was 
 customary with them, they did not extend it to 
 its wonted length. 
 
 Mrs. Henry Lockhart, the elder Beatrice of 
 our narrative, occupied a small house at Morn- 
 ingside, one of the southern suburbs of Edin- 
 burgh, during the absence of her husband, a 
 young naval officer on foreign service. In 
 these days — for we are speaking of six-and- 
 thirty years ago — this place, now so populous, 
 was almost the country ; and the sisters loitered 
 unmolested out of doors till long after moon- 
 light had succeeded to the lingering splendour 
 of the sunset sky. Then they reluctantly turned 
 
 b 3
 
 10 KIXGSCONNELL. 
 
 their steps to the house ; and after a visit to 
 the nursery, to look at the innocent sleepers 
 there, each in her little white nest, they re- 
 entered the sitting-room ; and with one consent 
 agreeing that this was not a night to be 
 shut out for candles, they placed themselves 
 side by side on the small couch by the window, 
 and while the moon looked in upon them 
 through the tall shrubs round the grass-plat, 
 sat talking there together, as those talk who feel 
 that the hours of unrestricted intercourse are 
 numbered for them. 
 
 Their conversation turned upon the chil- 
 dren, that inexhaustible theme of interest to 
 a mother's heart ; and scarcely less so to that 
 of the youthful aunt, who almost regarded 
 them as her own. 
 
 " Strange, would it not be, Helen," said 
 Beatrice, " if this second Beatrice and Helen 
 were to resemble the first in more than their 
 names ; if our fate were to be, as I sometimes 
 cannot help fancying it will be, repeated, acted 
 over again in them V 
 
 " Our fate, my own Beatrice ! Orphans 
 from early childhood — left to the kindness 
 of, not strangers certainly, but something very
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 11 
 
 different from parents ! Our fate, in all the 
 trials of motherless youth, — unloved, un guided 
 as we were ! My fate, — in — in what I never 
 can forget ! Oh, Beatrice ! why do you even 
 dream of such things? Why, full of life 
 and youth, and health, indulge for a moment in 
 such causeless forebodings ?" 
 
 " I don't indulge in them, dearest. May 
 God forbid they ever should be more than 
 causeless forebodings. I know the future is in 
 a Father's hand \ I am almost always able 
 to leave it with Him. What, as my poor 
 Harry says, would a sailor's wife be, if she 
 could not trust in the protecting care of 
 Providence ? But I do believe, Helen, that there 
 is sometimes a prescience about a mother's 
 heart, with regard to the future lot of her chil- 
 dren, greater than can be accounted for by 
 reason. This fancy, if it be so, of mine, though 
 I never named it to you before, has come upon 
 me many a time, with as little apparent cause 
 as it has just now. I do not think, somehow, 
 that I shall live to see my girls grow up to 
 womanhood; and yet you know I have no 
 reason to say so. Now don't cry, Helen 
 darling ! your tears are very near your eyes to
 
 12 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 night. It may be only a fancy. I never allow 
 myself to dwell upon it, I assure you, dear." 
 
 " Do not name it, Beatrice ! I will not 
 think of such a thing. We know what it is to 
 be motherless. Did it ever strike you, Beatrice, 
 that while there are many promises in the 
 Bible to the fatherless, no mention is ever 
 made there of the motherless child. It would 
 almost seem as if the one were an affliction 
 occurring in the ordinary course of God's pro- 
 vidence ; the other an extraordinary manifesta- 
 tion of his judgments." 
 
 " Perhaps, dearest, that is scarcely a safe or 
 right thought," replied the sweet earnest voice 
 of Beatrice. " There are many other afflictions 
 of which no particular mention is made in the 
 Bible ; but we are commanded to cast all our 
 burdens upon the Lord, and He shall sustain 
 us. Certainly no heavier calamity can befall a 
 young girl, or one involving consequences that 
 may more completely affect her whole after life. 
 All the dangers against which a mother can 
 warn her child, all the sins and follies of 
 unbridled youth, which she may check in 
 her, the motherless girl must too often encoun- 
 ter, unarmed, and learn to shun by harsh
 
 KINGSCOXNELL. 13 
 
 experience. And how few people ever consider 
 this in judging of creatures so left to them- 
 selves." 
 
 The sisters remained silent for some little 
 space — a silence full of many thoughts. Their 
 hearts were overflowing with all the painful 
 tenderness called forth by the subject of their 
 conversation, and the memories to which it 
 gave rise ; but one hope, one prayer, predomi- 
 nated over all. If it were so ordained, that the 
 creatures they so dearly loved were to tread in 
 the paths they had done, might it be granted 
 that the same alleviation of all its ills, the same 
 fullness of sisterly love and union might also be 
 bestowed on them ! 
 
 " No one knows, my Helen," said Beatrice, 
 " what we have been to each other. We must 
 soon be parted now ; but is it not a blessing to 
 be able to reflect that we have never embittered 
 the time we have spent together by any un- 
 kindness, that we have done all we could 
 to make each other happy ? Often shall I 
 recall you, Helen, when I sit in this silent 
 room, and you are far away ; and you, too, will 
 recall me in your distant home, darling. Often 
 may we have to weep over days of such unre-
 
 li KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 strained intercourse as never can return again ; 
 but at least there will be no self-reproach — no 
 remorse in our sorrow ; and all sorrow can be 
 patiently borne save that. Oh ! may such 
 affection as ours be the portion of our 1 ttle 
 ones ! and then they will possess a balm 
 for every trouble that may be sent them." 
 
 The mother's foreboding heart had not de- 
 ceived her; but her prayers were not in vain. 
 The blessing they called down bore witness to 
 their efficacy, long after the loving lips which 
 breathed them had mouldered in the dust.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Spite of tempests, spite of danger, hostile man and hostile 
 
 sea, 
 Gory field of lost Culloden ! I have come to gaze on thee!" 
 
 Mrs. D. Ogilvy. 
 
 " He was among the prime in worth, 
 
 An object beauteous to behold ; 
 Well born, well bred; I sent him forth 
 
 Ingenious, innocent, and bold. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Beatrice and Helen Alexander, were the de- 
 scendants of an ancient family in the north of 
 Scotland, Episcopalians, and, of course, Jacob- 
 ites, for the terms in Scotland were in old days 
 nearly synonimous. Their great grandfather, 
 Alexander of Blair Alexander, already an 
 old man when Prince Charles Edward's landing 
 kindled the flames of war in the highlands,
 
 16 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 might have stood for the original of this noble 
 picture. 
 
 " He was the first that bent the knee when The Standard waved 
 
 abroad, 
 He was the first that charged the foe on Preston's bloody 
 
 sod, 
 And ever, in the van of fight, the foremost still he trod, 
 Until, on bleak Culloden's heath, he gav<? his soul to GOD, 
 Like a good old Scottish Cavalier, all of the olden time."* 
 
 Happier than many equally devoted adhe- 
 rents to the cause, he did not survive the fatal 
 day which witnessed its ruin. He fell at Cul- 
 loden; and his eldest son, a young man of 
 five-and-twenty, who had accompanied him to 
 the field, managed, after innumerable perils, to 
 effect his escape to France. Another son, then 
 a mere boy, was protected and maintained, 
 after the forfeiture of his father's property, by 
 some distant relations, who subsequently placed 
 him in a mercantile house in Glasgow. 
 
 The exiled chief of the name meanwhile 
 obtained a commision in Lord Ogilvie's regi- 
 ment. He was a man endowed with great 
 attractions of person and manners, enhanced 
 by the interest attaching to his romantic his- 
 
 • W. E. Aytoun.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 17 
 
 tory, and the strange tale of his adventures 
 and escapes, between the hour that saw him 
 drag himself wounded and despairing from 
 amongst the heap of slain around his father's 
 body on the field of Culloden, to that in which 
 he turned on the deck of the vessel which bore 
 him away, to fix one last look on the hills of 
 Scotland; and ere he had been above a few 
 years in France these attractions had won him 
 the heart and hand of a young widow, pos- 
 sessed of considerable fortune. Part of her 
 income died with herself, within ten years after 
 their marriage; but a sufficient portion had 
 been secured to her husband and only son to 
 support the former in a state of independance 
 during the remainder of his own life, which 
 enabled him not only to extend assistance to 
 many of his less fortunate brothers in loyalty 
 and in exile, but to procure for his son every 
 advantage of education which was within the 
 reach of one so situated. It is not necessary 
 to cur narrative to pursue his history further 
 than merely to say that he died in Flanders, 
 in the year 1773; and that his son, Charles 
 Louis Alexander, then a lad of twenty, shortly 
 after arrived in Scotland ; having been recom-
 
 18 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 mended by his departed parent to the guardian- 
 ship of his brother, with whom he had kept up 
 a frequent correspondence ; and who was now 
 a wealthy partner in the firm already men- 
 tioned. 
 
 Mr. Alexander was a Glasgow merchant 
 of the old aristocratic school, existing at a time 
 when cadets of the best families in the west of 
 Scotland were to be found in the mercantile 
 houses of that city, but of which no trace is 
 now left. Living in the very strong-hold of 
 Presbyterianism and whig principles, he still 
 cherished in his heart of hearts two separate 
 mines of romance, which formed the elevating 
 and softening elements in an otherwise stem 
 and rigid character. These were loyalty to the 
 House of Stuart, albeit now dwindled to the 
 shadow of a shade, and devoted attachment to 
 his own proscribed Communion. During these 
 dark days for the Church in Scotland, which 
 ensued after the victory at Culloden, and con- 
 tinued with little abatement of the rigour of 
 persecution for many subsequent years ; when 
 fine, imprisonment, outrage of every descrip- 
 tion, were the prices exacted from her sons for 
 their allegiance to her, Mr. Alexander's house
 
 KINGSCONXELL. 19 
 
 in Glasgow was a private rendezvous for all 
 Episcopalians who chose to resort to it; and 
 became, under cover of the most profound 
 secrecy, the frequent scene of the ministrations 
 of an Episcopal clergyman. The same feelings 
 and principles which actuated himself on this 
 subject he sedulously inculcated on the son 
 and daughter who comprised the whole of his 
 family; the former about three years his 
 cousin's junior, the latter, Miss Violet Alex- 
 ander, a year younger than he. 
 
 Such being the sentiments of his uncle, it 
 need scarcely be doubted that young Alexander, 
 the living likeness of that brother who had so 
 heroically devoted himself to the good cause, 
 and now himself the head of their ancient 
 house, met with a warm welcome under the 
 roof to which his father's dying wish had con- 
 signed him as a home. It would, indeed, in- 
 dependently of such considerations, have been 
 difficult to withhold affection and kindness 
 from a youth who inherited all his father's 
 fascination of person and address, heightened 
 by the vivacious temperament of his mother's 
 country. Yet these very circumstances, after 
 the first excitement of novelty was over, and
 
 20 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 the edge of grief for his father in some 
 measure taken off, tended to revolt him — edu- 
 cated as he had been where the amenities of 
 life are so much more studied than at home, — 
 with the strict discipline, almost the gloom of 
 a Scottish household in those days. He looked 
 back to the fetes, the social intercourse, the 
 sunshine of life upon the Continent, with the 
 keenest regret ; and with something very like 
 disgust upon the very different manners and 
 habits around him; positively declined following 
 his uncle's profession ; and as his political 
 principles excluded him from that of arms, 
 which would otherwise have been his choice, 
 finally resolved upon repairing to Edinburgh 
 for the purpose of studying for the Scottish 
 bar, the only resource which appeared open to 
 him, as to most young men of family at that 
 period. 
 
 Departing, therefore, from the grave and 
 sombre house in Glasgow, young Alexander 
 turned his steps towards the ancient capital of 
 Scotland, carrying with him, along with the 
 warm interest which his uncle's reserve and 
 austerity of demeanour obscured, but could not 
 altogether conceal, many anxious fears and
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 21 
 
 forebodings on his part respecting the future 
 of one, beneath the charms of whose exterior 
 he had not failed to discover the germs of 
 strong passion, love of expense and show, and 
 wilful impatience of restraint. Unconsciously 
 to himself, he carried with him something 
 more than this, the hidden, but not less intense 
 affection of his cousin Violet. Nothing would 
 more have amazed him than the discovery, 
 had he ever chanced to make it, of the feelings 
 with which he, by far the most attractive person 
 she had ever beheld, had inspired this shy, 
 plain, silent girl of sixteen, educated by a rigid 
 mother in a sedulous discharge of domestic 
 duties, and with a degree of reserve and stern- 
 ness which effectually implanted the habit of 
 concealing every thought or feeling likely to 
 call down reproof, as every thought and feeling 
 at all out of the beaten track was certain to 
 do. Not even her mother ever penetrated her 
 secret. Her father, strange to say, perhaps 
 from a stronger sympathy between them on 
 that point, had a deeper insight into his 
 daughter's heart ; and at an after period he 
 came to suspect it, though the subject was 
 never breathed between them. It dwelt in
 
 22 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 silence within the very depths of her soul ; a 
 passion whose roots struck farther down as its 
 outward manifestations were restrained; fed 
 by brief occasional visits from its object to her 
 father's house, after it ceased to be his home, 
 and kept alive by the brooding dreams of 
 memory more than of hope; for of that 
 element, from the first, it had contained little. 
 But to see Charles Louis Alexander, to hear 
 his voice, to hang upon his words, to catch his 
 sunny smile, however limited their individual 
 intercourse, was joy enough for Violet; to 
 meditate over all these when he was absent, 
 her dearest solace. This was the one ingredient 
 of poetry in a prosaic existence, the one 
 romance in her still and quiet life of needle- 
 work, housekeeping, formal intercourse with a 
 limited circle, and devotional exercises. On 
 this the repressed feelings of a strong character 
 expended themselves ; its anxious fluctuations 
 kept her mind for some years in a state of 
 perpetual tension beneath her calm exterior ; 
 and its final termination, the downfall of all 
 her dreams, performed in a few days the work 
 of many years ; and left her a stern, stately, 
 prematurely-aged woman. How many such
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 23 
 
 histories of passionate devotion and bitter dis- 
 appointment lie hidden beneath the surface 
 which is all that meets the eye in daily life, 
 and which is frequently so false an exponent of 
 the depths beneath ! The unconscious object 
 of her preference, from the period of his esta- 
 blishing himself in Edinburgh, was daily less 
 likely either to discover it, or if he should do 
 so, to value it as it deserved, for every day 
 found him becoming more and more a magnet 
 of attraction in the best circles there, and 
 more and more involved in the gaiety and dis- 
 sipation of that time. And however much, 
 with our modern ideas, we may marvel how 
 our grandfathers and grandmothers contrived 
 to live through the day, and sleep at night 
 within the narrow limits imposed upon them 
 by the small size of their crowded dwellings in 
 the Edinburgh of those days, however we may 
 puzzle our brains over the most difficult 
 problem of all, where a party of ladies collected 
 in a sitting-room of that period, managed to 
 find room for their hoop petticoats, — there is 
 no question that the highest class of society 
 then to be found within the walls of the Good 
 Town, was of a stamp for which we may look
 
 24 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 in vain through the elegant abodes of modern 
 Edinburgh. The unjust and pernicious system 
 of centralization j which is fast reducing the 
 metropolis of an ancient kingdom to the con- 
 dition of a provincial town, had not then begun 
 to exert its evil influence ; the wealth which 
 increased so rapidly during the war, had not 
 yet been poured forth upon the landholders of 
 Scotland ; and her nobles, and the highest class 
 of her gentry, were not as yet ashamed to take 
 up their winter quarters regularly in her 
 capital. In such society, and entering freely 
 into all the license sanctioned amongst young 
 men by the manners of the day, Charles Alex- 
 ander shone as a star of the first magnitude ; 
 and during his visits to his uncle's house, still 
 diminishing in length and frequency, the latter 
 perceived, and made many ineffectual efforts 
 to arrest the rapid growth of lawless impulses 
 in his character, and the ascendancy of error 
 and wrong principles over his mind. At last 
 his wild and faulty career as an unmarried man 
 came to an abrupt conclusion in his elopement 
 with a young lady of family, whom he carried 
 to France, as much in order to shield her from 
 the indignation of her connexions, as to renew
 
 KIXGSCOXNELI. 25 
 
 his own acquaintance with the scenes of his 
 youth. There they remained until the act for 
 restoring the forfeited estates enabled them to 
 return, not to Edinburgh, but to the north, to 
 take possession of the mansion and lands of 
 Blair Alexander. Thus was fulfilled his uncle's 
 fondest wish and prayer ; and in its fulfilment 
 it did but afford another of the many striking 
 lessons which this life reads to all, of the folly, 
 to call it by no sterner name, of placing any 
 worldly object whatever before the mind, as 
 one of inordinate desire; for from the hour 
 which restored the dispossessed heir to the in- 
 heritance of his ancestors, his doom appeared 
 to be sealed. It were a painful and needless 
 task to trace the progress of evil in one so 
 richly endowed with natural good, — the down- 
 ward career by which the amiable and fasci- 
 nating youth gradually merged into the 
 gambler, the profligate, the reckless spend- 
 thrift. Suffice it to say, that the wife who had 
 sacrificed for his sake the regard of every one 
 connected with her by ties of blood, and whose 
 enduring affection had remained alive through 
 all the shocks which his conduct had inflicted 
 vol i. c
 
 26 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 upon it, only to render her trials more agoniz- 
 ingly severe, when she at last sank broken- 
 hearted into the grave, might, but for the bitter 
 pang of leaving two helpless girls behind her, 
 have echoed the last words of Margaret of 
 Scotland, when mocked in similar circumstances 
 with a prognostication of lengthened life : " Fi 
 de la vie, ne m 'en parlez plus \" 
 
 She died in giving birth to her youngest 
 daughter, having already seen three sons pre- 
 cede her to the grave ; and the frantic, but 
 short-lived, remorse and despair of her neglect- 
 ful husband, once over, the remaining re- 
 proaches of conscience only urged him into 
 still wilder excesses, whereby to stifle its voice. 
 Abandoning his children to the care of servants, 
 and his property to the tender mercies of a 
 " man of business," he quitted Scotland ; and 
 for three years after, his various changes of 
 residence were only to be traced by his inces- 
 sant demands for money. At length, just as 
 it was becoming impossible to answer these by 
 any other means than that of bringing the 
 whole estate into the market, the appalling 
 tidings arrived that its proprietor was no more.
 
 KINGSCONXELL. .1 / 
 
 He had been shot in the neighbourhood of 
 London, in a duel, having its origin in a 
 gambling quarrel. Thus miserably and dis- 
 gracefully perished the grandson of that stain- 
 less loyalist, who had given his noble heart's 
 blood for the son of his king ; thus, in the 
 very prime of life, ruined in fortune and en- 
 slaved by sin, died one whose early youth had 
 held forth the promise of all that was good 
 and generous, had but his actions been under 
 the restraining force of principle. He perished 
 in his sins, the young and vigorous man ; and 
 the aged uncle who, two generations back, had 
 witnessed the ruin of his father's house in the 
 cause of the Stuarts, survived to behold another 
 and a sadder ruin, through the madness of 
 him whom he had loved as a son of his own, 
 and regarded as destined to restore the faded 
 honours of his name. 
 
 Beatrice Alexander was old enough at the 
 period of her father's death, to retain the most 
 vivid recollection of the scenes which followed 
 the arrival of the news ; though of himself, so 
 little had she ever seen of him, she could 
 recall no distinct trace. She remembered the 
 tears and lamentations of the old servants, the 
 
 c 2
 
 28 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 deep mourning in which she and her little 
 sister were dressed ; the stillness which brooded 
 over the old dilapidated house for many days, 
 and which was at last broken by the slow roll- 
 ing wheels of the funeral train which had 
 brought her father's remains from London. 
 For years after the dull hollow sound of those 
 wheels entering the court-yard would haunt 
 the dreams of the orphan-girl, combined with 
 all the vague, dim, fearful associations with 
 which the paraphernalia of death are connected 
 in the mind of a child. Then came her first 
 interview, within her recollection, with the tall, 
 stern, sad, old white-haired man, whom she 
 was taught to call uncle, and into whose 
 presence, and that of his son, who had accom- 
 panied him, she and the little Helen, timidly 
 clinging to her hand, were ushered by their 
 attendants, and greeted with grave kindness, 
 which yet left a strong impression of awe on 
 their childish fancy. This was followed by the 
 funeral , the prodigious concourse of people, 
 high and low, assembled, some of them from 
 incredible distances, to offer in old Scottish 
 fashion, their tribute of respect to the remains 
 of one whose charm of manner had
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 29 
 
 m?ny hearts in spite of all his faults, and left 
 an abiding impression behind. More distinctly 
 than all the rest did Beatrice recall the reading 
 of the Burial Service, which in Scotland, at 
 that period, and even much later, was only at- 
 tempted within doors, ere the removal of the 
 corpse from the house. On this occasion the 
 ceremony took place in a large empty room 
 where the coffin had been placed on its arrival, 
 and waked night and day until the funeral, 
 according to the custom of the country. Here 
 were assembled all the Episcopalians amongst 
 the company, and the whole of the household, 
 male and female, including the two children 
 and the nurse; and every particular of the 
 scene remained in the memory of Beatrice, 
 burnt in, as it were, upon her soul throughout 
 the remainder of her life. Years after, it 
 would arise unbidden, when some thought con- 
 nected with that time struck " the electric 
 chain" of association, and stand before her 
 with the vividness of a picture. Again she 
 seemed to see the large, old dusky room, im- 
 perfectly lighted by three high narrow windows, 
 its lower half in deep shadow, and thronged by 
 the silent reverential audience, amongst whom
 
 30 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 were many old retainers of the family, and 
 women who struggled with the tears which 
 would have interrupted the solemnity of the 
 service, but still kept stealing, faster than the 
 corner of the plaid could wipe them away, from 
 many an eye amongst them. Again she 
 beheld, where at the upper end of the apart- 
 ment, one long ray of sunshine fell full upon 
 her father's coffin, then seen for the first time ; 
 (and who does not know the awfulness of that 
 first sight !) tracking the silver hairs of that 
 venerable man, who stood at its head — his 
 aged brow bent down in reverence, in grief, 
 and in thoughts more bitter still than grief, — 
 and seeming to shed a glory on the white robes 
 of the ministering priest, and add, if anything 
 could add, to the thrilling sublimity of the im- 
 perfectly-understood words he uttered. 
 
 The service ended, the awe-struck children 
 were led away ; and soon, by the side of their 
 weeping nurse and surrounded by other 
 females of the household, all clamorous in their 
 grief, they watched the long interminable course 
 of the funeral procession, as it slowly wound its 
 way up a steep and rugged road which led to 
 the last resting-place of the last Laird of Blair 
 Alexander.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " I leave thee, sister ! 
 
 .... Thou and I, in grove, on shore, 
 In song, in prayer, in sleep, 
 Have been as we shall be no more. 
 Sweet sister ! let me weep !" 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 All was over ; every one of the arrangements 
 which follow after death, and too often drag 
 the mind from the very side of the grave back 
 into all the most revolting worldlinesses of 
 life, was at length completed ; the whole miser- 
 able revelation of debt and rnin laid bare \ and 
 for the last time, Norman Alexander departed 
 from the honse of his forefathers. He recalled 
 the time in the fatal— 46 when as a boy of six- 
 teen, he had fled from it, his heart bleeding, 
 bursting with the passionate agony of youth ; 
 but what were these keen pangs to the deep,
 
 32 IlINGSCONNELL. 
 
 hopeless, concentrated bitterness of spirit with 
 which he now looked his last upon those vener- 
 able walls ? "I have lived too long/' was his 
 internal ejaculation. " Gladly, were it the will 
 of God, would I depart from a scene where all 
 indeed is vanity and sorrow." 
 
 The orphan children, with their old nurse, 
 accompanied their great uncle on his return to 
 Glasgow, and after his death, which took place 
 within a year of his nephew's, they remained 
 under the guardianship of his son, but resided 
 in the house of his sister ; he himself having 
 been many years a married man. The whole 
 of the family estate had necessarily been sold, 
 such was the extent of the liabilities incurred 
 by their unhappy father; and his cousin, a 
 wealthy and prosperous merchant, hoped to 
 have become the purchaser. But it seemed as 
 if a decree had gone forth against the race of 
 Alexander, and that their name was to be 
 known no more amongst their native hills, for 
 by some mistake or mismanagement on the 
 part of his agent, the bargain failed, and the 
 property went to another bidder, to the deep 
 and lasting mortification of himself, and even 
 more so of his sister. A sum of about eight
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 33 
 
 thousand pounds, after all the debts were paid, 
 remained for the children, and out of the 
 interest of this money their cousin received an 
 allowance sufficient to defray the expenses of 
 their board and education. 
 
 Miss Violet Alexander quitted Glasgow 
 after the death of her father, and retired with 
 her little relatives to a house in the outskirts 
 of a town a little farther north, situated in a 
 most beautiful and picturesque part of Scot- 
 land, and possessing the requisite, which she 
 rightly deemed indispensable, of containing an 
 Episcopal clergyman. Here, with little varia- 
 tion, passed the childhood and girlhood of the 
 two sisters, if not in actual unhappiness, yet 
 certainly, as Beatrice had said, with a total 
 absence of that genial atmosphere of tender- 
 ness in which the sensitive heart of early youth 
 expands, like a flower opening to the sun. So 
 long as their old nurse lived, even this was not 
 wholly wanting. But May died about four 
 years after her transplantation to the lowlands, 
 and with her died the last remnant of mother's 
 love or tenderness for the orphan childreu, 
 whose agonizing grief for her loss was at first 
 permitted to find vent undisturbed, though un- 
 
 c 3
 
 34 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 soothed; but ere long sternly rebuked and 
 driven back upon their own little aching 
 hearts. 
 
 And yet Miss Violet Alexander did not 
 mean to be cruel or harsh to her young cousins, 
 nor would she, for worlds, have been guilty of 
 anything she felt to be unjust towards them. 
 She conscientiously resolved to do her duty, 
 and she did it. Their health, their food, their 
 dress, were carefully attended to up to the best 
 of her enlightenment on such subjects. They 
 were educated to the extent that she or any of 
 her advisers deemed necessary; taught grammar 
 and geography, writing and cyphering, by the 
 best master the town of St. MichaePs afforded, 
 and French, music, needlework, and other de- 
 vices, by a governess who resided with them. 
 Miss Violet was considered, and considered 
 herself, a pattern guardian for two young ladies 
 of family, so high was her own self-respect, 
 and her rigid inculcation of the feeling on 
 them. There was but one thing wanting — 
 one little grain of leaven, and that was love. 
 The bitter sorrow of her youth had not taught 
 Miss Violet gentleness. Her's was one of 
 those strong, iron -like natures, which if at
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 35 
 
 first softened, are ultimately hardened by the 
 fire. Her heart had contained a power of 
 silent, concentrated affection, little suspected 
 by any one around her ; for indeed, in her day, 
 the idea of parents studying the real characters 
 of their children, and conducting the education 
 of the mind and feelings accordingly, had not 
 yet been promulgated. A Procrustes' bed of stern 
 domestic discipline, a distance between child 
 and parent which rendered such a study im- 
 possible, drove a sensitive disposition, where 
 such existed, in upon itself; and where there 
 was an original want of softness, added to the 
 deficiency. The one strong feeling of life had 
 in her case been turned to agony, the greater 
 because of necessity it must be hidden from 
 every eye, and that agony grieved down, she 
 might with truth be said never to have really 
 felt again. In her secret soul, despite indiffer- 
 ence, neglect, and sin, the image of Charles 
 Alexander, the ideal of her youthful fancy, 
 never was displaced; like a true woman, she 
 never forgot him, But this very circumstance, 
 which in a gentler nature would have induced 
 love for his children, in her had the contrary 
 effect. To her they were the children of his
 
 36 KJNGSCONNELL. 
 
 wife more than of himself, and the very inten- 
 sity of her love for him had rendered her, as 
 such feelings too often do render women, un- 
 just to her own sex in the person of that un- 
 fortunate lady. She pictured to herself how 
 different he might have been with a woman of 
 stronger mind, who had possessed more influ- 
 ence over him, till she almost learned to excul- 
 pate him at the expense of his broken-hearted 
 victim. Her high sense of justice had never 
 been more severely tried than when she strove 
 against, and finally overcame, her actual dis- 
 like to the sight of these children. She did, 
 however, achieve that self- con quest, but farther 
 she never went ; she could not, and never did 
 love them. And little can those whose path 
 has always been gilded by the sun-beams of 
 domestic affection dream of the worlds of suf- 
 fering, and of injury, telling most severely on 
 the finest natures, involved in those words — 
 an unloved youth. Little can those who have 
 never known it called forth, guess at the fearful 
 capacity for suffering of such a nature, con- 
 tained in the heart of a sensitive child. 
 
 Well indeed might these sisters say that 
 no one could tell all they had been to each
 
 KINGSCONXELL, 37 
 
 other ! No one but themselves could. No 
 one more happily situated could imagine the 
 blessing to both, of their warm, trusting, 
 devoted, perfect affection. Wanting that 
 channel for the love which was the very ele- 
 ment of her soul, the gentle, timid Beatrice 
 would have pined into apathy beneath the 
 freezing influence of continual hardness and 
 strictness ; or died, for such things have been 
 in childhood, of the vain unsatisfied yearnings 
 of her own heart; whilst the more fervid and 
 passionate Helen, inheriting much of her 
 father's vivacity of nature with his personal 
 beauty and peculiar fascination of manners, 
 would have been hardened into pride and as- 
 sumed heartlessness from the same causes. 
 But their mutual love, their entire confidence 
 in each other, were at once their solace and 
 safeguard. And as the trials and difficulties of 
 opening youth beset their paths, the sweet 
 blending of something almost maternal with the 
 sisterly affection of the elder girl became an 
 incalculable blessing to the younger. Beatrice 
 was less richly-gifted than Helen in point of 
 talent and quickness of fancy, bat there was 
 a calm, holy singleness of spirit in her, a clear
 
 38 kingsconn;:ll. 
 
 perception of right and wrong, and a total 
 absence of everything like narrowness or pre- 
 judice, which gave her much greater influence 
 than many more largely endowed. And al- 
 though their path was one of comparative 
 seclusion, it was far from being either solitary 
 or free from trials and difficulties such as meet 
 the motherless girl at every turn. Miss Violet 
 Alexander's birth, and tolerably easy circum- 
 stances, entitled and enabled her to mingle in 
 the best society of an aristocratic and populous 
 county ; and in those days, with infinitely less 
 of ostentation and pretension, there was infi- 
 nitely more of hospitable sociability in the 
 county society of Scotland than there is now, 
 when so many of the ancient proprietors of the 
 soil are ruined, and their estates gone into 
 other hands ; so many embarrassed and com- 
 pelled to live in retirement, and so many more 
 too fine to visit their neighbours or invite 
 them to their houses in the easy w r ay of former 
 times. The two sisters, with their guardian, 
 were welcome and courted guests wherever 
 they were known ; even deriving a species of 
 distinction from the notoriety of their father, 
 who with the world's frequent lenity of judg-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 39 
 
 ment on offences such as his, when coupled 
 with agreeable social qualities, was remembered 
 as " the handsome Alexander, who turned the 
 heads of all the Scotch ladies by his foreign 
 graces, and was one of the most celebrated 
 rakes of his day." More than one advan- 
 tageous establishment by marriage had been 
 offered to his eldest daughter, for Beatrice, 
 with little of Helen's striking beauty, was 
 singularly attractive and loveable, and many 
 and bitter had been the private sufferings in- 
 flicted on her gentle heart by Miss Violet's 
 favouring of those suits, and indignation at 
 their rejection. More bitter still was the 
 ordeal through which she had passed to her 
 marriage with Harry Lockhart, to whom her 
 affections had been engaged from very early 
 girlhood. He was the younger son of a 
 country gentleman of moderate fortune and 
 respectable antiquity of family, though not to 
 be compared to her own far descended line, 
 who had nothing but the very small patrimony 
 bequeathed him by his father, and his lieu- 
 tenant's commission in the navy, not to men- 
 tion a warm heart and most amiable temper, 
 which did not weigh for much in Miss Violet's
 
 40 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 opinion against the solid recommendations of 
 wealthier rivals. On the other hand, his 
 mother, Mrs. Lockhart, a true-bine Presbyte- 
 rian of the old uncompromising school, who 
 perceived very little difference between an 
 Episcopalian and a Papist, by no means re- 
 lished her son's marriage with one of that per- 
 suasion, whose fortune was not large enough to 
 cover the enormity of the sin, and her declared 
 hostility to a match which Miss Violet pro- 
 nounced to be much too good for him, only 
 embittered the feelings of that lady still more 
 against it. Long and dire, and heart-sinking 
 were the feuds thence arising, but they were 
 past ; and when her husband was at home with 
 her, Beatrice only looked back upon those 
 miserable days as enhancing the contrast of 
 her present happiness. Time, and her own 
 sweet and winning nature, had softened the 
 hearts of her mother and sisters-in-law, and 
 induced them to forget, or at least to dismiss 
 from their minds, the fact that her influence 
 had seduced Harry from his allegiance to the 
 Kirk ; so that although there was little or no 
 community of feeling between them, they got 
 on harmoniously when together. Mrs. Lock-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 41 
 
 hart continued to reside at the Grange, the 
 family-place, after the death of her husband, 
 her eldest son having married an heiress, and 
 living either in Edinburgh or on her property 
 in its vicinity. The two daughters, both older 
 than their brother Harry, remained there with 
 her; and during the summer or autumn 
 months, he, when at home, and his wife and 
 children, generally visited her, accompanied by 
 Helen, whom Miss Violet had willingly per- 
 mitted to exchange her protection for her 
 sister's at the time of Beatrice's marriage. A 
 species of armed neutrality had even been 
 patched up by the exertions of Beatrice, be- 
 tween her cousin and her mother-in-law, so far 
 as that Miss Violet would condescend to visit 
 the Grange at intervals during the residence 
 of her young relations there, and would, in 
 return, give various entertainments in honour 
 of the Lockhart family at her own house, where 
 she was now saved from total solitude by 
 having as companion a former governess of 
 her nieces ; who having left them two years 
 before the marriage of Beatrice, was now re- 
 called to the house as her permanent home. 
 Young as Helen Alexander was at the time
 
 42 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 of her sister's marriage, her fate had already 
 been fixed, so far as regarded that feeling upon 
 which the after-course of woman's existence 
 generally turns. She already loved with all 
 the fervour of her nature, and had reason to 
 believe herself loved again. The object of her 
 affection was the son of a wealthy and dis- 
 tinguished family in the same county, a young 
 man highly-gifted by nature and education, 
 and to whose union with her charge Miss 
 Violet would at once have yielded a joyful 
 assent. But as this incident in Helen's life 
 has nothing to do with the thread of our nar- 
 rative, it is not necessary to spend many words 
 upon an old and oft-told tale. Suffice it to 
 say, that after four years of alternate happiness 
 and depression, the young girl found that her 
 affections had been wantonly trifled with ; that 
 at least, she might have been loved at one 
 time, but not as she loved. Her affection had 
 been a part of her very soul; her lover's " the 
 perfume and suppliance of a moment, no 
 more." He married another ; and at twenty, 
 the romance of Helen's life was over. 
 
 Her high, proud spirit, and the strong 
 interest kept alive in her mind by her devoted
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 43 
 
 love for her sister and her little nieces pre- 
 vented her from giving way beneath this heavy 
 trial, and the extent to which it had sunk 
 upon her heart was known to one human being 
 alone — to Beatrice. But that gentle and 
 loving being possessed a degree of penetration 
 into character for which few who did not know 
 her intimately could have given her credit, and 
 knowing her beloved Helen's sensitive pride of 
 nature, feeling that there was much in her 
 still unsubdued, much of that tone of mind 
 which makes the experienced tremble for the 
 future of the possessor, it was with fully as 
 much of anxious foreboding as of pleasure 
 that she contemplated her engagement *to the 
 gentleman mentioned in the first chapter, Mr. 
 Sempill. He was the second son of a large 
 
 proprietor in shire, a very near neighbour of 
 
 Mrs. Lockhart's at the Grange, and was about 
 ten or twelve years Helen's senior ; a partner in 
 a wealthy mercantile house. He had visited his 
 father's house the previous autumn, for the first 
 time after a residence of some years abroad,hav- 
 ing returned with a view of henceforward con- 
 ducting the London branch of the firm. Having 
 paid Helen much devoted attention during her
 
 44 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 residence with the Lockharts at that time, he 
 had concluded by proposing to her, and she by 
 accepting him at the end of a two months 
 acquaintance, a circumstance which afforded 
 unmingled satisfaction to all parties connected 
 with them, including Miss Violet and the 
 gentleman's own parents : and Helen, as the 
 affianced wife of a wealthy and well-born man, 
 found herself invested with a degree of im- 
 portance to which her previous life had been a 
 total stranger, and which naturally contributed 
 to making her view things through a somewhat 
 delusive medium. One person alone was not 
 entirely satisfied. And yet Beatrice would 
 have found it hard to say why. An undefin- 
 able feeling there was of imperfect sympathy 
 between her sister and Mr. Sempill, an im- 
 pression of something cold and guarded in the 
 latter, strongly contrasting with Helen's im- 
 petuous warmth and passionate earnestness of 
 nature, aud withal a dread that a lingering 
 feeling of womanly pique had had some share 
 in inducing her consent to this marriage. But 
 the deed was done, and the anxiety of the 
 elder sister had never shaped itself in words 
 till the night with which this story opens,
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 45 
 
 when her questions seemed irresistibly im- 
 pelled by Helen's evident misgivings. Various 
 business arrangements had compelled Mr. 
 Sempill to postpone their marriage to the 
 summer, and as he had been all winter in 
 London, their intercourse had been by letters 
 alone, but now in a couple of weeks he was 
 expected at Sempilltower, his father's seat, and 
 it had been arranged that a week previous to 
 his arrival, the sisters, with the little children 
 and their maid, should remove to Miss 
 Alexander's house in the" town of St. Michael's, 
 from which Helen's marriage was to take 
 place; the brother of that lady acting the part 
 of father by her as he had done by Beatrice. 
 
 Ts T o further explanation is required to show 
 the reason why every one of the numbered 
 evenings in that lovely month of June was 
 clung to, as if the grains of Time's sand- 
 glass during its passage had indeed been 
 " diamond sparks." But the numbered even- 
 ings came to an end, the marriage was over, 
 and the beginning of winter found Beatrice 
 once more installed in her now companionless 
 home, and Helen beginning her career as a 
 wife in her handsome residence in London.
 
 46 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Eight years had elapsed since that lovely- 
 month of June, and a small portion of the 
 mysterious scroll of the future on which we 
 found the sisters speculating in the summer 
 twilight previous to Helen's marriage, had been 
 unfolded by the hand of time. Be it our task 
 to trace the gradual unrolling of the remainder, 
 in a tale of " mingled yarn, evil and good to- 
 gether," too happy if our humble efforts prove 
 the means of inducing any one reflective mind 
 to look more closely into the flue threads 
 which connect human destinies one with the 
 other, and to learn by such observation to 
 mark the course of Providence, " and vindicate 
 the ways of God to man."
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' When his reason yieldeth fruit, make thy child thy friend ; 
 For a filial friend is a double gain, a diamond set in gold. 
 As an infant, thy mandate was enough, but now let him see 
 
 thy reasons; 
 Confide in him, but with discretion ; and lend a willing ear 
 
 to his questions. 
 More to thee than to all beside, let him owe good counsel and 
 
 good guidance; 
 Let him feel his pursuits have an interest more to thee than 
 
 to all beside." Proverbial Philosophy. 
 
 It was a beautiful evening in the month of 
 August, 1820, when, between six and seven 
 o'clock, the party at the Grange drew round the 
 tea-table. Captain Lockhart was at this time 
 absent with his ship ; but his three years were 
 nearly expired, and in the course of a month or 
 two at the farthest, he might be expected at 
 home. Beatrice and her children were, as 
 usual at this season, inmates of the Grange, but 
 she alone was at present in the parlour, with
 
 48 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 the elders of the family, the two children not 
 having returned from a ramble in the woods. 
 
 The Grange was a long, low, old-fashioned 
 house, rich in the picturesque inconveniences 
 of dark passages, with short nights of steps in 
 unsuspected places, apparently contrived for 
 no other purpose than to serve as traps for the 
 unwary, — deep narrow windows, and small 
 oddly-shaped rooms, furnished in an antiquated 
 and somewhat scanty style, to which no modern 
 addition or improvement had been made since 
 nearly half a century ago, the date of Mrs. 
 Lockhart's marriage. The small jointure of the 
 widow of a Scottish Laird in the days when hers 
 was settled, left no superfluous money to be 
 expended upon furniture ; and, in fact, scarcely 
 admitted of a style of living suitable to the cha- 
 racter of the place, though it had no very high 
 pretensions. It lay rather in a hollow, in a 
 sheltered nook, as most old buildings do, 
 having the court of offices immediately behind 
 it, at once attached to the back part of the 
 house, and screened from public view by a high 
 wall covered with ivy, and having an arched 
 gate, wide enough to admit carts and carriages 
 within, on one side of the house. On the other,
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 49 
 
 the wall, so far as it extended, served as a 
 boundary to the old-fashioned garden, else- 
 where fenced by magnificent beech-hedges 
 alone, and stretching from the broad terrace- 
 walk beneath the side windows, down a sunny 
 southern slope, celebrated for its unrivalled 
 strawberry-beds. The ground about the house 
 was all in grass; a park -like lawn of con- 
 siderable extent, shaded by a number of fine old 
 trees; the long straight beech avenue led 
 directly from the front of the house to the 
 lodge, about half a mile off; but many winding 
 walks had in the old laird's time been cut 
 in various directions through the grounds ; and 
 though neglected and overgrown of late years, 
 were still distinctly to be traced, and led to 
 many a dilapidated seat, or bower once care- 
 fully trimmed, now falling into ruin and decay. 
 The late Mr. Lockhart had been a man of con- 
 siderable taste, with a fine eye for the pic- 
 turesque, as all his plantations and other 
 improvements testified ; indeed he had fre- 
 quently been accused by his managing lady, 
 who had no eye for the picturesque, of spending 
 money in that way which might have been 
 much better bestowed ; and the event seemed 
 VOL. i. d
 
 50 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 to have borne out her words ; for now that her 
 eldest son had no longer the same interest 
 in keeping up the places, all, except the garden 
 and the avenue, was suffered to run wild ; *and 
 the lawn being pastured by highland cattle, had 
 a rough untended appearance which would 
 have grieved its late owner to the heart in 
 former days. Still there was beauty in the 
 un pruned luxuriance of the shrubs around the 
 desolate bowers ; and in the devious pathways 
 through the woods, with every one of which 
 Beatrice Lockhart and her children were in- 
 timately acquainted, especially with one by 
 which many an interview with Helen had been 
 attained when she happened to be at Sempill- 
 tower, the seat of her father-in-law, without 
 involving the necessity of a formal visit to one 
 house or the other. This was a path leading 
 directly from a gate at the foot of the garden 
 for about a mile amongst the trees, to the banks 
 of a small and rapid river, which for some 
 distance formed the boundary, or march, be- 
 tvveen the lands of the Grange and those 
 of Kingsconnell, a very fine old place, belongs 
 ing to an aged and eccentric baronet, who 
 lived there in complete seclusion. A rustic
 
 KIXGSCONXELL. 51 
 
 bridge crossed the river at the termination of 
 this path, and the Grange family had permis- 
 sion to -walk in that part of the grounds ad- 
 joining it; of which Beatrice had frequently 
 availed herself so far as to traverse them, and 
 so make a short-cut to the road some little way 
 beyond, by which to reach the grounds of 
 Sempilltower. It was along this very path that 
 young Beatrice and Helen were now returning, 
 their hands full of bunches of the late-flower- 
 ing honeysuckle, and their minds somewhat 
 troubled by misgivings that they should be too 
 late for tea. Prophetic fears they proved ; but 
 we shall leave them hurrying through the 
 woodland walks, yet every now and then 
 diverted from the object of their haste by the 
 sight of another irresistible cluster of odoriferous 
 blossoms, "which it would be such a pity to 
 leave behind \" and precede them to the par- 
 lour, for the purpose of introducing the party 
 who occupied it. 
 
 This parlour was a nondescript apartment, 
 which all the year round performed the double 
 duty of sitting and eating room, unless when visi- 
 tors of ceremony happened to be in the house. 
 A drawing-room there was, a long, though 
 
 d 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 rather narrow apartment, with three windows 
 opening upon the terrace at the head of the 
 garden, which the addition of some few articles 
 of furniture, or even a more easy and tasteful 
 arrangement of what was already there, would 
 have rendered charming as a sitting-room; but 
 Mrs. Lockhart and her daughters would have 
 regarded any proposal to use it, except for the 
 purpose of airing the furniture, or for a solemn 
 entertainment to the magnates of the neigh- 
 bourhood, as little short of sacrilege. It need 
 not therefore be added that, when used, it was 
 the very reverse of charming, or even com- 
 fortable. There was also a dining-room of 
 tolerable size, looking out upon the front of the 
 house ; a gloomy room, hung with a few family 
 pictures of little merit, which in like manner 
 was devoted to the more formal exercises of 
 hospitality ; and was only used as the general 
 rendezvous of the household during those 
 periodical domestic convulsions, denominated 
 " cleanings," when the parlour was under pro- 
 cess of purification. 
 
 In the last-named apartment, which boasted 
 of two windows, one looking to the front of the 
 house, the other to the opposite side from the gar-
 
 KINGSCONXELL. 53 
 
 den, were now assembled the elder members of 
 the family. Mrs, Lockhart, a hale and acute old 
 lady, though in her seventieth year, sat with 
 her knitting in a large arm-chair near a win- 
 dow, her attention divided between the party 
 within, and the proceedings of her old gardener 
 and maa-of-all-work, Lowry MacFyke, without, 
 the latter being at that moment engaged in 
 cutting grass for the use of her horses, close by 
 the entrance to the court behind. Mrs. Lock- 
 hart was a managing lady of the old school, 
 who exercised a minute supervision over all her 
 domestic concerns, and understood nor cared 
 for little beyond. She had grown up before 
 the days when intellectual cultivation was con- 
 sidered necessary for females, and had no 
 original refinement of character to induce its 
 after acquisition. She had passed through an 
 active and bustling life to a vigorous and still 
 active old age, and made it her frequent boast, 
 that at this present moment she herself was of 
 more use than both her daughters put together; 
 a fact which no one could deny, and no one 
 had any right to wonder at, as she had all 
 along prided herself on never asking or accept- 
 ing any assistance from them or any one else
 
 54 KINGS'JONNELL. 
 
 in her houseliold labours. Sociable and in- 
 clined to hospitality, she was yet careful and 
 even penurious in her habits, as much from 
 natural disposition as from the necessities of a 
 limited income, and her want of refinement in 
 character prevented her managing her economies 
 in a graceful and unobstrusive manner; so 
 that with much real pleasure in entertaining 
 guests there was mingled a want of attention 
 to minor comforts and elegancies, which often 
 made itself be sensibly felt in her house. And 
 yet, compared to her eldest daughter, Mrs. 
 Lockhart was a pattern of liberality. Miss 
 Wilhelmina, or, as she was usually called, 
 Miss Willie Lockhart, a grave, cold, severe 
 person, of a certain age, and looking older than 
 she need have done, by dint of the most mag- 
 nanimous disregard of all the arts of the 
 toilette, was indeed but little addicted to giving 
 in any shape, save only that which all mankind 
 are more ready to bestow than to accept, 
 namely, advice. She was one of those people 
 whom the world is in general agreed to call 
 " excellent," — " really well-meaning," and 
 other such terms, as if to make amends for pri- 
 vately feeling them to be very disagreeable.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. OO 
 
 Miss Willie enjoyed, moreover, the reputation 
 of being what is denominated " very serious -" 
 and as such, conceived herself entitled to give 
 vent to much unsparing denunciation of all 
 whose ideas or practices in any way differed 
 from her own, and to sit in judgment on dis- 
 puted points of doctrine, religious works, and 
 the character and qualifications of clergymen. 
 One Christian grace, the grace of love — the 
 charity which thinketh no evil — which beareth 
 and believeth all things — was unhappily defi- 
 cient in her rigid Calvinism ; and the deficiency 
 rendered her religion a hard, stern system of 
 doctrine and self-righteous exclusivism, which 
 left the heart and temper completely unsub- 
 dued. 
 
 The younger of the two maiden sisters, Miss 
 Grace, was in many respects a complete con- 
 trast to the elder. In consequence of being the 
 younger, and of a certain juvenility of manners 
 and ideas which had not departed with her 
 youth, she had never, in the eyes of her mother, 
 or even of her sister, attained to the dignity 
 and responsibility of full-grown womanhood, 
 and was still designated as "that lassie Grace, " 
 — occasionally, as "that useless lassie Grace,"— 
 bv the old ladv. She had been extremely
 
 56 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 pretty, in that fair, soft, expressionless style of 
 beauty, which fades and disappears with the 
 loss of youthful freshness, and leaves nothing 
 more imperishable to replace it. But still it 
 was a pleasant face to look at ; and there was 
 little positive harm in Miss Grace. A hasty 
 temper, an implicit belief in the wisdom and 
 perfection of her sister, even though occa- 
 sionally rebelling against her severe and dicta- 
 torial propensities, and a species of slip shod 
 affectation of youthfulness in her by no means 
 very tidy dress, and in her deportment, were 
 her principal characteristics. For the rest, she 
 was a good-natured and soft-hearted soul, whose 
 wrath, if easily excited, was quickly over; and 
 who, having in early life sustained a disappoint- 
 ment in her affections, had ever since felt the 
 most intense interest in everything approaching 
 to a love story ; and cherished, in spite of Miss 
 Willie, the most inveterate habit of novel- 
 reading, as an outlet for this leaning to romance, 
 of which her every- day life afforded none in any 
 other shape. She was at the present moment 
 engaged in making tea, Miss Willie, upon 
 whom that office usually devolved, having dele- 
 gated it to her sister, in order to be left at 
 liberty to finish the winding of a huge ball of
 
 KIXGSCOXXELL. 57 
 
 worsted, to supply the old lady's knitting. Mrs. 
 Henry Lockhart sat with her work in "the win- 
 dow looking towards the front of the house, 
 occasionally glancing her eyes down the avenue 
 in search of her truant children, but as yet in 
 vain. 
 
 fi Do you see the bairns, my dear V inquired 
 her mother-in-law. 
 
 "I do not, Ma'am," replied Beatrice; "and 
 indeed I don't very well know in what direc- 
 tion they went ; but I hope they may soon turn 
 up. It is such a lovely evening ! and they 
 forget time altogether when they get off to the 
 woods." 
 
 "TTeel," said Mrs. Lockhart, "we'll no 
 wait tea for them. Grace, lassie, what are ye 
 daidling at ? Oh, Willie ! how came ye to 
 leave her to make the tea ? It'll no be 
 drinkable." 
 
 " I can't both make tea and wind worsted, 
 Ma'am/' replied Miss Willie with dignity. " It 
 is a deplorable thing if Grace is never to learn, 
 to make tea fit to drink." 
 
 u I think," observed Beatrice, with a smile, 
 " the tea does Grace much credit. Does it not, 
 Ma'am ?" she added, appealing to the old lady, 
 
 d 3
 
 58 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 who having now tasted her cup, pronounced it 
 " not bad, considering ." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad of that \" exclaimed good- 
 humoured Miss Grace, without in the least re- 
 senting the imputations cast upon her, to 
 which indeed she was quite accustomed. 
 
 " And here come the wanderers/' said 
 Beatrice, as the door opened, and breathless 
 with the speed at which they had walked, the 
 two girls stood before them, their cheeks glow- 
 ing like damask roses, between exercise and 
 blushes, and each armed with a bunch of 
 honeysuckle larger than her own head. 
 
 " Grandmamma," said the elder, "we are 
 very sorry that we are so late ; but " 
 
 " We've brought you all these honeysuckles, 
 grandmamma," added the younger. "May I 
 put them in water, in the large jug, on the 
 staircase window ?" 
 
 u Oh, aye, my dear," said the old lady. 
 " But they'll fill the house full of earwigs." 
 
 " Earwigs !" exclaimed little Helen, aghast. 
 " Do you think there are any earwigs in them, 
 mamma ? Beatrice, do you see any earwigs ?" 
 
 " No, no, I see none," confidently answered 
 Beatrice. " But if there were any, grand-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 59 
 
 mamma, still one branch of this lovely honey- 
 suckle is worth an earwig or two." 
 
 " Weel, my dear, it's a matter of taste," re- 
 plied the old lady; "and you're welcome to 
 honeysuckle and earwigs baith, as far as I'm 
 concerned." 
 
 " Now run and take off your bonnets, 
 or you shall really have no tea," said their 
 mother ; and the two girls hastened upstairs to 
 their own room. 
 
 " We'll put the honeysuckle on the window- 
 seat till after tea," said Helen. " How beauti- 
 ful it is, and how it will perfume the whole 
 house ! I thought grandmamma would have 
 been so glad to have it !" 
 
 " I am afraid grandmamma is a little like 
 Peter Bell," observed Beatrice, thoughtfully. 
 
 " A primrose by the river's brim, 
 A yellow primrose was to him, 
 And it was nothing more." 
 
 Tea was no sooner over, than the youug 
 Beatrice entreated her mother to take a twi- 
 light walk in the wood with her, and they 
 accordingly departed for that purpose, leaving 
 Helen on the staircase, her heart and soul
 
 60 KINOSCONNELL. 
 
 absorbed in the occupation which she had 
 bespoken for herself, that, namely, of filling the 
 large jug with her honeysuckle. No other 
 member of the family-party was addicted to 
 twilight walks. Regardless of the beauty and 
 fragrance of the summer evening out of doors, 
 they continued to pursue their occupations in 
 the close parlour, redolent of that peculiarly 
 fusty atmosphere produced by shut windows, 
 and the absence of a fire. Here we shall leave 
 Miss Grace absorbed in the study of a five- 
 volume novel, hight " Santo- Sebastiano; or, 
 the Young Protector ;" and the old lady and 
 Miss Willie more industriously employed, whilst 
 we follow the mother and daughter in their 
 ramble amongst the woods. 
 
 " Is it not delicious, mamma \" exclaimed 
 Beatrice, as they reached one of the half- 
 dilapidated seats, already mentioned, placed in 
 a nook overhung by the drooping branches 
 of a fine old lime tree, at the summit of a bank 
 which rose above the river, and commanding, 
 through an opening in the woods, a view of the 
 lofty chimneys and gable-ends of the house 
 of Kingsconnell. " Is it not delicious ? There 
 is something so musical in the sound of the
 
 KIXGSCONXELL. 61 
 
 water rushing over the stones and pebbles 
 far below ; and there is such a hush and stillness 
 amongst the trees, after the hum and buzz that 
 was in them when we were here two hours ago. 
 Mamma, do you remember that description of 
 such an evening — just such an evening as this 
 — in ' The Pleasures of Memory' ? M 
 
 " I am not quite sure that I do : repeat it 
 to me, dearest/' answered the young mother, 
 who dearly loved to listen to the singularly 
 sweet and feeling tones of that girlish voice re- 
 citing poetry; and Beatrice did so accordingly. 
 
 Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day, 
 
 When the hushed grove has sung its parting lay ; 
 
 When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car, 
 
 Conies slowly on to meet the evening star; 
 
 Above, below, aerial murmurs swell, 
 
 From hanging woods, brown heath, and bushy dell ! 
 
 A thousand nameless rills that shun the light, 
 
 Stealing soft music on the ear of night !" 
 
 " Beautiful, indeed, Beatrice. And do you 
 remember Tasso's description of the approach 
 of night, which we were reading yesterday — the 
 night that succeeds a burning day V 
 
 " Do I not, mamma V A word was
 
 62 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 sufficient for Beatrice wj^en the subject was 
 poetry. 
 
 " Usciva omai dal molle e fresco grembo 
 
 Delia gran madre sua la notte oscura, 
 Aure lievi portando e largo nembo 
 
 Di sua ruggiada preziosa e pura; 
 E scuotendo del' vel 1' umido lembo 
 
 Ne spargeva i fioretti e la verdura. 
 Ed i venticelli debattendo 1' ali 
 
 Lusingavono il sonno de' mortali." 
 
 " But that is night at a later hour ; night 
 when there is no one awake to enjoy it. I 
 prefer the twilight, the gloamin'. Mamma, 
 there is a whole volume of poetry in that 
 beautiful old word." 
 
 "There is indeed, my Beatrice; and the 
 gloamirt itself is an hour more full of poetry 
 than all the other twenty-four. It is the hour 
 of memory. But of that you know nothing 
 as yet, my darling. There is no sadness to 
 you in the twilight, save the ' sad fancies ' of 
 which Wordsworth speaks. What does he say, 
 Beatrice?" 
 
 " Sad fancies, mamma ? Oh ! I remember." 
 
 " In youth we love the dewy lawn 
 
 Brushed by the owlet's wing; 
 Then twilight is preferred to dawn, 
 
 And autumn to the spring.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 63 
 
 Sad fancies do we then affect 
 
 In luxury of disrespect 
 To our own prodigal excess 
 
 Of too-familiar happiness." 
 
 "I dare say it may be very true, mamma. 
 Certainly there is a luxury in these twilight 
 thoughts as if one were playing at being sad. 
 Shall I ever live, I wonder, to know more of 
 the reality of sadness connected with the 
 twilight ?" 
 
 " Shall you, my child ?" The mother gazed 
 on the bright young face, bright amid the 
 shadows of evening, that looked up in her's 
 with its sunny smile, the smile of dawning 
 genius ; and as she gazed, a shadow darker 
 than that of evening seemed to pass over her 
 own spirit, and a voice to whisper in her heart, 
 " Oh, when were ever woman's heart and mind 
 gifted as your's promise to be, my Beatrice, 
 that passed through life without having such 
 a question as that darkly and woefully an- 
 swered t" But she did not utter this thought, 
 though it prompted her reply. " We cannot 
 tell, my darling. He who orders all our paths 
 alone knows where yours may lie. He knows 
 whether you may not, perhaps long ere youth
 
 64 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 is gone, Beatrice, recall this present moment, 
 sitting in this very spot, when it may almost 
 seem like a dream to you that you ever were 
 so happy as you are now." 
 
 " Dearest mamma," exclaimed Beatrice, 
 " that sounds almost like a prophecy." 
 
 "God forbid it should, my child !" replied 
 her mother. " But you know, Beatrice, I 
 never talk to you as to a child ; you and I 
 have been drawn so closely together by the 
 frequent absence of your dear papa, and the 
 loss of Aunt Helen, that I daresav I have said 
 much to you which few people would say to a 
 girl of your age, and things like this amongst 
 the rest. There is so much in your character 
 in advance of your age, my Beatrice, that I 
 often feel as if the portion hereafter to be 
 assigned you in life were one involving much 
 to do, perhaps much to suffer ; and I feel as if 
 I could not sufficiently impress upon you while 
 I am still with you, the fact that this life is 
 not intended to be all flowers and sunshine, 
 that indeed it would be much to our loss and 
 danger if it were. We must all look for 
 sorrow, Beatrice, though some receive a larger 
 share than others, because it is seen to be
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 65 
 
 needful for them ; and our only prayer should 
 be for grace, so to pass through things temporal 
 that we lose not finally the things which are 
 eternal." 
 
 The eyes of Beatrice, while her mother spoke, 
 were intently fixed upon her countenance, and 
 her arm twined round her, " My own 
 mamma," she said at last, " why do you talk 
 of being still with me ? Why should you not 
 be with me, or how V* 
 
 " My Beatrice, if it be the will of God, I 
 hope to be long with you, but my saying what 
 I did will have no effect upon the future, which 
 is in His hands alone j and in the course of 
 nature, Beatrice, the mother must be summoned 
 away before her child." 
 
 "Oh, mamma," said Beatrice, the tears 
 starting to her eyes, " I cannot even bear to 
 hear you allude to such a possibility. What 
 would life be without you, my mamma, to 
 Helen and to me ? and with you it is so per- 
 fectly happy ! It seems as if your own early 
 sufferings as an orphan had only taught you 
 more fully how to make your children's life a 
 blessed one. I cannot even imagine existence 
 without vou."
 
 66 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " But, my darling child, should such an exist- 
 ence be hereafter decreed you in the inscrut- 
 able providence of God, and we cannot tell, 
 Beatrice — we cannot tell what sorrows He may 
 see fit to send us, though none such appear to 
 threaten you now ; should it be so, you would 
 endeavour, should you not ? to show your grati- 
 tude for the happiness so long bestowed upon 
 you by submission to the decree which re- 
 sumed it ; and you would remember that the 
 best proof of the love you had borne your 
 mamma would be an earnest endeavour to 
 do what she would have wished had she been 
 with you still. You would be both a sister 
 and a mother to little Helen, would you not ? 
 My darling, I did not mean to make you 
 cry !" 
 
 " Mamma \" sobbed Beatrice, clinging to 
 her mother, " you know I would. You know, 
 and God knows. But why do you talk in this 
 way, my own mamma ? why do you speak of 
 such misery ?" 
 
 " Not to make you miserable, my Beatrice. 
 Look up and do not cry. I cannot tell why I 
 spoke of such things, dearest ; except that I 
 often think of them ; and that, as I said, child
 
 KIXGSCOXXELL. 67 
 
 as you still are, I speak my thoughts to you, 
 Beatrice. There is something very holy, I 
 think, and very abiding, in impressions made 
 upon the mind at this still and shadowy hour, 
 and perhaps I might wish to leave one upon 
 your mind which would return in after years. 
 Your early life has as yet been very different, 
 mercifully different from ours; but if sorrow 
 should await you in after years, I can wish you 
 no higher comfort, next to a humble trust in 
 God, than such perfect love and confidence as 
 there has always been between your Aunt 
 Helen and me. It is this feeling which always 
 makes me so anxiously endeavour to draw your 
 hearts closely together ; my knowledge of the 
 unspeakable blessing of sisterly affection. 
 And I do think you love each other very 
 dearly; lam sure you do. But I declare it 
 is getting dark ; grandmamma and your aunts 
 will think we are lost. We must be moving 
 homewards." 
 
 "I do so wonder, mamma," exclaimed 
 Beatrice, as they rose from the seat, her tears, 
 " like the dew-drop on the rose/' already 
 dried, " I do so wonder how my aunts can live 
 through these beautiful summer evenings shut
 
 68 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 up in that hot stuffy parlour, whilst there are 
 flowers and trees, and sweet air outside, all 
 absolutely running to waste when we are not 
 here to enjoy them ! And aunt Grace likes 
 poetry too, yet poetry is always doubly charm- 
 ing in the open air. But," continued Beatrice 
 smilingly, " I don't think, mamma, that she 
 loves poetry for its own sake, as you and I do. 
 It is ouly if there is some story connected with 
 it, such poetry as I fancy f The Corsair ' to be, 
 that poem of Lord Byron's which you told me 
 not to read. Am I not to read his poems till 
 1 am grown up, mamma V 
 
 "1 think not, dearest," replied her mother. 
 "I should dread placing poetry like Lord 
 Byron's in your hands, on many accounts, 
 which you cannot as yet comprehend. And 
 moreover, it is a species of poetry which tends 
 to destroy the relish of a young mind for a 
 higher, purer, and less exciting style of writing, 
 so that I should be doing you, in my opinion, 
 a positive injury by introducing you to it at 
 your age." 
 
 "But oh ! mamma, I am so glad you never 
 talk as aunt Willie does about my favourite 
 books ! I hope it is not wicked to hate those
 
 KINGSCONXELL. 69 
 
 she is so fond of reading, for I am afraid I 
 do; especially those memoirs of good people? 
 They appear to me so grim, so stern, so many 
 things left out in their lives ! no romance, no 
 music, no intellectual pleasures ! No poetry, 
 except hymns, which might be, I am sure, the 
 very finest of poetry, but their' s are not. They 
 seem to me like pictures all painted in grey 
 colours. I always feel the worse for readingthem." 
 "I never wish you to do so, dear child. 
 Indeed I would much rather you did not. 
 Some persons no doubt may find the species of 
 memoirs which your aunt Willie prefers, in- 
 structive and edifying, but I do not think 
 them so for a mind like yours. Nor does the 
 teaching of our Church lead us to consider it 
 necessary, in order to our serving God aright, 
 that we should repress or neglect any of the 
 faculties which He has bestowed upon us, or 
 that we should narrow religion into one con- 
 fined path, as some of these excellent people 
 mistakingly did. Rather does it bring reli- 
 gion to bear upon our daily allotted path, 
 whatever that may be, and pervade our whole 
 life. Books which inculcate a contrary doctrine 
 can only be confusing to a young mind."
 
 70 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 "Oh, my own mamma," exclaimed Bea- 
 trice, " how glad I am that we live with you 
 and not with my aunts !" She did not hear the 
 sigh which followed this observation, for just 
 as she spoke, their path emerged from the 
 woods upon the more open space of turf at 
 the foot of the garden, and a large beetle of 
 that species which flies at night, dashed full in 
 her face with a drowsy hum, a sound most 
 beautiful to hear in the shadowv twilight of a 
 warm summer/ s day. They entered the garden 
 and ascended its sloping walks towards the 
 house. It was now dark; the sky overhead 
 was of the deepest blue, 
 
 ' that clear obscure 
 
 So softly dark, and darkly pure,' 
 
 which characterises it at that lovely reason ; 
 one or two stars faintly visible in its far and 
 hazy depths ; the air loaded with perfume from 
 the flowers, all bathed in the dew which drew 
 it forth, and not a movement of living thing 
 to break its stillness, save now and then the 
 noiseless spirit-like flitting of the bats across 
 the path, glancing from amongst the old fruit 
 trees for a moment, and then again disappear-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 71 
 
 ing. Just as they reached the terrace walk at 
 the head of the garden, a little form, almost as 
 light and shadowy as the bats',, sprang round 
 the corner of the house, and with a glad laugh, 
 Helen flew into her mother's arms. 
 
 u Here you are at last, mamma and Bea- 
 trice V she exclaimed, u I thought you were 
 lost in the woods, I declare." 
 
 " And here you are, my little one," replied 
 her mother, fondly kissing her. "And how 
 come you out so late without bonnet or tippet, 
 my Helen ? Surely your aunts don't know V 
 
 "No mamma," said Helen, sliding her little 
 hand within her mother's, as they proceeded 
 towards the upper gate of the garden, to go 
 round by the front door of the house, for all 
 the windows which afforded access from the 
 terrace were now closed for the night. " I 
 have not been in the parlour since you went 
 out. It took me a long time to arrange the 
 honeysuckle properly." 
 
 "And did you find any earwigs, Helen?" 
 asked Beatrice. 
 
 " Two, Beatrice, and a caterpillar. But I 
 was very brave. I did not scream for fear 
 grandmamma should find it out, and order the
 
 72 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 honeysuckle to be thrown awaj^. So then 
 when I had done that at last I thought of 
 coming to meet you, but it had grown rather 
 dark, and I was half afraid to go into the wood 
 by myself, so I went down to see old Kirstie 
 baking oat cakes in the kitchen, and she told 
 me a story about a ghost which was seen at 
 Kingsconnell, which lasted till a few minutes 
 ago; and as I came out of the kitchen I 
 thought I heard you and mamma talking in 
 the garden, and just ran out to see." 
 
 "A ghost at Kingsconnell!" exclaimed 
 Beatrice. " I didn't know there were any 
 ghosts there." 
 
 " I am afraid I can't tell the story right/' 
 said Helen ; " but Kirstie can tell it you, 
 Beatrice. Her father was coachman at Kings- 
 connell long, long ago, she says." 
 
 " It is a strange old place, my loves, and 
 there are all manner of traditions about it," 
 observed their mother, as they arrived at the 
 house door, "but I wish Kirstie would not tell 
 you ghost stories, Helen, you are cowardly 
 enough in the dark without her help. 'Now, 
 children, it is past nine o'clock, I declare ! 
 you must only just come into the parlour to
 
 KINGSCOXN'ELL. 73 
 
 say good-night, and then off with you to 
 bed." 
 
 In truth, much as all children and young 
 people dislike being sent to bed, Beatrice and 
 Helen felt that there was little temptation to 
 linger in the parlour. No twilight was there, 
 no soft evening air, or scent of dewy flowers. 
 Since eight o'clock the windows had been 
 barred and bolted, and the party collected 
 round a table on which stood a pair of candles, 
 imparting to the scene that aspect of ineffable 
 dreariness produced by candles in a room 
 without a fire and with closed windows. And 
 dreary in its total absence of grace or refine- 
 ment was the whole character of the apart- 
 ment ; dry and matter-of-fact were all its 
 details, and most of all the barren surface of 
 the table which formed the point of family 
 re-union, and which owned no other ornaments 
 than old Mrs. Lockhart's enormous knitting- 
 basket, a strange looking green work-bag of 
 Miss Willie's, by the side of which stood a 
 little blue baud-box filled with odds and ends 
 of lace, net, and ribbon, from whose contents 
 she was occupied in constructing a marvellously 
 ill-favoured cap, and a Tonbridge-ware work- 
 vol. i. r.
 
 74 KINGSCONNELL, 
 
 box belonging to Miss Grace. It was placed 
 there to save appearances only, for that good 
 lady's heart and soul were absorbed in the 
 well-thumbed copy of " Santo Sebastiano >7 
 already mentioned, which, adorned with the 
 stamp of the St. Michael's circulating library, 
 lay on the table before her, and elicited now 
 and then a glance from Miss Willie, speaking 
 unutterable things, and an ejaculation of 
 wonder blent with pity from the old lady, such 
 as " Dear-sake sirs ! to see that lassie spendin 
 the haill nicht readin' thae nonsensical novels !" 
 or " Grace, bairn, hae ye nae stockings to 
 darn V 3 A hint intended to convey more of 
 censure than met the ear, but which fell power- 
 less on Miss Grace, insensible on that score 
 alike to pity and to blame. 
 
 From such a group the little girls not un- 
 willingly retired to their own room, next door 
 to their mother's, at the end of one of the 
 long passages and trap staircases in the upper 
 story of the house, and looking out into the 
 garden. Here, having received their mother's 
 tender embrace and good-night kiss, they pro- 
 ceeded to undress ; talking the while of the 
 Kingsconnell ghost-story, as related by Kirstie,
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 75 
 
 their grandmother's old cook ; while Beatrice 
 proceeded down stairs to join the working 
 party at the table, until the sound of ten 
 o'clock striking in the hall, and followed by 
 the riuging of a bell, released them. 
 
 The bell rang for evening prayers, for which 
 the servants assembled in the parlour, and 
 which were read by Miss Willie. The rigid 
 Presbyterianism of the household was carried 
 to the unusual length of not even admitting 
 of a kneeling posture at family worship, and it 
 was a standing subject of silent, but not the 
 less bitter offence to Mrs. Lockhart and her 
 eldest daughter, that in spite of the example 
 of every one else, Beatrice and her children 
 persisted in kneeling at these periods, during 
 their visits to the house. The former how- 
 ever, with every desire to conform to the ways 
 of her mother-in-law's family in all things else, 
 could not prevail upon herself to be guilty of 
 what she felt would in herself be irreverence, 
 though it might not thus affect others ; nor 
 could she permit it in her children for the 
 same reason, and she was very little aware of 
 the accumulating fund of malevolence excited 
 in the mind of her sister-in-law by this very 
 
 e 2
 
 /O KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 inadequate cause, or of the full meaning of 
 the looks which morning and evening, she was 
 sensible were bent upon her at the termination 
 of an act which ought to have excited widely 
 different feelings. Soon after prayers the party 
 broke up for the night, and Beatrice, in 
 her own apartment, after a long and tender 
 gaze at her sleeping children in the next, 
 sat down to write the journal which she 
 regularly kept for her absent husband, and 
 then to finish one of the long letters begun the 
 previous night, in which she was in the habit 
 of pouring out her heart to her sister, and 
 from which we shall in the next chapter present 
 the reader with a few extracts.
 
 KINGSCO.WE^L. 77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " She, to all but those who love her shy, 
 
 Would gladly vanish from a stranger's sight ; 
 Though where she is beloved, and loves, as free 
 As bird that rifles blossoms on a tree, 
 Turning them inside out with arch audacity. 
 
 " Alas ! how little can a moment show 
 Of an eye where feeling plays 
 In ten thousand dewy ra>s ; 
 A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!" 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM BEATRICE^ LETTER TO HER 
 SISTER. 
 
 "We shall not leave the Grange, I imagine, 
 until after Harry's return. Is there no chance, 
 my own Helen, that George and you may be 
 at Sempilltovver as Autumn advances ? It is 
 nearly two years now since you have been 
 in Scotland, and that is a long time to have 
 lived without one meeting. In this lovely
 
 78 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 weather, the finest summer we have had for a 
 long time, I do so pine for you ! We might 
 meet so constantly in the woods, as we did this 
 time two years. Beatrice and I have been 
 down our old walk to-night ; but not across the 
 river. We sat a long while on the seat, which 
 I daresay you recollect, looking towards Kings- 
 con nell House (by the way, I heard yesterday 
 that Sir Peter Bertram is supposed to be dying; 
 poor desolate old man ! Dr. Chisholm is in 
 constant attendance upon him), and I need not 
 say how many thoughts of our former rambles 
 there, my Helen, filled my heart all the while. 
 We have these walks, as usual, pretty nearly to 
 ourselves; for no one at the Grange troubles 
 them much ; it is sad to see how overgrown they 
 are with grass ! Old Lowry Mac Fyke, who is a 
 dear friend and ally of the children's, you know, 
 tells them very frequently how beautifully the 
 place used to be kept in the old laird's time ; and 
 how gladly he would do what he could 'to mak' 
 it mair feasibler-like noo; for he just thinks 
 shame to see't ;' but he is not allowed to extend 
 his labours beyond the garden in that direction. 
 Beatrice is the old man's especial confidant, 
 and many a long conversation they have to-
 
 KIXGSCONN'ELL. 79 
 
 gether. He told me the other day that ' it 
 made him young again to look at her bonny 
 face V And in truth, Helen, it is a bonny 
 face ! You know we did not expect our eldest 
 pet to turn out pretty; and I must own that if 
 you take her face to pieces it can hardly be 
 called so. 
 
 " Miss Menie Mark, who was here the 
 other day, more contradictious than ever, if that 
 be possible, upon some discussion, arising at 
 the tea-table on the children's looks (fortu- 
 nately they were not present, for it would have 
 made no difference), announced it as ' my 
 opinion, ma'am/ that Miss Beatrice's forehead 
 was much too large for beauty, and her eyes 
 not large enough; moreover, there was some- 
 thing wrong about her nose ; and in short, 
 I forget the rest ; but I fully agreed in all she 
 said : upon which she immediately discovered 
 that this might be ( some people's opinion/ but 
 
 was not her's ; ' she thought' , &c. &c. This 
 
 is not what I was going to say ; I was carried 
 away by the recollection of Miss Menie, and her 
 half-closed eyes and dogmatical mouth. I 
 wanted to talk to you about Beatrice, my 
 Helen. In spite of foreheads, eyes, noses, and
 
 80 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 fifty other faults, which I daresay might be 
 found with her face, you would, I think, he 
 astonished at the improvement in her looks, 
 the difference altogether. There is a bright- 
 ness — an intelligence, — a look of candour and 
 purity in her countenance, which is in my eyes 
 its greatest charm; and though I am her 
 mother, I do not think, Helen, that they are 
 partial eyes. You know, on the contrary, how 
 very sensitive and quick-sighted I have always 
 been to the faults or deficiencies of my chil- 
 dren, and that I used often to see those which 
 you would not allow to exist ; and to Beatrice's 
 I think I am particularly so. Not that one of 
 my children is one degree nearer my heart 
 than the other; but that there is less cause 
 for anxiety respecting my little Helen, so far as 
 one can judge of a child not ten years old. She 
 is a sweet, joyous, happy little being, — a sunny- 
 tempered creature, who will create enjoyment 
 for herself wherever she goes, and for all around 
 her; passionately fond of flowers and animals, 
 and all sorts of simple pleasures ; with the most 
 affectionate heart, and with good, though not 
 remarkable abilities. But Beatrice, with all 
 Helen's child -like tastes, and love of simple
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 81 
 
 pleasures, combines so much more ! So much 
 that may be the source of happiness or of 
 misery, as it may be hereafter directed, that 
 every day, as it developes her precocious intel- 
 lect and sensibility, fills me with a more and 
 more profound sense of the responsibility 
 entrusted to my charge in her education ; and 
 with more anxious — though I would humbly 
 trust — not faithless, consideration of what may 
 be the result for time and for eternity, if I am 
 not permitted to finish the work I have begun. 
 Do not scold me for saying this, my own 
 Helen. I have no cause to say it, or to dread 
 it ; and yet you know how for years that idea 
 has haunted me. It is not often that I give it 
 utterance; but to-night, I cannot exactly say 
 how, something in our conversation together 
 during our evening walk has brought it before 
 my mind with such strange distinctness ! 
 It seemed to me as if for a moment the curtain 
 of my child's futurity was withdrawn, and thai 
 I had a glimpse of a path of trial and tears 
 awaiting her, — the purification and perfecting 
 of her earthly nature, to be accomplished as it 
 were by fire ! Forgive me, dearest ! I know 
 how any allusion to this subject pains you. It 
 
 e 3
 
 82 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 may be only want of faith in me, and not pre- 
 sentiment, as I sometimes fear. I must try to 
 recollect that if it be the will of God to leave 
 my girls motherless in their youth, He can 
 raise up other guides for them. He " doth not 
 need either man's work or his own gifts." 
 But when you see Beatrice, my Helen, you will 
 better comprehend my anxiety. It is not 
 merely that she is a creature of extraordinary 
 abilities, — that she learns every thing faster 
 than one can teach it to her, and that with 
 almost more than the usual simplicity of her 
 age, she has, though not yet thirteen, a degree 
 of poetical taste, and appreciation of the beau- 
 tiful in nature and in art, very rarely met with. 
 There is that in her mind which I have read of, 
 and now understand from experience, which 
 constitutes the difference between mere talent 
 and genius ; that species of intuition and large- 
 ness of comprehension, which belongs to the 
 latter gift alone. And all its credulity — its 
 undoubting faith, and its genuine humility, 
 exist in her. Never was a creature more ready 
 to take every thing and every person on trust; 
 and 1 do not say that she is not conscious 
 of her own powers (though not of their extent),
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 83 
 
 or that she is not prone to the rash and hasty 
 judgments into which youth is so apt to fall ; 
 but with all this is mingled such a diffidence of 
 herself as to produce a singular anomaly in 
 character. Beatrice's is one of those natures 
 which have such an intense love of pleasing 
 and being loved, that coldness, unkindness, or 
 depreciation, would cause it to droop and 
 wither like a flower deprived of light. And 
 when I think, bereaved of her mother, into 
 what wofully inadequate hands the guidance of 
 a disposition requiring such delicate manage- 
 ment would too probably fall ; how harshness 
 might chill that warm, loving heart; how a 
 sense of being misunderstood and undervalued 
 might embitter that sweet nature ; how her 
 quick discernment of the foibles of those she 
 lived with might drive her into their opposite 
 extremes; and how, above all, that ardent 
 imagination, unguided and unrestrained, might 
 obtain an ascendancy to the ruin of her peace 
 and happiness — when I think of all this, my 
 Helen, I tremble ; and I should despond at 
 times, did I not endeavour to recollect that the 
 most adverse human circumstances can be 
 made to work out the gracious purposes of
 
 84 K1NGSC0NNELL. 
 
 Providence, in a way which no foresight of our's 
 could have accomplished. 1 hese thoughts, too, 
 make me doubly grateful for the time that hus 
 already been granted me, and doubly eager to 
 improve every opportunity as it occurs of 
 directing my child's mind and fixing her 
 principles. " 
 
 The answer which Beatrice received to this 
 letter was a long one, dated, like her own, 
 at different periods ; for a letter in those days 
 meant something more than a sheet of note- 
 paper, widely written, and enclosed in an 
 envelope, with a Queen's head upon it. In 
 proportion as people wrote less frequently, they 
 wrote at greater length when they did; and, 
 like all earthly things, the improved post-office 
 system has perhaps its counterbalancing disad- 
 vantages in respect of the quality of the an- 
 niented correspondence which it has caused. 
 
 The concluding portion of Helen's letter 
 was a startling contrast to what had preceded 
 it. It contained an announcement which fell 
 like an ice-bolt upon her sister's heart. Mr. 
 Sempill had decided on transferring his resi-
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 85 
 
 deuce from London to the Island of Madeira ! 
 The mercantile firm to which he belonged had 
 its principal branch at Funchal, and there the 
 senior partner had for many years resided. 
 This gentleman was lately dead; and as it was 
 necessary for another to take his place, no one 
 appeared so eligible for this post as George 
 Sempill. Within two months after the time at 
 which Helen wrote, the move was to be made. 
 It appeared that her husband had for some 
 weeks past been weighing this matter in his 
 own mind, unable at once to decide whether he 
 should go himself to Madeira, or allow another 
 of the partners to do so. But this deliberation 
 had its grounds solely in considerations con- 
 nected with his own comfort and the well-being 
 of the firm. No thought for his wife mingled 
 with it. She must of course be ready and wil- 
 ling to go where her husband did ; and he did 
 not consider it necessary to say a word upon 
 the subject to her until his plans were all 
 arranged. Eight years of married life had now 
 in a measure accustomed Helen to the chilling 
 egotism of her husband's nature, which had at 
 first been nearly incomprehensible to her warm- 
 hearted and impulsive disposition. In the
 
 86 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 course of their correspondence previous to her 
 marriage, his painful absence of sympathy in 
 her feelings and her home-affections, and his 
 total indifference to all whom she loved, had 
 forced themselves upon her observation, and 
 raised those vague fears and misgivings with 
 which we have seen that she was oppressed, and 
 which were afterwards too fully realized. Not 
 that there was any thing tangible in her vexa- 
 tions. Mr. Sempill was an excellent man 
 in the usual acceptation of the words, perfectly 
 correct in moral conduct, liberal to his wife in 
 money-matters, hospitable to his friends; and, 
 although too cold and reserved in demeanour 
 to be popular in society, a model of all the pro- 
 prieties of life. And yet he was an egotist ! 
 one of those whose intense faith in themselves 
 seems to fence them in triple armour against 
 the very necessity or desire for the love of 
 others. He was perfectly well satisfied with the 
 beautiful wife whom he had chosen, and whose 
 presence imparted the last, best finish to his 
 well-appointed house and table; but it was as 
 his wife he valued her, not for her own sake. 
 He would have lavished the richest gifts for 
 her adornment, so as to render her more worthy
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 87 
 
 of the position she occupied; but would not 
 have moved an handVbreadth out of his own 
 way to gratify her by any attention to feelings 
 which he was absolutely unconscious that she 
 possessed,, or to show kindness to any one who 
 was dear to her. 
 
 The almost child-like ardour and impetuosity 
 of Helen's sensitive nature, too, was a mis- 
 fortune to her in dealing with her husband. 
 A woman more like himself would have ma- 
 naged him infinitely better. George Sempill 
 piqued himself upon never losing his temper 
 in a dispute, and when poor Helen's quick 
 feelings would occasionally prompt a few words 
 of reproach for his indifference to her happiness, 
 or more frequently, when they found vent in a 
 burst of tears, he had her at a disadvantage, 
 and never failed to improve it by telling her as 
 he walked calmly off, that when she was 
 composed and reasonable they should resume 
 the subject. Treatment such as this was not 
 calculated to win the affections which even a 
 moderate degree of kindness would have bound 
 to him for ever, but that consideration touched 
 him not. What cared he for the affection of 
 others, who was so largely provided with affection
 
 88 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 for himself? II pour rait bien s' en passer, for he 
 never felt the want of it. 
 
 Thus time passed on : and slowly, and by 
 degrees, under this irritating discipline, the 
 spirit of Helen improved in faith and patience. 
 Her long and confidential letters to her sister 
 were the safety-valves by which hjr repressed 
 feelings found a vent; and having no child of 
 her own, her affection for Beatrice and her 
 children continued to be the most engrossing 
 feeling of her heart. The thought of her im- 
 pending separation from them, too probably 
 for years, was therefore unmingled anguish; 
 and scarcely less painful was her husband's 
 total indifference to all her feelings on the 
 subject. 
 
 In the midst of Beatrice's tears and sorrow 
 at the prospect of a trial so unexpected, she 
 found some temporary consolation, as did 
 Helen, in that of a few weeks of each other's 
 society, for it so happened that it suited Mr. 
 Sempill to send his wife to stay at his father's 
 house some time before he himself came down, 
 as he chose to have a fair field for making all 
 the necessary arrangements involved in break - 
 ing-up his London establishment, to which he
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 89 
 
 considered himself more competent than 
 Helen. The latter was only too happy to avail 
 herself of this idea, and the beginning of the 
 third week in August found her at Sempill- 
 tower. 
 
 Breakfast was no sooner at an end at the 
 Grange, the morning after her arrival, than 
 Beatrice and the little girls prepared to walk 
 over there to visit her. 
 
 " Are you going so early V asked Miss 
 Willie, as they avowed this intention. "It is 
 riot an hour's walk. You'll be there before 
 eleven o'clock." 
 
 "Well," said Beatrice, " that won't signify. 
 You know Mrs. Sempill is always delighted to 
 see one at any hour, and Helen will be looking 
 for us by this time, depend upon it." 
 
 " I wish 1 had thought of it in the morn- 
 ing," said Miss Grace, " and I should have 
 dressed myself to go with you, Beatrice, but I 
 doubt this gown wouldn't do ?" Beatrice was 
 silent, but privately thought it certainly would 
 not; the costume in which Miss Grace had 
 appeared at the breakfast-table, consisting of an 
 old and not over-clean blue chintz dress, made 
 in the form which in those days was called a
 
 90 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 wrapper, that is, opening before instead of 
 behind, and having frills of the same material 
 at the throat and wrists ; her stays, moreover, 
 very evidently only half-laced, and her head 
 adorned by an old blue gauze cap which had 
 seen service. Miss Grace, having been a 
 fair beauty, retained a strong predilection for 
 blue in all materials, which was not lost sight 
 of in the midst of all manner of slatternly and 
 ill-suited array, whereby she was wont to 
 render unsightly what might still have been a 
 pleasing face and well-formed person, if dressed 
 with tolerable attention to neatness. "And," 
 pursued she, "it would be a great deal of trouble 
 to dress so soon after breakfast ; besides that 
 you are in a hurry. So you must just give my 
 kind love to Mrs. George, and say, that I'll 
 be over to wait upon her very soon." 
 
 " Oh ! Helen won't stand on ceremony, 
 Grace," replied Beatrice. " I shouldn't wonder 
 if she came back with us. And now come, 
 children, and let us get ready." 
 
 " Grace," said the old lady, who was much 
 more tidy in her dress than either of her 
 daughters, notwithstanding that she took a 
 very active share in domestic management
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 91 
 
 every morning, and they none whatever, 
 " Grace, ye're no surely going to appear to 
 Mrs. George Sempill in that auld dud ? Gude- 
 sake, lassie, gaug and put on a wise-like goon, 
 and a kep like a Christian ! Na, if ye sit doon 
 to thae books, it's hopeless.''' 
 
 "No, mother," replied the imperturbable 
 Miss Grace, " 1 mean to go and dress very 
 soon, but there is no such desperate hurry." 
 And as she spoke, she seated herself on a chair 
 in one of the windows, her feet supported upon 
 the bars of another, and betook herself to the 
 study of a tome bearing the exciting title, 
 " There is a Mystery ! Find it out." 
 
 " Rise up, lassie !" exclaimed the old lady 
 with indignation ; " ye've set your sell doon on 
 my ' Heady Reckoner !' 1 declare o' a the 
 glaiket — useless — " 
 
 " And you've thrown down that parcel of 
 tracts, Grace, that I've just been sorting, and 
 scattered them ! I shall have my whole work 
 to do over again. Upon my word it is beyond 
 patience !" wrathfully subjoined Miss Willie, as 
 the offender slowly laid down her book in the 
 middle of a sentence of awful import, and re- 
 luctantly arose to repair her misdeeds.
 
 92 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " Willie/ ' enquired Mrs. Lockhart, " when 
 you were in the Clachan yesterday, did ye 
 deliver the message I bade ye about the livery 
 waistcoat, to Saunders Steek, the tailor V 9 
 
 "Indeed no, Ma'am," calmly replied Miss 
 Willie, proceeding to the re- arrangement of 
 the tracts. 
 
 " Indeed no ! And what for, may I ask V 
 was the displeased reply. 
 
 " To tell you the truth, ma'am," answered 
 Miss Willie, I totally forgot it. My mind was 
 occupied with more serious matters. I had 
 just heard of the appointment of the new 
 assistant and successor to Dr. Grindlay; and 
 several people having given a very poor account 
 of him, I walked on as far as Dr. Chisholm's, 
 to inquire Miss Babie Chisholm's opinion, 
 kn >wing that she had heard him preach once 
 in Glasgow. I also called upon Miss Menie 
 Mark, to ascertain what she thought ; and 
 heard a great deal on the subject from Thomas 
 Brodie, the wright, whom I met in the street. 
 Being an Elder, he had of course a good deal 
 of information to give me. My mind was too 
 much, and I am sorry to say, too painfully 
 occupied, to be thinking about livery waistcoats.''
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 93 
 
 u It maun' be confessed/' said the old lady, 
 " that I hae a useful pair o' dochters ! But — " 
 her curiosity getting the better of her just in- 
 dignation — " what did ye hear about this Mr. 
 what call ye him? Carmichael? Had Miss 
 Babie heard hi in V* 
 
 " She had/' was the solemn and succinct 
 reply. 
 
 " Weel ?" impatiently exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lockhart, as the oracle seemed resolved to 
 delay its response. 
 
 "Well! I wish we may find it well!" 
 slowly and emphatically pronounced her 
 daughter. " But I wish not to condemn any 
 man unheard, and therefore perhaps the less 
 we say the better." 
 
 "What?" persisted Mrs. Lockhart, "there's 
 naething against the man's character, is there ?" 
 
 " His character ? oh dear no !" returned 
 Miss Willie with a sardonic laugh. " Don't 
 misunderstand me, ma'am. I was only alludiLg 
 to our chances of spiritual improvement under 
 his ministry, which I am sorry to say I fear are 
 but small, from what I hear of his style in 
 the pulpit." 
 
 " They say," joined in Miss Grace, for even
 
 94 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 the " Mystery" could not maintain its ground 
 against the all- engrossing subject nnder dis- 
 cussion, " that Mr. Carmichael was tutor in 
 the family of Mr. Bertram, the next heir to 
 Kingsconnell. I suppose his interest has pro- 
 cured him the promise of the living, though it 
 is a Crown presentation." - 
 
 " Of course," returned Miss Willie, " any 
 fool might guess that. Mr. Bertram's interest 
 has done it all, as interest does everything 
 now-a-days in the Church. I declare, as Miss 
 Menie Mark says, it is enough to make one 
 turn Independent. But I am very far from 
 asserting that Mr. Carmichael is likely to 
 prove as unacceptable to all his congregation, 
 as I own I fear he will be to some amongst 
 them. Every one to his taste. Some people 
 like slavish reading in the pulpit, and new- 
 fangled foreign notions. A minister who has 
 been improving his theology amongst the 
 Lutherans in Germany, and unless I am much 
 mistaken, the Papists in the south of France, 
 is likely to find all the more favour in some 
 people's eyes. There are inmates of this house 
 who I have no doubt will be highly delighted 
 with him. He may perhaps induce them to
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 95 
 
 attend church a little more regularly, and 
 eclipse the attractions of Mr. Malcolm at St. 
 Michael's. It is an ill-wind that blows nobody 
 good, they say." 
 
 " Germany and the south of France !" ex- 
 claimed Miss Grace, who seldom listened to 
 more than the half of any long speech, gene- 
 rally running off with the first idea in it which 
 hit her fancy. " Has this Mr. Carmichael been 
 abroad then V 
 
 "To be sure he has," snappishly replied 
 her sister. " How else could he have been in 
 Mr. Bertram's family, who have lived abroad 
 for the last five years? He has been three 
 years abroad with them, and only returned 
 home last spring; since when he has been assis- 
 tant at Chapel-of-ease, in Glasgow, 
 
 where Miss Babie Chisholm heard him preach. 
 But perhaps the least said the soonest mended 
 on that subject. I suppose we shall all have 
 an opportunity of judging for ourselves next 
 Sunday.-" So saying Miss "Willie arose, ga- 
 thered up the disjecta membra of her tracts, 
 and abruptly quitted the room. 
 
 " Aweel I" said the old lady, " I ken nocht 
 about it. But better read sense in the pulpit
 
 96 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 than preach havers, in my opinion, let Miss 
 Babie Chisholm say as she pleases." 
 
 " Grandmamma !" said little Helen, looking 
 in at the open window, in her walking dress, 
 " I ran back to tell you that Lowry Mac Fyke 
 is searching everywhere for you.. There's a 
 butcher come from St. Michael's to buy the 
 poor dear fat sheep, he says. Oh ! dear 
 grandmamma, if you would only not sell them ! 
 They are so pretty ! Please don't !" 
 
 " The bairn's daft ?" exclaimed her grand- 
 mother, smiling however as she spoke, for it 
 was impossible to resist Helen's sweet naivete. 
 11 There's nae word o' poor dear fat sheep when 
 ye see a gude jigot o' mutton a^ the table. 
 Run awa' and tell Lowry I'm comin'. To think 
 o' me losing sae muckle precious time listenin' 
 to a wheen idle clatters ! A' the Miss Babie 
 Chisholms and Mr. Carmichaels in the country- 
 side '11 no sell my sheep for me. Grace," 
 pursued the old lady, looking back as she 
 reached the door at the half-recumbeut figure 
 of her youngest daughter, and noting as she 
 did so, the combined effect of each particular 
 item of slatternliness in her appearance — the 
 open wrapper falling apart and disclosing the
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 97 
 
 half-dirty white petticoat and stockings, and 
 slip-shod shoes ; the "unbound zone" of the 
 waist, the throat, still fair and plump, dis- 
 figured by the absence of collar or muslin frill, 
 and the soiled blue cap stuck awry above the 
 unkempt front of false curls, doing its best to 
 give an absolutely dirty look to the fresh and 
 pleasing face; all — even to the begrimed and 
 dog's-eared aspect of the novel in her hand, 
 which looked as if just rescued from the "ob- 
 serving thumb " of Lady Slattern Lounger, in 
 the Rivals — all eloquent of self-indulgence in 
 its least attractive shape — "Grace! I declare 
 the sicht o' ye would spean a bairn ! I just 
 beseech ye, for the credit o' the boos', to gan 
 and mak' yoursell a little like ither fock ! It 
 wad be a rich y- merited judgment on ye if 
 somebody cam' in and fand ye as ye are; but 
 for their am sake, ane would rather avoid sic a 
 catastrophe." 
 
 "Presently, mother," was Miss Grace's 
 only reply to the objurgation. And being now 
 left in undisturbed possession of her novel 
 and the parlour- window, she remained basking 
 in the warm sunbeams and revelling in the 
 "Mystery," till, between twelve and one o'clock 
 vol i. p
 
 98 KINGSCONNELL, 
 
 the sound of carriage wheels, and the appari^ 
 tion of some visitors, driving up the avenue, 
 startled her from her trance of enjoyment, and 
 sent her in precipitate haste to her own apart- 
 ment ; but not without leaving some traces 
 behind, in the shape of a pocket-handkerchief, 
 of traditionary whiteness, on the floor beneath 
 her chair, a work-bag upset upon the table 
 near where she had been sitting, and the 
 Origo Mali, the Mystery itself, flung open on 
 the top of it. And as the carriage, contained 
 two very satirical elderly young ladies of the 
 neighbourhood, along with a visitor to whom 
 they were doing the honours of the county, 
 and introducing her to all its characters as well 
 as to its scenery, it need scarcely be added that 
 all these vestiges, not one of which escaped 
 their notice, and the length of time which 
 elapsed ere Miss Grace, in renovated attire, 
 joined the party in the parlour, afforded ample 
 ground-work for one of their most amusing 
 and most highly-coloured sketches, as they 
 drove away from the Grange, at the conclusion 
 of their visit.
 
 K1NGSC0XNELL. 99 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Come, stately Niddrie, bauld and true ! 
 Scotland has few such Lairds as you !" 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 The early sun-beams poured a beautiful variety 
 of light amongst the dancing shadows of the 
 leaves and boughs; — the woods were alive with 
 the " atmosphere of sound/' the hum and 
 buzz of insect life, which fills them with such a 
 pleasant murmuring on a warm summer's clay, 
 and the little river rushed musically over its 
 rocky bed, as Beatrice Lockhart and her two 
 joyous girls arrived at the rustic bridge which 
 afforded an access to the grounds of Kingscon- 
 nell. They crossed it, and proceeded by the 
 usual path, which led towards one of the 
 lodges, — not the principal entrance, but one 
 which communicated w T ith the stables and 
 offices. Just as they reached this house, the 
 
 f 2
 
 100 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 gate was flung open to admit the gig of Br. 
 Chisholin, the medical practitioner of the 
 neighbourhood, at this time in daily attendance 
 upon the solitary and dying owner of this 
 splendid place, Sir Peter Bertram. On this 
 occasion the spare seat in the doctor's gig was 
 occupied by a stranger, a dark, grave, sallow, 
 but still young-looking man, whose dress 
 bespoke him a clergyman. 
 
 Dr. Chisholm drove by in much haste, 
 raising his hat as he passed to Mrs. Henry 
 Lockhart, who stopped for an instant at the 
 lodge, to inquire of the gate-keeper after the 
 health of her master. From this old woman, 
 who held her apron to her eyes, she learned 
 that Sir Peter was worse — much worse; — 
 dying, all his servants thought; and he had 
 been a kind master to them all, though " a man 
 that keepit himsell till himsell. He had seen 
 trouble ; but he was a kind man to them that 
 needed ; he would be sair missed." The old 
 woman added that a groom had gone off ex- 
 press to fetch Dr. Chisholm some time before, 
 as this was not his usual hour for visiting Sir 
 Peter, whence she concluded that his end was 
 not far distant. The man had also received
 
 RING3C0XXELL. 101 
 
 orders, so he informed her as he rode through 
 the gate, to request the presence of Mr. Car- 
 rnichael, the new assistant to the parish 
 minister, who was an old and infirm man; and 
 it was he who came in the gig with Dr, 
 Chisholm. 
 
 Beatrice and her daughters walked out by 
 the gate, and along the road in the direction of 
 Sempi Itower, after receiving all the infor- 
 mation which the old woman had to give, their 
 hearts involuntarily saddened by this instance of 
 one of the most affecting of earth's contrasts — 
 the proximity of death to life, — the giory and 
 beauty, the light and joy of this beautiful 
 August day, thus prodigally lavished upon the 
 scene whose master was lying on his death-bed. 
 Life — the varied life of summer, — the life of* 
 bird and beast and insect, of flower and leaf, — 
 was spread profusely all around him ; and he, 
 the lord of all, not all his possessions could buy 
 him one half hour's prolongation of that boon, 
 in which the meanest creature on his broad 
 lands was now fearlessly rejoicing. 
 
 Such thoughts filled the hearts, and occu- 
 pied the conversation of the mother and her 
 elder daughter, as they emerged upon the high
 
 102 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 road, and took the direction of Serapilltower. 
 They none of them had ever seen Sir Peter 
 Bertram, save once or twice, accidentally. He 
 was a man who lived in absolute solitude, 
 scarcely ever even appeared at the parish 
 church, though he welcomed the visits of the 
 minister, and received those of the Laird of 
 Sempilltower, of Mr. Lockhart during his life- 
 time, and one or two other old friends. But it 
 was an understood thing that he did not return 
 them, and he w r as never seen beyond his own 
 demesne. Some melancholy history was at- 
 tached to the desolnte and childless old man, 
 between whom and his only living relatives, 
 the family of the cousin who was his heir, 
 a coolness existed which had kept them 
 estranged for years; and some romantic and 
 mysterious tale was likewise understood to ha 
 connected with his splendid residence, though 
 none of our party knew exactly what. 
 
 They had now reached the gate-house, as it 
 was called, or lodge of Sempilltower, admitting 
 to this ancient place ; as good a specimen of the 
 old Scottish Peel-house, or baronial residence, 
 as might be met with still in repair and in- 
 habited. A long straight avenue, shaded on
 
 KIN GSCON NELL. 10') 
 
 each side by a double row of stately beeches, 
 their tall polished trunks rising like pillars, 
 their interlacing branches overhead arched like 
 the aisle of a cathedral, led from the gate to a 
 very old stone bridge, which crossed the river, 
 the same rapid stream afterwards to be met 
 with between Kingsconnell and the Grange, 
 and which ran through a deep and picturesque 
 glen beneath the house of Sempilitower. From 
 this bridge the avenue made a turn to the left, 
 and ascended rapidly through a lawn, whose 
 emerald grass was swept by the low-hanging 
 branches of its huge old limes and sycamores, 
 till it gained a level space in front of the house, 
 which formed, with the stables, three sides of a 
 square ; the fourth consisting of a battlemented 
 wall, in which a lofty porte cuchere gave 
 entrance to the inner court. 
 
 One portion of the house, a huge square 
 battlemented tower, from which the pi ace 
 derived its name, was of almost unknown 
 antiquity, and, although kept in repair, unin- 
 habited, save for some servants' apartments in 
 the lower story. The more modern part bore 
 that close resemblance to the old French 
 chateau, which may be traced in Scottish
 
 104 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 houses of the age when it had been erected ; 
 tall, thin, and grey, with peaked roofs and 
 flanking turrets, surmounted by extinguisher- 
 shaped summits. A door in one of these 
 afforded entrance to the house, up a winding 
 stone staircase, which, broken by landing- 
 places at the various stories, was continued 
 uninterruptedly to the top of the edifice. 
 
 Just as our party appeared beneath the 
 gateway, and crossed the paved court within, a 
 face glanced like a sun-beam from one of the 
 narrow windows in the staircase turret ; — there 
 was a rush of swift footsteps, and a rustling of 
 drapery, down the stairs, and forth from 
 the arched door flew Helen Sempill, more 
 beautiful in her fully-developed womanhood 
 than even when we saw her last, a girl on the 
 eve of her wedding, and clasped her sister in a 
 close embrace, from which, with an April coun- 
 tenance of smiles and tears, she only released 
 her to fling her arms around the children, who 
 covered her with rapturous kisses. Disen- 
 gaging herself at last from their clinging hands, 
 she pushed them gently from her, and gazed 
 earnestly in the face of each. 
 
 " Mv own little darlings !" she exclaimed.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 105 
 
 " Why, Beatrice, how they are grown ! Who 
 could have thought it ? And you, dearest, 
 dearest ! you look well, my own Beatrice, 
 indeed you do." 
 
 "And so I am, dearest, — quite well;" re- 
 plied her sister. "And yesterday I had such 
 a pleasant letter from Harry. ' He will be 
 at Portsmouth in a month or less/ " 
 
 " Thank God for that V exclaimed Helen. 
 " I may see him then, in London, before I go. 
 But I do not mean to talk of that to-day. 
 I can think of nothing but the joy of our 
 meeting. Come, then, — come up-stairs, Bea- 
 trice; come, my darlings; Mrs. Sempill is 
 expecting you." 
 
 They proceeded accordingly up the well- 
 carpetted staircase, which after two turns con- 
 ducted them to a narrow hall, covered with 
 Indian matting, and containing a stove; its 
 walls hung with swords of various descriptions, 
 armour, and other warlike relics of former 
 times of the ancient race of Sempill, mingled 
 with trophies of the chase, in the shape of seve- 
 ral majestic pairs of antlers, and sundry foxes' 
 brushes. A door at one extremity of this hall 
 opened, behind a gorgeous Indian screen, into 
 
 f 3
 
 106 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 the long, low-roofed, narrow apartment, used as 
 the drawing-room ; a very paradise of ease and 
 comfort, with its plain, abundant furniture, — 
 its deep, downy arm-chairs, low couches, and 
 ample cushions ; and with its three small win- 
 dows, each sunk so deep in the thickness 
 of the wall, that the recess it formed was like a 
 little supplementary room, and each recess fur- 
 nished with a soft inviting seat, and a little 
 table or stand of flowers. Notwithstanding the 
 season and the warmth of the day, there was a 
 fire, though not a large one, in the spacious 
 grate; for Sempilltower was a house addicted 
 to all manner of comfortable customs, and fires 
 in some of .the apartments were nearly in- 
 dispensible at all seasons, on account of the 
 extreme cold occasioned by the vaulted stone 
 passages and floors. The windows stood open, 
 and the room was filled with the odour of 
 mignionette and other flowers, from various 
 bouquets which decorated it. 
 
 Here the visitors received a most kind and 
 cordial welcome from Mrs. Sempill, and her 
 sister, Miss Penelope Muirhead, a mild and 
 amiable spinster, who for many years had 
 found a home at Sempilltower. Mrs. Sempill
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 107 
 
 herself was a fine specimen of beautiful old 
 age; beautiful not less in feature, in the soft- 
 ness imparted by an exquisitely fine com- 
 plexion, still retaining much of its polished 
 grain, and in the gentle dignity of mien be- 
 longing to a tall and graceful figure, all en- 
 hanced by the most scrupulous purity and 
 nicety of dress, than in the expression of peace 
 and serenity pervading her countenance and 
 demeanour, the aspect of one reposing in the 
 still evening of a happy day, — the tranquil 
 close of a life spent in that unselfish enjoyment 
 of the blessings of Heaven, which accounts 
 them doubled by being shared with others. 
 She was fondly attached to her daughter-in-law, 
 and, perhaps, in her inmost soul conscious that 
 Helen's warmth of heart and capacity for 
 lion were sadly flung away on George. 
 At all event*, the only happy days which the 
 former could number in her married life, were 
 those which she had passed at Sempiiltower; 
 and next to her sorrow in the prospect of 
 bidding farewell to Beatrice and her chiidi\ n, 
 was that with which she looked forward to the 
 idea of quitting, perhaps for ever, the patri- 
 archal household of her husband's parents.
 
 108 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 A protest was very speedily entered by 
 Mrs. Sempill against Mrs. Henry Lockhart's 
 avowed intention of returning to the Grange 
 before dinner-time. She would not hear of it. 
 The two sisters must have far too much to say 
 to each other after so long a separation, to 
 dream of parting in such a hurry; and the 
 Laird, and the Major, and Reginald, would be 
 quite shocked if she permitted it. The Major 
 and Reginald, (her brother-in-law and eldest 
 son , had gone up to the Moss-side Moors, 
 about ten miles off, in the dog-cart early that 
 morning, but would be at home by dinner- 
 time, they might depend upon that, for she 
 had promised the Major a grouse-pie, and he 
 would not forget five o'clock. They dined at 
 five, rather a late hour for their old-fashioned 
 house, but it suited the sportsmen ; and the 
 Laird had invited Mr. Carmichael, the new 
 minister, to dinner for the first time, so Mrs. 
 Henry Lockhart would be a prodigious acqui- 
 sition, to help to entertain him. There was no 
 resisting this importunity of genuine hospi- 
 tality, even had Beatrice felt much inclined. 
 The objection she made on account of the 
 children was speedily over-ruled, and to their
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 109 
 
 unconcealable delight, it was agreed that 
 Beatrice and Helen should for once be pro- 
 moted to the dignity of dining at table. Miss 
 Muirhead was deputed to write a note to Miss 
 Grace Lockhart, accounting for the absence of 
 her sister-in-law and nieces, and requesting 
 her, in Mrs. Sempill's name, to join the party 
 at dinner. This missive Mrs. Henry Lockbart 
 accompanied by a private note to the servant, 
 her little girls' nursery-maid, who always ac- 
 companied her to the Grange — desiring her to 
 walk over in the afternoon with such articles 
 of dress as she required for herself and them. 
 
 These arrangements concluded, the two 
 girls were desired to make themselves happy 
 in their own way, to go out of doors if they 
 liked, or explore the old tower, if they preferred 
 that, and visit Mrs. Bryce, the antiquated 
 housekeeper, who could tell them many strange 
 legends about it, to pass the time till the gong 
 should sound for luncheon. The latter alter- 
 native was the one they chose; and whilst 
 they departed on their tour of discovery, 
 Helen carried her sister off to her own room, 
 a comfortable apartment hung with tapestry, 
 in the second story of the house, having a
 
 110 KfNGSCONNELL. 
 
 turret dressing-room, commanding a beautiful 
 view of the romantic glen beneath. Here they 
 seated themselves on two broad low arm-chairs, 
 covered with what had once, no doubt, been 
 considered master-pieces of needlework, but 
 whose bright worsteds had long faded into an 
 uniform dusky brown and yellow, drawn into 
 the recess of the deep narrow window, where 
 the soft warm air came "wooingly" in; and 
 here they talked over all the events, the 
 thoughts, the feelings, which had befallen each 
 since they parted. But considering the cir- 
 cumstances under which they met, there was 
 a wonderful degree of cheerfulness, after the 
 first inevitable burst of grief, in the tone of 
 their conversation. It was Helen, too, who 
 was the first to enforce it. 
 
 " My own Beatrice," she said, '* let us try 
 to put aside these thoughts for a little while. 
 Let us cheat ourselves into happiness if we 
 can. I have grown such a miser in happiness ! 
 You know my natural love ior it, and my 
 dread of sorrow. Under other discipline than 
 that which I have had, the feeling might 
 almost have led to selfishness; but as it is, I 
 am sure it has been mercifully bestowed, to
 
 KINGSCONNELL. Ill 
 
 enable me to find compensation in a lot that 
 needed some. And I have been so very miser- 
 able since George informed me of this pro- 
 jected change, — there Las been so much of 
 bitterness in the feelings it has given rise to, 
 that do you know, to find myself here, in this 
 dear old kindly house, with you and our dar- 
 lings within daily reach, and — alas ! that I 
 should have to say so ! with George away from 
 me, has made me feel as if a mountain were 
 taken off my heurt. I am not reminded of 
 what is before me now, as I was hourly in 
 London. I seem to have left it behind, I want 
 to be happy to-day — this beautiful bright day — 
 which has brought you back to me. Let us 
 try to be happy." 
 
 And they were happy. It is quite possible 
 to be so, even in the midst of sad and anxious 
 thoughts, by the wisdom, and the gratitude, 
 evinced in thankfully enjoying the present 
 moment, — "and through the future hours, 
 sending no busy dream." As to the little 
 girls, the day was to them one of unmixed 
 delight. Years after, the memory of that long 
 summer holiday at Sempilltower, as often as it 
 arose, would waken a glow of beautiful though
 
 112 IilNGSCONNELL, 
 
 sad, recollections in the heprts of each. Often 
 did they recall the eager curiosity with which 
 they traversed every corner of the tower, and 
 the awe-struck silence in which they listened 
 to some miraculous tales connected with it, 
 related by Mrs. Bryce, an aged and almost 
 superanuated retainer of this time-honoured 
 family — where such a thing as turning off a 
 servant was unknown ; and who retained her 
 cosey apartment, her easy chair, and her 
 dignity of housekeeper, notwithstanding that 
 all the active duties of the office were dis- 
 charged by her grand-niece Marjory. Oftener 
 still did they remember the afternoon's ramble ; 
 when the two gentle old ladies accompanied 
 them and their mother and aunt as far as the 
 lovely terraced garden, and sat in a quaint 
 arbour, in the sun, bidding them go and 
 gather as many gooseberries as they chose ; an 
 injunction which did not require to be twice 
 repeated. And such gooseberries ! the very 
 bushes bending beneath their rich loads ; such 
 gooseberries as only grew in such gardens, in 
 the days when we were young, and are unknown 
 to modern horticulture. Then the extended 
 walk, beyond the powers of Mrs. Sempill or
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 113 
 
 her sis'er, who never went farther than the 
 garden, — with its devious paths, each one more 
 picturesque than another, and the many miles 
 of similar paths, cut in all directions through 
 the rich hanging woods which were a distin- 
 uishing ornament of the demesne. All were 
 dear to memory, and the evening not less so 
 than the day. 
 
 It was about four o'clock in the afternoon 
 when they found themselves once more in front 
 of the house ; and there, upon a rustic sofa 
 placed beneath one of the gigantic planes, 
 whose long pendant branches formed a canopy 
 above it, sat Mrs. Sempill, Miss Muirhead, and 
 Miss Grace Lockhart, who had walked over 
 from the Grange, in compliance with the invi- 
 tation sent her ; and who greeted Mrs. George 
 Sempill with much affection. The party was 
 in a few minutes after joined by the Laird, who 
 rode up the avenue, gave his horse to a groom 
 at the gateway, and advanced to greet his 
 guests with all the stately courtesy of the old- 
 school, blended with a warmth and cordiality 
 of kindness peculiarly his own. 
 
 Mr. Sempill was indeed a noble specimen 
 of the old Scottish gentleman. Tall and erect
 
 114 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 in person, his fine and venerable countenance 
 shaded by the most beautiful silver hair, which 
 he wore somewhat long: behind, his large bright 
 blue eye still retaining much of its youthful 
 light, and the vigour of his frame little touched 
 by decay, he looked a picture of honoured 
 years, fit to be the pendant to that presented 
 by his wife. Foreign travel and habitual in- 
 tercourse, on an extensive scale, with the best 
 society, had combined, with all the advantages 
 of a liberal education, to refine his manners 
 without chilling his heart ; and though able to 
 enjoy and appreciate all that was cultivated 
 and polished amongst the highest in the land, 
 the humblest and least attractive, who had any 
 claim upon his kindness, were it no more than 
 the sacred one of misfortune, never had been 
 known to advance that claim in vain. Sempili- 
 tower had been, in the fullest sense of the 
 word, a home to every individual amongst his 
 own or his lady's connections, who had ever 
 stood in ijeed of one; and to his own imii e- 
 diate family it was the natural, and indeed, the 
 only conceivable place of resort under all cir- 
 cumstances. He could have been well content, 
 as could Mrs. Sempill, to have had all his sons
 
 KINGSCOXXELL. 115 
 
 and their wives resident in bis house at once ; 
 and it had been the only wedded home of the 
 eldest, Captain Reginald Sempill, a man now a 
 year or two on the other side of forty • who 
 having been forced to le :ve the army, in con- 
 sequence of almost mortal wounds sustained in 
 the Peninsular campaign, had subsequently mar- 
 ried, but had lost his wife and infaut child 
 within a year after. Since that time, Captain 
 Sempill had remained at home, and had never 
 cared to contract a second union. With the 
 position of George, the second brother, we are 
 already acquainted. The youngest, Walter, 
 who had married early in life, many years 
 before him, was the father of a large family ; 
 but being a partner in a wealthy provincial 
 banking-house in the south, and his wife being 
 English, he was more estranged from his family 
 than any of its other members. 
 
 The bachelor and maiden branches of the 
 house of Sempill had always been in the habit 
 of " wearing out life's evening grey" beneath 
 the shade of the old Tower. It was not many 
 years since a very aged uncle and aunt of the 
 Laird's had successively been laid iu the family 
 vault in Kingsconnell church-yard, after many
 
 116 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 years' residence under their nephew's roof. 
 Colonel Sempill and his sister, Miss Elizabeth, 
 or as she was termed in the family, "Aunty 
 Betty/' had not long quitted their places ere 
 one of them was occupied by the Major, Mr. 
 Sempill's brother, who had returned from India 
 after thirty-five years' service, and, as a matter 
 of course, repaired to the home of his youth, 
 there to spend what remained of his age. This 
 worthy, a sallow, wizened, and somewhat taci- 
 turn old gentleman, who looked much more 
 aged and infirm than his elder brother, shortly 
 after the Laird's arrival drove up to the 
 house with his nephew, attended by a ser- 
 vant and a game-keeper, in a dog-cart loaded 
 with grouse and hares ; and, after brief saluta- 
 tion, went in doors to dress. The remainder of 
 the party lingered yet a little while, enjoying 
 the delicious warmth and fragrance of the 
 afternoon, beneath the shade of the trees. 
 
 The Laird had only just returned from 
 Kingsconnell, whither he had ridden over on 
 hearing the report of his old neighbour's 
 increased illness. He had arrived a few 
 minutes after all was over, and the spirit which 
 so long had dwelt apart on earth with its own
 
 KIXGSCOXX r.LL. 117 
 
 mournful thoughts, released at last ! And he 
 talked of this, as the old learn to talk of death, 
 even of the deaths of those they have known 
 and loved — gravely, solemnly, yet calmly, — in a 
 strain of sad and subdued feeling, scarcely 
 to be comprehended by ardent youth, with its 
 warm affections, and keen sense of sorrow. 
 
 Mr. Carmichaei had not left Kingsconnell 
 at the time of the Laird's visit, aud had seen 
 him, and related to him some particulars of Sir 
 Peter's last moments, speaking with trust and 
 hope of the state of mind in which he had de- 
 parted. It appeared that Mr. Carmichaei was 
 completely in the confidence of the next heir, 
 Mr. — now Sir Thomas — Bertram, and had 
 written to request his immediate presence, be- 
 sides taking other necessary steps in his name. 
 The Laird added that he looked forward with 
 pleasure to introducing this young clergyman 
 to his family that day. He had been much 
 pleased with him. And this reminding them 
 all of the hour, there was a general move into 
 the house. 
 
 Mrs. George Sem'pill had barely time, 
 before dinner, to produce various beautiful 
 presents which she had brought from London
 
 118 K1NGSC0NNELL. 
 
 for her sister and nieces ; books, articles of 
 dress, and other things ; and Beatrice, in par- 
 ticular, could scarcely tear herself away from 
 the examination of a complete set of Sir 
 Walter Scott's poetry, long the cherished 
 object of her ambition, and now all her own, 
 until reminded of the extreme punctuality 
 of the house at Sempilltower, she found herself 
 compelled to accompany her mother and sister 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 Here were assembled the whole of the party 
 already enumerated, Miss Grace 'Lockhart, 
 looking as completely unlike as possible to the 
 Miss Grace of the breakfast table at the 
 Grange, in pale blue silk, and a pretty lace cap 
 trimmed with the same colour. Their number 
 was shortly augmented by Mr. Carmichael, 
 immediately after whose arrival dinner was 
 announced, and the Laird offering his arm 
 to Mrs. Henry Lockhart, the company pro- 
 ceeded across the hall to the dining-room, at its 
 opposite extremity.
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " ' A jolly place,' said he, ' in times of old ! 
 But something ails it now ; the spot is curst.' " 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 The dining-room at Seinpilltower was the 
 ancient hall of the mansion, an apartment 
 of length and breadth strangely dispropor- 
 tioned to its height, whose stone floor was 
 covered with thick-piled carpets, and whose 
 enormous arched fire-place, at no season empty, 
 consumed on an average a cart-load of fuel 
 daily. The walls hung with a long series 
 of family portraits, the deep narrow windows, 
 shaded by rich heavy curtains, and the old- 
 fashioned side-board loaded with massive plate, 
 all combined to impart to it a character of no 
 ordinary comfort. But there was an atmo- 
 sphere of genuine kindliness diffused around it, 
 independently of any such adjuncts. The digni-
 
 120 KINGSCONNKLL. 
 
 fied courtesy, and minute attention to the com- 
 fort of all their guests, which distinguished the 
 Laird and Mrs. Sempill, were reflected, as such 
 attributes generally are, in the demeanour 
 of their servants. And they too partook of 
 the patriarchal character of the rest of the 
 household. The old butler, John Chalmers, 
 was a contemporary of his old master, and him- 
 self the son of an ancient family servant in the 
 former generation. Then came his son, James 
 Chalmers, Captain Sempiifs own particular 
 attendant, who had followed his young master 
 to the wars, like a faithful squire of old, had 
 dragged his apparently lifeless body from the 
 field of Talavera, and tended him on what, but 
 for such affectionate ministry, might in all 
 likelihood have been his death-bed, in conse- 
 quence of his wounds. Then there was the 
 Major's man, David Bryce, a son of the old 
 housekeeper; and his nephew, Raigie Matthe- 
 son, Captain SempilPs name-son, a lad of fifteen, 
 who acted as the old butler's deputy. The 
 spirit of order, harmony and love, which per- 
 vaded the whole establishment, operated on 
 all within its bounds ; and those whose in- 
 terests might under other circumstances have
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 121 
 
 been disposed to jar, feeling themselves all alike 
 objects of kindness and just treatment, lived in 
 peace and worked together in concert. 
 
 The only stranger at table on the present 
 occasion, Mr. Carniichael, was distinguished by 
 his hospitable entertainers with all that polite 
 and unobtrusive attention calculated to make 
 him feel himself at home ; and not less so by 
 their son, who, without possessing any very 
 marked features of character, was a thoroughly 
 amiable and good-hearted man, somewhat sad- 
 dened in aspect, as one who had known suf- 
 fering, but withal a pleasant and even cheerful 
 companion, whom Mrs. Henry Lockart, in 
 her secret soul, often wished had happened to 
 be the husband of her sister, instead of his 
 handsomer and more imposing younger brother. 
 Reginald Sempill was no egotist; and his quiet 
 endeavours to draw out the stranger guest met 
 with a willing response from one apparently 
 ready to be drawn out. 
 
 Mr* Carmichael was a somewhat singular- 
 looking man. Young, perhaps six-and-twenty, 
 but certainly not more ; his dark, grave coun- 
 tenance would have been plain, almost com- 
 mon-place, but for the redeeming effects of 
 vol. i. g
 
 122 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 a fine forehead, developed into remarkable 
 breadth at the upper part of the temples, 
 and of eyes neither so noticeable in size or 
 shape as in their meditative, dreamy expression, 
 which however was exchanged at times for 
 a glance of no ordinary degree of penetration. 
 Silent rather than otherwise, and reserved 
 more than shy, on first acquaintance, he 
 appeared like a man who had originally been 
 intended to be Yery awkward, but had been 
 saved from that misfortune by the refining 
 influence of study, in the first place, and in the 
 next, by evident familiarity with good society. 
 Before the end of dinner, every body began to 
 be highly pleased with him, and poor Miss 
 Grace Lockhart felt quite guilty in the involun- 
 tary emotion, remembering the strictures to 
 which she had listened in the morning, and 
 anticipating those yet to come, should her sister 
 discover the favourable impression made by 
 the minister so much decried by these " rael 
 judges," Miss Babie Chisholm and Miss 
 Menie Mark, not to mention Thomas Brodie, 
 the Wright and Elder. 
 
 In the course of conversation, it appeared 
 that Mr. Carmichael had resided with Mr., now
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 123 
 
 Sir Thomas, Bertram's family in Germany, as 
 tutor to the two younger of his three sons, the 
 elder of whom had accompanied him home to 
 be entered at Harrow. The eldest of the family, 
 Mr. William Bertram, a youth of twenty, of 
 whom he spoke with the enthusiasm of warm 
 affection, as one of the most accomplished and 
 most promising beings he had ever known, had 
 been nearly two years at Cambridge, and 
 had read with Mr. Carmichael one year previ- 
 ously to entering there. He was at present 
 passing the long vacation with his family, in 
 the neighbourhood of Tours, where they had 
 for some time resided. 
 
 "I look back upon the period of my intercourse 
 with Mr. Bertram as the happiestof my life," said 
 Mr. Carmichael. " I used to anticipate his coming 
 abroad in vacation time with such delight." 
 
 A bright sweet smile, at these words, illu- 
 minated Mrs. SempnTs beautiful old face. u It 
 does one's heart good, Mr. Carmichael," she 
 said, "to hear a master talk in that way of his 
 pupil. And is it not a pleasure," she added, 
 looking round for sympathy in her benevolent 
 satisfaction, " to think of such a delightful 
 young man coming amongst us?" 
 
 g 2
 
 124 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Everybody assented. Even the taciturn 
 Major was moved to observe that the family 
 would be an acquisition to the neighbourhood. 
 
 " And the next son, Mr. Carmichael," asked 
 Miss Muirhead, u what is his age V 3 
 
 11 Arthur is nearly sixteen/' said he. " A 
 fine boy, a very fine boy, They are a charming 
 family of young people, so far as one can judge 
 of the promise of their youth. I was much 
 attached to Arthur, much interested in him; 
 and I do look forward with deep interest to the 
 renewal of our intercourse, which may now 
 be anticipated. Miss Bertram is three years 
 younger than her brother; and Hugh, the 
 youngest, between ten and eleven." 
 
 " I am glad to hear there are so many 
 sons," said the Laird, in a grave and earnest 
 tone. "And all strong, healthy youths, I 
 suppose — all likely to live and thrive V 
 
 " Under God's blessing, I should say so," 
 replied Mr. Carmichael, in the same tone. 
 Mrs. George Sempill looked with some surprise 
 at him and at her father-in-law, on one side of 
 whom she was seated. 
 
 " Is there any reason why they should not, 
 dear sir V she asked.
 
 RINGSCONNELL. 125 
 
 " It is an old, foolish story, dear child/' 
 replied the Laird. "Mr. Carmichael, I see, 
 knows what I mean. But it is all nonsense; 
 and we should not be doing as w T e would be 
 done by, in reviving almost forgotten freits at 
 this time, respecting a family just about to 
 come amongst us as strangers. For I conclude, 
 Mr. Carmichael, that they will come to Kings- 
 connell." 
 
 It was evident that the Laird wished to 
 change the subject, of course only augmenting 
 ten-fold the curiosity he would not gratify. 
 Mr. Carmichae 1 , however, followed his lead, and 
 answered that he had no doubt of it. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Carmichael," said Mrs. Sempill, 
 in alow and solemn tone, "there is nothiug 
 reads one such a lesson on the vanity of 
 existence as such an event as this, when we 
 connect it with the recollections of a long 
 life. Well do I remember when Sir Peter 
 Bertram brought home his beautiful bride to 
 Kingsconnell ! I was a girl then, it was some 
 years before my own marriage, so you may 
 fancy it is not yesterday. And well do I 
 recollect their young family growing up around 
 them ! A. gayer house was not in this county;
 
 126 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 and people were gayer then, sir, than they are 
 now. There was more of openhandedness ; and 
 also, I think, when I was young, that we were 
 not ashamed of being merry (as young people 
 are now, my dears)," the old lady added paren- 
 thetically, with a smiling glance at the company 
 in general. " Be that as it may, Kingsconnell 
 was a gayer house than is often to be seen 
 now-a-days. And to think of the end of all ? 
 But perhaps you know the story ?" 
 
 To the infinite relief of Beatrice, whose 
 eyes were intently fixed on Mrs. SempilFs face, 
 Mr. Carmichael replied, " that he did not." 
 
 " He was as attached a husband as ever 
 woman had, Mr. Carmichael, and she had four 
 beautiful children, and all that money could 
 procure her. And yet she left him, and left 
 her young infants ! But the less said of that 
 the better," added Mrs. Sempill, then first 
 recollecting the presence of the little girls. 
 " He followed them abroad, whither they had 
 gone. And then there was a mystery over the 
 rest, No one ever knew, or no one who did 
 know ever told, what had occurred, but it was 
 surmised that there had been a duel, of which 
 Sir Peter was the only survivor. The grave is
 
 KIXGSCONXELL. 127 
 
 over the story ! He came here at last to his 
 solitary home, and he found his little son, his 
 only sou, dying of a fever, none but servants 
 with him. The child called incessantly for his 
 mother ; he died calling for her ! And they all 
 said who saw him, that if ever living man bore 
 the stamp of a broken heart upon him, Sir 
 Peter did the day he laid his bonny boy's head 
 in the grave. But grief does not kill ; for that 
 was forty years ago, and he is but dead this day." 
 
 " Awful indeed it is," said Mr. Carmichael, 
 " to think what the human heart can bear, and 
 live ! And the daughters, madam ? I think 
 you mentioned more children V a 
 
 "I did. There were three girls," replied 
 Mrs. Sempill. " And God help them, poor 
 things ! — much need has one to say God help 
 them — of all such deserted girls — for man will 
 help them little ! He never cared to see them ; 
 his heart was buried with his heir. He said 
 the hand of Providence was against his house, 
 and so he let all things take their course. 
 They went to live with their grandmother ; and 
 met with scanty affection from any one. They 
 could not inherit the estate, and that was 
 enough. The eldest girl died very young; I
 
 128 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 have often thought the creature, a tender- 
 hearted child, might have pined away for want 
 of a mother's love, Mr. Carmichael : but 
 perhaps you cannot understand that so well 
 as a woman does. The next one was to have 
 been married ; an old story it is now, but I 
 think the gentleman's family objected on ac- 
 count of her mother, which was the first time 
 she had ever learned the truth respecting her ; 
 and that, and the disappointment together, 
 broke her heart. She died of a consumption 
 within the year. The youngest lived, grew up, 
 and was well married ; but poor lost thing ! it 
 had been better for her had it pleased God to 
 take her when He took her sisters." 
 
 iC Aye V said the Major, " I remember 
 hearing of that sad business in India." 
 
 "And now that house, which has been like 
 a tomb for forty years and upwards," added 
 Mrs. Sempill, " will once more be thrown open 
 to the world, and filled with youth and life. 
 God grant a different close to this chapter of 
 its history !" 
 
 " Amen V 3 . solemnly replied Mr. Carmichael. 
 The Major, holding up his glass of claret to the 
 light, slowly shook his head.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 129 
 
 " Mr. Carmichael," said Mrs. George 
 Sempill, about two hours after this time, 
 " my sister and I, and this young lady, glanc- 
 ing at Beatrice, who stood by her, all her soul in 
 her eloquent eyes, " have come to the resolution 
 of throwing ourselves upon your mercy ? We 
 have the greatest possible favour to ask you [" 
 
 " Anything, Mrs. Seinpill, that I can do," 
 answered the young clergyman, with a grave 
 smile, " I am sure I shall be most happy." 
 
 "Well then," said Helen, "come into the 
 turret here, and tell us the freit about Kings- 
 counell, which my father refused to tell me 
 after dinner, and of which w r e have heard so 
 many tantalizing hints, that we can really bear 
 it no longer. I am convinced that you know 
 all about it. And there is a ghost story too, 
 which my niece has the greatest desire to hear 
 properly told ; and she thinks you can tell it. 
 Pray do ! I need not assure you, we shall not 
 repeat what you say to us in confidence." 
 
 " I require no such assurance, Mrs. 
 Sempill," returned Mr. Carmichael ; " and I 
 shall gladly tell you all I know, were it for no 
 other reason than that you would imagine it to 
 be much more strange and wonderful than it 
 
 g 3
 
 130 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 really is, if you were not permitted to hear it. 
 I am quite afraid you will be disappointed when 
 you know the whole of the story/' 
 
 "I shall take my chance of that," said 
 Helen, smiling, and leading the way into the 
 turret, a small room, circular in form as the 
 name implied, which opened from the drawing- 
 room, by a door in one angle of the wall. 
 This little apartment was fitted up with oddly- 
 shaped cabinets, whose upper shelves contained 
 numerous volumes of elegant literature and 
 light reading, strange antique cupboards, 
 shaped to the walls, and filled with beautiful 
 old china, and all the nondescript curiosities 
 which abound in ancient family- residences j 
 and it contained a small writing table, and 
 several low chairs with triangular seats, and 
 little fin-like arms, luxuriously cushioned, and 
 singularly comfortable. In one of these Mrs. 
 George Sempill seated herself, and her two 
 companions followed her example, whilst Bea- 
 trice and Helen, who had crept in after the 
 others, placed themselves on two footstools 
 with their backs to the wall, close by their 
 mother and aunt. 
 
 " It must be confessed," said Mrs. Henry
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 131 
 
 Lockhart, " that this is the very light, and the 
 locality altogether for hearing a ghost-story." 
 
 " Had it been colder," replied her sister, 
 "I should have proposed an adjournment to 
 the dining-room, to sit round that huge fire- 
 place, but the night is too warm for that, and 
 the distant peep of the fire that we have here 
 is quite sufficient." 
 
 This view of the fire the open door of the 
 turret afforded. It was now about eight o'clock 
 in the evening, and the shades of twilight were 
 beginning to be dispelled b}' the rising moon, 
 which was visible at the narrow window of the 
 turret, through the intervening branches of an 
 enormous evergreen oak, which grew close to 
 the house on that side. In the drawing-room 
 candles were already lighted, and tea was over. 
 The regular whist party was assembled round 
 the usual table, consisting of Mrs. Sempill, 
 Miss Muirhead, the Laird, and the Major, and 
 Captain Sempill, who, good-natured as he was, 
 had the delight natural to his sex, in the juve- 
 nility and the sentiment withal, of Miss Grace 
 Lockhart, sat with Ker upon a sofa, coquetting 
 with infiuite gallantry over a portfolio of views 
 in Spain, which lay upon a little table in front
 
 132 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 of them. There was nothing to interrupt the more 
 congenial pastime of the party around Mr. Car- 
 michael, who now pressed him to begin his tale. 
 " I must premise/ 7 he said, " that the first 
 part of my narrative, that which gave rise to 
 the freit mentioned by Mr. Sempill, was related 
 to me by my friend and pupil, Mr. William 
 Bertram. It so happens that one bond of 
 union between us consists in the addiction we 
 both have to all manner of wild and wonderful 
 stories, legends, and superstitions j everything, 
 in short, connected with the unseen world, or 
 that seems to bring our mortal life into contact 
 with the spiritual. He learned this legend 
 connected with his own family from an old lady, 
 an aunt of his father's, still alive, and who had 
 in her younger days lived much at Kings- 
 connell, before the breach with her branch of 
 the family took place ; I suppose m the early 
 part of Sir Peter's married life. The latter 
 part of the story Mr. Bertram did not know so 
 distinctly ; and it was a subject upon which he 
 was well aware that his .father would endure 
 no questions. But since I came here, to my 
 great surprise, it has been related to me by 
 old Dr. Grindlay,"
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 133 
 
 " Indeed V* exclaimed Mrs. Henry Lock- 
 hart, " I thought the poor old gentleman had 
 nearly lost his memory V* 
 
 " In matters belonging to the present day, 
 he has, in a measure/' said Mr. Carmichael; 
 "but, as I think is often the case with old 
 people, it seems to be singularly tenacious 
 respecting long-past events. And this story 
 attaching to the Kingsconnell family, in par- 
 ticular, as well as everything else relating to 
 their former history, has a stronghold upon 
 his mind. It seems to have been the one page 
 of romance opened to hiiu in the course of a 
 long and little varied life. He told it most 
 distinctly to me." 
 
 " As we hope you will do to us, Mr. Car- 
 michael/ ' said Mrs. George Sempill. " We 
 are all attention." And Mr. Carmichael began 
 his tale as follows :
 
 134 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 This deeply affecting story has an air of fatalism that always 
 reminds me of the Greek stage. Perhaps in all powerful 
 tragedies this air is to be traced. It is a cold dramatic 
 achievement to show us only the ordinary and necessary 
 connection between the passions and the misfortunes of our 
 species. The poetic invention that affects us to the deepest 
 degree, is that which teaches us by what surprising coinci- 
 dences the passions of the bad may work more misery than 
 even they themselves intend ; and how the shafts of cruelty 
 may strike the innocent with more than their natural force, 
 coming like arrows impelled by the wind." — Campbell's 
 "Life of Mrs. Siddons." 
 
 Mr. CARMICHAEL'S TALE. 
 
 Cfte SSHtroto'S Curse. 
 
 <{ The present mansion of Kingsconnell stands, 
 as you, ladies, are probably aware, very near 
 the site of one much older, which had been for 
 many generations the residence of the family.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 135 
 
 At the period when this one was built, very early 
 in the last century, the owner of the property, 
 Randolph Bertram, Viscount Kingsconnell, 
 (for the family then enjoyed that title, now 
 extinct with the elder branch), was a man who 
 had distinguished himself in public life, after 
 the Revolution. His political principles had 
 attached him to the party of William of Orange, 
 a circumstance of itself sufficient to stand in 
 the way of his popularity with his own countrv- 
 men ; for assuredly our two memorials of that 
 reign, Glencoe and Darien, must ever remain 
 indelible blots upon it in every patriotic Scottish 
 mind. But Lord Kingsconucll was farther 
 detested, as having been a member of the last 
 Scottish Privy Council before the Union ; and 
 as being more than suspected of having largely 
 shared in the bribes which, to their lasting 
 infamy, it is too well known influenced many 
 Scotchmen of that day to barter upon most 
 unequal terms the independence of their 
 country. His conduct had been openly de- 
 nounced by the noble Belhaven, on those very 
 grounds,in one of those stormy debates, previous 
 to the passing of the Act of Union, when 
 drawn swords came in to clench the arguments
 
 136 K1NGSC0NNELL. 
 
 on both sides. But the Act was passed ; and 
 Lord Kingsconnell had his reward. Already, 
 from his marriage with an heiress, who brought a 
 large addition to the property, a wealthy man 
 for his age and country, he now appeared still 
 more so ; and undertook the building of the 
 present mansion-house, which was finished on 
 the same scale of magnificence on which it had 
 been begun. It was he who executed the deed 
 of entail on heirs male which has governed 
 the succession to the estate. He had two 
 brothers, and numerous cousins, whose names 
 were enumerated in it according to their dif- 
 ferent degrees of propinquity; and having 
 gone through all of his own race, down to a 
 remote kinsman, he finished off the list by 
 inserting the name of a cousin-german of his 
 wife's, and Ms heirs-male, without, it may be 
 believed, the most distant idea that any of them 
 should ever approach the succession. 
 
 " Some time after the completion of Kings- 
 connell House, the owner resolved to lay out 
 the Pleasance, which still surrounds it, kept up 
 in the exact style in which it was at first 
 devised. It is, I believe, very extensive, for I 
 know no more of it than what I have seen
 
 KTxNGSCONNELL. 137 
 
 from the windows, on the two several occasions 
 on which I have been there. Now it so hap- 
 pened that there was a very ancient burial- 
 place, long disused, within the grounds ; the 
 burial-place formerly belonging to a small 
 parish, Kirk liingan's by name, which had been 
 annexed to that of Kingsconnell. In Popish 
 times, there had been a little chapel there, 
 dedicated to St. Ninian — hence the name -, and 
 the burial-ground was of course consecrated; 
 a practice which, as I am not in society where 
 such a confession is liable to be misconstrued, 
 I may venture to own is one amongst many 
 that appear to me to have been most mis- 
 takenly abolished by our Reformers. Be that 
 as it may, this old burial-ground interfered 
 with the plan of the projected Pleasance, and 
 Lord Kingsconnell, as it was no longer in use, 
 gave orders for its being ploughed up, and 
 thrown into the broad terraced walk in whose 
 way it stood. 
 
 " Sacrilegious as this order must have ap- 
 peared even to his work-people, no one durst 
 take it upon him to resist it, and the wall sur- 
 rounding the little enclosure was actually in 
 part demolished, when an aged woman came
 
 138 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 to the house, and implored an audience of its 
 master. She was a widow, and had been so 
 for nearly half a century. Her husband and 
 her three children, who had all died very 
 shortly after him, were the last inhabitants of the 
 parish who had been buried in Kirk Bingan's 
 church-yard. Every other family amongst the 
 farmers and peasantry which had been wont to 
 inter its dead there, was extinct ; and this poor 
 old creature, dragging out the lees of existence 
 in poverty and loneliness, was nearly forgotten ; 
 at least her history was, in the neighbourhood. 
 Scarcely any one knew where ' her people ; 
 were buried. But she had not forgotten. 
 Withered by age, and chilled by poverty though 
 it was, her heart still retained the memory of 
 the husband of her youth, and of the children 
 whom God had early taken from her, leaving 
 her desolate on the earth. The last — we may 
 well believe the only — wish of that weary heart 
 was to lie in the grave beside them, when her 
 long pilgrimage should be ended ; that their 
 bodies might rest together in the dust, even as 
 she hoped their spirits might be re-united in 
 the unseen state beyond death. The news of 
 the intended desecration of the burial-place
 
 KINGSCOXNELL. 139 
 
 
 
 had come upon her like a thunderbolt, and dis- 
 pelled the apathy of age ; and she came to 
 implore, with agonizing supplications, that this 
 last hope might not be torn from her, that the 
 bones of her dead might not be disturbed, nor 
 she debarred from a grave beside them. Bat 
 all her supplications were in vain ; the hard, 
 proud man she addressed was inexorable, and 
 she had no living creature to take her part. 
 She left his presence at length like one dis- 
 tracted ; and her visit, and its purport, passed 
 altogether from his mind. 
 
 " Some few days after this, so runs the 
 story, Lord Kingsconnell was standing by his 
 workmen, superintending their operations in 
 levelling the church-yard of Kirk Bingan's. 
 The trees which surrounded it had been cut 
 down, and all that remained of the dilapidated 
 wall removed. The plough was about to be set 
 to work, to tear up the soil so long undisturbed 
 even by the spade ; when suddenly from behind 
 a moss-grown head-stone, sunk to one side in 
 the uneven ground, the figure of the aged 
 widow, in her tattered garments, and with her 
 pale, wrinkled face, stood up before the master 
 and servants. She grazed at them for a minute
 
 140 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 in silence, so says the tradition, which has 
 been handed down from- father to son, by the 
 witnesses of the scene, then lifting her hands 
 to Heaven, she solemnly pronounced a curse 
 upon the House of Kingsconnell. In the awful 
 language of Scripture, she implored that he 
 who had built it might lay the foundation 
 thereof in his first-born son, and in his youngest 
 son set up the gates of it. She called down 
 the vengeance of the Almighty upon him who 
 had violated the resting-place of the dead, and 
 had hardened his heart to the intreaties of the 
 widow for the graves of her husband and 
 children ; and she prayed that neither he, nor 
 any future Lord of Kingsconnell, might be 
 succeeded in his possessions by an heir of his 
 own body, — that their lands might pass to 
 strangers, and the place which knew them know 
 them no more. And with the last words of 
 her fearful petition she departed from the spot, 
 and was never seen in that country-side again. 
 It was concluded that she had been seized with 
 derangement, had wandered away, and perished 
 in some place where she was unknown. 
 
 The tale was hushed up. It may well be 
 believed that during Lord KingsconnelFs life-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 141 
 
 time, no one ever dared repeat it, save in a 
 whisper. Whatever he might in his heart 
 have thought or felt, he braved it out. The 
 church-yard was levelled — the Pleasance was 
 completed — and — the Widow's Curse was ful- 
 filled. Since that day, think of the story as 
 we may, no lord of Kingsconnell has ever been 
 succeeded by a son of his own. That lord 
 lived to see the doom denounced against him, 
 in all its parts completed. He survived his 
 own four sons ; and the estates and title passed 
 from him in succession to one of his brothers, 
 and then to the son of the second, who had 
 died before the elder. Not one of them left a 
 son of his own, and so it has been ever since. 
 In one way and another, by death, celibacy, or 
 childless wedlock, the curse has worked. 
 Brother succeeded brother; nephew, uncle; 
 latterly cousin, cousin. Until it devolved upon 
 the late Sir Peter, the succession to the estate 
 was singularly rapid. With his predecessor, 
 the last Viscount Kingsconnell, the elder line 
 of the family became extinct. He, and his 
 cousin, now Sir Thomas, were descended from 
 a scion, which branched off from the main 
 stock before it was ennobled; and as all the
 
 142 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 families of the more distant kinsmen named in 
 the entail, have either ceased to exist, or ter- 
 minated in females, it so happens that Sir 
 Thomas Bertram and his three sons are actually 
 the last of the race. This is a very singular, 
 and a very swift extinction of a family so ex- 
 tensive and so strong in male branches, one 
 hundred years ago — a series of events calculated 
 to make some impression, even upon the most 
 sceptical. On me, I confess it made a very 
 strong one one when first related to me ; and 
 this has not been lessened by all which has 
 subsequently come to my knowledge, or by the 
 solemn scene which I have this day witnessed 
 in that house." 
 
 " It is an awful story \*' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Henry Lockhart, in a low voice. " I confess I 
 should have been disposed to conceal it from 
 young Mr. Bertram's knowledge, had I been 
 his old relation. Does it appear to have made 
 much impression upon his mind, Mr. Car- 
 michael ?" 
 
 " In the way of inducing despondency, I 
 should say decidedly not/' answered Mr. Car-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 143 
 
 michael. "William Bertram's is a singular 
 mind ; and such subjects have a strange fasci- 
 nation for him, which overpowers all considera- 
 tions of a personal nature. From all I have 
 heard of the very superior old lady who told it 
 to him, I imagine her to be very much of the 
 same disposition, and that she judged him by 
 herself in doing so. In her place, knowing 
 him as I do, T am not at all sure that I should 
 not have done the same ; whilst from a person 
 of a light and scoffing turn of mind, I should 
 have been inclined if possible to conceal the fact 
 of such a legend being connected with his 
 family. It appears to me that if subjects of 
 the kind be viewed in a spirit of faith and 
 earnestness, they benefit the heart ; but quite 
 otherwise under opposite circumstances." 
 
 " I quite agree with you there," said Mrs. 
 Henry Lockhart. "And is the story at all 
 known or believed beyond Mr. Bertram in the 
 family ? Sir Thomas, how does he think 
 of it V 
 
 "Why," returned Mr. Carmichael, "you 
 are aware, Mrs. Lockhart, that it is a species 
 of story strongly opposed to the spirit of the 
 age we live in, and that our avowal of faith in
 
 144 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 it is liable to be assailed with contemptuous 
 mocking, rather than any other argument. 
 There is no plea, no chain of improbable co- 
 incidences, under which a man of the world 
 would not sooner shelter himself, than admit 
 the credibility of such a legend as this, though 
 certainly borne out by incontrovertible facts. 
 It is a subject on which I never have conversed 
 with any member of the Bertram family, save 
 William ; but from all I know of Sir Thomas, 
 I am convinced, that he would at once treat it 
 with utter contempt, and at the same time feel 
 most seriously displeased with any one who 
 brought it forward as a subject of discussion." 
 
 "One can understand that, however, Mr. 
 Carmichael," said Mrs. George Sempill. "It 
 could not be agreeable to any father to have 
 such a story canvassed, and such a doom con- 
 nected with his family." 
 
 " Most decidedly not," replied Mr. Car- 
 michael, " though you know, Mrs. Sempill, 
 there are different modes of manifesting the 
 same feeling. But 1 so thoroughly feel the 
 injury and injustice of making a thing of the 
 kind public, that I should not have dreamt of 
 doing so in any society but one in which I
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 145 
 
 knew my words to be perfectly safe. And 
 from what I can gather, during my short 
 experience of this neighbourhood, though the 
 legend is net forgotten, yet during Sir Peter's 
 long life-time of seclusion the memory of it 
 has greatly died away. It will of course ex- 
 perience a partial revival now that a new family 
 is about to occupy Kingsconnell, but is scarcely 
 likely to reach their ears, if it do." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Carmichael, for Dr. Grindlay's 
 ghost story," said Mrs. George Sempiil. "We 
 do not mean to be baulked of it, you know." 
 
 " That," he replied, " is a story growing 
 out of the former, and involving one of those 
 instances of domestic tyranny and injustice 
 which are so unhappily rife in the family- 
 history of our forefathers. The particulars of 
 that part of the story are matter of notoriety 
 to all who know anything of the former gene- 
 rations of this family ; the rest I shall relate 
 as it was told to me, and leave my hearers to 
 form their own conclusions on it. Dr. Grindlay, 
 who I lake it was about the same age as the 
 late Sir Peter Bertram, heard it when a very 
 young man, at the period of the last Lord 
 Kingsconnell' s death, told to his father, who 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 was minister of this parish before him, by the 
 gentleman to whom the circumstance actually 
 occurred. 
 
 " The last Lord Kingsconnell died childless ; 
 but he had been the father of a most promising 
 son, whose melancholy death preceded his. In 
 this youth all the ambitious hopes and projects 
 of both his parents were centered; and ii 
 would seem that his mother in particular, had 
 been a woman of a most ambitious nature. 
 He was a boy of fifteen or so before his father 
 succeeded to the title and estates, and even 
 from that early period their whole thought 
 appears to have been to secure for him an early 
 and distinguished alliance in marriage, with a 
 view at once to extend the consequence of his 
 family, and avert the doom said to impend over it. 
 
 " By one of those strange over-sights of 
 which one sometimes sees ambitious parents 
 guilty, probably because their thoughts are too 
 much occupied with things afar off to attend 
 to those under their own eyes, whilst Lady 
 Kingsconnell was weaving her manifold schemes 
 for her son's future lot, the young Master of 
 Kingsconnell had been permitted a most im- 
 prudent degree of familiarity with a beautiful
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 147 
 
 girl, of rank inferior to his own, though the 
 daughter of a respectable gentleman. This 
 young lady, whose name has escaped me — (but 
 that is of no consequence to the story) — had 
 lived much in the house as a companion to his 
 sister ; and at the time when the fact of their 
 mutual attachment first accidentally transpired, 
 they were, and had for some time been, pri- 
 vately engaged to each other. It is of no use 
 to dwell on what may very easily be imagined, 
 the disappointment and indignation of the 
 parents. They attempted at once to break off 
 the engagement ; but their son was of a deter- 
 mined temper, — it was found to be no easy 
 matter, — and they at last had recourse to 
 temporising measures. The Master of Kiugs- 
 connell consented to leave home, and travel 
 abroad for the space of a twelvemonth, with 
 permission to correspond during that time with 
 his affianced bride. If at the end of that time 
 both parties continued in the same mind, tne 
 parents promised to withdraw all farther oppo- 
 sition to the match. 
 
 " So far all was just and reasonable, but 
 1hen began one of those tissues of fraud and 
 falsehood, which one would fain believe to be 
 
 h 2
 
 148 KINGSCONNELL, 
 
 impossible from a father and mother to a son, 
 were the facts not unhappily too well established. 
 By a series of machinations, which it was 
 believed originated with Lady Kingsconnell, 
 though they bad the concurrence of her lord, 
 the young man's mind was systematically 
 poisoned, and warped into suspicion. It was 
 afterwards ascertained that from the first, the 
 letters passing between the young couple had 
 been intercepted, through the instrumentality 
 of the valet who attended the Master on his 
 travels, he having been bribed enormously to 
 do his lady this service. It would be tedious 
 to enter into a long detail of all the arts em- 
 ployed, which indeed I am not competent to 
 do, but they so completely succeeded, that the 
 Master returned to Scotland before the expiry 
 of the allotted time, convinced, as he thought, 
 beyond the possibility of doubt, not only of 
 the fickleness, but of the actual guilt, of the 
 unfortunate girl to whom he had been be- 
 trothed. Her home was at a distance; and 
 even had she known of what she was accused 
 she would not have been permitted an oppor- 
 tunity of clearing herself; the victim wa? too 
 securely watched. In short, it ended in his
 
 KINGSCOXNELL. 149 
 
 being persuaded, broken-hearted and desperate 
 as he was, into a marriage with a young lady of 
 very high rank, who had long been secretly at- 
 tached to him. 
 
 " The parents' triumph was now at its height. 
 The wedding was celebrated at the seat of the 
 
 bride's father (in shire, I think), with the 
 
 utmost splendour and rejoicing ; and the young 
 couple departed to spend the honey-moon at 
 another of the family seats, in the north of 
 England. On the third day of their journey, 
 
 they entered the town of , where they 
 
 stopped to change horses. Some delay having 
 occurred, the unhappy bridegroom, in the 
 restlessness of a dissatisfied mind, left the car- 
 riage, and strolled up the street in which the 
 inn stood, where suddenly, turning a corner, 
 he came full upon an advancing female figure, 
 in whom he recognized her whom he believed 
 to have so cruelly deceived him, but whom he 
 could not cease to love ! 
 
 " One may fancy the shock of the encounter ! 
 The young lady, who had been scut to reside 
 with a relation in that town, in hopes of re- 
 viving her failing health, would have passed in 
 silence the man whom she on her side believed
 
 150 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 to have acted so base a part by her ; but in a 
 transport of grief, love, and indignation, he 
 seized her by the hand, and demanded a few 
 words with her. A very few sufficed to unfold 
 to both, now when it was for ever too late, the 
 secret of their mutual wrongs, and the diaboli- 
 cal treachery practised upon them. 
 
 " The unhappy girl, who only survived this 
 scene a £ew months, never could tell how she 
 had parted with her former lover, or remember 
 how she reached the house where she was stay- 
 ing, that dreadful day. The still more wretched 
 youth returned to the inn where his bride and 
 his servants had long been waiting for him; 
 and the latter often afterwards told how much 
 they had been struck by the wild fixed look of 
 their master, and his ghastly paleness, as he 
 sprang into the carriage after his lady. They 
 had not gone above a mile out of the town, 
 when the valet missed one of his loaded pistols, 
 which were at that time indispensable travelling 
 companions, and calling to the post-boys to 
 stop, requested permission to send back one of 
 the outriders to inquire about it at the inn 
 they had left. But his master, in a stern 
 and gloomy tone, forbade him to detain them
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 151 
 
 on any such pretext, and commanded that the 
 carriage should go on. 
 
 " It did so ; but in half an hour after, a ter- 
 rific explosion, and a burst of such shrieks as 
 never before were heard from a human voice, 
 brought it to a sudden and awful stop. The 
 door was torn open, and there lay the young 
 Master of Kingsconnell across the lap of his 
 fainting bride, his head literally blown to 
 atoms, and the missing pistol still clenched in 
 his stiffening hand ! 
 
 " This hideous tragedy," pursued Mr. Car- 
 michael, when the exclamations of horror from 
 his auditory had subsided, "is, as I said, 
 well-known to all who know the former family- 
 history of the Bertrams ; and a more appalling 
 lesson was never read to human pride and am- 
 bition. But, as Mrs. Sempill said at dinner, 
 grief does not kill ; nor does remorse ; at least 
 they do so but seldom. Five years after this 
 termination to all their earthly schemes 
 and hopes, the wretched parents were still 
 alive. They returned about that time to 
 Kingsconnell, after a long period of foreign 
 wandering and residence in various places 
 abroad, and established themselves there once
 
 152 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 more. Their daughter had in this interval been 
 married to an English nobleman whom they 
 met on the Continent, and soon after their 
 return Lady Kingsconnell departed to pay her 
 a visit, leaving her lord alone. 
 
 " It so happened that the gentleman from 
 whom Dr. Grindlay had the narrative I am 
 now about to tell, Colonel Ainslie by name, 
 was an early companion and schoolfellow of 
 Lord Kingsconnell; and after having lost 
 sight of him since boyhood, in consequence of 
 the vicissitudes of a military life, had met and 
 renewed his acquaintance with him in Italy. 
 They had been much together there, and found 
 pleasure in talking over their juvenile days; 
 and in consequence of a pressing invitation 
 to visit him at his own house on his return, 
 Colonel Ainslie arrived therewith the intention 
 of remaining some time with his friend, very 
 shortly after Lady Kingsconnell's departure. 
 
 " On his first arrival, he was conducted to 
 the room assigned him by a servant ; but after 
 passing a cheerful evening in talking over their 
 reminiscences of the past, when it was time to 
 retire for the night, Lord Kingsconnell himself 
 accompanied his guest, preceded by the butler
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 153 
 
 carrying candles, to the door of his apartment. 
 Only to the door ; for, although it had appa- 
 rently been his intention to enter along with 
 him, Colonel Ainslie remarked that as they ap- 
 proached it, he started, turned away almost 
 with a shudder, and hastily bidding him ( good- 
 night/ retreated immediately. This circum- 
 stance made but a momentary impression upon 
 the visitor at the time, though afterwards it was 
 vividly recalled to his mind. 
 
 "The apartment was a large and handsome 
 one, but contained nothing to render it in any 
 way striking. A good fire was blazing in the 
 grate, and Colonel Ainslie, not feeling inclined 
 to sleep, drew one of the easy chairs, with 
 a writing-table to the hearth, and having put on 
 his dressing-gown, sat down to write a letter. 
 That done, he resolved on retiring to bed, but 
 the fire looked so inviting, that he could not 
 make up his mind to leave it yet awhile. 
 Turning the chair towards it, therefore, and 
 stretching himself out in a comfortable attitude, 
 he sat musing, and gazing into the glowing 
 embers, till, as might have been expected, he 
 gradually fell sound asleep in that position. 
 
 " How long he slept he could not tell; but 
 
 H 3
 
 154 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 lie started awake at last, in all the discomfort 
 which attends the rousing from sleep taken in 
 an unusual place and manner, and determined 
 to go instantly to bed. The fire had burned 
 low, and the candles were sinking in the 
 sockets. Just as Colonel Ainslie, having effec- 
 tually shaken off his drowsiness, was about 
 to rise from his chair, to his astonishment 
 he beheld the door of the chamber slowly open. 
 It was at the end of the room, and a good way 
 from the fire-place. He sat gazing intently at 
 it, feeling as if it were impossible for him 
 to leave his seat, whilst a figure, at first indis- 
 tinctly seen in the obscurity, entered, and 
 advancing with a stately, measured step to- 
 wards the light, stood still within two paces of 
 his chair. It was that of a young and re- 
 markably handsome man, dressed in a rich 
 laced suit; his whole appearance denoting 
 a gallant of the first rank; but his coun- 
 tenance, Colonel Ainslie declared, such as 
 would never leave his memory till his dying 
 day. It was ghastly pale, — fixed in an ex- 
 pression of such concentrated woe, — such hope- 
 less despair — the dark mournful eyes bent upon 
 him with such a look of untold anguish, as
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 155 
 
 froze the very blood in his veins. He instinc- 
 tively felt, as people in such awful circum- 
 stances are said to do, that it was not an 
 inhabitant of this world he looked upon. His 
 limbs seemed to stiffen, — his tongue clave 
 to the roof of his mouth, and he sat as if spell- 
 bound, unable to withdraw his eyes for an 
 instant from that dread, unchanging gaze. 
 Thus passed some space of time, — a long one it 
 could not have been, but to his imagination it 
 seemed to comprise hours of horror. Then the 
 apparition, slowly and silently raising its hand, 
 with an authoritative gesture pointed to the 
 door. That motion broke the spell which be- 
 numbed Colonel Ainslie's senses. He rose 
 from his seat, feeling that he must escape or be 
 driven mad by the terror of this visitation ; yet 
 at the same time remembering, with a sensation 
 of mortal dread, that in order to escape, he 
 must pass it closely. How he did so, or how 
 he gained the door, he never could distinctly 
 recall; but he did gain it, and found himself in 
 a long passage, fortunately lighted by the 
 moonbeams, which made their way through a 
 window not entirely darkened ; and along this, 
 he, — who had risked his life in various battles,
 
 156 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 had mounted a breach, and led a forlorn hope, 
 yet never had known what bodily fear was, — 
 confessed, and declared he was not ashamed to 
 confess, that he fled in such a condition of 
 panic and of horror, as none but those who 
 have experienced the overpowering influence of 
 supernatural fears can rightly picture to them- 
 selves. 
 
 " Where to go was now the question ; the 
 house is a very large one; many stairs and 
 passages occur in it, and he of course knew 
 nothing of it. By accident, however, he 
 managed to make his way to the library, where 
 his host and he had sat the previous evening, 
 and where the fire was not quite extinguished; 
 and raking it together as well as he could, 
 he passed a night of little rest and less comfort 
 on one of the sofas. 
 
 "At last the Autumnal morning began 
 to break, and Colonel Ainslie reflected that, 
 unless he wished to expose himself to the 
 observation of the servants, he must return to 
 his room. Indeed, under the reviving influence 
 of light, he began to question the reality of the 
 apparition which he had seen, and to re- 
 solve the whole adventure into a frightful
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 157 
 
 ream, induced by the unnatural posture in 
 which he had fallen asleep. Credulity in such 
 matters was not the characteristic of the last 
 century, any more than it is of the present ; 
 and he was one of those votaries of the real and 
 the practical, whose scepticism it is not easy to 
 shake. Nevertheless, he did not attempt to 
 deny that it was not with the most assured step 
 possible that he sought out the passage leading 
 to his apartment, and opened the door of 
 it. Nothing within appeared to denote that 
 any one but himself had been there ; and 
 he proceeded to give his bed some appearance 
 of having been slept in, and to dress himself; 
 struggling all the while, but not with much 
 success, against the singularly vivid and indelible 
 impression left upon his mind's eye by that 
 awful countenance and unmoved gaze of the 
 last night's spectre; which remained before 
 him in a manner \c\^ unlike the recollection of 
 a dream. 
 
 "It was still early when Colonel Ainslie 
 went down stairs ; and on his making his way 
 to the breakfast-room, he found no one there 
 but the old grey-haired butler, employed in 
 arranging the table. To while away the time
 
 158 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 till his host should appear, he entered into 
 conversation with this old man, who began 
 talking of the Kingsconnell family, and shew- 
 ing him several portraits which hung upon the 
 walls of the room, amongst which were some of 
 the present generation. One picture, covered 
 with a black curtain, attracted Colonel AinshVs 
 attention, and he asked to be permitted to see 
 it. The old man replied that he would 
 willingly show it him, only he hoped the 
 Colonel would excuse his begging that no allu- 
 sion might- be made to it in his Lord's pre- 
 sence. It was the portrait of his only son, 
 whose melancholy death had plunged the 
 family into such affliction five years before. He 
 withdrew the curtain as he spoke, and Colonel 
 Ainslie beheld the likeness of his last night's 
 visitor ! There was no mistake, — it was him- 
 self; the form, the face, the dress — all were the 
 very same. The bright and animated expres- 
 sion of the countenance alone presented a 
 strange contrast to that of the apparition; 
 which contrast, however, only served to render 
 the resemblance more strikingly correct. 
 
 "Awe-struck and speechless, Colonel Ainslie 
 stood gazing at the picture, whilst the old ser-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 159 
 
 vant talked on, lamenting the untimely fate of 
 one so full of promise. ' It was that which 
 had kept his Lord and Lady so long away 
 from Kingsconnell. They had not had the 
 heart to return. Many people had thought 
 they never would/ Gratified by the silent 
 attention of his hearer, he then proceeded 
 to describe the ceremonial of the funeral, — the 
 return to the house, as a mangled corpse, 
 of him who had quitted it a week before a gay 
 bridegroom ; and the heartfelt grief and awe of 
 those, amongst whom he himself was one, upon 
 whom it had devolved to place the coffin of 
 their young master in the room which he had 
 always occupied in life, where they leaked it 
 day and night until the interment. "The 
 room had been shut up ever since, until very 
 lately, that the housekeeper had taken it upon 
 her to have it opened, and thoroughly aired. 
 She wished to have it restored to use, and 
 determined that it should be assigned to the 
 first stranger who came, who could have no 
 painful ideas connected with it. Colonel 
 Ainslie might perhaps have remarked, the 
 night before, that his Lordship would not go in 
 with him, when he saw what room he was
 
 160 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 to sleep in? The fact was, they had said 
 nothing of it to his Lordship, but had privately 
 resolved to lodge him, being a stranger, in the 
 Master's room; and he (the butler) and the 
 housekeeper had just been congratulating 
 themselves on the plan having succeeded so 
 comfortably/ 
 
 " It may be believed that Colonel Ainslie 
 did not undeceive him. And I need scarcely 
 add that the arrival of some letters for him 
 that day furnished him with a pretext for 
 pleading urgent and unexpected business as 
 necessitating his immediate departure. Worlds, 
 he afterwards said, should not have bribed him 
 to pass another night at Kingsconnell. But from 
 delicacy to the family, and a dislike to approach 
 the subject at all, he seems never to have men- 
 tioned it to any one, until coming to attend 
 Lord KingsconnelFs funeral, he became the 
 guest of old Mr. Grindlay, and related it to 
 him as I have told it. And afterwards it 
 appears to have come out in various incorrect 
 shapes, amongst country people and servants, 
 as these sort of stories do always come out, one 
 cannot tell how. But this, Dr. Grindlay as- 
 sured me, is the correct version."
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 161 
 
 Mr. Carmichael ceased to speak, and his 
 silent audience 
 
 " All at once their breath drew in 
 
 As they had been drinking all." 
 
 "What would I not give/' at length ex- 
 claimed Mrs. George Sempill, " to be able to 
 give full and implicit faith to a story like that ! 
 I do so delight in a genuine ghost story ! and 
 yet there is a lurking scepticism, like Colonel 
 Ainslie's, at the bottom of my heart, which 
 always comes in the way of my enjoyment. I 
 cannot believe these tales as I wish to do." 
 
 " What then do you think of me, Mrs. 
 Sempill," asked Mr. Carmichael, u when I 
 confess to you that I implicitly believe in this 
 story V 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad of that \" almost in- 
 voluntarily exclaimed the young Beatrice, " for 
 I do !" 
 
 " I say that I envy you, Mr. Carmichael," 
 replied Helen, "and I should of all things 
 enjoy a discussion on the subject of ghosts with 
 you. I want to believe, if I could." 
 
 "I shall be most happy to discuss the 
 subject at some future time with you, Mrs.
 
 162 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Sempill," returned he, " but at present I 
 fear it would involve us in too lengthy an 
 argument. It is a subject in which I have 
 a particular pleasure, and on which I have 
 read and thought much; though such an 
 admission, [in many people's opinion, might 
 cause me to be set down as a crack-brained 
 enthusiast." 
 
 ". What are you all about here in the dark ?" 
 enquired Captain Sempill, who had apparently 
 become weary of Miss Grace and the views in 
 Spain. " Any room for me, Helen V' and he 
 drew in one of the low chairs, and seated 
 himself by his sister-in-law. " Now I think I 
 can guess what you are all doing. You are 
 discussing that humbug my father was looking 
 so mysterious about at dinner to-day — that 
 absurd old story about Kingsconnell, which all 
 the old wives hereabouts will be bringing to light 
 again, now that poor Sir Peter is dead, and a 
 new heir coming. You don't seriously mean to 
 say that you believe it, Helen V* 
 
 " I never enter into arguments with un- 
 believers," said Helen, "and you are one, I 
 know, Reginald, on all such points. But after 
 all, facts are facts."
 
 K1NGSC0NNELL. 
 
 163 
 
 "Facts! aye, but what sort of facts ? What 
 say you, Mr. Carmichael?" 
 
 "I am disposed to say ditto to Mrs. 
 Sempill," replied he with a smile. 
 
 " But now, look here," said Captain 
 Sempill, "can there be anything more one- 
 sided than to press a series of accidents, mere 
 chance-work, into the service of a piece of 
 obsolete superstition, and set them down as 
 incontrovertible facts in its support? Upon 
 my word I should not think the subject worth 
 talking of at all, had I not been provoked to 
 see my father's and mother's solemn looks 
 about it at dinner, and the impression they 
 seemed to make on you ladies ; and I really 
 think it is one's duty, for the sake of these 
 new people's comfort, to hinder such a story 
 getting abroad again, after having been so long 
 forgotten." 
 
 " There I perfectly agree with you, Captain 
 Sempill," returned Mr. Carmichael, " and 
 honour the feeling which prompts you ; at the 
 same time that I take leave to reserve my own 
 judgment of the facts you allude to, and the 
 weight to be attached to them." 
 
 " You astonish me, Mr. Carmichael, I must
 
 164 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 confess/' observed Captain Sempill. "Why, 
 what had the old woman's carse, if there ever 
 was such an old woman, to do ■'with the death 
 of young Bertram, that dreadful story which I 
 dare say you know, of his blowing out his own 
 brains V 9 
 
 " Certainly, we have just been talking of 
 it," said Mr. Carmichael. 
 
 " Well, is it not as clear as day-light that 
 it was the parents' fault entirely, and no one's 
 else ? Had they not acted in the treacherous 
 manner they did by him, he might have married 
 and lived to a good old age, leaving a large 
 family behind him. And in Sir Peter's case, 
 to be sure he lost his heir j but had he married 
 again, — and I have often wondered why he did 
 not, — and had other sons, what would have 
 become of the story then ? Then here is Sir 
 Thomas, with a family of sons. Are they all 
 to die off, to appease ih.2 ghost of this uncon- 
 scionable old woman I 99 
 
 "Far be such a calamity from them !" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Carmichael gravely. "I agree 
 with you, Captain Sempill, it is a deep and 
 puzzling subject, and one too closely connected 
 with the most awful and bewildering of topics,
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 165 
 
 the origin of evil, to be easily dealt with. And 
 if the conclusions to which it leads me are 
 different from your's, I neither presume to 
 advance them as incontrovertible, nor to con- 
 demn those who differ from me. And yet I 
 cannot bring myself to look upon such a story, 
 opposed though it be to the spirit of every-day 
 life, in the light of a mere obsolete superstition. 
 To me it conveys a deeper and more mysterious 
 meaning. But I fully concur in your kind 
 and neighbourly desire to hinder its being 
 again spread abroad, and becoming a source of 
 annoyance to Sir Thomas' family. I am sure 
 we are all agreed on that head." 
 
 The discussion was here interrupted by the 
 entrance into the drawing-room of the supper- 
 tray, an old-fashioned appendage which ap- 
 peared at Sempilltower as regularly every night 
 as the clock struck ten ; and Captain Sempill, 
 rising, offered his arm to Mrs. Henry Lockhart, 
 to conduct her to its nearer vicinity. For 
 nearly an hour after, all was cheerful sociality 
 and harmless mirth, around this pleasant meal 
 of our ancestors, which modern civilization has 
 so completely banished. Then the announce- 
 ment of the Grange carriage broke up the 
 little party.
 
 166 KINGSCONNELL, 
 
 "I am charmed with this new minister, 
 Beatrice V* exclaimed Helen Sempill, as she 
 accompanied her sister and the children to her 
 room, previous to their departure. "I have 
 never met with anything in the Church of 
 Scotland at all to compare to him. I wish he 
 belonged to the Church in Scotland \" 
 
 "So do I, I am sure," said Beatrice. "I 
 think even Miss Violet could in that case 
 hardly discover many defects in him. But as 
 it is, he will be a blessing to us, when we are 
 here, Helen, for you know we can so seldom 
 get to St. Michael's to attend our own Church, 
 from the distance." 
 
 The visitors descended to the drawing-room 
 to make their adieu to old Mrs. Sempill and 
 Miss Muirhead, and then departed, with a 
 promise from Helen to walk over to the Grange 
 next morning, and many injunctions from her 
 mother-in-law to return there speedily. These 
 were forcibly seconded by the Laird, who with 
 the chivalrous courtesy of the old school, de- 
 scended the stairs with Mrs. Henry Lockhart 
 and handed her into the cairiage, his venerable 
 silver hair uncovered as he did so. A ceremony 
 this, which on the stormiest night of winter, 
 the Laird was never known to omit towards any
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 167 
 
 lady visitor. The old-fashioned close carriage, 
 drawn by the farm-horses, and driven by Lowry 
 Mac Fyke, in a livery great-coat, trotted 
 soberly down the long avenue, through the 
 beautiful moonlight ; and as, in going round 
 to the lodge of the Grange, it passed a spot 
 where through a long vista, the house of 
 Kingsconnell was visible from the high road, 
 the sudden gleam of lights from one part of 
 the mansion, told of the silent room where the 
 watchers of the dead were waking the corpse 
 of Sir Peter Bertram.
 
 168 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 But hark ! the tent has changed its voice, 
 There's peace and rest nae langer ; 
 
 For a' the rael judges rise, 
 
 They canna' sit for anger.'' Burns. 
 
 " Quant a l'humeur contredisante — 
 ****** 
 
 Quiconque avec elle naitra 
 Sans faute avec elle niourra, 
 Et jusqu'au hout contredira, 
 Et, s'il peut, encore par-dela." 
 
 La Fontaine. 
 
 The churchyard of Kingsconnell, which was 
 nearly equidistant from the Grange and 
 Sempilltower, and not above a mile and a half 
 from the lodge of either mansion, presented an 
 unusually crowded aspect on the Sunday fol- 
 lowing the death of Sir Peter Bertram, which 
 had occurred on the previous Wednesday. Not 
 only was the new assistant and successor ex- 
 pected to preach for the first time that day, but
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 169 
 
 it was confidently rumoured that late on the 
 previous evening a post-chaise and four had 
 arrived from the direction of Edinburgh, and 
 had driven in at the grand entrauce to Kings- 
 connell House, containing two gentlemen, 
 whom report at first magnified into Sir Thomas 
 Bertram and his eldest son. This was the 
 edition of the story propagated amongst the 
 first set of loiterers round the tombstones, and 
 at the churchyard gate. The day being warm 
 and beautiful, these were numerous, and un- 
 usually early in their attendance; and not 
 only was the fact of Sir Thomas's arrival esta- 
 blished amongst them beyond question, but a 
 full, true, and particular account of his conduct 
 on arriving, — what he had said, and how he 
 had looked, was in rapid circulation, when the 
 tide of gossip was arrested in midflow by some 
 later additions to the party, who, living in the 
 immediate neighbourhood, were better ac- 
 quainted with the actual state of things, and it 
 was now discovered that Sir Thomas and his 
 son could by no human possibility have arrived 
 at Kingsconnell, seeing they were in France. 
 It was also ascertained that the occupants 
 of the post-chaise in question were two legal 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 gentlemen from Edinburgh, one of whom had 
 acted as man-of-business for the late Sir Peter, 
 whilst the other discharged that office for the 
 present Baronet. Whether or not they might 
 be expected in church now became the question, 
 but that was soon disposed of. 
 
 " It wald be an unco' like thing/' a grey- 
 haired senior sternly said, " to be seen at the 
 kirk, and them leevin' in the hoos where 
 the maister o't was lyin' a streekit corp." 
 
 Then ensued a discussion respecting the 
 funeral, which was to take place on the Tuesday 
 following; its ceremonial, the number of per- 
 sons invited, — all the gloomy detail, in short, in 
 which the peasantry of Scotland, from their 
 grave and reflecting cast of mind, take so in- 
 tense an interest. The aged man already men- 
 tioned, a small tenant on the Kingsconnell 
 property, was referred to for a description of 
 that of the last Lord Kingsconnell, which he 
 well remembered having attended. He told of 
 the prodigious concourse of people, the train of 
 carriages and of men on horseback who fol- 
 lowed it ; the marshalling of the procession at 
 that very gate where they now stood, to walk 
 to the burial place, an ancient vault, near the
 
 KIXGSCOXNELL. 171 
 
 eastern extremity of the churchyard, covered 
 with emblematical devices, and nearly illegible 
 inscriptions ; he spoke of the solemn effect of 
 the crape-covered coronet, borne by the old 
 steward, and which there was no successor to 
 receive from his hands ; and of the handsome 
 person and stately bearing of Sir Peter, the 
 chief mourner, — him whom they were so soon 
 to see borne to the grave from an equally de- 
 solate home with that unhappy old man, leav- 
 ing no child to mourn him. And here a 
 sudden difficulty occurred to all. Who was to 
 act as chief mourner at this funeral, since the 
 only living relatives of the deceased were 
 abroad ? 
 
 This was a deep question. Many and vari- 
 ous were the solutions offered, but none at all 
 met the dilemma. A new-comer, who had 
 joined the group, at once resolved it. This was 
 no other than David Bryce, Major Sempill's 
 man, armed with his master's Bible and Psalm- 
 book, and preceding the rest of the Sempill- 
 tower party, as it was his wont to do, for the 
 express purpose of enjoying " a crack in the 
 kirk-yard." This worthy informed his auditors 
 that he had himself heard Mr. Carmichael tell 
 
 i 2
 
 » 
 
 1 72 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 the Laird, that the office devolved upon the 
 next heir of entail, failing Sir Thomas's family ; 
 that the u burial-letters" had been issued in the 
 name of Sir Thomas, as a matter of course, but 
 this gentleman, a Mr. Hamilton, from a distant 
 county, would supply his place at the funeral, 
 and was expected at a friend's house on the 
 following day. 
 
 " Hech, sirs ! and him no a drap's blude to 
 the family !"— " Aye, aye !"— " Weel, the like 
 o 5 that I" — "Na, dinna ye mind the auld freit 
 that fock spak' o' lang syne; the Curse on 
 Kingsconnell ? Od ! it's unco' like a readin' 
 o't." — " Gae wa ! gudeman, heard ye ever the 
 like o' that? and Sir Thammas wi' three buirclly 
 sons, they say !" — "Weel, aweel, neebor ! it '11 
 no be read in your day or mine, may be, but 
 aiblins they're leevin' that '11 see't, for a' that." 
 — " Gudesake, sirs, whisht ! It's rael uncanny 
 to fore-speak things that gate." 
 
 Such were a few of the manifold comments 
 on David's tale, as, proud of superior informa- 
 tion, he stood, the oracle of the circle. Thus 
 the name of Mr. Carmichael having suggested 
 another train of ideas, he was pressed for 
 an opinion on that gentleman's qualifications
 
 KTXGSCONNELL. 173 
 
 for the pulpit. This, however, David pro- 
 nounced more cautiously. 
 
 " Me and the Major," he said, " thinks rael 
 weel o' the young minister ; but we're just 
 dootfu' whatna' kind o' discoorses we'll get 
 frae him ; we're dootfu'. He's been lang in 
 foreign pairts, ye see ; but far be it frae me to 
 condemn ony man unheard. Jeems Cha'mers 
 an' the Captain, again, they're just meikle ta'en 
 up wi' him; they look for great things at 
 his hand; but says I the day, Major, says I, 
 you and me's ower auld for new fangled gates. 
 The Major's no a man o' many words ; but 
 says he, ' David, ye're surely forgettin' yoursell!' 
 IS a troth, Major, says I, f I wish I could forget 
 mysell. I would like weel to forget that I was 
 auld. Od ! he leuch rael hearty at that, 
 though." 
 
 And now the aristocratic members of the 
 congregation began to appear, approaching 
 from various quarters. Kingsconnell church, 
 a good-sized, and, for a Scottish country 
 church, rather handsome edifice, was beau- 
 tifully situated at the head of a gently rising 
 slope, down whose face the churchyard ex- 
 tended a considerable way, shaded by very
 
 174 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 fine old ash trees, and bounded on one side 
 by a clear and rapid burn. A rustic bridge 
 across this stream, and a wicket gate in the 
 wall, afforded access to the winding path which 
 led to the Manse, a snug white-washed domicile, 
 embosomed in trees, and not five minutes' walk 
 from the church. The Clachan, or village, of 
 Kingsconnell, lay within a quarter of a mile, 
 and consisted of one main street and a number 
 of detached houses, irregularly and somewhat 
 picturesquely scattered along the foot of the 
 eminence. Amongst these were some abodes 
 with considerable pretension to neatness. 
 There was the roomy two-story house, occupied 
 by Dr. Chisholm and his maiden sister, Miss 
 Babie, — its flower-plat and iron railings in 
 front dividing it from the road ; and its walled 
 garden and little paddock behind, with stable 
 and gig-house, bearing witness to the doctor's 
 extensive practice in the county. Then there 
 was the neat and somewhat formal cottage, 
 tenanted by Miss Menie Mark, the daughter of 
 the deceased parish-minister of St. Michael's, 
 who had been for many years settled at the 
 Clachan of Kingsconnell ; and had established 
 for herself the unenviable notoriety of being
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 175 
 
 the most thoroughly cross-grained and contra- 
 dictory woman in the parish ; in short, as 
 Captain Sempill denominated her, " the very 
 personification of an east-wind/'' but an excel- 
 lent person withal, as, according to what we 
 have before had occasion to remark of her 
 friend, Miss Willie Lockhart, all such un- 
 loveable individuals are certain to be called. 
 Besides these houses, there was a particularly 
 nice and almost elegant cottage, of a larger 
 size, inhabited by the widow of a former parish- 
 schoolmaster, an Englishwoman, with all the 
 scrupulously cleanly and tasteful habits of her 
 country, who added to her scanty means by 
 letting lodgings, which in the summer were 
 very frequently occupied by people from the 
 town, and who had at present been fortunate 
 enough to find a more permanent tenant in 
 Mr. Carmichael. There was likewise a little 
 inn belonging to the Clachan, whose stables 
 had been built with a view to accommo- 
 dating the horses of the various gentlemen's 
 families attending the church, and were in 
 consequence considerably larger than the house 
 itself. 
 
 First of the equipages this day arrived the
 
 176 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 carriage from Sempilltower, an elegant and 
 capacious barouche, whose inside occupants 
 were the lady herself and her sister, the 
 old Laird, and the Major. The outsides 
 consisted of John Chalmers and Marjory 
 Matheson, the oldest and least active amongst 
 the servants, in the rumble, and James 
 Chalmers on the box beside the fat old coach- 
 man, Adam Mac George. Helen had preferred 
 walking on so beautiful a day, and escorted by 
 her brother-in-law, had met Beatrice and her 
 children, who were likewise on foot. They 
 were visible, ascending the sloping road 
 together, very shortly after the arrival of 
 the seniors. Soon after them appeared the 
 elder party from the Grange, driven by Lowry 
 Mac Fyke; the antiquated equipage, and 
 not particularly well-groomed horses, con- 
 trasting rather disadvantageously with the 
 perfect order of those which owned Adam 
 Mac George as their charioteer. The carriage 
 contained the old lady, Miss Willie, looking 
 with the air of one on direful thoughts intent, 
 revolving anticipations of errors in doctrine 
 not a few, to be looked for in the young 
 minister ; and Miss Grace, attired in a bonnet
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 177 
 
 of blue, and gown of the same colour, indulging 
 in thoughts of a more mundane nature, as she 
 exchanged cordial greetings with those of her 
 acquaintance whom she met on descending 
 from the carriage, including Dr. Chisholm, a 
 good-humoured, gossipping, country practi- 
 tioner, who had always some amusing anecdote 
 to tell ; and to do him justice, but few ill- 
 natured ones. Miss Babie, his sister, a broad, 
 middle-aged lady, with a look of determined 
 good sense and self-complacency, attached 
 herself more particularly to Mrs. Lock hart 
 and Miss Willie, as the group ascended the 
 path to the church-door together. 
 
 Various equipages of humbler note, — carts, 
 gigs, and vehicles partaking of the charac- 
 teristics of both, shaped like carts, and con- 
 taining seats slung across them, followed in the 
 wake of these more distinguished church-goers ; 
 but these generally stopped in the Claclian, 
 where their occupants alighted, shook them- 
 selves to rights, and walked up to the church. 
 The pedestrians were almost all in advance of 
 the others, and already loitering about the 
 churchyard. 
 
 " We are very early," observed Captain 
 
 i 3
 
 178 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Sempill, as the party which he escorted drew 
 near the Clachan. "The first bell has not 
 rung yet." 
 
 "It will immediately," said Mrs. Henry 
 Lockhart, "I see Miss Menie Mark's parlour 
 window opening to catch the sound. You 
 know she always comes out just as the bell 
 begins to ring." 
 
 "I intend to way-lay Miss Menie, after 
 church," exclaimed Captain Sempill. " I would 
 not lose the treat of hearing her opinion of 
 Mr. Carmichael's preaching for a great deal." 
 
 "It is not difficult to guess that before- 
 hand," said Mrs. George Sempill; "at least in 
 so far as that it will be precisely the reverse of 
 your own, as expressed to her." 
 
 " I wonder, now," pursued her brother-in- 
 law, " whether Miss Menie was born as utterly 
 cross-grained as she is now ? It is difficult to 
 imagine so of any human being. Was she 
 born cross, — did she achieve crossness, or was 
 crossness thrust upon her by circumstances ? 
 There must have been a decided twist awry to 
 begin with, any how." 
 
 As Captain Sempill uttered these words, 
 they arrived in front of the tidy cottage in-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 179 
 
 habited by the subject of his remarks ; who 
 precisely at that juncture appeared, issuing 
 forth from its door. Miss Menie Mark had 
 long been pronounced by Captain Sempill the 
 most perfect specimen of the genus everlasting 
 that he had ever known. He declared that he 
 recollected her, when he himself was a boy, 
 looking precisely the same as she did now, 
 neither younger nor older ; and this was in so 
 far correct, that being one of those persons 
 w r hom one cannot even imagine ever to have 
 looked young, her personal appearance re- 
 mained for a longer period stationary than 
 most people's. She was very tall, thin, and 
 angular in figure, with a singularly long face, 
 sharp nose, dogmatical mouth, and little grey 
 eyes, very much sunk in her head ; which 
 organs, when engaged in any argument of a 
 peculiarly obstinate nature, she was wont to 
 close in a most emphatic and not to-be-con- 
 vinced fashion. This not very attractive out- 
 ward form was clothed on the Sunday in 
 question, as on all summer Sundays throughout 
 the year, in a tight grey silk gowm, and a dark 
 shawl, w r hose hard wooden-looking folds bore 
 an aspect as positive and provoking as that of
 
 180 EINGSCONNELL. 
 
 her countenance ; her head covered by a close- 
 fitting cap, equally positive in appearance with 
 the folds of the shawl, and testifying to the 
 independent spirit of the wearer in the stern 
 defiance of all fashions, past or present, dis- 
 played in its construction. A small black silk 
 bonnet, equally original in form, surmounted 
 the cap, and lent its crowning grace to the 
 whole. 
 
 Such was the personage who now stopped 
 outside her garden-gate, to shake hands with 
 the party who had just been discussing her. 
 
 " This is a very warm day, Miss Menie," 
 remarked Mrs. Henry Lockhart, opening the 
 conversation with what she deemed an undeni- 
 able proposition. 
 
 " It's a sunny day, Mistress Hairry," re- 
 sponded Miss Menie ; "but in my opinion the 
 wind's gone round to the east. Miss Beetress, 
 my dear, I'm surprised to see you with your 
 bonnet strings loose. Ye're in for a sore throat, 
 my dear, take my word for it." 
 
 The bright intelligent eyes of Beatrice, as 
 she parried this attack, met those of her aunt 
 Helen, but were instantly withdrawn in her 
 dread of being betrayed into a smile.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 181 
 
 u Ready-primed with criticism on the new 
 assistant, eh, Miss Menie ?" slyly enquired 
 Captain Sempill, as they ascended the church- 
 ward road together. 
 
 " Me, Captain V was the reply, in a tone 
 of infinite astonishment. u I'm sure nobody 
 can say that ever they heard me pronounce an 
 opinion on such subjects ! Whatever I may 
 think, and whatever my private feelins may 
 be, I know better than to give them utterance 
 in these days o' pawtronage and coort-favour, 
 Captain Sempill." 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Menie ! 'tis a fine thing to 
 have friends at court. But you great critics 
 must be merciful, and consider what a nervous 
 thing it is for a young man to encounter your 
 keen remarks. Now I look upon Mr. Car- 
 michael to be a very modest young man, and it 
 is a tremendous ordeal he has to undergo 
 to-day." 
 
 " It may be so, Captain," responded Miss 
 Menie ; " but no to contradict you, it's not 
 my impression that Mr. Carmichaers modesty 
 'ill stand much in his way, from all / can 
 gather." 
 
 " I hope it will not, I am sure, Miss
 
 18& KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Menie," answered her antagonist smiling. 
 At all events, I think we shall find him a most 
 agreeable contrast to that lad who has been 
 preaching lately "for the old doctor. That was 
 a sad rambling sermon he gave us this day 
 fortnight, the last time I was in church. Do 
 you recollect it ?" 
 
 "Yes, Captain," solemnly responded Miss 
 Menie. "And I must say you surprise me. 
 I was very well pleased with it. In my opinion 
 it was an excellent discoorse." 
 
 " Far be it from me, Miss Menie, to oppose 
 my opinions to those of a judge like you. He 
 undoubtedly was a clever young man in some 
 respects." 
 
 " He might be a very good young man, 
 Captain," quoth Miss Menie, closing her eyes ; 
 " but as to cleverness, in my opinion it takes 
 a great deal to make a clever man. I'm sure / 
 know very few clever men." 
 
 And with this conclusion the party reached 
 the church-yard-gate, where their paths sepa- 
 rated ; Beatrice and her children entering the 
 church by a different door from that which gave 
 access to the SempihY seat, and Miss Menie, 
 with long obstinate strides, pursuing her way
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 183 
 
 towards a third, which opened upon the body 
 of the church. 
 
 Kingsconnell church, built upon the old- 
 fashioned plan, contained three " Laird's lofts" 
 or gallery seats, belonging to the heritors of 
 the parish, whilst those of the farmers and 
 peasantry occupied the body of the edifice. 
 The front loft, pertainingto the principal heritor, 
 the proprietor of Kingsconnell, was of course 
 untenanted on this day, and not as yet decorated 
 with the black cloth hangings and the hatch- 
 ment, destined to commemorate the dead, as 
 soon as the funeral should be over. The 
 Sempilltower loft was on the right, and that of 
 the Grange, on the left of the pulpit. With 
 the solitary exception of the Kingsconnell 
 seats, (for that of the servants was likewise 
 empty) — every pew in the church was amply 
 filled ; and many a shrewd observant eye, and 
 grave weather-beaten face of cogitation, was 
 directed towards the pulpit ; and many an out- 
 spread hand, upon the ledge of the pew, kept 
 measure in its solemn rising and falling to the 
 cadences of the preacher's voice. Old Dr. 
 Grindlay himself, a white-haired man, with a 
 mild benevolent countenance, kept from his
 
 1.84 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 pew on one side of the pulpit, an anxious watch 
 upon his young assistant, occasionally directing 
 a glance around the congregation, to note how 
 they seemed affected by the services of the 
 day; his eye ever returning to rest upon the 
 fixed attentive face of his niece and house- 
 keeper, Miss Susie, a gentle motherly creature, 
 devoutly inclined, and little disposed to cap- 
 tious criticism. 
 
 To those amongst the congregation qualified 
 to judge, there was indeed little room for any 
 captious feeling. An irresistible impression 
 of perfect sincerity, perfect earnestness, was 
 brought home to the mind by Mr. CarmichaeFs 
 preaching, and still more by his prayers. This 
 barren and defective portion of the Presbyterian 
 ritual assumed with him a character of its 
 own, which, although nothing to his Episco- 
 palian hearers could compensate for the want 
 of their own sublime, all-but-inspired liturgy, 
 or for the painful absence of all outward marks 
 of reverence for the house and presence of the 
 Almighty, still carried their souls aloft beyond 
 the cares and littlenesses of life, on the wings 
 of strong faith and devout adoration. His 
 style of preaching was singular; a union of
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 185 
 
 the primitive tone of former times, and their 
 searching straightforward appeals to the heart 
 and conscience, with a highly-imaginative, 
 almost mystical, cast of thought; at once at- 
 tractive in the highest degree to those capable 
 of appreciating and following it, and unlikely, 
 by reason that these were not many, ever to 
 become popular. Thus felt Mrs. Henry Lock- 
 hart, as in a pause of the sermon she involun- 
 tarily glanced from Beatrice, whose dark ex- 
 pressive eyes were rivetted on the countenance 
 of the preacher, her speaking face, with its 
 varying glow of colour, serving as an index on 
 which might be read reflected every new emo- 
 tion his words called forth, to Miss Grace's air 
 of weary inattention, and her face reflecting 
 nothing save the hue of her blue bonnet ; and 
 from her to the dark, bitter, almost malignant 
 expression with which Miss Willie was regis- 
 tering every word uttered by the unconscious 
 object of her orthodox displeasure. 
 
 In the eyes of the "rael judges," indeed, 
 Mr. Carmichael's doom had been sealed ere he 
 had begun to utter one word of his sermon. 
 From the instant it was perceived that he in- 
 tended to read it, and not deliver it from
 
 186 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 memory, all was over with his chance of a 
 favourable hearing. Miss Menie Mark had 
 more than once been known to declare that 
 she could have derived no edification from the 
 Apostle Paul's preaching, had she detected him 
 in the fact of this unpardonable offence against 
 rigid Presbyterianism, and although her's were 
 extreme sentiments, they might yet be taken 
 as not altogether false exponents of the state 
 of feeling elicited in the majority of the con- 
 gregation, by the discovery of such a woful 
 short coming. 
 
 It was the custom at Kingsconnell that 
 during the summer and autumn an interval of 
 half an hour took place in the services of the 
 Sunday ; in place of the more common ar- 
 rangement in country parishes, of going through 
 the whole, including two sermons, at one sitting. 
 Nothing could be more picturesque on a fine 
 day like the present, than this dispersion of 
 the congregation; such of whom as came from 
 the more remote quarters of the parish, and 
 had no familiar houses of call in the Clachan, 
 or did not feel disposed to avail themselves of 
 any, might be seen in groups or pairs, seated 
 upon the through-stanes in the church-yard, or
 
 KINGSCONNELL. * 187 
 
 more frequently, beneath the trees which over- 
 hung the burn at its lower extremity, dis- 
 cussing their oat-cakes and cheese, along with 
 the sermon and the news of the day in those 
 parts. Mrs. Henry Lockhart and her sister, 
 with the two girls, rambled away together on 
 meeting outside the church, leaving the elder 
 members of their respective parties behind, and 
 eschewing most carefully the portentous com- 
 bination of frowns, compressed lips, and shaking 
 heads, which was wending its slow way down 
 the hill in the direction of Miss Menie Mark's 
 cottage, whither she and her assessors were 
 proceeding to sit in solemn conclave on the 
 demerits of the discoorse to which they had 
 just been listening. 
 
 Beatrice and her sister met and entered 
 into conversation with several of the country 
 people, and enquired into their opinions on this 
 same subject, or received them unasked from 
 various originals, whose views Mrs. George 
 Sempill took particular pleasure in eliciting. 
 Considering what human nature is, and the 
 satisfaction afforded it by a legitimate oppor- 
 tunity for the taught to pick holes in the coat 
 of the teacher, it need scarcely be added that
 
 188 ' KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 these were not in general of the most favour- 
 able description. One worthy impeached the 
 soundness of the minister's doctrine, another 
 pronounced him with greater truth to be " ower 
 deep" for him; one inveighed against the 
 shortness of his prayers, another considered 
 him to have laid too much stress upon " works " 
 in his sermon ; and one and all united in de- 
 nouncing the, to the uninitiated, incompre- 
 hensible crime of " reading," and being " a 
 slave till his notes," — as though it had con- 
 tained in itself an epitome of the seven deadly 
 sins. They " couldna thole a reader; — Dr. 
 Grindlay, honest man ! read nane, — binna' just 
 at the last, when he begoud till turn a wee 
 thing doited, and could na J lippen till his 
 memory. But this lad read close ; an' wha ever 
 heard tell o' a read discoorse profitm' ony 
 ane ?" 
 
 Such were a few of the comments circu- 
 lating in the churchyard. One poor old widow 
 alone, who was seated beneath a tree with her 
 Bible in her hand, in answer to Helen's ques- 
 tions on this all-engrossing topic, humbly 
 replied that " it was no' for a simple puir body 
 like her to find faults wi J the minister. He
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 189 
 
 was a shepherd that would tak' gude tent o* 
 the sheep committed till his charge, and that 
 was the main thing. It ill set the like o' fallen 
 sinners to gang to the hoos o' God to sit in 
 judgment on them that were appointed to 
 expound the Word to them. If they didna' 
 understand a' they heard, it was mair like to 
 be the blame o' their ain ignorance, no his 
 lack o' gifts." 
 
 "Mamma," observed young Beatrice in a 
 1ow t voice, as the sound of the church bell 
 warned them all to retrace their steps, — 
 " mamma, did not what old Jean said bring 
 these words to your mind — ' Verily, verily, I 
 say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast 
 more iu than they all V " 
 
 The second service came to an end; and 
 there was a muster of friends and acquaint- 
 ances at the church-yard-gate, to say farewell 
 ere departing on their several roads home. 
 Captain Sempill again prepared to escort the 
 sisters in their walk, but not before his mother, 
 ever studious of the happiness of all around 
 her, had proposed an arrangement too agreeable 
 to both not to meet with a joyful concurrence. 
 It was, that after dinner the phaeton should be
 
 190 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 in readiness to convey Helen to St. Michael's, 
 where there was evening service in the Episcopal 
 church; that she should call at the Grange for 
 Beatrice and the two girls, and drop them 
 there on her return. This plan would enable 
 the sisters to pay their respects, after the 
 service, to Miss Violet Alexander, whom an 
 influx of daily visitors at Sempilltower had 
 prevented Helen going to visit since her arrival. 
 The moon was at the full, so that the late drive 
 home would be of no consequence. 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times, dearest 
 mother/' exclaimed Helen, " it is a charming 
 plan ! Only look how the children's eyes are 
 sparkling at the idea ! We dine at four, 
 Beatrice love, and so do you, I know, and I 
 shall be with you before half-past five. Evening 
 church is not till half-past six, and it is only 
 four miles to St. Michael's." 
 
 The walking party set off; but good, 
 gentle Mrs. Sempill still lingered in the gate, 
 after bidding good-bye to the occupants of the 
 Grange carriage. 
 
 " Penny, my dear," she whispered to her 
 sister, "I think it is rather long since we have 
 had Miss Menie Mark to dinner. Had'nt I
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 191 
 
 better ask her for to-morrow, when the Lock- 
 hart's are all coming V- 
 
 Miss Muirhead signified assent, perhaps 
 acquiring fortitude to support the anticipation 
 from the reflection that Miss Willie Lockhart 
 might be expected to occupy a large share of 
 Miss Menie's conversation, as they were parti- 
 cular friends. Both sisters now looked out for 
 Miss Meuie, who presently became visible ad- 
 vancing along the churchyard path, escorted by 
 the Laird himself, he having stayed behind 
 his party to shake hands with Mr. Carmichael, 
 and with an air of almost fatherly kindness to 
 congratulate him on the highly favourable im- 
 pression he must have made upon his hearers, 
 " if every body felt as he (the Laird) did on 
 the occasion." 
 
 " Mrs. Sempill, my dear," he said, as his lady 
 tendered her cordial hand to Miss Menie's 
 hard, scarce-closing touch, for clasp it could not 
 be called ; — " my dear, only conceive ! here is 
 Miss Menie declares she is not pleased with 
 that last sermon, which struck us both, I am 
 sure, as beautiful ; more so than the first one, I 
 own, though I liked it much too. Miss Meuie, 
 you are really very difficult V*
 
 192 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Mrs. Sempill wondered in her private 
 mind, whether the Laird were bringing this 
 observation forward as a new discovery; and 
 managed adroitly to give the subject the go-by, 
 being well aware that it would prove inter- 
 minable. 
 
 " Miss Menie," she asked, after a few 
 preliminary observations, " will you do us the 
 favour to dine with us to-morrow V* 
 
 " Oh aye ! Very well ma'am, I can come, 
 thank you," was the ungracious reply; pro- 
 nounced in the tone of one conferring an extra- 
 ordinary boon, in place of dooming the reci- 
 pients of her concession to a purgatorial 
 exercise, sufficient to expiate all their sins for a 
 week to come. " To be sure," she added, as if 
 afraid of having made this concession too 
 easily, " I did intend to have gone and seen 
 Mistress Pyper to-morrow ; but as it's the day 
 most convenient to you " 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Menie," replied Mrs. 
 Sempill, half hoping from this hint, to find 
 herself for once quitte pour la peur, — " it is 
 quite the same to us — Tuesday, or Wednesday, 
 or " 
 
 " No, no, Ma'am, I wouldn't be the means
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 193 
 
 of putting you out of your way. I'll come to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " We shall be extremely happy to see you, 
 Miss Menie ; I shall send down the phaeton for 
 you at the usual hour." 
 
 " By no means, Ma'am. Don't trouble 
 your man and horse for me. I'll walk." 
 
 " It is no trouble, Miss Menie," said 
 the Laird ; " and we could not permit you to 
 walk. The phaeton is much at your service." 
 
 " It's very unnecessary, Sir ;" replied Miss 
 Menie, magnanimously disdaining the hypo- 
 crisy of gratitude. " I would much rather 
 walk than put people's servants out of their 
 way. Good-day, Sir. Good-day, ladies !" And 
 she strode solemnly down the hill, nor stayed 
 farther parley. 
 
 vol. I.
 
 194 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " And trust the calm, the joy benign, 
 
 That o'er the obedient breathes in life's still hour, 
 When Sunday-lights with summer airs combine, 
 And shadows blend from cloud and bower." 
 
 Lyra Apostolica. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, warm, bright, and 
 still ; and never was transition more grateful 
 than that from the close parlour at the Grange, 
 which the opening of one window for a short 
 time had by no means freed from the lingering 
 smell of dinner, to the perfumed air and sweet 
 sunshine out of doors, as Beatrice and her 
 children joined Helen in the phaeton, from 
 which she had not alighted ; and drove off 
 with her on the road to St. Michael's. Little 
 Helen was elevated to the front seat beside the 
 driver, Watty Mac George, old Adam's son and 
 helper, and Beatrice found room beside her
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 195 
 
 mother and aunt in the body of the vehicle, 
 one of those old-fashioned hooded phaetons, 
 which contain a larger number of passengers 
 than might be expected from their appearance. 
 The high-way leading to the small county 
 metropolis, passed through a picturesque and 
 beautiful country, gradually ascending as it 
 approached the town, which was visible at 
 a considerable distance, lying, as it did, on the 
 face of a gently-sloping hill. On a green level 
 holm at the base of this hill, watered by the 
 same river, now considerably increased in size, 
 which ran by Sempilltower and Kingsconnell, 
 stood the ruins of what had once been a stately 
 Cathedral, dedicated to St. Michael the Arch- 
 angel, which had given its name to the 
 town. This venerable pile had fallen a victim 
 to the rage for destruction at the Reformation, 
 but its remains still formed a beautiful object, 
 and lent the grace of antiquity to the sur- 
 rounding scene. The Episcopal Church, a 
 modest but elegant building, was situated a 
 little higher up, and more within the town. It 
 had been erected upwards of twenty years 
 before by private subscription, to which Miss 
 Alexander and her brother had been amongst 
 
 k 2
 
 196 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 t.ie largest contributors; the latter, although 
 his home was in a different county, being 
 actuated by all the zeal for the cause of 
 Episcopacy which had distinguished his father. 
 Several of the county families belonged to that 
 persuasion, as did some respectable inhabitants 
 of the town and its immediate neighbourhood. 
 Besides these, the clergyman, Mr. Malcolm, 
 was in the regular habit of doing duty every 
 Sunday afternoon, in a small chapel about six 
 miles off, which was likewise under his pastoral 
 care, returning to St. Michael's for evening- 
 service. 
 
 Our party had not driven fast, and it 
 was a little past six when they were set down 
 at the gate of the small cemetery which sur- 
 rounded the church. They paused, and looked 
 round for a few minutes, before entering, on 
 the rich and beautiful landscape visible from 
 the open space on which it stood. 
 
 " How well we know this view, Beatrice !" 
 exclaimed Helen, in a low voice. " How often 
 have we stood here on a summer's evening like 
 this, long ere we dreamt that the day could 
 ever arrive that should see us separated \" 
 
 " Aye ! many and many a time, Helen,"
 
 KIXGSCOX.NELL. 197 
 
 said Beatrice. " There is not an object visible 
 from this spot, that does not call up some 
 recollection of old days. Sad enough some of 
 them are ! and yet I shall never have the same 
 home-like feeling towards any place of worship 
 that I have towards this dear little chapel. 
 What thoughts of our youth hang about it ! 
 What peace and calm always seemed to sur- 
 round us here, however little there might be 
 elsewhere \" 
 
 " And yet/' added Hele», glancing round, 
 and perceiving that the two girls had walked to 
 the other end of the cemetery, and were busied 
 in examining the few tombs it contained, " my 
 conscience reminds me, Beatrice, that I did not 
 always find, nor deserve to find, peace and calm 
 here. I have come here with feelings little 
 akin to devotion; and I have often thought 
 that there was little wonder no blessing rested 
 upon an affection which led me in heart to 
 profane the House of God ! It is strange — 
 now, when all that has been so long buried 
 with the past, how often these recollections 
 haunt me still ! I could at this moment 
 imagine fifteen years annihilated, and that 
 I should see William Seaton, as I have so often
 
 198 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 seen him, approaching from this very spot, 
 to meet me at the chapel door. And yet, 
 I went in at that door, Beatrice, to be married 
 to George Sempill!" 
 
 " My own Helen," whispered Beatrice, 
 " these are vain regrets. The past is past. 
 God deals more wisely with us, Helen, than we 
 should with ourselves." 
 
 " The past will soon be past indeed to you 
 and me, Beatrice," said Helen. u God grant 
 us faith and patience ! I meant to have 
 banished that subject to-night, as I have 
 striven to do since we met. I did not want the 
 thoughts of what must be to intrude upon our 
 peaceful Sunday evening; but here, where 
 
 we have so often prayed together " She 
 
 could trust her voice no further. 
 
 " Here, my Helen," faltered Beatrice, " we 
 are permitted to pray together again, and seek 
 strength for the dark days coming." Her 
 voice, too, failed her ; but it was only for 
 a minute. Regaining her composure, she 
 went on — 
 
 " We must not look farther, dearest ; 
 we must leave the future in wiser hands than 
 ours. Next Sunday is the first of the month,
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 199 
 
 Helen, and we must be here together. We 
 must kneel once more before the Altar where 
 we have so often knelt, and where we shall re- 
 ceive the gift of faith to commit each other to 
 the protection of the Almighty, if we seek it in 
 a right spirit. We shall part more calmly after 
 having partaken of that blessed privilege." 
 
 " God grant it I" said Helen. " Shall we 
 ever, Beatrice, ever again approach that Altar 
 together?" 
 
 " Leave that to Him who alone can tell, my 
 Helen," solemnly replied her sister. " If it be 
 His will, we shall. If not — may it be our 
 blessed lot to meet again amongst those who 
 rest " beneath the Altar I" 
 
 Both sisters remained for a short space 
 silent. Neither of them dared venture on 
 farther words at that moment. Their hearts 
 were very full ; and none but those who have 
 anticipated similar partings to theirs, could tell 
 the gush — the almost overwhelming flow of old 
 thoughts, feelings, memories, that came crowd- 
 ing upon them in the few brief minutes which 
 they spent gazing in silence on that familiar 
 landscape. Their reverie was interrupted by 
 the approach of some of the congregation ; and,
 
 200 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 summoning the girls, they proceeded towards 
 the door of the church, entered Miss Alexan- 
 der's pew, a large square one near the Eastern 
 window, and sank on their knees; the total 
 silence, the reverent stillness of the hallowed 
 edifice, falling on both their hearts like balm. 
 
 A few minutes before the commencement of 
 the service, the pew was entered by Miss Violet 
 herself, a tall, stern, and stately old lady, 
 dressed in a somewhat antiquated fashion ; and 
 attended by her companion, Miss Carruthers, 
 the ex-governess of the two sisters, who recog- 
 nised her former pupils with a meek smile, as 
 she arose from her kneeling posture. A grave, 
 though complacent, acknowledgment of their 
 presence was made in equal silence by her 
 patroness, just as the first notes of the volun- 
 tary resounded from the organ, which had been 
 the gift of a wealthy member of the congrega- 
 tion, and was played by the clergyman's 
 daughter, an accomplished musician'. 
 
 The unutterably soothing and elevating in- 
 fluence of their Church's divine Liturgy never 
 had seemed to come more home to the hearts 
 of the two sisters than it did this evening. It 
 was read in a tone of solemn earnestness
 
 KINGSCOXNELL. 201 
 
 and heart-felt devotion, calculated to impress 
 the most careless, by the officiating minister, 
 Mr. Malcolm, an old grey-haired man, of most 
 benevolent and apostolic aspect, whose short 
 sermon at the conclusion of the service, ful- 
 filled the promise of his manner and coun- 
 tenance. There was nothing striking in it ; 
 none of the searching penetration, or the high 
 imaginative power of the preacher to whom 
 they had listened in the morning ; but a spirit 
 of love, of Christian gentleness, of deep concern 
 for the immortal souls committed to the 
 pastor's charge, pervaded every word he uttered, 
 and sent it home with irresistible effect. And 
 in truth, Mr. Malcolm was one of those who 
 have learned mercy and love in the school 
 of persecution. Descended from a family 
 which for several generations had given one or 
 more of its members to the Church ; he himself 
 was old enough to recollect distinctly some 
 of the darkest days of her history. One of his 
 immediate progenitors had been amongst the 
 deprived clergy at the Pwevolution of 1688, 
 when the former tyranny and oppression of the 
 Scottish Privy Council to themselves, were 
 visited by the triumphant party upon the heads 
 
 k 3
 
 202 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 of the unoffending ministers ; whose cruel 
 sufferings, unlike to those of the martyred 
 Covenanters, have found no place in history or 
 romance. 
 
 His own father had been the minister of a 
 large Episcopal congregation in a town some- 
 what farther north, at the fatal period when 
 the frustrated attempt of Charles Edward let 
 loose the vengeance of the Hanoverian party 
 upon all prelatists, whether Jacobites or not. 
 His chapel, like every other in Scotland, had 
 been broken into by the brutal soldiery and 
 the infuriated mob ; — its sacred ornaments de- 
 spoiled, and the very prayer-books it contained 
 consumed in the fire by which it was finally 
 burnt to the ground. His wife and children 
 had been oppressed, plundered, and insulted in 
 every possible way, and he himself compelled 
 to fly from the spot for his life. And during 
 the long period when the devoted clergy were 
 compelled by the tyranny of Government to 
 administer in the utmost secrecy to the spi- 
 ritual necessities of the flocks whom they 
 would not desert, he had been one of those 
 who most frequently found an asylum in the 
 house of Mr. Alexander, at Glasgow, and did
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 203 
 
 duty to the small congregation which was wont 
 to assemble there, in fear and trembling equal 
 to any that ever were endured by the victims 
 of persecution on the opposite side, at their 
 moorland conventicles. Mrs. Henry Lockhart 
 and her sister had listened, many a time and 
 oft, to Miss Violet's reminiscences of those 
 days ; when, as a little child, she recollected 
 being present amongst the band of worshippers 
 in a loft above one of her father's warehouses, 
 which was only accessible by a ladder, and the 
 approach to which was narrowly watched by 
 some one or other of the party during the 
 whole time of divine service. She remembered 
 one alarm, when, as it appeared, information of 
 an intended meeting of the kind had been 
 treacherously conveyed to the city magistrates; 
 the terror and consternation occasioned by the 
 approach of their officers, as announced by the 
 scout at watch, and the almost incredible dex- 
 terity with which the whole number of wor- 
 shippers, more fortunate than many of their 
 brethren, managed to conceal themselves, and 
 evade detection. On this occasion the father 
 of Mr, Malcolm had lain for several weeks 
 concealed in an unused cellar on Mr. Alex-
 
 204 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 ander's premises, as his only chance of escaping 
 imprisonment, which had been the fate of so 
 many of the clergy. All these, and many 
 similar circumstances, formed a strong tie 
 between the surviving members of the Alex- 
 ander family and his son, who after a youth of 
 bitter hardship, and a manhood of many pri- 
 vations, and much varied experience of life in 
 his own as well as in foreign lands, had the 
 consolation of finding himself in the peaceful 
 evening of his days the pastor of a congrega- 
 tion in his own country ; and member of a 
 church no longer proscribed and trampled on, 
 though still sufficiently poor and lowly to 
 gratify its enemies. He was in himself a 
 bright instance of the true Episcopalian spirit, 
 Hs quiet loyalty, its meekness, and its reverence 
 for authority, as well as of its Christian love 
 and charity ; and often in the course of their 
 long intimacy had the sisters been struck by 
 the contrast which in these latter respects 
 their minister presented to his friend Miss 
 Violet. This venerable servant of his Master 
 seemed almost like a father in their eyes; and 
 the privilege of listening to his voice together 
 ere they were separated, and of being permitted
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 205 
 
 once more to receive together from his hands 
 the sacred pledges of salvation, was one for 
 which they both felt deeply thankful. 
 
 Long ere the evening service was over the 
 red glow of sunset had faded from the wall of 
 the church, and by its conclusion all was in 
 dimness, save for the tapers which burned on 
 each side of the pulpit. And as the congrega- 
 tion issued from the door, and stepped out into 
 the calm twilight, whilst the last notes of the 
 organ were still solemnly vibrating on their 
 ears, the impression conveyed by the whole 
 scene was one of the profoundest peace — the 
 holiest tranquillity. The town above was 
 hushed in the perfect silence and quiet of a 
 Scottish Sabbath evening \ the landscape before 
 them, shadowy and undefined, was just begin- 
 ning to be silvered by the beams of the moon, 
 which was visible, rising behind a low wooded 
 hill beyond the river ; while overhead, the sky 
 was still of the deep dark blue of evening, one 
 or two stars faintly discernible in its transparent 
 obscurity. It was an hour and a scene to be 
 long recollected; one of those which indelibly 
 stamp themselves on the memory, and rise up 
 before us, years after all is past and gone that
 
 206 ILINGSCONNELL. 
 
 was connected with them ; sometimes agonizing 
 the heart by a sndden gnsh of feelings unen- 
 durable from their intensity, and their associa- 
 tion with the past, the lost, — the buried ; — 
 sometimes bringing with them the impress of 
 a peace too profound to belong to earth, and 
 which entwines the memories of what earth 
 has lost, with the anticipation of what Heaven 
 shall restore. 
 
 The sisters, accompanied by the young Bea- 
 trice and Helen, walked home along with Miss 
 Violet and Miss Carruthers, the apologies of 
 Mrs. George Sempill for not having waited 
 upon her before, having been graciously re- 
 ceived by the former. Miss Violet's house was 
 situated higher up the town than the church, 
 but not exactly within it ; a large detached 
 dwelling of dark red stone, surrounded by a 
 shrubbery, with tall iron gates opening from it 
 and having a somewhat extensive garden 
 behind. They were admitted by an old- 
 fashioned and respectable man-servant, and 
 presently found themselves in the weil-known 
 drawing-room, little, if at all, altered in appear- 
 ance since their earliest remembrance. A stiff 
 and antiquated apartment it was, yet not un-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 207 
 
 comfortable, for its arrangements were pervaded 
 by a certain tone of good though formal taste, 
 and lady-like habits. It was a room which 
 possessed great attractions for the two young 
 girls, — more particularly the romantic and ima- 
 ginative Beatrice, from the store of relics of 
 the past which it contained, especially of the 
 past days of her mother's family ; various 
 articles which had been purchased by order of 
 the late Mr. Alexander, at the sale of his un- 
 happy nephew's effects, having been bequeathed 
 by him to his daughter, and by her treasured 
 as sacred. Beatrice had familiarized herself 
 with all these things, in the course of her many 
 visits to the house with her mother, and had 
 gathered from the meek Miss Carruthers as 
 much of their history as she could tell; for to 
 apply to Miss Violet for any information 
 farther than what, in a particularly gracious 
 mood, she might choose to volunteer, was not 
 to be thought of, and her mother had too early 
 been transplanted from her own home to recall 
 many things belonging to it with distinctness. 
 
 Now, while Miss Carruthers was engaged in 
 making tea, and arranging the tea table, and 
 their mother and aunt were being interrogated
 
 208 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 by Miss Violet, rather than conversing with 
 her, the two girls betook themselves to their 
 favourite resort in this room, a deep recess at 
 its upper end, lighted by a table lamp, con- 
 taining amongst other things, two quaint 
 cabinets of carved oak, of which their mother 
 had told them she had a dream-like recol- 
 lection, as having stood in one of the public 
 rooms at Blair- Alexander. The open doors of 
 these cabinets, whose summits were crowned 
 with rare old china, displayed many relics of 
 former days, — gauntlets, hawking gloves, a 
 curious collection of quaighs mounted in silver, 
 and other memorials of departed consequence 
 and by-gone hospitality. Some of their 
 drawers were filled with autograph letters ad- 
 dressed to former chiefs of the house by 
 sundry well-known public characters ; amongst 
 which were documents relating to the wars of 
 Montrose, to Dundee's last gallant attempt in 
 favour of his king, which terminated in his 
 death at Killiecrankie ; and to the epochs of 
 1715, and — 45; for in all of these the 
 Alexanders had been implicated, and that 
 deeply. But the most interesting of all the 
 relics there was a very beautiful miniature of
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 209 
 
 the unfortunate Charles Edward, presented by 
 him to Miss Violet's grandfather, the old chief 
 who fell at Culloden, — over which Beatrice 
 Lockhart had often hung for an hour at a time, 
 unable to tear herself from the contemplation 
 of it, and which long before her day, had been 
 pressed to many fair and loyal lips now moul- 
 dered into dust. Another very precious thing 
 was a prayer-book, in which was written the 
 name of that gallant old chief, which had been 
 his pocket-companion throughout the whole 
 campaign of — 45-6 ; and which, on the morn- 
 ing of that fatal day, he had, as if impressed 
 bv a presentiment of approaching death, 
 solemnly given to his son as his last token of 
 affection. The faded leaves were stained in 
 more than one place with the blood which that 
 unhappy survivor had shed at Culloden. To 
 his more unhappy son he had bequeathed it on 
 his death-bed, and Charles Louis Alexander 
 bad brought it back with him to Scotland. It 
 may be believed that not even the portrait of 
 Prince Charles himself had such a secret value 
 in the eyes of Miss Violet Alexander, as this 
 old worn volume, which more than once, during 
 their private meetings for the rites of their
 
 210 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Church, had been held between her hand and 
 that of her cousin, while yet an inmate in her 
 father's house. One thing besides this recess 
 contained, — how precious to its owner no one 
 knew, — his picture. It was a small half-length 
 which soon after his arrival in Glasgow her 
 father had had taken by a skilful English 
 artist, who happened to pay a passing visit to 
 the city ; and at the time when it was painted, 
 it had been a striking likeness. A beautiful 
 young face it was, and in its features, and still 
 more in its bright animated expression, the eye 
 of one accustomed to study countenance would 
 have detected a resemblance which developed 
 youth would probably render more perfect, to 
 Beatrice Lockhart. The likeness to her was 
 much stronger than to Mrs. George Sempill, 
 though Beatrice had by no means the beauty 
 of her aunt, and though the latter was con- 
 sidered to resemble her father very closely. It 
 might perhaps be owing to a perception of this 
 likeness, that Miss Violet Alexander had always 
 manifested a certain degree of partiality for 
 the young Beatrice, and beyond doubt regarded 
 her with a feeling more nearly akin to affection 
 than she had ever before felt for any human
 
 KINGSCOXNELL. 21 1 
 
 being save one. Little indeed could it have 
 been imagined by those who know her best, 
 how keenly that proud and stern old woman 
 had once felt ! Little did any living being 
 surmise what tears of bitterness, what sobs of 
 despair, that unconscious picture had witnessed 
 long ago ! little could it be guessed what a 
 holocaust of youth, and hope, and love, and all 
 that redeems life from barrenness, — that shrine 
 had once had offered up before it ! Well is it 
 for the masks which partly the world, and partly 
 our own pride, compel some of us to wear, 
 that the inanimate objects in whose presence 
 our daily existence passes, have no power to 
 betray our secrets ! 
 
 The voice of Miss Carruthers, announcing 
 that tea was ready, summoned Beatrice from 
 the dream of Culloden, which her fancy had 
 arrayed before her, as she stood with the blood- 
 stained prayer-book in her hand. Carefully 
 restoring it to its usual drawer, she drew Helen 
 from her rapt contemplation of a curiously- 
 chased silver posset-dish, which had great 
 charms for her, depicting as it purported to do, 
 the story of Tobias and the Angel ; and both 
 repaired to the tea-table.
 
 212 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 "You are not cold, child, surely ?" en- 
 quired Miss Violet in a somewhat dignified 
 tone of Mrs. George Sempill, who could not 
 suppress a slight shiver, as she drew her chair 
 to the table. Miss Violet herself was one 
 of those old ladies who consider it little short of 
 a crime to be cold before their orthodox period 
 for having fires lighted. 
 
 " No, not exactly cold" answered Helen, 
 with a smile. " Only after a hot day like this, 
 one is apt to feel chilly in the evening, I 
 think." 
 
 " And I suppose they still keep up those 
 roasting fires at Sempilltower, summer and 
 winter, as usual V* said Miss Violet. " It is 
 a dreadful custom, and if you had any regard 
 for your complexion, Helen, you would avoid 
 them, I can assure you." 
 
 " Mrs. George has a lovely complexion, 
 Miss Alexander, Fm sure," gently interposed 
 Miss Carruthers. "I declare, my dear, I 
 see no difference in you," she added, ad- 
 dressing Helen. " You look as young as ever 
 you did." 
 
 " More good luck than good guiding, I 
 fear, so far as sitting over hot fires is con-
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 213 
 
 cerned;" observed Miss Violet, casting a 
 triumphant glance at the inviolate brightness 
 of her steel grate, filled with green paper, cut 
 to* imitate moss; the fire-irons removed; the 
 fender relentlessly turned up on end ; no 
 hope of a fire for six weeks to come at 
 least. "And how long," she added, "have 
 you to stay at Sempilltower, Helen — when 
 does Mr. Sempill mean to come for you ?" 
 
 " I can't tell, I am sure," replied Helen 
 nervously. " I don't intend to think about 
 it, dear Miss Violet, till he does come. I 
 have made a resolution to avoid all painful 
 subjects, and enjoy this holiday while it 
 lasts." 
 
 " Painful subjects !" retorted Miss Violet. 
 " Your husband is much obliged to you for the 
 compliment, Mrs. George Sempill. And do 
 yon, Beatrice, consider your husband's return 
 in the same light ? Will it hurt your feelings 
 if I ask when you expect him ?" 
 
 " By no means, dear Madam," answered 
 Beatrice, with a smile. " I am happy to say 
 that I think he will be at Portsmouth in less 
 than a month, though it may be rather longer 
 before he gets down here."
 
 214 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " Ah ! to be sure, you have not had too 
 much of each other's company during your 
 married life/' said Miss Violet, drily . " Miss 
 Carruthers, this green tea is very strong j a 
 little water, if you please. And so you have 
 managed to find your way to church at 
 last, ladies ? I rather expected you in the 
 morning." 
 
 " My mother-in-law," answered Helen, 
 " would have been hurt if I had not gone 
 to the parish church with her; and you know 
 Beatrice and the girls have no means of 
 coming so far, unless I had brought them." 
 
 iC In my day," returned Miss Violet, " we 
 should have said that going to the Kirk in 
 the morning, and to Church in the evening, 
 was setting one hand to undo what the other 
 did." 
 
 " If one could help it, Miss Violet." said 
 Beatrice in a deprecating tone, " of course 
 it would be very improper; but, really, in our 
 case " 
 
 « My dear," replied Miss Violet, " I should 
 soon find a remedy for such confusion. Bather 
 than enter a Presbyterian kirk, I should never 
 go to any place of worship at ail ! But do not
 
 KING3C0NNE1L. 215 
 
 suppose that I mean to dictate to you. Miss 
 Carruthers, have the children had some Nor- 
 wich bun ? Help yourselves, my dears." 
 
 " Next Sunday, dear Miss Violet," began 
 Helen — 
 
 " Next Sunday, my dear," interrupted 
 Miss Violet, " I really must entreat that you 
 are seen in your proper places, in your own 
 church." 
 
 " That is precisely what I was going to pro- 
 pose ;" replied Helen, somewhat resenting the 
 tone of dictation to which she had been so long 
 unaccustomed. 
 
 " And, therefore," pursued Miss Violet, " 1 
 beg you will both come here. Come on Satur- 
 day, to dinner, and I shall see to get Mr. Mal- 
 colm and his daughter to meet you." She 
 caught a glance from the bright eyes of the 
 younger Beatrice, a glance of eager yet doubt- 
 ful expectation, and added, "bring the girls 
 with you, Beatrice; don't leave them to a 
 Sunday at the Grange; and remain a day 
 or two if you can. It will be long before you 
 are together in my house again." 
 
 " It is strange, what power over the feelings 
 is exercised by the slightest touch of any thing
 
 216 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 like sentiment or human tenderness, in a per- 
 son habitually harsh and undemonstrative ! 
 Helen, whose keen sensibility had been 
 strangely excited during the evening, felt a 
 gush of tears come to her eyes, and a sob rising 
 to her throat, at these few words, and the 
 shade of sympathy which they seemed to de- 
 note, so unusual from Miss Violet. She could 
 not have answered the invitation, and preserved 
 her composure ; but Beatrice, though her soft 
 voice was not quite so steady as usual, did so 
 for both, with many thanks ; and the gentle 
 Miss Carrithers, whose peculiar favourite 
 Helen had always been, stole her hand under 
 the table, and gave it a kindly squeeze. 
 
 Very shortly after tea, the phaeton was 
 announced, as Helen did not wish to remain 
 out late on Sunday evening ; and the party 
 took leave of their hostess and her friend. 
 The night was beautiful, and the air so mild, 
 that the cloaks which they had all brought 
 were scarcely necessary. Nothing could be 
 more delicious than the drive home throug 
 the moonlight. 
 
 "Well, this has at least been a peace- 
 ful Sunday evening," said the elder Beatrice,
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 217 
 
 as the carriage entered the avenue at the 
 Grange. It is something to look back upon, 
 Helen. Such a close to such a beautiful 
 Sunday ! Good-night, dearest ! We shall 
 meet to-morrow." 
 
 VOL [s
 
 218 KINGSCGNNELL, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " There are a sort of men, whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 With purpose to be dressed in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
 As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, 
 And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 The sisters did meet on the morrow, and on 
 many successive morrows. No day passed 
 without bringing some meeting ; and the time 
 passed swiftly, too swiftly away. Meanwhile 
 the tide of events flowed on around them. Sir 
 Peter Bertram's funeral took place on the 
 appointed day, and the solitary recluse of 
 Kingsconnell was followed to his grave by a 
 concourse of people of all ranks, many (most of 
 whom indeed) could scarcely have recognised 
 him had they met him living, so complete
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 219 
 
 had been his estrangement from the society of 
 his kind. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton, the heir of entail, a young 
 man under thirty, arrived in time to officiate as 
 chief mourner ; and then took his departure 
 from the place, as much a stranger as when he 
 came. He had accompanied, from a distant 
 quarter of the county, a personal friend, a 
 nobleman, whose family had, some generations 
 back, intermarried with the Bertrams' ; and he 
 returned with him again when the ceremony 
 was over. He had not, as yet, any interest in 
 Kingsconnell. So said some of the old country 
 people as, with solemn faces and shaking heads, 
 they lingered about the church-yard, after the 
 vault had opened and closed again, and the 
 long funeral train had departed. 
 
 "Wha'll tak' a bode wi' me?" asked 
 Haverel Patie, a half-witted creature belonging 
 to the parish, whose sayings were regarded 
 with a measure of that superstitious veneration 
 attached in former days to Naturals — as persons 
 in his unhappy circumstances used to be called — 
 and of which some traces are still, in remote 
 districts, to be found ; " wha'll tak' a bode wi' 
 me, that twae score years '11 no be ower our 
 
 l 2
 
 220 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 heads, wha' leeves to see 't, afore Maister 
 Hamilton be here on the same yerrand again 
 as we 've seen him the day V 3 
 
 All shrunk back in horror from the ill- 
 omened words, and no voice answered them ; 
 but they were not forgotten. 
 
 On the second Sunday after the funeral, 
 an unexpected apparition presented itself in 
 Kingsconnell Church. A tall, fine-looking 
 man, in the prime of life, clad in the deepest 
 mourning, walked quietly into the front loft 
 towards the middle of the first prayers, and 
 took his place by the seat of honour at the 
 head of it. His arrival having taken place 
 late the preceding night, there were not two 
 dozen people in church who knew any thing 
 concerning it ; and scarce one of these, until 
 they actually saw him there, felt certain that 
 this was the real Simon Pure, the bond fide Sir 
 Thomas Bertram. Now, however, there could 
 be no doubt of the fact ; and on this Sunday, 
 at least, Mr. Carmichael had no ground of 
 complaint against his hearers for over strained 
 criticism of his sermons, which did little more 
 than divide their attention with the new Lord 
 of Kingsconnell. Many an eye, too, busied
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 221 
 
 itself in scanning his aspect and hearing, as the 
 congregation dispersed in the interval of public 
 worship; when the Laird of Sempilltower, ad- 
 vancing to his new and unknown neighbour, 
 introduced himself with that high-bred cour- 
 tesy of the old school which marked all his 
 actions, and which Sir Thomas was too good 
 a judge of manners and society not to meet 
 half-way. Accordingly, after he had been pre- 
 sented by the Laird to his own family, and to 
 the ladies from the Grange, the two gentlemen 
 were seen, to the great edification of the 
 assembled multitude, slowly pacing up and 
 down together beneath the trees which shaded 
 the church-yard wall, apparently absorbed 
 in conversation, which lasted until they were 
 obliged to return to church. It was also 
 remarked, that when service was finally over, 
 Sir Thomas, who had walked from Kingscon- 
 nell, waited for Mr. Carmichael, between whom 
 and himself a most friendly greeting was ob- 
 served to pass, and who accompanied him 
 home. A great fact this, which tended to 
 raise the young clergyman considerably in Dr. 
 Chisholnr's and Miss Babie's estimation; but 
 which, as it seemed to confirm all their suspi-
 
 222 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 cions of " patronage and court -favour/ ' rather 
 augmented than diminished the animosity of 
 Miss Willie Lockhart and Miss Menie Mark. 
 
 Sir Thomas did not remain long at Kings- 
 connell, where it was understood that he and his 
 family did not mean to take up their residence 
 until the following summer. He delegated to 
 Mr. Carmichael, in his absence, the task of su- 
 pervision of some improvements which he had 
 ordered to be set a-going, and of paying occa- 
 sional visits at the house ; then took his depar- 
 ture once more for France. 
 
 Some little time had now elapsed, and in 
 another week George Sempill was expected at 
 his father's house, after which it was surmised 
 that a period of about ten days would terminate 
 his own as well as his lady's residence there; 
 and the kind and considerate Mrs. Sempill, 
 deeply feeling for the approaching separation 
 between the sisters, had invited Beatrice and 
 her children to stay a few days in the house, 
 while she could still have Helen to herself 
 untrammelled by the presence of her husband ; 
 an invitation, it need scarcely be added, which 
 was gladly as well as gratefully accepted. 
 The visit to Miss Violet Alexander had taken
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 223 
 
 place, as was arranged ; and with all the draw- 
 backs to perfect enjoyment, inseparable from 
 the temper of their hostess, it had formed an 
 epoch on which the sisters felt they should 
 long look back with fond and sad remembrance. 
 It was the prelude to a separation more entire 
 than that, which, the previous time they 
 had stayed together there, lay immediately 
 before them; and this separation belonged 
 to a different period in existence, — a period 
 when the delusions of youth were dispersed for 
 ever, and when, alas ! these had not been 
 replaced by realities more valuable. Helen, 
 when last she had hung on the neck of Beatrice 
 in that old room of their's, clasped in the 
 passionate fervour of a parting embrace, had 
 all the world before her, — a new and untried 
 path. Now it was no longer so. The path 
 had been explored so far, and found to be 
 all barrenness; and dark, cold, lowering mists 
 hid the future from her sight, ungilded by the 
 rays of hope, which had once lent them such 
 deceitful brightness. Much need had she for 
 prayer, faith, and patience ; and the sister, 
 who had been in a measure her guardian- 
 angel as well as companion and friend, felt this
 
 224 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 for her as keenly as it was possible for her to 
 do for herself. 
 
 The few days during which Beatrice and her 
 little girls were inmates of Sempilltower, passed 
 only too rapidly away, in the midst of that 
 atmosphere of kindliness and social enjoyment. 
 They were a rest in life, a pause, in the present 
 case, before a hurricane. On the day before 
 George Sempill was expected they returned to 
 the Grange ; and from that day time seemed 
 to gallop on at the fearful rate at which he 
 does proceed, when we would fain, if we could, 
 hang a heavy drag upon his chariot wheels. It 
 were needless to dwell upon the detail of all 
 these final days ; on George SempnTs chilling 
 suavity of manner towards his sister-in-law, 
 his absolute unconsciousness that Helen's ap- 
 proaching departure involved any trial to her, 
 his impregnable, impenetrable indifference, in 
 short, to all that did not immediately touch 
 himself. All this may be conceived ; as also 
 the cold annoyance with which he found him- 
 self compelled to accompany his wife to pay 
 certain farewell visits to acquaintances, some of 
 whom he judged quite unworthy of the exertion. 
 It was one which Helen, by herself, however
 
 KINGSCONXELL. 225 
 
 much she might have wished him to make it, 
 would never have dreamt of urging; but to 
 which he was forced in deference to the " old- 
 fashiuned prejudices" of his parents. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Sempill were immovable on points in- 
 volving attention to the feelings of others, 
 above all of those not precisely in their own 
 position, whether as to station or wealth. 
 They deemed no personal effort too great to 
 avoid the guilt of wounding any one, and their 
 son could find no loop-hole of escape from 
 what they did not view in the light of an effort 
 at all. Willingly or unwillingly the fastidious 
 George behoved to pay his respects to old Mrs. 
 Lockhart, at the Grange, to Dr. Grindlay and 
 Miss Susie, — Dr. Chisholm and Miss Babie, — 
 nay, to Miss Menie Mark herself; besides 
 sundry others whose names are unknown to 
 fame. As much as in him lay, he spared no 
 pains to make the recipients of his condescen- 
 sion feel it as such ; bestowing but brief time 
 and briefer speech on any of them, and look- 
 iug, during the period of each visit, as Mrs. 
 Lockhart straight-forwardly pronounced — " like 
 the far end o' a fiddle ;" but still the ceremonial 
 was observed; and if in a different spirit to 
 
 l 3
 
 226 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 that intended by the good old Laird and lady, 
 that was no fault of their' s. His farewell visit 
 to Miss Violet Alexander, Mr. Sempill per- 
 formed with somewhat better grace. She was the 
 one of Helen's connections, besides her sister, 
 to whom he could find, no objection; her 
 sternness and total absence of tenderness were 
 nothing to him, cased as he was in an armour 
 of proof which bade defiance alike to love, in- 
 difference, and dislike; and it so happened, 
 perhaps for this very reason, that he had always 
 been rather a favourite of hers ; for a temper 
 like Miss Violet's is generally found to suit 
 best with one which defies its power. Besides 
 this, his fortune and the antiquity and high 
 position of his family flattered her self-con- 
 sequence, which was too often wounded by 
 what she felt to be the inferiority of the con- 
 nexion formed by her eldest cousin. It was 
 not that the Lockhart family was not entitled 
 to take a respected place in the county ; it had, 
 in fact, always done so, up to the time of the 
 late proprietor's death ; and the estimation in 
 which he had been held was still shown in the 
 attentions paid to his widow and daughters by 
 many who found little attraction in their
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 227 
 
 society. The loss or diminution of worldly- 
 wealth is not in Scotland even now, and was 
 still less at that time, considered to debar the 
 family of a well-born gentleman from the place 
 which their birth and habits entitle them to 
 fill; and it was not in Mrs. Lockhart's case the 
 smallness of her income, nor the quiet style 
 of life inevitable from contracted means, which 
 caused the sinking perceptible to Miss Violet's 
 sensitive pride in her position with regard to 
 the rest of the county ; but her own innate 
 vulgarity and coarseness of mind, which now 
 that they were no longer counteracted by the 
 superior refinement of her husband, prompted 
 her to withdraw needlessly from her own sphere, 
 and to slide into habits of life which rendered 
 the company of people in an inferior situation 
 to her own more agreeable than that of her 
 equals, as causing her less trouble. The dicta- 
 torial, uncompromising spirit of one daughter, 
 and the culpable indolence of the other, of 
 course accelerated this downward tendency of 
 affairs at the Grange, as Miss Willie preferred 
 the society of those to whom she could lay 
 down the law, — and Miss Grace of those for 
 whom she did not feel compelled to take any
 
 228 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 extra pains with her dress. All this grated 
 harshly upon the pride and the lady-like 
 feeling of Miss Violet, and while it rendered 
 her unjust to the amiable character and gentle- 
 manly deportment of Captain Lockhart, in- 
 fused an extra portion of graciousness into her 
 demeanour to Mr. Sempill, on the few occasions 
 of their meeting. 
 
 On the present occasion they conversed 
 most amicably for some time, while Helen, pale 
 as death, sat silently by, nearly choked by the 
 struggle to keep down emotions unsuited to 
 the company in which she found herself, but 
 almost irrepressible, as she gazed, for the last 
 time perhaps, on the home of her childhood 
 and her youth. This was to be her final inter- 
 view with Miss Violet, who had excused herself 
 from accepting Mrs. SempilFs pressing invita- 
 tion to Sempilltower, on the plea of a rheu- 
 matic tendency. It was speedily over. Mr. 
 Sempill never paid long visits anywhere. He 
 arose, took a graceful leave of Miss Violet, and 
 opened the door for his wife. Helen advanced 
 to her old relation, and silently clasping the 
 offered hand in both her's, convulsively pressed 
 it to her quivering lips.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 229 
 
 " God bless you, my dear V said Miss 
 Violet. " Don't give way; that is foolish. I 
 shall be glad to hear from you when you have 
 time. Miss Carruthers will regret to have missed 
 you. If she or I had expected you to-day, 
 she would not have been out. Farewell, my 
 dear." 
 
 She drew Helen towards her, and kissed 
 her cheek. It was a kiss which seemed to 
 drive back the tears to her heart, but the 
 hysterical catching in her throat precluded 
 speech, and she quitted the room without at- 
 tempting it, and with a bitter feeling of sorrow 
 at the absence of her poor old governess, and 
 the idea that she should not see her again. 
 
 Miss Carruthers, however, had come into 
 the house, and knowing Miss Violet's dislike to 
 scenes, which almost equalled that of Mr. 
 Sempill himself, was watching for Helen at the 
 door of her bed-room, into which she drew her 
 to exchange a weeping farewell ; they had not 
 many minutes for it, but such things are 
 quickly transacted, though not so speedily for- 
 gotten. Hastening down stairs after her hus- 
 band, Helen uttered a few broken words of 
 kindness to the old servant who had carried her
 
 230 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 in his arms as a little girl, then gave her hand 
 to Mr. Sempill, who stood by the carriage, tall, 
 erect, and unruffled as usual, yet with a certain 
 indescribable air of annoyance with which his 
 wife was well acquainted ; and ascending the 
 steps, was speedily borne away from her old 
 home. It seemed like severing the first link 
 of a chain, whose every link, down to the last 
 and strongest, must speedily be divided.
 
 KINOSCONNELL, 231 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Oh, Heart of fire ! 
 
 What woe was thine, when thou and Jonathan, 
 Last greeted face to face !" 
 
 Lyra Apostolica. 
 
 Time, — inexorable Time, sped on, and the last 
 day had now arrived. Most part of the morn- 
 ing Beatrice had spent at Sempilltower, in her 
 sister's room, but before the hour of luncheon, 
 she quietly stole away, begging Helen to offer 
 her apologies to Mrs. Sempill; who, as she 
 assured her daughter-in-law, required none. 
 Beatrice felt that she could not command her- 
 self as she would wish to do, in presence of the 
 whole family; and she thought it right that 
 Helen should give the afternoon to her mother- 
 in-law and aunt, without the intervention of 
 her presence. Mrs. Lockhart and her two 
 daughters happened on that day to be going to
 
 232 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 dine at Dr. Chisholnr's, who sometimes gave 
 very comfortable little parties. Beatrice had of 
 course declined attending this one, and Helen 
 had promised to walk down from Sempilltower 
 as soon as dinner was over there, and pass the 
 evening with her and the children. This ar- 
 rangement she did not think it necessary to 
 communicate to her husband, dreading that he 
 should interpose some mandate to the contrary ; 
 but in the course of the day she learned an 
 alteration which he had made in his plans, as 
 usual without consulting her, which decided 
 her, at all hazards, to carry her own into 
 effect. This was, that instead of setting off on 
 the morrow after the usual breakfast hour, he 
 had resolved that their departure should take 
 place at six in the morning ; and thus Beatrice 
 and she could not meet next day to say fare- 
 well, but must do so that night or not at all. 
 
 The day dragged on ; for so the last hours 
 previous to a painful parting seem to do, at 
 whatever rate they may have fled before. As 
 the end approaches, all becomes pain, from 
 whose insupportable pressure the heart almost 
 desires relief by longing that the final agony 
 were fairly over, and the loved one gone.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 2o3 
 
 George Sempill alone continued imperturbed 
 in demeanour, though even he felt sorry to go, 
 and would rather not, if he could have helped 
 it, have had to bid farewell to his father and 
 mother. Mrs. Sempill and Miss Muirhead 
 made no attempt to conceal their sorrow. The 
 good old Laird strove hard to bear up manfully, 
 but the struggle of his mind was manifest in 
 his nervous and agitated demeanour, so dif- 
 ferent from his usual dignified yet frank and 
 cordial bearing. The Major, in a state of un- 
 speakable, yet silent, flurry, as he revolved the 
 approaching departure of Helen, for whom the 
 old gentleman had one of those intense, almost 
 adoring, sentiments of affection, which youth, 
 beauty, and attractive manners sometimes 
 excite iu the old where we should least expect 
 it, lost all self-command, roamed about the 
 house in what David Bryce termed, " a kind 
 o' a raptur', " giving that worthy fifty contra- 
 dictory orders in as many minutes, — and finally, 
 impatient of inaction, declared that it was a 
 shame to waste so fine a day in-doors, and com- 
 manded that his gun should be brought him 
 for an hour or two's partridge-shooting in the 
 fields close by.
 
 234 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 The gun was brought, and the Major, 
 equipped for sport, descended to a sort of hall 
 in the lower story of the tower, opening on the 
 men-servants apartments, and decorated with 
 various battered trophies of the chase, no 
 longer fit for the higher regions, and with some 
 old smoke-stained prints, amongst which figured 
 a set of the Twelve Caesars in mezzotinto. 
 Here stood David, having finished loading the 
 gun, ready to hand it to his master. Dis- 
 pleased at some omission, and in that state of 
 mind when a man will quarrel with the wind 
 for blowing on him, the Major jerked it from 
 him with a testy and unsteady movement, when 
 instantly a terrific explosion, and a shout, or 
 rather shriek of horror, resounded far and wide, 
 and brought every member of the family within 
 hearing, to the hall. 
 
 Pushing, jostling, and talking all together, 
 men and women crowded in at the narrow 
 door. A cloud of sulphurous smoke at first 
 impeded the sight of anything, and a dozen 
 various accents of terror and anxiety, demanded 
 what was the matter — who was hurt — who fired 
 the gun? 
 
 "Cry a' at ance !" the voice of David was
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 235 
 
 heard to exclaim in reply. (i Cry a' at ance ! 
 thare's no half din eneuch." 
 
 " Hallo ! David \" now exclaimed Captain 
 Senipill, attracted by the tumult, which had 
 reached him as he was entering the house by 
 one of the lower passages, " Why, what is the 
 matter? Major, is it you?" as the smoke now 
 clearing away a little, disclosed the perplexed 
 countenance of his uncle, still holding the gun 
 in his hand. " What on earth have you been 
 about ? Is any one hurt, David V s 
 
 " Troth is there, Captain/' drily answered 
 David, going close to the wall in the direction 
 to which the gun had pointed, as if carefully 
 investigating something there. " It wad hae 
 been a serious matter ance in a day, Major," 
 he added, " but it '11 be gottin ower easier noo. 
 Ye've shot Julius Caesar through the head \" 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! faith ! so you have, Major \" 
 exclaimed Captain Sempill, following David to 
 the spot, and finding that the whole charge had 
 lodged in the brow of " Imperial Caesar," and 
 made woful havoc amongst the laurels of his 
 wreath. " Come, I think you can hardly stoop 
 to any meaner game to-day, after a shot like 
 that to begin with."
 
 236 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 The Major was apparently of the same 
 opinion, for he relinquished his gun to David, 
 and prosecuted his intention of sport no 
 farther. This ludicrious incident was felt to 
 stand the party round the dinner-table in 
 some stead that day, and the Major took all 
 the witticisms levelled against him by his 
 brother and his nephew, in good part; glad, 
 perhaps, like them, to have some diversion from 
 painful thoughts. 
 
 " No sooner had the ladies left the dining- 
 room, than Helen prepared to set off for the 
 Grange. 
 
 "You will send for me at half-past nine 
 o'clock, dear mother ?" said she. " I shall 
 be quite ready ." 
 
 " Yes, my love, I will," replied Mrs. Sempill. 
 " We should like you to be with us at supper, 
 Helen, if not very painful to yourself." 
 
 "No, no, dear mother, don't talk of that. 
 Of course I shall be with you then. I could 
 not bear to do otherwise." She was gone 
 as she uttered the last words. 
 
 " God help them, poor things !" exclaimed 
 Miss Muirhead, as from the window she 
 watched Helen's figure disappearing through
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 237 
 
 the trees. "They have sore hearts to bear 
 between this and supper-time \" 
 
 Beatrice and her two girls met Helen half- 
 way in the woods of Kingsconnell. It was a 
 beautiful sunny evening, and they walked 
 slowly back to the house, and up through the 
 garden path, the girls keeping in advance, 
 or lingering behind ; for the young Beatrice, 
 with the intuitive perception of others' feelings 
 characteristic of a mind of peculiar sensibility, 
 knew that her mother and aunt must wish 
 to be alone together on this last night of their 
 meeting. They reached the parlour, which 
 on that night seemed transformed in its aspect, 
 by a few touches of her tasteful hand. Several 
 beautifully- disposed bouquets of flowers, a neat 
 and orderly arrangement of the books and 
 other articles, usually lying about as chance 
 directed, open windows admitting the sweet air 
 and sunshine, and the sofa wheeled round from 
 the wall against which it was wont to stand as 
 if nailed to it, and placed beside a comfortable 
 tea-table, made the dingy room scarce recog- 
 nizable. They sat down to tea, and in spite of 
 all, this last meal they were to partake of toge- 
 ther, was a pleasant one. Long they lingered
 
 238 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 over it ; and it was nearly dark when at last 
 the table was cleared. 
 
 Before the candles were brought, the young 
 Beatrice had quietly drawn Helen away ; and 
 they repaired to their own room up stairs, there 
 to put the finishing stroke to two little pieces 
 of work which they were preparing as parting 
 presents for their aunt. Within a few minutes 
 of their usual bed-time, half-past eight o' clock, 
 they came down stairs again. 
 
 " Aunt Helen," said Beatrice, advancing to 
 her aunt, " Fve been netting this little purse 
 for you ; will you keep it for my sake ?" 
 
 " And this needle-book for mine, aunt 
 Helen ?" added her sister, as they threw their 
 arms round her. 
 
 " My own darlings, that I will !" was 
 all poor Helen could articulate, clasping the 
 girls to her heart. 
 
 " It is our bed-time, dear mamma," at last 
 said Beatrice in a low voice. " But this is not 
 good-bye yet, darling Aunt Helen ! We are 
 coming over for a few minutes to-morrow 
 morning after breakfast, to see you before 
 you go." 
 
 " Stop one moment," said Helen. " I must
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 239 
 
 say it." she exclaimed with a desperate effort. 
 I could not do it sooner, Beatrice ! It is good- 
 bye ! George has altered his plans. We are 
 to start at six to-morrow morning. - " 
 
 Her sister became deadly pale. " It is 
 good-bye, my darling girls \" repeated Helen. 
 " I shall not see you again. Come to my arms, 
 Beatrice, Helen ! My own little ones ! My 
 darlings! You will not forget me? You will 
 not forget Aunt Helen V 
 
 " Forget you ! " It was all Beatrice 
 
 could say. She tried hard to keep down her 
 tears, but it would not do ; and in an agony of 
 weeping, she clung to her aunt, on whose neck 
 little Helen was sobbing bitterly. 
 
 Their mother gently interposed at last, im- 
 ploring them, for her sake and their aunt's, to 
 dry their tears, and endeavour to look forward 
 to a future meeting, perhaps in a few years, per- 
 haps sooner. The voice of hope and promise is 
 never slow to reach the ears of the young, and 
 both raised their heads, and strove to check their 
 sobs. They embraced their mother, and with 
 another and yet another, long, fervent kiss from 
 their aunt, they quitted the room. The door closed 
 after them, and the sisters were once more alone.
 
 240 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " One parting is over/' said Helen, " but 
 there is a worse to come. Beatrice, Beatrice ! 
 my own sister ! the hour is at hand \" 
 
 They flung themselves into each other's 
 arms, as they sat side by side on the sofa. All 
 assumed restraint was at an end; and in that 
 long, long, passionate embrace, those floods of 
 tears, the love and the anguish of a life-time 
 seemed concentrated. Few words were uttered 
 between them, but who could take in the 
 measure of their thoughts, while thus, for the 
 last time, heart beat to heart, and cheek was 
 pressed to cheek ? At length Helen raised 
 herself. 
 
 " I hear it !" she exclaimed. " I hear the 
 carriage." 
 
 It was so. One of the maid servants gently 
 opened the door to announce it ; then withdrew 
 with that delicate consideration which often 
 occurs so pleasingly in that class, with regard 
 to the feelings of their superiors. 
 
 " Let me look at you, Beatrice !" said 
 Helen. " Let me look at your dear face once 
 more ! Shall I ever, ever do so again, Bea- 
 trice ? Shall I ever hear your voice again V 
 
 " My Helen — yes. Please God, you shall.
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 241 
 
 Be calm, my Helen ! My own, my best, my 
 precious Helen. God bless you ! God keep 
 and strengthen you l" 
 
 One more embrace, — one long straining 
 clasp, and all was over. Helen caught up her 
 bonnet and shawl, turned as she reached the 
 door, and after one look at Beatrice, where she 
 sat with her face buried in the cushions of the 
 sofa, her whole frame heaving with her sobs, 
 she passed into the hall, ascended the carriage, 
 and was gone. 
 
 The bright September sun was rising over 
 the woods, as Mr. SernpuTs travelling carriage, 
 ready packed, stood at the house door. At 
 Helen's earnest entreaty, the elder members of 
 the family had consented, though with reluct- 
 ance, to take leave of her over-night ; only 
 Reginald appeared at the early breakfast-table 
 that morning ; but as, with a soft step, she was 
 gliding past the Laird's dressing-room door, 
 on her way down stairs, for the last time, it 
 opened, and the good old gentleman, in his 
 morning-gown, appeared at it, drew her gently 
 into the room, and bestowed a father's embrace 
 and blessing on her head. 
 
 The fortitude which she had been trying to 
 muster, not much strengthened by this circum- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 stance, Helen entered the dining-hall, where 
 they had breakfasted, and where her brother- 
 in-law now stood alone. 
 
 " Helen, dear," he said, as she approached, 
 passing his arm around her, and kissing her 
 forehead, " it will soon be over now. This is 
 trying work, Helen ! most of all for you ; but 
 though I have not said much, do not think that 
 I have not felt for you." 
 
 " Never could I think that, Reginald," 
 she earnestly replied. " You have been the 
 kindest, the most considerate of brothers to 
 me, always." 
 
 " Indeed, Helen," returned he, " I love 
 you as a sister, and I am not blind to some of 
 your trials. I merely wanted to say to you 
 before you go, — confide in me as a brother; 
 look upon me as your warm friend, and rely 
 upon me, if ever I can do you any good. 
 Now, dear, — now, — compose yourself. Cheer 
 up ! We shall all meet again — sooner than we 
 think, who knows ?" 
 
 George Sempill now appeared cool and col- 
 lected as ever, and Reginald gave his arm to 
 his sister-in-law, to lead her to the carriage. 
 Another trial awaited Helen, in the array of 
 all the upper servants who were waiting in the
 
 KIXGSCOXXELL. 243 
 
 outer hall to see them off, with an interest as 
 warm and sincere in its way, as that of their 
 masters. She felt that she must not attempt 
 to speak to any of them, but as she passed 
 along, she exchanged a cordial grasp of the 
 hand with each in turn. And now the hospit- 
 able threshold was passed; she had descended 
 the stairs, and stood at the carriage-door. 
 
 " I am not too late \" exclaimed a young 
 clear voice. " Oh ! how very glad I am ! Aunt 
 Helen, — dearest Aunt Helen ! I just came to 
 see you once more before you go." 
 
 It was Beatrice Lockhart, — her dress wet 
 with the dew, — her long rich brown curls, re- 
 laxed by the morning air, hanging in heavy 
 tresses below her straw bonnet, and partly 
 veiling her pale cheeks and tearful eyes. She 
 ran in at the gateway at the very moment when 
 Helen appeared at the turret door, flinging her 
 arms around her as she uttered these words. 
 
 " My child ! my poor dear child \" said 
 Helen, tenderly kissing her, — "is it possible ? 
 Did you actually come alone at this hour, all 
 the way through the woods V* 
 
 " I did, I did, Aunt Helen. I could not 
 sleep. I rose at four in the morning, and got 
 up and dressed without awaking any one. I 
 
 m 2
 
 244 KlftGSCONNELL, 
 
 could not rest without seeing you again. My 
 heart was so full last night ! I could not speak. 
 And I wanted to tell you to be comforted about 
 mamma, — for Helen and I will do all we can 
 to make her happy. Not that we can be like 
 you to her; but we shall try all we can. And 
 I wanted to — to — to thank you for all your 
 love and kindness — darling Aunt Helen ! — 
 you are going — and it seems as if I had never 
 loved you half enough — but you don't know 
 how I loved you ! — I — I—." She could get 
 no farther. The passion of tears, so long pent 
 up, now forced its way, and scarcely conscious 
 of the presence of another witness near her, 
 Beatrice clung to her aunt, and hid her face in 
 her breast. Captain Sempill turned away his 
 head ; Helen's maid wept aloud, and even the 
 men could not look unmoved at the young 
 girl's agony of sorrow. George Sempill had 
 endured up to this pitch the thing on earth he 
 dreaded most — a scene ; but now he could 
 bear it no longer. 
 
 " Helen," he said, "there must bean end 
 of this ; we have far to go, it is more than 
 time we were on our w T ay." 
 
 "One moment/' answered Helen, com- 
 manding herself by a strong effort. " Look
 
 KIXGSCOXNELL. 245 
 
 up, my darling child! Farewell, Beatrice. 
 Never forget that next to your own dear 
 mamma, no one loves you better than poor 
 Aunt Helen. Blessings on you, my child ! 
 Reginald," she added, turning to her brother- 
 in-law, "comfort her, Reginald!" 
 
 Captain Sempill gently and kindly drew 
 the sobbing girl from her aunt's embrace, and 
 as the carriage rolled out at the gate, and 
 Helen, burying her face in her handkerchief, 
 sank back in its corner, he half led, half 
 carried Beatrice up stairs, and into the dining- 
 hall, desiring James Chalmers, whose eyes were 
 full of tears, to bring her a cup of coffee. 
 Then, while she wept on his shoulder as she 
 might have done on that of her father, he 
 strove, in a few kindly and quiet words, to 
 soothe her agitation, and ere very long, suc- 
 ceeded in doing so, in a great measure. Bea- 
 trice with some difficulty, and at his earnest 
 request, swallowed the coffee he had ordered ; 
 and then, having subdued her distress, arose to 
 depart, saying that her mother would be uneasy 
 about her, should her absence be discovered. 
 Glad, perhaps, of a pretext for motion, and 
 getting out of the house, Captain Sempill pro- 
 posed to escort her; and accompanied her as
 
 246 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 far as the foot of the garden at the Grange, 
 where he bade her farewell. 
 
 " I have given you a great deal of trouble, 
 Captain Sempill," said Beatrice, with a deep 
 blush, as they parted. " You have been very 
 kind to me." 
 
 " Don't say so, my dear," he replied. " I 
 am glad to see you a little calmer now. We 
 shall have Aunt Helen back again ere long, 
 never fear. Good morning to you ! What a 
 heart that girl has !" he exclaimed to himself, 
 as Beatrice's figure disappeared along the 
 winding walk. "This life will be no child's 
 play for her, poor dear ! or I am much mis- 
 taken, unless she be very kindly dealt with."
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " There is a secret something in antipathies ; and love is more 
 than fancy ; 
 
 Yea, and a palpable notice warneth of an instant danger; 
 
 For the soul hath its feelers, cobwebs floating on the wind, 
 
 That catch events in their approach with sure and apt presenti- 
 ment, 
 
 So that some halo of attraction heraldeth a coming friend; 
 
 Investing in his likeness the stranger that passed on before; 
 *****•♦** 
 
 The spirit, sharpest and strongest when disease hath rent the 
 
 body, 
 Hath welcomed kindred spirits in nightly visitations, 
 Or learnt from restless ghosts dark secrets of the living,' 
 And helped slow justice to her prey by the dreadful teaching of 
 
 a dream." 
 
 Proverbial Philosophy. 
 
 A fortnight had elapsed since Helen's de- 
 parture, in that species of dreary stillness which 
 succeeds violent excitement, whilst the waves 
 of the passing hour had effaced the outward 
 traces of sorrow, as sooner or later they must 
 in all circumstances do. The Sempills had
 
 248 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 not vet sailed for Madeira, but the time of their 
 departure drew very- near. Meanwhile Helen's 
 letters dwelt upon the anticipation of meeting 
 with her brother-in-law ; Captain Lockhart 
 having arrived at Portsmouth, and being 
 shortly expected in London, on his way to 
 Scotland. The joyful prospect of her husband's 
 return, not less than the necessity laid upon 
 every mother, of mental and bodily exertion 
 for her childrens sake, did much to rouse Bea- 
 trice from the state of dejection into which, if 
 left to herself after the parting with her sister, 
 she would probably have sunk. But with all 
 the unselfishness of her nature she strove 
 against the benumbing influence of the grief 
 she could not but feel, and endeavoured in her 
 letters to inculcate similar exertion on Helen, 
 who had not the powerful motive to make it, 
 supplied to Beatrice by her children. 
 
 The expected arrival of Captain Lockhart 
 was, if possible, rendered more delightful to 
 his wife and children, by the anticipations 
 which it involved of a return, before very long, 
 to their own quiet and elegant home. Beatrice 
 was well aware that although her husband had 
 all the kindly affection of one who had not 
 lived much with them, towards his mother and
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 249 
 
 sisters, yet that it was the species of affection, 
 uncernented by similarity of taste or feelings, 
 which thrives best at a distance; and that he 
 never remained any length of time at the 
 Grange, without becoming very heartily tired 
 of it; and never scrupled to own as much to 
 her. More especially was this likely to be the 
 case at the present season, when the shortening 
 autumn days brought the family more in-doors 
 and more together, and rendered more appa- 
 rent the barrenness, the matter-of-fact dullness 
 and the manifold discrepancies of the domestic 
 circle. Tts younger members felt this as keenly 
 as their mother. 
 
 " The days, mamma," said Beatrice more 
 than once, "those sweet Autumn days in 
 the woods, are delightful. But it is dreadful 
 at this season to be forced to come in to diue 
 at four o'clock ; and then one can't get out 
 after dinner for more than a short run in the 
 garden; and oh ! mamma, don't be angry ! but 
 I cannot help feeling so tired of the long 
 evenings ! all sitting round that table, — no 
 music, no reading aloud, and very little conver- 
 sation ! How I do look forward to our own dear 
 home-evenings again, mamma ! And with dear 
 papa with us, we shall have such a happy winter!" 
 
 m 3
 
 250 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 And her mother stifled the sigh that always 
 seemed to struggle upward from her heart 
 when Beatrice dwelt upon the delights of her 
 own home, and joined in the anticipation. 
 
 One great resource to the young girls was 
 in their visits to Sempilltower with their 
 mother, which frequently took place, as the 
 hospitable owners never seemed to think they 
 could see Helen's sister and nieces often 
 enough ; and it was pleasant, though sad, to 
 revisit the scene where they last had met 
 and parted. Another seemed gradually open- 
 ing in the society of Mr. Carmichael, whom 
 they not only met at Sempilltower, but who 
 began to make his occasional appearance at the 
 Grange. The old lady was too bustling and 
 worldly, and, be it added, too sensible, to enter 
 into Miss WilhVs Calvinistic niceties, or take 
 part in the deep discussions, verging in some 
 cases on deadly feuds, which began to agitate 
 the parish on the subject of reading and non- 
 reading in the pulpit, as referring to the 
 assistant ; but she had a high idea of the duties 
 of hospitality, especially where those could be 
 exercised without involving too much fuss, or 
 departure from her own ways ; and had, there- 
 fore, judged it proper to invite the young
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 251 
 
 minister to her house. Mr. Carmichael had 
 partaken, so to speak, of his inauguration feast, 
 when a dinner-party in honour of Mrs. George 
 Sempill took place at the Grange. This was a 
 ceremony which could not often be repeated, so 
 extensive were the preparations connected with 
 anything of the kind, — so prodigious the un- 
 earthing of china and crystal from the recesses 
 of the store-room, unpapering of picture-frames, 
 uncovering of carpets, sofas, and chairs, and 
 releasing of window-curtains from holland- 
 bags. Then, when the symposium had taken 
 place, all that had been arrayed in its service 
 behoved to be again stowed away; papered, 
 covered, and tied up once more, ere the house- 
 hold could return to those habits of life which 
 interfered so grievously with the power of 
 seeing their friends in comfort. But although 
 a grand field-day like this was of unfrequent 
 occurrence, Mrs. Lockhart enjoyed inviting her 
 friends in a sociable way to drink tea with her; 
 and Mr. Carmichael, amongst others, had once 
 or twice appeared on such occasions since 
 the period of his first formal invitation to the 
 house. 
 
 It so happened that on one of these evenings 
 the conversation turned upon the fruitful topic
 
 252 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 of the day in that part of the world — Kings- 
 connell and the Bertram family. The young 
 Beatrice Lockhart, whose singularly-developed 
 talent and sensibility seemed peculiarly to 
 interest Mr. Carmichael, put many questions to 
 him on the subject of the mansion, which she 
 had never seen near at hand, so much so as at 
 length to induce him to offer to escort her 
 thither, along with her mother, and any of the 
 rest of the party who might wish to see the 
 old place, ere it assumed the more modern 
 aspect destined to it in the course of a few 
 months. 
 
 Mrs. Henry Lockhart gladly accepted this 
 offer for herself and her little girls, as did Miss 
 Grace. To the great satisfaction of her sister-in- 
 law and nieces, Miss Willie was, or professed 
 to be, otherwise engaged for the following day, 
 on which it was agreed that the expedition 
 should take place. 
 
 Soon after breakfast, accordingly, Mr. Car- 
 michael appeared at the Grange. Beatrice and 
 the two girls were quite ready fur their walk ; 
 but a slight delay occurred, in consequence 
 of Miss Grace having mislaid her gloves, which 
 were at length discovered by little Helen 
 between two pages of her present study, " The 

 
 KINGSCONNELL. 253 
 
 Children of the Abbey." This preliminary 
 adjusted, the party set out. 
 
 The route they pursued was the well-known 
 one through the garden and the wood beyond, 
 to the bridge over the river. It was a beauti- 
 ful October day, of subdued and quiet light; a 
 sky mostly covered with thin, grey-fleckered 
 clouds, with patches here and there of pale 
 hazy- blue, and not a breath of wind to stir the 
 fading leaves, which, nevertheless, would now 
 and then steal quietly to the ground; — a day 
 for calm, yet mournful thought and silent me- 
 mories, from which the light of joy had faded, 
 like the summer-sunshine, from the woods. 
 Some idea like this crossed the mind of young 
 Beatrice, as hand-in-hand with Helen she trod 
 the withered leaves in advance of the others, 
 and contrasted the voiceless stillness of the air 
 around them with the murmur and buzz, and 
 chirp and song, which, as it seemed, had filled 
 it but the other day. 
 
 A short and pleasant walk brought our 
 party to the spot, at which hitherto they had 
 been wont to turn off in the direction of 
 Sempilltower. Striking into a path running 
 the opposite way, they crossed an open grassy 
 glade of the park, and speedily found them-
 
 254 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 selves about half-way up the grand entrance to 
 Kingsconnell, a magnificent straight avenue, 
 ascending by a gentle slope to a gateway at its 
 upper extremity, beyond which appeared the 
 mansion. Two other avenues of trees, one on 
 either side, ran nearly parallel at first to this, 
 over the green turf of the park, unbroken by 
 any road, and as they approached their termi- 
 nation, gently converged towards a common 
 centre with it. 
 
 The gateway which afforded entrance to 
 the house was a lofty iron one, in a railing of 
 the same material, almost entirely hidden by 
 climbing plants, and tall arbutus and Portugal 
 laurel trees, for they could scarcely be called 
 shrubs, to such a height had they grown. This 
 enclosed a square court, ornamented with 
 statues, and having a formal parterre of shrubs 
 on each side of the entrance. On the right 
 side the railing was carried up close to the 
 wall of the mansion, having a smaller gate in 
 it, by which access was given on foot to the 
 stables, which were at no great distance, but 
 completely screened from view by the fence of 
 evergreens. On the left ran a broad paved ter- 
 race, which seemed to be carried round to the 
 opposite front of the house, having a parapet of
 
 KIXGSCONXELL. 255 
 
 stone, nearly covered by the honeysuckles and 
 other climbers which grew up from beneath it, 
 and decorated at alternate intervals with 
 statues and stone vases. From this terrace a 
 flight of stone steps at the extremity next 
 the entrance, and another at its opposite termi- 
 nation, led down to the Pleasance already men- 
 tioned, whose extent and variety of surface 
 corresponded with the size and splendour of 
 the place. Flight after flight of steps con- 
 ducted from one terrace to another, some 
 gravelled, some of velvet turf, edged with 
 flowers and rare plants, or rather plants which 
 had been rare in the days when they were 
 set there first ; for, although the order of the 
 place had been kept up, nothing new, nothing 
 savouring of the modern world, had found 
 entrance there for years. Arbours, fountains, 
 stone seats, grottoes, and statues in abundance, 
 diversified the Pleasance, which finally termi- 
 nated in a broad green walk by the river-side, at 
 a great depth below the house. The gardens lay 
 beyond it, and were entered on one side from 
 it. The noble deer-park belonging to the 
 demesne extended on the other side of the 
 river, its surface in some places almost hilly, in
 
 256 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 others gently undulating, and ornamented with 
 fine wood. 
 
 Leaving the pleasant task of exploring the 
 out-door beauties of Kingsconnell to be per- 
 formed afterwards, our party proceeded towards 
 the house, a massive pile of building, square in 
 form, and covering a considerable area of 
 ground. A few broad low steps ascended to 
 the portico, above which was placed the 
 scutcheon of Sir Peter Bertram, and beneath 
 which was the principal entrance, though in 
 various nooks and corners of the house there 
 were several other doors, besides a sashed one 
 opening on the terrace. The pealing of the 
 bell, which Mr. Carmichael rung, was answered 
 by the appearance of one of the female servants 
 left in charge of the mansion under Sir Peter's 
 old housekeeper, who admitted them into a 
 large and lofty hall, on which many doors 
 opened, and from the centre of which a broad 
 staircase ascended, by a very short flight, to 
 the upper lobby, which afforded access to the 
 public rooms. These were all en suite, making 
 a complete circuit of the mansion; all very 
 large, and, at present, dark, sombre, and anti- 
 quated in aspect, bearing a character of gloomy,
 
 KINGSCONXELL. 257 
 
 desolate, faded grandeur. Sucli -was likewise 
 the appearance of the innumerable bed-rooms. 
 The house seemed almost illimitable in extent; 
 and the number and complication of passages, 
 galleries, and back-staircases was such, that 
 Beatrice, calling to mind the legend connected 
 with it, could only wonder how Colonel Ainslie, 
 a stranger in it, ever managed to find his way 
 at night without assistance. 
 
 Attended by the woman who admitted 
 them, they made the tour of the public rooms; 
 then, after having gone over most of the house 
 under her auspices, Mrs. Henry Lockhart 
 and Beatrice returned with Mr. Carmichael 
 to inspect more closely the pictures and other 
 ornaments of the principal apartments, leaving 
 Miss Grace and little Helen to explore some 
 more distant regions with their guide. 
 
 One portrait in particular arrested their 
 attention ; that which some of the old servants 
 had pointed out to Mr. Carmichael as the like- 
 ness of the unfortunate Master of Kingsconnell, 
 whose history he had detailed at Sempilltower. 
 It hung in a small ante-chamber, entering upon 
 the principal drawing-room ; rather with the 
 air of having been purposely placed where it 
 was not liable to much observation. As a work
 
 258 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 of art, it was well worthy of a more conspicuous 
 situation, being painted by no meaner a master 
 than Sir Joshua Reynolds, and in his happiest 
 style. It was, in fact, by far the finest portrait 
 in the collection; and the face and form it de- 
 picted, amply deserving of the skill bestowed 
 upon them. Long did the young Beatrice 
 stand gazing upon it, after her mother and 
 Mr. Carmichael had turned to examine other 
 pictures in the adjoining rooms ; — her rapt and 
 earnest eyes gathering in the smallest detail of 
 the dress and aspect, and endeavouring to 
 conjure up in the countenance, bright and 
 animated in expression, though, like all Sir 
 Joshua's pictures, somewhat faded in colouring, 
 the ghastly look of woe, desolation, and despair, 
 which its counterpart was said to have worn on 
 that mysterious night, whose tale so haunted 
 her imagination. 
 
 " Still here, Beatrice V* said her mother, as 
 Mr. Carmichael and she returned to the small 
 room, and seated themselves, somewhat fa- 
 tigued by their perambulation, on a settee, 
 nearly opposite where the picture hung. " Still 
 here, my child ! I believe you could remain 
 looking at that picture all day !" 
 
 " Indeed, mamma, I could," answered Bea-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 259 
 
 trice. " Besides the strange, wonderful story, 
 it is a beautiful picture, — beautiful ! The 
 longer I look at it, the more beautiful does 
 it seem. I think I never saw a face more so, 
 Mr. Carmichael. Did you?" 
 
 " I have seen a face which promises to be 
 more beautiful," replied Mr. Carmichael; " and 
 strange to say, very like that. The resemblance 
 struck me when first I saw this portrait; and it is 
 one that grows upon me every time I look at it." 
 
 " Whose is it V enquired Beatrice and her 
 mother at once. 
 
 " It is," he replied, " the face of Sir Thomas 
 Bertram's second son, Arthur. The likeness is 
 certainly striking, to a singular degree, con- 
 sidering the distant relationship between him 
 and the original of the picture." 
 
 " How beautiful he must be !" enthusiasti- 
 cally exclaimed Beatrice, her eyes fixed on the 
 picture. 
 
 " He is beautiful ! a most beautiful boy !" 
 said Mr. Carmichael. " God grant him a hap- 
 pier fate." 
 
 u Amen !" responded Mrs. Henry Lockhart, 
 her earnest gaze fixing itself upon the young 
 beaming face turned up to the picture. Mr. 
 CarmichaeVs followed it.
 
 260 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " Miss Lockhart," lie said with a smile, 
 "you really must not look at that picture any 
 longer." 
 
 " Why not ?" exclaimed Beatrice, turning 
 round with surprise. 
 
 " Because," he replied, " you incur a risk 
 by doing so. According to some theories 
 on these mysterious subjects, if that unhappy 
 spirit is not yet at rest, your mind being 
 intently fixed upon its history, exposes you to 
 the possibility of its entering into Rapport 
 with you." 
 
 "Into what, Mr. Carmichael?" eagerly ex- 
 claimed Beatrice. " Oh do — do tell me what 
 you mean ? Pray do \" She quitted the pic- 
 ture as she spoke, and seated herself on a chair 
 opposite to him, her large dilated eyes bent 
 upon his face with a look of eager expec- 
 tation. 
 
 " Since you have begun upon such a sub- 
 ject, Mr. Carmichael," said Mrs. Henry 
 Lockhart smiling, "you will find yourself 
 compelled to go on, and to satisfy my cu- 
 riosity as well as Beatrice's ; for I know 
 as little as she does of the meaning of 
 that term you used, and feel nearly as anxious 
 to understand it."
 
 KINGSCONNKLL. 261 
 
 "You are not acquainted with German, are 
 jrcu, Mrs. Lockhart?" asked Mr. Carrnichael. 
 
 " Not in the least/' she replied. 
 
 " The word I made use of," said he, " is 
 a German terra, belonging to the science, — the 
 mystery — call it what we will — of Animal 
 Magnetism ; but in the sense in which I 
 intended it, it is used by Stilling, a writer 
 on the subject of the spiritual world, to sig- 
 nify the state of sympathy between an em- 
 bodied aud a disembodied spirit, through 
 which it is possible for the latter to render 
 itself visible to the former/' 
 
 f * He supposes then," asked Mrs. Henry 
 Lockhart, " that unless such a sympathy exists, 
 a disembodied spirit cannot make its presence 
 known V s 
 
 " Exactly so," he replied. " And he relates 
 many strange narratives in proof of the suppo- 
 sition, stories in which spirits which have not 
 found their rest, manifest themselves to some 
 particular people, in preference to others to 
 whom it would seem that, although ardently de- 
 sirous of doing so, they had not the power of 
 appearing. And that for no assignable reason ; 
 simply that they were not in Rapport with 
 them. He makes it appear too, that the cir-
 
 262 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 cumstance of the mind dwelling inordinately 
 on these subjects generally, or on the destinies 
 of any one particular spirit, may in some cases 
 suffice to establish this Rapport, and render 
 the unseen world in some of its forms visible 
 to the bodily eye." 
 
 " Strange !" exclaimed Mrs. Henry Lock- 
 hart. " What a singular idea !" 
 
 " You believe it, don't you, Mr. Carmichael/' 
 asked Beatrice. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered half smiling, 
 " that to one of your lively imagination, Miss 
 Lockhart, I should be justified in making 
 known the extent of my belief or disbelief on 
 such points. But most unquestionably, the 
 farther I penetrate into the mysteries that 
 surround us, the wider do the limits of my 
 faith extend. I suspect it is only half-knowledge, 
 half-truths, that lead to unbelief in all cases." 
 
 " And I," said Beatrice, with a slight 
 shudder, — " have incurred a risk of being 
 haunted by that beautiful picture ? I will not, 
 if I can help it, look at it again. But now, 
 why should he have appeared to Colonel 
 Ainslie, Mr. Carmichael ? What Rapport could 
 there be between him, a total stranger, and 
 this unhappy spirit V
 
 KIN GSCON NELL. 263 
 
 " That I cannot tell_, Miss Lockhart," replied 
 Mr. Carmichael. " In fact, these are not 
 stories to be reasoned on, or reduced to any of 
 our known rules. But do you understand 
 what I mean, when I say, that the very discre- 
 pancies, the incoherences, as it were, of well- 
 authenticated ghost-stories, go farther to esta- 
 blish their truth in my mind than the most 
 exquisite adaptation of one part to another 
 would do ?" 
 
 "I think I understand/' said Beatrice. 
 " You mean that any one who had invented 
 them, would have taken care to make them 
 more reasonable, to make one see the reason 
 why the ghosts had appeared." 
 
 " Precisely so," he answered. "It is their 
 very incompleteness and incomprehensibility, 
 which constitutes their strongest guarantee in 
 my eyes." 
 
 "In the case we are discussing, however, 
 Mr. Carmichael," said Mrs. Henry Lockhart, 
 " one cannot be sure how far Colonel AinshVs 
 impression that he saw a real apparition, may 
 not have been a mistaken one. It is at least 
 possible that the whole scene might merely 
 have been a very vivid dream \ the terror 
 arising from which he could not dismiss from
 
 264 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 his mind; on waking in the middle of the 
 night. And 1 cannot forbear echoing Beatrice's 
 question, ivhy should the troubled spirit have 
 appeared to him, and not to any one else in the 
 house, which we are led to conclude it never 
 did?" 
 
 " As to that," replied Mr. Carmichael, " you 
 must recollect, Mrs. Lockhart, that Colonel 
 Ainslie was the only person exposed to the 
 risk of seeing the apparition, by becoming an 
 inmate of the room which it haunted. We are 
 led to conclude, in all stories of the kind, that 
 spirits returning in that way have not the 
 power of appearing in all places, but are con- 
 fined to some one particular spot. With regard 
 to your idea of the story having been a dream 
 of course it is impossible to tell. We have 
 nothing to set against the supposition save 
 Colonel AinshVs own repeated assertions to 
 the contrary, and profound conviction that 
 what he saw, he saw with his waking eyes. 
 But supposing it to have been a dream, I 
 confess that I do not see auything much less 
 wonderful in it. That he should have behekb 
 in a dream, a figure the exact counterpart of a 
 picture which he had never seen, and connected 
 in so remarkable a way with the unknown
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 265 
 
 history of the room assigned him, was, to say 
 the least of it, a circumstance scarcely to be 
 accounted for in a natural way/' 
 
 " Very true indeed/' said she. " "Whichever 
 way we take the story, it is strange enough. 
 Does any one know the room in which it 
 occurred, Mr. Carmichael ? for we have heard 
 nothing of it in the course of our walk through 
 the house to-day." 
 
 (t I rather think not," he replied. " I have 
 made sundry efforts to discover it, in vain. It 
 is not, you see, like a house descending in a 
 direct way, from father to son. The violent 
 and total changes of dynasty here cause one 
 set of owners to efface all trace of the other. 
 1 should like to find out the room where such 
 an incident took place." 
 
 "I wonder," said Beatrice, " why he came 
 back to it instead of visiting some place more 
 connected with the poor young lady whom he 
 loved, — some place where he used to meet her, 
 for instance ?" 
 
 " Probably his own room had more con- 
 nection with all his private thoughts and 
 feelings and unsatisfied wishes, than any other 
 place," answered Mr. Carmichael. "It is 
 Stilling's theory, that it is the strong bias 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 KINGSCONNEIL. 
 
 towards something earthly, the unfulfilled hope, 
 or the unsubdued desire, at the period of death, 
 which deprives the departed soul of rest, and 
 brings it back, with vain yearning, to the spot 
 most immediately connected with these, or to 
 the object of them. In this case the object 
 of affection being also dead, he returned to the 
 place w T here he had thought most of her." 
 
 "Alas!" exclaimed Mrs. Henry Lockhart. 
 u So a mother's spirit would return to watch 
 over her children, — the spirit of any one who 
 had loved intensely in life would so return to 
 the object beloved. I can believe it." 
 
 "Yes, if love had been stronger than 
 faith," said Mr. Carmichael. "If the spirit, 
 in departing, had not had faith to commit the 
 loved objects left behind to the care of God, 
 but had gone from them dissatisfied and re- 
 pining. But this is a state in which we cannot 
 rightly conceive a hajypy spirit to be. One of 
 the chief ingredients of happiness in the inter- 
 mediate state before the resurrection, must be 
 perfect faith, — perfect repose on the Providence 
 of God in all things. But I can well believe 
 those tales we have all heard of the strength of 
 love, at the hour of death, availing to render 
 the departing soul visible, sometimes even
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 267 
 
 helpful, to some beloved one far away. Nay, 
 I can imagine the same strength, after death, 
 being permitted at some hour of need, still to 
 befriend its objects. I have read a beautiful 
 story of some little children who had ventured 
 near a dangerous well in a dark passage of a 
 house where they were strangers, and who 
 averred that they had met their mother, dead 
 some time previously, almost at its brink, and 
 had been desired by her to turn back ; a 
 command, by whomsoever given, which saved 
 their lives. I had no difficulty in believing 
 that story." 
 
 " Oh ! and mamma ! Mr. Carmichael I" 
 exclaimed Beatrice, — " you recollect, don't you, 
 that exquisite Danish ballad of which Sir 
 Walter Scott quotes the translation, in the 
 notes to the f Lady of the Lake?' you re- 
 member when the children of the dead mother 
 are so cruelly treated by the father's second 
 wife — 
 
 "'Twas lang i' the nicht, and the bairnies grat, 
 
 Their mither she under the mools heard that ; 
 That heard the wife under the eard that lay ; 
 
 ' Forsooth maun I to my bairnies gae !' 
 That wife can stand up at our Lord's knee, 
 
 And, ' May I gang and my bairnies see?' 
 She prigged sae sair, and she prigged sae lang, 
 
 That He at the last ga'e her leave to gang." 
 
 N 2
 
 268 KINGSCONN^LL. 
 
 And then you know she goes to her poor 
 children, and comforts them, and reproves 
 their father for his cruelty. It is the same 
 idea, Mr. Carmichael." 
 
 u It is, Miss Lockhart, one of those uni- 
 versal ideas, which must have some foundation 
 in oar common nature," answered Mr. Car- 
 michael, looking with an interest such as he 
 had scarcely ever before experienced, from the 
 daughter to the mother, who did not speak, 
 and whose eyes, he observed, were filled with 
 tears. " There is," he said, after a brief pause, 
 desirous to turn the conversation, u another 
 picture in this house which possesses a singular 
 degree of interest in my eyes. Mrs. Lockhart 
 and I were looking at it a few minutes ago, 
 whilst you continued spell-bound here. That 
 one in the dining-room, over the mantel-piece, — 
 the large full-length picture of the unhappy 
 and guilty man who brought the curse upon 
 this house, Randolph, Viscount Kingsconnell." 
 
 " I did not remark it/' said Beatrice. " I 
 must go and look at it. Who is the artist, Mr. 
 Carmichael ?" 
 
 "I do not at this moment recollect/'' he 
 replied. " I do not pretend to any connoisseur- 
 ship in art, but it appears to me nothing parti-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 269 
 
 cular in that respect. It represents a man of 
 fine presence,, and with much of that personal 
 beauty which seems, by the family-pictures, to 
 have distinguished the race ; but to me the 
 countenance has something lowering and re- 
 pulsive, though that may partly arise from the 
 impression on my own mind, respecting th; 
 man. There is something stately and imposing 
 withal, in the attitude, even in the stiff elabo- 
 rate costume and flowing periwig of the age. 
 And there he stands, looking down upon his 
 descendants, as if compelled to remain there, 
 and watch the gradual extinction of the race." 
 
 " Perhaps he does so in reality. Who can 
 tell V s said Beatrice, in a low voice. 
 
 " There is a German play, Miss Lockhart," 
 bej;an Mr. Carmichael. " But," — he added, 
 suddenly checking himself, and turning to her 
 mother, " Miss Lockhart's remarks are so 
 much beyond her age, that I forget to how 
 very young a lady I am talking. I am afraid 
 of terrifying her, Mrs. Lockhart ; or at least 
 of over-exciting her nerves." 
 
 " Oh ! dear, Mr. Carmichael," exclaimed 
 Beatrice, " I have no nerves. Please, mamma, 
 don't forbid Mr. Carmichael to tell me about 
 the German play. I must learn German."
 
 270 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " I fear you must proceed, Mr. Carmichael," 
 said her mother with a smile. "It is very 
 true, Beatrice as she says, has no nerves in 
 that way. She enjoys the wild and wonderful 
 without being terrified by it. And it is not 
 that she is in advance of her age, — only she 
 has not lived much with young companions, — 
 perhaps too little. Her little sister is not 
 quite one for her as yet; and she and I 
 have been so constantly together, that I some- 
 times fear it has made her older than she ought 
 to be." 
 
 " Well, then, Miss Lockhart," pursued Mr. 
 Carmichael, answering the appeal in Beatrice's 
 beseeching eyes, " not to keep you in suspense 
 about the German play ; it is one called c Die 
 Ahnfrau/ — ' The Ancestress/ — with which, if 
 you ever learn that fine language, I shall be 
 happy to make you better acquainted. But 
 what I was going to observe just now is, that 
 the interest hangs upon a similar idea to that 
 which you expressed, the spirit of a guilty an- 
 cestress, whose crimes have brought a curse 
 upon her house, being doomed to haunt it in a 
 human shape, in which she becomes visible 
 before any calamity occurs to her descendants. 
 She is supposed to find rest unattainable, until
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 271 
 
 their unhappy fate is consummated. It is an 
 awful idea, is it not V s 
 
 " Awful indeed l w exclaimed Beatrice. 
 " How I should like to read that play \" 
 
 "It belongs/' said Mr. Carmichael, turning 
 to Mrs. Henry Lockhart, " to a species of 
 romance which has infinitely more attractions 
 for me than that upon a larger and grander 
 scale. It is household romance that I delight 
 to investigate; the strange, deep, unsuspected 
 uiider-currents, which flow beneath the smooth 
 waves of ordinary life; the secret history of 
 families, — often presenting so total a contrast 
 to the ostensible. These subjects are what I 
 have always sought after ; and my inclination 
 that way has been greatly increased by my 
 accidental connection with the Bertram family, 
 and by the many conversations which I have 
 held on such points with my friend and pupil, 
 William Bertram." 
 
 " How I envy Mr. Bertram ? " exclaimed 
 Beatrice, " coming for the first time to a place 
 so full of romance, — and all his own ? But I 
 shall go, dear mamma, and look at the picture. 
 Shall we call it ' the Ancestor/ — Mr. Car- 
 michael ? as a companion to your Ancestress ? 
 How I do envy Mr. Bertram \" She left the 
 room as she spoke.
 
 272 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " Envy him I" ejaculated Mr. Carmichael, 
 in a low voice. " I am afraid you are very 
 tired, Mrs. Lockhart V he added. 
 
 " Not in the least," she replied. " I have 
 been most deeply interested by all I have seen 
 to-day. I perceive, Mr. Carniichael, that the 
 doom supposed to hang over the Kingsconnell 
 family weighs more upon your mind than you 
 altogether like to acknowledge." 
 
 " More at least," returned he, " than I 
 should care to acknowledge to every one. But I 
 do not fear misconstruction, or ridicule — which 
 is even more difficult to bear, — from you, Mrs. 
 Lockhart, and to you I do not scruple to own 
 that this mysterious subject is seldom absent 
 from my thoughts, in connection with the 
 splendid inheritance which has devolved on 
 this family. Humanly speaking, few events 
 would seem less probable than the fulfilment 
 of the curse in their case, but we cannot tell. 
 All we know is that such things ' causeless shall 
 not come/ " 
 
 There was a brief pause in the conversation, 
 broken by Mrs. Henry Lockhart. The solemn 
 earnestness of Mr. CarmichaePs manner, and 
 the character of profound conviction of truth 
 pervading all he said on this subject, thrilled to 
 her heart, already, as we have seen, haunted by
 
 KINGSCOXNELL. 273 
 
 a presentiment of sorrow which to most people 
 would have seemed chimerical, bat which she 
 felt that he would understand; and in a few 
 minutes she found herself, as if irresistibly 
 impelled to do so, confiding to him her antici- 
 pations of early death, and the intense anxiety 
 on her children's account with which they filled 
 her mind. 
 
 Mr. Carmichael listened with an air of 
 deep, almost reverential sympathy; and spoke 
 in reply as became his office, of faith, of trust 
 in the guiding hand of an all-merciful Father, 
 of leaving the beloved of our souls in His care, 
 sure that He will keep the trust committed to 
 Him. His sympathy, even more than the 
 words of consolation which he uttered, greatly 
 touched Mrs. Henry Lock hart. 
 
 "Perhaps, Mr. Carmichael," she said, "you 
 may one day recall this conversation, after my 
 presentiment has been fulfilled. If so, re- 
 member that from my heart I thanked you 
 fur the strength and comfort which you had 
 given me." 
 
 Mr. Carmichael's was one of those calm 
 reflective dispositions, partly formed by nature, 
 partly induced by the ascetic habits of deep 
 study, which are not easily moved to any 
 
 n 3
 
 274 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 strong emotion ; and to which, notwithstanding 
 the habitual earnestness of their feelings and 
 conversation, the expression of strong emotion 
 is foreign, so far as words go. But he had 
 seldom, if ever, been so deeply touched as by 
 this simple and unexpected confidence from 
 one in whom he already felt so admiring and 
 respectful an interest. The very excess of this 
 feeling kept him silent for a few seconds after 
 she ceased to speak ; and its farther mani- 
 festation was denied him, for just then the 
 voice of Miss Grace was heard, as she entered the 
 adjoining room, accompanied by both her nieces.. 
 
 " Well, Beatrice," she exclaimed, approach- 
 ing her sister-in-law, " Helen and I have been 
 up to the very top of the house, and, I do 
 believe, in every room in it." 
 
 "And we saw the room where Sir Peter 
 died, mamma," whispered Helen, in an awe- 
 struck voice, " and that dear old housekeeper 
 shewed us the picture of his little son, who 
 died so long ago." 
 
 " I should like to have seen that ! " ex- 
 claimed Beatrice. 
 
 " Come with me then, Beatrice," said little 
 Helen, " I think I can find the way. Ah ! 
 here is the housekeeper herself, I declare ! "
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 275 
 
 And, in fact, the door just then opened, and 
 the good old woman appeared, followed by her 
 attendant maid, bringing in a large tray with 
 wine and biscuits. " She was sure the ladies 
 and Mr. Carmichael must be very tired. They 
 had had a long walk, and nothing was so 
 fatiguing as going through a large empty 
 house." And while they gratified her by par- 
 taking of her hospitality, she remained talking, 
 and entering into many particulars relative to 
 the apartments they were in, the pictures, and 
 other such matters. She informed them like- 
 wise that the kindness of her departed master 
 having left her independent, she meant to quit 
 Kingsconnell as soon as Sir Thomas should 
 provide a successor to fill up her place, for she 
 was too old, she said, and too long accustomed 
 to a quiet life, to undertake the charge of a 
 large bustling household again. 
 
 " I am glad she is going away to a place of 
 her own," exclaimed Beatrice, as the door closed 
 after the old woman. 
 
 " Why, Beatrice ?" asked her mother. 
 
 " Why, I think, mamma," said Beatrice, 
 musingly, " I meant more than I can quite 
 express. It is more in keeping with the 
 character of an old faithful servant, Mr.
 
 276 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Carmichael, don 't you think ? not to ■ 
 
 to » 
 
 " To transfer her allegiance to a new master, 
 Miss Lockhart ? Was not that what you 
 meant ? Yes, I quite agree with you." 
 
 The party now arose to proceed, passing 
 once more through the silent, desolate, melan- 
 choly rooms. Beatrice could not resist one 
 more long lingering gaze upon the Master's 
 picture ere she left the antechamber, and fol- 
 lowed the others through the great drawing- 
 room, where their very steps seemed to return 
 in mournful echoes on their ears ; and where 
 fancy could have conjured up a thousand 
 ghosts of the long-departed flitting through the 
 dim uncertain light admitted by the darkened 
 windows. The last room of the suite was the 
 dining-room, an apartment of great extent, 
 opening upon the lobby and the staircase; and 
 seeming filled, as Beatrice observed to her 
 mother in a whisper, with the presence of 
 the Ancestor, whose picture, as described by 
 Mr. Carmichael, hung over the mantelpiece. 
 Descending the staircase to the rooms below, 
 they quitted the house by the sashed door 
 already mentioned, which opened upon the 
 terrace from a pleasant octagon room, entering
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 277 
 
 on two others. These apartments, which had 
 the air of having been unused for years, were 
 understood in the household, their attendant 
 told them, to have been amongst the number 
 of those assigned to the children of Sir Peter 
 Bertram in their infancy. The octagon had 
 evidently been a favourite sitting-room. The 
 furniture was covered with what had once been 
 a gay-patterned chintz, representing large birds 
 and flowers, and the walls hung with a paper 
 to correspond, now peeling off in many places ; 
 for the traces of neglect, of decay, were more 
 visible in these rooms than anywhere in the 
 house ; as if they had scarcely ever been en- 
 tered. A large picture hung upon the wall 
 opposite the fire-place, indifferently painted, 
 as if the work of some provincial artist, repre- 
 senting a group of three little girls, in the long- 
 waisted white frocks and broad flowing sashes 
 of the last century, mounting a baby-brother 
 upon a large Newfoundland dog. These were 
 Sir Peter's children, his lost son and his neg- 
 lected daughters, depicted as they appeared 
 in the days before the spoiler had entered their 
 dwelling. The portrait of his son, to which 
 Helen had alluded, was one by a more skilful 
 hand, taken subsequently, and had always hung
 
 278 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 in the father's desolated bedchamber, but this 
 picture, as awakening insupportable recollec- 
 tions, had been left where it was, in the deserted 
 room, once resounding with the voices of infant 
 joy. A still more touching memorial being 
 opposite to it, above the fire-place, in the shape 
 of an elaborately worked sampler, in a black 
 frame j at the foot of which, in faded letters, 
 might be read the words — " Mary Bertram, her 
 work, 1776, aged 7." 
 
 Stepping out from the glass door upon the 
 silent terrace, on which so many a time the 
 joyous bound and the shrill shout of childhood 
 had awakened the echoes, now long unused to 
 noise, the visitors descended to the Pleasance, 
 and wandered for a while, with a quiet sense of 
 enjoyment, amongst its alleys and bowers. But 
 now the autumn day was far advanced, and it 
 was necessary to think of returning home. 
 
 " Next time we see Kingsconnell, Beatrice/' 
 said Miss Grace to her niece, as they paused at 
 the iron gateway, and turned round to look 
 once more at the house, " it will be wonderfully 
 altered, no doubt." 
 
 " No doubt," echoed Beatrice. " I am glad 
 we have seen it as Sir Peter left it, Aunt 
 Grace. I wonder whether it will be half as
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 279 
 
 interesting when it is full of life and bustle 
 and gaiety, as it is now in all its silence and 
 loneliness ? I wonder how it will look when I 
 see it again V 
 
 " Well, we have had a happy, happy day, at 
 any rate \" exclaimed little Helen, jumping 
 outside the gate. 
 
 Notwithstanding Beatrice's disclaimer of 
 the possession of nerves, her susceptible imagi- 
 nation had been strongly excited by the events 
 of this day ; and after the four o'clock diuner 
 at the Grange was over, she remained for a 
 time at the window, looking out into the 
 advancing twilight, and musing over all that 
 she had seen and heard ; then at last stealing 
 quietly from the room, she prepared for a 
 favourite enjoyment of her's, which was not 
 quite lawful, but only as it were connived at, 
 namely, to wander into the garden without 
 shawl or bonnet, and remain dreaming there, 
 or sauntering up and down until the darkness 
 drove her in-doors to the long evening she so 
 much disliked. On the present occasion the 
 daylight was fading fast, and the calmness and 
 stillness of the day had given place to a melan- 
 choly wind, which now began to moan amongst 
 the trees, bringing the leaves in showers to the
 
 280 KINOSC0NNELL. 
 
 ground. Beatrice paced the terrace walk at 
 the head of the garden slowly up and down for 
 a few turns, her thoughts too busily absorbed 
 to heed the chilliness of the wind. At last she 
 came to a pause beside an old stone seat, 
 against the house- wall, which had been a favou- 
 rite resort of her's in the summer twilight, and 
 directed her eyes towards the western quarter 
 of the sky, where above the trees a streak of 
 red, indicative of sunset, was gradually fading 
 away amongst the grey hues of the stormy 
 clouds. Beneath this red streak the line of 
 sight was bounded by the woods, whose multi- 
 tudinous branches, now somewhat stripped and 
 sharpened in outline, were tossing drearily to 
 the rising blast. There was something inex- 
 pressibly mournful in the scene, something that 
 brought with it an impression of desolation 
 scarcely to be described. 
 
 The eyes of the young girl, filled with a 
 mysterious sadness, rested upon the dying 
 gleam of sunset, and the troubled sea of boughs 
 below, and as she gazed, an internal, voice 
 seemed to whisper to her soul, "Behold an 
 emblem of your future life ! " Whence derived 
 she knew not — in the midst of happiness and 
 peace — the warning fell ; and it was one which
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 281 
 
 remained as indelibly imprinted on her mind, 
 as the picture did, of the scene which seemed 
 to call it forth. Subsequent events deepened 
 the first impression; but that, unfounded in 
 the circumstances around her though it was 
 stamped itself from the very first, and for 
 ever.
 
 282 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 '* Levommi il mio pensier' in parte ov' era, 
 Quella ch' io cerco, e non ritrovo in terra. 
 Ivi fra' lor che '1 terzo cerchio serra, 
 La rividi piu bella, e meno altera. 
 Per man' mi prese e disse, in questa spera 
 Sarai ancor meco, se '1 desio non erra. 
 I' son colei che ****** 
 * * * compie mia giornata innanzi sera. 
 Mio ben' non cape in intelletto umano, — 
 Te solo aspetto, e quel' che tanto amasti, 
 E' laggiuso e rimaso il mio bel velo." 
 
 Petrarca. 
 
 Eight months had passed since the time at 
 which the last chapter closed, and brought with 
 them the usual amount of changes. About the 
 middle of October, Captain Lockhart had re- 
 turned home, an event followed by one grand 
 dinner-party at the Grange, and several tea- 
 drinkings ; and by not a few dinners at Sem- 
 pilltower, and other houses in the neighbour- 
 hood. But, as Beatrice had foreseen, it was 
 not long before her husband became very tired
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 283 
 
 of his mother's house, and began to discover a 
 vast amount of indispensable business in Edin- 
 burgh, as an excuse for hastening their return 
 to their own home. The end of November saw 
 them once more comfortably established in the 
 house at Morningside, where we first found 
 Beatrice and her children, and which they still 
 continued to occupy. Here the winter glided 
 away as happily and peacefully as the young 
 Beatrice had anticipated in dwelling upon her 
 father's return. Captain Lockhart was not a 
 man of shining abilities, or in any respect 
 equal to his wife ; but he was a devoted 
 husband, and most affectionate father, and 
 one of those people whose instincts are all 
 right, and whose sweetness of temper sheds 
 that charm over domestic life which so far 
 transcends the influence of any other moral 
 qualitj . Enthusiastically attached to his pro- 
 fession though he was, he thoroughly appre- 
 ciated his own home; and a happier family 
 circle it would have been difficult to find any- 
 where; though, as he often remarked to his 
 wife, it never had felt perfectly complete since 
 the loss of poor Helen, whom her brother-in- 
 law had regarded with a warmth of affection 
 only inferior to that which her sister bore her.
 
 284 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 They did not enter largely into society; for 
 Captain Lockhart had lived too much at sea 
 to have many friends on shore ; and Beatrice, 
 in his absence, had always led a life of seclu- 
 sion; besides that their moderate income, and 
 living a little way out of the town, alike pre- 
 sented obstacles to much visiting. Still, a little 
 occasional participation in it, enhanced by con- 
 trast the peace and quiet of their own home. 
 They, as well as their children, were frequent 
 guests at the house of their elder brother, Mr. 
 Lockhart Clephane, who, it may be remem- 
 bered, had married an heiress, and resided 
 principally at her estate, or in Edinburgh. His 
 wife and he were good-natured, somewhat 
 worldly-minded people, who lived much in gay 
 society, but still kept up a kindly intercourse 
 with their less wealthy friends. They had 
 a large family, and some amongst the young 
 cousins were nearly of an age with Beatrice 
 and Helen ; so much so, as to render them 
 companionable together when they met, but 
 nothing beyond that; for there was no simi- 
 larity of mind between girls educated by mere 
 governess-routine, and those who had been 
 so constantly the companions of their mother. 
 Although the latter had profited by the neigh-
 
 KIXGSCOXNELL. 285 
 
 bourhood of Edinburgh in giving her daughters 
 every advantage derivable from the excellent 
 masters with which it abounds, it was her 
 directing mind, her refined and intellectual 
 taste, cultivated as much for her children's 
 sakes as for her own, which had formed the 
 most valuable part of education to both ; but 
 especially to Beatrice, whose rarely-gifted 
 natm'e daily expanded, in the happy moral 
 atmosphere in which she was placed. 
 
 The regular and copious correspondence 
 between Mrs. Henry Lockhart and her far- 
 distant sister still constituted, as it had ever 
 done, one of their chief enjoyments ; in Helen's 
 case, indeed, it might be said to be the great 
 enjoyment of life in her new position ; for, 
 though her ardent and elastic spirit led her to 
 find pleasure wherever it was possible to do so, 
 and her susceptibility to the beauties of nature 
 and the charms of climate found ample excite- 
 ment in Madeira, — although, moreover, she 
 met with much to like amongst the new asso- 
 ciates in the midst of whom her lot was cast, — 
 still there remained an aching void, a want in 
 her heart which nothing, save the love and 
 sympathy which were denied her, could have 
 availed to fill. A letter from Beatrice, one of
 
 286 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 those long, minute letters which only women 
 can write, full of the life-like details of daily 
 life, and breathing the love and confidence of 
 old days in every line, would in a moment 
 transport her back years in time, and hundreds 
 of miles in space, and bring her again into the 
 centre of love and home. It was little wonder 
 that she lived upon these letters, and lived in 
 the outpourings of her own soul in reply to 
 them. 
 
 A month or two after their arrival in 
 Madeira, Helen had received from Beatrice 
 a piece of intelligence which, for the time, 
 caused her much anxiety. It was to the effect 
 that after so long an interval, her sister had 
 reason to expect again to become a mother. 
 When first these tidings reached her, connect- 
 ing them, as she could scarcely avoid doing, 
 with "Beatrice's strange and long-standing pre- 
 sentiments, a sadness and despondency which 
 she had scarcely ever before experienced, took 
 possession of Helen's mind, tenfold augmented 
 by her distance, and by the impossibility of hei 
 rendering to her sister any of those offices 
 of tender help and comfort, which on the two 
 similar occasions that had formerly occurred, 
 she had been at hand to do. But as time
 
 KTNGSCONNELL. 287 
 
 rolled on, and as Beatrice's letters alluded 
 no more to any such mournful anticipations, 
 and spoke of her health as excellent, her 
 sister began to forget her fears, and to regard 
 the approaching event with no more than the 
 usual and natural amount of anxiety. It 
 might be that Beatrice, in love and pity for her, 
 so far away, refrained from dooming her to 
 such suspense and such agony as the betrayal 
 of feelings of this kind on her own part would 
 have done; but mercifully for herself, Helen 
 did not take this view of the case, and lived on 
 in hope and prayer. 
 
 It was now the latter end of June, not far 
 from the ninth anniversary of her own wed- 
 ding, when she retired to rest one night, her 
 heart filled with the thoughts awakened by the 
 packet of home letters, which had arrived that 
 very day. Besides the usual long affectionate 
 journal from Beatrice, written to all ap- 
 pearance in good health and spirits, and to 
 which each of the girls had added a few lines, 
 there was a kind letter from her old governess, 
 Miss Carruthers, and another, equally kind, if 
 not quite so lengthy, from Miss Muirhead, the 
 gentle " Aunt Penny/' of Sempilltower. This 
 document carried Helen back at once to the
 
 288 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 green woods and o-d grey walls of that well- 
 loved spot; entering as it did, with minute 
 fidelity, into all the small particulars which 
 make up the home picture, till the Laird and 
 the Lady, the Major and the Captain, David 
 Bryce, James Chalmers, and all the other 
 faithful old domestics, — nay till the very dogs 
 and horses seemed to stand "in life and limb" 
 before the reader. It also mentioned that Sir 
 Thomas Bertram's family were expected to 
 settle at Kingsconnell by the end of July ; the 
 innumerable preparations for their arrival, in 
 the shape of papering, painting, furnishing, and 
 renovation in every possible shape, being now 
 nearly completed. The neighbourhood, Miss 
 Muirhead added, was on the very tiptoe of 
 expectation, looking for this long-delayed 
 event ; and a thousand ridiculous and im- 
 probable anecdotes and descriptions of the dif- 
 ferent members of the family were, as usual in 
 such cases, already in circulation, most abound- 
 ing amongst those who knew least about 
 them. 
 
 Helen's lively imagination had been much 
 excited on the fortunes of the House of Kings- 
 connell by Mr. CarmichaeFs narrative, not less 
 than by the detailed account which she had
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 289 
 
 received from her sister and her niece of the 
 day they had spent there, and of all the strange 
 and melancholy associations of the spot; and 
 on the night in question, after she had fallen 
 asleep, her dreams, following the direction of 
 her latest waking thoughts, transported her 
 back to its neighbourhood, and presented her 
 with a strangely-mingled tissue of improbable 
 adventures, which had for their scene a place, 
 or a succession of places, neither exactly Sem- 
 pilltower nor Kingsconnell, but partaking of 
 the characteristics of both. A nameless sad- 
 ness, a trouble, a confusion, seemed to run 
 through the dream ; — a sense as of some great 
 impending calamity, whose nature she could 
 not ascertain, nor escape from whose power. 
 Vague fancies of Harry Lockhart, calling to 
 her from a great distance, while some invisible 
 force withheld her from following his voice ; 
 and a wild and horrible vision of standing 
 by the Connell Water, as the little river which 
 ran through the grounds of Kingsconnell was 
 named, — of hearing a loud and despairing cry, 
 and seeing a raging torrent coming rushing 
 down, filling its whole channel, and some 
 human form hurried past on the tossing w r aves, 
 which she felt, — for she could not see, — was 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 EINGSCONNELL. 
 
 her niece Beatrice ! — a desperate effort to fol- 
 low, to seize her, to drag her out, and herself 
 becoming involved in the rush of waters, — 
 whirling, stifling, blinding, as they swept over 
 her, — and she saw and felt nothing further. 
 Such was the first part of her troubled sleep. 
 This tumultuous agony was succeeded by a 
 calm the most profound; a sense of peace 
 ineffable, which stole over her soul like dew. 
 She imagined herself standing in that dream- 
 light which is so much more beautiful and more 
 peaceful than the lustre of earthly sun or 
 moon, — that " light which never was on sea 
 or sky," — in a well-remembered spot, the ceme- 
 tery \)f St. Michael's Chapel; the spot on which 
 she and Beatrice had stood, and gazed upon 
 the landscape beneath, the Sunday night when 
 they went over there after her arrival at Sern- 
 pilltower. And Beatrice stood there by her 
 side as on that night, but not exactly as she 
 had seen her then. She appeared to Helen 
 dressed entirely in white ; her hair put back 
 from her pale serene face, and partly covered 
 with some long flowing drapery, like a veil. 
 How or why they both came there did not ap- 
 pear, but, as usual in dreams, it caused Helen 
 no surprise that such should be the case. There
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 291 
 
 was an impression upon her mind that they had 
 met to part for some indefinite period, but this 
 feeling did not disturb the holy calm which 
 seemed to surround them like an atmosphere. 
 Moreover, it seemed to be Beatrice, and not 
 herself, who was now about to go away. It 
 was Beatrice who, her arm encircling Helen as 
 it had done on the night of their last parting, 
 first broke the silence of the dream. 
 
 " I told you, dearest," she seemed to say, 
 " that — please God — you should see my face 
 again, and it has pleased Him to grant us one 
 more meeting before I go." 
 
 Then a pang, even in the mysterious world 
 of sleep, seemed to shoot through Helen's 
 heart. "Beatrice/'" she said, "how can you 
 bear to leave the children ? What will become 
 of them when you are gone." 
 
 The bright pale face seemed lighted up, at 
 these words, as with a glory. 
 
 " I have left them, Helen \" the vision 
 replied, " I left them with heavy sorrow ; but I 
 met One who dried my tears, and promised to 
 watch over them, and I have trusted them in 
 I lis hands, and found comfort." 
 
 "And which way are you going, Beatrice V 
 Helen seemed to herself to ask. 
 
 o 2
 
 292 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " There /" answered the vision, pointing 
 towards the Chapel, "by the Eastern window." 
 
 "Take me, Beatrice: take me with you!" 
 And Helen fancied that in her supplication she 
 twined her arms closely round her sister. 
 
 " Not yet, not yet, my own dearest. Watch 
 and pray. The time is nearly out \" And as 
 the form of Beatrice bent towards her at these 
 words, and pressed a kiss upon her lips, Helen 
 started awake. 
 
 It was not all a dream. To her latest 
 hour, Helen Sempill never lost the conviction 
 that it was more than a dream. She awoke 
 with that human kiss thrilling on her lips, that 
 human voice iu her ear; and by the faint 
 glimmer of the night-lamp in her chamber, 
 for one brief moment the face — the angel face 
 of her sister — was visible to her bodily eyes, 
 bending over her with one last look of yearning 
 human love. 
 
 It vanished ! Never more on this side the 
 grave was that face to meet her eyes. The 
 knowledge of this, the feeling that it was so, 
 rushed upon Helen's mind in an overmastering 
 tide of agony. Burying her face in the pillow, 
 to stifle the shrieks which nothing but a dread 
 of rousing her husband could have restrained, —
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 293 
 
 " She is dead ! She is dead ! She is dead !" 
 Helen passionately reiterated. " Dead ! and I 
 shall never — never — never see my Beatrice 
 again. — Never ! And her children ! My chil- 
 dren ! And I so far away ! Oh ! if God 
 would take me too ! How can I live without 
 her V 3
 
 294 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Behind, the guardian sister came, 
 Her bright brow dim and pale — 
 
 O cheer thee, maiden, in His name, 
 Who stilled Jairus' wail ! 
 
 Thy first glad earthly task is o'er, 
 
 And dreary seems thy way, 
 But what if, nearer than before, 
 
 She watch thee even to-day?" 
 
 Lyra Innocentium. 
 
 That same night which brought to Helen in 
 her distant home the mysterious communica- 
 tion of her sister's departure, witnessed a 
 solemn scene in the house of Captain Lock- 
 hart. On the previous night it had struck 
 Beatrice, whose devoted affection watched every 
 change in her mother's countenance, that the 
 latter appeared unusually fatigued at an early 
 hour; and she had endeavoured even more 
 studiously than usual to spare her the smallest
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 295 
 
 trouble or effort. But the evening passed with 
 its usual quiet cheerfulness, — a lovely summer 
 evening. Little Helen coaxed her father, as 
 she often did, to go out and take a walk with 
 her, and Beatrice remained, seated on a low 
 stool by her mother's sofa, her usual post. 
 Something in the setting sunshine and the 
 songs of the birds, seemed to recall to Mrs. 
 Henry Lockkart's mind that well-remembered 
 evening before her sister's marriage. Beatrice 
 too recollected, or fancied she did, romping on 
 the grass-plot with her young Aunt Helen ; 
 and the mother and daughter fell into a train 
 of reminiscences principally connected with 
 that beloved and absent one, and reverting 
 to long-past days of their early youth, even of 
 their childhood. Many a memory passed in 
 review before them ; many a thought and feel- 
 ing found utterance during that sweet evening 
 hour. Their last earthly conversation was all 
 sweetness, all repose and peace. "Ah! little 
 thought they 'twas the last \" 
 
 Helen and her father returned from their 
 walk ; they had been as far as " the furzy 
 hills of Braid ;" and the flower-loving child 
 brought back a huge nosegay of dog-roses and 
 other wild flowers, which she had gathered on
 
 296 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 her way. Then the tea-table, the round tea- 
 table of old, was drawn close to the sofa ; the 
 young Beatrice, happy in her delegated office, 
 sat down to preside at it ; and they lingered 
 over it in pleasant talk, till the pure summer 
 twilight began to give place to the radiance of 
 a glorious full-moon. 
 
 In the quiet moonlight, after the tea-things 
 were removed, the young sisters sat at their 
 mother's feet and sang together, as they often 
 did in the evening, many beautiful songs and 
 ballads of the olden time. And at the close of 
 their domestic worship, a little later, those 
 clear young voices blended with those of their 
 parents and the servants, in that noble strain 
 of one of England's noblest spirits, " the Even- 
 ing Hymn" of Bishop Ken, with which their 
 devotions were always wont to conclude. To- 
 gether they rose, swelled, and died away. The 
 hymn was over, the blessing pronounced, and 
 never, never more on earth, did these voices 
 blend together again. Their last united offer- 
 ing of praise had ascended to the throne of 
 God; and thenceforth the golden chain of their 
 harmony was to be bereft of its best and 
 brightest link. 
 
 Beatrice was roused from her sleep about
 
 KINGSCONNELL, 297 
 
 an hour after she had gone to bed, by a long 
 and tender kiss from her mother. It was inva- 
 riably the custom of the latter to visit her 
 childrens* bedside the last thing before retiring 
 to rest, and this was not the first time by 
 many that Beatrice, a light sleeper at ail times, 
 had been momentarily awakened in a similar 
 way. Bat, on the present night, a sudden 
 impulse prompted her, scarce awakened as she 
 was, to start up and clasp her mother round 
 the neck. The embrace was returned, fondly, 
 passionately ; another and another kiss im- 
 printed on her fresh young cheek ; then she 
 was left in darkness, and speedily wrapped 
 once more in slumber, while the mother retired 
 to her chamber, and upon her knees com- 
 mended her children to their Almighty Father 
 and compassionate Saviour; and implored 
 strength and faith to meet the awfal hour of 
 parting, whose shadow lay upon her soul. 
 
 In the morning, at their awakening, the 
 two young girls were met by unexpected news. 
 An infant brother had been born about two 
 hours before ! But their exclamations of rap- 
 turous delight were checked by a look of sad- 
 ness from their attendant. The baby had 
 arrived in this world before its time ; it was 
 
 o 3
 
 298 kingsconnell'. 
 
 very small, — very delicate ; — the truth at last 
 escaped ; — it was not expected to survive, — 
 and the clergyman had been sent for, to baptize 
 it. To describe the revulsion of feeling in 
 those young and loving hearts at these dismal 
 tidings were a vain task ; and for some time 
 Jessy Christie, their maid, allowed their tears 
 to flow unrestrained. At last she appealed to 
 Beatrice, whose sobs were heart-rending to the 
 affectionate domestic, her own heart sinking 
 with apprehension to which she dared not give 
 utterance, — fears, from the precarious state of 
 her mistress, of a deeper and darker sorrow on 
 its way to overwhelm them all. She reminded 
 her of the absolute necessity for controlling 
 her feelings, on account of her mother; for 
 whom, she said, the doctor had forbidden the 
 slightest agitation ; and warned her that unless 
 they could both promise to be perfectly calm, 
 they could neither be admitted to see her, nor 
 to witness the mournful, yet blessed rite about 
 to be administered; as her mistress, she said, 
 had not been told how unlikely it was that the 
 baby should live ; only that on account of its 
 premature birth, it was advisable to have it 
 baptized immediately. 
 
 This exhortation had the desired effect.
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 299 
 
 Beatrice, by a desperate effort over herself, 
 stifled her sobs, and dried her tears. Clasping 
 her little sister in her arms, she restored her 
 to calmness by her whispered words of comfort, 
 and her fond caresses ; and soon after this, 
 they were both admitted on tiptoe, into their 
 mother's darkened chamber. One tender kiss 
 of her pale cheek, and one faintly-whispered 
 blessing from her lips, was all that was per- 
 mitted to each ; then their father, silently rising 
 from his chair by the bed, led them into the 
 small adjoining room, where sat the old nurse 
 by the fire with the baby in her lap, — and 
 where stood the clergyman to whose congrega- 
 tion they belonged, ready to admit the unconsci- 
 ous innocent into that visible Church on earth, 
 whence an unseen angel was waiting to bear 
 his enfranchised spirit, "robed, and washed, 
 and sealed, and blessed," — to join the Church 
 invisible within the veil. 
 
 The tears, the irrepressible tears, of the 
 sister who had so anticipated the hour which 
 should give a tender nursling to her loving 
 arms, and saw her prayer thus answered, fell 
 as heavily and as silently as rain, during the 
 brief and solemn rite, but not a sound escaped 
 her lips. It was over, and as they rose from
 
 300 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 their knees, the paternal hand of t^e minister 
 rested for a moment, in voiceless blessing and 
 prayer, on those two young heads. Their 
 father silently kissed them both, then left the 
 room with him; and Beatrice and Helen, 
 kneeling by the low chair of the nurse, softly 
 pressed their lips on the tender cheek of the 
 fragile creature, whose little life, scarce begun, 
 was already ebbing quietly away. 
 
 " His eyes are closed, he is asleep, nursey," 
 whispered Helen. 
 
 The old woman who had been present at 
 the birth of both the sisters, shook her head, 
 and wiped a tear from her eye. 
 
 " He has never opened his eyes, my dear 
 bairn," she said. " He'll open them by-and- 
 bye, in Heaven." 
 
 " Oh ! nursey, nursey !" sobbed Beatrice, 
 (i don't say that. He may live yet, — may he 
 not ?" 
 
 " Whisht ! my lamb !" said the nurse. 
 " Dinna let your dear mamma hear ye. While 
 there's life there's aye hope, Miss Lockhart ; 
 but wae's me ! it's but a broken reed o' hope 
 this." 
 
 " I won't cry," exclaimed Beatrice, strug- 
 gling with her tears. " Come, Helen, dear, we
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 301 
 
 must go and get breakfast for papa. I must 
 take dear mamma's place, you know, till she is 
 quite strong again. We must both be careful 
 that everything is as exactly as she liked to 
 have it. We may co ; ne again, may we not, 
 nursey, after I have ordered dinner, and been 
 to the store-room, and done all the morning's 
 business ?" 
 
 11 And perhaps the darling, darling baby 
 may be better then," added Helen, her young 
 mind scarcely capable of taking in the idea of 
 death. " I think he will get better, Beatrice," 
 she hopefully added, as they stole noiselessly 
 out by another door, without again passing 
 through their mother's room. "Oh ! if he do, 
 think how happy we shall be ! the delight of 
 having a baby, all our own, to nurse and play 
 with ! He must get better, Beatrice I" 
 
 u Eh, sirs ! Mistress Pearson," observed 
 Jessy Christie to the nurse, " eh, sirs ! is it no a 
 wonder to see that young crater Miss Lock- 
 hart? I'm sure her mamma hersell couldna' 
 do a'thing mair purpose like ! She's the 
 mindfu'est, thochtfu'est lassie ever I saw; and 
 no fourteen year ould till Martinmas." 
 
 " Troth is she, Jessy lass," replied the 
 matron. " My heart's wae for her, puir lamb !"
 
 302 K1NGSCONNELL. 
 
 " Did ye send a message ower for Mr. and 
 Mistress Lockhart Clephane, Jessy V she en- 
 quired after a pause. It would be a great ease 
 to my mind if we had them here. "Muckle 
 we miss bonny Miss Alexander that was, this 
 day, Jessy." 
 
 " Aye do we !" said Jessy. " There's no a 
 Mistress Lockhart Clephane that ever was, fit 
 to dight her shoon. An' a sair heart it'll be 
 to her to hear o' this. Katie gaed ower till 
 Mr. Lockhart Clephane's, but they're no in 
 the toon, — they're afF somewhere, — it's a chance 
 if they be in the nicht." 
 
 Half an hour after this colloquy, Jessy was 
 dispatched to summon Beatrice and Helen, 
 that they might once more kiss their infant 
 brother ere he departed. The old nurse saw 
 that the end was very near. Captain Lockhart 
 was in the chamber of his wife, wlu had sunk 
 asleep j and they dared not go in, or run the 
 risk of disturbing her. To him, as to most 
 men, a young infant was not an object of 
 intense interest. He mourned its inevitable 
 fate more for the sake of the agony it would 
 cause his wife when she came to know it, than 
 from any other feeling. It was on her that his 
 solicitude was all centered ; it was her startling
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 303 
 
 weakness, and the evident anxiety of the nnrse 
 and doctor respecting her state, which filled 
 him with apprehensions so acute as scarcely to 
 leave room for any other sensation. With the 
 poor young girls it was different ; they were 
 unconscious of their mother's danger, and the 
 impending loss of the baby on whom their 
 affectionate hearts were so keenly set, was 
 their first initiation into the mysteries of 
 death aud sorrow. As Beatrice, entering the 
 room, glanced upon the little cot, with its deli- 
 cate white curtains, which it had so delighted 
 her a few days back to see prepared, — that cot 
 which was now to remain empty as before, — it 
 required her utmost efforts to restrain the 
 burst of tears which swelled upwards from her 
 heart. But she did restrain it. In awe-struck 
 silence she and Helen knelt once more by the 
 nurse's side, and once more kissed the little 
 cheek, and watched the last faint breathings 
 part the waxen lips. They ceased, and for a 
 few minutes there was a solemn silence. 
 
 " My dears/' whispered the old nurse at 
 last, " it is all over. Jessy, tak' the young 
 leddies doon the stair." 
 
 They silently arose from their knees, and 
 left the room with her. It was not till they
 
 304 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 had reached the drawing-room below, and the 
 bright sunshine burst upon them, that both 
 sisters flung themselves in a passion of weeping 
 into the arms of their weeping maid. 
 
 " My dear bairns ! my darlings ! dinna 
 greet for the baby !" sobbed Jessy, as she 
 clasped them to her heart. " He's safe wi' his 
 blessed Redeemer ! dinna greet for him." 
 
 " But mamma \" exclaimed Beatrice, — 
 " mamma will break her heart ! And she 
 cannot even see him ! Oh ! Jessy, Jessy ! — 
 and I had so looked forward to this baby ! I 
 should have loved him so dearly ! Oh ! how 
 hard it is to say — ' God's will be done V " 
 
 The hours of that melancholy day dragged 
 slowly on, and now the bright and beautiful 
 summer's evening shed its beams once more 
 upon the dwelling where the previous night 
 they had fallen on such a scene of peace and 
 love. Strauge alterations may be wrought in 
 the space of twenty-four hours ! They fell 
 now upon the curtained chamber, where Bea- 
 trice and Helen had at last been admitted, for 
 a little while, to stand by their mother's bed. 
 She had apparently revived towards evening, 
 and had so earnestly asked for her children, 
 that the nurse felt it would be wrong to refuse
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 305 
 
 the request. With reiterated assurances to 
 their father, that lie might depend upon their 
 prudence, the young girls softly followed him 
 to the room, and silently received and returned 
 the long and tender kisses of their mother; 
 but none of the questions so dreaded by those 
 around were asked them. It might be that the 
 departing spirit was dimly conscious of the re- 
 lease of that young soul whose brief bodily 
 existence had been purchased with his mother's 
 life j or it might be no more than excess of 
 weakness; but scarce a word was audible 
 during that short interview, beyond a low, faint, 
 whispered blessing. She lay for a few minutes 
 with their hands clasped in hers' ; then the 
 nurse suggested that the young ladies had best 
 leave their mamma now, lest they should 
 fatigue her; to-morrow, if she had a good 
 night's rest, they should pay her a longer visit. 
 
 " Good night, then, darling mamma I" 
 whispered Beatrice. 
 
 "Good-night till to-morrow, sweet mamma \" 
 said little Helen. 
 
 " God bless my darlings !" was the faint 
 response of the mother. Her arms were clasped 
 round both, as they bent over her pillow, in 
 one long, last, passionate embrace. Then they
 
 306 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 gently relaxed their hold, and the children 
 glided from the room. 
 
 Night came. Beatrice and Helen had seen 
 their father for a few minutes. He came into 
 the sitting-room to bid them Good-night, and 
 to tell them that their mother seemed to con- 
 tinue better. They retired to their room at 
 the usual hour, their hearts full of that first 
 weight of sadness which lies so heavily on the 
 young, so much more heavily than the old can 
 often imagine. But Helen was speedily 
 asleep, after Jessy had removed their candle. 
 An indefinable, unaccountable sensation inter- 
 posed between Beatrice and repose. Re- 
 peatedly she closed her eyes, heavy and aching 
 with the tears she had shed, but had scarcely 
 began to dose when she suddenly started 
 awake again. At last it appeared to her as if 
 she had slept for some time, and that she was 
 roused by a singular bustle in the house, an 
 opening and shutting of doors, and tread of 
 hasty steps in the passages. In one moment 
 she was wide awake, and sitting erect in bed ; 
 her heart throbbing almost to suffocation. It 
 was no mistake. She heard the footsteps again, 
 distinctly, and springing out of her bed, felt for 
 her shoes, and her dressing-gown, determined
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 307 
 
 to open the door, and ascertain the cause of 
 this disturbance ; a thrill of insupportable 
 anguish darting through her heart, like a fiery 
 arrow, as the too probable cause, the increased 
 illness of her mother, suggested itself. 
 
 Just as Beatrice, with trembling fingers, 
 had tied the strings of her dressing-gown, the 
 tread of feet became audible near the door of 
 her room, and a voice whispered outside, " See 
 if either of them is awake; but if they are 
 asleep, don't wake them \" 
 
 She sprang towards the door, as it was 
 gently and noiselessly opened by Jessy Christie, 
 who started back as if she had seen a spectre 
 when the pale and trembling girl caught her 
 by the arm. Some one stood in the passage 
 with a light, and as Jessy silently led her to 
 the door, Beatrice beheld her aunt, Mrs. Lock- 
 hart Clephane, whom it appeared that the 
 report of the message, sent to her house 
 the previous morning, had induced to repair 
 instantly to Morningside, with her husband, 
 upon their late arrival at home that night. 
 
 " My dear, dear child !" said that lady, 
 approaching and kissing her, " will you try to 
 be calm V y 
 
 " Mamma ! mamma \" was all that Bea-
 
 308 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 trice's white parched lips could utter. "Is 
 
 mamma V 1 She looked towards Jessy, 
 
 who could only shake her head and weep. 
 
 " Will you, Beatrice, for her sake, be calm?" 
 asked her aunt. 
 
 "I will," said Beatrice, endeavouring as 
 she spoke to restrain the nervous trembling 
 which shook her frame from head to foot. 
 " Take me to her." Still clinging to Jessy's 
 arm, she followed her aunt, who preceded them 
 with the light, and gently pushing open the 
 door of the dressing-room, passed her husband, 
 who was standing there near the inner door, 
 and who silently shook his head in answer to 
 the look directed towards him by his wife. 
 
 They entered the bed-room, which was per- 
 vaded by a strong scent of ether. A low, 
 solemn " Hush /" was audible as they ap- 
 proached the side of the bed farthest from the 
 door. 
 
 Captain Lockhart stood by the pillow of his 
 dying wife, and the nurse and doctor close by. 
 Their function was at an end. ISo human 
 aid could avail any further. The last sands of 
 life were escaping from the glass. Pale, still, 
 and unconscious, with closed eyes, and slightly 
 parted lips, she lay before her young daughter,
 
 KINGSCOXXELL. 309 
 
 as the trembling girl was led up to the bed. A 
 strange shadow seemed to have come over that 
 serene countenance, — that "shadow of the 
 grave," whose first sight is an era never to 
 be forgotten, and one dread sound alone was 
 audible in the stillness — that sound which none 
 who have once heard can ever mistake again. 
 
 Suddenly there was a change. The closed 
 eyes opened, — bright, lustrous, with more than 
 earthly light. The shadow passed from the 
 face ; it shone as with a glory. One long, 
 earnest, upward gaze, — one smile of joy aud 
 peace ineffable; then the light faded, the eyes 
 fixed, — and the ransomed spirit left its earthly 
 tabernacle, to follow the guide, whom doubtless 
 it had recognised awaiting it at the moment of 
 departure. 
 
 " All is over \" said the doctor, breaking 
 the silence with his low solemn voice. Then a 
 shriek of agony, — one piercing shriek, burst 
 upon the hush of the death-bed, and Beatrice 
 fell on her knees, and hid her face in the 
 coverlet. 
 
 "Mamma! mamma! my own mamma! 
 Take me with you ! do not leave me ! She 
 is not dead ; she cannot be dead ! Mamma ! 
 mamma V
 
 310 
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " God help her, poor bairn \" sobbed the 
 old nurse. " God pity her !" 
 
 " Amen !" ejaculated the doctor, as he 
 gently raised the almost unconscious girl, and 
 signed to the others to take her from the 
 room.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Thy heart is sad to think upon 
 
 Thy mother far away, 
 Wondering, perchance, now she is gone, 
 
 Who hest for thee may pray. 
 In many a waking dream of love, 
 Thou see'st her yet upon her knees above: 
 The vows she breathed beside thee yesternight, 
 She breathes above thee now, wing'd wiih intenser might. 
 
 Both vespers soft and matins clear 
 
 For thee she duly pays, 
 Now, as of old, and there as here : 
 
 .Nor yet alone she prajs. — Lyra Innocentium 
 
 Iii the afternoon of the following clay, Mrs. 
 Lockhart Clephane, who had returned at an 
 early hour in the morning to her house in 
 Edinburgh for the purpose of giving some of 
 the many orders necessary at such a time, 
 came back to Morningside in her carriage, 
 which she directed to wait for her. The front 
 door was opened without knocking by one of 
 the servants, whose eyes were red with weeping;
 
 312 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 and in the dining-parlour she found her hus- 
 band busily engaged in making out lists of the 
 friends to whom it was proper to send intima- 
 tions of the event which had taken place, and 
 of those who were to be invited to the funeral. 
 
 "How is poor Harry?" asked his wife, 
 after having told him of various orders which 
 she had given. 
 
 " I think he is a little more composed/' 
 was the reply. " I left him at his own request. 
 Several questions I was obliged to ask him, 
 though he gave me carte blanche about all the 
 arrangements. He wishes the funeral to take 
 place in the family burying-ground at Kings- 
 connell churchyard, and that Mr. Malcolm, of 
 St. Michael's, who married them, you remember, 
 Jane? — should be asked to read the Burial Ser- 
 vice there. I must apply to old Dr. Grindlay 
 for permission ; but that is a mere form." 
 
 "Alas! alas!" ejaculated Mrs. Lockhart 
 Clephaue, wiping away a tear, " who would 
 have dreamt of this a few days ago ? It was 
 but yesterday week that we dined here with 
 them." 
 
 " It was," replied her husband, shaking 
 his head. "Nothing goes to my heart like 
 the grief of these poor children. I declare it
 
 KTNGSCONNELL. 313 
 
 is dreadful ! You told little Helen yourself, 
 didn't you, Jane ?" 
 
 " I did," said his lady : " she cried dread- 
 fully, poor little thing." 
 
 " But she is, perhaps, scarcely old enough 
 to feel it j at least not for such a length of 
 time. That poor girl Beatrice ! Those shrieks 
 and cries of her's last night, after all was over 
 — aye, and for hours after — I can't get them 
 out of my head !" 
 
 " Poor girl ! Her mother always made 
 her such a companion and friend," said Mrs. 
 Lockhart Clephane, " it is terrible for her, in- 
 deed." She had sometimes felt a slight touch 
 of maternal jealousy in contrasting Beatrice 
 with her own daughter of the same age, who 
 was very inferior in personal and mental en- 
 dowments to her cousin ; but, slight at all 
 times, for Mrs. Lockhart Clephane was very 
 good-natured, to the credit of her mother's 
 heart be it said, the feeling was for the present 
 completely in abeyance, and her sympathies 
 all aroused for the young creature so suddenly 
 left motherless. 
 
 " I was thinking," she added, after a pause, 
 "of trying if the poor girls would go home 
 with me, Robert ? I can't well remain here, 
 vol. i. p
 
 314 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 you know, and it is so desolate for them ! 
 Would Harry dislike it, do you think ?" 
 
 " I don't believe he would feel it much 
 one way or other," returned her husband. "I 
 never saw a man so completely sunk, so pros- 
 trated by grief. You see this has come upon 
 him like a thunderbolt, for Harry never antici- 
 pates evil at any time, and in the present case 
 nobody did " 
 
 " I am not quite sure of that," interrupted 
 Mrs. Lockhart Clephane, " I have observed a 
 great alteration in Beatrice's looks within the 
 last two months ; I was not sanguine about 
 her, I own." 
 
 " Well, at all events, Harry was ; and he 
 is overwhelmed, almost stupefied, past caring 
 for anything, I should say. I remained with 
 him, as you know, because I really scarcely 
 thought it safe to leave him alone ; but I think 
 he would rather not have had me beside him. 
 He has never asked to see the girls, poor 
 fellow ! Once I heard him say to himself, — 
 ' Poor motherless children V but that is the 
 only mention he has made of them. It would 
 be a great kindness to take the poor things 
 home, if they will go." 
 
 Mrs. Lockhart Clephane left the room and
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 315 
 
 stole softly upstairs. In the girls' apartment 
 she found the nurse seated, on a chair by the 
 darkened window, talking in a low and fondling 
 voice to Helen, who sat upon a stool at her 
 feet, her head resting in the old woman's lap. 
 Beatrice occupied a chair by a table, her face 
 hidden in her outstretched arms, which lay 
 upon it, as if in the listless abandonment suc- 
 ceeding violent agitation. She raised her head 
 as her aunt sat silently down beside her, and 
 passed her arm round her waist; then laid 
 it down upon her shoulder. The sight of that 
 young pale face, — the cheeks absolutely blistered 
 with tears, and the eyes scarce able to lift them- 
 selves beneath the swelling eyelids and long, 
 wet lashes, nearly upset the composure which 
 Mrs. Lockhart Clephane was so anxious to 
 maintain, if possible. It was a second or two 
 ere she attempted to speak. 
 
 " Don't go away, Nurse," at last she said, 
 as Helen crept quietly to her side, and the old 
 woman, who had risen on her entrance, seemed 
 about to leave the room. "Don't go; I want 
 your help. Come here, Nurse. Will you try 
 to persuade Miss Lockhart and Miss Helen to 
 come home with me to Charlotte-square ? My 
 
 p 2
 
 316 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 dear loves, your uncle and I both think it will 
 be much better that you should. Your poor 
 dear papa is best left to himself for a little 
 while, and your uncle will be beside him. You 
 shall be as quiet as you like with me ; no one 
 shall molest you. Don't you think they had so 
 much better come, Nurse V 3 
 
 " It would be heartsomer-like for the young 
 leddies, ma'am, nae doot," was the reply. 
 
 " You are very kind indeed, Aunt Cle- 
 phane/' faltered Beatrice. 
 
 " You will come then, love ? You are a 
 good girl, thank you." 
 
 " You are very kind," again repeated Bea- 
 trice, raising her head ; " but don't think me un- 
 grateful. I can't ! I can't go, — Nursey ! don't 
 ask me, please, Aunt Clephane. Papa will 
 want me bye-and-bye." 
 
 " My dear child, it will be a relief to him, I 
 imow it will, to think that you are both with 
 me for a little while. I only ask for a little 
 while, Beatrice." 
 
 " But in a little while, there will be no- 
 
 hing ! I should come back, and find — 
 
 you know what 1 mean, Aunt Clephane ! I — 
 I can't — I can't leave Mamma ! mamma !
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 317 
 
 oil ! my own mamma \" And yielding to the 
 hysterical agony against which she had 
 struggled for the last few minutes, the poor 
 girl again threw herself forward upon the 
 table, which shook with her heart-rending sobs ; 
 while little Helen hid her face in the friendly 
 bosom of the old nurse, who wept in sympathy. 
 Mrs. Lockhart Clephane could say no more. 
 She did her best to soothe Beatrice, kissed 
 little Helen, and sent to dismiss her carriage, 
 desiring it to return for her in the evening, 
 which it did. Her husband resolved to sleep 
 in the house that night, at all events. He 
 could not feel easy in quitting his brother. 
 (c At least,' ' he said, " I shall go to bed if J can 
 persuade him to do the same; but to leave 
 him pacing up and down the room, or sitting 
 for an hour at a time, with his face hidden in 
 his two hands, is what I cannot do." His lady 
 assented, and took her departure, promising to 
 return at an early hour next day. Before she 
 went, she earnestly begged the nurse to per- 
 suade the two little girls to go to bed as early 
 as possible ; and this it was no difficult task to 
 induce Helen to do, the poor child being com- 
 pletely worn out with crying, and glad to lay 
 her aching head and eyes upon her pillow.
 
 318 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 The motherly old woman seated herself by the 
 bed-side, perceiving that little Helen suffered 
 from the nameless but overwhelming nervous 
 terror, which is so apt to seize upon children, 
 and even upon grown people of excitable tem- 
 perament, in a house of death. Beatrice stole 
 from the room, feeling that relief in total 
 solitude, which even at her age deep grief will 
 induce in a nature of keen sensibility ; and 
 descended the stairs to the empty, silent 
 drawing-room. 
 
 The blind hung down, and darkened the 
 apartment. Beatrice drew it up, and opened 
 the window ; then placed her own stool by the 
 sofa, and seated herself, where she had sat at 
 that very hour two nights before, looking out, as 
 now, into the dewy twilight, and inhaling, 
 as now, the odour of the flowers that grew in 
 the garden without. How long she sat she 
 could not tell, — in that stillness, that tearless 
 stupefaction, which is so much more painful 
 than tears; — thought after thought, memory 
 after memory , chasing each other through her 
 mind, without her being capable of exercising 
 the least controul over them. Her mother's 
 voice was in her ears, — that gentle voice ! 
 Some of the very words she had said two
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 319 
 
 nights before, as they sat together, some trivial 
 sentences, were reiterated again and yet again, 
 as if audibly, — more like hearing than thinking. 
 It seemed a dream that she was dead ; or 
 rather it was all a dream together. The young 
 mind, so fearfully over-excited, and so ex- 
 hausted by want of rest, drifted along on a sea 
 of thoughts that were half visions. She was 
 walking in Kingsconnell Pleasance with her 
 mother and Mr. Carmichael ; — she was stand- 
 ing before that awfully-beautiful picture ; she 
 was kneeling between her mother and her Aunt 
 Helen in St. Michael's Chapel; then, suddenly, 
 by what association it were hard to say, there 
 came across these thoughts the recollections of 
 a whispered colloquy between her Aunt Clep- 
 hane and Jessy Christie, that afternoon, of 
 which at the time it passed near her she had 
 not taken in one word, though they all re- 
 turned upon her now as if she heard them still. 
 a I ordered it, Jessy. I gave all proper direc- 
 tions. Crape — you know ; — oh ! of course 
 very deep, — mourning for a parent/' Such 
 was the sentence that seemed to flash across 
 her brain like a barbed dart, and arouse her in 
 an instant from the trance of forgetfulness. 
 She started to her feet, and flung herself upon
 
 320 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 the sofa-pillows, heaped as they had been when 
 her mother's head last rested on them ; perhaps, 
 in the alarm and confusion of the household, 
 untouched since then. At that moment the 
 door was opened by Jessy, who was anxiously 
 looking for her young lady. 
 
 "Miss Lockhart, my dear," she gently 
 whispered, " come to your bed, dear. Ye hae 
 unco' need o' a sleep, I'm sure." 
 
 " I will, Jessy, presently," said Beatrice, 
 calmly rising ; " but there is one thing you 
 must do for me before I go to bed. I have 
 wished to ask you all day, but I have never 
 been alone with you. Take me, dear Jessy, 
 take me to &ee — to see mamma \" She clasped 
 Jessy's hands iu her's as she spoke, and fixed 
 her eyes upon her with a look of entreaty un- 
 utterable in its eagerness. 
 
 It was in vain that Jessy implored her 
 to wait till morning light. " I shall see her 
 then too," said Beatrice ; " but take me in to- 
 night, dear Jessy — take me, if you love me." 
 
 Jessy yielded at last ; conducted her to the 
 silent chamber, unlocked the door, and they 
 entered it. The first sight of the dead, even of 
 the best and dearest object of afiection, after 
 that dread change has taken place, is to the
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 321 
 
 young almost unmingled terror ; and the affec- 
 tionate servant trembled at what she had done 
 when she felt the convulsive shuddering that 
 shook the frame of Beatrice, as after one brief 
 glance at what she could scarce at first recog- 
 nise for her mother's face, she turned and 
 clung to her, as a frightened infant might have 
 done. But this panic was quickly over. Gra- 
 dually, when she turned and bent over the 
 quiet corpse, — the pale sweet features of that 
 loved countenance grew upon her, as it 
 were, from amidst the ghastly appliances sur- 
 rounding it. It was her own mother still, 
 and by her side lay slumbering that little 
 waxen form, so unspeakably beautiful in 
 death; for on sinless infancy the last enemy 
 stamps a character of ineffable loveliness and 
 repose. There they lay, — the mother and 
 the child; the former equally unconscious 
 with the latter of all the anguish rending the 
 heart of her first and dearest treasure, — that 
 child of many hopes, and fears, and prayers 
 too soon bereft of the guiding hand, the tender 
 care, which had hitherto been around her path. 
 Wild sobs, streaming tears, broken exclama- 
 tions of grief, were all of which Beatrice was 
 capable during this first visit to the dead; and 
 
 p 3
 
 322 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 completely -worn out as she was by the events 
 of the last two days, she yielded ere long 
 to Jessy's entreaties, and left the room with 
 her, to retire to bed. where she slept, heavily 
 and profoundly, as the young do sleep, under 
 the stunning influence of sorrow. 
 
 But on the next day, and the next, — every 
 day, while yet that loved form remained visible 
 to her eyes, Beatrice returned to her mother's 
 room, and passed hours there alone. The old 
 nurse, with a species of superstitious horror, 
 and Mrs. Lockhart Clephane, herself one of 
 those people to whom the very idea of death is 
 fraught with dread, remonstrated with Jessy 
 on having allowed her to go in at all, and 
 on permitting these solitary visits. But the 
 latter, reading her young lady's character more 
 truly than they did, assured them that it would 
 do her good and not harm. " She kenn't weel 
 what she was doing. She wadna' hae ta'en 
 Miss Helen to look at her mamma, and indeed 
 'the puir bairn had never sought to see her ; but 
 Miss Lockhart was very different. She was a 
 forbye-us kind o' a lassie. Troth it was mair 
 nor she durst tak' upon her to keep Miss 
 Lockhart frae the last sight o' her mamma that 
 she wad ever get on this side o' Jordan.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 323 
 
 It would be an ease till her after a' was 
 ower." 
 
 Without understanding the grounds of her 
 conviction, Jessy instinctively felt that a highly 
 ideal mind, like that of her young lady, 
 " casteth out fear," in the near approach of 
 those dark realities from which common na- 
 ture shrinks. It was not a corpse, a cold 
 senseless corpse, appalling to sight and touch, 
 over which Beatrice bent during these solitary 
 hours; on whose marble cheek she pressed her 
 young warm lips ; on whose bosom, never in- 
 sensible of her approach till then, she laid 
 her head and wept. It was her mamma — her 
 own mamma — " sleeping in Jesus;" the mortal 
 frame deserted for a space of its immortal 
 tenant, but destined to rise again in renovated 
 youth and loveliness. She knelt and prayed 
 by her mother's death-bed as she had done by 
 her mother's knee; prayed to that Father 
 in Heaven to whom she knew that her mother's 
 last earthly aspirations had committed her 
 children, in whom she believed that in the 
 unseen world of rest, she was now securely re- 
 posing her cares and fears for their future lot. 
 " Perhaps she sees us now," she said. "Per- 
 haps she is permitted to be near her children
 
 324 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 still. Oh ! if God would let her come to me, I 
 should not be afraid of her. Mamma! my 
 blessed mamma ! I thought you would never 
 see your baby, but you see him now. He is 
 with you now ; — happy, happy baby ! Well 
 might Jessy tell us not to weep for him. But 
 he could not love you as we did. He did 
 not know you like your poor girls. And we 
 have lost you both ; — the baby we should have 
 petted and loved; oh! so very dearly! — the 
 mamma who was dearer, sweeter, kinder than 
 words can ever tell. Oh, mamma ! mamma ! 
 ■what shall we do without you V And at these 
 words, the torrent of tears and sobs would 
 again burst forth, and the bereaved young 
 mourner would lean upon the open coffin, cling- 
 ing to it as if at that moment about to close 
 and hide her mother from her sight for ever. 
 
 But Jessy was right. All this, the very re- 
 collection of those bursts of passionate weeping, 
 was "an ease to her after a' was ower." The 
 hours she passed in that tranquil chamber of 
 death left a balm for many harder, sterner, 
 more cruel sorrows in after years. There was 
 nothing hard or stern there, — there never is in 
 any sorrow inflicted by the hand of God j these 
 elements are of man's infusing alone, in the
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 325 
 
 cup of his fellow man. Everywhere else in 
 the house, the sense of loss and desolation was 
 brought home to her heart in a thousand 
 shapes and ways ; but this holy chamber of the 
 dead was a sanctuary,, into which no worldly, 
 no disturbing thought could find entrance. The 
 Dove of peace seemed ever tu brood above that 
 bed whence a ransomed spirit had entered the 
 realms of peace. No rebellious feeling could 
 find room in the solemn presence of those white, 
 calm faces, — those eyes for ever closed upon 
 the sights of vanity and sorrow-. And still while 
 there before her, " all cold and ?11 serene," her 
 mother did not seem wholly lost. Beatrice, 
 like many a mourner, never felt in its bitter 
 reality the bereavement she had sustained till 
 her watch in the chamber of death was over, 
 and the relentless coffin-lid had shut up those 
 faces, beautiful to the last, in darkness for the 
 grave.
 
 326 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " O ye wha are sae guid yoursell, 
 Sae pious and sae holy, 
 Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 
 
 Your neebour's fauts and folly !- 
 Whose life is like a weel-gaun mill, 
 
 Supply'd wi' store o' water, 
 The heapet happer's ebbing still, 
 And still the clap plays clatter." 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 It was a beautiful afternoon about the middle 
 of the month of August,, which succeeded the 
 death of Mrs. Henry Lockhart, when Mrs. 
 Sempill and Miss Muirhead sat together in the 
 drawing-room at Sempilltower. Their quiet, 
 low-voiced conversation, as the one plied 
 her knitting-needles, and the other worked at 
 a worsted rug, was broken by the sound of 
 wheels driving in at the gateway, and by 
 the gleeful shout of one youthful voice echoed 
 by another. 
 
 " Bless me \" exclaimed Mrs. Sempill,
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 327 
 
 " what can have brought the boys home 
 already V* 
 
 She had scarcely uttered the words, when 
 the door was opened by a fine manly boy of 
 fourteen, followed by another, a couple of years 
 younger, the two eldest children of her son 
 Walter, who, it may be remembered, had mar- 
 ried early in life, and was settled in England. 
 His sons were now spending their holidays 
 at their grandfather's, in a state of beatitude 
 only to be conceived by schoolboys let loose in 
 a country demesne, with liberty and indulgence 
 commensurate to the means of enjoyment 
 placed within their reach. The^ had been 
 permitted that morning, as on several previous, 
 to accompany the Major and Captain to the 
 moors, and had now returned at an unusually 
 early hour. 
 
 " My dear Walter/' said Mrs. Sempill, as 
 her grandsons entered, " what brings you and 
 Philip home just now?" 
 
 " Why, grandmamma," replied the boy, 
 " Uncle Reginald was so very kind as to send 
 us home in the dog-cart, which is to return for 
 him and Uncle Major ; for you must know we 
 have made another engagement for the after- 
 noon, if you have no objection V
 
 328 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " Another engagement V exclaimed Miss 
 Muirhead with a smile. 
 
 " Yon are two gay gentlemen," returned 
 Mrs. Sempill; " but if Uncle Reginald had no 
 objection, I am sure I shall have none." 
 
 " Oh, no ! he had no objection," said the 
 younger boy in a joyous tone. "We are going 
 to Kingsconnell, if you please, grandmamma?" 
 
 " You see, grandmamma," pursued Walter, 
 "as we were driving off t^iis morning, we met 
 one of the grooms from Kingsconnell, with a 
 message from Arthur Bertram. You know he's 
 begun to shoot this year, and it seems yester- 
 day he sprained his ankle in jumping over a 
 moss-hole, so he can't get out to-day, and he 
 sent to ask if we would come home a little 
 earlier, and spend the afternoon with him ; and 
 Uncle Reginald said we might. So we must 
 go and dress, Phil., for we are not quite clean, 
 are we, Aunt Penny ?" 
 
 "Not quite, indeed;" replied their aunt. 
 "Did you and Arthur Bertram use to be much 
 together at Harrow, Walter ?" 
 
 "Why you know he's in a higher form, 
 quite beyond me, Aunt Penny. Pie is two 
 years and more older than I am. But he's a 
 capital fellow ! every body likes Bertram.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 329 
 
 Phil., there, and Hugh are near an age; but 
 Hugh has not been to school yet. It would 
 make you laugh to hear how he chatters 
 French ! I have forgotten my French since I 
 went to Harrow." 
 
 "And 7" can't speak a word of French," 
 added Philip triumphantly. 
 
 " And Miss Bertram, she talks French so 
 fast with her governess ! And German ! The 
 governess is a German lady. And oh ! she is 
 so pretty, Aunt Penny !" exclaimed Walter 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Who ? — the German lady ?" asked his 
 aunt. 
 
 " No, to be sure ! Miss Bertram I mean," 
 replied the boy. " Oh ! so pretty ! but they 
 keep her so strict ! They'll hardly let her speak 
 to us, which is very tantalizing. But come, 
 Phil., we must get ready." 
 
 "Penny, my dear, ring the bell," said Mrs. 
 Sempill, " I must order the phaeton for the 
 boys." 
 
 " Dear no ! grandmamma," exclaimed Wal- 
 ter, "we'll walk; won't we, Phil. ?" 
 
 " No, my boy, you i have had walking 
 enough all morning, I warrant me," replied his 
 grandmother.
 
 330 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " But Adam and the Horses won't like to be 
 ordered out just now, I daresay," said Walter. 
 " Uncle Reginald calls the carriage, Adam and 
 the Horses, you know, grandmamma; for he 
 says Adam's word is law about it." 
 
 "But I am not going to order Adam 
 and the Horses," said Mrs. Sempill smiling, 
 " only Adam's son, and the grey pony." 
 
 a Ah, well ! you are very kind, grand- 
 mamma, nobody is so kind as you, except 
 grandpapa." 
 
 "And every body else at Sempilltower," 
 exclaimed Philip. "Every body is kind," 
 
 " Well said, my bonny boy !" said Mrs. 
 Sempill. " I hope every body is. Who drove 
 you home from the moors, boys ?" 
 
 " David Bryce did," replied Walter. " He 
 went this morning; and Carstairs, the keeper, 
 rode the dun cob." 
 
 " He's such a funny man, is David Bryce !" 
 exclaimed Philip. "Only I don't know the 
 meaning of half lie says. T wish I could un- 
 derstand Scotch." 
 
 " I am learning it very fast," said Walter. 
 " Oh ! grandmamma," he added, turning round 
 just as he reached the door, "he did make us 
 laugh so to-day, coming home ! He told us
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 331 
 
 such a funny story ! Only he says we must 
 not mention it to Uncle Major, for he won't be 
 pleased to hear of it. It was about one day 
 when Uncle Major shot Julius Csesar, grand- 
 mamma; do you remember it? Aunt Penny, 
 do you ¥* 
 
 "Yes, my boy/' replied Mrs. Sempill. "We 
 both do very well." 
 
 " Only fancy ! shooting Julius Caesar ! 
 Come along, Phil. Phil., shall you ever have 
 such a shot as that ? How should you like to 
 have a shot at Julius Caesar, Phil. ?" And the 
 laughing boys ran up stairs. 
 
 " We remember the day Julius Caesar was 
 shot, don't we Penny ¥■' said Mrs. Sempill. 
 
 "Aye, do we, Lilly \" replied Aunt Penny, 
 shaking her head sadly. 
 
 " My poor Helen \" exclaimed Mrs. Sem- 
 pill, her eyes filling with tears. " I think I see 
 her now ; her white gown glancing through the 
 trees, setting off that evening, to bid goodbye 
 to her sister. God help us ! we are short- 
 sighted creatures ! Little did they think it 
 was to be their last parting \" 
 
 " Little indeed I" echoed Miss Muirhead. " It 
 is like a dream to me even now, Lilly. I can 
 hardly bring myself to believe that that sweet
 
 332 
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " My poor Helen \" repeated Mrs. Sem- 
 pill. " Her letters make one's very heart 
 ache, — so sad — so changed from what they 
 used to be ! — she said George was very kind to 
 her when the news came. I am thankful for 
 that. But he does not understand Helen as 
 Reginald would have done. It will be a sore 
 heart to her, Penny, when she hears that 
 Harry Lockhart has applied for another 
 ship, and means to break up the home 
 where she and her sister lived so happily 
 together." 
 
 " It will indeed, Lilly. And a sorer heart 
 still to think of his having arranged to leave 
 his poor girls at the Grange." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Sempill, "it is not the 
 home one would have selected for them. God 
 help motherless girls, Penny ! But what else 
 could he do, poor man ? It is natural he 
 should wish to go to sea again. He has no 
 occupation on shore, nothing to take his heart 
 off his heavy, heavy sorrow. And no other 
 home seems to have been opened to them. To 
 be sure, there is Miss Alexander, Penny," she 
 added after a brief pause. " Do you think 
 she will not offer to take the poor girls ? It 
 seems natural she should; so particular as she 
 is about her own Church too. It would be a
 
 KINGSC0NN T ELL. 333 
 
 far more eligible home for them than the 
 Grange, I am sure." 
 
 " No, Lilly, I am sorry to say she does not 
 mean to do it. Yesterday when I was at St. 
 Michael's, I called there, and found Miss 
 Carruthers alone, and she opened out much 
 more than she ever does when Miss Alexander 
 is at home. A kind-hearted soul she is ! and 
 she was crying bitterly about Mrs. Henry 
 Lockhart ; and told me that a discussion had 
 take a place with Miss Alexander on this very 
 subject ; she had ventured to hint at a hope 
 that she would offer to take charge of the 
 girls, poor lambs ! And she declared she had 
 no such intention." 
 
 " Dear me ! dear me ! 1 am grieved to 
 hear it. You see she never could bear the 
 Lockharts." 
 
 " One would have thought that would have 
 been an additional reason for keeping the girls 
 from them. But she is determined to have 
 nothing to do with their up-bringing ; for it 
 seems Mr. Malcolm, her own minister, and an 
 excellent man they say he is, had put it to 
 her most anxiously; and received the same 
 answer. Miss Carruthers says he cannot bear 
 to think of the girls living where they cannot
 
 334 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 get regularly to their own church, and be 
 under his eye. He is deeply concerned about 
 them. Natural he should ! I had all this in 
 ray mind to tell you when 1 came home, and 
 something sent it out of my head." 
 
 "I am greatly distressed to hear this, — 
 greatly !" said Mrs. Sempill. 
 
 " Grandmamma," interrupted Walter, open- 
 ing the door, in all the glory of spotless white 
 trowsers and snowy collar, his honest, open 
 countenance glowing like a damask rose through 
 the bronze -which was the effect of his moor- 
 land excursions, " grandmamma, I see Watty, 
 the son of Adam, is almost ready ; and Aunt 
 Penny, there's such a dear friend of your's 
 coming in at the gateway." 
 
 " Who is that, my boy ?" asked his aunt. 
 " Is it Dr. Grmdlay, or Miss Grace Lockhart ?" 
 
 " Guess again, Aunt Penny. Guess again. 
 Do you give it up ?" 
 
 " 'Tis Miss Mark, Aunt Penny ," shouted 
 Philip. " I think she's very cross ; I wonder 
 you have such dear friends ?" 
 
 " Miss Menie Mark !" exclaimed Aunt 
 Penny, — not in an accent of intense delight. 
 
 "Miss Menie Mark!" echoed Mrs. Sem- 
 pill in a tone of resignation ; — then, catching
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 335 
 
 Walter's laughing eye, she gently added, " my 
 dear boys, Miss Menie Mark is a very old 
 friend of Aunt Penny's and mine; and we are 
 always glad to see our friends, especially, 
 Walter, when they have no carriages, and are 
 so good as to take the trouble of walking to 
 see us, that makes a great difference. It is so 
 easy to pay visits in a carriage." 
 
 At this crisis the door was opened by John 
 Chalmers, at once to announce the phaeton, 
 and to usher in Miss Menie ; who entered, 
 looking as dogmatical as usual, and attired, as 
 usual, in the tight grey silk gown and obstinate 
 shawl. 
 
 " I see you were going out, raa'am," said 
 she to Mrs. Sempill, as soon as their mutual 
 greetings had been exchanged. " Don't let me 
 deteen you." 
 
 " Not I, Miss Menie," replied Mrs. Sem- 
 pill ; u it is only the phaeton going to take the 
 boys—" 
 
 " I have no wish to be in the way, ma'am ;" 
 interrupted Miss Menie. " It's a peety to 
 delay your drive on my account." 
 
 " But I am not going to drive, Miss 
 Menie," repeated Mrs. Sempill. "The boys 
 are going over to Kingsconnell, that is all."
 
 336 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " To Kingsconnell, ma^am ? to enquire for 
 the young gentleman, I suppose ? It's been 
 an awful accident." 
 
 " What young gentleman ?" " What acci- 
 dent ?" " When did it happen V- was re- 
 peated in various accents of wonder and alarm 
 by all the party. 
 
 " Have ye not heard of it, ma'am ? — the 
 second young gentleman, Mr. Arthur ? — the 
 Clachan has been ringing with it. I've not 
 seen Dr. Chisholm, for he went straight from 
 Kingsconnell last night to attend a case ten 
 miles on the other side of St. Michael's; and 
 he's not come back. At least if he could get 
 away from Kingsconnell he was to go, but it 
 was a chance." 
 
 " But why ? I don't understand," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Sempill. " Can anything have happened 
 that we have not heard, Penny ? Tell us about 
 it, pray, Miss Menie." 
 
 ec rph ere > s various accounts, ma'am. Some 
 says he fell, leaping that wild horse they let 
 him ride, and has broken his leg. Miss Babie 
 thinks that was the message her brother re- 
 ceived ; but she was drinking tea at the Manse 
 when the groom came for the doctor, and he 
 was off before she came back ; and the servant
 
 KINGSCONXELL. 337 
 
 lass is dull of hearing, and gave a lame account 
 of the story when Miss Babie questioned her. 
 Other some says again that the young gentle- 
 men were out shooting, and that Mr. Arthur 
 overloaded his gun, and it blew up, and nearly 
 carried off his arm. And in my opinion he's 
 too young and rash to be trusted with a gun. 
 But then, again, there's a far worse story than 
 that ; and Pm sorry to say I had it from good 
 authority/' 
 
 " And what in the world is it V eagerly 
 asked Aunt Penny, while the boys pressed 
 round the narrator, as she made a solemn pause 
 at this part of her tale. 
 
 " I hardly like to name it," quoth Miss 
 Menie, " but it's confidently asserted that it 
 was his eldest brother's gun, Mr. William's, 
 that went off and shot Mr. Arthur. And the 
 people in the Clachan are beginning to re- 
 member that dreadful old story, — and " 
 
 "Grandmamma," exclaimed Walter, "you 
 
 know it must be all a pack of lies, — for " 
 
 " My dear Walter," said Mrs. Sempill in a 
 reproving tone. 
 
 " I didn't mean anything uncivil, ma'am," 
 and Walter blushing deeply turned with an 
 apologetic air to Miss Menie, — " but only that 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 somebody has been humbugging the people at 
 the what-d'ye-call-it ? — the village — down 
 there ; for Arthur Bertram has not broken his 
 leg, nor blown himself up with his gun, nor 
 been shot by Mr. Bertram, — only sprained his 
 ankle ; — that is all, I assure yon ; and Phil, and 
 I are just going off to spend the afternoon 
 with him." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed, Mr. Walter," responded Miss 
 Menie, in the tone of one who was not so 
 easily to be put down, " they may have kept it 
 very quiet, but you'll spend no afternoons with 
 Mr. Arthur Bertram to-day, take my word 
 for it." 
 
 " We'll soon see that," said Walter. 
 " Good bye, Miss Mark ; I'll bring you back a 
 particular account of the blowing-up, or the 
 shooting, or whatever it was. Why ? what a 
 set of gulls they must] be down at the what's- 
 his-name." 
 
 " The f Clakkan '/ " suggested Philip. 
 " Ah ! yes, the Clakkan. Blown up with 
 a gun ! — Did you ever ? Good-bye, Grand- 
 mama, and Aunt Penny. Come along, Phil " 
 " Mr. Walter's a positive young gentleman," 
 observed Miss Menie, as the youths took their 
 departure, "but depend upon it, Mistress
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 339 
 
 Sempill, there's a little more in this business 
 than he's disposed to allow. Kingsconnell's an 
 unlucky place." 
 
 Mrs. Sempill and Aunt Penny, conjointly 
 and severally, endeavoured to bring home to 
 Miss Menie's comprehension the fact that in 
 the present instance, their authority was a little 
 more to be relied on than her's ; but finding 
 that her convictions were immovable as inscrip- 
 tions on a rock, and that the sight of Arthur Ber- 
 tram at that moment would hardly have sufficed 
 to shake her belief in his desperately wounded 
 condition, they were at last fain to desist from 
 the fruitless attempt. The Kingsconnell family 
 were, in fact, at that moment public property, 
 and shared the usual fate of notoriety of all 
 kinds, in having a degree of publicity attached, 
 not only to all they did, — but, a widely diffe- 
 rent matter, all they were said to do, which 
 would have very much astonished themselves 
 had they known it. Having proved the tale of 
 young Arthur's misfortunes to her own satis- 
 faction, Miss Menie proceeded for some time 
 longer to enlarge on that, and similar topics, in 
 a tone of self-satisfied dogmatism and absolute 
 assurance, sufficient, as Miss Muirhead after- 
 wards declared, " to provoke a saint." But 
 
 Q 2
 
 340 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 little relief was afforded to the weary listeners 
 by the change from one subject of discussion 
 to another, since none could be found or inven- 
 ted in which Miss Menie would not have dis- 
 covered a peg whereon to hang a contradiction. 
 
 At last, just as even Mrs. SempilFs patience 
 began to wax thread-bare, and she privately 
 wondered how much longer the infliction was 
 to endure, an unexpected deliverer made his 
 appearance in the shape of Mr. Carmichael, 
 whom Aunt Penny, looking out of the window, 
 announced that she saw coming up the approach. 
 
 " In that case, ladies ! w quoth Miss Menie, 
 rising from her seat, — " Til wish ye a very 
 good day." 
 
 " But why, Miss Menie ? " asked Mrs. Sem- 
 pill, "Mr. Carmichael does not frighten you 
 away, surely ? " 
 
 " I thought, Ma'am," replied Miss Menie, 
 "that may be ye had been aware that Mr. 
 Carmichael and me were not on speaking 
 terms." 
 
 " No, indeed, not I" exclaimed both ladies 
 in a breath. " How was it, Miss Menie ? " 
 added Miss Muirhead ? — " We were much con- 
 cerned, certainly, not to see you in church for 
 some Sundays back, and to hear that you had
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 341 
 
 been attending the meeting-house at Gatesford ; 
 _b ut " 
 
 "As to my leaving the church, Miss 
 Penelope/' — interrupted Miss Menie, " I had 
 great reason, no doubt, (as too many besides 
 me have, ladies, though you may not hear of it 
 knowing how ye pawtronise Mr. Carmichael,) 
 to be dissatisfied with the doctrine preached 
 th ere. There's too much said on the subject 
 of works in Kingsconnell pulpit now-a-days ! 
 but I was in a manner driven from the church 
 by Mr. Carmichael's uncivil conduct, in making 
 me the subject of his remarks from the pulpit." 
 
 u You, Miss Menie ? — Mr. Carmichael ? — 
 Oh ! dear me, you must be under some strange 
 mistake," exclaimed Mrs. Sempill. 
 
 " No mistake in the case, Mistress Sempill," 
 returned Miss Menie, with an air of calm supe- 
 riority, " there could be no mistake. It was 
 very well known in the parish that I had had 
 a difference of opinion with Mistress Pyper, 
 and that words had run high between us ; but I 
 believe nobody ever doubted which side the right 
 was on. However, if people close their ears 
 to reason and common sense, like the deaf 
 adder to the voice of the charmer, one can only 
 treat them with contempt. And that was no
 
 342 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 reason why Mr. Carmichael should preach three 
 sabbath-days running on the dissension be- 
 tween Paul and Barnabas, — till I declare the 
 very school-bairns had the impudence to glance 
 at me when he read out his text ; I had enough 
 of him after that I think, and I've no manner 
 of doubt that he's very sensible of the reason 
 why I've been obliged to drop his acquaintance 
 and leave his church." 
 
 And with this magnanimous declaration of 
 her sentiments, Miss Menie took leave ; meet- 
 ing Mr. Carmichael on the turret-stair, and 
 rustling past him in all the dignity of the cut 
 direct, and with the full conviction of his con- 
 sciousness of guilt, and confusion at the sight 
 of her. Mr. Carmichael, who it need scarcely 
 be added, was innocent of any such Quixotic 
 design as attempting to mollify Miss Menie' s 
 temper by means of his pulpit oratory, and who 
 barely knew Mrs. Pyper by name, received, 
 with a mixture of amusement and pastor-like 
 regret, the news of his imputed offences from 
 the ladies of Sempilltower, and disclaimed the 
 idea of either belligerent having sat for the 
 portrait of St. Paul or St. Barnabas. He had 
 never heard of the "difference of opinion" 
 which Miss Menie conceived to be so celebrated.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 343 
 
 and had been a good deal at a loss to account 
 for her withdrawal of all notice from him j but 
 the subject which just at that time lay nearest 
 Mrs. SempilPs heart, was likewise more interest- 
 ing to the young clergyman, and he speedily 
 lost all recollection of Miss Menie's injuries in 
 discussing the mournful death of Mrs. Henry 
 Lockhart, and the probable consequences of 
 their bereavement to her daughters. He had 
 never forgotten the interest excited in his mind 
 by her and them, during the previous autumn ; 
 and amongst the many who had deeply lamented 
 Beatrice, his sorrow had been greater and more 
 abiding than the short period of their acquaint- 
 ance would in most cases have given risen to. 
 When at last, after a prolonged visit, he took 
 leave of the gentle old ladies, and pursued his way 
 to call at Kingsconnell, it was with a mind full 
 of recollections of the day when he had escorted 
 the party from the Grange thither ; and sadly 
 contrasting the spring-tide of life, youth, and 
 prosperity, which now filled that dwelling, with 
 the blight and the desolation which had fallen 
 upon another.
 
 344 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XYIIJ. 
 
 "Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
 His years hut young, but his experience old ; 
 His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe ; 
 And in a word (for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow), 
 He is complete in feature, and in mind, 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman." 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Revolving these thoughts as he walked, Mr. 
 Carmichael had approached the gate of Kings- 
 connell, when he was startled from his reverie 
 by a voice which hailed him, as the tread of a 
 horse's feet came up behind. 
 
 u How are you, Carmichael ?" said the 
 rider, a tall and elegant young man, suddenly 
 checking his speed, and springing to the ground. 
 " You are on your way to Kingsconnell, are 
 you not V 
 
 " 1 was, Bertram," replied the clergyman,
 
 KINGSUONNELL. 345 
 
 cordially returning his warm shake of the 
 hand, " but my visit was more intended for 
 you than any one else, I believe, so that I need 
 not proceed, since you are not at home." 
 
 u But I shall be, shortly," answered the 
 other. " I am on my way home, after a very 
 long ride,, so pray come along. It is an age 
 since I have seen you." 
 
 tf Not above four days, to the best of my 
 recollection," returned Mr. Carmichael, smiling. 
 
 " True, I have seen you within that time," 
 said the young man, passing his horse's bridle 
 over his arm, and walking by the side of his 
 friend up the avenue which they had now 
 entered ; " but we have not had a talk together 
 for a much longer period ; and now," looking 
 at his watch, " we have two hours to spare 
 before dinner, which is at seven. You will 
 dine with us, of course ?" 
 
 " Not to-day, Bertram, many thanks. I 
 have several poor families to visit this evening." 
 
 (t Let them wait one day, Carmichael. Pray 
 dine with us to-day. Don't refuse me. I 
 believe we are to be quite alone." 
 
 " I should have been truly happy to do so, 
 Bertram, but you must excuse me to-day. 
 Two of the visits I have to pay to-night it 
 
 Q 3
 
 346 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 would be wrong to delay, and you would not 
 wish me to purchase the pleasure of your 
 society with an uneasy conscience. I dined 
 three hours ago, and shall not be at home 
 till late/' 
 
 " I am very sorry for it/' replied William 
 Bertram, "but I cannot, certainly,, withstand 
 the plea of your conscience. How hard you 
 labour now, Carmiehael I" 
 
 " I ought to labour hard," returned the 
 clergyman, "the charge of immortal souls is 
 no light one, Bertram \" 
 
 "And you are happy, satisfied with your 
 position, are you, Carmiehael? Is there no- 
 thing in it for which you would reject it now 
 were the choice offered you again ?" 
 
 " So far as it is, I trust, my Master's 
 service, and the noblest, if one of the most 
 awfully responsible of human tasks ; no, I 
 think I can safely say there is not." 
 
 "But so far as it is something else than 
 these," persisted the young man," " there is ? 
 Is that what you mean me to understand ?" 
 
 "No, Bertram; you are going beyond my 
 meaning. You know I have no reserves with 
 you; and have said more to you on many 
 subjects than I ever did to any other human
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 347 
 
 being ; but I should over-step the truth if I 
 allowed you to suppose that I went so far. To 
 you I do not attempt to deny that the practical 
 working of the Church of Scotland differs 
 from the beau ideal of my early fancy when I 
 entered it, biassed, no doubt, by early educa- 
 tion and habits. I scarcely knew any other 
 Church at that time. Now I cannot conceal 
 that I feel a want in it, or rather more wants 
 than one/' 
 
 " One is, the Genevan platform, is it not, 
 Carmichael?" asked young Bertram, with a 
 smile. " You are no admirer of democracy." 
 
 " I must honestly confess, I am not," re- 
 plied Mr. Carmichael. " I like to look up. I 
 prefer being under authority." 
 
 " And another is — the barren ritual — 
 the " 
 
 " The stripping away of every external 
 form, till the feeling of devout reverence has 
 in many cases been stripped away likewise ? 
 Yes, our reformers went too far. They did 
 away with too much. I cannot deny it. But 
 let that pass, Bertram. The Church of Scot- 
 land is the Church of my fathers, and was — 
 whether it would have been now or not, — the 
 Church of my deliberate choice; and within
 
 348 KINGSCONNELL, 
 
 its pale I am bound to discharge my appointed 
 task ! I must not look beyond it." 
 
 They had now approached the road which 
 turned off to the stables, and here, meeting a 
 groom exercising a horse, William Bertram 
 gave his to him. 
 
 " Master Arthur's horse will have a sine- 
 cure for some days, I take it," observed he as 
 he did so. 
 
 "How is Arthur?" enquired Mr. Carmichael. 
 
 "Very well in health," replied William; 
 " but nailed to the sofa by a bad sprain, which 
 he does not bear too patiently ; though fortu- 
 nately it was entirely his own fault." 
 
 " You would be a little surprised if I were 
 to tell you what an Eteocles and Polynices 
 affair the good people of the Clachan have 
 made out of the said sprain, as I have just 
 been informed at Sempilltower," said Mr. Car- 
 michael smiling. 
 
 "Ah! indeed? What do they say? that 
 / caused it ?" 
 
 "Worse, ten thousand times." And Mr. 
 Carmichael proceeded to relate to his highly- 
 amused auditor the terrible tales which Mrs. 
 Sempill and Aunt Penny had just retailed to 
 him. The young man laughed heartily.
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 349 
 
 "Why, Carmichael," he exclaimed, "one 
 must be very cautious, I see. I had no con- 
 ception that we were so closely watched. This 
 Krahwinkel sort of spirit is a new study in 
 human nature to me, as I never was of 
 much consequence in the world before, and 
 never lived in a country-neighbourhood as 
 a home." 
 
 " True, and you are the last novelty here 
 just now ; and one, too, of rather]an uncommon 
 description. To have a family at Kingsconnell 
 to talk about at all, is something quite new to 
 the present generation." 
 
 " Yes," said young Bertram gravely, " and 
 there are other reasons besides that. v Come, 
 Carmichael, since you will not dine with us, 
 don't let us waste our time in a formal visit to 
 the drawing-room regions. We can get to my 
 room, you know, by the terrace." 
 
 They passed through the iron gates, and 
 turned oh from the principal entrance to the 
 stone terrace which ran along the side of the 
 house, and which was now in the most exquisite 
 order, as indeed was every thing else about the 
 place; the warm, soft air, loaded with the 
 perfume of the climbing plants which grew 
 upon the balustrade on the outside, and the
 
 350 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 exotics which were ranged in tubs and pots 
 along the inside of it. 
 
 Pausing ere they reached the sashed door, 
 formerly mentioned as opening on the terrace, 
 the two young men leant over the balustrade, 
 and looked down upon the flowery, bowery 
 Pleasance below, and the fair prospect of 
 wood, lawn, and river beyond. 
 
 " It is a beautiful scene," exclaimed Wil- 
 liam Bertram, after a pause. " And yet 
 there, Carmichael," — and he pointed with his 
 riding-whip in the direction of a clump of old 
 trees, far beneath — " There is the site of the 
 desecrated burial-ground, — the scene of the 
 Widow's Curse. And had that curse not been 
 fulfilled, I, at all events, perhaps you, would 
 never have stood here to talk of it. Will it 
 go on working? Shall you ever, I wonder, 
 Carmichael, stand here when that question has 
 been answered, and remember the day that I 
 asked it?" 
 
 Mr. Carmichael shuddered. "My dear 
 Bertram/'' he exclaimed j " that subject, once 
 matter of fanciful discussion, more than any- 
 thing else, between you and me, assumes a 
 different aspect now ; and I would earnestly 
 counsel you not to let it haunt your mind, or 
 mention it to others."
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 351 
 
 u There is little danger of that/' returned 
 William, "save to yourself; nor is there much 
 of the other. 'Time and the hour 3 are too 
 much with us all, and youth and life carry one 
 too swiftly on, to admit of such thoughts as- 
 suming a very denned shape. It is a subject 
 only, as yet, recalled to me now and then by 
 some incident which shows that it dwells like- 
 wise in the minds of others. Confess now, 
 Carmichael, that any event of a tragical nature 
 is more easily credited as having occurred here 
 to one of this fated family, than it would be if 
 invented respecting any other house in the 
 country ? The absurdity you have just related 
 to me, simply laughable as it is, is a plain proof 
 of that, a plain proof of the deeply-rooted 
 faith in &Deus Lltor." 
 
 " That there is such a faith, and on good 
 ground," said Mr. Carmichael, " who shall 
 deny ? But though an avenging, He is not a 
 revenging God. A God of Justice, He is also 
 a God of infinite mercy and love ; and it seems 
 to me, Bertram, that our Calvinistic creed 
 tends too much to narrow the limits of these 
 blessed attributes, and cause them to be lost sight 
 of in the sterner. This to me is the greatest 
 of those wants to which we lately alluded."
 
 352 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " I/' said the young man, with a grave 
 smile, ff am no Calvinist, Carmichael. Nor, 
 perhaps — you would say " 
 
 " Not yet, alas \" replied Mr. Carmichael, 
 answering what had been left unspoken. " But 
 I do not, and never shall despair of you, 
 Bertram. The unhappy bias your mind has 
 of late taken is not infidelity, it is only 
 doubt, the gropings of a darkened understand- 
 ing after the light." 
 
 "It is;" said William? " < The desire of 
 the moth for the star/ But the star is far 
 from the moth. And yet, at times, Car- 
 michael, i almost thou persuadest me/ I desire 
 to find the light. I would give much, — all, — 
 I think, — all 1 have to give at this moment, in 
 exchange for your earnest, devoted, self-deny- 
 ing faith. But I cannot believe as you do, 
 and as I once did ere I began to reason and 
 to doubt." 
 
 "Not yet, I say again, Bertram. But the 
 light will arise upon your darkness. Where 
 there are intense desire of truth, and natural 
 high-mindedness, and purity of life like yours, 
 it were sinful to despair. But it may be, in 
 the mysterious providence of God, that the 
 light, as it has happened to others, may only
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 353 
 
 be admitted at last through the chinks and 
 ruins of the fair fabric of earthly happiness. 
 And if possible in no other way, it is the part 
 of one who loves your soul to pray that it may 
 be, even in that. How strongly our present 
 conversation reminds me," he added after a 
 pause, "of one upon a subject nearly connected 
 with this, which I held in this house last 
 autumn with one who is now departed in 
 peace and hope, I cannot doubt, to that place 
 where the dark things of this life are all made 
 plain." 
 
 The curiosity and interest of young Bertram 
 were excited by this remark, and Mr. Car- 
 michael went on to speak of her who, beyond 
 any other woman he had ever met with, had 
 made the deepest impression upon his mind ; 
 of her sweetness, her grace, her mild and 
 seraphic countenance ; of the singular talent 
 and imagination of the young Beatrice, and 
 the devoted affection subsisting between her 
 and her mother. He spoke as he felt, with 
 the deepest sympathy and warmest interest of 
 the young girl ; and went on to relate some 
 particulars of their visit to Kingsconnell after 
 Sir Peter's death. While he talked they had 
 left their position on the terrace, and entered
 
 354 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 by the sashed-door to the octagon apartment, 
 which was now fitted up as the private sitting- 
 room of Mr. Bertram. In the midst of its 
 luxurious furniture, profusion of books, and 
 many tokens of refined and cultivated taste, 
 the gentle nature of the young man had in- 
 duced him to retain the old and badly-painted 
 picture of Sir Peter's children, in its former 
 place. On being made acquainted with the 
 subject of it, he had refused to suffer its 
 removal, not a little to the surprise and even 
 indignation of his mother, Lady Bertram, who 
 had bestowed much pains on the appointments 
 of her son's apartments, and who justly pro- 
 nounced this picture out of keeping with every- 
 thing else in the room. No matter, "William 
 had replied, he should never know an hour's 
 peace in the room if he felt that he had dis- 
 placed the old occupants \ and to this fanciful 
 argument Lady Bertram had finally been forced 
 to yield. He now lay back in his reading- 
 chair, gazing at the group depicted there, while 
 Mr. Carmichael spoke of the interest that 
 picture, or rather its mournful history, had ex- 
 cited in Mrs. Henry Lockhart. 
 
 "I shall now," said William, "have an 
 additional motive for feeling a regard for what
 
 KINGSCONNELL, 355 
 
 every one else pronounces a vile daub ; but 
 which to me is eloquent in a whole history of 
 domestic tragedy. And I shall institute a 
 search, or cause the housekeeper to do so, for 
 the sampler of which you tell me, with the 
 name of Mary Bertram upon it. I trust no one 
 has been sufficiently heartless to destroy it ! 
 Strange, is it not, Carmichael, the small 
 number of people one meets with in the world, 
 who feel the pathos that lies at times in house- 
 hold trifles such as these ? And yet what 
 pathos it is ! — I shall be curious to see this 
 sweet girl," he added. " You tell me she was 
 so fascinated by that picture, and that you 
 mentioned Arthur's singular resemblance to 
 it?" 
 
 " I did," said Mr. Carmichael. " You know 
 it is very striking. Even Sir Thomas remarked 
 it, the first time he saw the picture, when he 
 came here after Sir Peter's death, before he 
 knew whose it was." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed William. "Really? 
 You never told me that before, Carmichael. 
 That accounts for my father's positively refusing 
 to see the likeness now, when any one remarks 
 it ; and also for his having banished the picture 
 to that dark corner in the library."
 
 356 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 "One can hardly wonder," said Mr. Car- 
 michael, " at his disliking to have that beautiful 
 boy identified in any way with a thing which 
 has such a history attached to it." 
 
 " No, certainly ; even although he scouts 
 the very mention of any such traditions. But 
 that is the usual course of feelings of the sort. 
 Arthur is — will be, — certainly, — a model of 
 beauty. I can scarcely fancy any face more 
 perfect, or a figure promising to be more so. 
 He is curiously unlike Hugh and me." 
 
 " And yet, though not alike in features, 
 there is a strong family resemblance," said Mr. 
 Carmichael. " I think I should know you 
 anywhere for brothers." 
 
 The young man to whom he spoke, if not 
 regularly handsome, was singularly interesting 
 in appearance. He was remarkably, indeed 
 unusually, tall, being considerably upwards of 
 six feet high; but his figure, though very 
 slight, had all the grace and elasticity of well- 
 knit limbs, and conveyed no idea of weakness 
 or over -growth. He looked the very personi- 
 fication of young and vigorous manhood. 
 There was an expression of mingled thought 
 and sweetness in his face, which was of that 
 shape Sir Joshua Reynolds loved to paint ;
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 357 
 
 the breadth across the eyes gradually narrowing 
 down to a small and rounded chin, which, with 
 the peculiar refinement of the mouth, and its 
 beautiful smile, imparted a character of almost 
 feminine — not effeminate, — purity and gentle- 
 ness to the countenance. His eyes, which 
 were blue, were not remarkable either for size 
 or brilliancy, but full of an expression of 
 habitual thought, and almost dreamy medita- 
 tion. His forehead was beautiful; white as 
 marble, — high, but broad in proportion to its 
 height, and particularly full in those regions 
 where phrenologists place the organs of ideality 
 and wonder ; and his brown and waving hair 
 was of a singularly fine and soft texture. No 
 portrait of William Bertram could have been 
 complete in its individuality without including 
 his hands, which were particularly graceful, 
 long, slender, and white as a woman's, but full 
 of a character of their own, which corresponded 
 with his whole appearance. It was, altogether, 
 a form and aspect indicative of a nervous and 
 highly-imaginative temperament, and of a 
 nature full of sweet and gentle impulses; 
 more attractive, perhaps, than much more 
 perfect beauty might have been. 
 
 So thought Mr. Carmichael, as with the
 
 358 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 fine taste in personal appearance, and in phy- 
 siognomy, which belongs only to the refined 
 and ideal cast of mind, he looked at his young 
 friend, and felt that as yet, at all events, there 
 was infinitely more to admire in him than in 
 the glowing, passionate, more human, and less 
 spiritual, beauty of young Arthur. 
 
 " You are labouring hard in your own way 
 too, I see, Bertram," he observed, examining 
 some of the books and papers which crowded 
 the table beside his seat. 
 
 " Yes," answered William. tl I am reading 
 for honours, you know. I sit very late over 
 my books." 
 
 " Take care," said Mr. Carmichael j " don't 
 sit too late, Bertram. Don't injure your 
 health." 
 
 " My health ! my dear Carmichael. Did 
 you ever know me have a day's illness ?" ex- 
 claimed William, laughing. "I am invulne- 
 rable. An Achilles — so far as health is con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " Well, well, very true — but Achilles after 
 all " 
 
 " I think it will not be reading for honours 
 that will wound Achilles' heel, in this case," 
 said William, filling up the pause his friend had
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 359 
 
 made. " 1 hope to do great things ; and then, 
 when I leave Cambridge, I must travel farther 
 than I have ever yet done. I have the travel- 
 ling mania very strong upon me, certainly. Oh 1 
 if you could but go with me, Carmichael \" 
 
 " I should desire no better, if so it might 
 be," replied the other. " And then, when 
 you have satisfied yourself with wandering, 
 Bertram, I suppose you will turn your mind 
 to public life V 3 
 
 "Not willingly, I think. My father's 
 wishes evidently point that way ; but as yet, I 
 have no such ambition. I would not cross 
 him ; but it will not be from personal motives, 
 if I do ; unless I alter strangely. No ! books 
 and nature are as yet all in all to me." 
 
 "And Arthur ! I have lost sight of him so 
 much between childhood and youth. What 
 are Sir Thomas's views with regard to him ? 
 and what are his own V\ 
 
 " Arthur," said William, " has more ambi- 
 tion, more passion, in his character than I 
 possess. He is a boy for whom I feel almost 
 more than a brother's love; one of those 
 erring and repenting creatures who excite such 
 a strong degree of attachment, kept alive by 
 the alternations of hope and anxiety. Even
 
 360 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 his personal beauty renders me uneasy ; for 
 my mother and little Emily are not judicious 
 on that subject. But I have not answered 
 your question. My father intends him, of 
 course, for Cambridge in the first place, — and 
 after that, I rather imagine, for the diplomatic 
 line. Having followed it himself for so many 
 years, he wishes one of his sons to do the 
 same ; and on that head I am impracticable." 
 
 " I should think so," replied Mr. Car- 
 michael, smiling. At this moment the sound 
 of the dressing-bell was audible through the 
 long passages of the house. He arose from 
 his seat, but paused to take up a book which 
 lay beneath some others on the table. It was 
 a volume of Shelley. 
 
 " You would rather not see that book on 
 my table, Carmichael," observed William Ber- 
 tram with a smile. " But you have read him ?" 
 
 " I read everything," said Mr. Carmichael. 
 " How can a clergyman understand the human 
 heart as it is his duty to do, unless he knows 
 all the avenues to it ? But, dear Bertram, you 
 are right. I would gladly see almost any other 
 poet on your table rather than this." 
 
 " I do not agree with him, Carmichael. I 
 read him for the sake of the exquisite poetry."
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 301 
 
 " I know. But such studies foster the 
 painful habit of doubt; the restless dashing of 
 the mind against the iron problems of existence, 
 which nothing but the one solvent — faith — can 
 avail to encounter. However, Bertram, this is 
 not the time for an argument on that point." 
 
 " Xo, but will you return to-morrow, Car- 
 michael ? Will you dine here to morrow ? You 
 can't ? Why ? Next day then ?" 
 
 *'I shall be most h^ppy next day; at the 
 usual hour, I suppose V 
 
 " No, oh no ! come two hours earlier ; as 
 much earlier as you can. d-me here, and let 
 us have a long talk together. I wish you could 
 convince me, Carmichael. I am not willingly 
 a sceptic, nor happy in unbelief." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Carmichael. " God never 
 gave you the mind and heart he has done, to 
 wa^te and wither in the blighting atmosphere 
 of doubt. / cannot convince you, Bertram; 
 but if my prayers be heard, a mightier thin 1 
 will, in His own good time. I shall be with you 
 as early as I can on Friday. Till then, farewell." 
 
 The young man remained standing by the 
 
 sashed-door where his friend had left him, long 
 
 after his departure, plunged in meditation, 
 
 from which he was only aroused by the en- 
 
 vol. I. II
 
 362 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 trance of his servant from his dressing-room,, 
 to know if he meant to dress. Mr. Carmichael, 
 the while, pursued his way, which led him from 
 Sir Thomas Bertram's demesne to several poor 
 cottages beyond the park. One of these con- 
 tained a young man dying of consumption, 
 who had through the course of his tedious ill- 
 ness, received many kind visits from the pastor; 
 to whom it was now very plain that he would 
 not have many more to bestow upon him. But 
 the time, the exhortations, and the prayers, 
 which he had already given him had been 
 blessed to the soul of the expiring youth ; and 
 as he listened to the faint accents in which the 
 voice so soon to be silenced spoke of faith and 
 hope beyond the grave, and watched the glow 
 which lighted up the sunken and sharpened 
 features whilst listening to a few words from 
 the Book of Life, the heart of the devoted 
 minister reverted, with a mournful sense of 
 contrast, from the hovel of the poor, unlettered, 
 dying peasant, to the luxurious apartment of 
 the gifted heir of Kingsconnell, whose cup of 
 life, and youth, and enjoyment, was full to the 
 very brim. And as he mentally owned that 
 in the sight of the angels now waiting for the 
 soul of the ransomed penitent, the state of the
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 363 
 
 peasant was incomparably more blessed than 
 that of the high-born youth, his spirit ascended 
 in a fervent prayer to God that the light of 
 revealed truth might arise upon the mind of 
 him he so dearly loved, and that he might be de- 
 livered from the bondage of doubt and error, even 
 if need were, by the sharp arrows of affliction. 
 
 r 2
 
 364 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 But thou, my sister, doomed to be 
 
 The last leaf which, by Heaven's decree 
 Must hang upon a blasted tree; 
 
 Be strong : — be worthy of the grace 
 Of God, and fill thy destined place ; 
 
 A soul, by force of sorrows high 
 Uplifted to the purest sky, 
 
 Of undisturbed humanity ! 
 
 Wordsworth, 
 EXTRACT FROM A LETTER OF BEATRICE LOCK- 
 HART'S TO HER AUNT HELEN ! 
 
 "August 25th, 1821. 
 **#■*« a nd so it is all settled, dearest Aunt 
 Helen. Papa is appointed to the Ajax, and must 
 be at Portsmouth in six weeks' time. In one 
 month we are to leave this house for ever. My 
 Uncle Clephane has undertaken to dispose of 
 the remainder of papa's lease of it, and to sell 
 the furniture, all except some things which are 
 
 to be sent to the Grange. 
 
 * * # * * * *
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 365 
 
 "The days seem to fly, each one quicker than 
 the last. Oh ! Aunt Helen, to think of re- 
 turning to the Grange where we were all so 
 happy last year ! No mamma now to befriend 
 us — no happy home to look forward to ! All 
 gone, — mamma, and home, and papa. — And 
 never to come back here any more — ncvor to see 
 this house again. And the poor faithful ser- 
 vants who have been so long with us, and who 
 loved mamma so dearly, we must part from 
 them too. Even poor Jessy, who is to accom- 
 pany us to shire, leaves us, so it is arranged, 
 
 in November, when the governess we are to 
 have comes to us. Do you think if you were to 
 ask dear kind Mrs. Sempilll, that she could 
 And a place for Jessy in her house ? She cries 
 so when she talks of leaving us. If one could 
 but awake and find it all a dream \" 
 
 The same packet which conveyed to Mrs. 
 George Sempill the letter from which the above 
 extracts are given, brought one from Captain 
 Lockhart, a brief and mournful one, giving her 
 the same account of his plans which his daugh- 
 ter had more fully done, and admitting that 
 his chief subject of regret was being compelled 
 to leave his poor girls at the Grange. But he 
 had, he said, no choice. He had hoped that his
 
 366 KINGSCONNELi,. 
 
 sister-in-law, Mrs. Lockhart Clephane, who 
 had only two daughters amongst her children, 
 might have offered to take charge of them, but 
 she had not done so, and of course it was im- 
 possible for him to ask it. — A quick perception 
 of the motives which had caused Mrs. Clephane 
 to withhold this offer,— the dread of her own 
 daughters hereafter finding themselves eclipsed 
 by the superior attractions of their cousins, — 
 brought an indignant flush into the check of 
 Helen as she read these words. But this was 
 speedily quenched in the flood of tears which 
 poured from her eyes at the sight of an enclo- 
 sure within the letter of her brother-in-law. 
 It appeared that Captain Lockhart, having at 
 last, after a long delay in doing it, nerved him- 
 self so far as to open his wife's desk, had found 
 in it, along with two letters addressed to him- 
 self and to Beatrice, one for her sister, endorsed 
 f, 'to be delivered in the event of my death." 
 This he now sent to Helen. It was dated about 
 a month previous to that event, and written 
 under the firm persuasion that she should not 
 survive her approaching hour of trial. It 
 breathed the very soul of love, of tenderness, 
 of holy consolation ; and though it spoke of 
 the agony, conceivable by no heart save a
 
 KIXfiSCONNELL. 367 
 
 mother's, of contemplating the prospect of sepa- 
 ration from her children, it dwelt upon the 
 hope, the certainty of being enabled, when the 
 dread hour came, to leave them in humble faith 
 in the hands of a Father. Mingled with this 
 was much of the tender and sisterly counsel, 
 the sympathy, and the gentle warning, which 
 Helen had so often received from Beatrice ; 
 and which came now with such additional 
 sanctity from her grave. Henceforth for her 
 there was to be no counsellor, no guide. Her 
 heart must know i^s own bitterness, and h .ve 
 no stranger to intermeddle with its joy. The 
 letter concluded with a passage which many 
 and many a time inWter years returned to the 
 memory of Helen. 
 
 " I do not say to you, my own beloved one, 
 be a friend, be a mother, to my motherless 
 children. Why should I say so, who know 
 your heart so well. That would be no hard 
 duty to you. You are more likely to be called 
 to a harder ; and it is of that I would warn you 
 in this solemn hour. I would say to you, my 
 Helen, do not murmur, have faith and patience, 
 if you find the power denied you to befriend 
 those children of your love and prayers in their 
 desolation. Such seems but too likely to be 
 the trial appointed you, in His inscrutable
 
 368 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 wisdom who sees that you need to learn that 
 lesson — hard, hard for our human hearts ! — "To 
 stand and wait/ — and to remember that God has 
 no need of anything that we can do. Have 
 faith, my Helen, have patience, reflect that man is 
 but God's instrument ; and leave with Him what 
 He shews you that you are not to be granted 
 leave to perform. I. who have prayed un- 
 numbered times that the future of my children 
 might be ordered otherwise than I fear it will be, 
 have been enabled to say this to you at last, 
 and to feel it. And now what remains to be 
 said ? The last word of all — the last to me, 
 for on the other side of the dark portal through 
 which I shall have passed €re this meets your 
 eye, that word is heard no more. Farewell — my 
 Helen ! Dearest, kindes*-, truest ,best of sisters ! 
 Farewell ! May the God of consolation, the 
 compassionate Saviour, hear my prayers for 
 you, and bless you, and sanctify to your souFs 
 eternal weal this bitter trial, and bring us in 
 His own good time to meet where we shall 
 never part again. 
 
 u In life and death, my Helen, your own 
 
 " Beatrice." 
 
 It was evening. The long hot day was 
 over; and Helen and her husband sat in a lux-
 
 K.IXGSCOXNELL. 369 
 
 curious apartment of tlieir villa in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Funchal. The soft and brilliant 
 moonlight, pouring in at the open windows, 
 rendered the light of the shaded lamps nearly 
 superfluous. Not a sound was audible without, 
 save the tinkling plash of a fountain, amongst 
 the odoriferous shrubs and flowers in the par- 
 terre beneath ; nor any within, save the occa- 
 sional rustling of Mr. Sempill's newspaper, as 
 he lay half-extended on a low divan, perusing 
 one of several that day received from Lon- 
 don. To Helen's ears another sound seemed 
 to break the stillness, — the loud quick throb- 
 bing of her own heart; as nerving herself to 
 the effort which she had for many days been 
 meditating, she sat with the sensation of the 
 diver about to plunge into the boiling Mael- 
 strom, and whispered to herself, — " Now is the 
 time, or never." 
 
 ' ' George " she said, " you did not tell me 
 whether you had any letters from Sempilltower 
 to-day ? 
 
 u .Ad I not ? " asked Mr. Sempill, looking 
 up. I had one from Reginald/' 
 
 " And did he give you any news ? " 
 
 " Nothing very particular. He says Wal- 
 ter's sons are there, and seems highly pleased 
 
 r 3
 
 370 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 with them. There is not much else in his letter. 
 He talks of having been several times of late, 
 shooting, and dining, and so forth, at Castle- 
 Guthrie. I sometimes think Reginald will 
 end by marrying one of the girls there, 
 and disappoint Walter's wife, who I know- 
 looks upon her boy as the heir of Sempill- 
 tower." 
 
 " I am sure," said Helen timidly, for this 
 was rather a tender subject, " he could not do 
 better. They are nice girls ; and any one might 
 be happy with Reginald. I had a letter from 
 Harry Lockhart to-day, George," she- added, 
 endeavouring to steady her voice, and to get 
 the better of the nervous dryness in her throat. 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated Mr. Sempill, reverting 
 to his newspaper, " so I observed." 
 
 "And one from poor Beatrice. Such a sad 
 letter ! Do you know that Harry has applied 
 for a ship again, already? and has just been 
 appointed to the Ajax." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, he could not do better. 
 I always expected he would return to sea 
 again." 
 
 u So did I ; but not so soon. I thought he 
 would have remained a little longer with the 
 poor children. I did not expect h'm to have
 
 KI.NCJSCONNELL. 371 
 
 broken up his household so very speedily. And 
 it is such a breaking up !" 
 
 Helen paused, half expecting that her 
 husband would ask what was to become of the 
 children ; but it was a question which, literally, 
 never occurred to Mr. Sempill. His heart was 
 in his newspaper, and what were Harry Lock- 
 hart's children to him ? Finding that he made 
 her no answer, she presently went on. 
 
 " I am so grieved, George, to fiud that 
 Harry has thoughts of leaving the poor 
 dear girls at the Grange, with his mother 
 and sisters." 
 
 " Has he really f" asked he, with some 
 slight degree of interest in his tone, which 
 gave Helen strength and courage to pro- 
 ceed, but which, in fact, was entirely at- 
 tributable to his extreme dislike to the style 
 of the Grange and its inhabitants. " I regret 
 to hear that for your nieces' sakes. It is a bad 
 plan, very/' 
 
 " But what else can he do, George, after 
 all ? He could not, as he truly says, leave 
 them alone in his own house; and his 
 mother's was the only home that offered for 
 them." 
 
 " I should have sent them to school, of
 
 372 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 course. Why on earth does he not? Imagine 
 two young ladies brought up by Willie and 
 Grace Lockhart [" 
 
 " My beloved Beatrice/' said Helen, alter- 
 nately flushing and becoming deadly pale, 
 " had the greatest dislike to a boarding-school 
 education for girls ; in which feeling I confess 
 I concur. She made it her dying request 
 to Harry that he would not send the girls 
 to school." 
 
 "Ah ! well/' replied Mr. Sempill in a tone 
 of resignation, "then of course there's no more 
 to be said. Only I must confess that in Lock- 
 hart's case, I should deeply regret having 
 fettered myself by any such unadvised pledge. 
 It is much to be deplored ! No business of 
 mine of course ; only as connexions, — and pretty 
 girls, too, they promise to be, — I regret to 
 think of their being left amongst such a set of 
 people." 
 
 "They are to have a governess," said 
 Helen ; and their father is of course to pay an 
 annual sum for their board with his mother. It 
 is not so much for their education that I regret 
 it ; that a governess can carry on anywhere. 
 It is the want of tenderness, the harshness 
 of Mrs. Lockhart and Miss Willie, the weak-
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 373 
 
 ness of Grace, that I dread for young girls. 
 And creatures like them, too, who have been 
 so cherished, so loved and cared for. It is such 
 a bitter thought to me, George I" 
 
 " Mr. Sempill made no reply. He probably 
 thought that time and words more than 
 sufficient had been expended on the subject. 
 He folded out the opposite side of his news- 
 paper, and leant back in his seat, as if to settle 
 himself to its perusal. Helen plainly perceived 
 that it was in vain to attempt any indirect 
 method of dealing with him, and felt em- 
 boldened by the crisis. 
 
 " George," she said, " will you listen to me 
 for a moment ? I have something to say 
 to you.''' 
 
 " Well, Helen ?" He laid down his news- 
 paper as he spoke, and turned towards her with 
 an air of absolute unconsciousness of what she 
 was about to say. 
 
 " George, I have a favour to ask of you. 
 Listen to me, dear George. My heart is 
 breaking for my sister's motherless children ! 
 George, will you let me offer to take charge of 
 them ? Will you let them come and live 
 with me V s 
 
 Mr. Sempill gazed at her for a moment in
 
 374 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 speechless astonishment; then, turning away 
 from her, he again took up the paper. " My 
 dear Helen," he said, " I really believe you are 
 not in your senses. Let me hear no more 
 of such folly." 
 
 " George," she exclaimed, "it is not folly. 
 I have thought of it, considered it, deeply. It 
 has dwelt on my mind ever since I heard the 
 tidings of my Beatrice's death. There could 
 be nothing simpler or more easily arranged. 
 They are to have a governess; let her come 
 here with them. In this immense house we 
 could accommodate four times as many more, 
 and find them in no one's way. It is a lovely 
 climate; there can be no objection on that 
 score ; and to have these dear girls with me 
 would be such an interest — such an occupa- 
 tion ! You know how much I want both ; how 
 many solitary hours I have to pass ! The 
 blessing they would be to me ! They would 
 give me a new object in life. George, will you 
 let me ask for the charge !" 
 
 11 Helen," returned Mr. Sempill, in a tone 
 whose measured coldness and calmness fell 
 upon the current of her agitated feelings like 
 ice upon fire, (C I can hardly bring myself to 
 believe that you are serious. If so, I can only
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 375 
 
 attribute it to your being most fatally over- 
 excited by those home-letters ; and treat you as 
 I should do a person in a brain-fever. Nothing 
 short of that could account for your seriously 
 imagining that I should allow mv wife to set 
 
 DO 1 
 
 up a boarding-house, and undertake the care of 
 another man's children." 
 
 " George, dear George ; my own sister's 
 children. My sister's poor motherless girls. 
 Think of it reasonably, dearest George ! how 
 many married sisters, even with families of their 
 own, have the care of each others' children ? 
 And here am I with none, nothing to hinder 
 my doing them justice, and imploring, beseech- 
 ing you, to listen to me, and grant my request. 
 Oh ! George, do not turn away so coldly. Do 
 not refuse me. Listen to me, George." 
 
 " You are mad, Helen ; I believe you are. 
 You never are yourself on the days when these 
 letters arrive. Once for all, let me hear no 
 more of this." 
 
 " George, it is no common request that I 
 am urging. I am asking leave to rescue the 
 children of my beloved Beatrice from mis- 
 management and unkindness. You yourself 
 feel that their grandmother's house is not a 
 fit home for them ; and who so proper to offer
 
 376 KINGSCONNELl,. 
 
 them one, as the only sister of their mother ? 
 You loved my Beatrice, George ; you mourned 
 for her death. Do not condemn me, with my 
 heart bleeding for her loss, to sit by and do 
 nothing for her children, when they so sorely 
 need my help. Do not be so harsh to me, 
 George, in this foreign land, where I have no 
 one but you to look to. Have pity on me, 
 and hear me." And in the passion of her en- 
 treaty, Helen sunk at her husband's feet. 
 
 If anything in the world could have ren- 
 dered George Sempill's heart more deter- 
 minedly obdurate than it was already, or more 
 effectually steeled him against the prayers of 
 his wife, a scene like the present would have 
 done it. It was with a look and gesture not to 
 be misunderstood or resisted, that he com- 
 manded Helen to " recollect herself, and rise 
 up instantly" 
 
 "Another word, Madam, upon this sub- 
 ject," he said; " another attempt at repeating 
 this frightful violence; another allusion, in 
 short, to any such request as you have thought 
 proper to urge in a manner so unprecedented ; 
 and I give you distinctly to understand that I 
 shall at once and for ever prohibit any further 
 correspondence with your nieces or your bro-
 
 KINGSCONNELI.. 377 
 
 ther-in-law. You hear me, and are aware that 
 I am not to be trifled with, nor is the peace of 
 my domestic life to be broken by the constant 
 interchange of incendiary letters. Now no 
 reply. You know the conditions upon which 
 your correspondence is to depend hencefor- 
 ward, and if you wish it to continue, you will 
 be careful to observe them." 
 
 Helen stood erect before him, pale, calm, 
 and tearless. "1 do, George," she said. "I 
 am in your power, and I bow to it. You shall 
 hear no mure vain requests from me." 
 
 She walked from the room without another 
 word, and Mr. Sempill, with a lofty sense of 
 injury mingling in his self complacency, once 
 more applied himself to his newspaper. 
 
 And Helen ? Those alone who have known 
 what it is " to write, with the heart's fiery rain, 
 wild words on dust," as she had done, can 
 fully sympathise with her- crushed, wounded, 
 trampled heart. On her face upon a couch, 
 her heaving bosom pressed against its cushions, 
 her burning, tearless eyes hid from the pitiless 
 moonlight ; her whole being one tumultuous 
 throbbing agony ; how long she lay she could 
 not tell. But still she seemed to feel those 
 young clinging arms around her neck, the
 
 378 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 pressure of those soft lips, those warm tears 
 falling on her cheeks in the parlour of the 
 Grange. Still arose before her the figure of 
 Beatrice, with her pale face, her uncurled locks, 
 her dress all dank with the morning dew, as 
 she ran in under the old gateway, for another 
 last embrace and last farewell. " My children, 
 my own poor children. It was a long fare- 
 well ;" she again and again repeated in her 
 heart. And then, by that inexplicable species 
 of oblivion that sometimes comes over the 
 mind which has sorrowed deeply, she said to 
 herself: "How Beatrice will feel for me when 
 I write all this to her." Alas, alas, poor Helen ! 
 for her that blessed outlet for all her troubles 
 was closed for ever. A pang, a thrill of 
 anguish unutterable dispelled the illusion in 
 the next instant, and brought before her mental 
 eye the prophetic words of her sister's last 
 letter. 
 
 . " Faith and Patience." Yes, my sainted 
 Beatrice; yes, angel of my life, that being dead 
 yet speakest, I do need to learn them. I do 
 need to be taught " to stand and wait." God be 
 merciful to me ! I may ask mercy in vain from 
 man, but none ever asked it in vain from Him. 
 And on her knees before her God, tears,
 
 KIXGSCONXELL. 379 
 
 blessed, salutary tears flowing in torrents, and 
 dispelling the tension of her brain ; the sooth- 
 ing, sanctifying spirit of her sister's latest 
 prayer, falling over her bleeding heart like balm, 
 thus, for a space, our narrative takes leave of 
 Helen Sempill. We leave her through long 
 years to carry on the silent warfare with her 
 own rebellious spirit, which marks the pro- 
 gress of the Christian pilgrim in this vale of 
 sorrow. We leave her to woman's lot, 
 
 " Silent tears to weep, 
 And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour." 
 
 To have "Jong patience/' to submit to in- 
 action ; to repose the cause of those she would 
 have died to serve, and might not, in the hands 
 of God ; to this we leave her j blessed in the 
 midst of trials so peculiarly trying to a dispo- 
 sition such as her's, if she be enabled thereby to 
 experience the gradual purification of her earthly 
 nature, and to look with confidence for the ful- 
 filment of the promises made to those who 
 " commit their ways unto the Lord.'-'
 
 380 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
 And the day is dark and dreary. 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, 
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in the hlast, 
 And the days are dark and dreary." 
 
 H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 It was a cheerless afternoon in the latter end 
 of September. The rain had been falling all 
 day ; not in hearty downright showers, which 
 come pouring all at once, and then are over, 
 but in that small driving mist, which is at once 
 the most hopeless and the most penetrating 
 species of aerial moisture. The hills were 
 blotted from the face of creation; the trees 
 only visible through a dim hazy medium, save
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 381 
 
 when close upon the high road ; country towns 
 looked dirty, wretched, and comfortless, and 
 country villages worse ; heavy drops huug to 
 the thatch and to the house eaves, whence they 
 did not seem to have life enough in them to 
 fall; dejected dogs skulked about barn doors, 
 and miserable draggled fowls collected under 
 sheds and upturned carts, for shelter. The 
 very ducks around the dubs and ponds seemed 
 to have less of life in them than they usually 
 manifest on a rainy day, and any human 
 bipeds to be met with looked upon a par with 
 the feathered. The only objects possessing 
 some faint show of cheerfulness were the village 
 smithies, whence a warm and ruddy glow of 
 light was here and there cast upon the close 
 dank atmosphere, and whence, occasionally, the 
 sound of voices might be heard to issue, as the 
 farm-servants, interrupted in their usual work 
 by the weather, congregated there with their 
 horses, and awaited their turn to have them 
 shod. 
 
 Such was the aspect of external nature 
 which presented itself to the eyes of a party 
 occupying a post-chaise, which was traversing 
 
 the high-road from Edinburgh to shire. 
 
 This was no other than Captain Lockhart and
 
 382 RINGSCONNELL. 
 
 his two daughters, with Jessy Christie, en- 
 veloped in cloaks, and covered by an enormous 
 umbrella, on the driving box. Under auspices 
 so dispiriting had taken place their departure, 
 on that morning from their once happy home, 
 and was to take place their arrival at their new 
 one ; and poor Beatrice, as with eyes dimned 
 by ever-gathering tears she gazed from the 
 chaise-window on the dreary view without, 
 thought in her own mind that the weather 
 well-befitted the occasion, and that she would 
 scarcely have had it otherwise if she might 
 have chosen. 
 
 It had been a woful day; a day to be 
 marked in the heart's calendar as black with a 
 weight of sorrow, such as peculiarly belongs to 
 the afflictions of early life, more akin in their 
 intensity to despair, while they last, than the 
 calmer and more enduring, but not deeper, 
 grief of later years. And in the case of Bea- 
 trice Lockhart, the poetical intensity of feeling 
 which marked her character, in proportion as it 
 tended to heighten every enjoyment, did in 
 like manner deepen every affliction. The last 
 strong clinging of the poor girl's heart to the 
 home of her infancy, was full of a pathos 
 beyond her age ; the visits to every room ^ i n
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 383 
 
 each one to live over again some scene of the 
 past, the gathering and treasuring up of the 
 last flowers she should ever gather in the 
 garden ; the farewell to the chamber where her 
 mother had died ; where on her knees beside 
 the bed, clinging to the pillows which had last 
 supported that beloved head, she poured forth 
 a passion of tears, and sobs, and inarticulate 
 prayers, from a heart full of more bitter anguish 
 than, it is to be hoped, often falls to the lot of 
 one so young ; each and all of these were eras 
 in her soul's history that never could be, and 
 never were, forgotten. This had passed on the 
 previous night; for their journey began at an 
 early hour in the day, but the morning brought 
 its own share of bitter grief. The last break- 
 fast together in the old familiar room, the last 
 time of Beatrice's acting as housekeeper for 
 her father, the last vestige of home ; these, 
 and the overwhelming distress of the two 
 servants who were left behind, at parting with 
 the children whom they had seen grow up from 
 infancy, formed an accumulation of woe to 
 mark the day which saw their once happy and 
 united household dispersed for ever. It may 
 be, now the last moment was arrived, so full of 
 a weight of anguish beyond his ideas, that
 
 384 IINGSCONNELL. 
 
 Captain Lockhart might have regretted the 
 
 precipitation with which he had flung from him 
 
 everything that belonged to his former life; 
 
 that when he saw his poor girls, in their deep 
 
 mourning, clinging with such heart-rending 
 
 sobs to the servants they were leaving, while 
 
 Jessy, weeping to suffocation herself, was 
 
 vainly endeavouring to comfort them, he might 
 
 have felt that he had scarcely acted as their 
 
 mother would have done, in thus tearing open 
 
 the unhealed wounds of such young and tender 
 
 hearts, and abandoning them so immediately 
 
 to the care of others who could not feel for 
 
 them as they had been felt for at home. It 
 
 might be, that when he looked around his own 
 
 dwelling for the last time, and felt that it was 
 
 the last, a thousand thousand reminiscences 
 
 might have rushed upon him, as if to reproach 
 
 him for so hastily quitting, and for ever, the 
 
 spot where they dwelt, and the objects with 
 
 which they were connected. But it was now 
 
 too late to dwell on these things ; and in 
 
 silence, in total silence, he shook hands with 
 
 the sobbing women, and followed his daughters 
 
 through the wet and cheerless garden, to the 
 
 gate where stood the chaise, and where the 
 
 dripping shrubs that overhung it shed their
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 385 
 
 heavy drops upon him as he passed out, like 
 the tears of a final farewell. 
 
 A woful clay it was indeed, and a melancholy 
 journey. But while the travellers are still at a 
 considerable distance from its termination, we 
 shall profit by the Asmodean privilege of an 
 author's craft, to observe what is taking place 
 under the roof of what was henceforward to 
 be their home. 
 
 The party at the Grange had partaken of an 
 early dinner, with the view of having tea ready 
 on the arrival of the travellers ; Captain Lock- 
 hart having announced his intention of dining on 
 the road. The meal being over, and the room, 
 according to custom, aired for a few minutes 
 after it by the opening of a window, which ad- 
 mitted more damp than air, Miss Grace, shiver- 
 ing and rubbing her hands, approached the fire- 
 place, and seized the poker. 
 
 " Dear ! how cold it is !" she exclaimed, 
 inflicting as she spoke a heavy blow upon 
 a black smouldering lump of coal, which filled 
 up half the grate. 
 
 " What are ye about, lassie V s said the old 
 lady in a sharp tone, rousing herself from a 
 doze into which she was just beginning to sink 
 in her easy chair, " let alane the fire." 
 vol. i. s
 
 386 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 " Fire, mother !" returned Miss Grace, 
 somewhat offended, " do yon call that a 
 fire ? We must have a better fire than this for 
 Harry and the children when they arrive. 
 This is perfect starvation on such a day." 
 
 "The fire's weel eneuch," replied the old 
 lady, " and would have been better if ye had 
 let weel alane. Willie, tak' an' gather the 
 coals thegither; she'll hae it a' burnt awa in 
 nae time. Where did ye learn sic wastrie, lassie ?" 
 
 " I must say, Grace," said Miss Willie, as 
 in conformity with the old lady's directions, 
 she proceeded to collect the fragments of scat- 
 tered coal within the grate, and pile them up, 
 so as to concentrate the fire, and diminish its 
 force, " I must say you are rather apt to forget 
 the high price of fuel." 
 
 (i High price, Willie ? You don't pretend 
 to say that coals are dear in this country ?" 
 responded Miss Grace, as drawing a chair close 
 to the fire-place, and ruffling up the hearth-rug 
 in the process, she planted her feet inside 
 the fender, turned up the skirt of her black 
 cotton gown that it might not be discoloured, 
 and opened a volume of a Emmeline; or, the 
 Orphan of the Castle," which lay on a table 
 close by.
 
 KTNGSCONNELL. 387 
 
 "A* thing's dear, bairn, where folk's scarce 
 o' money," was the oracular response of the old 
 lady; as, satisfied that the fire was now in less 
 imminent peril of burning away, she once more 
 closed her eyes, and suffered herself to sink 
 into slumber. 
 
 " I am afraid, Grace," said Miss Willie in a 
 solemn tone, " that you are disposed to forget 
 the double necessity we shall be under now of 
 observing and inculcating economy. Harry's 
 girls have many notions on that subject which 
 must be subdued, as I did not fail to observe 
 when I stayed there. They have been ac- 
 customed to many indulgences which they 
 must not look for here ; and we cannot begin 
 too soon as we mean to continue." 
 
 " Poor things \" exclaimed Miss Grace, the 
 good-natured self-indulgence of her disposition 
 coming in aid of her better feelings. " I can't 
 see any extravagance in that way, Willie, in 
 having a comfortable fire for them, when they 
 arrive cold and comfortless, and sad enough, I 
 doubt." 
 
 "Nobody wants to have a bad one," re- 
 torted Miss Willie sharply; •' but that's no 
 reason why we should make the room like an 
 oven now. I am sure," she added, after a 
 
 s2
 
 388 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 short pause, and fetching a deep sigh, " it is a 
 very serious charge we are undertaking, and will 
 involve a great sacrifice of comfort on our parts." 
 
 H Certainly, the children will be rather in 
 one's way now and then, "said Miss Grace, lean- 
 ing back in her chair, crossing her legs, and 
 holding up one slip-shod foot to the fire, " but 
 they are nice creatures. The governess will be 
 the worst trouble." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," almost groaned Miss Willie. 
 " A stranger living in the house, always in one's 
 way; interrupting all one's privacy; and a 
 most serious addition to the expense of living !" 
 
 u But, Willie," interposed her sister, some- 
 what timidly, " after all, the girls and she are 
 not goiug to live with us for nothing. The 
 board that Harry is to pay for them ought to 
 do more than cover their expenses." 
 
 " You are no great judge of expenses, 
 Grace," replied Miss Willie with a sardonic 
 smile, and sewing very fast, "I advise you to 
 talk of what you understand. When you take 
 the girls' keep, and their clothes, and extra 
 expenses, and the governess's board, and the 
 washing for them all, into consideration, there 
 is not too much left over, I can tell you. But 
 I myself mean to take charge of their clothes,
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 389 
 
 and enforce rigid economy in that and wash- 
 ing, and every thing else. I don't expect to 
 be able to do as I should like with them till 
 that nursery-maid of theirs, Jessy Christie, 
 leaves, for she has most unsuitable ideas ! But, 
 thank goodness ! the term is not very far onV' 
 Miss Grace had ceased to attend ere her 
 sister ceased to speak, and was again deep in 
 " The Orphan of the Castle." Time rolled on ; 
 the old lady woke up, resumed her knitting, and 
 the fire having now died very low within the 
 grate, permitted it to be reinforced with another 
 black lump of coal, which did little more than 
 keep it alive. Soon after this had been done, 
 one of the servants entered, and announced 
 that from the window of an upper room she 
 thought she had descried a post-chaise turning 
 in at the gate. This intelligence caused some 
 little stir. The old lady, with her own hands, 
 lent a very careful touch to the smouldering 
 fire, and pushed her arm-chair a little back 
 from the hearth. Miss Grace removed her feet 
 from the fender, let down the skirt of her gown, 
 and, being under considerable flutter and ex- 
 citement, dropped her book very nearly into 
 the grate, and wholly amongst the ashes, from 
 which she picked it up a little dirtier than it 
 
 s 3
 
 390 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 had been before, and laid it, only partially free 
 from the dust, on the little table near the fire, 
 which sustained Miss Willie's plain work, 
 exciting thereby the extreme indignation of her 
 sister; who, on her part, folded up her work, 
 and pushed the uncovered mahogany table in 
 the middle of the room, a little farther from 
 the hearth, so as to leave more space near it. 
 
 It ivas the chaise which had been discovered 
 approaching through the mist and rain. Its 
 wheels were now heard grinding on the wet 
 gravel, and stopping at the door; and the 
 whole party simultaneously issued forth into 
 the lobby to meet its occupants. 
 
 They alighted, — the pale, cold, trembling 
 girls, in their deep mourning, crossed the 
 threshold, and entered the door of their future 
 home. They were clasped in the arms of their 
 grandmother and aunts ; and the soft-hearted 
 Miss Grace, melting into a flood of tears, again 
 and again kissed Beatrice, who, as we have 
 seen, was in secret her great favourite. Their 
 reception from all was kind ; and yet it were 
 vain to attempt describing the sensation of chill 
 and dreariness which sunk upon the sad and 
 weary travellers on entering the parlour. The 
 cold, smouldering, black fire, the bare brown
 
 KINGSCONXELL. 391 
 
 table, the disorderly grouping of chairs around 
 the hearth, the crumbs which had fallen at 
 dinner still reposing on the ruffled floor-cloth, 
 the total absence of any thing like elegance, or 
 even comfort, — the very atmosphere of the 
 room, — chilly, yet close and oppressive, — it was 
 not to be told how each and all struck upon 
 the perceptions and the hearts of those vho had 
 left so different a home behind, and left it for 
 ever. It was scarcely so much the discomfort, 
 or the chilling cold, as the feeling that no one 
 had cared to disturb the usual routine of the 
 house to prepare for their reception, — that no 
 one had felt the necessity of giving them a 
 cheerful welcome, which fell with so depressing 
 an influence upon them. The impression of 
 that comfortless and cold arrival at the Grange 
 remained, as the impressions of early youth do 
 remain, burnt in upon Beatrice's very soul, and 
 even, though in a less degree, upon that of the 
 little Helen ; and never was forgotten by either. 
 The sisters were, after a little while, taken 
 up-stairs by their aunts, and installed in a room 
 near to that which had been their old sleeping- 
 place, with a window looking out into the garden. 
 The furniture of this room, originally not very 
 handsome or abundant, had received the additions
 
 392 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 of their mother's wardrobe and toilet-table, which 
 had been sent before them from Edinburgh, 
 and on which as their eyes now rested, neither 
 found it easy to refrain from a burst of tears. 
 Jessy, too, was there, disrobed of her wet 
 cloaks, and with a woe-begone countenance, 
 occupied in arranging her young ladies' trunks, 
 and to her Miss Willie, even at this moment, 
 could not refrain from giving utterance to some 
 of the irritation caused by the sight of her. 
 
 " What \" she exclaimed, " could the girls 
 not unpack their own trunks? High time 
 they should learn then. And now she must 
 beg Jessy to recollect that the room was to 
 be kept tidy, — that there was to be no splash- 
 ing of the mahogany wash-stand, nor of the 
 paper on the wall behind it." And after 
 sundry similar injunctions, delivered in a sharp 
 and dictatorial tone, she descended to make 
 tea ; while Miss Grace lingered a few minutes 
 behind her, sighing, wiping her eyes, and 
 patting her nieces on the shoulder ; then pre- 
 pared to follow, telling Beatrice to make haste 
 down stairs, for she must be so cold. 
 
 u We shall be down immediately, Aunt 
 Grace, thank you," said Beatrice, clasping her 
 arms round her aunt's neck, and kissing her.
 
 KIXGSCONNELL. 393 
 
 Miss Grace fervently returned the caress, and 
 departed in a fresh burst of tears. 
 
 " Cold \" exclaimed Helen, shivering. " Yes, 
 it is cold, and such a bad fire in the parlour ; 
 and Aunt Willie so cross V s 
 
 " Hush, Helen, dearest ! Poor Aunt Grace 
 is very kind/' 
 
 "Yes, Beatrice, I know. But oh ! Beatrice — 
 oh ! Jessy, dear ! I wish we were at home 
 again." 
 
 " Helen, don't make me cry," said Bea- 
 trice, biting her quivering lip. " I don't want 
 to go down stairs crying ; and — and if I once 
 begin, — 1 " 
 
 " No, my dear bairn, dinna gang doon cry- 
 ing," added Jessy, not in the steadiest voice 
 possible. "Miss Helen, my lamb, let me 
 smooth your bonny curls. Now, rin awa' and 
 get your tea ; it '11 pit some heart into ye." 
 
 And having seen her young ladies quit the 
 room with dry eyes, Jessy seated herself in 
 a chair, and gave free vent to the dreary load 
 of sorrow lying at her own faithful heart, in a 
 long and copious fit of weeping. From this 
 she at last composed herself, and having given 
 the room as " tidy" an aspect as circum- 
 stances would admit of, she too descended the 
 stairs ; but to a better fire and warmer wel-
 
 394 KINGSCONNELL. 
 
 come. Seated at tea, by the blazing kitchen 
 hearth, in the midst of Mrs. Lockhart's re- 
 spectable and old-fashioned servants, — required 
 by them to go over in minute detail every par- 
 ticular of the late mournful scenes, down to 
 the moment of their parting from home ; and 
 seeing and hearing on all sides tears of 
 sympathy and expressions of regret for the 
 affliction of the widower and his children, — 
 Jessy, in spite of all her sorrow, felt her heart 
 expand under the genial influence of kindness, 
 and no longer experienced the same desolate feel- 
 ings which she had done on their first arrival. 
 
 Very different was it with her young ladies. 
 No blazing fire awaited them on entering the 
 parlour. The black mass of coal had, it is true, 
 been partially broken, and some feeble tongues of 
 flame began to curl up around it ; but still the 
 room was bleak, chill, and comfortless. ' And 
 yet it bore a well-known character about it ; it 
 was full of miserable contrasts between the 
 vividty-remembered past and the present. The 
 old lady's easy-chair, her little black horse-hair 
 footstool, her small spider-legged work-table, 
 and exaggerated knitting-basket, — nay, her 
 very self (for she was always dressed in black) — 
 were just as they had been in the previous 
 November, when Captain Lockhart and his
 
 KINGSCONNELL. 395 
 
 family last had left the Grange. And there 
 — where he sat, so silent, sad, and gloomy, 
 in the corner of the old clumsy sofa against the 
 wall, — there had Beatrice last seen her father 
 sit, although with a very different aspect from 
 his present one. There lay Aunt Grace's dirty 
 novel, with the same circulating-library badge 
 upon it; there Aunt "Willie's coarse needle- 
 work. And there sat Aunt Willie herself, 
 presiding at the tea-table, which but little pains 
 had been taken to render more comfortable, 
 though the meal was a little more substantial 
 than ordinary. All bore its wonted aspect of 
 plenty, devoid of elegance, despoiled of all the 
 little agremens which lend a charm to life. 
 And then the change — the change — since last 
 the same party, and another — had assembled 
 round that table ! But upon that subject 
 Beatrice dared not trust herself to think. 
 
 It was a miserable evening, — a long, dark, 
 desolate evening ! And it was but the pre- 
 cursor of many more of its kind ; till speedily, 
 and yet laggingly, the days had glided on, and 
 Captain Lock hart, with bitter sorrow, aggra- 
 vated by self-reproach for having brought his 
 children to so uncongenial a home, had at last 
 departed, and left them there. Yet so deep
 
 39G HINGSCONNELL, 
 
 had been the gloom of his spirits from the hour 
 in which he had entered the house ; — so pain- 
 fully was his naturally sweet temper chafed and 
 rendered irritable by the discomforts and the 
 disagreeable natures around him ; and so 
 depressing were the silence and reserve in 
 which he seemed to have sought refuge from 
 the burden of his own reflections, that after the 
 first anguish of parting was over, it was per- 
 haps less of an abiding trial to his young 
 daughters to live there without him, than 
 to have had him present with them as he had 
 lately been. Of this feeling they were uncon- 
 scious; yet, as must inevitably be the case 
 wherever sorrow is suffered to affect the tem- 
 per, it nevertheless existed, even in their warm 
 and loving hearts. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 OSTETL, PRINTER, HART STREET, BEOOMSBURY.