f^ -a'f "^'t? l^' 
 
 L I B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN 1VER.SITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 C3s€>e

 
 LIFE AND ITS EEALITIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGIANA LADY CHATTERTON. 
 
 ATJTHOE OF 
 HOME SKETCHES," " EAMBLES IN THE SOUTH OF lEEIAND," 
 " THE PYBENEES AND SPAIN," &C. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13; GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1857.
 
 J. Billing, Printer, 103, Hatton Garden, London, and GuUdford, Surrey.
 
 i^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 rs.3 
 
 V. I 
 
 TO THE 
 
 .4 DUCHESS OF EOXBTJEGHE, 
 
 > THESE VOLUMES, 
 
 CONTAINING SKETCHES OF HUMAN LIFE 
 AND SOCIAL MOEALS, 
 
 BY HEB VEBY 8INCEEE FBIEND.
 
 LIFE AND ITS EEALITIES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONFIDENCE. 
 
 " It would never do ! you would be mise- 
 rable. It would be utter wretchedness if you 
 were to accept him/' said Mrs. Lennox to her 
 daughter Lucy. 
 
 " What there is in a word, in one little fool- 
 ish word !" thought the young girl. If she 
 had said, " Will, you will be miserable if you 
 accept him," then Lucy would have felt there 
 might be some remote chance that her mother 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Z LIFE 
 
 would relent, that she would be allowed to 
 make the experiment of being miserable. 
 
 And yet Lucy thought this misery was her 
 only happiness ; all the world would be dark 
 and gloomy if she were to refuse Augustus 
 Derwent. 
 
 Fortunately there was no reserve between 
 the mother and daughter, so Lucy uttered her 
 thoughts as she threw her arms around her 
 mother's neck, and tried to smile, though the 
 tears were running down her cheeks. 
 
 " I wish you had said * will ' instead of 
 ' would,' and I wish you had not put on that 
 determined face. For surely, dear mamma, 
 Harriet's husband will have much less. They 
 will be really poor." 
 
 " That is no matter, my dear child, Harriet 
 can struggle against poverty, but you could 
 never endure uncertainty." 
 
 " But he has quite given up gambling, and 
 has promised so positively, never even to spe-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 3 
 
 culate again, although his last scheme was 
 so successful, that he will be able to save 
 Rollston Court for his brother, and he has 
 now nearly as much as he had, when he came 
 into the property his aunt left him. And 
 really those fatal speculations, that ruined him 
 before, were entirely caused by his brother. 
 That Mr. Renton is such a dreadful person." 
 
 " He is indeed" said Mrs. Lennox ; " and, 
 alas ! poor Augustus, will always be under his 
 influence ; you would never be sure of any- 
 thing.'' 
 
 " But if it were all settled upon me, as he 
 now says it would be, he could hardly specu- 
 late with it.'' 
 
 " He would appeal to your feelings, and he 
 misjht under his brother's influence, so con- 
 trive to hamper the interest of his fortune, 
 that you would have no peace ; besides being 
 obliged, of course, to pay for all Mr. Kenton's, 
 and Lady Julia's extravagancies. They would, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LIFE 
 
 of course, live upon Augustus. And you little 
 know, darling child, what a short way two 
 thousand a year will go, to keep up the 
 appearances the Rontons think it necessary to 
 maintain. You fancy, because we have only 
 five hundred, and yet contrive to live comfort- 
 ably, that two thousand will furnish every 
 luxury and extravagance." 
 
 " Certainly Lady Julia is extravagant," said 
 Lucy, " and her brother is quite tired of pay- 
 ing their debts ; but she has suffered so much 
 the last year, from the loss of all her splendid 
 jewels and furniture, that I trust she will be 
 wiser." 
 
 Mrs. Lennox shook her head j for she well 
 knew that Lady Julia belonged to one of these 
 irretrievably thoughtless, and extravagant fami- 
 lies, who sometimes contrive to put a finishing 
 stroke to the ancient glories and possessions 
 of a time-honoured name. 
 
 *' You would never have any peace with
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 
 
 them all; and when some apparently hopeful 
 scheme was started, they would appeal to your 
 feelings ; for, alas ! Mr. Augustus Derwent 
 is not cured, my darling. I see plainly, he 
 would never have sufficient firmness to with- 
 stand his besetting sin. He does not pray 
 for strength ; his self-confidence will be his 
 ruin." 
 
 " Yet surely he is much more religious 
 than he was, he has been regularly to Church 
 and . . ." 
 
 " Ah, that was because he met you there, 
 my poor dear, but I saw his thoughts were 
 much more occupied with your pretty face, 
 than listening to the service. Darling child, 
 this is a sad moment ; I know your tears are 
 very bitter — you fancy everything will be 
 miserable — that Hfe will be very desolate and 
 wretched, yet I think — I hope and trust you 
 will get over it." 
 
 *' And you will not wish me to marry
 
 6 LIFE 
 
 Mr. Mandeville, dear mamma, I hope \ for that 
 would be much worse even than giving up 
 Augustus." 
 
 ''Certainly not, my darling; what could 
 have put such an idea into your head ?" 
 
 " Because Sarah Glentworth is always 
 saying that I am so wrong to refuse him — 
 that his fortune would enable me to do so 
 much good — that I could then build a church 
 at Hetherington, and have a school, and do all 
 sorts of things ; and as I have heard you say 
 that Sarah does so much good, I was afraid 
 you might agree with her about Mr. Mande- 
 ville." 
 
 " Sarah does a great deal of good, and is 
 very well meaning ; but I am surprised that 
 she could evince such a want of judgment as 
 to advise you to marry a person, however esti- 
 mable and good he may be, unless you could 
 love him. No," continued Mrs. Lennox with a 
 smile, " I am sure you would rather be an old
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 7 
 
 maid, even if ever so poor, than marry a 
 person you do not quite like." 
 
 " Yes, and if I could be such a dear kind 
 old maid as aunt Charlotte, I could not have 
 a better fate," said the young beauty with a 
 lightened heart, although she had a firm con- 
 viction that if she did not marry Augustus 
 Derwent, she would assuredly die an old maid. 
 But she had grown up without any of those 
 fatal prejudices, which form such inconvenient 
 scarecrows to most young ladies, and induce 
 many a disappointed, waning beauty to sa- 
 crifice her happiness, rather than incur 
 the dreaded reproach of being called an old 
 maid. 
 
 " Well, I will try to be happy," said Lucy, 
 as she dried her tears ; "I will try to think 
 of dear Harriet's happiness, and how glad she 
 \^ill be to see cousin George, now that dear 
 papa has been so kind, and that it is all 
 settled. And then you will miss her so when
 
 o LIFE 
 
 she marries, and goes all the way to Cumber- 
 land, it will never do for me to be sad; 
 for you will have no one to comfort you 
 but me !" And Lucy's tears flowed again, 
 partly at the prospect of losing her dear and 
 only sister, and partly at the thought that 
 she must now dismiss Augustus's image from 
 her mind ; and she felt a sort of shuddering 
 dread of the pain it would cost her to give 
 him up. 
 
 Mrs. Lennox read all the thoughts and 
 feelings that were undisguisedly depicted on 
 her daughter's expressive face ; and as she 
 pressed her to her bosom again and again, the 
 mother felt those stifled sobs — the pangs that 
 the poor girl was endeavouring to still in her 
 aching heart — and she fervently prayed that 
 her darling might obtain strength and peace. 
 
 And there was no disguising the fact, that 
 Lucy's tears were very bitter, and that it was 
 a sore trial.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 9 
 
 " O ! zarte Sehnsucht, Susses HoiFen, 
 Der ersten Liebe goldne Zeit, 
 Das Auge sieht den Himmel ofFen, 
 Es schwelgt das Herz in Seligkeit, 
 ! das sie ewig griinend bliebe 
 Die schone Zeit der jungen Liebe !" 
 
 Two years before, when the young Mr. 
 Derwent first came from college after suc- 
 ceeding to his great-aunt's property, which 
 gave him sufficient fortune to be independent 
 of the profession he had chosen, Lucy's pa- 
 rents saw that the passionate love he evinced 
 for their daughter was likely to be returned, 
 and that from his somewhat wild and unsteady 
 habits, he would not prove a satisfactory hus- 
 band. So they endeavoured to check the in- 
 timacy which had always existed between the 
 families. And they had so far succeeded in 
 arresting the course of the young people's 
 love, that what in a person of Lucy's impetuous 
 disposition would soon have become a violent 
 passion, was still only a strong predilection.
 
 10 LIFE 
 
 They bad contrived that she should never 
 brood over her unfortunate attachment, yet 
 they had not tried to bUnd her to its existence, 
 or even to exaggerate the defects of Mr. 
 Derwent. And she had been obliged to ac- 
 knowledge that he had shown much weakness 
 of character in having been persuaded to specu- 
 late, and in not having persevered in the pro- 
 fession he had chosen. 
 
 But he had come forward again, and ac- 
 knowledging his errors, promised most so- 
 lemnly to reform, and not again become en- 
 tangled in any extravagance or imprudence. 
 Yet, after due consideration, the parents felt 
 that they must refuse their consent. Mrs. 
 Lennox, particularly, knew that it was the only 
 safe course to pursue : fortunately she.had much 
 influence over her daughter, and contrived to 
 amuse and occupy her mind, and gradually 
 led her to take an interest in the preparations 
 for her sister's wedding.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 11 
 
 Yet Harriet's was what was called a " love 
 match," and many people wondered that the 
 parents should allow their eldest daughter to 
 marry her young cousin, who had no private 
 fortune, and had only lately obtained a small 
 living in Cumberland of a hundred and fifty 
 pounds a year — and that they had yet refused 
 to give their youngest to the handsome and 
 fascinating Mr. Derwent, who belonged to the 
 time-honoured family of Renton, formerly the 
 wealthiest in the county. 
 
 He had besides, although a younger son, 
 succeeded to a good property, left by his great- 
 aunt, Lady Laura Derwent, daughter of the 
 last Earl of Ilminster, and had taken the 
 name of Derwent, in compliance with her 
 wishes, as the old title was extinct, and she 
 had been the last who bore that ancient name. 
 
 It seemed strange that a poor clergyman 
 should refuse such a match for his penniless 
 daughter. But the world in general does not
 
 12 LIFE 
 
 trouble itself to look beyond the surface, nor 
 are the bulk of mankind capable of under- 
 standing the motives of persons who, like the 
 good clergyman, Mr. Lennox, and his simple- 
 minded wife, are more anxious to act according 
 to the real precepts of Christianity, than to 
 follow the usages and codes of morality formed 
 by custom and the perversion of true religion. 
 
 But the mother suffered almost as much as 
 Lucy in refusing Mr. Derwent this second 
 time, and bitterly regretted that she could not 
 have saved her child from the disappointment ; 
 and as time passed on, she became even more 
 fully aware of the severe trial it had been. 
 
 Mrs. Lennox had seldom travelled beyond 
 her own primitive county, or read any other 
 books than those her own language afforded ; 
 but she was placed in the rank of life most 
 conducive to the development of good, though 
 not perhaps of brilliant qualities. She belonged 
 to the middhng class of the latter part of the
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 13 
 
 last century, and beginning of this. Her time 
 had neither been frittered away in the pursuit 
 of fashion or what is called pleasure and accom- 
 plishments, or wasted in the drudgery of pro- 
 curing her own living. She had never con- 
 versed with the wits and poets of the day, or 
 seen any one more amusing than her own 
 somewhat droll and good-humoured husband. 
 She had^never even suffered or felt intensely, 
 yet the study of scripture had made her suffi- 
 ciently large-minded to enter into the sorrows 
 of others, so she did not blind herself to 
 the suffering poor Lucy felt; but her right 
 judgment saw it was inevitable, and she 
 exerted her best energies to heal her daughter's 
 wounded heart. 
 
 In this endeavour she was ably assisted by 
 her husband, although from his impulsive and 
 passionately affectionate disposition, he some- 
 times allowed himself to feel that it was rather 
 hard upon the poor girl, and only that he had
 
 14 LIFE 
 
 full confidence in his wife's steady and sober 
 judgment, he would have been disposed to 
 relent. He might have endeavoured to believe 
 the solemn assurances Mr. Derwent gave, that 
 nothing should ever induce him to speculate 
 or gamble again. 
 
 Mr. Lennox was full of that sort of kindness 
 that surrounded him with a sunny atmosphere, 
 which seems to inspire spontaneous happiness 
 in others, and calls forth the best and most 
 joyous quahties of their nature. To some, who, 
 like his daughter Harriet, possess by nature a 
 sensitive and somewhat apprehensive temper- 
 ament, her father's presence always gave a sort 
 of quiet cheerfulness, and it produced in all his 
 household a gaiety equally unrestrained and 
 without effort. For he had the rare faculty 
 that lightened or rather turned to mirth the 
 little rubs and inconveniences that are insepa- 
 rable from limited means and a small house 
 and establishment.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 15 
 
 If Mr. Lennox had lived much in the great 
 world, this faculty might have been developed 
 into the sort of wit that made Sidney Smith 
 so popular. But it had been only drawn out 
 for the amusement of his own family, the illus- 
 tration of his village sermons, and to assist in 
 bringing home truths to the minds of his 
 hearers in a pleasing and cheering point of 
 view. 
 
 Such a one is described by Gerald G. 
 Massey : — 
 
 " A soul of sweetness from each wrinkle smiled ! 
 There was strange glory in the old man's eyes, 
 Which, with Life's setting splendour, shone a glow. 
 Like windows lighted in a sinking sun 
 That paints fair morrow. Pleasant was the sight. 
 For he had reached the shining sunset isles 
 
 r That fade into the eternal heavens, and lo ! 
 The whisper of a happy memory smiles."
 
 16 • LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 ** We shall not have many more such walks 
 as these together dearest Lucy," said Harriet, 
 to her sister, as they were returning home one 
 fine summer's evening. " But you must not 
 look so sad, darling ; though it is very hard to 
 part from you all, and go so far away." 
 
 Lucy blushed and burst into tears, for she 
 felt very guilty, and much humiliated at find- 
 ing that her sadness was not entirely owing to 
 the anticipated loss of her sister. But she 
 would not conceal the fact, and therefore
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 17 
 
 confessed with still more blushes, that she 
 could not help often thinking of Augustus 
 Derwent. 
 
 " I wish you would try to like Mr. Mande- 
 ville ; I am sure he is such a very dehghtful 
 person, and he would endeavour to make you 
 so happy," said Harriett ; for as she felt more 
 and more joyful in the prospect of being 
 united to the person she had always loved, 
 it seemed still harder, she thought, that 
 Lucy should be disappointed ; and so she tried 
 to induce her to look favourably on the 
 young man who was devotedly attached to 
 her, and whose excellent character and posi- 
 tion seemed so well calculated to ensure her 
 happiness. 
 
 But when she saw the look of horror and 
 dread on her sister's expressive countenance, 
 at the mention of his name, she continued, 
 with a sad smile — " Don't look so frightened, 
 darhng ; it is very strange that you seem to 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 LIFE 
 
 shudder sometimes, when I say a word in his 
 praise." 
 
 " It does frighten me," said Lucy, as she 
 turned quite pale ; *' for I have a sort of idea, 
 that, in spite of all my dread, I shall, in some 
 strange manner, be obliged to marry him. 
 Why, I cannot imagine ; for dear papa and 
 mamma never urge it ; but it is quite a sort of 
 nightmare, and I often wake up out of a dread- 
 ful dream, where I have felt myself dragged to 
 the church, and Mr. Mandeville was forcing a 
 wedding ring on my finger. I had quite a 
 pain in it when I awoke the other night ; and 
 was so possessed with the idea that I was ac- 
 tually married, that I felt my finger several 
 times, and even looked at it, in the moonlight, 
 to convince myself that there was no ring, and 
 it was only a frightful dream." 
 
 " Yet it is not easy, darling Lucy, for any 
 one to induce you to do what you do not like ; 
 nor, indeed, does any one ever venture to try ; 
 
 *
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 19 
 
 for the flash of your fiery eyes ; and those re- 
 solute eyebrows, and your proud and deter- 
 mined mouth, would soon warn them that it 
 was impossible." 
 
 " It is not likely any one would try, cer- 
 tainly," said Lucy with a faint smile. 
 
 " And I am sure Mr. Mandeville is too un- 
 selfish and generous, to wish that you should 
 be made unhappy ; only he told me the other 
 day, he would be quite satisfied if you con- 
 sented to marry him, although he knows your 
 heart has always been given to poor Augustus. 
 But I see now you are not thinking of what I 
 am saying ; your thoughts are far, far away/' 
 
 " I should not mind never seeing Augustus 
 again," said Lucy, after a pause, as she dried 
 the tears that started to her eyes — " I should 
 not mind, if I thought he would ever find 
 any one to understand him, and — perhaps even 
 to influence him as well as I think I could. , . . 
 There are very few people he likes, and he says 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LIFE 
 
 the London girls, and all those he meets with, 
 are so difierent,...,.and to think that he will 
 never marry, never have any home never." 
 
 "My darling Lucy, do you mean that you 
 would really rather he would marry ? Oh 
 then indeed you must be very good — far better 
 than I am; and indeed I always thought so ; for 
 I could not endure the idea of George marry- 
 ing any one else — no, not even if I were dead. 
 Yes, papa is quite right, and, in spite of your 
 hot temper and little oddities, you are the 
 most unselfish person that ever lived. And 
 now I verily beheve you would quite make up 
 your mind to lose Augustus, if you thought 
 he could be happy without you." 
 
 " But you see darling," continued Harriett, 
 after a pause, to admire the lovely and loving 
 expression on her sister's face — " you see how 
 right mamma's judgment was ; for only two 
 days after they decided to refuse him, he be- 
 came again irretrievably involved, quite ruined/'
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 21 
 
 "Poor Augustus !" said Lucy, with a heavy 
 sigh ; " I am afraid that may have been caused 
 by his disappointment. Papa even thought 
 so : and that he did not know what he was 
 doing, and his dreadful brother made him spe- 
 culate. But I know I am wrong to think 
 about this at all ; for I must and will be cheer- 
 ful, and not make them miserable. Let us 
 sit down on this stile for a few minutes, for 
 this is my favourite spot ; the birds always 
 seem to sing more sweetly here, and the dear' 
 beautiful cuckoo, the first we have heard this 
 summer." 
 
 " I delight most in the bu2z of insects, in 
 the corn-fields," said Harriett, " and the sounds 
 from the farm yard, and the plashing of ducks 
 in the pond, every thing looks and feels so 
 happy, and how delicious is the smell of the 
 new hay.'* 
 
 " And it is all the more delightful, dear Har- 
 riett, because it reminds you of that happy
 
 22 LIFE 
 
 evening, just this time last year, when you 
 and George discovered why you had both be- 
 come so shy, and seemed to be so much afraid 
 of each other, that we all thought you had 
 quarrelled. Oh, what a bUssful day that was, 
 when you came home with your eyes full of 
 glad tears, and when we all saw at once what 
 had happened, without your saying a word. 
 You were as happy as I was, when Augustus 
 
 first but I must not think of myself, or 
 
 rather I must live only in your and dear 
 George's delight, and be thankful for all the 
 great blessings we enjoy. And there is going 
 to be a splendid sunset ; look how the slant- 
 ing rays are gleaming on the stems of those 
 fine beech trees, and on the distant downs, and 
 among the waving corn. What a lovely scene 
 this is 1" 
 
 Yet there was nothing particularly pic- 
 turesque in the landscape. It was one of 
 those little wooded valleys, or rather nooks, in
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 23 
 
 the south of England, where a village nestles 
 under the steep and sunny shoulder of a high 
 South Down ; and where the grey Norman 
 tower of an old church may be seen, near 
 some dark yew trees on a low mound. A 
 clear trout stream winds at its base, close to 
 the grave yard ; then traverses the irregular 
 hamlet, and skirting the little terraced garden 
 of the venerable gable-ended Rectory, makes an 
 abrupt turn at the farther corner, where the 
 trimly clipped yew hedge terminates in an old- 
 fashioned summer-house. The stream then 
 rushes with a lively glee around that happy- 
 looking spot, and dances and babbles with a 
 joyful sound over some white stones, and turns 
 again coquettishly, as if to shew its fairness to 
 the inmates of the old house, or to catch ano- 
 ther glimpse of those irregular casements and 
 quaint pinnacles ; and then proceeds more 
 slowly near the adjoining farm-yards and under 
 a grove of beeches, that join their broad arms,
 
 24 LIFE 
 
 and arch them fondly over its clear and tran- 
 quil depths. 
 
 A broad expanse of breezy downs rises 
 abruptly behind the church, and encloses the 
 scene on the north side ; while towards the 
 south, the ground slopes downwards in corn- 
 fields and gently undulating mounds, where 
 our little friend, the trout stream, pursues its 
 glittering course, occasionally sparkling among 
 green meadows, and then hurrying on towards 
 the sea. 
 
 And in the same direction, far far away, 
 and on some very clear day, if you cUmb up 
 to the highest part of the steep down behind, 
 where there is a Danish encampment, and 
 where the sheep are browsing among the 
 barrows, you may get a glimpse of the blue 
 sea, and breathe its invigorating briny air, 
 mingled with the scent of the wild thyme 
 and aromatic herbs that are basking in the 
 sunshine at your feet.
 
 AND ITS REAXITIES. 25 
 
 The whole scene possessed a sort of repose- 
 ful, homely charm on that glowing summer's 
 evening, and the sisters' healthy minds and 
 cultivated hearts had learned to discover and 
 fully enjoy the beauty that exists in common 
 things — and Mr. Lennox had taught them to 
 make the most of every moment of innocent 
 enjoyment, and to lay up a store of happy and 
 peaceful thoughts and feelings to cheer sickness 
 and dark hours withal, and never to lose their 
 time in discontented ingratitude, and vague 
 repinings. 
 
 " God's glory lies not out of reach : 
 The moss we crush beneath our feet. 
 The pebbles on the wet sea-beach, 
 Have solemn meanings strange and sweet. 
 
 ** The peasant at his cottage door 
 
 May teach thee more than Plato knew ; 
 See that thou scorn him not : adore 
 God in him, and thy nature too. 
 
 ** Nor cross the sea for gems, nor seek : 
 Be sought. Fear not to dwell alone.
 
 26 LIFE 
 
 Possess thyself. Be proudly meek, 
 See thou be worthy to be known. 
 
 " Be quiet. Take things as they come : 
 Each hour will draw out some surprise ; 
 With blessing let the days go home ; 
 
 Thou shalt have thanks from evening skies."* 
 
 And although their days were fully employed, 
 Harriett and Lucy had always leisure sufficient 
 to pause and dwell with deHght on the beauties 
 of nature in such a scene as this ; for they 
 were not entangled with the giddy " whirl of 
 sin/' that too often, alas ! 
 
 "Fills ear and brain, and will not let 
 Heaven's harmonies come in." 
 
 The appearance of the two sisters was so 
 different, that if they had not both possessed 
 a peculiar expression of kindness in their 
 features, and a sort of naturally graceful refine- 
 ment in their air, they would never have been 
 taken for relations. 
 
 Harriett's calm blue eyes, that sometimes 
 * Owen Meredith.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 27 
 
 beamed with quiet humour — her fair skin, 
 light auburn hair, and well formed features, 
 might have furnished a good type of the Saxon 
 style of beauty ; while Lucy's dark hair and 
 large eyes, that often flashed with a quick 
 impetuosity, and the next moment seemed to 
 dance with fun, her diminutive yet strong 
 hands and feet were evidently from the 
 race of the Plant agenets. Then Harriett was 
 tall, and her well-proportioned figure fully de- 
 veloped ; while Lucy was rather below the 
 middle size, and so slender and fairy-like, and 
 her quick movements had such a sort of airy 
 gracefulness, that she often seemed to hover 
 rather than walk upon the earth. Yet although 
 she was so much smaller and younger-looking 
 than her sister, there was an expression of 
 strong determination, and even more developed 
 character in her broad forehead ; and with all 
 her gentle softness of manner, she had that air 
 of decision, which, as Harriett had just said,
 
 28 LIFE 
 
 made people feel that her powerful will would 
 not be easily influenced, and, in fact, that she 
 generally had her own way. It was therefore 
 the more touching that she should have so 
 entirely submitted to her mother's better judg- 
 ment, as to sacrifice her love for Augustus Der- 
 went ; and showed that, besides her natural 
 talent for governing others, she had been edu- 
 cated to the more difficult task of governing 
 herself. 
 
 They had been meditating in silence for a 
 few minutes as they sat on the stile, when 
 Harriett suddenly rose and exclaimed, " Ah, 
 Lucy, I had quite forgotten that Peggy is gone 
 home to see her sick mother — she asked leave 
 to go and help her, and there will be no one 
 to prepare supper, for Mamma is busy making 
 all my new things, so 1 had better return 
 home at once, and you can go alone with the 
 basket to old Nelly's cottage. But walk quick, 
 darUng, or you will be late for supper, and
 
 AND ITS E^ALITIES. 29 
 
 Papa will not like your being alone, if it 
 gets dark." 
 
 Lucy started up, or rather jumped nimbly 
 down from the top of the stile where she 
 had been perched, and took up the large 
 basket, which was still more than half full of 
 the provisions they had been distributing to 
 some of the poorest cottages. 
 
 "It was very stupid of me," continued 
 Harriett, not to have remembered before that 
 Peggy is gone out ; for then we could have gone 
 first over the downs to Nelly's, and you might 
 now be taking the things to the other cottages, 
 where there are plenty of people about, instead 
 of having to go over these lonely downs by 
 yourself." 
 
 " It can't signify,'* said Lucy — " I shall be 
 quite safe, and it is not more than half an 
 hour's walk to dear old Nelly's ; and I shall be 
 returning over Winbarrow Down in time for 
 the splendid sunset, just as the sun will be
 
 30 LIFE 
 
 sinking into the sea." And Lucy jumped 
 high in the air, and clapped her Httle hands 
 with glee at the thought of beholding her 
 favourite sight on such a beautiful evening, 
 and then started off at a quick pace, or rather 
 with a sort of dancing run, along the narrow 
 path which led through some fields to the 
 downs. 
 
 *' Brown her soft curls, sunbeam- sainted^ 
 
 Golden in the wavering flush ; 
 Darker brown her eyes are, painted 
 
 Eye and fringe with one soft brush. 
 
 Thro' the leaves a careless comer, 
 
 Never nymph of fount or tree 
 Could have press'd the foot of summer 
 
 With a lighter foot than she. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Shadows, which are not of sadness, 
 
 Touch her eyes and brow above ; 
 As pale wild roses dream of redness. 
 
 Dreams her innocent heart of love !"* 
 
 Harriett proceeded more leisurely in the 
 * Allingham.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 31 
 
 contrary direction, and occasionally turned 
 back to gaze on the retreating form of her 
 sister, while the tears started to her eyes, and 
 she thought — " At times she seems quite heart- 
 whole and contented, and then the next moment 
 there is such a sad look in her eyes, that I feel 
 she never will be quite happy. Darhng Lucy ! 
 how sad it is that Augustus could not have 
 been worthy of her !" 
 
 And then Harriett started and turned pale, 
 as she suddenly remembered a rumour that 
 had reached her ears the preceding day, 
 when she drove into Ilminster with her 
 father. Some friends had told her that it 
 was reported that Augustus Derwent had 
 won a large sum at play, and that he had 
 been able to repurchase RoUston Court, his 
 brother's old residence, from the manufacturer 
 who had bought it two years ago, Harriett 
 had purposely not mentioned this rumour to 
 her sister, as she knew it would unsettle her
 
 32 LIFE 
 
 mind to no purpose, and she had therefore 
 tried to forget it herself ; for Lucy had such 
 a wonderfully quick faculty for reading the 
 thoughts of others, that Harriett knew if she 
 thought on the subject at all, her sister would 
 be sure to divine it, and draw from her an 
 exact report of what she had heard. 
 
 But now she reproached herself for having 
 allowed her sister to go alone to Nelly's ; for 
 the old nurse's cottage was on the road to 
 RoUston Court, and in former times, before 
 Mr. Derwent had proposed, he used often to 
 meet the sisters in their walks over the Downs. 
 Harriett remembered with dread, that if the 
 report were true, and that Augustus had ac- 
 tually returned, he would, of course, come to 
 see them, if he still loved her sister ; and most 
 certainly that his first walk would be to the 
 top of that hill, from whence he could look 
 down upon the old Rectory. 
 
 As soon as she reached home, Harriett told
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 33 
 
 her mother of the report, and of her fears 
 and self-upbraidings, at having allowed Lucy 
 to proceed alone. 
 
 " It cannot be helped now," said Mrs. Len- 
 nox, as she half unconsciously joined her hands, 
 and offered up a prayer for her darhng child. 
 " If they are to meet again, it may be as well 
 to-day as to-morrow. Poor dear child ! I was 
 in hopes she would be spared the pain of re- 
 fusing him again ; for if his inheritance has 
 been regained by such a means as play, it 
 would be madness to allow them to marry.'' 
 
 VOL. I,
 
 34 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DANGER. 
 
 Lucy proceeded at a quick pace, till she 
 reached the top of Winbarrow Down ; and 
 then she stopped for a moment, to gather some 
 wild honeysuckles, that grew near a little 
 clump of beeches on the other side of the hill. 
 This spot commanded a most extensive yet 
 very different view over the inland scenery, 
 and Lucy's eyes involuntarily turned towards 
 an old grey Elizabethan mansion that could 
 be seen about a mile oflP, among some fine old 
 oaks, and in the centre of what was formerly
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 35 
 
 a deer park. Bat there were no deer now, 
 and most of the finest trees had been cut 
 down, sacrificed at different times, in the en- 
 deavour to stave off utter ruin from the old 
 family, who had possessed the place since 
 Henry the Eighth's time. 
 
 " No human figure stirred, to go or come, 
 
 No face looked forth from shut or open casement } 
 No chimney smoked, there was no sign of home 
 From parapet to basement.'* 
 
 And the last sad change, which Lucy re- 
 membered well, was the destruction of the old 
 terraced garden, which formerly sloped down 
 to the river, on the south side, and had been 
 replaced by the tasteless millionaire who had 
 bought it, with one of those modern winding 
 shrubbery gardens, that came into fashion, and 
 disfigured most places, about forty or fifty 
 years ago. Lucy could see, even at that dis 
 tance, the staring fresh gravel walks and 
 sprawling, gaudy flower-beds, where the old 
 terraces, with their grey walls, and vases, and 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LIFE 
 
 now be seen at the end of the next corn-field, 
 flights of steps, led from the south dining-room 
 porch down to the little boat-house on the 
 river. She remembered the exact spot where 
 the old sun-dial had stood, and her mind's eye 
 saw it all much plainer than the visible sight 
 before her, because she peopled it with the 
 living past, and heard in memory's ear the 
 sound of that dear voice, that had first whis- 
 pered words of love on those terrace walks. 
 And the tears now started to her eyes, so that 
 she could not see the real disfigured Rollston 
 Court, and the past became all the more vivid, 
 and present to her mind. And as she thought 
 and remembered various scenes that would 
 return, the efi'ort to forget and to be happy 
 became very irksome and painful. 
 
 " To rende a cherished love apart, All effort faileth ; 
 It sorely grieveth the poore hearte. And ne'er prevaileth j 
 Memorie that fain would banish it. Still is pursuing, 
 And the hard struggle to forget, Is the renewing!" 
 
 But Lucy knew she must not loiter, so she 
 proceeded quickly to the cottage, which could
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 37 
 
 Her step had lost its elastic bound, and the 
 traces of tears were still visible on her cheeks 
 when she entered the old nurse's little garden. 
 But Lucy suddenly remembered, that her dear 
 nurse, who was very infirm, and had been ill 
 lately, would be saddened and miserable, if 
 she saw her darling child look unhappy. So 
 she endeavoured to assume a cheerful air ; and 
 as she generally gave notice of her approach 
 by singing one of the old woman's favourite 
 airs, she began to warble a few notes of that 
 plaintive melody, ''Ye banks and braes of 
 bonnie Doon." 
 
 As she entered the little low room, where 
 the old woman sat at her spinning wheel, Lucy 
 was singing, in an unconsciously melancholy 
 tone : — 
 
 *' Ye little birds, ye break my heart ! 
 Ye mind me of departed joys, 
 Departed never to return." 
 
 " That was a song as always makes me cry, 
 though I do so dearly love it," said old Nelly,
 
 38 LIFE 
 
 as Lucy stood before her, and put down her 
 basket. Then before the old woman had time 
 to note that she had been crying, Lucy threw 
 her arms round Nelly's neck, and kissed her 
 still handsome face, and fondly stroked the 
 grey hair that was combed backwards, under 
 her high and old-fashioned cap. 
 
 " Do you know, I must take your picture,'' 
 said Lucy with a playful smile. *' So — just as 
 you are now, with this flowered chintz dress 
 tucked up over your quilted petticoat, and the 
 plain white cap, that you contrive always to 
 put on in such a way that it looks like the old 
 picture of Queen Catherine that used to be at 
 Rollston/ " 
 
 " What makes you look so pale, and weary, 
 my child?" said old Nelly, who was too much 
 engrossed in scrutinising her sweet nurseling's 
 face to give heed to what she was saying. " I 
 know how it is, though you try to laugh and 
 look so gay. I know very well you're a frettin'
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 39 
 
 away all the roses from your cheeks ; that you 
 are ; and I told master so, that last time he 
 com'd, says I, that " 
 
 "Don't, dear Nelly, I can't bear you to 
 think I am unhappy, or to make papa mise- 
 rable about me ; besides, if I am, it is all my 
 own doing, it is not their fault." 
 
 " No, I know very well whose fault it is, 
 though," said the old woman with kindling 
 eyes. " It is that there brother of his. But 
 hav'n't ye heard the news? I thought you 
 would have been so delighted." 
 
 "What news?" 
 
 " What, hav'n't ye heard that Master Augus- 
 tus is a coming back ; that he has bought the 
 old place again, from that hoity-toity chap of 
 a cotton spinner, Mr. Smith, who thinks hisself 
 better nor the king ? least way. Jemmy heerd 
 tell on it yesterday, when he went to market ; 
 but may be it aint true, and sure Mr. Augus- 
 tus hisself would have been the first to tell
 
 40 LIFE 
 
 ye of it, I should think. There now, you 
 have something like roses again, and your eyes 
 shine like two stars." 
 
 ** It can't be true," said Lucy, as she endea- 
 voured to look composed, while she felt angry 
 with the blush that would mount to her cheeks. 
 " Well, I must not stay any longer, dear Nelly ; 
 I promised to be home before it is dark." 
 
 " I wish Jemmy had been back, to go with 
 you," said Nelly, " or that my old legs could 
 move without them crutches. And stay, you 
 are going away without the basket.'' 
 
 Lucy hastily emptied the contents into some 
 of the highly-polished pewter plates which 
 adorned the old oak dresser, and placed some 
 cream cheese and other little delicacies on a 
 table near the old woman. 
 
 " Now good night, and eat a good supper." 
 
 " May God bless and guide your steps, and 
 keep you from all harm," said the old woman 
 fervently, as she placed her withered hands,
 
 # 
 
 AXD ITS REALITIES. 41 
 
 with a sort of solemn fondness, on the young 
 girl's fair brow, while she half regretted that 
 she had mentioned a report, which she saw 
 had agitated her child even more than she 
 wished to acknowledge. 
 
 " Now don't stay any longer, and walk as 
 quick as you can, or you'll be in the dark on 
 ' Dead Man's Hollow.' And though I don't 
 know as you're much afraid ot ghosts, it's still 
 an ugly place to be in after dark." 
 
 Lucy hastened away, and did not even once 
 turn round to take a last look at RoUston 
 Court, though she knew the almost setting 
 sun must be lighting up the western end, and 
 glistening on the broad casements of the long 
 gallery ; for she was determined to reach the 
 top of Winbarrow before the sun went down. 
 So she never stopped until she reached the 
 other side of the steep hill ; and then she 
 paused for a moment, to enjoy the glorious 
 view, which had no painfully perplexing asso-
 
 42 LIFE 
 
 ciations connected with it. And she was able 
 to enjoy the magnificent sight — to feel as well 
 as to see the beauty of that calm sea, which 
 reflected the gorgeous colours of the sky, and 
 seemed to smile as it received the orb of day 
 into its rosy depths. 
 
 ** Before the sun was set, 
 A darker ripple rolled over the sea : 
 The white rocks quivered in walls of jet ; 
 And the great West opening, breathlessly 
 Up all his inmost orange, gave 
 Hints of something distant and sweet 
 That made her heart swell ; far up the wave 
 The clouds that lay piled in the golden heat 
 Were turned into types of the ancient mountains 
 In an ancient land * * 
 
 And when over all of these the Night 
 Among her mazy and milk-white signs 
 And clustered orbs, and zigzag lines, 
 Burst into blossom of stars and light. 
 The sea was glassy, the glassy brine 
 Was paven with lights — blue, crystalline, 
 And emerald keen ; the dark world hung 
 Balanced under the moon, and swung 
 In a net of silver sparkles/'f * * 
 f Owen Merideth.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 43 
 
 She stood still to watch the sun, tiU the 
 glowing point had disappeared amid the 
 waves, and then she heard a sound behind 
 which made her start. It was a joyful bark, 
 and the next moment a large Newfoundland 
 dog bounded towards her, and with a whine 
 of dehght, nestled its shaggy head into her 
 caressing hand. 
 
 ''Rover," said a well-known voice — but 
 Lucy did not seem to hear, or perhaps she 
 wished to hide the blushes that mounted to 
 her cheeks, for she stooped down to caress the 
 dog, who on its part, was most eager and wil- 
 ling to engross all her notice. But one of her 
 Uttle hands that rested on the dog's head 
 was gently taken away, and as she felt 
 the well-known touch, she could not avoid 
 seeing that Augustus Derwent was by her 
 side. 
 
 Yet she withdrew her hand hastily, while 
 she endeavoured to look composed, and to
 
 44 LIFE 
 
 listen with an air of indifference to the excuses 
 he was making for having intruded. 
 
 " I know it is useless," said Mr. Derwent, 
 with a look of despondency on his handsome 
 features, " quite useless, yet I could not help 
 walking in this direction, and indeed I was 
 going to venture to-morrow morning to call 
 on your father. — Listen to me for one mo- 
 ment," he eagerly said, as he saw she wanted 
 to hurry away, " and then I will never trouble 
 you with my hated presence again, if you con- 
 demn me ; I will tell you the exact truth, I 
 will conceal nothing, and then you shall judge 
 me yourself." 
 
 " You can call to-morrow morning and see 
 papa, but I must return home now — they 
 would not like it — it would not be right." 
 
 " I can't wait any longer ; now that I see 
 you once more, you must judge me — ^you must 
 pronounce my sentence at once, or I shall go 
 mad,'' he continued with a wild look which
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 45 
 
 made Lucy tremble, and she instinctively 
 drew back still more, from feeling a sort of 
 suspicion that since they had last met, he had 
 become less worthy of her affection. 
 
 *^ I have recovered my fortune," he said, as 
 he proceeded by her side at the same quick 
 pace that she was walking or rather running 
 down the steep hill. " I am now much richer 
 than I was before, and I promise in the most 
 solemn manner that if you consent to be mine, 
 I will put my entire property so completely 
 out of my own power, that it will be quite im- 
 possible for me to do anything with it. I 
 have now been able to purchase Rollston 
 Court, although I was obliged to pay double the 
 sum that manufacturer gave for it ; and he has 
 sadly spoilt the poor dear old place. And all 
 the old family pictures are irrevocably gone, 
 which I feel is a just punishment for my folly,'* 
 continued Mr. Derwent with a look of remorse 
 and sorrow that Lucy was glad to see. For
 
 46 LIFE 
 
 she ventured to look up when she heard the 
 tone of compunction and real grief in which 
 he spoke. 
 
 " And I will not disguise anything, I will 
 confess," continued Augustus with an embar- 
 rassment which shewed the inward struggle 
 he felt at declaring the truth. "I confess 
 
 that that it has been by unworthy 
 
 means, that it was success at play which en- 
 abled me to make this purchase, and I vow be- 
 fore God that I will never never play again.'' 
 
 " And will you continue your study of the 
 law, and resume the profession you had 
 chosen ?" enquired Lucy in a timid voice. 
 
 *' If you wish it ; most certainly I will ;" 
 said he in a joyous tone, as he endeavoured to 
 take her hand. 
 
 But Lucy drew it hastily away, and said, 
 " I am afraid I was wrong to say that. I 
 must, I must not. I wish you would leave 
 me now, and I will tell them all ; and if you
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 47 
 
 like to call and see papa to-morrow, we shall 
 hear what he thinks." 
 
 " Why cannot I go to the Rectory with 
 you now, and hear my fate at once ?" 
 
 " Oh no, you must not indeed ; I would 
 rather see them first. I know it would be 
 better — I will try to explain." 
 
 " And you think you would do it better 
 than I can. Say that you give me some slight 
 hope, that after. . . ." 
 
 " I can say nothing ; but now it is really 
 getting quite dark, and they will be so 
 frightened," continued Lucy, as she tried to 
 walk still faster, and in her haste stumbled 
 over a stone which it was too dark to see. 
 
 "There," exclaimed Augustus, "you may 
 as well lean on my arm if you will run so fast 
 down the steep hill ; and this is Dead man's 
 Hollow too, a place you used to say you would 
 never cross in the dark alone. Now be 
 reasonable, and let me walk with you to the
 
 48 LIFE 
 
 outskirts of the village. Surely you need not 
 be afraid of such an old friend as I am, how- 
 ever much you may despise me." 
 
 " I do not despise you, and I am not afraid," 
 said Lucy. " And to prove I am not, you may 
 come as far as the first corn-field, where we 
 can see the light in our parlour window." 
 
 During the short remainder of their walk, 
 Augustus continued to urge his suit in im- 
 passioned and eloquent language. Lucy had 
 not accepted his arm ; so as she was afraid of 
 stumbling again, she proceeded rather slower 
 and more cautiously, and she could not help 
 feeling very happy at the words he whispered 
 in her ear. 
 
 *' Now, there are the lights in the parlour, 
 don't you see them, and the hall-door is open 
 too. Yes, and they are all standing on the 
 terrace. I see papa standing there, and I am 
 sure he is watching for me. So I will run 
 down — don't detain me — good bye;" and
 
 AND ITS BEALITIES. 49 
 
 drawing away her hand which he had ventured 
 once more to take, she darted away, and 
 Augustus felt that she would be offended if 
 he endeavoured to follow. So he looked in 
 the direction of the Rectory, and waited until 
 he could see her light form crossing the little 
 foot bridge over the stream, and then he saw 
 her join the other figures, which were dimly 
 visible on the terrace of the Rectory against 
 the light in the windows. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 50 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 "Will she consent? will they give their 
 consent ?" were the momentous questions the 
 young man asked during that solitary walk 
 home. 
 
 It was now very dark, but Augustus was 
 well acquainted with every step of the way, 
 for he had often traversed it before in the 
 dark in old times, much oftener than any 
 one suspected. Long before he ever ventured 
 to breathe a word of his affection to the little 
 girl, and while Lucy was sleeping by her
 
 AND ITS BEALITIES. 51 
 
 sister's side, and enjoying the peaceful dreams 
 of a still unawakened heart, Augustus would 
 pace to and fro on the highest part of the 
 Danish encampment looking down on the 
 Rectory, long after the lights were extin- 
 guished which had glimmered through its old 
 casements. And earlier in the evenings he 
 had often watched from the foot-bridge that 
 crossed the little stream at the corner of the 
 Rectory garden, when he had not ventured to 
 address a word to the sisters, while they were 
 working in their gardens during the twilight. 
 He had waited till the lights were brought 
 into the parlour, and he could distinguish 
 Lucy's graceful form as she hovered round her 
 father's chair. He had seen the little house- 
 hold assembled for family prayer, and after- 
 wards saw them separate for the night, when 
 Lucy received her father's loving kiss, and 
 the old man had placed his hands on her head 
 with an air of solemn gratitude and admiration. 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIMARY 
 
 SriJVEfiSITy 8F lUINOIS
 
 52 LIFE 
 
 Then, when the shutters were closed down 
 stairs, Augustus could still often distinguish 
 the sisters' forms near the little lattice high up 
 in the west gable, and then he would softly 
 advance into the garden, and under the shelter 
 of the terrace wall, creep under the fig-tree 
 that grew beneath the casement. For on 
 moonlight nights Lucy would often look out 
 on the peaceful scene, and sometimes he could 
 hear the sound of her voice as she talked to 
 her sister, or as she sang in wild and childish, 
 glee some simple melody. 
 
 Then, again, all was hushed within the 
 Rectory, and no sound was heard but the 
 plashing of the stream, the song of night- 
 birds, or the hooting of the owls that lived 
 in the old church tower. Then he would 
 hurry up the hill, and proceed homewards, 
 half angry with himself for bestowing so much 
 love on a little girl who certainly did not care 
 for him ; when at that time there were several 
 very beautiful young ladies in the great Lon-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 58 
 
 don world, who he knew would most gladly 
 have accepted him ; and his brother had been 
 very anxious that he should marry Lady 
 Honoria Fenwick, his wife's pretty sister ; and 
 the Earl of Spentmore her father, evidently 
 wished to promote the match. For although 
 Augustus was then only finishing his studies 
 at Oxford, it was rumoured that he would 
 probably be his great aunt's heir ; and his 
 brother was unceasingly tormenting him about 
 what he called his foolish fancy, for that poor 
 old clergyman's daughter. 
 
 " It was such utter folly to throw away his 
 prospects in that manner, instead of making 
 some brilliant match," said Lionel Renton. 
 But Augustus saw that his brother was any- 
 thing but happy with the handsome and bril- 
 liant Lady Julia, and he had some idea that 
 the wily Baronet admired Lucy also, though he 
 affected to decry her charms ; and afterwards 
 was confirmed in this suspicion, by several 
 little circumstances and from the aversion
 
 54 LIFE 
 
 Lucy herself seemed to evince for the hand- 
 some yet proud and somewhat impertinent 
 Sir Lionel. And this had tended to make 
 poor Augustus even more diffident still ; and 
 he had vi^atched near the old Rectory, unper- 
 ceived, long before he ventured to declare his 
 love. 
 
 That was four years ago, and Augustus had 
 since then been twice repulsed by Lucy's pa- 
 rents. This was the third time he had ventured 
 to urge his suit ; and as he now looked down 
 from the top of the hill on her peaceful home, 
 he felt that he was still less worthy than ever 
 to possess that lovely creature. He had always 
 loved her the more fervently, from the contrast 
 there was, between her genuine goodness, the 
 purity and truthfulness that seemed to cast a 
 sort of sacred halo round her simple loveliness, 
 her unpretending beauty, and that of the 
 highly bred and highly cultivated ladies of the 
 gay London world, and above all, those of that
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 55 
 
 family into which his brother had married. 
 And this contrast was more striking than 
 ever now, since he had mingled more and more 
 in the world, and had felt that he himself re- 
 sembled her angel purity far less than ever. 
 
 When he remembered, too, how he had ob- 
 tained that large sum which enabled him to re- 
 gain his father's patrimony, and again urge his 
 claim to Lucy's hand, he shuddered with dis- 
 may. For part of it had been won from a 
 man who was quite ruined ; and after paying 
 the sum he had lost, and which Augustus had 
 no idea was the last he possessed in the world, 
 the poor youth had drowned himself in the 
 Serpentine. His look of utter despair still 
 haunted Augustus at all times. 
 
 " Still no peace for the restless clay. 
 Will wave or mould allow ; 
 
 The horrid thing pursues his soul, 
 
 It stands before him now !'* 
 
 He had seen that pale and haggard face,
 
 56 LIFE 
 
 even as he spoke to Lucy when they descended 
 the hill together. Like a fearful spectre, it 
 had obtruded even into his joyful meeting 
 vrith the blushing girl. He felt that it was the 
 spectre's hand that drove Lucy's away so 
 suddenly ; that it prevented the simple and 
 formerly confiding girl from leaning on his 
 arm, and averted her face when he ventured 
 to express his constant and devoted love. 
 
 Her eyes had not looked into his after 
 the first moment when she recognized him. 
 "No doubt she felt," he thought, "that I 
 was less worthy of her than ever; that she 
 was conscious of the chilling presence of that 
 broken heart, that lost spirit, which I have 
 been the means of hurrying to a frightful death, 
 and have made him appear with all his un- 
 repented sins before his Maker." His voice, 
 the plaintive tones of that poor ruined youth, 
 seemed now to wail in his ear, " She will never 
 consent." 
 
 " But it is only the wind sighing in the
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 57 
 
 beech trees; and what folly it is to allow 
 myself to be so superstitious and cast down," 
 thought Augustus, as he turned from the south 
 valley, and began quickly to descend the north 
 side toward his own recovered home. " Surely 
 now that I am able to settle such a large in- 
 come upon her, they never will be so mad as 
 to refuse. But if she had once looked into 
 my eyes with her old expression, I should fear 
 nothing. She was so very cold, not a word 
 or gesture that bespoke any pleasure." 
 
 Then he remembered, with a bound of 
 joy, that she had asked him whether he would 
 not go on with his profession, and he felt that 
 to win her love he must exert himself to break 
 through the course of indolent excitement in 
 which he had so long indulged. He must 
 labour and toil. Poor Augustus ! his indolent 
 nature shrank more than ever from the pros- 
 pect ; for though he was not deficient in talent 
 and even genius, yet he had no perseverance, 
 and he now felt almost frightened at the pros-
 
 58 LIFE 
 
 pect of re-commencing those hard dull studies, 
 he had so gladly abandoned when he suc- 
 ceeded to his aunt's property ; he felt it would 
 be almost impossible for him to persevere in 
 them now. Then, as he continued to reflect, 
 he saw that the chasm between him and that 
 pure girl was greater than ever ; and it was 
 with a feeling of dull despair that he ap- 
 proached Rollston Court. 
 
 He saw that the upper western gallery was 
 brilHantly lighted up, and remembered, with 
 increased dismay and dread, that this was 
 probably owing to his brother's arrival. Au- 
 gustus had particularly wished to spend the 
 first evening alone, and had hoped that Sir 
 Lionel would not yet have heard of his return. 
 For he had only finally concluded the purchase 
 the day before, in London, and he intended to 
 ride over the next day to his brother's dwell- 
 ing, and inform him of the whole proceeding, 
 after his own fate had been decided by the
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 59 
 
 interview with Mr. Lennox ; and, indeed, he 
 had prepared a deed which should put the 
 greater portion of his wealth out of his own 
 power. 
 
 Eor Augustus dreaded Lionel's fatal in- 
 fluence. Although he despised Lionel, and 
 hated the faults he could not help seeing, yet 
 his eldest brother had always possessed a sort 
 of magic influence over him. And now, as he 
 entered the room that was formerly an old 
 banquetting hall, the spectre of the drowned 
 gambler seemed nearer than ever. With a 
 ghastly smile it pointed to the alterations 
 which the late proprietor had made in the old 
 house, and Augustus felt that his evil star 
 would prevail. 
 
 Then he bitterly lamented the old family 
 pictures that were gone for ever. It was all 
 so strange now that he could hardly recog- 
 nize any of the rooms. The rich mel- 
 lowed colouring of centuries had disap-
 
 60 LIFE 
 
 peared. The carved oak chimney-pieces had 
 been replaced by white marble, cut into weak 
 and tasteless imitations of Roman pilasters ; 
 the dark oak panelling had been taken away, 
 and the walls were covered with gaudy paper 
 and tawdry gilding; and the polished floors 
 concealed with flaring carpets. 
 
 " I am glad you are come at last," said the 
 Baronet, as he met his young brother on the 
 stairs. " I thought I should have been obhged 
 to return home without seeing you. Ha ! I 
 know where you have been,'' continued he 
 with a knowing smile, " and successful of 
 course. They will never refuse you now. Why, 
 you are quite a millionaire !" he added, with- 
 out regarding Augustus's desponding looks. 
 
 " Well, I wish you joy, my dear boy, with all 
 my heart, of theoldplace and all the magnificence 
 it contains. That old Smith has improved it 
 wonderfully. Such luxurious carpets and look- 
 ing glasses and easy chairs. I was near falling
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 61 
 
 asleep in this one " he continued, as they en- 
 tered the long gallerj where a splendid repast 
 was laid out on a table at the end. " I told 
 them to put the supper here, for I see the 
 dining-room is not finished yet." 
 
 " No, and I hope to be able to replace some 
 of old Gibbon's carving, which that fool had 
 the barbarity to take down, and was going to 
 put yellow stucco to imitate marble on the 
 poor old walls.'' 
 
 "All the fashion now — he was quite right — 
 no one cares now for those barbarous old 
 carved birds and flowers," said Sir Lionel. 
 "But let me hear of your progress with 
 the fair Lucy : the parents were delighted, of 
 course ?" 
 
 " I have not seen them, " said Augustus " I 
 only saw Lucy." 
 
 " What, alone ? how fortunate ! why, I 
 thought she was never without her sister," said 
 Lionel, with a look of surprise.
 
 62 LIFE 
 
 " How do you know that ?" enquired Au- 
 gustus, while a pang of jealousy shot through 
 his heart. — '* He has been watching her then," 
 thought he. ** He has dared to adraire — to 
 gaze on her angel form.'* 
 
 Lionel's quick eye read his brother's feelings, 
 and he hastily added — 
 
 " You have often told me yourself that the 
 sisters were inseparable. And you must not 
 look so jealous, dear boy, for I have never seen 
 them during your absence. You know I passed 
 all last winter in Wales with the Earl, and 
 dull enough it was ! Julia was cross, and the 
 old castle was cold, and indeed it is dreadful 
 work being so dependent as we now are on her 
 brother." 
 
 " You have no idea how miserable it is. I 
 assure you I have been doing luii penance 
 for my foolish extravagance," he added, with 
 a look in which he seemed endeavouring to 
 show penitent sadness, but which was in reality 
 only full of angry spleen.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES 63 
 
 " But, my dear Augustus, I trust you 
 will be able to assist us now, and the poor 
 children that are running wild for want of 
 instruction. Actually for the clothes on our 
 backs we are indebted to the Earl, and he, 
 poor fellow ! will soon be quite done up — 
 obHged to go abroad, and then what is to be- 
 come of us ! Ha, now let's have supper — it 
 smells very savoury — I have had nothing since 
 breakfast, and that was not fit to eat — we have 
 no cook, of course, and Julia has no more idea 
 of directing the stupid kitchen-maid, than a 
 baby, so we are all starved actually. Poor 
 Julia ! she was longing to come and see you 
 this evening, but there was no conveyance. 
 The Earl has sold all his carriage horses ; in 
 short, we shall soon be aU in prison, if you don't 
 help us." And so Sir Lionel ran on. 
 
 " We meet together at the feast, 
 To private mirth betake us ; 
 We stare down in the wine cup, lest 
 Some vacant chair should shake us.
 
 64 LIFE 
 
 " We name delight, and pledge it round- 
 It shall be ours to-morrow ! 
 God's seraphs, do your voices sound 
 As sad in naming sorrow ? 
 
 Be pitiful O God!" 
 
 The brothers sat down to the repast, but 
 Augustus was silent and absent, and for some 
 time Lionel was absorbed in the enjoyment of 
 eating. 
 
 But as soon as he had done ample justice 
 to the supper, he said, " Did you see Charles 
 Dormer before you left London? of course 
 you have heard of the splendid fortune he has 
 made/' 
 
 " What has he done ? I have heard nothing 
 of him since his father died." 
 
 " You know he succeeded to a paltry sum of 
 twenty thousand pounds, that the old fellow 
 had saved up for him, as all the property was 
 strictly entailed on the eldest son. Well, he 
 had the wisdom to invest this sum in the new 
 Peruvian mining concern, and he has now
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 65 
 
 realized eighty thousand. Well, and what do 
 you think he is going to try and do with this ? 
 To buy that splendid old place, Derwent Park. 
 It is a thousand pities it should pass into such 
 hands.'* 
 
 " Going to buy Derwent Park !" exclaimed 
 Augustus, in a tone of great interest. 
 
 "Ah, that place; it has always been my 
 ambition that you should possess it, as you 
 ought, being the last of the poor old family. 
 You ought — ^you must have Derwent Park, I 
 am determined you shall." 
 
 " I thought you said Charles Dormer was 
 going to buy it ?" 
 
 *' So he is, but Hsten : if his twenty thousand 
 pounds made eighty — your sixty thousand, that 
 you now possess, if invested in the same com- 
 pany, would produce double, even four times 
 that sum." 
 
 " I have resolved to speculate no more ; I 
 am quite determined." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 60 LIFE 
 
 " This is not speculation — ^it is simple in- 
 vestment : and of course he would be glad to 
 sell Derwent Park if he can gain a few thou- 
 sands by it — for he does not care a straw for 
 the place. It is going dog-cheap too — only 
 eighty — and the old lady always estimated its 
 value at a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. 
 There ! that will be a residence indeed fit for 
 your pretty Lucy : — and all your favourite old 
 carving, and our family pictures, are still there. 
 That splendid Vandyck of our old ancestor, 
 the first Earl of Ilminster, and our grand- 
 father the last Earl, by Sir Joshua Reynolds : 
 all these you could now save, for you know 
 the man who bought the place, at the old 
 lady's death, has not touched a thing, nor 
 even put a coat of paint on the walls ! You 
 used to delight in the place so much when we 
 were children — though I always found it very 
 dull 1 Do you remember how you used to lin- 
 ger in the old galleries in the twilight, and
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 67 
 
 then creep into our great-aunt's room, and 
 stand before her with your grave and thought- 
 ful face, looking as if you had seen a ghost !" 
 
 Sir Lionel paused, for he saw that his 
 brother remembered it all most vividly — that 
 his passion to possess that dearly loved old 
 place was becoming violently awakened in his 
 heart. He marked the contending emotions 
 that were struggling in that impulsive yet 
 indolent nature, and he allowed full time for 
 Augustus to dream of the happiest days of his 
 childhood, which had been passed in that loved 
 home of his dear old aunt. Then he said, 
 
 "And you see this place here is spoilt 
 for your taste, though it is now exactly what 
 Julia and I delight in, for we could not bear 
 those old tapestried rooms and dark ghost-like 
 passages. So when you and your bride are 
 estabhshed at Derwent Park, you can lend 
 this to us, and we can live quite comfortably 
 upon the produce of the garden and farm, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 LIFE 
 
 and be able to send the boys to school be- 
 sides." 
 
 *'That is all folly/' said Augustus, as if 
 awakening from a delightful dream to the cold 
 realities €f life. *' It is quite impossible/' he 
 added, with a look of extreme despondency ; " I 
 cannot risk anything more ; remember, that 
 only last year, I lost every sixpence I possessed." 
 
 " I do not want you to risk your fortune, I 
 am sure," said Lionel. " It can be no advan- 
 tage to me, for of course you will let Julia and 
 the children come here, now you have a roof of 
 your own ; you will not like us to be depen- 
 dent upon the poor ruined Earl ; and this house 
 is quite large enough for us all, and it will, of 
 course, be much pleasanter for us to live with 
 you and your beautiful bride. I dare say 
 that sensible Lucy will help Julia to keep the 
 boys in order, and, in fact, do her a great deal 
 of good. Yet still I think you would like to 
 see your bride among the old family rehcs of
 
 AND ITS UEALITIES. 69 
 
 the Derwents. By the bye, now I think of it, 
 she is very like that picture of our old aunt her- 
 self, when she was a young girl, by Sir Joshua. 
 That one with the blue ribbon round her dark 
 hair. She has the same mischievous-looking eyes, 
 and stately turn of the neck. She would perform 
 the part of mistress of Derwent Park admira- 
 bly. How I shall like to see her sit in our 
 great-aunt's carved ebony and ivory chair, 
 under that sort of old dais, where she used to 
 sit instate to receive her company." 
 
 Augustus rose from his chair and paced the 
 long gallery to and fro with a look of wild 
 impetuosity. " He has some motive in all 
 this," thought Augustus. " He wants to en- 
 tangle me in new speculations that may pre- 
 vent Mr. Lennox from giving me his daughter. 
 This must be his object." But although 
 Augustus was convinced there was some sinister 
 design in his brother's words, yet the possibi- 
 lity of obtaining Derwent Park, that place he
 
 70 LIFE 
 
 loved beyond any spot on earth, entwined 
 round his heart by all his earliest and dearest 
 recollections, looked fearfully attractive. Then, 
 on the other hand, the alternative of having 
 his brother, and that proud and tiresome 
 Lady Julia, to live in the same house, here 
 at Rollston Court, would be dreadful. Poor 
 Lucy's existence would be rendered utterly 
 miserable by their presence, and those wild 
 and cruel boys would torment her out of her 
 life. 
 
 While Augustus was pacing the room, ab- 
 sorbed in these reflections, Lionel had ap- 
 proached a writing table, and was quietly 
 writing a letter. He now and then cast a 
 scrutinizing, but apparently indifl'erent look at 
 his brother, and at last said, " I am writing 
 to invest a couple of hundred pounds, for Julia 
 has most kindly allowed me to part with the re- 
 mainder of her splendid jewels, and I am going 
 to buy these wonderful shares. I shall realize
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 71 
 
 some thousands certainly, in a few weeks. 
 Here, if you like to look at the paper, you can 
 see all about it ; only remember, I do not want 
 you to do it. There, I have written my letter, 
 and I shall take it into Ilminster myself on 
 my way, that it may go by the nine o'clock post 
 to-morrow morning. Por you know this is Fri- 
 day, and there will be no post until Monday." 
 " And now, good night. JuHa will be un- 
 easy if I stay later ; and as I did not know 
 whether there was any furniture or even a bed 
 in this house, I told her I should return. You 
 will ride over and see her to-morrow, after your 
 fate is decided, will you not ? And I hope you 
 will be able to persuade her to come here at 
 once ; for that damp cottage we are in, does 
 not agree with her at all. Well, cheer up old 
 boy — for of course they will never be such fools 
 as to refuse you !"
 
 72 LITE 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " And yet, I see he thinks they will," thought 
 Augustus, as he wished his brother " Good 
 night." Then, as he pictured to himself the 
 scene of the following day, he conned over 
 exactly what he should say to Mr. Lennox, 
 and he saw the expression there would be on 
 the old clergyman's face, as he Hstened to him : 
 — the jovial, yet firm and resolutely straight- 
 forward expression ; the old man's kind, yet 
 searching glance ; the dark eyes, that, like little 
 Lucy's, always seemed to read his inmost
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 73 
 
 thoughts, and that he well knew it was impos- 
 sible to deceive. He felt that Mr. Lennox 
 would look at him with more than usually 
 severe scrutiny, that he would read the ambi- 
 tious dreams and vacillating purposes of his 
 perverted nature : and the more Augustus 
 thought, the more convinced he was that Lucy 
 could never be his. 
 
 A feeling of utter despondency seemed to 
 crush his energies, and a choking sensation 
 almost prevented his breathing ; the heat of 
 the room became oppressive, and compelled 
 him to open the window, and inhale the cool 
 night air. The moon was rising from behind 
 Winbarrow Down, and he could distinguish 
 the exact spot where he had first seen Lucy 
 that evening. There was something in the 
 calm beauty of the scene, and the gentle mur- 
 mur of the river as it flowed at the bottom of 
 the sloping garden, that soothed and calmed 
 his troubled heart ; it all seemed to accord with
 
 74 LIFE 
 
 the pure loveliness of her expression, and made 
 him feel as if he were surrounded by the holy 
 influence of her presence. 
 
 . . . . " Down from the visible Heaven 
 Her influence fell, and thrilled in music thro* 
 The silences of space, and soothed his soul. 
 Till life was folded up brimfull of beauty, 
 As theflower folds its pearl and droops todream. 
 
 At times, from out the curtains of the dark, 
 
 Her face would meet him thro' the glowing gloom. 
 
 Sometimes she passed ; her rippling raiment toucht 
 
 His brows, and sphered him with diviner air, 
 
 Like honeysuckles brusht at dewy dusk. 
 
 The fragrance of her breath made old earth young ; 
 
 ***** 
 Her eyes were glowing orbs of thought that burned 
 Fervent as Hesper m the brow of eve.'** 
 
 "Perhaps she is thinking of me at this 
 moment — perhaps she is praying for me," he 
 thought ; and he remembered that this was the 
 hour of their family prayer. He knew that 
 the good parents must be praying with all the 
 fervour of their well-disciplined hearts for their 
 * Gerald Massey.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 75 
 
 daughter's happiness. Would that be insured 
 by a union with himself? — was he worthy 
 ever to make her happy ? 
 
 His anxious meditations were interrupted by 
 the sounds of angry voices, then aloud laugh, 
 and the next moment the shrill tones of per- 
 sons quarrelling in the servants' hall. He 
 looked in that direction, and he saw through 
 the open windows of the lower story in the pro- 
 jecting wing, that his servants were playing at 
 cards. He could hear the click of the dice, 
 then a loud and boisterous laugh, and then 
 muttered oaths and imprecations. The fear- 
 ful contrast between his household — the ser- 
 vants to whom he had given such a fatal 
 example — and that of the good clergy- 
 man, forced itself most painfully on his 
 mind. 
 
 These were a set of new servants, that he 
 had commissioned his friend Dick Lauder to 
 hire for him, so that Augustus felt he could
 
 76 LIFE 
 
 not be quite answerable for their conduct ; yet 
 he saw how foolishly he had acted in giving 
 carteblanche to a person of Dick Lauder's 
 extravagant habits. For he suspected, from the 
 recherche style of the supper that had been 
 sent up, and the number of men and maids he 
 had already seen in his recovered abode, that 
 his income would never suffice to keep up 
 such an expensive establishment. He must 
 at once extricate himself from this dilemma, 
 particularly as he should have all the wants 
 of his brother, and of the extravagant Lady 
 JuUa and her children, to provide for. 
 
 Should he ever learn wisdom, should he 
 ever be able to reform, to live without the 
 fatal excitement in which he had passed the 
 last four years ? Yet, unless he could alter 
 completely, he could never make Lucy happy. 
 It was impossible ! and he ground his teeth, 
 and clenched his hands in despair. 
 
 It was fully in his own power. Yet we all
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 77 
 
 want impossibilities. Augustus wished to enjoy 
 what could only be the fruit of a long course of 
 self-denying exertions and stedfast continuance 
 in well doing. He wished to attain the steady 
 goodness he had never had strength or courage 
 to practise — to reap where he had not sowed — 
 to obtain the pure, lovely girl, and yet con- 
 tinue his ambitious and guilty course. 
 
 Yet, if Mr. Lennox could be induced to 
 consent, Augustus was firmly resolved to 
 reform. He would change completely. He 
 would most strenuously resist the passionate 
 longing he felt to embark in the new scheme 
 his brother had suggested. He must give it 
 up — this delightful dream of Derwent Park. 
 But it was with a sigh of bitter regret that he 
 thought of the plan. 
 
 How easy and comparatively safe it would 
 be, and what a home for Lucy, if he obtained 
 that property ! Then he looked at the paper 
 his brother had given him, and became
 
 78 LIFE 
 
 buried in the fascinating calculations it un- 
 folded. 
 
 " He would not have returned home, if he 
 had had a sinister design in wishing me to 
 embark in this scheme," thought Augustus. 
 ** He would have remained, and exercised that 
 fatal influence he well knows I never can 
 withstand." 
 
 But the fact was, Sir Lionel had purposely 
 left him, when the train was successfully 
 laid ; for he knew it was sure to explode, 
 and that Augustus would not then feel he 
 was being influenced, and thus be still more 
 likely to fall into the snare he had skilfully laid. 
 
 He had many reasons for wishing to prevent 
 Augustus from marrying Lucy, and he had 
 firmly resolved, with all the force of his power- 
 ful will, that it should never take place. 
 Besides, although he had contrived to fritter 
 away, in what seemed most safe and promising 
 schemes, all the unencumbered estate of five
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 79 
 
 thousand a year, to which he had succeeded 
 on his father's death — yet he had fully as 
 much faith in speculation as Augustus, and 
 really imagined it probable that this one would 
 succeed. And his chief wish was, that Au- 
 gustus might embark in the scheme so quickly 
 as to prevent Mr. Lennox from giving his con- 
 sent to the marriage ; for he knew the clergy- 
 man would be so disgusted at his incurring a 
 fresh risk, that he would refuse ; and that this 
 would put a stop to it for the present. Sir 
 Lionel moreover trusted to his own power to 
 frustrate the marriage afterwards, should his 
 brother become the fortunate possessor of 
 Derwent Park and estates. 
 
 The night was far advanced before Augustus 
 retired to rest — or rather lay down on his bed, 
 for to rest was impossible. Since he read the 
 fatal paper his brother had left, the scheme 
 seemed still more easy — success more positive. 
 It would be madness to neglect such a glorious
 
 80 i^iFE 
 
 opportunity of regaining the family place. 
 Lucy would think so herself, he felt certain — 
 for although she had always condemned his 
 speculations, yet she could fully enter into 
 their fascination : she was quite aware of the 
 difficulty he had to encounter in resisting their 
 fatal charm. 
 
 And in this case no time must be lost. It 
 was an immense object to realize a sum suffi- 
 ciently large to purchase the long-coveted pro- 
 perty, before it was demolished, and the col- 
 lection of family pictures and rehcs dispersed. 
 Por of com^se Charles Dormer would sell them 
 all the moment he came into possession, and 
 there would be an auction at the old place, 
 and the precious objects scattered irrevocably 
 all over England. 
 
 Augustus was so completely absorbed in 
 this most attractive scheme, that he retired to 
 bed, on this first night of his restoration to 
 the long-coveted home of his father's family,
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 81 
 
 without a prayer, without even a word of 
 grateful thanksgiving to the God who had 
 allowed him to return there in health and 
 strength, and permitted him to have sufficient 
 fortune to live there in comfort and luxury. 
 
 But he had lost the habit of prayer ; and it 
 was only when the image of Lucy filled his 
 mind, that he thought of the Being whom his 
 mother had taught him, when a child, to 
 adore. And now the habitual passion, the 
 love of gain, which he had indulged so fatally 
 for the last four years, was raging in his heart, 
 although he tried to fancy that it was solely 
 on Lucy's account that he wished to possess 
 Derwent Park. 
 
 But though he forgot to pray before he laid 
 down to sleep, yet the words he had heard Mr. 
 Lennox repeat in church, while he was gazing on 
 Lucy's face, recurred dimly to his mind — " If 
 riches increase, set not your heart upon them ;" 
 and " in all time of our wealth, good Lord 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 LIFE 
 
 deliver us." But he was too deeply immersed in 
 calculations to attend to the " still small voice/' 
 and he tried to stand in his own strength. 
 
 It was impossible to sleep, and after 
 tossing about in bed for an hour or two, 
 he got up, and again paced the room in a 
 fever of excitement. He felt that he should 
 go mad if he did not write a letter to engage 
 in this new scheme. And with the same fatal 
 habit of self-indulgence, and the thrilling ex- 
 citement with which he had often thrown the 
 dice, which were to decide the fate of his last, 
 guinea — he penned a letter to Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 "I need not send it, if I do not like," 
 thought Augustus, as he lay down on his bed 
 again, just as day began to dawn. Wearied 
 at last with excitement, he fell asleep, and his 
 dreams were full of Lucy and Derwent Park. 
 Then he had recovered the old family house 
 of the Earls of Ilminster in Grosvenor 
 Square, and Lucy was going to be presented
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 83 
 
 at Court, and Augustus was clasping a dia- 
 mond necklace round her neck, and the jewels 
 were far handsomer than any Lady Julia had, 
 and she was the most lovely creature at the 
 Queen's drawing-room. 
 
 Then he fancied that everything depended 
 upon his putting a letter in the post before a 
 certain hour. If this were not done, the 
 Derwent property and jewels, and all would 
 pass away from him, and he thought he was 
 chained to the ground, and that it was impos- 
 sible to move ; that the hour was almost past, 
 and that he still grasped the fatal letter. 
 
 With a violent struggle, he at last awoke, 
 and found that he had gone to sleep with the 
 letter in his hand. And now his great anxiety 
 was to be in time to put it in the post. He 
 saw with dismay, that from the appearance of 
 the sun, it must be very late. He had for- 
 gotten to wind his watch, so he hastily rang 
 
 G 2
 
 84 LIFE 
 
 the bell, and began to dress as quickly as 
 possible. 
 
 It was past eight o'clock, and he remem- 
 bered that unless the letter was put in the 
 post before nine at Ilminster, it could not 
 reach London for two days. He ordered a 
 horse to be saddled immediately. His vivid 
 dream, the visions of splendour at Derwent 
 Park, and in the London house, so filled his 
 mind, that all other considerations seemed to 
 lose their weight, and he rode with the speed 
 of Hghtning to Ilminster. 
 
 Yet this plan would, at a stroke, place all 
 his fortune in uncertainty again, and he had 
 told Lucy only last night, that he was firmly 
 resolved to settle it all upon her. He remem- 
 bered this just as he arrived at the post office, 
 and he turned pale at the thought : for a mo- 
 ment he remained irresolute ; but he had not 
 sufficient strength to resist the temptation. 
 *' It must succeed," he muttered to himself —
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 85 
 
 " It must, and then I shall be able to settle a 
 still larger fortune upon her !" 
 
 Yet the " still, small voice" sounded again 
 in his ears, and in gentle tones that seemed to 
 resemble his mother's voice, whispered — 
 " Wait until you have seen Mr. Lennox." But 
 the longing was too great, the craving for ex- 
 citement and self-indulgence too strong ; and 
 with a trembling hand, he dropped the letter 
 in the post box. 
 
 The deed was done — and now he was deter- 
 mined to think it must succeed. The mo- 
 mentary gratification of his overwhelming 
 passion gave a sort of false buoyancy to his 
 spirits, that seemed to tinge everything with 
 joyous and glorious hues. He felt now more 
 sanguine as to the result of his visit to Mr. 
 Lennox. He certainly had been doing right. 
 He would explain the longing he had expe- 
 rienced to give up Rollston Court to his 
 brother, its rightful owner, and the simple-
 
 86 LIFE 
 
 minded clergyman would doubtless enter into 
 these generous views, and see the justice of 
 the whole proceeding — that he could not pos- 
 sibly have acted otherwise, and that he ought 
 certainly not to neglect such a glorious oppor- 
 tunity of regaining for himself and Lucy that 
 splendid property of the Earls of Ilminster, 
 and to endeavour to obtain the old family 
 place of Derwent Park. 
 
 In the pleasant intoxication of self-indulgent 
 passion, Augustus quite forgot how often his 
 schemes had appeared equally bright and pro- 
 mising — how often he had felt sure of success, 
 and yet the apparently safest scheme had utterly 
 failed. 
 
 In this artificially buoyant spirit he re- 
 mained, until he came in sight of the old 
 Rectory; and then the association of ideas 
 connected with that peaceful spot, the truth- 
 ful simplicity of Lucy and her right-minded 
 parents, even the train of thought into which
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 87 
 
 he had long been accustomed to fall, when he 
 had formerly approached her abode ; all this 
 seemed now to show the false tinsel, the unhal- 
 lowed passions which had been raging in his 
 heart, and he involuntarily paused before he 
 crossed the little foot-bridge that led into the 
 terrace garden. 
 
 A feeling of dread, a conviction of his pre- 
 sumption in daring to sue for her hand, 
 crushed and depressed him, and the counte- 
 nance of the drowned gambler seemed to 
 glare in mockery before his face again. The 
 despairing laugh of that miserable young 
 man, the touching words — " I am now ruined 
 for ever," were mingled in Augustus's ears 
 with the murmur of the stream; and that 
 plashing sound, which had often appeared so 
 full of hope, was now filled with the gurgling 
 accents of the drowned man. And as he 
 looked down into its clear depths, he fancied 
 he saw the ghastly face of the ruined game-
 
 88 LIFE 
 
 ster, strangled in despair amid the weeds at 
 the bottom. A feeling something akin to hy- 
 drophobia, had given him a horror of water 
 ever since that fatal day when he had seen the 
 poor youth dragged out of the Serpentine; 
 and now he could scarcely summon up courage 
 to cross the bridge. But he suddenly remem- 
 bered that the inmates of the Rectory would 
 probably see him ; so he opened the little wicket, 
 and mounted with a hurried yet fearful tread 
 the terrace steps, and knocked at the hall door. 
 
 The sound of the old-fashioned knocker had 
 a lugubrious echo, that was quite different 
 from the hopeful and, as he used to think, 
 melodious clang, it formerly possessed; and 
 as the door opened, and he looked into the old 
 hall, he felt sure he should not see Lucy's 
 form. He was shown into the Httle library, 
 where he found Mr. Lennox alone. 
 
 For a moment Augustus did not venture to 
 raise his eyes to the old man's face, and his
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 89 
 
 tongue refused to utter the words that came 
 so readily to his lips the preceding evening. 
 
 Mr. Lennox saw his embarrassment; and 
 the kind old man's heart was touched. Yet 
 he gazed on Mr. Derwent with a scrutinizing 
 €ye, for the fate of his child depended on 
 what he should be able to read on that coun- 
 tenance. He was glad to witness the indica- 
 tions of diffidence almost amounting to remorse; 
 but he also saw with pain the haggard look, 
 the lines of sordid care, and that sort of eager, 
 covetous air which all gamblers soon acquire. 
 
 He perceived that the last two years of 
 guilty self-indulgence had almost obliterated 
 the noble and generous expression his face had 
 formerly possessed. The more he looked, the 
 more he felt convinced that he never could be 
 Lucy's husband. Yet when he remarked the 
 still fine eyes, and saw the passionate love, 
 the deep feeling that lurked still under his 
 deteriorated, and, what appeared to the
 
 90 LIFE 
 
 clergyman's pure and far-seeing mind, almost 
 defaced beauty, tears of compassion started to 
 the old man's eyes, and he said with an ex- 
 pression of heart-felt commiseration, as he 
 took the young man's hand, and in a voice 
 almost inaudible from emotion, " I am glad to 
 perceive that you feel unworthy yourself to 
 urge a. suit which I fancy you must feel is 
 hopeless ; I wish from my heart, I could spare 
 you the pain of this interview — of my refusal." 
 
 " Oh, do not say that ; do not drive me to 
 despair, for nothing but Lucy's love can ever 
 save me ; without her, I am utterly lost in 
 this world, and the next !" 
 
 And as if he had suddenly recovered his power 
 of speech, Augustus painted in eloquent lan- 
 guage his love and devotion, and repeated his 
 solemn assurances that nothing should ever in- 
 duce him to speculate again.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 91 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE RESULT. 
 
 During this momentous hour, Lucy was 
 sitting with her mother and sister in the little 
 schoolroom over the library, for Mr. Lennox 
 had thought it better to see Augustus alone. 
 He would then be able more easily to read 
 the young man's heart, and all was to depend 
 on what he should discover there ! 
 
 Lucy had not lifted her eyes from the seam 
 she was busily sewing ; but Mrs. Lennox and 
 Harriett had seen Mr. Derwent approach the 
 house, and Lucy could not help knowing, from 
 the start her sister gave, that Augustus was
 
 92 LIFE 
 
 coming. Then she heard his well-known 
 knock at the hall door, and to her ears also 
 it had a lugubrious sound, very different from 
 its former joyous and hopeful echo. But she 
 scarcely allowed herself to think of this ; the 
 suspense was so painful that she tried to fix 
 her thoughts on the contemplation of Harriett's 
 approaching happiness, and continued to work 
 away as if her life depended on that seam 
 being finished before the hour had passed. . 
 
 Not a word was spoken, for each felt that it 
 would be impossible to talk about any other 
 subject ; so that not a sound was heard in that 
 quiet room but the busy plying of the needle 
 in the hard work they seemed all to have pur- 
 posely chosen ; mingled with the gentle mur- 
 mur of the stream over the white stones, that 
 had now a most unusually melancholy sound, 
 for it always seemed to sympathise with the 
 particular frame of mind they were in. 
 
 Now and then Mrs. Lennox took Lucy's
 
 AND ITS KEALITIES. 93 
 
 hand with a quiet pressure, that seemed to 
 have the effect of giving her strength to bear 
 the suspense ; for she looked into her mother's 
 eyes, and saw that they were full of prayers. 
 
 But neither of the two shed a tear, although 
 Harriett's flowed fast ; but perhaps they were 
 more caused by a sort of admiration, almost 
 amounting to pleasure, at seeing the patient 
 and touching resignation depicted on her 
 impetuous sister's face ; and a conviction, that 
 the Heavenly Father, who was supporting her 
 so wonderfully in this hour of severe trial, 
 would carry that loved sister unharmed 
 through all the disappointment and suffering 
 which must await her deeply feeling heart 
 in this world of trial. 
 
 Lucy was prepared for disappointment, al- 
 though at some moments she still continued to 
 hope. But as the minutes, which seemed like 
 hours and days, passed on, her fears predomi- 
 nated, and she could not help thinking of the
 
 94 LIFE 
 
 altered expression she had scarcely remarked last 
 night, in the tumultuous joy of the first meeting. 
 She now remembered his haggard look, and how 
 much older he seemed, than when she parted 
 from him the year before : older from anxiety, 
 and, perhaps, from suffering and illness, but not 
 from a matured mind. On the contrary, when 
 she now thought of his excited and more pas- 
 sionate expression, she saw that he had made no 
 advance — that rather, he had gone backwards, 
 in all good and hopeful feelings. So she tried 
 more and more to prepare herself for the worst. 
 
 She must be content to suffer ; yet the pain 
 was very dreadful, and she pressed her mother's 
 hand to her firmly-set lips, and then placed it 
 within her own, on'her aching heart, as if to 
 try and still its anxious beatings, and to im- 
 press on her mind a sense of the immense 
 comfort she possessed in her parent's sympa- 
 thising love. 
 
 If Augustus could but have seen the trea-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 95 
 
 sures of love, devotion, and heroic endurance, 
 that heart contained, he would sooner have 
 cut off his right hand, than put that fatal 
 letter in the post. But he was bhnded by 
 self-indulgent and covetous passions and the 
 "petty dust" 
 
 * * *' that each day brings 
 Our soon choked souls to fill.'* 
 
 And although he admired and loved, he could 
 not half appreciate her real worth. 
 
 Mr. Lennox drew from Augustus the 
 whole account of his new scheme: he im- 
 plored the young man to tell him everything, 
 and then he succeeded in shewing him 
 how impossible it was, he could advise his 
 daughter to accept the hand of one so weak 
 and vacillating. Mr. Lennox's manner was 
 so kind, that although Augustus felt all the 
 more that he was going to refuse him his 
 daughter, yet his better feelings were awakened
 
 96 LIFE 
 
 and he confessed, with a sort of despairing 
 humihty, his errors and self-deceptions. 
 
 " I know you would not wish to break her 
 heart," said Mr. Lennox. " She can now re- 
 cover from this disappointment, although it 
 is most bitter and severe ; for she loves you 
 with all the warmth of her young and passion- 
 ate heart, and she can even make allowances for 
 the temptations and fascinations of the sort of 
 life you have, alas ! chosen. But if she were 
 married, what a fearful lot would be her's." 
 
 And the old man made him see plainly the 
 fate that awaited Lucy, if after his marriage 
 Augustus should not have sufficient strength to 
 abandon his guilty course. And he made 
 him feel its guilt by drawing a vivid picture of 
 the suffering he entailed on those from whom 
 he had won money. 
 
 Mr. Derwent had not told him of the 
 suicide, yet the clergyman described just 
 such a case, and even pictured the agony
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 97 
 
 that awaited the poor victim, when he stood 
 before the judgment seat of God. 
 
 " Ha ! how did you know that ?" exclaimed 
 Augustus, starting with horror at the picture, 
 which was still more dreadful than his own 
 imagination had ever contemplated, even in his 
 most despairing moments. 
 
 "I know nothing that has actually hap- 
 pened," said Mr. Lennox : " I only know what 
 must be the natural consequences of your man- 
 ner of Hfe, and the suffering you will one day 
 experience, either in this world or the next. 
 Yet, you are born for better things, and you 
 have still the perception of goodness, or you 
 could not love Lucy so well. And that you do 
 love her, gives me hope that you will be able to 
 see into your own heart, and then when you 
 discover plainly its weakness and folly, you 
 yourself would be the first to shield her gentle 
 and confiding nature from the fate that awaits 
 a gambler's wife. Fancy her anxious watch- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 LIFE 
 
 ing, her sleepless, miserable nights, when she 
 knows you might return home a beggar — or 
 worse still, enjoying the intoxicating excite- 
 ment of gain, with the knowledge that you must 
 have ruined some other human being, even as 
 you did that unfortunate young man. 
 
 " But you must not despair,** he continued, 
 as he saw Augustus tore his hair and ground 
 his teeth in wild agony ; " you have free will 
 to choose the evil and the good. If you no 
 longer endeavour to stand in your own strength, 
 but casting away all pride and self-confidence, 
 implore with real humility assistance from your 
 heavenly Father, then — " 
 
 " Oh ! that I will,*' interrupted Augustus, 
 '* I will do anything you tell me, so that I may 
 but obtain her hand and heart.'* 
 
 "It must be from a higher motive than 
 earthly love," said Mr. Lennox, with a sad 
 smile ; " yet I fear you can imagine none at 
 present — that you cannot conceive it possible
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 99 
 
 to love anything more pure and heavenly than 
 she is ; and perhaps, indeed, this earthly love 
 may be the means God has chosen to draw 
 your heart towards Heaven. But it must be 
 through a long course of self-denial. You must 
 take up the cross and suffer ; you must prefer 
 present misery and the contempt of those 
 whose good opinion you value, or rather of 
 those whom you wish to triumph over ; for you 
 cannot in your heart really care for the opinion 
 of people who only value you according to your 
 riches, and success in worldly schemes. Then, 
 after a long continuance in self-denial and the 
 unceasing endeavour to do wxU, and to perse- 
 vere in an honest profession — if you then really 
 feel worthy of Lucy — no doubt you will still find 
 her willing to share your fate. I do not dread 
 poverty for her, she has been accustomed to do 
 without luxuries, — she could live happily even 
 on the work of her own hands. All I dread is, 
 uncertainty, and guilty riches, and a husband 
 
 H 2
 
 100 LIFE 
 
 who does not seek for strength and assistance, 
 where alone it can be found." 
 
 " But may I not see her now once more ; 
 may 1 not implore her to pray for me, to help 
 me ? Oh do not use that fatal influence you 
 possess over Lucy, to induce her to desert me/' 
 
 ** You mistake ; I use no influence over her, 
 
 and never shall. I shall not persuade her. I 
 
 merely help to show her the truth. She shall 
 
 have full liberty to decide for herself ; but after 
 
 what I now learn of your last entanglement — 
 
 the scheme in which you have embarked since 
 
 you spoke to her last night — I feel perfectly 
 
 sure she would not consent. And it would be a 
 
 useless agitation to both — to us all — if you 
 
 were to meet at present.'' 
 
 * * # * 
 
 Lucy heard the Hall door close, and she 
 knew Augustus was gone. There was despair 
 in the sound, for she felt convinced that she 
 should never see him again ! For the last few
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 101 
 
 minutes she had been sitting like a marble 
 statue, so pale and so cold, that Mrs. Lennox 
 dreaded every moment that she would faint. 
 But now she rushed impetuously to the win- 
 dow, and drawing her mother with her, ex- 
 claimed, " help me to bear this — I had no 
 idea I loved him so much !" 
 
 He had crossed the httle foot bridge, and 
 nearly reached the beech grove on the other 
 side. He did not look back at the Rectory, 
 but there was an air of such deep despondency 
 in his walk, such despair in his receding figure, 
 that Lucy felt she would have given worlds to 
 follow and speak one word of comfort and hope. 
 It was such a dreadful wrenching of her heart- 
 strings — she seemed drawn towards him by 
 such a powerfully irresistible spell, that for a 
 moment she felt utterly crushed, and convinced 
 that she should never, never be happy again. 
 
 But she had such perfect confidence in her 
 father's judgment, such firm faith in his deep
 
 102 LIFE 
 
 love and anxiety for her happiness, that she did 
 not for a moment question the propriety of the 
 decision that had led to Augustus's departure, 
 without having seen her. She was quite sure 
 that her father would judge right, for he was 
 even more likely to be indulgent, more likely 
 to pardon Augustus's failings, than her more 
 simple-minded, yet equally kind mother. For 
 Mr. Lennox was so large-hearted, so full of 
 Christian love — " Agape," — that real charity 
 which hopeth all things and thinks no ill — and 
 he had suffered so much in himself with the 
 struggles against his own violent and impetuous 
 temper and naturally strong passions, that he 
 was better able to understand the errors, and 
 even compassionate the crimes of others, than 
 his more naturally good and even-tempered 
 wife. Therefore, Lucy knew that if he con- 
 demned, there was no hope for her ! 
 
 As long as she could see Augustus under the 
 beech grove, she kept back her tears ; but when
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 103 
 
 he was out of sight, she sobbed in agony, and 
 her tears streamed down her cheeks. But the 
 next moment she was clasped in her father's 
 arms, and he fondly whispered, " Tor our sakes, 
 darling, you must try to bear this.*' 
 
 Augustus Derwent had gone away in utter 
 despair, and yet perhaps at that moment his 
 grief was scarcely more violent than her*s. 
 But she had a consolation which he could 
 not feel, and which soon softened the bitter- 
 ness of her woe. She had nothing to re- 
 proach herself with ! But until we have suf- 
 fered and felt deeply, it is impossible to 
 know the difference there is between the 
 tears that flow from parting, even for ever, 
 from those we love best in this world : and the 
 stinging, burning, heartache of remorse. 
 
 Our own errors create a tearless grief that 
 seems to scorch up the sources of Hfe and hght, 
 and leave us in dark and hopeless despair. The 
 vain endeavour to fly from the misery we have
 
 104 LIFE 
 
 brought upon ourselves is one of the greatest 
 trials and temptations of our fallen condition. 
 The temporary relief that may be found in 
 some such mad excitement as gambling, is 
 most alluring even to those whose entire 
 misfortunes are caused by that very vice, and 
 who have lost everything by it. And this was 
 what the father and daughter feared would be 
 again the fate of poor Augustus. Yet they 
 both saw there was no alternative — that she 
 could not encourage his love, until there was 
 some decided indication of his having begun to 
 pursue the straight and difficult road that leads 
 to eternal happiness.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 105 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 THE WEDDING DAY. 
 
 On a bright morning, towards the end of 
 August, there was an unusual stir in the little 
 village of Hartfield, for it was Harriett's wed- 
 ding day. 
 
 The poor cottagers had always been ac- 
 customed to look upon the clergyman and 
 his family as the better part of their own pro- 
 perty. They loved each member of it with an 
 affection as strong, only refined by a higher 
 reverence than they felt for their own rela- 
 tions. And Harriett was their especial favour-
 
 106 LIFE 
 
 ite, for she possessed more of that simplicity 
 of disposition that could enter patiently into 
 their joys and sorrows, and listen with never- 
 faihng sympathy to all their troubles. And 
 the course of her own young love had run so 
 smoothly, that she had never been troubled by 
 those anxious fears and hopes that had some- 
 times made poor Lucy an absent listener, and 
 prevented her from taking such a lively inte- 
 rest in their joys. 
 
 " We are going to lose Miss Harriett," was 
 the sad thought that caused many tears to flow 
 even among the smiles and merry-makings 
 which were given in honour of the happy event. 
 
 They all knew it was a happy marriage. For 
 young Lennox had passed nearly all his holi- 
 days at the Rectory since his earliest youth, 
 and the cottagers had seen the wild schoolboy, 
 who had sometimes called forth the rebukes of 
 his uncle, and even the quiet Harriett's frowns, 
 gradually develop into a steady clergyman, 
 *' who preached nearly as good a sermon as
 
 AND ITS BEALITIES. 107 
 
 our own Rector himself." But the young peo- 
 ple were to start for their distant home in 
 Northumberland that very evening, and most 
 of the older portion of the villagers felt that 
 tney should probably never see their kind faces 
 again in this world. Por there were no rail- 
 roads then, and it was an " awful long journey" 
 of five days by coach for a clergyman to take, 
 with only one hundred and fifty pounds a-year. 
 
 And this was the thought which some- 
 what embittered the tears of joy shed by the 
 parents, and all those who must feel glad to 
 see two loving hearts united before God's altar: 
 for an alloy must ever mingle with all our 
 delight in this world. 
 
 Yet Lucy did her best to make every one 
 forget there could be any dark clouds in 
 this bright day. Casting away all selfish 
 regrets, she had determined to devote her- 
 self to the happiness of others. And this per- 
 haps made her feel more really cheerful than 
 any one else ; and she was the more anxious
 
 108 LIFE 
 
 to catch at any gleam of pleasure, and impart 
 it to them, from the fear of being at all sad- 
 dened by her own sorrow, and thus clouding 
 their joy. So she held up bravely till the 
 end. 
 
 And when Harriett had given the last hnger- 
 ing embrace to the aged father, and she saw 
 that both thought they should never meet again 
 here below, Lucy threw herself into his arms, 
 and said in a low whisper, " You will always 
 have me ; you know we shall never, never part ; 
 and this thought makes me quite happy now, 
 quite reconciled to his loss." 
 
 Mrs. Lennox had been less moved at parting 
 from Harriett than her husband, for her dispo- 
 sition was much less anxious and apprehensive ; 
 but when she heard Lucy's words, and looked 
 on the pure, unselfish joy that beamed in her 
 eyes and glowed on the cheeks which had 
 grown thin and pale from the last two 
 months' sorrow, her tears began to flow, and 
 she thanked God more fervently still for all
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 109 
 
 the blessings that were showered on their 
 heads. 
 
 They were standing on the steps of the Httle 
 sumnier-house at the corner of the terrace, for 
 they could from thence see the road by which 
 the bridal pair had departed, and nearly the 
 whole population of the village were drawn up 
 on the green at the other side of the foot bridge, 
 and well-known faces had formed a sort of 
 wall on either side, and mingled cheers and 
 sobs had been heard as they drove away. 
 Lucy had kissed away her father's tears, and 
 they were all three looking toward the beech 
 grove, where the carriage was rapidly dis- 
 appearing amidst its shady depths. 
 
 That was the same road — the same spot 
 where Augustus had disappeared on that fatal 
 day. Lucy could not help remembering it, 
 although it was the only time she had allowed 
 herself to think of him the whole day ; and 
 now when she felt that they had parted for 
 ever at that time, the painful misgiving, that
 
 110 LIFE 
 
 she might never see her dear sister again, 
 forced itself upon her mind ; she turned pale, 
 and a feeling of blank misery and dread came 
 upon her. 
 
 Mr. Lennox divined her thoughts, and 
 so did the watchful mother. They both 
 tried to cheer and comfort her ; and then, 
 ashamed of her weakness, she succeeded 
 in feeling grateful for their love. So after 
 a few minutes, the happy look returned to 
 her beaming eyes, and the colour to her 
 cheeks, although her tears continued to run 
 down her face. 
 
 *' I wonder why Sukey Stokes was not at the 
 wedding," she said, as she looked with real 
 pleasure on the happy groups of children, that 
 were playing in full glee on the opposite green. 
 *' And I do not see any of the Stokes family 
 anywhere." 
 
 " ! Miss, hav'n't ye heard the news ?" said 
 Peggy, the maid-of-all-work, who had come 
 to see how they had borne the sad parting
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. Ill 
 
 which had made her cry so bitterly. " Hav'u't 
 ye heard that Sukey Stokes is ill o* the fever ? 
 They say, alack a-day, it's the same fever we 
 had in the village five years agone, when Miss 
 Harriett caught it, God bless her! from Dame 
 Bevis, and that so many died ; may God pre- 
 serve us from the like again." 
 
 Lucy dried her tears with a feeling of 
 shame, almost of indignation against herself 
 for giving way to selfish regrets, when such 
 real misfortunes were now awaiting them. 
 For in those days the typhus fever was almost 
 like the plague, and Lucy well remembered 
 the awful time they had passed during its 
 previous visitation, when nearly a quarter of 
 the village population had been swept away, 
 and her father did nothing but attend death- 
 beds and funerals. 
 
 "Thank God, that dear Harriett is gone,'' 
 she said, trying to smile, *'and that she did not 
 hear of it, for she would have been miserable at 
 leaving us;" anda feeling of sickening terror op-
 
 112 LIFE 
 
 pressed her, as she remembered that her father 
 would now be exposed to the fearful danger. 
 
 " Poor Sukey ! '' he exclaimed as he took 
 her hand and that of his wife within his own, 
 " I must go at once and see her ; I am afraid 
 they did not tell me of this misfortune on pur- 
 pose ; and now courage ; cheer up, Lucy, be as 
 brave now about this, as you were in bearing 
 your own disappointment, and see, mamma 
 is not afraid." 
 
 " We are in the hands of God ! " said Mrs. 
 Lennox in a solemn tone. " We ought to be suf- 
 ficiently prepared for the great change, not to 
 fear its approach : and so is Lucy, I trust : 
 only it is for you that she fears," continued the 
 fond mother, as her lips quivered : " we both 
 fear ; but I know it is wrong, for despondency 
 and anxiety increase the danger to us all.'' 
 
 " Let me come with you, papa," said Lucy, as 
 Mr. Lennox walked quickly towards the foot- 
 bridge.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 113 
 
 " No," he said with gentle firmness, as he 
 proceeded to pass through the garden gate, 
 *' it would be wrong to expose yourself un- 
 necessarily. You must keep up your strength, 
 to help, if I should be prevented from visiting 
 any one myself." 
 
 The mother and daughter then returned 
 home, and busied themselves in putting the 
 house to rights. For the wedding fete had 
 left the usually neat rooms in considerable con- 
 fusion ; and Peggy was too much frightened at 
 the idea of the fever, to know well what she 
 was doing. 
 
 "We must make some good soup for Sukey," 
 said Mrs. Lennox to the terrified maid. *' And 
 how fortunate that we have such plenty of 
 materials. Then, Peggy, you know that no one 
 makes it so well for the sick as you do.'' 
 
 "But who's to make it for yourselves, if you 
 all catch it, and I am gone?" said Peggy, wring- 
 ing her hands. *' And who's to attend upon 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 LIFE 
 
 Miss Lucy, now that old nurse Nelly cannot 
 walk, I should like to know ! I do think it's too 
 dreadful, when Master says all them beautiful 
 prayers, to have this terrible misfortune come 
 upon us. I cannot see if the likes of him and 
 you are not good enough to be rewarded, who 
 ever will be free from trouble. When Miss 
 Harriet had it that time, I could not help 
 wondering what was the use of being good, 
 for she had it just as bad as that old thief 
 Jim Morrison, and yet not one of all his good- 
 for-nothing family took it either. 
 
 " But I know it is very wrong to say so," she 
 continued, as she couldnot help seeing Mrs. Len- 
 nox's grave looks, " for you took such pains to 
 shew me that the best are often the most tried ; 
 so I will try to remember it all, and not bother 
 you more than I can help. Only I do feel so 
 angry to think that trouble should come near 
 you and the dear good Master. — Shall I put 
 some of those small turnips into the soup ?"
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 115 
 
 said Peggy, as she dashed away her tears, 
 and began to busy herself about the cooking. 
 " You are a foolish girl, Peggy ; but I hope 
 when you are as old as I am, that you will be 
 able to feel, from glad experience, that those 
 who love God are happier even in their worst 
 trials, than the children of this world are even 
 in the height of their prosperity. Trials, 
 though you may not understand it yet, are 
 proofs of oar Father's love ; and if we trust 
 Him, He will never forsake us in them." 
 
 Mr. Lennox did not return home for some 
 hours ; and then they saw, by the solemn yet 
 hopeful expression of his face, that all was 
 over, and that poor Sukey had gone to her 
 eternal rest. 
 
 They did not like to question him as 
 to whether any others of the family had 
 caught the fatal complaint; but after he 
 had eaten some of the supper that was ready 
 for him, he said, "Her daughter and two grand- 
 
 I 2
 
 116 LIPE 
 
 children have taken it, and I find, from young 
 Doctor Meazel, that there are two cases at Low 
 End." 
 
 In a few days afterwards there were sick 
 and dying persons in nearly half the cottages 
 of the village, and the Rector of RoUston came 
 to assist Mr. Lennox in his arduous labours. 
 
 ** The plague runs festering through the town, 
 And never a bell is tolling ; 
 And corpses jostled 'neath the moon. 
 Nod to the dead cart's rolling. 
 The young child caUeth for the cup, 
 
 The strong man brings it weeping -, 
 The mother from her babe looks up. 
 And shrieks away its sleeping. 
 
 Be pitiful, O God !" 
 
 Lucy's endeavours to endure the terror she 
 could not quite conquer, lest her father should 
 catch the disorder to which he was hourly ex- 
 posed, had been so far successful, that she felt 
 much more peaceful, and even happy, than she 
 had at first deemed possible. She was able to feel
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 117 
 
 thankful also, that this real evil had the effect 
 of distracting her thoughts from the painful 
 anxiety she had before felt, as to the fate of 
 Augustus, and also made her less sorrowful at 
 the absence of the sister, from whom she had 
 never been parted for a single day before. 
 
 "And if the danger were passed, and if 
 my father escapes," thought she, "I should 
 never be unhappy again." 
 
 But it was not fated she should be exempt 
 from the trial she dreaded more than any 
 other. The following week, when hopes began 
 to prevail that the violence of the disorder 
 was abating, Mr. Lennox became ill. At first 
 his wife hoped that it was only the effect of 
 fatigue and want of sleep, as he had not been 
 in bed for several nights ; but in a few hours, 
 he became almost insensible. 
 
 Lucy, from the first moment, felt that the 
 bitter sorrow had arrived. She obtained, 
 with great difficulty, her mother's con-
 
 118 LIFE 
 
 sent that she should watch by his bed 
 the first night, for Mrs. Lennox saw that her 
 excitement and anxiety were so great that 
 she would not be able to sleep, and that 
 probably she would be more tranquil, if not 
 separated from the object of her devoted love. 
 She also knew that Lucy would be happier, and 
 less apprehensive for both, if she felt that her 
 mother were taking some rest; so she pro- 
 mised to lie down on Lucy's bed in the next 
 room, and would not come in during the entire 
 night, unless she were called. 
 
 Lucy thanked her with a cheerful smile ; 
 and as the poor girl watched through the 
 lonely hours of that long night, she was sur- 
 prised to feel how peaceful, and even happy, 
 her thoughts were. She must have had some 
 inward conviction that her father was going 
 to that blessed abode, to which he had always 
 looked forward with such joyful hope ; and she 
 was more than ever convinced, how glorious
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 119 
 
 were the hopes of happiness he expected to 
 enjoy with his Redeemer. She wondered, 
 with grateful pleasure, at the power of endu- 
 rance which had been given her in all the 
 troubles she had already experienced in her 
 short Hfe. She thought of his favourite lines — 
 
 ** Afflicted soul, fresh courage take. 
 The clouds ye so much dread. 
 Replete with mercy, soon shall hreak, 
 111 blessings on your head.** 
 
 ''When misfortunes actually happen," 
 thought Lucy, "what wonderful support is 
 given those who have tried to trust in God." 
 
 That night, after meeting Augustus, and 
 experiencing a new hope, she had thought that 
 there could be no greater misfortune than to 
 be obliged to refuse him. This she had " ver- 
 schmerzt " — lived through. Then the parting 
 from her sister seemed such a trial, she felt as 
 if she could never be happy again. Then the 
 apprehension of her father getting the fever.
 
 120 LIFE 
 
 All had happened. And yet now, while 
 watching by his, perhaps, death-bed, she could 
 look with a more joyful confidence, a more 
 sure and certain hope of future happiness, 
 than she had been able to feel when all was 
 bright around her. 
 
 She remembered a particular evening, two 
 years before, when Augustus had spoken to 
 her on the terrace at Rollston, and everything 
 appeared cheery and hopeful. Yet she had 
 felt a trembling sort of blank, as if all was not 
 right, and that misery was hanging over her. 
 Now she knew the worst, almost the worst — 
 yet no — for she might be left alone without 
 ^^s either of her two parents ; yet the peace she 
 
 felt gave her confidence that she would be 
 supported in the same miraculous way. 
 
 She looked back in after-life to that night, as 
 one of the happiest she had ever spent. And 
 though full of vivid life, she did not attempt to 
 crush her feelings, as she generally had — when
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 121 
 
 thinking of Augustus — to make herself indif- 
 ferent and cold, and insensible, that she might 
 suffer less. On the contrary, her trust in 
 God, that He would strengthen her to endure 
 whatever he thought good to inflict, enabled 
 her to rest in Him peacefully. 
 
 The pale light of dawn showed Lucy more 
 plainly the change that night had made in her 
 father's countenance. And the doctor had 
 not yet arrived ! " Had they done right ? had 
 they applied the proper remedies ?" Perhaps 
 even yet, if the right means were used, he 
 might recover. Old Charlotte Dobbins had 
 recovered last week, when Dr. Bright from 
 Ilminster had arrived and given her some 
 other remedy. 
 
 Again Lucy prayed, and more fervently 
 than ever, that her Father might be spared. 
 Mrs. Lennox, who entered the room at that 
 moment, joined her supplications to those of 
 her poor daughter. Lucy heard the hall door
 
 122 LIFE 
 
 open, and, as she fancied it might be Dr, 
 Bright, she ran hastily down stairs. 
 
 Alas, no ! it was not yet he ; and she re- 
 turned to the sick room with a heavy heart. 
 She thought she had been reconciled to lose 
 her father : but now she found she must 
 hope. She could not bear to think those dear 
 eyes would never look upon her again in this 
 world. And this was the mother's thought too, 
 as she held his thin hand in hers — for nature 
 will have its way. 
 
 And the Saviour who wept when Lazarus 
 died, supported them now in this hour of 
 increasing and agonizing suspense.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 123 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CONTRAST. 
 
 " It was your fault entirely, I am convinced 
 it was/' exclaimed Lady Julia Ren ton, as her 
 dark ^yes flashed with angry vehemence. 
 
 The husband and wife were enjoying a tete-a- 
 tete in the luxurious gallery at Rollston Court. 
 
 " There we are turned adrift once more 
 upon the wild world T she continued, " and I 
 am convinced you made him speculate again, 
 to prevent his marriage with that poor girl. 
 I am convinced it was ; so you need not make 
 any excuses, for I won't listen to them." 
 
 ** How can you be so fooHsh ? it will be all
 
 124 LIFE 
 
 right again soon — the shares are gnly gone 
 down because — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! I know well enough they will 
 never get up again. And the tradespeople 
 feel it is all going wrong, or they would not 
 be so pressing with their bills. And why do 
 you idle away your time here, instead of going 
 to see whether some portion of his money 
 might not be saved ? There you are, absorbed 
 in shooting, and — " 
 
 " London is so confoundedly dull in Sep- 
 tember, and Augustus would be certain not to 
 follow my advice." 
 
 " As to dulness, I am sure it is dull enough 
 here. I have no shooting to amuse m^, and 
 there is no pleasure even in dressing well, 
 when nobody sees me. We had much better 
 have gone abroad with my brother." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but he would not have us ; I 
 saw that plainly." 
 
 *' That's only because you make yourself so
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 125 
 
 disagreeable : you often seem as if you thought 
 you were conferring a kindness, in conde- 
 scending to be helped by him." 
 
 " And do you make yourself very pleasant ? 
 Who always found fault with the servants, 
 and abused the dinners at Gayfield ?" 
 
 "Well, if I did animadvert on my own 
 brother's arrangements," said Lady JuUa, 
 proudly, ** that was no reason why you should 
 abuse his wine and complain of his shooting." 
 
 " I can't stand seeing a person so imposed 
 upon and cheated by their servants, as he is ; 
 and by the bye, these are getting quite un- 
 bearable. Clackson had the impudence to 
 say, this morning, he would not remain if his 
 wages were not paid, and the cook threatens 
 to go for the same reason — and it is very hard, 
 when they have an unlimited supply of wine, 
 and can give parties to their friends." 
 
 "Yes, they contrive to amuse themselves 
 very well in this dull place; but I expected
 
 126 LIFE 
 
 they would soon give warning, and I repeat 
 again, it is entirely your fault — entirely. 
 But you won't listen to me," continued Lady 
 Julia, as she saw her husband take up his 
 gun and leave the room. " Stay one moment ; 
 I want to tell you that that there is a dread- 
 ful fever at Hartfield, so don't go in that direc- 
 tion," she exclaimed, as she ran to the door. 
 
 But he was already out of hearing, and Lady 
 Julia returned, with a languid and dejected 
 air, to resume her luxurious position in the 
 easiest chair that could be found among the 
 variety which had been furnished by the best 
 upholsterer in London. 
 
 The latest French andEnghsh novels were on 
 a table near, and Lady Julia attempted to read, 
 but they all seemed to bore her ; and then she 
 tried to work at a pretty piece of embroidery, 
 but her own thoughts, to which this mechanical 
 employment allowed full scope, were not more 
 satisfactory. From an ennuyeed look, her
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 127 
 
 handsome face assumed a positively unhappy 
 expression, and she gradually became convinced 
 that she was the most unjustly injured and 
 miserable of human beings. 
 
 " There, the boys are quarrelling again ; they 
 will kill each other some day," thought she, as 
 the sound of children's voices in high dispute 
 reached her ears. And then her favourite son 
 Jemmy, with a deep cut on his forehead, and 
 the blood running down his cheek, rushed into 
 the room, and nestled his head on her lap. 
 
 "Frederick struck me," exclaimed the sobbing 
 boy. " He would not let me have the bow." 
 
 "It is false, and he is a silly har," said 
 Frederick, sullenly, as he looked in at the 
 door. " But I don't care for what he says ; 
 only I shall take care how I condescend to 
 play with him again, that's all." And with angry 
 vehemence he slammed the door, and Lady 
 Julia heard him cracking his whip, as he re- 
 treated down the broad oak staircase.
 
 128 LTPE 
 
 Little Jemmy's wound was deep, and he had 
 besides several bruises, for his brother had 
 kicked him after he had fallen down. But as 
 soon as he saw that his mother's compassion 
 was excited, and that she experienced real 
 anxiety about him, he tried to make light of 
 his sufferings. 
 
 " Darling child ! he shall not hurt you again ; 
 you must remember Frederick is two years 
 older, and so much stronger than you are ; but 
 he i very naughty, very." 
 
 **And mamma won't say I am naughty 
 again ?" enquired Jemmy. " Pray don't, for 
 'deed I do want to be good." 
 
 " You are good, darling 1" said Lady Julia, 
 as she pressed him to her heart, and felt at 
 that moment that her love for this child was a 
 pleasant and satisfactory sensation ; that it 
 was a link which seemed to connect her with 
 good, and recalled the earnest aspirations for 
 happiness and purity, which at times spring
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 129 
 
 up in most youthful hearts, but which had 
 long been crushed and extinguished by the 
 vain cares and ambitions of the great world. 
 
 She carried the poor boy to his nursery, 
 and dressed his wound herself, while the nurse 
 looked on with wondering eyes, at the un- 
 wonted interest her Ladyship took in him. 
 
 " I hope the blessed child won't take the 
 fever,'' she said, with an ominous shake of her 
 head. *' They do say that . . ." 
 
 '* Oh, don't speak of it," exclaimed Lady 
 JuUa, turning pale — " And there is not any in 
 this village yet — is there ?" 
 
 " Not as I knows on ; but they be dying 
 by scores at Hartfield and at Lowton, and Sir 
 Lionel is always a going to shoot in them 
 parts, and he might bring it back in his 
 clothes, as my brother Jack did to his family, 
 and three of his children died of it." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 130 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 UNPREPARED. 
 
 Lady Julia Renton had never found any 
 pleasure in religion during the days of her 
 prosperity ; and therefore, like many, perhaps 
 most of us, when real misfortune occurred, 
 she remembered only its gloom. She had 
 never felt a longing to attain eternal joy, 
 " to enter into a state of rest ;" because she 
 had never laboured to subdue sin, or endea- 
 voured to strive against her evil nature. 
 
 And now she was lying on her bed of 
 death ! 
 
 Little Jemmy had been attacked with the
 
 AND ITS BEALITIES. 131 
 
 fever, which Lady Julia was convinced her 
 husband had brought from Hartfield, where 
 he would persist in going to enquire after 
 poor Mr. Lennox, as he said ; but it was in 
 reality, as JuHa well knew, to endeavour to 
 obtain an interview with Lucy. 
 
 So of course, she bitterly reproached her hus- 
 band, and at first experienced a sort of grim, and 
 spiteful satisfaction, in the proof that her ap- 
 prehensions were confirmed, and that her warn- 
 ings had been given in vain. But she fled in 
 terror from her child's sick bed, and it was only 
 when the doctor declared there was no hope 
 of his recovery, that, in despair, she ran to see 
 her child once more. And then, when she 
 gazed on his almost insensible form, she 
 bitterly reproached herself for her neglect, 
 and with frantic recklessness kissed and hug- 
 ged her darhng, and called him by those 
 endearing appellations, which, perhaps, if he 
 had sooner heard, might have revived his 
 
 K 2
 
 132 LIFE 
 
 drooping strength, and averted the awful mo- 
 ment which was now fast approaching. 
 
 The nurse who had attended him, with that 
 mixture of unselfishness and insensibihty to 
 danger, which is often evinced by servants, 
 shook her head when she saw the useless 
 danger her mistress was incurring. But with 
 the tact of kindness, and also a feeling that 
 after all it was right the mother should attend 
 her dying child, Mary forbore to utter her 
 thoughts. 
 
 Little Jemmy's eyes had been closed for se- 
 veral hours ; but as he now lay on his mother's 
 lap, they gently opened, and he looked up in 
 her face with a loving gaze of wonder and 
 happiness. His httle parched lips seemed 
 trying to smile, or to utter some word. But 
 he could not speak ; only his hand pressed 
 her's, and his eyes opened wider, and assumed 
 an expression as if he saw some beautiful 
 sights, besides her face, which made him quite
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 133 
 
 happy. Then there was a heavy, deep sigh ; 
 the Httle hand relaxed its grasp, and the eye- 
 lids slowly closed. 
 
 For a moment, Lady Julia thought he was 
 asleep. He could not, must not die, just 
 when he had looked on her with such a loving 
 and happy gaze, that she had wondered why 
 she had ever been discontented and unhappy, 
 when she possessed such a dear child as that. 
 
 She was afraid to move, lest she should dis- 
 turb that deep repose, or learn the sad confirma- 
 tion of fears, which, in spite of her resolve to 
 think them impossible, grew stronger every 
 moment. 
 
 At last she looked up in the nurse*s face, and 
 saw that she was crying. 
 
 " It's all over, ray lady ! The poor inno- 
 cent lamb ! And sure how happy he does look, 
 bless his little heart ! and I can't but say I 
 am glad he died in your Ladyship's arms. — 
 Now don't take on so, it's no use to kiss his
 
 134 LIFE 
 
 little cold lips that way. Ye can't give back 
 the life-blood to his heart. Come away, re- 
 member it*s the bad fever, and there's Master 
 Frederick left ye." 
 
 But Lady Julia had never loved her first- 
 born, nor was Frederick's unfortunately a na- 
 ture to excite much affection ; so she felt ut- 
 terly lonely, and overwhelmed with this unex- 
 pected blow. 
 
 " Oh ye who say, ' We have a child in heaven ;' 
 Who have felt that desolate isolation sharp, 
 Defined in death's own face, who have stood beside 
 The silent river, and stretch' d out pleading hands 
 For some sweet babe upon the other bank. 
 That went forth where no human hand might lead, [ 
 And left the shut house with no light, no sound. 
 No answer, when the mourners wail without ! 
 What we have known, ye know, and only know."* 
 
 She had lost her husband's love, partly 
 from her own selfish vanity ; for Sir Lionel 
 had perhaps some of those qualities which, if 
 he had fallen into better hands, might have 
 turned out very differently. 
 
 * Gerald Massey.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 135 
 
 The next day, Lady Julia was attacked with 
 the fever. She felt so miserable, that at first 
 she scarcely cared or wished to recover. But 
 as she lay on that bed of suffering, she began 
 to remember how totally unprepared she was 
 for eternity. 
 
 She was too ill to read; but when she 
 tried to pray, and to remember some texts 
 of scripture, nothing would come into her 
 mind but those words which condemned 
 her to everlasting punishment. She was 
 going to the abode of eternal weeping. She 
 was one of those " wandering stars," for 
 whom is reserved " the blackness of darkness 
 for ever." She felt that the agonising thirst 
 she was now enduring, was but a foretaste of 
 that state when she would ask in vain for a 
 " drop of water to cool her tongue." 
 
 Then, in her half-delirious state, her imagina- 
 tion conjured up the horrors pourtrayed in 
 Dante, which she had perhaps studied more than
 
 136 LIFE 
 
 the Bible, and visions of excruciating bodily 
 tortures were added to her real sufferings, and 
 she fancied herself shut out from all good 
 spirits ; and that she should never even see 
 her pretty darling Jemmy any more. 
 
 There had been an execution in the house, 
 and all the servants were gone, except the 
 nurse and one poor little kitchen-maid, who 
 had led a miserable life while the fine ser- 
 vants were there, and who was now glad to 
 remain and help the nurse. 
 
 Sir Lionel had been absent for a few days, 
 and late one evening he returned, and seemed 
 to take more interest in his wife's state than 
 he had yet evinced. 
 
 He had no fear of infection ; and when Lady 
 Julia expressed a wish to see some clergyman, 
 he offered to go, and endeavour to persuade 
 the rector of Rollston, who had been assisting 
 Mr. Lennox in his attendance on the poor, to 
 visit her.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 137 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 UNAVAILING REGRETS. 
 
 Mr. Lennox had not died of the fever, but 
 it had left him so weak, and in such an altered 
 condition, that Lucy saw with dismay, that he 
 would never recover his former strength and 
 energy. 
 
 Mrs. Lennox had the same fear ; but she was 
 more prepared for the loss of her husband, from 
 the suspicion she had for some time felt that 
 he had the same kind of heart complaint which 
 had carried off his father. She had never ut- 
 tered this apprehension; but the expectation that
 
 138 LIFE 
 
 they might lose him suddenly,had given perhaps 
 a greater intensity to her affection, while it insen- 
 sibly made her always act as if they might be 
 obliged to part at any sudden moment. And 
 she had also cultivated the same feeling of pre- 
 paration in herself, of constantly looking forward 
 with greater certainty to the meeting above, 
 where parting should be no more, — than to the 
 return of her husband, either from his visits to 
 the poor, or to the morning's greeting after the 
 "• good night '' had been said. 
 
 " Let us always part for the night as if we 
 were only to meet each other above," Mr. 
 Lennox had often said with a smile so full of 
 hopeful love, as to deprive the solemn thought 
 of all its gloom. 
 
 So the mother and daughter now felt thank- 
 ful that the dear father's life had been spared, 
 and his sufferings mitigated. Por he had often 
 said, if he could choose the manner of his death, 
 it would not be in a sick bed ; but he would
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 189 
 
 like to die suddenly, if prepared, when he was 
 in the full enjoyment of all his faculties. 
 
 They heard of Lady JuUa's dangerous state, 
 and of the loss of her favourite child; and that in 
 consequence of the servants having all left Roll- 
 ston, she was in a most forsaken and neglected 
 condition. 
 
 Mr. Lennox felt anxious to see her, but 
 he was too weak to go even that short dis- 
 tance ; and as the clergyman of Rollston was 
 too much engaged with the sick and dying 
 poor around him, to be able to give much 
 time to Lady Julia, Mr. Lennox proposed 
 that his wife and Lucy should go and visit her. 
 
 Lady Julia had been given over by the doc- 
 tors, and she was almost insensible. Her last 
 conscious thoughts had been most painful, and 
 her dread of meeting a severe judge very great. 
 
 She became quite delirious, and raved inco- 
 herently about racks and tortures ; and called 
 in piteous tones on her darUng Jemmy to bring
 
 140 LIFE 
 
 water to cool her tongue, and quench the flancies 
 that were burning her. 
 
 There was no one to attend her but the 
 nurse, and she was so worn out with watching, 
 that she had lately been of little use, and the 
 dying woman had in vain called for assistance 
 during the short intervals when she was sen- 
 sible. 
 
 Sir Lionel had sometimes visited her, but he 
 was so horror-struck at hearing her ravings, that 
 he ran away in dismay ; and instead of taking 
 warning by the sight of her fearful end, it had 
 the effect of making him plunge more deeply 
 into schemes of self-indulgence and folly, to drive 
 away the painful prospect of death. So he was 
 more than ever determined to win the heart of 
 the only person he felt he had ever really loved, 
 and he clung to the image of the lovely Lucy 
 to save him from despair. 
 
 Hitherto he had not succeeded in seeing her ; 
 for she had never left her father's room, nor did
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 141 
 
 she leave the house until she went, at Mr. Len- 
 nox's request, to accompany her mother to 
 Rollston Court. 
 
 Sir Lionel had almost hoped she would 
 come,, for he knew they must have heard of his 
 wife's hopeless state and destitute condition, 
 and of the house being even stripped of its 
 comforts by all his brother's furniture having 
 been seized. So he was not surprised when 
 he saw the mother and daughter walk up the 
 long avenue. 
 
 He longed to go and meet them ; but he 
 recollected it would have a better effect if he 
 were found by his wife's sick bed. So he 
 hastened to take his place by her side ; and 
 having first ascertained that she was asleep, 
 he proceeded to put the room in some kind 
 of order. 
 
 When Lady Julia awoke from her uneasy 
 slumbers, she had recovered her reason, and 
 endeavoured to resume her efforts to pray.
 
 142 LIFE 
 
 But she had never fervently prayed in the time 
 of her " wealth" and happiness, and when she 
 strove now to say, " In the hour of death, and 
 in the day of judgment, Good Lord deliver us !*' 
 — she felt as if she had no right to hope her 
 petition would be heard. The solemn mean- 
 ing of the words seemed for the first time to 
 strike her, and the recollection of how often 
 she had repeated them by rote in church, with- 
 out feeling and without thought, oppressed her 
 fearfully. 
 
 [ '* For oft the light that led our earlier hours 
 Fades with the perfume of our cradle flowers ; 
 The clear cold question chills to frozen doubt. 
 Tired of beliefs we dread to live without.. ? 
 Oh ! then, if Reason waver at thy side. 
 Let humbler Memory be thy gentle guide ; 
 Go to thy birth place, and if faith was there, 
 Repeat thy father's creed, thy mother's prayer." 
 
 She could now scarcely see. The dim dark- 
 ness of her last hour was gathering around 
 her, but she heard a soft voice whisper in her
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 143 
 
 ear, " I came not to call the righteous, but 
 sinners to repentance." " Whoso beHeveth in 
 me, shall never die." " Come unto me all ye 
 that are heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest." 
 
 Could there be atonement for her? she 
 thought. Could the blood of the Saviour wash 
 out such sins as hers ? Perhaps this was the 
 thought, — the faint hope, which brought a mo- 
 mentary light into her eyes, and tinged her pale 
 features with a transient smile, although it was 
 followed by a look of despair. And after the last 
 fearful struggle was over, her still beautiful fea- 
 tures assumed an expression of repose, though 
 not of happiness. 
 
 But whether their efforts were successful, 
 Mrs. Lennox and her daughter could not tell. 
 They could only hope that w^here remorse 
 seemed to have been so great, a true repentance 
 also existed. Such repentance as might be ac- 
 cepted before a just God.
 
 144 LIFE 
 
 Sir Lionel appeared to feel deeply ; and per- 
 haps his grief was partly real and partly 
 assumed. 
 
 He was about to accompany them from the 
 room ; but Mrs. Lennox looked at him with 
 a sort of solemn severity, which showed him 
 plainly that he must not follow them. 
 
 " Oh very gloomy is the house of woe, 
 
 Where tears are falUng while the bell is knelling; 
 With all the dark solemnities which shew 
 That death is in the dwelling ! 
 
 Oh very, very dreary is the room 
 
 Where love, domestic love, no longer nestles ; 
 But smitten by the common stroke of doom, 
 
 The corpse lies on the trestles !"
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE REPORT. 
 
 Soon after Lady Julia's death, a report 
 reached Hartfield, that Augustus Derwent was 
 going to be married to a rich manufacturer's 
 daughter. 
 
 Lucy knew that he had again lost his fortune 
 in fatal speculations. She had also heard that 
 he intended to go to India, and she sometimes 
 allowed herself to think that he would venture 
 to come and take leave of them before his de- 
 parture ; or, at any rate, that he would write to 
 her father. But now this report of his intended 
 
 VOL. I. Ii
 
 146 LIFE 
 
 marriage perplexed and annoyed her more than 
 she liked to acknowledge. It was very foolish, 
 she often repeated ; for she had no right to 
 repine, when she had so decidedly refused him. 
 
 The fever had now left the village, and the 
 Rector's family had begun to resume their for- 
 mer habits. But Lucy became daily more 
 convinced that her father would not live long, 
 and she saw, too, that her mother had the 
 same fear. 
 
 " Do not blame me, dear Lucy," she would 
 sometimes say, " for wishing that we may go 
 together. I have never been able to contem- 
 plate the possibility ofliving without him; and 
 I do not think God will require the severe trial 
 it would be to survive him. Therefore, be pre- 
 pared to lose us both soon. George Lennox 
 will come and take you to Harriet, and God 
 will enable you to be all happy together." 
 
 So both the parents talked to her often of all 
 she was to do, and how she was to make herself
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 147 
 
 happy ; and Lucy saw plainly that their lives 
 hung on such a slender thread that she clung 
 with a more grasping tenacity to the enjoyment 
 of everything with them ; and determined that 
 no fears of future loneliness, for herself, should 
 dim the brightness of these sunset hours of her 
 parents' lives. 
 
 Yet there was something so solemn and 
 peculiar in this " waiting and watching" of two 
 persons for their glorious change, that Lucy 
 thought less and less of her disappointment in 
 Augustus ; and the wonder and perplexity that 
 would otherwise have tormented her about his 
 marriage, were almost extinguished by the 
 engrossing consideration of the eternity to 
 which her parents were hastening. Of them, 
 she felt that 
 
 " To such He gives the power to find the road, 
 
 Where knowledge and true wisdom's steps may tread ; 
 To such He gives the right to shine abroad, 
 As beacon signals whereby souls are led. 
 
 l2
 
 148 LIFE 
 
 Strive so to live, that when Hfe's sacred trust 
 Shall be recalled by Him who gave it thee. 
 He may allow its use was wise and just, 
 And say, ' Thou faithful servant, sit by me !' "* 
 
 One morning as Lucy was going up Win- 
 barrow Down, for the first time since her 
 father's illness, to visit her old nurse, she met 
 Sir Lionel, who accosted her with more respect 
 than he had ever shown, and informed her, with 
 an air of well-assumed commiseration, that 
 Augustus was married. He said he had been 
 at the wedding in London, the day before. 
 The young couple had started immediately 
 after the ceremony for Southampton, where 
 they were to embark for India. 
 
 There was such an air of truth in his face, 
 that Lucy believed him at first ; but when 
 he proceeded to declare his own love, and to 
 offer her his hand, she began to suspect the 
 story might be false. 
 
 Sir Lionel did not appear surprised at her 
 
 * Sandes.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 149 
 
 refusing to listen to his declaration. With an 
 air of melancholy respect, he said he was fully 
 prepared for her refusal, that she must despise 
 him, that she would not consent to share his 
 solitary life of poverty, but that he had ven- 
 tured to address her for his p6or boy's sake, 
 who was now without a mother, utterly neg- 
 lected, and that Lucy was the only person he 
 ever could or would marry. That he had loved 
 her devotedly for years, and that she alone 
 could rescue him from despair, and save both 
 father and son. So he only entreated her to 
 consider, to consult her parents, to give him 
 the faintest intimation that she would some 
 day or other listen to him. 
 
 Of course, Lucy refused in the most positive 
 manner ; for she disliked him extremely, and 
 put no faith in his promises of amendment. 
 On meeting him she had returned homewards, 
 instead of proceeding to her nurse, and he 
 accompanied her to the Rectory Gates.
 
 150 LIFE 
 
 In spite of his assumed respect, there was 
 something in his air that frightened her. A 
 sort of dogged determination, and the indif- 
 ference with which he met her refusal, made 
 her divine, with her usual quick percep- 
 tion, that he was resolved to carry his point, 
 and that if fair means failed, he would not 
 scruple to use any others, however base. This 
 sort of vague fear made her hail with extreme 
 joy the sight of her home, and it was with 
 flushed cheeks and an agitated step that she 
 ran into her father's room. 
 
 She was much surprised to see Mr. Mande- 
 ville there, who appeared to have been en- 
 gaged in earnest conversation with her father. 
 He had never been there except to enquire 
 after Mr. Lennox's health during the time of 
 the fever, since Lucy had refused his hand two 
 years ago ; and now, she found that in conse- 
 quence of having heard that Augustus was 
 married, he had come to renew his offer.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 151 
 
 Not to press for an answer, but only to say 
 that as the obstacle was removed which had 
 put a bar to his hopes, he trusted that they 
 would aUow him to visit them sometimes, and 
 that he would wait any length of time, and 
 did not even wish that Lucy should as yet 
 think of him in any other light than as a de- 
 voted friend or brother. 
 
 It seemed to be Lucy's fate to excite love in 
 the most opposite natures; for Mr. Mande- 
 ville's calm, and perhaps rather phlegmatic 
 temperament and far-seeing prudence, were as 
 different from the impetuous and uncalculating 
 Augustus, as it was from the selfishly passion- 
 ate character of Sir Lionel. Both parents saw 
 that Mr. Mandeville was exactly the person best 
 suited to support and guide their daughter ; 
 and as they now became better acquainted 
 with him, they regretted the more that there 
 seemed so little prospect of Lucy's ever being 
 able to return his devoted affection.
 
 152 LIFE 
 
 Mr. Mandeville was the son of a wealthy 
 attorney, who had made a large fortune by his 
 own industry and cleverness, and redeemed 
 his low origin, and even a slur upon his birth, 
 by his generous and unpretending habits in his 
 declining years. Reuben Mandeville, his son, 
 might have assumed a place among the county 
 families ; but he never forgot that his father 
 had entered Ilminster as a tinker, and that his 
 mother was a butcher's daughter. So, instead 
 of pui'chasing a country place, as some of his 
 friends advised, Mr. Mandeville still continued 
 to live in the old house, in the outskirts of the 
 town, and kept the same sort of primitive and 
 unpretending estabhshment which had been 
 left there by his father. 
 
 So he was very rich, and had plenty of 
 money to bestow in charity ; and it seemed to 
 be the great object of his life to spend as much 
 as he could in producing the happiness of others. 
 This was his great employment, and he was 
 rarely or never taken in by pretended paupers.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 153 
 
 He did not go much into society, nor did 
 he give what are usually called choice parties ; 
 but he was always fond of having children and 
 young people about him, and used to gather 
 them round him, in summer, by oui-doov fetes, 
 and in winter, by little social dances. 
 
 So Lucy had often been in the old house 
 with her sister, and its somewhat gloomy 
 appearance had left an impression of sadness on 
 her mind. It was said to be haunted also — 
 
 " Some weighty crime, that Heaven could not pardon^ — 
 A secret curse on that old building hung. 
 
 '* Prophetic hints that filled the soul with dread. 
 But thro' one gloamy entrance pointing mostly, 
 
 The while some secret inspiration said. 
 That chamber is the Ghostly ! 
 
 ** Across the sunbeam, and with a sudden gloom, 
 
 A ghostly shadow flitted. 
 Across the sunbeam and along the wall. 
 
 But painted in the air so very dimly. 
 It hardly veiled the tapestry at all, 
 
 Or portrait frowning grimly.
 
 154 LIFE 
 
 ** O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the air, 
 * The place is haunted !' " 
 
 And with the trembUng curiosity of child- 
 hood, she had once visited the awful 
 room, and peeped into a large dark closet, 
 where a murder was said to have been 
 committed a century ago, and saw the red 
 spots on the floor, which no one had ever 
 been able to efface. 
 
 The horror she felt at that moment had 
 recurred most painfully to her mind, whenever 
 the subject of Mr. Mandeville's proposal had 
 been alluded to ; and she had fearful dreams at 
 times that she was confined in that dark closet, 
 and chained to the spot. Yet she was ex- 
 tremely provoked with herself for all these 
 fancies; and it was strange that poor Mr. 
 Mandeville, whose sole and entire object 
 she knew was to make people happy.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 155 
 
 should have the effect of inspiring her 
 with terror and alarm. 
 
 Perhaps it was because she felt her 
 objections were so unreasonable that in 
 time they must vanish. Perhaps it was 
 this undefined dread that made her shrink 
 even more from his suit than she did 
 from the advances of Sir Lionel, because she 
 was quite sure that the latter would never 
 succeed in obtaining her consent, or that of 
 her parents. 
 
 But all this was so unreasonable that 
 she determined not to shun Mr. Mande- 
 ville, or by her whims and fancies deprive 
 her father and mother of the ^society and as- 
 sistance of a man so well calculated to be of 
 real service to them in their infirm state of 
 health. She saw also that they had informed 
 him of Mr. Lennox's probable danger of sudden 
 death ; for, without in the least intruding his 
 conversation or presence upon her, Mr. Man-
 
 156 LIFE 
 
 deville was always doing exactly the things 
 she knew her father would wish — would read 
 to the poor people, and come in at prayer time 
 that he might save Mr. Lennox the unneces- 
 sary exertion of reading, and would exercise 
 kind tact and thought in a thousand little 
 ways, such as only a gentle heart could have 
 dictated. 
 
 So Lucy became daily more touched. Her 
 admiration for his unselfish disposition was ex- 
 cited ; and Mr. Lennox saw that if ever there 
 was an excuse or reason for a marriage without 
 passionate or devoted love, it was to be found 
 in such a case as this. Therefore the parents 
 could not help hoping that as Augustus was 
 actually married, Lucy would in time learn 
 to love Mr. Mandeville sufficiently to make 
 a marriage with him happy. 
 
 But they never expressed this thought; 
 only one morning when he came to wish them 
 good bye, as he was obliged to go to London
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 157 
 
 on urgent business, there was a meaning 
 in their farewell, which shewed Lucy that 
 they hoped he would be her protector. 
 
 In the evening of that day, Lucy received 
 a message from her old nurse, to say she was 
 very ill, and scarcely expected to live through 
 the night. It was not brought by her grand- 
 son, but by an old cottager, who lived not 
 far down the other side, and who sometimes 
 attended old Norah. She said that John 
 could not leave his grand-mother alone, and 
 that she had undertaken to bring the mes- 
 sage. 
 
 Dame Jestico, as this old cottager was 
 called, had one of those sinister faces, which 
 always produce an unconscious aversion in 
 the beholder, and there was something 
 in its expression that evening, which struck 
 Lucy more forcibly than ever, so she was 
 determined not to allow her to attend her 
 nurse. She sent back an answer, to say
 
 158 LIFE 
 
 she would come, and resolved to call on Mary 
 Soper on her way, and bespeak her services 
 for her old nurse. 
 
 The day was di'awing to a close, and Mr. 
 Lennox could not help feeling some alarm at 
 Lucy's walking alone at that hour, when he 
 remembered that Sir Lionel was still in the 
 neighbourhood. — He regretted the absence of 
 Mr. Mandeville who had lately accompanied 
 Lucy in her walks to the more distant cot. 
 tages, and he now insisted that Peggy should 
 go with her. 
 
 Mrs. Lennox who had a much less deep 
 knowledge of character, and therefore did not 
 contemplate any danger from what she called 
 the silly love of that unprincipled young ba- 
 ronet, smiled at her husband's fears. 
 
 But Lucy gladly accepted Peggy's escort, and 
 was surprised to find that she herself even felt 
 some regret that Mr. Mandeville was not there. 
 Yet she had always purposely avoided walking
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 159 
 
 with liim on Winbarrow Down, for she could 
 not bear the idea of revisiting the scenes which 
 were so full of the recollection of Augustus, 
 with any one except her parents ; and as it 
 was too far for them to walk, she had never 
 been there since the evening when Sir Lionel 
 had met her. 
 
 As she mounted the steep hill, she now re- 
 proached herself for having allowed such a 
 foolish objection to interfere with her visit to 
 her old nurse, and blushed at the folly of keep- 
 ing that ground sacred, as it were, to the me- 
 mory of a man who no longer cared for 
 her. 
 
 " How unkind and selfish it has made me," 
 she thought ; and yet, when she reached the 
 summit of the hill, and looked down upon 
 RoUston Court, such a crowd of pleasant and 
 painful memories rushed upon her mind, that 
 the tears started to her eyes, and she found 
 herself saying, " Surely he loved me, and he
 
 160 LIFE 
 
 must care for me still." And she began to 
 imagine whether there could not have been 
 some wonderful reason for this marriage, — 
 whether it might not have been entered into to 
 save him from disgrace or utter ruin, and, per- 
 haps, in a sort of despair too, at her rejec- 
 tion. 
 
 " He could never quite believe I loved him," 
 she thought ; " never, "^ for she had not allowed 
 herself fully to believe it. Yet now she was 
 convinced of the depth of her affection, and that 
 she never could be happy in this world without 
 him. " But I can be happy in the next," [she 
 thought ; and this glorious expectation gave a 
 buoyancy to her look, and a bounding glad- 
 ness to her tread, as she approached old 
 Norah's cottage. 
 
 She felt with Kirke White :— 
 
 '* Yet there is peace for man. Yea, there is peace, 
 Even in this noisy, this unsettled scene ; 
 When from' the crowd, and from the city far, 
 Happly he may be set (in his late walk
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 161 
 
 O'ertaken with deep thought) beneath the boughs 
 
 Of honeysuckle, -when the sun is gone ; 
 
 And with fixed eye and wistful he surveys 
 
 The solemn shadows of the heavens sail, 
 
 And thinks the season yet shall come when Time 
 
 "Will waft him to repose, to deep repose, 
 
 Far from the unquietness of life — from noise 
 
 And tumult far ; beyond the flying clouds. 
 
 Beyond the stars, and all this passing scene. 
 
 Where change shall cease, and Time shall be no more. 
 
 * •» * ^ 
 
 Oh ! *tis this heavenly harmony which now 
 In fancy strikes upon my hstening ear, 
 And thrills my inmost soul. It bids me smile 
 On the vain world, and all its bustling cares. 
 And gives a shadowy glimpse of future bliss." 
 
 Perhaps at that moment Lucy was as per- 
 fectly and entirely happy as any one can be in 
 this world of trial. For she was in that 
 rarest and most enviable state of mind, that 
 made her feel ready to go, yet not unwilhng 
 to remain, and accomplish the will of God, by 
 living and perhaps suffering still. And it is 
 the greatest triumph of religion and a good 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 LIFE 
 
 education to accomplish this, and enable such 
 a creature as Lucy to enjoy life after her bril- 
 liant dream of love had been cruelly dispelled. 
 
 For to those who have not learnt to " govern 
 their affections," a lost love must tinge the 
 whole of their world with gloomy hues, and 
 darken even their hopes of happiness in the 
 next. 
 
 The sun had gone down some time, but a 
 bright hunter's moon illumined the scene, and 
 glistened on the pinnacles, and old casements, 
 of Rollston Court. But soon a dark cloud 
 overshadowed the landscape, and Lucy could 
 scarcely even discover the clump of beeches 
 that surrounded her nurse's cottage. Still she 
 knew the path so well, that they proceeded at 
 the same quick pace, and soon reached the 
 grove. 
 
 " I wonder there is no Hght in Mrs. Norah's 
 window," said Peggy. " Sure Jemmy ought
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 163 
 
 to have more sense, than to let his grand- 
 mother lie there, in the dark." 
 
 " He has probably drawn the curtains, to 
 keep out the cold wind," said Lucy with a 
 shiver, for it was blowing hard, and promised 
 to be a stormy night, 
 
 " We should see the light through it," said 
 Peggy, " for it's not "— 
 
 A rustling sound in the branches now 
 made them both start, and Lucy involun- 
 tarily took hold of Peggy's arm. 
 
 The next moment she felt two powerful 
 arms encircle her waist, while something was 
 pressed so firmly on her mouth, that the 
 scream she endeavoured to utter was almost 
 inaudible. But Peggy shouted loudly for help, 
 and being a strong country girl, contrived for 
 a few moments to prevent herself from being 
 seized. 
 It had been quite dark under the spread- 
 
 M 2
 
 164 LIFE 
 
 ing beeches where their path lay, but the 
 clouds at the next moment cleared away; 
 a faint light penetrated through the thick 
 branches, and showed the figures of several 
 men. 
 
 Lucy could see nothing, for her face had been 
 entirely enveloped ; but Peggy succeeded in 
 tearing ofi" several times the bandages they 
 endeavoured to place over her mouth and 
 eyes. 
 
 "I know your villany, you audacious 
 scoundrels '/' she exclaimed. " It's Sir Lionel's 
 doing, I know. James ! Norah P' she called 
 out, in a voice that must have reached the 
 inmates of the cottage, if any one had been 
 there. 
 
 But no assistance came, and Lucy in despair 
 felt that she was being carried at a rapid pace 
 down the declivity in the direction of Rollston, 
 and Peggy's words fatally confirmed the
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 165 
 
 fearful truth, that she was in Sir Lioners 
 power. 
 
 She now felt an utter horror of him, and 
 wondered how she could ever have looked 
 with less aversion on the idea of marrying that 
 unprincipled roue, than she had in the con- 
 templation of a union with Mr. Mandeville. 
 She now made an inward vow, that she would 
 never again allow herself to dread the latter's 
 love, or look with such horror on the idea of 
 making a person happy who was so unselfishly 
 devoted to her, and who possessed the esteem 
 and approval of her parents. 
 
 She remembered how coldly she had bidden 
 him farewell that morning, and how glad she 
 had been in her secret heart to walk without 
 him in the scenes dedicated to the memory of 
 Augustus. 
 
 Her hands were fastened behind her, and, 
 as she could no longer even hear the voice of
 
 166 LIFE 
 
 poor Peggy, in utter despair she gave up 
 all hope of being rescued from her embar- 
 rassing situation by ordinary means, and 
 turned her thoughts and prayers to God 
 alone.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XTI. 
 
 THE SNARE. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville had received a letter from 
 an acquaintance in London the preceding 
 day, which informed him that a mercantile 
 concern in which he had a considerable inte- 
 rest was reported to be in a most tottering 
 condition, and that his presence was requisite, 
 to restore confidence, and get matters to rights. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville had wondered at the anxiety 
 evinced for his presence by a person with 
 whom he was so httle acquainted ; yet as he 
 never suspected there could be any motive for
 
 168 LIFE 
 
 misleading him, he thought it right to go 
 and investigate the case in person. So he 
 secured a place in the coach, which in those 
 days was the only public conveyance to 
 London, and after taking leave of the Len- 
 noxes, proceeded to the coach office. 
 
 He met Sir Lionel Renton on the way, 
 who accosted him with an air of, as he 
 fancied, unusual civility, and enquired with 
 much interest after the health of Mr. Len- 
 nox. He proceeded also to say that he 
 hoped Mr. Mandeville would tell the 
 good pastor how deeply grateful he felt for 
 his great kindness in allowing his wife and 
 daughter to visit poor Lady JuHa's dying 
 bed. 
 
 " I know that my presence is not welcome at 
 the Rectory/* he continued with a sad, and, as 
 Mr. Mandeville fancied, almost a contrite look. 
 " Therefore I have not ventured to go ; but as I 
 hear you see them most days, I hope you will
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 169 
 
 kindly deliver this message. You will see 
 them this evening, shall you not?" he en- 
 quired. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville then told him of his intended 
 journey to London, but promised, when he 
 should return next week, to say what he 
 wished to Mr. Lennox. 
 
 Sir Lionel evinced the greatest sur- 
 prise at this intelligence, and expressed a 
 hope that Mr. Mandeville had not had any 
 bad news which obliged him to leave home 
 so suddenly. 
 
 They had now reached the inn, and 
 as the coach was ready to start, there 
 was no more time for exDlanations ; and Mr. 
 Mandeville entered the vehicle. Just as it 
 was about to start, a poor workman looked in 
 at the window, and made an eager sign, as if 
 he wished to say something of importance. 
 The man was well known to Mr. Mande- 
 ville, for he had supported the former's large
 
 170 LIFE 
 
 family during the winter, when the poor fellow 
 had been disabled by a fall. 
 
 The coach drove off at a rapid pace, yet the 
 man endeavoured to follow, and called out 
 in an anxious tone that he wished particularly 
 to speak to Mr. Mandeville. But he was still 
 lame from the accident which had broken his 
 leg the preceding winter, so that he was soon 
 left at some distance behind. He seemed de- 
 termined, however, not to be baffled in his wish 
 of overtaking the coach ; for after waiting a 
 few moments, until he saw that Sir Lionel had 
 walked away without having observed him, 
 he went into the inn stables, and asked for the 
 swiftest horse that could be found. 
 
 The ostler, who was acquainted with Joe 
 Linton, looked at him in extreme surprise, and 
 was about to say something, when Joe quickly 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Never fear, the Master will pay for it, or if 
 not, I promise to give my next month's wages
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 171 
 
 for the hire of Swift Sam ; and you know I 
 never cheated any man, or went back from my 
 word. So give me the beast, or you may be 
 sorry, for it yourself; for I know you loves 
 Master Mandeville better than that proud 
 chap Sir Lionel." And then he whispered a few 
 words in the ostler's ear, which had the effect 
 of inducing him at once to saddle the 
 horse. 
 
 " Well, if it's for that, I'd mount him myself. 
 Be you sure you can manage Swift Sam ? for 
 he's a very devil if ye " 
 
 " Never fear,"exclaimed Joe, as he hastily 
 tucked up his countryman's smock-frock, and 
 mounted the noble animal. 
 
 He proceeded at a gallop by a short cut across 
 some fields ; and before the coach had reached 
 the first stage, Swift Sam was safely placed 
 in the inn stables of the little town, and Joe 
 was standing at the bottom of the hill where 
 he knew the coach would stop, to have the
 
 172 LIFE 
 
 drag taken off, before it passed through the 
 turnpike gate. 
 
 "Now, after all, may be he wont be- 
 lieve me," thought the poor man, as he 
 wiped his hard, honest-looking forehead with 
 the tail of his smock-frock ; " and may 
 be he'll go on to London in spite of all I can 
 say or do, and what's to become of Miss Lucy 
 then— rd like to know?" 
 
 And he shook his head with an em- 
 barrassed look, and sat down tired on the 
 bank, for he had already exercised no in- 
 considerable portion of mental ingenuity 
 and bodily effort to carry out his designs. 
 ** But if Jemmy had come half-an-hour sooner, 
 I might have had speech of the master in his 
 own house." 
 
 At that moment a cloud of dust on the top 
 of the hill proclaimed the approach of the 
 coach. So Joe jumped up, and stood in the 
 middle of the road, with a look of such dog-
 
 AND ITS BEAXITIES. 173 
 
 ged determination, that one would suppose he 
 was fully prepared to prevent the coach and 
 its four plump horses from proceeding on 
 their road to London. 
 
 " He sha*n't go, that he sha'n't," muttered 
 Joe, and went on repeating it, as the heavy 
 coach came thundering along. 
 
 " Get out of the way !" shouted the surprised 
 coachman, as Joe seized one of the leaders, 
 with a frantic grasp. 
 
 But the next minute the guard jumped 
 down to take off the drag, and Joe availed 
 himself of the opportunity to thrust his 
 face in at the coach window, and implore 
 Mr. MandeviUe to stop and speak to 
 him. 
 
 "For Miss Lucy's sake you must hear 
 me," he exclaimed as the coach again drove 
 off, and Joe followed it in breathless haste 
 to the inn. 
 
 Mr. MandeviUe got out immediately, for
 
 174 LIFE 
 
 he saw by the anxious expression on 
 his humble friend's face, that something 
 was really wrong. Joe led him to a little 
 distance from the crowd which had collected 
 round the inn door, and then whispered in 
 his ear. 
 
 The result of his information was to induce 
 Mr. Mandeville to relinquish his intention of 
 proceeding to London ; but to avoid any sus- 
 picion as to the real motive which had induced 
 him to delay his journey, he determined to 
 proceed as far as the next stage. So, after 
 giving some directions to Joe, which did not 
 seem entirely to satisfy the man, he resumed 
 his place in the coach. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville was by nature extremely 
 cautious, and besides was devoid of those 
 strong passsions which sometimes help, but 
 more often blind and inpede persons who are 
 obliged to act in a sudden and totally un- 
 expected emergency.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 175 
 
 During the first two or three miles, Mr. 
 Mandeville sat in his corner, and appeared 
 to be reading his newspaper with the same 
 unconcern as before he met Joe Linton; 
 but as they approached the end of the stage, 
 a slight degree of impatience might have 
 been detected on his countenance, with a 
 look of misgiving almost approaching to de- 
 spondency in his small blue eyes, and a sort 
 of convulsive twitch of his under-lip. 
 
 The fact was, he had a very low opinion 
 of himself; and although his quiet good 
 sense generally made him act right and 
 wisely, yet he never felt that confidence in 
 his own judgment, as to make him san- 
 guine of success. ' Then he was so fully 
 aware of his own deficiency in points of 
 agreeability and cleverness, that he magnified 
 the attractions and excused the faihngs of 
 others. 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, I am wrong to meddle
 
 176 LIFE 
 
 in this matter," he thought. " If Sir Lionel 
 really loves her, she may perhaps in 
 time feel sufficient affection for him to be 
 happy in a union with him ; and he has the 
 attraction of being the brother of the man 
 she has already loved. Certainly, he has no 
 right to carry her off against her will — that 
 ought to be prevented ; but would not the 
 most straightforward plan be, to disclose the 
 danger to her father? Yet would he believe 
 it— and how would he be able to go the place 
 to rescue her, for she will have left home be- 
 fore I get there ? Yes, if Sir Lionel really at- 
 tempts to cary out the plan Joe tells me he is 
 resolved on, I must interfere, otherwise it 
 would only postpone the risk, even allowing 
 that I could reach Hartfield before she leaves 
 home/' 
 
 It was two o'clock when they reached the 
 next stage, and Mr. Mandeville found, to his 
 extreme annoyance, that there were no horses
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 177 
 
 to be had ; all had been engaged for a wedding 
 that had taken place that morning. So he 
 was obliged to wait for the down coach, which 
 was expected at three o'clock, and by this 
 means he could only reach home about five 
 o'clock ! — rather late for all he intended to do. 
 
 " Joe was quite right after all," he thought, 
 as he struck his hand half angrily against his 
 forehead. " Yet I was so afraid, if it was said 
 I returned owing to some communication 
 from him, that Sir Lionel would hear of it, 
 and his suspicions might be awakened. I did 
 it for the best," he thought, " but I am so 
 stupid and fearful, I feel quite unworthy of 
 her ; no wonder she can never love me — no 
 wonder even that she refuses to tolerate my 
 devoted afiection, or allow me any hope." 
 
 At last the down coach arrived, and he 
 entered it. 
 
 Near the third mile-stone before they 
 reached Ilminster, Mr. Mandeville dismounted 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 LIFE 
 
 and as soon as the coach was out of sight, 
 he turned into a path which led by a short 
 cut over the Downs to a village which lay on 
 the further side of Winbarrow Hill, and about 
 a mile from Rollston Court. 
 
 He walked at a quick pace, but the October 
 sun was setting just as he reached the out- 
 skirts of the village. 
 
 He proceeded across the fields to a solitary 
 cottage near a thick wood, and then gave a 
 shrill whistle. The next minute Joe Linton 
 and two other countrymen emerged from the 
 trees. 
 
 " Are we in time ?" he anxiously enquired 
 of Joe. 
 
 " I hope so, for I have been watching the 
 top of yonder height for the last hour, and no 
 one has crossed it yet." 
 
 " Thank God !" said Mr. Mandeville as he 
 clasped his hands, and breathed a sigh, partly 
 of relief and partly of anxiety ; for his firmly
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 179 
 
 compressed lips, and a look of care on his broad 
 forehead, showed that he felt no inconsiderable 
 weight on his heart. 
 
 " Had we better watch here," he enquired 
 of Joe, " or go up higher in the wood ?" 
 
 " Better stay here, till we see her cross the 
 Down, I think ; for if we were to come across 
 some of Sir Lionel's people, he would get 
 alarmed." 
 
 So they waited, and every moment poor Mr. 
 Mandeville became more nervous and uncom- 
 fortable. Not from any feeling of personal fear, 
 but because it seemed so strange to himself to 
 be thus waylaying a young lady, in the twilight. 
 
 For a shy man, and one who mistrusted 
 habitually his own judgment, and w^ho besides 
 began half to doubt Joe's report of Sir Lionel's 
 intentions, certainly nothing could be more 
 uncomfortable than his position. And as he 
 surveyed his own awkward figure, he could 
 scarcely repress a smile, at the idea of a sober, 
 
 N 2
 
 180 LIFE 
 
 stupid man like himself, being engaged in such 
 a knight- errant affair, as attempting to rescue 
 a beautiful young lady from a handsome 
 Baronet, who, he had happened to hear, me- 
 ditated carrying her off. 
 
 Although he knew that Sir Lionel, if he 
 should appear, would be probably armed, and 
 well prepared for defence, still Mr. Mandeville 
 was determined to take no weapons ; for no- 
 thing would induce him to risk the loss of life 
 to any human being, and he trusted alone to 
 his own muscular strength and that of his 
 companions. 
 
 Joe well knew the character of his master ; 
 still with all respect to his kind heart and 
 gentle disposition, he was determined to 
 bring some means of defence. But he 
 wisely concealed his weapon under his smock 
 frock, and ordered his two companions to do 
 the same. 
 
 Indeed the valiant Joe had been deter-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 181 
 
 mined to try and rescue Miss Lucy, even if 
 he had failed in convincing Mr. Mandeville 
 of her urgent danger; and was fortunately 
 quite prepared to fight in her defence. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville had full time to consider 
 what he should do and say at the eventful 
 moment, but no satisfactory words came to his 
 mind; and in case Sir Lionel were armed, 
 and determined to shoot any one who 
 should interfere, he did not see how she 
 could be saved, were he to die in her de- 
 fence. 
 
 " The great thing will be to get sufiiciently 
 near to rush upon and disarm them, before 
 they are aware of our approach," said Mr. 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Joe shook his head ; but being afraid that if 
 his master discovered they had pistols, he would 
 oblige them to lay theni down, he kept his own 
 counsel to himself, for he felt sure he should 
 not " have courage to disobey the Master."
 
 182 LIFE 
 
 " There, I see her white dress on the top of 
 the Down/* said Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 " Yes, sure enough it is she, an d another 
 woman with her. Now then, let's be off, here 
 this way, under the shelter of the dyke fence. 
 Luckily it's getting too dark now for us to be 
 seen ; and if we go softly, they wont hear us.'* 
 
 Mr. Mandeville was resolved, if need be, to 
 die in Lucy's defence ; but he had offered up a 
 fervent prayer that he might succeed in res- 
 cuing her. So far, though most unlike both 
 in appearance and disposition to a " knight 
 errant," yet he had the spirit which produced 
 the most valiant deeds of olden time, and 
 endued the ancient martyrs with true courage. 
 
 But Joe had not calculated on Sir Lionel's 
 deep-laid schemes, and thought he would not 
 venture to approach so near old Norah's cottage. 
 He was not aware that the wily Baronet 
 had contrived to remove the poor old woman 
 that morning, under the pretext that the change
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 183 
 
 would do her good, to the cottage of his 
 own old housekeeper in the village of Roll- 
 ston. 
 
 So they reached it without meeting anybody, 
 and then searched anxiously in every part for 
 some traces of Lucy or her pursuers ; but they 
 found, to their dismay, that the cottage was 
 empty, and no one to be found in its neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 " They must have gone down by the south 
 path," said Mr. Mandeville ; " and here is a 
 part of Miss Lucy's dress," he continued, as 
 he picked up a well-known scarf she had worn 
 the day before. 
 
 " They must have gone to Rollston," ex- 
 claimed Joe ; and as they started off and ran 
 in that direction, they heard a stifled cry in the 
 valley. 
 
 "If we ford the river, we might still reach 
 RoUston before they arrive,'' said Mr. Mande- 
 ville, who judged from the moment they had
 
 1S4 LITE 
 
 seen Lucy cross the edge of the Down, that 
 there would be still time to intercept the party ; 
 as Sir Lionel must go round by the bridge. 
 
 "That's exactly what we must do," said 
 Joe, clapping his hands with glee at what he 
 called the Master's bright thought. 
 
 So they ran straight down the steep hill in the 
 direction of the river. 
 
 " It may be beyond our depth though !" 
 said Joe, as he saw how high it was, and 
 remembered that heavy rains had fallen the 
 preceding night ; '' and see, it's up as far as 
 that big beech root. We must swim for it." 
 
 This was a feat Mr. Mandeville had never 
 before attempted : he felt extremely provoked 
 at this unexpected impediment, and reproached 
 himself bitterly for never having learned to 
 swim. Joe and his companions were also much 
 embarrassed ; for although' they felt pretty 
 confident that they would be able to swim 
 that short distance across, still the probability
 
 AND ITS KEALITIES. 185 
 
 that their fire-arms would get wet, was very 
 annovinDf. 
 
 *'Here is a large tree/* exclaimed Mr. 
 Mandeville, as in looking about to see if 
 any plan could be de\ased to extricate them 
 from their embarrassment, he espied a good- 
 sized larch which had lately been cut down, 
 and which lay upon the bank near. " Surely 
 we might endeavour to place this across ; see, it 
 is so narrow just at this rock." 
 
 "So we might, sure enough ; now. Jack 
 Bevis, you be a good un, just swim over, and 
 put thes' end on that ere rock, and then we 
 will crawl over it somehow." 
 
 Jack soon succeeded in swimming across, 
 and Mr. Mandeville assisted the others in 
 lifting the tree. But just as they had placed 
 it across the stream, a report of fire-arms was 
 heard, followed by a sharp cry. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville feared it sounded verv near, 
 yet as if from the other side of the water.
 
 186 LIFE 
 
 '* It's only some poachers," said Joe ; " and 
 perhaps it is all the better they should be out, 
 as Sir Lionel will suspect us less." 
 
 Mr. Mandeville remembered with increased 
 dismay, as he scrambled quickly along the tree, 
 that Joe's two companions had once been taken 
 up for poaching ; and the recollection that he, a 
 sober magistrate, who had such a horror of 
 poaching, that he did not think it right even to 
 shoot, and who was well known even to condemn 
 the preservation of game — that he should be 
 now in league with poachers, and associated 
 in a night adventure with them, increased his 
 misgivings as to the wisdom of his romantic 
 undertaking. 
 
 " Are you hurt. Jack ?" whispered Joe 
 Linton, as they reached the other side, in a 
 voice too low for the Master to hear. 
 
 " Only a scratch on my cheek, I hope ; 
 but I wish it had gone through that d — d Sir 
 Lionel's head ; it was the trigger caught in one
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 187 
 
 of them branches — but hist ! there they go, 
 that's their tread amongst the leaves ; now take 
 hold of me, and let the others hold one by 
 one ; put the Master last/' 
 
 Joe had full confidence in Jack Bevis's skill, 
 for he was the most daring and successful 
 poacher in the neighbourhood, and knew every 
 step of the ground for miles round. He had, 
 too, a private pique against Sir Lionel, and en- 
 tered most zealously into the plan for foiling 
 him in his design, when Joe hinted it that 
 morning. His brother Dick also was in the 
 same frame of mind, so that Joe could not 
 have had two better assistants. 
 
 They walked forward in silence for about 
 five minutes, through the thick trees, where it 
 was almost dark. Then they suddenly came 
 upon a track which had been partially cleared, 
 and by the faint moonhght Mr. Mandeville 
 could see a party advancing towards them. 
 
 He fancied he could distinguish Sir Lionel
 
 188 LIFE 
 
 carrying Lucy in his arms, and four others 
 were bringing some large and struggling 
 burden between them, which he supposed was 
 the ponderous Peggy. He knew that himself 
 and his assistants were concealed by the 
 branches of the thick oaks under which they 
 stood, and he offered up a fervent prayer for 
 success in their endeavours to rescue the poor 
 girl. 
 
 He waited patiently till Sir Lionel was with- 
 in a yard of the spot, then threw himself 
 before him, and endeavoured to extricate Lucy 
 from his grasp. 
 
 Joe sprung upon him at the same moment ; 
 but Sir Lionel was well prepared for resist- 
 ance, and he succeeded, in spite of all the 
 efforts of his antagonists, in freeing one of 
 his arms, and seizing a pistol that was at his 
 belt, he held it within an inch of Mr. Man- 
 deville's head. 
 
 Two of his companions sprang upon Joe at
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 189 
 
 the same moment ; but in order to assist their 
 master, they had been obHged to leave Peggy 
 with the other two. The courageous girl 
 heard Mr. Mandeville's voice, and imagining 
 assistance was at hand, made such a desperate 
 effort to free herself from their grasp, that she 
 succeeded, and her bandages faUing off, she 
 saw Joe's and Mr. Mandeville's danger. 
 
 In a moment she rushed upon the two men 
 who were seizing Joe, and exerting her utmost 
 strength, she contrived to detach one of them 
 from him. Thus partly freed, Joe contrived 
 to knock the other down, and Mr. Mandeville, 
 with a strength and presence of mind which 
 surprised even himself, made an effort to 
 wrench the pistol from Sir Lionel. It went 
 off in the scuffle, but fortunately, without ap- 
 parently wounding any one, and Lucy extri- 
 cated herself at the same moment from his 
 grasp. 
 
 Sir Lionel saw that the affair was decidedly
 
 190 LIFE 
 
 going against him, for the two men who had 
 held Peggy fled at hearing the report of the 
 pistol ; and Joe and his companions had suc- 
 ceeded in fairly beating the others. 
 
 Sir Lionel thought it better to appear as if 
 he did not recognize Mr. Mandeville ; and 
 without saying anything, he dived into the 
 thickest part of the wood, and disappeared. 
 
 Joe and the Bevis's did not like to let their 
 two antagonists escape, but Mr. Mandeville 
 felt it would only add to their embarrassments 
 if they were retained as prisoners, so he 
 ordered them to let the men go, as soon as 
 they came in sight of the village. 
 
 Lucy had not fainted during that dreadful 
 half-hour when Sir Lionel was carrying her 
 down the hill ; but as soon as she found her- 
 self safe, and that Peggy and Mr. Mandeville 
 were supporting her on each side, she lost 
 all consciousness for a few moments. 
 
 They carried her to the first cottage tliey
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 191 
 
 reached, and laid her on the bed, while Mr. 
 Mandeville went to procure a conveyance to 
 take her home, and despatched Joe to inform 
 her parents of her safety. He hastily wrote 
 a few lines to explain as well as he could 
 what had occurred, for Joe could run over 
 the hill to Hartfield much quicker than the 
 vehicle could reach it by the road ; and he 
 resolved not to leave Lucy, until he could 
 restore her to her parents. 
 
 It was nearly eleven o'clock before Joe 
 reached the Rectory ; and he met several of 
 the villagers on the Down, who had been de- 
 spatched by the anxious parents to ascertain 
 what had become of their child. 
 
 They had expected she would be late, as 
 they feared from the message that poor Norah 
 was dying, so it was not until past nine 
 o'clock that they felt any alarm. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville did not write a very legible 
 hand, and his agitation had not improved it.
 
 192 LIFE 
 
 SO that they had great difficulty in making 
 out what he wrote ; but fortunately Joe was 
 able to give a more lucid account ofth e 
 afiPair, and then their gratitude to Mr. Mande- 
 ville, for the able manner in which he ^ had 
 counteracted the designs of Sir Lionel, was un- 
 bounded. 
 
 " But why did you not come and tell us, as 
 well as Mr. Mandeville?" enquired Mr. Lennox 
 of Joe Linton ; " and then we should not have 
 allowed her to go to Winbarrow." 
 
 " Because I could not be certain of it ; for 
 it was only Betsy Stoakes that got it out of 
 her son Sam that he was to meet Sir Lionel at 
 four o'clock up agin the Beech Clump near old 
 Norah's cottage, and that it was after some 
 gal. So I puts two and two together in my 
 own mind, and I says, * Norah ain't got no 
 daughter ; may be, he expects Miss Lucy to 
 be there in the cottage. I'd be bound it's 
 Miss Lucy,' says I, * for Dick Bevis have a told
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 193 
 
 me afore now, how often he (Sir Lionel) 've 
 been a prowhng and skreelin' about the Rec- 
 tory late o' nights ; and, says I, ' Mr. Mande- 
 ville's the man to help us now ; and whether 
 it's Miss Lucy or no, he'll be right glad to 
 save an honest gal from a villain like that/ 
 Besides which, de' ye see, I hadn't time to 
 come all the ways up here to tell ye, because 
 when I left the Master in the coach at Water- 
 ingberry, I had to hunt up Jack and Dick 
 Bevis, the best men to help me I know'd ; and 
 precious hard work I had to find the wild 
 chaps too; for where should they be but a spying 
 about the preserves at Stamford Priory, miles 
 away ; and sure I hope the money the Master's 
 given 'em now, will keep 'em quiet and decent 
 for a while at any rate — -but howsomdever ye 
 see, I war only jist in time to reach the post 
 with the Bevis's before the proper hom\ 
 " It's just as well that Miss went too," con- 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 LIPE 
 
 tinued Joe, after a pause to wipe his forehead ; 
 " for if Sir Lionel had not been regularly beat, 
 he'd have contrived some worse way ; but now 
 ye knows it all, ye won't let Miss go beyond the 
 garden, until that wild chap leaves the country. 
 He'll be obliged to go before long, as there's 
 writs out against him, I knows." 
 
 This was true ; and for some time past, it had 
 required all the ingenuity and artifice which a 
 long course of extravagance had taught him, to 
 enable Sir Lionel to elude the pursuit of his 
 creditors. He would have left the neighbour- 
 hood before, only that his passion for Lucy 
 was so strong, he was resolved to make a 
 desperate effort to carry her off; trusting to his 
 own powers of fascination to persuade her 
 to marry him, when she was once removed 
 rom the influence of her own family. 
 
 The very next day Sir Lionel had such a 
 narrow escape of being taken, that he saw
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 195 
 
 there was no other alternative left but to fly 
 from England, and join his brother abroad. 
 So he determined to disguise himself and 
 proceed to Southampton. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE HAPPY PARTING. 
 
 Lucy was, of course, most grateful to Mr. 
 Mandeville for his kindness and zeal in de- 
 livering her from Sir Lionel, and sincerely ad- 
 mired the firmness and good sense he had 
 shown in this difficult undertaking. He had 
 also a keen sense of the ludicrous, and amused 
 Lucy with a description of what he called his 
 cowardly fear of being mixed up with poachers, 
 and the absurd figure he must have made. 
 
 He wisely and generously too, forbore to 
 press his suit, or to appear as if he expected any
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 197 
 
 gratitude on her part, or that they were to 
 meet oftener than before this event had taken 
 place. This forbearance of Mr. Mandeville's 
 made Lucy reproach herself still more, for not 
 being able to return his affection. 
 
 One day the following week, Mr. Lennox 
 appeared more feeble than usual, and had 
 great difficulty in walking even from the 
 dining room to the Hbrary, where they usually 
 spent their evenings. 
 
 " I am glad Mr. Mandeville has not yet 
 come, although I trust he will before evening 
 prayer," said Mr. Lennox, " for I want to have 
 some talk with my little Lucy quite alone. 
 But stay in the next room, Margaret," he said 
 to his wife ; " remain near, for I shall want you 
 very soon." 
 
 He spoke with more difficulty than usual, 
 and there was an expression on his face, which 
 made the mother and daughter tremble. 
 
 " Do not be afraid," he said, as he read
 
 198 LIFE 
 
 their countenances, " for we have all, I trust, 
 learned to feel joy in the Holy Spirit : we have 
 followed after things that make for peace, and 
 have a sure and certain hope that we shall 
 meet in a world even more beautiful and 
 happy than this has been ;" — he continued, as 
 he looked round on his favourite books, and 
 then through the casement on the view out- 
 side. 
 
 The evening sun was shining on the grey 
 church tower, and glistening on the stream 
 that babbled along with what they all three 
 felt was a joyous sound. Mrs. Lennox pressed 
 her husband's hand, and then softly left the 
 room, for she hoped he was going to speak to 
 Lucy about her future prospects, and what he 
 would advise her to do when she should be left 
 alone in the world, without her parents. She 
 had sometimes wished to see her daughter mar- 
 ried to Mr. Mandeville ; but she was not sure 
 that her husband desired it, and she thought
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 199 
 
 he had almost too romantic ideas about love, 
 and of the danger of marrying without it. 
 
 She remained in the open porch which was 
 close to the library door, sat down on the 
 old bench, and leant upon the quaintly carved 
 lion which formed its arm. Although she had 
 longed to see her daughter married to Mr. 
 Mandeville, yet to her surprise she did not 
 feel at all anxious about it now, nor did she 
 wish that her husband should advise Lucy to 
 consent. A feeling of delightful peace came 
 over her — a bHssful recollection of all the 
 happy days they had passed in that pleasant 
 spot, recurred vividly to her mind. She saw 
 how everything had worked for their good, 
 how every trial that had befallen them had 
 eventually tended to their happiness. So she 
 was anxious for nothing, and her thoughts 
 seemed rising upwards from the bliss of past 
 and present, to the full contemplation of the 
 still more glorious hereafter.
 
 200 LIFE 
 
 Her husband had often said, in some such 
 words as these — 
 
 * * » ])ear Wife, 
 
 I feel the hour when we must part 
 Is not far off, but, sweetest heart. 
 Be not cast down, a time of bliss. 
 Perfect as few have known, was this 
 Of our's, in what of inward glow 
 Keeps outward chill away. And now 
 It all must cease — this glimpse of heaven 
 
 Sent us before our time, it seems. 
 * * * *i 
 
 I do believe we shall, ere long. 
 
 Meet, ne'er to part. God doth but Hft 
 
 His earth-cloud from this human face."* 
 
 Suddenly, she thought her name was called 
 as if from a long way off; and she looked up. 
 The sound had not proceeded from the library, 
 yet she started up, and unclosed the door. 
 
 " Margaret," said Mr. Lennox, " come — you 
 are just in time." 
 
 He spoke in a firmer voice than she had 
 heard since his illness, and his eyes looked on 
 her with a brighter and more seeing expres- 
 
 * C. Hamilton Aid^.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 201 
 
 sion ; for she had lately perceived a sort of dim- 
 ness in his gaze, as if he did not see distinctly. 
 He took the hands of his wife and daughter 
 and pressed thera fervently. 
 
 " God bless you both !" he said, in a faint 
 voice, while the colour left his cheeks, and his 
 eyes slowly closed. 
 
 They knew that he was dying ; but both 
 mother and child felt as if they had lived 
 through all this before. It was as if they knew 
 that his dear hands would now relax their hold. 
 
 They unconsciously kneeled down as if to 
 receive his parting blessing ; but now the 
 mother rose up suddenly, and impressed her 
 lips to the pale forehead, and then they both 
 heard a faint 
 
 " Good bye." 
 
 It scarcely seemed to come from those pale 
 lips, but as if it sounded from far above, there 
 was something so touchingly happy in the tone. 
 
 For a few moments they leaned over his now
 
 202 LIFE 
 
 lifeless form, as if afraid to disturb the strangely 
 happy feeling that filled their hearts. 
 
 Mrs. Lennox was the first to move ; with a 
 faint cry, she threw herself in Lucy's arms, 
 and said, 
 
 **Porgive me, darling child, for having 
 wished and prayed to go with him ; perhaps — 
 I fear — I was wrong. But God has heard my 
 earnest prayers. I cannot stay with you: 
 though I now almost wish it for your sake. 
 Oh, my head !" 
 
 Another cry, caused by sharp pain, and Lucy 
 felt that her mother was dead. She tried 
 to support her in her arms ; but was so over- 
 whelmed with this second and unexpected 
 blow, that she would have fallen if Mr. Man- 
 deville had not most fortunately entered the 
 room at that moment. 
 
 Lucy remembered then, that her father had 
 hoped he would arrive before evening prayer !
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE DULL VOID. 
 
 Mr. Lennox had not expressed any positive 
 wish that Lucy should marry Mr. Mandeville. 
 He had said he was glad that she had such 
 a sincere friend, and he trusted he would con- 
 tinue to watch over her interest with brotherly 
 care. But he told her to be cautious, lest a feel- 
 ing of gratitude or pity should induce her to 
 mistake her own heart, or mislead her into the 
 belief that she loved him. 
 
 " But remember, you must pray to be 
 guided ; and as we find that Augustus is mar- 
 ried, and — '' 
 
 He could say no more, for at that instant the
 
 204 LIFE 
 
 blood rushed to his heart, and he felt that his 
 last moment was come. 
 
 For some time Lucy was so overwhelmed 
 with the loss of both her parents, that she could 
 think of nothing else. Her sister Harriet and 
 George Lennox came immediately when they 
 heard of the sad events, and spared Lucy all the 
 trouble and annoyance which must otherwise 
 have fallen to her lot. 
 
 And they then took her with them to their 
 home in Northumberland. 
 
 Harriet's love and admiration for Mr. Man- 
 deville had increased still more, when she heard 
 of all that he had done ; and she and George 
 gave him a most pressing invitation to come 
 and visit them, as soon as possible, in the north. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville expressed his thanks, but at 
 the same time hinted that he would prefer not 
 intruding himself, unless he heard from them 
 that Lucy might be at some future day inclined 
 to bestow her hand upon him. He told Har-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 205 
 
 riet also, in confidence, that he never expected 
 to obtain her heart ; but he could not avoid 
 hoping that she might some day be induced to 
 allow him to endeavour to make her happy. 
 
 Harriet was fully determined in her own 
 mind, that her sister should marry Mr. Mande- 
 ville. In fact, it had always been her intention ; 
 for she had never liked Augustus, nor could her 
 somewhat narrow, and rather prejudiced mind, 
 see the good qualities in his disposition, which, 
 with all his faults, had excited the interest and 
 affection of Lucy and her father. Her delight, 
 therefore, was so great, at the prospect of 
 being able to carry out, in time, her darling 
 dream, that it, in some degree, mitigated the 
 grief she experienced for the loss of her parents. 
 But poor Lucy had no such distraction or 
 hope ; besides, she felt very wretched at leav- 
 ing the place and neighbourhood where all her 
 happy youth had been spent. But she knew it 
 was impossible for her to remain at the Rectory,
 
 206 LIFE 
 
 and therefore she tried to think with pleasure 
 of her future home at Rufyn Parsonage. 
 
 ** But Summer's gone like pageant bright, 
 Its glorious days of golden light 
 Are gone — the mimic suns that quiver, 
 Then melt in Time's dark flowing river. 
 Gone the sweetly scented breeze, 
 That spoke in music to the trees j 
 Gone, for damp and chilly breath. 
 As if fresh blown o'er marble seas. 
 Or newly from the lungs of Death." 
 
 It was a cold winter's day when they arrived 
 there, and the small house had a gloomy and 
 bare look, which chilled and depressed Lucy's 
 spirits, yet she felt much annoyed at herself 
 for being susceptible of such trifles. 
 
 The little sitting-room looked to the north, 
 upon a garden, which was bounded by a high 
 wall. The church tower was seen beyond, and 
 a grove of yew trees, and Lucy wondered why 
 these dark trees looked so much more funereal 
 here against the sky, than they did at Hart-
 
 AND ITS REAXITIES. 207 
 
 field, where their sombre foliage seemed always 
 to harmonize so beautifully with the green 
 downs behind them. 
 
 But she thought it wrong and ungrateful to 
 be so depressed by outward appearances, and 
 she knew that she ought to exert herself to em- 
 belUsh and give an air of comfort to the rooms. 
 For that sort of thing had been always her 
 peculiar vocation during their girlhood, and 
 Harriet had become so accustomed never to think 
 how a room looked, or care for anything that 
 was not of real importance to the poor people, 
 or to her parents' actual enjoyment ; that her 
 taste, if she had any, had never been developed. 
 Besides, she naturally had no great eye for 
 colour, and followed, in the choice of her fur- 
 niture, the prevailing taste of that day ; the 
 hopeless drabs and browns and slate-colours, 
 that she supposed (erroneously) " would wear 
 well, and not show the dust." 
 
 Still Lucy set to work in a determinedly
 
 208 LIFE 
 
 cheerful spirit. She found a few old delft 
 vases in the china closet, and filling them with 
 evergreens or a flower or two, she placed 
 them on the hitherto bare chimney-piece. 
 There were some books on low ugly book- 
 shelves ; but the round table on the middle of 
 the room had nothing on it but Harriet's work- 
 basket and writing-box. 
 
 " You are, I see, more dreadfully tidy than 
 ever, dear Harriet ; and do you and George 
 never read ; or have you made a vow scrupu- 
 lously to put away your book in its proper 
 place on the shelf, every time you lay it down?'* 
 said Lucy, with a smile, as she took out some of 
 her favourite authors, and put them on the table. 
 
 " Then I mean to have a pen and ink that 
 I can use without being obliged to unlock my 
 desk, else my ideas would be sure to coagulate 
 before I could fumble out the right key. There ! 
 look at this beautiful old delft-ware dish, which 
 will just hold my ink bottle and pens, and the
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 209 
 
 quaint old figures on it will amuse me. And 
 this sofa should be here — so — between the 
 window and the fireplace, where you will have 
 the light on your book as you read, and your 
 feet towards the fire. How could you ever sit 
 on it, in that cold, dark corner ?" 
 
 " I never thought of that, darling Lucy. 
 How comfortable you have made the room 
 look already !" 
 
 " And it will be soon more so, for I have 
 seen some beautifully carved old chairs up in 
 Peggy's bed-room, and I mean to cover them 
 with pieces of old brocade, and bring them 
 down here, instead of those plain ugly black 
 painted ones/' 
 
 For some days Lucy was busily employed ; 
 she rose early, and exerted all her energies 
 to decorate the house ; for when it was all 
 done, she fancied that she should feel much 
 less depressed and miserable. But she was dis- 
 appointed at finding that her melancholy still 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 LIFE 
 
 continued, and there was a dull void — a feel- 
 ing of ennui creeping over her, that she had 
 never experienced before. 
 
 Then she endeavoured to assist Harriet in 
 teaching the school children, for she thought 
 her sister really wanted some help. The parish 
 was large, and there were plenty of poor peo- 
 ple : some of the cottages were at a long dis- 
 tance from the village, and Mr. Lennox's time 
 was also fully occupied. So Lucy had the 
 pleasure of thinking that she would be of real 
 use, and therefore she trusted that in time she 
 might experience some of her former feelings 
 of happiness and peace. 
 
 But unfortunately the children were much 
 more stupid, she thought, than they ever had 
 been at Hartfield, and their north-country 
 accent so strange, that they never seemed quite 
 to understand her; besides, Harriet had always 
 rather different views about everything, and 
 now they seemed more than ever unlike.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 211 
 
 The fact was, that in her father, Lucy had 
 lost the connecting Hnk, which had always ena- 
 bled her to be of use, and understand the poor 
 people. When as a child, she had accom- 
 panied her mother to the poor cottagers, she 
 had sometimes felt half-incHned to be disgusted 
 with their selfishness and stupidity. But this 
 had never been the case when her father was 
 present. His genius and spirit of fun had 
 always drawn out the good qualities of every 
 one, and he possessed withal a sort of graceful 
 tact, which made people enjoy his jokes, and 
 prevented their appearing odd or unclerical. 
 
 Harriet had always been very like her 
 mother, and now it appeared to Lucy that her 
 somewhat humdrum ways and peculiarities had 
 become exaggerated ; and she possessed still 
 less of her father's power to charm. 
 
 So the sisters could not quite agree about 
 their method of teaching, and Lucy often 
 became impatient and angry, and was quite 
 
 p 2
 
 212 LIFE 
 
 surprised at discovering what a bad temper she 
 had, and how little control she had acquired 
 over it, particularly in trifles — such mere trifles 
 as they really were, she thought. 
 
 And the neighbours ! 
 
 Those dull Miss Scroggins, who loould call 
 so often, and took so much pains to be civil 
 to the poor motherless girl. And the old 
 squire and his quiet wife and plain daughters. 
 Why did all these people seem so much more 
 dull and common-place than any she had ever 
 met with before ? and why did she feel now 
 sometimes the want of any society at aU ? The 
 neighbours at Hartfield had always been 
 pleasant when she met them, although she 
 bad never wished much to be with them. It 
 must have been because her father drew out 
 all their good and brilliant qualities, and by 
 interesting and amusing them, made their 
 presence pleasant to Lucy. 
 
 So she missed him more and more, and
 
 AND ITS REAXITIES. 213 
 
 felt a greater void in her existence every day. 
 Hitherto she had only experienced what are 
 called great trials. The obligation to fight 
 against her feelings of disappointment at 
 seeing her dearest hopes crushed; the man 
 she loved, in spite of all his faults, and in 
 whose love for herself she had used to feel 
 a half-unconscious ecstasy, lost to her for 
 ever. 
 
 All this she had borne with a heroism 
 upon which she sometimes looked back with 
 a feeling approaching to exultation. And 
 then she had learnt to think of her parents 
 as only gone before to the world of light, 
 and to feel them still hovering near. 
 
 So it was doubly humiliating to her now, 
 to discover that she could not bear these 
 little foolish annoyances, which seemed hap- 
 pening every day, and all day long, without 
 ill humour. 
 
 She had yet to learn what some people
 
 214 LIFE 
 
 are very late in discovering, that it is often 
 more difficult to bear little annoyances than 
 great trials ; because the former seem so 
 trifling, that we do not regard them as trials, 
 and, consequently, do not arm ourselves to 
 encounter these small every-day annoyances 
 vv^th the same energy and prayerful spirit 
 that we bring to bear upon great misfor- 
 tunes. 
 
 In the blighting of her love, and the loss 
 of her parents, Lucy had seen the trial 
 distinctly, and guarded against it ; but she 
 was not prepared to endure long visits from 
 stupid bores of neighbours, or the wearisome 
 drudgery of teaching inattentive children; 
 and, ashamed at feeling so miserable and 
 impatient, she could not quite confess it to 
 herself, and therefore could not pray against 
 it. 
 
 "Many have nurtured in their dreams the thought 
 That they might find on earth one grateful spot
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 215 
 
 Wherein to fix their dwelling, and have sought 
 Through all the world that home — yet found it not. 
 
 *' At times we hear some half-remembered tone — 
 The forms as of some friends long-look'd for pass ; 
 We turn to them — we grasp them. They are gone ! 
 Faded as mist from oflf a clouded glass."* 
 
 Her health, too, which had always been 
 good, now failed ; for the fact was, her 
 trials had been great, and had, insensibly, 
 undermined her strength. 
 
 A long walk tired her; and they were 
 too poor to keep any conveyance. She might 
 have sung the following words : 
 
 "Wintry day, cold and grey 
 
 As my heart in this chill place ; 
 Will no wind, blithe and kind, 
 Waft a smile into thy face ? 
 
 '* Drops of rain, like dull pain. 
 Throb upon the heavy air, 
 Growing thick, beating quick. 
 With the pulse of a despair. 
 
 * Sandes.
 
 216 LIFE 
 
 " All about — within, without, 
 
 Creeps the blank and cheerless grey : 
 O for one, like the sun, 
 
 Who should drive these clouds away !"* 
 
 Harriet did not endeavour to cheer her 
 sister as much as she ought, because she had 
 hoped that the dull life Lucy led would be 
 all in favour of her plan to induce her to 
 accept Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 But she prudently never mentioned her 
 wishes, or, indeed, talked about him at all. 
 Only sometimes, when their poverty stood 
 in the way of some plans of usefulness, she 
 would say — 
 
 " Oh ! if we had but some of Mr. Mande- 
 ville's superfluous wealth — of those thousands 
 he does not know what to do with, what a 
 beautiful school we could build, &c." 
 
 Then Lucy could not help feehng that a 
 moderate share of fortune was very pleasant ; 
 
 * C. Hamilton Aide'.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 217 
 
 that when the heart is no longer filled with 
 one person's image — when we do not live 
 in a great and all-absorbing affection — that 
 money is more that ever useful ; that if she 
 could not be happy, she would like to be 
 comfortable — to live in a pretty country, and 
 sometimes meet agreeable people. 
 
 " But all this is very worldly," she thought. 
 " How completely changed I am becoming ! 
 what a delusion I have always lived in as 
 to my real character !" 
 
 At other times she would strive hard to 
 follow the dictates of Scripture — to love her 
 neighbours as herself, and become really all 
 she wished to be. 
 
 She had always been accustomed to utter 
 her thoughts, and now she felt, for the first 
 time, they would not be understood. Even 
 Harriet seemed to have lost the power of 
 comprehending her, so she brooded over her 
 miseries — a feeling of remorse was crushing
 
 218 LIFE 
 
 down her spirits, and she became convinced 
 that she was the most ungrateful and wicked 
 of mortals. 
 
 Perhaps if she had taken up some deep 
 study, which would have absorbed her super- 
 abundant energy, she might have regained 
 her former peace. But there was no one 
 to advise her to do so ; and she had very few 
 books. She did make an attempt to learn 
 Italian and German ; but Harriet laughed 
 her out of it, and her feeble endeavours to 
 study were easily crushed. 
 
 Regular-minded people, and those who 
 sleep well, and are blessed with good di- 
 gestions, have very little idea of the harm 
 they do by slighting the sometimes eccentric 
 efforts of passionate natures to relieve their 
 sufferings. Deep study, or writing a novel, 
 is sometimes the best cure for toothache 
 and heartache, for acute pain of body or mind. 
 Yet in those days particularly, such re-
 
 AND ITS HEALITIES. 219 
 
 medies would have excited the contempt 
 of most people, in other respects sensible, 
 and even possessing a very fair share of 
 sympathy for sufferings different from their 
 own.
 
 220 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 "You look so pale and ill, I know you 
 ought to have change of air," said Harriet, 
 about three months after their arrival at 
 Rufyn ; " I wish you would accept Mrs. Rash- 
 leigh's invitation. I am sure your native air 
 would do you good." 
 
 Lucy started — she could not help feeling a 
 gleam of pleasure at the idea of any change. 
 Nothing could be worse than the life she led 
 there. It was quite impossible she could be 
 more unhappy.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 221 
 
 " Yes, do go ; and the Miss Scroggins are 
 going to London next week, and they could 
 escort you as far as Ilminster. It is quite on 
 their road/' 
 
 " You want to get rid of me, I see," said 
 Lucy, playfully ; " and indeed," she added in a 
 desponding tone, " I am quite useless." 
 
 " You are ill, darling," answered her sister ; 
 " you have tried to do too much ; after all the 
 sorrow you have experienced, you ought to 
 have amusement and rest — not the dull 
 drudgery of village work and poverty. I know 
 a visit to the Rashleighs would restore your 
 spirits — the girls are lively, and — " 
 
 " I never much Hked them though," said 
 Lucy, with a sudden feeling of misgiving. 
 
 " Yet nothing can be more good natured 
 than they are.'' 
 
 '' But I ought not to leave you before your 
 confinement, dear Harriet ; I am sure it would 
 be wrong."
 
 222 LIFE 
 
 "I can't bear to see your pale face — it 
 quite haunts me in my dreams at night." 
 
 "Yet it would be cowardly to go," said 
 Lucy. " I remember papa often said, that if 
 we cannot succeed in making ourselves happy 
 in the place where our lot is cast for the time 
 being, we never shall be so in any other spot 
 in the whole world. And I am always con- 
 vinced he was right." 
 
 *' To some men God hath given laughter : but tears to 
 
 some men He hath given : 
 He bade us sow in tears, hereafter to harvest holier 
 
 smiles in heaven : 
 And tears and smiles, they are his gift ; both good, 
 
 to smite, or to uplift : 
 
 * * * * 
 
 He tempers smiles with tears ; both good to bear in 
 time the Christian mood. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " For sure 'twere best to bear the cross, nor hghtly 
 fling the thorns behind ; 
 Lest we grow happy by the loss of what was noblest 
 in the mind."
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 223 
 
 " But this place does not agree with your 
 health, I see that plainly," said Harriet. 
 
 Lucy soon began to be convinced of this 
 also, for the more she tried to reconcile herself 
 to the sort of life she led at Rufyn, the more 
 gloomy did it appear, and she felt a sort of 
 intense longing to revisit her old neighbour- 
 hood once more, and see whether the sight of 
 that loved spot would revive something of her 
 old spirit, and dispel the dreary languor which 
 seemed to be numbing all her feelings and 
 darkening her thoughts. 
 
 So at last she consented to allow Harriet 
 to write to Mrs. Rashleigh, and then it was 
 settled that she should accompany the 
 Scrogginses as far as Ilminster. 
 
 The idea of the change, so soon as it was 
 quite fixed on, seemed to revive her health 
 and spirits, and Harriet indulged in delighted 
 anticipations of the success of her schemes ; for 
 she imagined her sister must be thrown into
 
 224 LIFE 
 
 the society of Mr. Mandeville, and that she 
 might now be induced to accept him. 
 
 The day before the one fixed for the journey, 
 a letter arrived from Mrs. Rashleigh, to say, 
 that two of her children had been attacked 
 with scarlet fever, and therefore she concluded 
 that this great misfortune would prevent Miss 
 Lennox from paying her at present the pro- 
 mised visit, to which she and all her family 
 had been looking forward with the greatest 
 pleasure. 
 
 The next day's post brought a letter from 
 Mr. Mandeville to Harriet, which she did not 
 shew Lucy ; but she informed her that it con- 
 tained the sad news of the death of one of 
 the young Rashleighs, and that the life of 
 the other was despaired of. 
 
 So there seemed to be an end of all 
 Harriet's schemes for the present. And tliis 
 disappointment had the effect of making Lucy 
 feel still more dull, and useless, and ill.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 225 
 
 Perhaps Harriet might have been able to 
 assist her sister's endeavour to feel cheerful, 
 and to cultivate some employment which 
 would have benefitted her health and spirits ; 
 but unfortunately she could not help uncon- 
 sciously fostering the diseased state of mind, 
 which she thought must conduce to make 
 Lucy accept Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 Yet if she had been told this was her plan, 
 she would have been horrified at the idea ; for 
 she fancied that matchmaking was very wrong, 
 and often condemned those who were said to 
 be guilty of such practices. 
 
 Yet, by degrees, the desire that her sister 
 should marry Mr. Mandeville, had become her 
 predominating wish. Indeed it had been so 
 for years, only her father's influence had with- 
 held her from endeavouring to forward it in 
 any way. 
 
 That influence being now withdrawn, Har- 
 riet's character did not improve ; and her 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 LIFE 
 
 husband resembled her too much to be aware 
 of any change, and besides was so fully occu- 
 pied, that he did not remark those shght 
 alterations which form or mar a disposition, 
 but which come on so gradually as to be 
 almost unperceived. 
 
 But poor Lucy was becoming really ill ; 
 and as the time for Harriet's confinement 
 drew near, she felt much alarmed about her 
 young sister. 
 
 "And suppose I should die," thought 
 Harriet, " in this hour of trial, what will be- 
 come of Lucy ?'* 
 
 Then she reflected the best plan would be 
 for her to write to Mr. Mandeville and ask 
 him to come. " For, of course, poor George 
 would be too much engrossed by his sorrow 
 for my loss, to be any comfort to Lucy — 
 decidedly he ought to come." 
 
 So, instead of praying, as her father would 
 have done, that Lucy might be supported in
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 227 
 
 this hour of affliction, as she had been before, 
 Harriet felt only anxious to give her the comfort 
 of a kind friend and good husband. 
 
 She became worldly, even in the solemn 
 hour of anticipated danger, and looked for 
 help from man when it could only come from 
 God. 
 
 " I will tell him the exact state of the case,", 
 thought Harriet ; '' and if God should spare my 
 hfe and make me a happy mother, why, then 
 Lucy will forgive me for bringing him here 
 against her will, when I explain what my fears 
 had been, and so all will end well." 
 
 So she wrote to Mr. Mandeville, and he 
 lost no time in complying with her request. 
 
 Harriet's fears were so far right as to her 
 danger, that for some hours her life was 
 almost despaired of, and her little child was 
 dead before it came into the world. Mr. 
 Mandeville was of the greatest use during the 
 time of illness and anxiety, and Lucy felt so 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 LIFE 
 
 grateful to him for his kind attention to 
 Mr. Lennox, and his efforts to supply his 
 place among the poor people and in the schools, 
 that she felt more pained than ever at being 
 so insensible in her heart to his devoted love. 
 
 He said that he had been on his road to visit 
 some relations in Scotland, but that he would 
 *not leave Rufyn until Mrs. Lennox was quite 
 well again. 
 
 It was some time before she regained even 
 a small portion of her former health, but she 
 had the happiness of thinking that her plans 
 had been successful in getting Mr. Mandeville 
 and Lucy together; and her pleasure in this pre- 
 vented her feehng so keenly the loss of her 
 child, as she otherwise would. 
 
 One day, she expressed her delight to Lucy, 
 taking it for granted that all was settled ; and 
 that, of course, as Lucy had now seen so much 
 of Mr. Mandeville's good qualities, she would no 
 longer hesitate in consenting to make him happy.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 229 
 
 " If you cannot be happy yourself, it must 
 be such a comfort and delight to you to know 
 that you are making the lot of one human being 
 perfectly blissful ; and it surely will be plea- 
 santer for you to be able to do good to the 
 poor, and to go where you like. It cannot 
 make you more unhappy than you have been 
 for the last four months.'' 
 
 Lucy could not help feeling that all this was 
 true. The state of bodily weakness to which 
 she had been reduced by the mental sufferings, 
 struggles, and losses she had sustained, para- 
 lyzed her energies and darkened her judgment ; 
 so that she was now in danger of losing faith 
 in the power of doing good ; and the conviction 
 that she was rather a gene upon her sister and 
 Mr. Lennox — a piece of incomprehensible me- 
 chanism which they seemed unable to fathom 
 — increased her natural feeHng of desolate 
 isolation. 
 
 She looked back with a sort of half self-
 
 230 LIFE 
 
 reproachful bitterness and regret at not having 
 been able to exert any good influence over 
 Augustus ; and at one perverse moment, even 
 allowed herself to think that his errors and 
 losses were caused solely by her rejection of his 
 love. She felt that Harriet even did not want 
 her ; that she had not succeeded in being of 
 much use to the poor people around. In fact, 
 she never had been, in old times, half so useful 
 as Harriet ; and now, as her sister endeavoured 
 to show her that she could do no good in the 
 sort of life she led, she thought, indeed, that 
 what she said was true. 
 
 This step gained, Harriet followed it up so 
 skilfully, with every kind of argument in favour 
 of her union with Mr. Mandeville, and painted 
 in such glowing colours all the good Lucy could 
 do, and how many people she could make 
 happy, that at last she consented. 
 
 She did not expect to be happy herself, 
 although she admired Mr. Mandeville's good
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 231 
 
 qualities, and loved him as a dear brother ; yet 
 the dread she had formerly felt when she fan- 
 cied she should be forced to marry him, still 
 remained ; and when she thought of his vene- 
 rable old house with its haunted rooms, it was 
 with the same strange and vague feeling of awe. 
 
 Yet, a spell seemed over her, and, in spite of 
 it all, she felt that she must consent ; that she 
 was too weak to strive against what appeared 
 to have been always her fate ; and she did not 
 attempt to pray that she might be kept from 
 it, for she had been so unhappy since her 
 father's death, that she could not bear to con- 
 template a continuance of the same kind of 
 life. 
 
 And at last a day was fixed for their mar- 
 riage.
 
 232 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DECEPTION. 
 
 When Sir Lionel Renton reached London, 
 after his unsuccessful attempt upon Lucy's 
 liberty, with the intention of proceeding imme- 
 diately abroad ; he met with an old friend, who 
 had great faith in his good luck. 
 
 This man had been a schoolfellow of Lionel's, 
 and from a liking to each other, and a certain 
 similarity of disposition between them, they 
 had always retained their early friendship ; or 
 rather, alliance. 
 
 Joe Leicester had always said that he was 
 sure to win at billiards or ecarte, if Lionel
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 233 
 
 were present ; so, instead of allowing him to 
 proceed at once to Southampton, he persuaded 
 the Baronet, no difficult matter, to accompany 
 him to a gambling house, and having lately 
 won a small sum, offered him five pounds, to 
 enable his friend to retrieve his fortunes. 
 
 Sir Lionel was in high spirits at this offer, 
 and it so happened that his play was entirely 
 successful. 
 
 In a few days he found himself in a position 
 of comparative ease ; yet he was obliged to 
 keep himself concealed as much as possible, for 
 he would not attempt to pay his debts : and 
 therefore he was thrown principally into the 
 society of the lowest species of gamblers. 
 
 About two months after his arrival in Lon- 
 don, he was tempted to forge the name of an 
 acquaintance to a bill, for a considerable 
 amount. 
 
 The plan succeeded perfectly. At first his 
 delight was extreme at having acquired such
 
 234 LIFE 
 
 a large sum ; and he began to turn over in his 
 mind whether it might not now be possible for 
 him to pursue his designs on Lucy Lennox. 
 
 Then he heard that she was going to be mar- 
 ried to Mr. Mandeville ; and although he felt 
 much provoked that any one should succeed 
 where he had failed, yet he was so convinced 
 of her still-enduring love for Augustus, and his 
 jealousy of his brother was so great, that he 
 could not avoid a sort of bitter exultation in 
 the conviction that she could now never marry 
 his brother. 
 
 The success of his first forgery made him 
 reckless, and he was induced to repeat the risk 
 several times ; but at last received intelligence 
 from his friend Joe Leicester, that some of his 
 creditors had become acquainted with his pre- 
 sent feigned name, and that the " dogs were 
 on his track/' 
 
 He was well accustomed to dodge officers of 
 justice of all kinds, from Bow-street officers to
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 235 
 
 old watchmen ; so he lost not a moment in as- 
 suming a disguise ; and by getting out on the 
 roof of the house where he lodged, and then 
 on to another several doors off, where he let 
 himself down into a back street, he succeeded 
 in leaving London without being taken. 
 
 But he had several very narrow escapes before 
 he reached Southampton, and was obliged to 
 change his costume several times. 
 
 It was in the dusk of the evening when 
 he at last approached that town ; and Joe 
 Leicester had secured a place for him under 
 the name of Samuel Weston, in a ship 
 that was going to start that night for New 
 York. 
 
 He would not enter the town till it was dark ; 
 so he ensconced himself as near the shore as 
 he could, behind a hedge. Another half hour 
 and he would be safe on board ; and now that 
 he was so near the happy termination of his 
 anxiety, a feeling of horror lest he should be
 
 236 LIFE 
 
 taken, crept over him ; and he imagined his 
 trial and condemnation. 
 
 In those days people were hung for forgery, 
 and a vision of this fearful and ignominious 
 death presented itself forcibly to his mind. 
 
 His horror was made more tangible, and 
 present too, perhaps, by the sight of Gallows- 
 hill in the far distance, where, in the uncertain 
 light, he fancied he could discern a gibbet. 
 
 He remembered having seen, when a child, 
 the body of a murderer hanging there ; and 
 its tattered garments and rattHng bones, half 
 covered here and there with blackened and 
 mouldering flesh, had often haunted his dreams. 
 
 Now his face seemed to flush and burn ; he 
 experienced a choking sensation in his throat, 
 as if the rope were being tightened round it ; 
 and the wind that moaned through the trees 
 sounded like the yells and imprecations of an 
 infuriated mob. 
 
 At last his horror became so insupportable,
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 237 
 
 that he started up and rushed towards the 
 quay, to try to dispel his fears. 
 
 A large vessel was just approaching, and he 
 heard, from some remarks of the bystanders, 
 that it had come from a certain distant colony. 
 
 That was the place where his brother Augus- 
 tus had gone, and he suddenly remembered, 
 with a feeling of dread, that his brother might 
 have returned. 
 
 And Lucy not yet married ! he thought. 
 But it would be impossible he could be sofooUsh 
 as to come back to England before he had endea- 
 voured to make his fortune. Yet, perhaps there 
 might be a letter. He might have written to 
 Lucy, and then she would learn that the report 
 of his marriage was false, and certainly break 
 off her engagement to Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 This rumour of Augustus's marriage had 
 been ingeniously circulated by Sir Lionel 
 himself, and he had even inserted an ac- 
 count of it in the county paper, as soon
 
 238 LIFE 
 
 as he was quite sure that Augustus had left 
 England. 
 
 The paragraph ran as follows : — 
 
 ** We are happy to announce the marriage 
 of Augustus Derwent, Esq., late of Rollston 
 Hall, in this county, to JuUa Mary, only 
 daughter and heiress of Josiah Smith, of 
 Clerkenwell, London. The ceremony was per- 
 formed in London, and the distinguished bride- 
 groom and his lovely bride proceeded, after the 
 ceremony, for a fortnight to the Isle of Wight, 
 intending immediately afterwards to leave this 
 country for India." 
 
 This circumstantial account had, of course, 
 left no doubt in poor Lucy's mind, and that 
 of all her friends, that Augustus was actually 
 married ; for nobody suspected at the time that 
 Sir Lionel could have any interest of a selfish 
 nature in circulating a direct falsehood about 
 his brother. 
 
 At the risk of being detected, Sii' Lionel
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 239 
 
 could not now avoid watching the people 
 as they landed from the ship. Augustus 
 was not there, and it would be impossible 
 for him to know whether a letter had come. 
 So he was just about to withdraw to a place 
 of better concealment, when his attention was 
 arrested by a poor sailor, half drunk, who 
 was walking to and fro, with a letter in 
 his hand. 
 
 Some strange feeling of curiosity impelled 
 Lionel to accost the man, and ask whether 
 he could be of any use to him. 
 
 " I want to know the way to the post- 
 office," said the sailor ; " and somehow, 
 when I first land, the ground never seems 
 steady under my feet ; and I never was in 
 this here place afore." 
 
 " I will show you the way, my fine fellow, 
 or I will put your letter in the post, for I am 
 going there myself," said Sir Lionel, as he
 
 240 LIFE 
 
 put out his hand, and attempted to take the 
 letter. 
 
 But the sailor drew it away hastily. 
 
 " No, no ; I promised one, as did me a 
 good turn, that I would put it in myself at 
 the first place I landed, 'cause as how there 
 warn't no post-office in that ere out-of-the-way 
 place where we was ; so I aint agoing to let 
 no one do my work now," he continued, as 
 he hastily placed the letter in his waistcoat- 
 pocket. 
 
 But Sir Lionel had caught a sight of the 
 handwriting as they passed near a lamp, and 
 he was determined to obtain possession of 
 the letter. 
 
 " Here, this way," he motioned, " my good 
 man ; but it is some distance from hence, so 
 come and have a glass of something first, 
 for I know you want it." 
 
 " Well, I have no objection in life ; for, to
 
 AN^D ITS BEALITIES. 241 
 
 say the truth, we had a hard time of it since 
 we was at sea." 
 
 They soon reached a tavern, where Sir 
 Lionel plyed him well with spirits ; and, as 
 he was already far gone, he soon sank into 
 a profound sleep. Lionel then dexterously 
 took out the letter from the man's pocket, 
 and was about to pay his account, when he 
 heard some words, spoken in a distant part 
 of the room, which arrested his attention, and 
 made him tremble : " a Baronet, too ; a most 
 dexterous villain." 
 
 Then another person said something which 
 he could not quite follow, but heard the 
 words : " Said to be disguised as a pedlar ; 
 and was seen at Winchester ; no doubt he will 
 be taken ; . . . . Bow Street officers ; . . . . sea- 
 coast*' .... 
 
 Sir Lionel was about to throw a sovereign 
 to the innkeeper, in order to get away as 
 quickly as possible ; but he remembered that 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 LIFE 
 
 might excite suspicion, so he endeavoured, with 
 a great effort, to steady his hands sufficiently 
 to find and pay the required sum. 
 
 He succeeded in leaving the house 
 without apparently exciting any suspicions ; 
 but his great fear now was that the ves- 
 sel might have sailed, as considerable time 
 had been taken up in the pursuit of this 
 unfortunate letter. He bitterly cursed his 
 own folly in having indulged this absurd 
 curiosity at a moment of such dire im- 
 portance ; and in the endeavour to frustrate 
 his brother's chance of retaining his hold on 
 Lucy*s affections, by preventing his letter 
 from reaching her, he might now miss the 
 only opportunity which had offered to escape 
 safely from England, and avoid an ignominious 
 death on the gallows. 
 
 Such thoughts as these darted through 
 his mind, as he walked quickly towards the 
 quay. He was afraid to run, lest it might
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 243 
 
 excite the suspicion of any detective officers, 
 who were probably on the watch to seize him. 
 
 And if the ship should have already sailed, 
 he would be obliged to recommence all' his 
 arduous dodges and disguises, which had 
 cost such extreme labour, and often agonizing 
 fear, since he left London. 
 
 He was now dressed as a sailor, with a red 
 wig and beard and eyebrows, which effectually 
 covered his own dark hair ; and he had 
 artfully contrived to place some black stick- 
 ing-plaster on some of his teeth, so that he 
 appeared to have lost them. 
 
 As he approached the quay he saw a 
 number of people still about ; and, calling 
 for a boat, he inquired whether the "Orion" 
 had yet sailed. He was told that the tide 
 would answer for her in less than a quartei 
 of an hour, and it was almost impossible 
 •that a boat should reach her in time. 
 
 Sir Lionel, however, threw himself into 
 
 R 2
 
 244 LIFE 
 
 one, and, whispering hastily to the men, was 
 soon rowing at full speed towards a large 
 ship, which was now scarcely visible in the 
 increasing darkness. 
 
 " Pull, pull for your lives ! a ten-pound 
 note to each man if I reach the ship in time," 
 he repeated, as he saw a movement in the 
 crowd on the quay, and fancied he heard his 
 name uttered. 
 
 It had reached the boatmen's ears, too, 
 for he saw that they looked at him with even 
 greater curiosity than before ; and he heard 
 one whisper to the other, " Was that the 
 chap as there was a reward ojffered for taking 
 of?" 
 
 " May be," said the other, in a louder tone, 
 as if not unwilling that it should reach the 
 ears of the " gentleman" — " may be ; but Vm 
 not the chap to be hard on a gentleman as 
 gets into trouble, and pays well. Make it 
 twenty pounds for each on us, and we'll put
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 245 
 
 ye safe on board, and never whisper a word 
 about it." 
 
 Sir Lionel had plenty of money, and was 
 only too glad to double his first offer. 
 
 " But see ; she's moving !'* he exclaimed, in 
 dismay, as they had now approached suffi- 
 ciently near to distinguish the ship. 
 
 " Never fear, we'll reach her yet ; only 
 give us the money now, for I'm thinking 
 you'll not have much time to spare." 
 
 Sir Lionel held it ready in his hand, in 
 sight of the men, and they pulled on in 
 gallant style, A few more vigorous strokes, 
 and they would reach the ship. 
 
 His eyes were fixed on it with a look of 
 intense longing ; yet he saw that the men 
 were looking at something in the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 Could it be that they were pursued ? He 
 would not take his eyes from the ship ; for, 
 in moments when our entire fate depends
 
 246 LIFE 
 
 upon the attainment of some particular ob- 
 ject, a person of strong will, such as Sir 
 Lionel, has a sort of superstitious dread of 
 being diverted from the pursuit. He mmt 
 reach it ; he could hardly believe that now, 
 when it was so near, anything could interfere 
 to frustrate his designs ; and he felt that his 
 determination was so strong that it must 
 assist the efforts of the rowers. So he would 
 not turn round to see the large six-oared 
 boat which was fast gaining upon their 
 track, or listen to the shouts which proceeded 
 from it. 
 
 The "Orion" was already in motion, and 
 the anchor hauled up : a fresh breeze had 
 sprung up, which bid fair to insure him a 
 quick sail down the arm of the sea. 
 
 " Well done, my brave men !" 'exclaimed 
 Sir Lionel, as he gave the men the promised 
 reward, and jumped out of the boat. He 
 seized the cords of the rope-ladder, which
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 247 
 
 was hung from the ship. With the speed 
 of Hghtning he ascended the side, and was 
 making a desperate effort to draw it up, 
 when several sailors took it from his hand, 
 and said, " Easy there, my man ; don't ye see 
 the captain's barge coming up ?" 
 
 It was too true ; the other boat had also 
 reached in time, and Sir Lionel determined, 
 that should it contain the officers to seize him, 
 he would throw himself into the sea sooner 
 than be taken. 
 
 It was a moment of agonized suspense ; but 
 his fears were soon dispelled by finding that 
 the boat only contained some of the crew, 
 and no one seemed to take any particular 
 notice of him. 
 
 He did not feel safe, however, till they had 
 fairly reached the open sea, and the lights of 
 the town had faded into the far distance. He 
 had sat down behind some bales in the most 
 obscure corner he could find, and passed an
 
 248 LIFE 
 
 hour there of intense anxiety. But after- 
 wards, when he felt in some measure assured 
 that the danger was past, he remembered his 
 brother's letter. 
 
 The moon had risen, but it did not give 
 sufficient light to enable him to read, and he 
 was afraid of approaching any light, and thus 
 run the risk of being recognised, till they were 
 farther away from England. So he waited for 
 some hours, during which time the ship made 
 rapid progress.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 The breeze freshened as the night wore 
 on ; and there was something awful in the 
 howling of the wind and roar of the waters, 
 the sea gulls' shriek, and the vast expanse 
 of sea now illumined by a bright moon, which 
 depressed Sir Lionel. 
 
 The solemn grandeur of the scene did not 
 touch his heart, nor had the wonderful escape 
 from the danger of an ignominious death 
 given him any feeling of thankfulness to the 
 Great Creator. 
 
 Yet he was not an habitual disbeliever ; he
 
 250 LIFE 
 
 had never thought sufficiently on the subject 
 to make up his mind as to the untruth of re- 
 velation. 
 
 Yet he had always acted as if he had not 
 believed in any hereafter ; his object had 
 been to enjoy this life, at all events, to its 
 fullest extent : a fine constitution and con- 
 siderable talent had enabled him generally to 
 accomplish this wish; nor had he ever felt 
 sufficiently near death to induce him to en- 
 quire, with any great anxiety, what was to be- 
 come of him afterwards. 
 
 He was, in fact, like many of us in this re- 
 spect ; only his passions were very strong, and 
 therefore he had erred more positively against 
 the laws of God and man than many who are 
 equally living in a constant disregard of the 
 welfare of their souls, and yet contrive to pass 
 through life with a very fair character for 
 goodness. 
 
 It was now past midnight, and they had
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 251 
 
 sailed so quickly, that Sir Lionel thought it 
 might be safe for him to venture down stairs 
 and read the letter. It was directed to Miss 
 Lucy Lennox, and he slunk into a corner of 
 the cabin and broke the seal. 
 
 Sir Lionel had never heard anything of his 
 brother since Augustus quitted England, and 
 he only knew that he had intended to go to 
 America. 
 
 This letter was dated from a remote part of 
 the interior, many days' journey from any 
 town or even inhabited spot. 
 
 Augustus said he had not dared to write 
 to Lucy before, because he had not felt 
 that he was worthy to address her. But 
 he had suffered so much after he first 
 came to the country, and was now pur- 
 suing such a steady course of hard la- 
 bour, and making such efforts to succeed 
 in the cultivation of the land, that he 
 felt some degree of hope that at any rate
 
 252 LIFE 
 
 she would not> be displeased at hearing from 
 him. 
 
 He said he should continue to labour with 
 untiring energy, and trusted that God would 
 hear his prayers, and enable him quite to con- 
 quer his evil propensities. He would not ask 
 Lucy to continue to regard him with any 
 feeling of affection — a person who had so 
 basely disregarded the advice given by her 
 father; but he assured her that she would 
 always be the guiding- star of his earthly 
 course, the only object to which he could 
 turn for consolation and hope, — that inspired 
 him with any wish to do right, and with the 
 hope of meeting her, at all events, in anotlier 
 world. 
 
 There was something in the melancholy 
 tone which pervaded the letter, that touched 
 Sir Lionel, and for one moment he almost re- 
 gretted that he had prevented it from reaching 
 its destination. Yet this feeling did not last :
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 253 
 
 on the contrary, as he pictured to himself her 
 receiving and reading it, the tears of joy she 
 would probably have shed, — when he remem- 
 bered that she loved him, — that Augustus had 
 always possessed her heart, although she had 
 struggled against and attempted to conceal 
 her feelings, — a pang of angry jealousy made 
 him crush the letter in his hand. With a 
 sudden revulsion of feeling he rushed upon 
 deck again. 
 
 It was now blowing almost a gale. Huge 
 waves dashed against the sides of the ship, and 
 there was something in the tumultuous roar 
 that seemed to increase the fury of his jea- 
 lousy. He was approaching the side of the 
 ship, with the intention of throwing his bro- 
 ther's letter into the sea, when a sound 
 reached his ear which made him pause. 
 
 It was the plaintive voice of a little child in 
 the cabin below. 
 
 It now in some degree checked his wrath,
 
 254 LIFE 
 
 for it reminded him of his brother's voice, 
 when, in early childhood, Augustus had 
 sometimes appealed successfully to his better 
 feeHngs; and he could not refrain from a 
 sort of longing that came over him, to expe- 
 rience once more the peaceful satisfaction of 
 those early days, when, after a violent fit of 
 anger and the unjust indulgence of passion, 
 he had made it up with his brother, and they 
 had become friends again. 
 
 The little voice from the cabin below is 
 heard the second time ; now the gentle plain- 
 tiveness of its tone reminds him of his own 
 little lost Jamie, his poor wife's darling ; and 
 her death bed recurs vividly to his mind. 
 
 He stands irresolute, with the letter still 
 entire, though crushed, in his hand. It is 
 not too late. He might leave it at the first 
 place where they would arrive ; it could per- 
 haps still reach her in time to prevent her 
 marriage with Mr. Mandeville, and Augustus
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 255 
 
 might retrieve his fortunes and return ; thus 
 these two loving hearts would be united. 
 
 And could he bear to know they would be 
 so blissfully happy, while he, Lionel himself, 
 would never, never be loved — while he would 
 be an exile from his country and all he loved, 
 or ought naturally to love best ? 
 
 It was a moment of severe trial : the " still 
 small voice," which never deserts us, was ap- 
 pealing to his best feelings by the means of 
 that little child's cry. 
 
 " Harken, harken ! 
 God speaketh to thy soul, 
 Using the Supreme voice which doth confound 
 All life with consciousness of Deity, 
 
 All senses into one, — 
 As the seer-saint of Patmos, loving John 
 
 (For whom did backward roll 
 The cloud-gate of the future) burned to see 
 The Voice which spake. It speaketh now, 
 Through the regular breath of the calm creation. 
 Through the moan of the creature's desolation, 
 Striking, and in its stroke reserabhng 
 The memory of a solemn vow, 
 Wiiich pierceth the din of a festival
 
 256 LIFE 
 
 To one in the midst, — and he letteth fall 
 The cup, with a sudden trembling."* 
 
 This was, perhaps, the turning point of Sir 
 Lionel's destiny — that decisive moment when 
 we exert our power of free will, when we choose 
 the difficult path that leads to eternal happi- 
 ness, or in wilful self-indulgence rush headlong 
 toward the too attractive road that leads to 
 everlasting torture. 
 
 Perhaps this would be his last chance : the 
 Saviour's beseeching voice, the Redeemer, who 
 would not that one should perish, was speaking 
 to him now. And Lionel was contemplating his 
 brother's happiness with Lucy, for they would 
 certainly marry if that Ifetter ever reached her. 
 
 He could not bear the thought ! 
 
 He had never learnt to look on the happi- 
 ness of others with any satisfaction, unless it 
 ministered in some way to his own gratifica- 
 tion ; and he had always loved Lucy himself. 
 * Browning.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 257 
 
 He had suffered his covetous and wayward 
 fancy to indulge the hope of obtaining her, in 
 spite of the obstacles there had been in his 
 own wife's existence as well as in his brother's 
 devoted love. So he could not bear now to 
 think of that brother's success. 
 
 The child's voice was no longer heard from 
 the cabin below ; there was only the increasing 
 roar of wind and waves, which seemed to lash 
 all his angry passions into fury again. " Lucy 
 shall never be his," he muttered ; and rushing 
 to the side of the ship, he threw the letter into 
 the sea. 
 
 He saw it float on the crest of a wave, then 
 it was dashed with the spray against the black 
 side of the ship. It rose up high in the air, 
 and he almost expected it would be dashed 
 back to him with the spray that reached his 
 face. 
 
 A sort of vague terror that it would never 
 leave him, that it would in some way work his 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 LIFE 
 
 destruction, made him tremble with supersti- 
 tious dread. He wished he had tied a 
 weight to it, that it might have sunk at once 
 to the bottom. 
 
 Why would it remain so provokingly long 
 in sight? He tried to look in another di- 
 rection, but his eyes seemed fascinated 
 towards that white speck. 
 
 But as he watched, it was no longer a speck : 
 it seemed to grow gradually larger and larger, 
 till at last the whole surface of the ocean was 
 covered by it ! was it the effect of his own 
 diseased fancy ? 
 
 That fatal letter seemed to have had the 
 effect of raising a fearful storm. 
 
 In another half hour, the entire sea was 
 covered with white foam : ere long the wind 
 blew such a hurricane that many of the terrified 
 passengers rose from their beds and came on 
 deck : the masts cracked, and the sails were 
 rent into shreds.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 259 
 
 Then the rudder was carried away, and the 
 sea broke fearfully over the deck ; and shrieks 
 were heard from the women and children, 
 mingled with the stern voice of command 
 from the captain and mate. 
 
 They were now not far from the Race of 
 Portland, and Lionel, who knew the coast 
 well, saw with horror that their destruction 
 seemed certain : still minute guns were fired, 
 in the desperate hope that help might be sent 
 out to them. 
 
 Thick clouds now overshaded the moon, 
 and the darkness seemed to add to the horrors 
 of the scene. Soon afterwards the lights in 
 Weymouth became visible, and Lionel resolved 
 to make a desperate efiPort to reach land in a 
 boat. 
 
 The captain shook his head, and declared it 
 would be impossible that any boat could live 
 long in such a sea. 
 
 But Lionel was resolved to try, and aided 
 
 s 2
 
 260 LIFE 
 
 by some men, equally desperate and resolved 
 to disregard the captain's orders, he succeeded 
 in launching one of the boats. 
 
 The captain saw it was useless to remon- 
 strate, for it was one of those desperate scenes 
 of confusion where brute force is sure to carry 
 the day. Yet he was most anxious to keep 
 the boats, that in case any ship should come 
 to their assistance he might be able to transfer 
 his passengers into it. 
 
 The boat was soon filled with the most 
 selfish and daring of the men, but one poor 
 woman and child had succeeded also in get- 
 ting down into it ; and what was more dif- 
 ficult, they managed to push it off in spite 
 of the gigantic efforts to retain it made 
 by those who had not succeeded in get- 
 ting in. 
 
 But the anxious mother saw that it was too 
 full, — that it must be swamped, and holding 
 out her child to Lionel, she exclaimed : —
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 261 
 
 ** I will throw myself into the sea to lighten 
 the boat, if you will take my child/' 
 
 Lionel's whole energy was devoted to the 
 oar, yet in his selfishness, he knew that it was 
 most important to Ughten the boat, so he de- 
 termined to take the chUd in order to induce 
 her to fulfil her promise. 
 
 He was determined to save his own life at 
 all hazards: he must live, he must preserve the 
 life for which he had gambled and forged and 
 ran the risk of such awful disgrace, and what 
 were the lives of all that cowardly shrieking 
 crew, in comparison to his own ? what was all 
 that mass of human suffering compared to 
 himself ? 
 
 But as he put out his arm to take the 
 child, a spar from the ship was carried by 
 the hurricane close to the boat, and it 
 struck Lionel such a violent blow on the 
 head, that it threw him backwards into the 
 sea.
 
 262 LIFE 
 
 For an instant he was almost insensible ; but 
 his dress had caught in a floating spar, and 
 his head was thus kept above the water. With 
 the energy of despair he clung to the spar, 
 yet it was drifted every moment farther from 
 the boat. 
 
 He screamed for help, but he felt that he 
 was not heeded or even heard above the raging 
 storm. As the spar rose to the top of the 
 waves he could see the lights in Weymouth 
 nearer than ever, so he indulged a hope that 
 he might be drifted to the shore. 
 
 He still heard the fearful shrieks of the 
 unfortunate people in the ship, and mingled 
 with these yells and the roar of the elements, 
 he could distinguish that same plaintive voice 
 which had niomentarily touched his better 
 feelings before. And the waihng sound was 
 now still more like his brother's voice when 
 he used to plead with him in youth, and try 
 hard to subdue his evil feelings.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 263 
 
 Perhaps the voice was that of the child that 
 the poor woman had endeavoured to commit 
 to his care, and he felt conscious that he had 
 scarcely cared whether it were saved or lost. 
 A feehng of remorse was suddenly awakened 
 in his heart. 
 
 He felt that he could not now be saved, 
 that he must perish in these raging waters : 
 and any death he thought would have been 
 preferable to this ! To sink into these mys- 
 terious depths — to remain there till "the 
 sea should give up its dead." 
 
 If he had remained in England and taken 
 the chance of his trial, he might perhaps 
 have escaped. Oh ! it was fearful to die 
 here amid all the wailings, and shrieks and 
 moans ; and the entreaties of that poor 
 woman — the tones in which she said " Take 
 my child !" sounded again and again in his 
 ears. 
 
 And now he seemed getting farther from
 
 264 LIFE 
 
 the lights in Weymouth: even the sound 
 of the ship's guns grew more distant ; and 
 the spar was so wildly shaken by the waves, 
 that he expected it would break every mo- 
 ment. 
 
 And his strength was failing. His hands 
 were getting numbed, so that he could scarcely 
 feel the plank : his body seemed sinking 
 into torpor, yet his mind was fearfully alive, 
 and his whole life seemed to pass before 
 him. 
 
 He heard his mother's voice, when in 
 youth she had entreated and warned him ; 
 the prayers he had been taught ; the number 
 of opportunities he had had, to choose the 
 good and reject the evil : all recurred to his 
 mind, and he bitterly cursed his own folly, — 
 for now he felt there would be an hereafter, 
 — that he was hastening to a place where 
 he would hear for ever the appalling voices 
 of those he had wronged, where he would
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 265 
 
 see in endless perspective the consequences 
 of all the evil he had done. — From thence 
 he would see his brother's sorrow — his re- 
 turn after years of toil to find Lucy married. 
 From thence he would see poor Lucy, the 
 agony of her disappointment, her miserable 
 lot ! and now it was too late to help, too 
 late to repent. 
 
 Such thoughts as these crowded with fear- 
 ful distinctness to his mind. For at such 
 moments of suspense, when life is hanging 
 on such a slender thread, the memory becomes 
 preternaturally vivid, and the mental powers 
 so strongly excited, that the past, and future 
 remorse for sins — for opportunities neglected, 
 and dread of misery to come, seem all blended 
 together in a moment's space. 
 
 But soon he became so exhausted that he 
 could no longer cling to the spar : he was 
 conscious that his hands were relaxing their 
 grasp — that he must sink.
 
 266 LIFE 
 
 No sound was now heard but the gurgling 
 waters : in vain he struggled and tried, per- 
 haps for the first time in his life, to pray. 
 
 ** O Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown ! 
 What dreadful noise of waters in my ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks j 
 A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon." 
 
 Lower and lower he sank, gave one shriek 
 of agony, and then all consciousness ceased. 
 
 The immortal spirit quitted the lifeless 
 clay ; but who can say whether to find mercy 
 at the last, or to awake amid the blackness 
 of darkness, and hear the awful sentence, 
 "The soul that sinneth it shall siu-ely 
 die ?" 
 
 And this everlasting death, does it mean 
 those fearful sufi'erings which, perhaps, called 
 forth the tears of agony and drops of blood 
 shed by our Saviour — the eternal death 
 which He knew even His sufi'erings and cru-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 267 
 
 cifixion would not prevent ? That for those 
 who would not come to Him, and enter 
 into rest, He was crucified in vain? For 
 there is no more sure proof that some do 
 reject salvation, and are punished everlast- 
 ingly, than those tears of blood which caused 
 the Redeemer such agony. 
 
 Perhaps the wilful sin Lionel had com- 
 mitted was such as to grieve the Holy Spirit, 
 and to render the suffering of Christ of none 
 
 effect; or, perhaps But we cannot 
 
 attempt to fathom such a mystery, or 
 to pronounce who can or who can not be 
 saved. 
 
 The spar to which Lionel had clung floated 
 on towards shore, borne by the advancing 
 tide. If he could have held on for a few 
 minutes longer he might have reached the 
 shore, for it drifted into a sheltered bay, and 
 was left upon the sands. 
 
 The minute-guns had been heard at Wey-
 
 268 LIFE 
 
 mouth. A steamer was immediately put out, 
 and fortunately succeeded in reaching the 
 disabled ship before she fell to pieces. 
 All the passengers and crew that had re- 
 mained in it were saved. 
 
 The boat was swamped, and most of the 
 men who had so selfishly disregarded the 
 captain's orders were drowned ; but by one 
 of those strange providences which are some- 
 times seen, the poor weak woman, the same 
 who had offered to throw herself into the sea 
 to lighten the boat, contrived to seize hold of 
 a floating mast with one hand, at the moment 
 when the boat was capsized, and, with super- 
 human effort, to keep her child's and her 
 own head above water till assistance came. 
 Thus both mother and infant were saved.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 FALLACIES. 
 
 When Lucy gave her consent to marry 
 Mr. Mandeville, she was fully aware of the 
 position of extreme responsibility she was 
 about to undertake. Her father had often 
 talked to her on the danger of marrying 
 without love, of vowing before the altar of 
 God to love, honour, and obey a person who 
 had not excited the deepest affections of which 
 a heart is capable. She knew that she was 
 placing herself in a dangerous position ; yet 
 she felt so convinced that she could be of 
 more use to Mr. Mandeville, and make him
 
 270 LIFE 
 
 happier than she could any one else, that she 
 hoped, in time, to find peace, if not happi- 
 ness. 
 
 And Harriet had so fully succeeded in 
 convincing her, that she could be of no use in 
 her present position, and everything at Rufyn 
 seemed to remind her more and more of the 
 irreparable loss she had sustained in her dear 
 father, that she was longing to escape from it 
 all ; she shrank from the trial which had been 
 inflicted. Yet she was not aware of this. 
 
 If any one had told her that she was not 
 resigned, that she was rebelling against God 
 in thus shrinking from her fate, she would 
 have been surprised. If any one had told 
 her she was nourishing, or rather not strenu- 
 ously striving against the same spirit which 
 made Cain's countenance fall, which in all ages 
 has produced that discontent which ends by 
 causing the greatest crimes, — she would have 
 started with horror.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 271 
 
 Yet had Lucy possessed a frieud, who could 
 read her heart and fathom the depths of her 
 original character, and if that friend could 
 have opened her eyes to her own feelings, she 
 would have had too much honest candour 
 not to have confessed that it was true. 
 
 She would also have been surprised, if she 
 had been told that there was a little bitterness 
 in her heart against Augustus — that her pride 
 was rather hurt at his having so soon forgotten 
 her. 
 
 But she did not analyse her feelings ; she 
 only knew that she was miserable — that she 
 could not bear to think of Augustus in the 
 manner she formerly did; and further, she 
 was quite convinced that she no longer loved 
 him. 
 
 She experienced a singular satisfaction now 
 and then in contrasting his vacillating mind 
 and unsteady purpose, with the calm good 
 sense, and unerring judgment of Mr. Mande-
 
 272 LIFE 
 
 ville. This was her duty, as she was about to 
 become his wife ; and the more she studied his 
 disposition, the more her admiration increased. 
 
 Yet, it was very provoking that she could 
 never feel the same delight when she heard his 
 footstep approach, or that entire enjoyment in 
 his presence ; and the rooms and the view 
 never looked bright and tinged with lovely 
 colours, as used to be the case when Augustus 
 was near. 
 
 But then Harriet's house was dull, and the 
 view ugly; so that perhaps even if Augustus were 
 there, and that she still felt the same affection as 
 formerly for him, it would want the charm of 
 the little library at Hartfield. She was often 
 puzzled — often sorely perplexed. 
 
 About a week before the day fixed for the 
 marriage, she suddenly resolved to tell this to 
 Mr. Mandeville, to disclose exactly the state of 
 her feehngs. 
 
 He saw plainly enough it was, that she could
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 273 
 
 not succeed in loving him ; but his diffidence 
 was so great, that he had never expected she 
 should. 
 
 He was therefore perfectly satisfied, and 
 talked away any fears or misgivings that lin- 
 gered in her mind. He told her that he only 
 expected her to love him as a brother or father ; 
 that he knew she could never again experience 
 what she had felt for Augustus. So she fan- 
 cied he was quite satisfied, and resolved to pray 
 fervently that she might make a good wife. 
 
 The intelligence of Sir Lionel's fate reached 
 them about that time. They had before heard 
 rumours that he had been taken up for forgery. 
 
 Lucy thought it probable that Augustus 
 would endeavour to come to England to look 
 after his unfortunate brother's affairs, and take 
 the guardianship of his only child, who had 
 been living with a farmer near RoUston, since 
 his mother's death. 
 
 She could not help feeling instinctive dread 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 LIFE 
 
 at the idea of seeing Augustus again ; and was 
 rather pleased than otherwise to think that she 
 should be married before his return, for she 
 could not bear the thought that he should ima- 
 gine she retained any love for him since his 
 marriage. The idea that she had bestowed 
 more affection on him than he had felt for her, 
 sometimes kindled a burning blush upon her 
 cheek, and made her dark eyes flash with anger. 
 
 All this she told Mr. Mandeville ; for the 
 habits of confiding openness, which her parents 
 had cultivated, still remained, and were only 
 checked by Harriet, who had determined not 
 to encourage her to speak of Augustus ; and 
 thus a barrier of reserve had sprung up between 
 them. 
 
 To a person of Lucy's impetuous spirit, and 
 somewhat wayward nature, which had received 
 so little self-culture, and had been entirely in- 
 fluenced by her father's superior mind ; this 
 habitual confidence was her greatest safeguard,
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 275 
 
 in the difficult position in which she was placing 
 herself. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville could therefore look into her 
 heart as plainly as she did herself, and was quite 
 content with what he observed ; consequently, 
 on a stormy day, in the month of April, they 
 were married.
 
 276 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Augustus Derwent succeeded much better 
 than he had anticipated in his farming schemes. 
 He was fortunately far removed from all the 
 pecuHarly baneful temptations which had for- 
 merly influenced him. He possessed conside- 
 rable talent, and as soon as he saw his labours 
 were likely to be successful, indulged in the 
 hope that in time he might realise a sufficient 
 sum, return home, and claim Lucy. 
 
 This hope became stronger every day, and 
 the more he learnt to love the beautiful scenes 
 around him, and to be satisfied with the simple
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 277 
 
 pleasure of being in comparative solitude amid 
 the lovely works of God ; so much the more 
 attractive did her image become. 
 
 Sometimes he exaggerated her perfections, 
 and bitterly reproached himselffor having been 
 insensible to the beauty of the splendid sunsets 
 and homely scenes which used to excite the 
 admiration of the enthusiastic girl. He felt 
 that he was becoming much more like her in 
 his tastes ; and when the labours of the day 
 were over, he would sit and watch the setting 
 sun, and indulge in blissful dreams of future 
 happiness. 
 
 " My first love and my last — so far, so near. 
 So strong, so weak, so comprehensible 
 In these encircling arms, so unde scribed 
 In any thought that shapes thee 3 so divine 
 So softly human, that to either stretch 
 Extreme, and farthest tether of desire. 
 It finds thee still." 
 
 He remembered with rapture the words 
 spoken by old Mr. Lennox in that last inter-
 
 278 LIFE 
 
 view — '' If at any future time you can suc- 
 ceed in conquering your fatal habits, I have 
 no doubt you will find Lucy free, and willing 
 to share your fate." 
 
 He thought a cure had been effected in 
 his love for play ; he believed that he could 
 never again be tempted into speculations — 
 even if Rollston or Derwent Hall might be 
 the result. He would be quite satisfied to 
 live in an humble farm-house if Lucy would 
 consent to be his. 
 
 When he sent the letter which his brother 
 destroyed, he had not learnt to hope so con- 
 fidently, and therefore he did not venture to 
 express a wish that Lucy or even her father 
 would write to him. But now he resolved to 
 make a second communication, and anxiously 
 sought for an opportunity to despatch it. 
 
 In those days the mail from N — was most 
 irregular, and Augustus's farm was many 
 miles from the nearest town possessing a post-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 279 
 
 office. It was long before he had an oppor- 
 tunity of sending. 
 
 At last he availed himself of a conveyance ; 
 and wrote Lucy, a full account of his success, 
 expressing his fervent hope that in a few years 
 he should be able to return with a sum suffi- 
 ciently large to induce her father to consent 
 to their marriage. He wrote with all the 
 fervour of his ardent nature, imploring her to 
 continue to regard him with affection : that 
 he cared for nothing now in the world but 
 her, and felt he could not live deprived of the 
 hope of being eventually united to her. 
 
 As he entertained no doubt that Lucy re- 
 tained her partiality, and had not transferred 
 her affections, in his opinion it did not much 
 signify if his first desponding letter never 
 reached her. But he felt most anxious for the 
 safe delivery of the second, as it was now nearly 
 two years since he left England. Nevertheless, 
 owing to causes unnecessary to relate, his
 
 280 LIFE 
 
 second communication shared the fate of the 
 first. 
 
 Of this he remained in ignorance, and con- 
 tinued to hope that it had been received, and 
 that in the course of another year he should 
 obtain a reply. 
 
 He had entreated Lucy to direct to , 
 
 and continued to send and enquire, and also suc- 
 ceeded in despatching a letter to his brother. 
 Of course there was no reply ; but he obtained 
 the loan of some newspapers which had ar- 
 rived the preceding winter, and in one he 
 read the announcement of the death of his 
 brother, and also a report of his crimes. 
 
 After the first burst of grief, he began to 
 congratulate himself on having withdrawn 
 from the temptations of London, and felt 
 grateful to God for enabling him to acquire 
 new tastes, and to find pleasure in innocent 
 pursuits. In this frame of mind he wrote 
 to Mr. Lennox, expressing a hope that the
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 281 
 
 fate of his brother and the stigma cast thus upon 
 his family would not induce him to withdraw 
 the consent he trusted to obtain, to his union 
 with Lucy ; as he trusted in another year to 
 be in a position to return home, if he could 
 realise a sufficient sum from the improvements 
 he had effected in his farm. 
 
 " Es reden und traiimen die Menschen viel 
 Von bessern kunftigen Tagen ; 
 Nach einem gliicklichen, goldenen Zeil, 
 
 Sieht man sie rennen und jagen."^ 
 Die welt wird alt und wieder jung, * 
 Dochder Mensch hofft immer Verbesserung! 
 
 " Die Hoffnung fuhrt ihii in's Leben ein, 
 Sie umflattert den froblichen Knaben, 
 Dem Yiingling begeistert ihr Zauberschein 
 Sie wird mit dem Greis nicht begraben j 
 Denn beschliesst er am Grabe den miiden LaufJ 
 Noch am Grabe pflanzt er — die Hoffangauf."
 
 282 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 APRIL SUNSHINE. 
 
 It was anything but a gay wedding, when, 
 on that stormy April day, Mr. Mandeville 
 and Lucy were married. Yet Harriet did 
 her best to promote cheerfulness, and, with 
 the exception of the bridegroom, she was the 
 happiest of the party : for she had obtained 
 the object of her dearest wishes. 
 
 But how seldom does the fulfilment of our 
 wishes, even when purely unselfish, as Har- 
 riet's were, bring unmixed happiness ! 
 
 During the solemn ceremony Lucy was 
 composed and almost cheerful; but after-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 283 
 
 wards, on their return to the Parsonage, and that 
 the moment approached when the sisters were 
 to separate, Lucy suddenly appeared so mise- 
 rable, that Harriet became frightened; and 
 when she saw her weeping sister depart with 
 her husband on her homeward journey, she 
 experienced considerable misgivings respect- 
 ing the share she had in effecting their 
 union. 
 
 The fact is, we are often worldly for others, 
 or indulge in dreams or schemes of temporal 
 advantages for them, which we should never 
 covet for ourselves. 
 
 Although Harriet never murmured at the 
 smallness of Mr. Lennox's income, she dis- 
 liked poverty even more than Lucy did, and 
 had less capacity for making the most of mo- 
 derate means. And she had not that natural 
 good taste which sometimes gives a spirit of 
 contrivance, and enables persons to embellish 
 everything around them ; she had very little of
 
 284 LIFE 
 
 that sort of imagination, or real poetry of dis- 
 position (if one may so call it), which gilds 
 homely or dull scenes and ugly landscapes 
 with glowing hues. 
 
 Then she had not much self-knowledge and 
 knowledge of character; and fancied her 
 sister's sensitive and lively nature must 
 suffer more from poverty and dulness than 
 she did herself. But when she saw Lucy's 
 air of despondency, and felt the burning 
 tears she had left on her cheeks, a sudden 
 pang came over her, and she felt that she had 
 not sufficiently prayed to be guided when 
 she had so strenuously influenced her 
 sister. 
 
 " I have sent her away from me," thought 
 Harriet : " I never rested till I persuaded 
 her to marry, and now, after all, perhaps, 
 she will not be happy with Mr. Mande- 
 viUe." 
 
 An uneasy feehng came over her ; and she
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 285 
 
 awaited anxiously the arrival of Lucy's first 
 letter. 
 
 Lucy did not write till she had reached 
 the old house in the outskirts of II minster, the 
 venerable and gloomy appearance of which 
 formerly excited such dread in her mind. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville had offered to take another, 
 but Lucy thought it her duty to conquer her 
 foolish fears. Besides, she thought she was 
 not superstitious — she certainly did not beheve 
 in ghosts, so that if she experienced any fears, 
 when she came to inhabit this once dreaded 
 house, they must soon pass away. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville had newly furnished most 
 of the rooms, and Lucy's apartments and 
 the sitting-rooms were tastefully decorated. 
 
 The drawing-room was at the back of the 
 house, and looked into a garden, where the 
 old-fashioned 'terraces sloped down to a little 
 stream flowing at the farther end. 
 
 High walls encircled the garden, and be-
 
 286 LIFE 
 
 yond them the prospect was shut in by the 
 gable-ends of old houses, with the high towers 
 of the cathedral ; but on the other side 
 there was a bit of blue distance, and Lucy 
 could descry from the bay window, the top 
 of her old friend — Winbarrow Down. 
 
 Her eyes gladly turned to that loved spot; 
 and from her bed-room above, she could 
 even descry the tops of the yew trees 
 growing near Hartfield church. But she had 
 no inclination to go there : she abandoned 
 the idea of even again walking over those 
 dearly loved downs. 
 
 " Never !" she thought, as the tears started 
 to her eyes ; she must not now think of 
 those days : she must enjoy her pleasant 
 home, and make her husband happy. 
 
 The south side of the house was very 
 cheerful, and the spring flowers were coming 
 into bloom, and their presence inspired 
 hope.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES, 287 
 
 Mr. Mandeville saw that she liked the 
 rooms, and approved of the manner in which 
 he had fm-nished them. 
 
 His happiness was great, and there was 
 so much reverence mingled with his tender- 
 ness towards his youthful wife, that her feel- 
 ings were sensibly affected. 
 
 Lucy entered very zealously into all his 
 plans, for her good sense thoroughly approved 
 of them. 
 
 She liked his unpretending and inexpen- 
 sive style of living, and did not desire to 
 have more servants, or to make any of the 
 alterations he suggested as advisable to put 
 his wife more on a level with persons of 
 his fortune. 
 
 On the contrary, she wished him still to 
 spend his income as he had always done, 
 without any equipage beyond the modest one 
 with which he had hitherto been satisfied. 
 
 Some of the neighbours pitied her, and de-
 
 288 LIFE 
 
 clared it was a shame Mr. Mandeville was 
 so stingy ; others said she was a stupid 
 little thing, who had no taste or discrimi- 
 nation, and was quite ignorant of the usages 
 of society ; but a few of the better sort, 
 and those who remembered her father, were 
 pleased with the young bride ; and she had 
 quite as much society as she required.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES 289 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 For the next four years Lucy enjoyed about 
 as much peace and outward happiness as falls 
 to the lot of most people in this world of trial. 
 
 She had two children, and although they 
 certainly added to her happiness, she felt the 
 full weight of the heavy responsibility she had 
 taken upon herself to educate them well. 
 
 Thus there was more of a father's care than 
 of a mother's tenderness in her management 
 of them. She had at first no wish to be a 
 mother, but when she observed the intense 
 
 VOL. 1. V
 
 290 LIFE 
 
 happiness with which Mr. Mandeville looked 
 forward to the birth of his first child, she tried 
 to feel glad. 
 
 Yet sometimes she would ask herself — 
 " Why should more persons be born into this 
 sad world ?" 
 
 Then the question would startle and per- 
 plex her — " Why should I find this world 
 sad ? Have I not everything to make me 
 happy ?" She might have said in the exqui- 
 site words of Owen Meredith, 
 
 *' Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. 
 Time rules us all. And Life, indeed is not 
 The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead. 
 And then we women cannot choose our lot. 
 
 Much must be borne which it is hard to bear : 
 Much given away which it were sweet to keep. 
 
 God help us all ! who need indeed his care, 
 And yet, I know, the shepherd loves his sheep. 
 
 My little boy begins to babble now 
 
 Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. 
 
 He has his father's eager eyes I know. 
 And, they say too, his mother's raven hair.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 291 
 
 But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, 
 And I can feel his light breath come and go, 
 
 I think of one (Heaven help and pity me) 
 Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago. 
 
 Who might have been ah, what I dare not 
 
 think ! 
 
 We all are changed, God judges for us best. 
 God help us do our duty, and not shrink. 
 
 And trust in heaven humbly for the rest. 
 
 But blame us women not, if some appear 
 
 Too cold at times ; and some too gay and light. 
 
 Some griefs gnaw deep ; some woes are hard to bear ; 
 Who knows the past ? and who can judge us right ? 
 
 Ah, were We judged by what we might have been 
 And not by what we are, too apt to fall ! 
 
 My little child — he sleeps and smiles between 
 
 These thoughts and me". In heaven we shall know 
 all!" 
 
 But this poem was not written then, and 
 Lucy could not analyse her feelings very deeply. 
 
 " I must be happy," she thought, *' yes, 
 surely I am ; for I try to do my duty." 
 
 And the consciousness that she really did 
 her duty by her children was all the more grati- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 LIFE 
 
 fying to her pride, because she had previously 
 never been fond of children, particularly when 
 they were not pretty. 
 
 And her eldest, Charlotte, was certainly wery 
 plain : she bore a strong resemblance to Mr. 
 Mandeville in feature, but as yet had not ac- 
 quired that kind look and touching expression 
 of humility which rendered her father's counte- 
 nance interesting, and at times almost handsome. 
 
 She was a rough sturdy creature, with 
 spirits too even, and health too strong, to look 
 with much compassion on the sufferings of her 
 brother Hubert. So she often unconsciously 
 tormented him, and helped in some degree to 
 sour his temper. 
 
 He was plain also, and had been very deh- 
 cate since his birth ; was dull and backward, 
 and Lucy's chief object was to cheer and 
 comfort him. 
 
 She endeavoured to love him also, and was 
 sometimes provoked at herself for not feeling
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 293 
 
 that extreme interest in him evidently felt by 
 her husband. 
 
 Lucy had not seen her sister since her mar- 
 riage ; but now the Lennoxes were coming to 
 spend a month with her, and to bring their 
 only child. 
 
 Harriet had often in her letters described a 
 resemblance she imagined there existed in her 
 little daughter Mary to her grand-father, and as 
 Lucy's own girl was extremely unlike both her 
 parents, she experienced the greatest desire to 
 see her. For there had been ever since her 
 father's death a sort of void in her affections, 
 which made her long to love some one with 
 the same passionate devotion her parent had 
 inspired. 
 
 Lucy seldom visited that part of the house 
 which had been her terror in earlier years — it 
 was approached by a curious old black oak 
 staircase, and the windows looked over a narrow 
 strip of garden into a neighbouring churchyard.
 
 294 LIFE 
 
 The sensible Harriet wished to dispel any 
 fear of the supernatural which she fancied 
 might still linger in Lucy's mind, so she 
 begged that the so called " haunted room'' 
 might be prepared for her own occupa- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville, to make it look less gloomy, 
 caused the old crimson satin curtains to be 
 replaced by a bright chintz. 
 
 He even proposed to paper over the dark 
 wainscoat ; but there were some curious old 
 carvings on the door post, and the whole ap- 
 pearance of the room was so picturesque, that 
 when Lucy looked in it one day she begged th^^ 
 it might not be spoiled. The high chimney- 
 piece was supported by figures, whose quaint 
 features seemed in some hghts to frown, in 
 others to laugh mischievously at the beholders. 
 
 It was a long low room, and the ceiling was 
 beautifully carved ; but as the light was only 
 admitted through two deep windows at the west
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 295 
 
 end, it was very dark except when the setting 
 sun shone through their narrow casements. 
 
 Then a curiously carved door could be seen 
 at the farther end, which opened into a large 
 dark closet, where, as was reported, the murder 
 had been committed, of which evidence re- 
 mained in some spots on the highly polished 
 oak floor near it, which could never be re- 
 moved. 
 
 The day Harriet was expected to arrive, 
 Lucy decorated the room with flowers, and 
 placed some of her sister's favourite books on 
 the table. 
 
 A little cot had been prepared for the child 
 near the large bed. 
 
 It was rather a dull day, towards the end of 
 October ; but the sisters were so delighted to 
 meet once more, that they did not feel its gloom. 
 
 " How beautiful you have grown," exclaimed 
 Harriet : " I never thought my little Lucy 
 would become such a handsome woman. And
 
 296 LIFE 
 
 you look so happy too, as if you had never 
 felt a moment's care since last we parted/' 
 
 " I am happy, thank God," said Lucy, as 
 she kissed little Mary, and looked anxiously 
 and earnestly into the child's face to try and 
 discover a likeness to her dear father. 
 
 But Mary was tired with the journey, and 
 looked ill and rather peevish. There was no 
 visible resemblance. She was not pretty either, 
 and Lucy could not help feeling disappointed. 
 
 Mary so far resembled her grandfather, that 
 she had very keen perceptions and most sensi- 
 tive feelings ; perhaps she felt that her beauti- 
 ful aunt was dissatisfied with her, and could 
 not repress her tears. 
 
 But she would not allow them to be seen, 
 lest her mother should be annoyed ; so she 
 stealthily wiped her eyes, and tried to under- 
 stand the puzzling number of questions her 
 delighted cousins assailed her with. She 
 answered some of them with a demure and
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 297 
 
 scrupulous exactness ; but her attention was dis- 
 tracted by gazing 'on her aunt's countenance, 
 and she sometimes answered wrong, and then 
 she felt that they were laughing at her. 
 
 Charlotte was only a year older, but she was 
 a tall, forward child, and her strong animal 
 spirits were now at their highest, with the glee 
 of gazing on her new aunt and cousin ; and in 
 the full pride of a broad new blue sash and shoes, 
 looked down with a slight feeling of contempt 
 upon Mary's tumbled frock and pale cheeks. 
 
 Hubert had no such proud or triumphant 
 feelings ; but he was painfully shy, and after 
 addressing a few questions to his cousin, which 
 she did not seem to hear, he turned away 
 from her and played with the dog. 
 
 So Mary felt depressed and disappointed. 
 She had for months been looking forward to 
 this visit with the greatest delight. 
 
 There was a portrait of Aunt Lucy in the 
 drawing-room at Rufyn, which had always
 
 298 LIFE 
 
 been an object of her childish adoration ; and 
 from what she had heard her mother say also, 
 this beautiful aunt had been her beau ideal of 
 every perfection. 
 
 Now she appeared with tenfold loveliness, 
 and Mary listened with dehght to the silvery 
 tones of her voice, and thought they were the 
 most harmonious she had ever heard. 
 
 But the more she looked and admired, the 
 more intense became her longing that her aunt 
 would notice and love her, or even look at her 
 again. Then she bitterly reproached herself 
 for having been naughty and peevish, and she 
 half fancied that might have been the reason of 
 her aunt's evident disappointment. 
 
 For Lucy had gazed on her the first moment 
 with a sort of loving look. The searching ex- 
 pression of her first glance had thrown a warm 
 sunshine in the child's heart, and she longed to 
 experience it again. 
 
 At last Lucy's attention was directed towards
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 299 
 
 Mary by hearing her assailed by the loud and 
 somewhat sharp tones of Charlotte's voice; 
 and she became aware that her high-spirited 
 girl was oppressing the poor child. 
 
 " Little Mary must be tired," she exclaimed, 
 as she arose and took her sister's arm. " Come, 
 I will show you your room ; 1 am sorry you 
 would insist on having that gloomy one.'' 
 
 She led her away without directing one 
 glance towards her anxious niece, who followed 
 close to her mother ; and they went down the 
 broad staircase, and then along a passage, 
 where it was already so dark they could scarcely 
 see, and Lucy cautioned her sister not to stum- 
 ble down the steps, and took hold of Mary's 
 hand. 
 
 " Poor child !" she said, tenderly ; " she is 
 quite cold and trembling." 
 
 Mary felt a glow of delight at the kind pres- 
 sure of her aunt's hand, and did not mind 
 the darkness of the long passage, although she
 
 300 LIFE 
 
 had always the greatest dread of being in the 
 dark ; and she scarcely felt the gloom of the 
 old black oak staircase they were now ascending. 
 
 " I am very sorry you would have this room, 
 for really it makes me quite tremble to come 
 near it," whispered Lucy to her sister, as she 
 opened the door : " Not that there is anything 
 to fear, of course," she added. 
 
 She had never allowed the subject of the 
 ghost or haunted room to be mentioned before 
 her children, for she had suffered so much from 
 fear w^hen a child, that she was determined they 
 should not become timid. 
 
 She trusted that Harriet had been equally 
 careful in her education of little Mary. 
 
 But the latter was what is called a strong- 
 minded person in some respects, and had 
 never experienced any supernatural fears, nor 
 observed them in her daughter ; and therefore 
 the haunted room had often been mentioned 
 in Mary's presence.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 301 
 
 Mary had felt there was some mystery ; but 
 she had been too timid to ask what it was, or 
 what ghosts really meant. So she entered the 
 room with a vague feeling of terror, which was 
 considerably increased by its gloomy appear- 
 ance. 
 
 The short October day was drawing to a 
 close, and the rain pattered against the narrow 
 casements, which only admitted sufficient light 
 to show the dim outline of everything, and to 
 disclose the dreary prospect of the grave-yard 
 and half-ruined church outside. 
 
 A fire was burning in the large dark chim- 
 ney ; but it only cast a flickering glare on the 
 quaint figures on each side, and gave just 
 sufficient light to disclose the mysterious 
 depths, or rather to veil with a deeper mystery 
 the long room and the dark closet beyond. 
 
 The other children had followed ; and as 
 Lucy stirred the fire, she told them to take 
 their cousin to supper in the school-room.
 
 302 LIFE 
 
 Charlotte took Mary's hand with a sturdy, 
 patronizing air, which rather annoyed Lucy, 
 and convinced her that she had succeeded less 
 well than she had hoped in subduing her child's 
 pride, and instilling feelings of love and charity 
 in her young heart. 
 
 The children left the room ; but before the 
 door was closed, Mary heard her mother say, 
 " Now tell me really what it was gave rise to 
 this foolish ghost story : did you ever find out ?" 
 
 " Let me go back for a few minutes," whis- 
 pered Mary in her cousin's ear : ''I will follow 
 you very soon : I shall be able to find the way 
 by myself ; indeed I shall," she continued in a 
 still more earnest whisper, as she withdrew her 
 hand from Charlotte's grasp, and glided back 
 into the room. 
 
 " Well, if she don't choose to come," mut- 
 tered Charlotte, " I am sure I am not going to 
 wait here on this dark staircase. Come along, 
 Hubert," she continued, as she seized her
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 308 
 
 brother's hand, and made him jump with her 
 down the steps. 
 
 Hubert was glad to leave that part of the 
 house ; for though he had heard nothing of its 
 being haunted, yet his sensitive nature instinc- 
 tively dreaded its gloom ; and he remembered 
 also to have seen a look of alarm on his mother's 
 face whenever she went there.
 
 304 LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE HAUNTED ROOM. 
 
 Mary's curiosity had been so strongly ex- 
 cited to ascertain all about this room, that 
 when she heard her mother inquire of Lucy, 
 her longing to hear the story became so intense, 
 that she was determined to go back. And 
 when she had glided unperceived into the 
 room, she hid herself behind the window 
 curtains. 
 
 Then she heard Lucy say — 
 
 " A beautiful young girl — and he was sup-
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 305 
 
 posed to be a very bad, cruel husband, and 
 very jealous ; and so — " 
 
 Mary could not hear what followed ; but 
 soon after the words reached her ear — 
 
 " And it is said he murdered the child as 
 soon as it was born, in that closet. The body 
 never was found ; yet it was known there must 
 have been a child born. — Dreadful suspicion 
 
 against him ; but the family had much 
 
 interest ; so the affair was hushed up, and he 
 was not even tried for the murder." 
 
 " I believe those are really spots of blood 
 that you may still see near that door," 
 exclaimed Lucy, as she pointed with a shudder 
 towards the dark end of the room ; " and 
 really, I have always heard that when any one 
 sleeps here, the cry of a child is heard, and it 
 seems to come from that closet. But how 
 could you make me tell all this, when you are 
 actually going to sleep here ?" 
 
 Yet Lucy continued, at Harriet's request, 
 
 VOL. L X
 
 306 LIFE 
 
 with a look of horror, to relate further par- 
 ticulars of the ghost story, which Mary heard 
 from her place of concealment, and with 
 
 feelings that made her flesh creep. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " The floor alone retained the trace of guilt. 
 Those boards obscurely spotted. 
 
 Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence 
 With mazy doubles to the grated casement, 
 
 Oh, what a tale they told of fear intense. 
 Of horror and amazement ! 
 
 What shrieking spirit in that bloody room 
 Its mortal frame had violently quitted ?" 
 
 The blazing fire illumined with a flickering 
 glare, the curiously carved door of the myste- 
 rious closet ; and Mary thought it moved, — 
 that it was slowly opening, and she fancied 
 she heard a wailing sound like the cry of a 
 child. 
 
 " There ! did you hear that ?'* inquired 
 Lucy, as she turned pale and clung to her sister, 
 and gazed with starting eyes in the direction
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 307 
 
 from whence the sound was heard. " Surely 
 it came from the very spot." 
 
 " It was the creaking of the door," said Har- 
 riet, laughing ; and she went across the room 
 and opened the heavy old door. 
 
 " It creaked on its hinges, you see," she 
 continued, as she swayed it to and fro : " besides, 
 ghosts never appear at this time of day — never 
 till twelve o'clock at night." 
 
 " That is not the sound we heard just now," 
 said Lucy ; " the wailing tones came from 
 within the closet. But really I cannot stay 
 here any longer, and I strongly advise you to 
 have the white bedroom at my side of the 
 house." 
 
 When Mary saw they intended to leave the 
 room, she crept stealthily out, and ghded 
 quickly down the staircase — 
 
 " Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress 
 Of every step so many echoes blended. 
 The mind, with dark misgivings, fear'd to guess 
 How many feet descended." 
 
 X 2
 
 308 LIFE 
 
 She contrived to find her way back into the 
 apartment where she had left her papa and 
 Mr. Mandeville, and soon reached the school- 
 room, where her cousins were at supper. 
 
 ''How long you have been," exclaimed 
 Charlotte. " Hubert was so hungry, he could 
 not wait any longer, though I told him it was 
 very rude to begin before you came," she con- 
 tinued, with a look of triumphant reproach at 
 her Httle brother, as she assisted Mary to get 
 up into the little high chair, which was placed 
 near her own. 
 
 " Here, Mary ; give her — oh, what are 
 we to do ? for our maid's name is Mary ; 
 I wonder why they gave you such an ugly 
 name.'* 
 
 " I don't think it's ugly," said little Hu- 
 bert ; " besides, mamma says you should not 
 call anybody ugly." 
 
 " I never said cousin Mary was ugly," ex- 
 claimed Charlotte with a blush.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 309 
 
 "You did, you said just before she came in 
 that—" 
 
 Then he stopped and coloured, for he saw 
 that his cousin looked unhappy ; and then he 
 gazed for the first time full in her face, and 
 after a few moments' scrutiny, said in a low, 
 shy voice — 
 
 " I think you are very pretty : your eyes are 
 something like mamma's." 
 
 Now it was Mary's turn to colour, for the 
 idea that she had any sort of resemblance to 
 that beautiful aunt, gave her intense delight 
 
 *' Will you have some chicken or mutton ?" 
 inquired Charlotte ; " for mamma told me I 
 was to take great care of you, and to make 
 you have everything you like, and our maid 
 Mary, was to wait upon us." 
 
 "We always have our supper with papa 
 and mamma when there is no company,'' said 
 Hubert, who was beginning to feel less shy, 
 and was rather attracted by his pale cousin, 
 
 X 3
 
 310 LIFE 
 
 whom he fancied his sister did not much Hke, 
 and he wished to try to amuse her. ' 
 
 But Mary's thoughts were occupied with 
 the mysterious room and her aunt's beautiful 
 face, and she paid but little attention to 
 him. 
 
 She wished her mother might follow aunt 
 Lucy's advice, and have the white bedroom, 
 and yet there was a strange fascination about 
 the other! 
 
 Her curiosity was strongly excited, and 
 when her spirits were raised by the cheerful 
 look of the school-room, and her good supper, 
 she felt very courageous, and almost longed 
 for twelve o'clock, to see whether the ghost 
 would appear. 
 
 She felt, on reflection, very glad that Aunt 
 Lucy seemed so much frightened at that room, 
 because it made her hope that her aunt would 
 not laugh at her fear of being in the dark, as 
 mamma always did.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 311 
 
 She had been taught to consider that it was 
 cowardly to be afraid, therefore had never 
 ventured to express any alarm, and it gave her 
 no small consolation to think that her aunt, 
 who appeared so much her superior, could 
 have a feeling like her own. For she had na- 
 turally a low opinion of her own powers, and 
 Harriet's method of education had, without 
 intending it, increased the child's painful diffi- 
 dence. 
 
 The resolute Harriet would not hear of 
 the room being changed, so Mary was put 
 to. bed at eight o' clock in the little crib 
 which had been prepared near her mother's 
 bed. 
 
 She was so tired with the long journey 
 that she soon fell fast asleep, and forgot all 
 about the ghost, and was not awake when 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lennox entered the room. 
 
 But when the cathedral clock struck twelve, 
 she suddenly awoke, and started up in her bed
 
 312 LIFE 
 
 with a full and vivid recollection of all she had 
 heard, and of the mournful appearance of 
 the churchyard on which she had looked 
 through the casement that evening. 
 
 ** Midnight, when through the silent churchyard damps 
 The moon shines coldly in the chilling dews 
 While dim stars twinkle like faint funeral lamps. 
 Piercing the foliage of the mourning yews. *' 
 
 The last tone of the bell seemed to sound 
 in her ear as a solemn knell, and then the 
 chimes began. She had never heard any- 
 thing like them ; the bells of her own village 
 church were small, and made merely a tinkling 
 sound. 
 
 She had driven by the cathedral on entering 
 the town. Its fine western window and high 
 pinnacles were for a moment illumined by 
 the setting sun, and her imagination had 
 been struck with the solemn grandeur of the 
 building.
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 313 
 
 A feeling of awe now crept over her as she 
 Hstened to the strange sounds which she felt 
 sure proceeded from it. 
 
 The chimes ceased, and then a low wailing 
 sound was heard ; the same — it certainly was 
 the very same — which had frightened aunt 
 Lucy so much. 
 
 The fire still burned dimly in the grate, so 
 that Mary could just distinguish the door of 
 the closet. She tried not to look at it, for 
 she was now extremely frightened, and longed 
 to wake her mother, but she felt unable to 
 stir, or to take her eyes from that door ! 
 
 Then she saw it move — it slowly opened, 
 and Mary uttered a loud cry, and hid her 
 head down under the bed-clothes. She could 
 not venture to look up, or even to approach 
 her parents' bed, but lay shaking with horri- 
 ble fear. 
 
 They slept too soundly to be disturbed
 
 314 LIFE 
 
 either by Mary's shriek or the low wailing 
 sound which was still heard occasionally. 
 
 For a long time the poor child remained 
 in agonies of terror under the bed-clothes. 
 Then she tried to pray that God would pro- 
 tect her ; her mind became more calm, and 
 she sank into a tranquil sleep. 
 
 ** And thus that night, steep' d pale in the light 
 Of the stars when the bells and clocks 
 Had ceased in the towers and the sound of the hours 
 Was eddying about, * * * 
 Deep sunken in bristling broidery between the black 
 
 oak fiends lay she, 
 And under the moth flitted canopy. 
 Of the mighty antique bed in her chamber. 
 ***** 
 
 And so she put by the coil and the care 
 
 Of the day that lay furled like an idle weft, 
 
 Of heaped spots which a bright snake hath left 
 
 Or that dark house the blind-worms' lair, 
 
 When the star winged moth from the windows hath 
 
 crept, 
 She steeped her soul in a tearful prayer, 
 Shrank into her naked self, and slept. 
 
 *****
 
 AND ITS REALITIES. 315 
 
 And the fiends in the oak kept ward and watch ; 
 And the querulous clock, on its rusty catch. 
 With a quick tick, husky and thick. 
 Clamoured and clacked at her sharply." 
 
 1^ * * * *■ 
 
 It was late next morning when Mary 
 awoke. Her mother was already dressed, and 
 Charlotte was standing by her bedside. 
 
 " I am glad you are awake at last, for 
 breakfast is quite ready ; so jump up, and I 
 will go and tell mamma.'* 
 
 Mary looked round with a bewildered gaze. 
 Was it a dreadful dream, or had she really 
 seen that door move and open ? 
 
 It was open now ! Yet she did not like to 
 say anything to her mother of what she had 
 seen ; but she determined to look into that 
 closet as soon as she was alone in the room, 
 and perhaps she might venture to tell her 
 aunt. 
 
 But no, that would not do ; for aunt might 
 then discover that she had been listening,
 
 316 LIFE AND ITS REALITIES. 
 
 and would of course disapprove of such 
 conduct. 
 
 However, at all events, she was going to see 
 that dear aunt, and this idea cheered and com- 
 forted her. She dressed quickly, then ran 
 down stairs with a feeling of hope that gave a 
 faint colour to her usually pale cheeks. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 J. Billing, Printer, 103, Hatton Garden, London, and Guildford, Surrey.