Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Turns of fortune
 All is not gold that glitters
 There is no hurry
 Back Cover

Group Title: Francis & Co.'s little library : for young persons of various ages
Title: Turns of fortune
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001805/00001
 Material Information
Title: Turns of fortune and other tales
Series Title: Francis & Co.'s little library
Physical Description: 195 p. : ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Hall, S. C., 1800-1881
Francis, Joseph H ( Publisher )
C.S. Francis & Co ( Publisher )
Publisher: C.S. Francis & Co.
J.H. Francis
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1851
Subject: Kindness -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Youth and death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Fate and fatalism -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Love -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851   ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1851   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre: Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Statement of Responsibility: by Mrs. S. C. Hall.
General Note: Publisher's advertisement: p. <2>-<3>.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001805
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002231067
oclc - 45617193
notis - ALH1435
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Half Title
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Table of Contents
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Turns of fortune
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
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    All is not gold that glitters
        Page 63
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        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
    There is no hurry
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
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    Back Cover
        Back Cover
Full Text

The Baldwin Library









grrsncs # Co.'s 3lttte lfb5rar.

& F. FaNCIS & Co., New York, have published a uniform Series
of Choice volumes for Young People, by some of the most disLti
guisked writers for Children. .N'eatly bound in cloth, and illus-
trated by Eigrranings.
dren eight or nine years old.
-- FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN: NO. 2 for Children three or four
years old.
--- FLowERS OR CHILDRBEN: No. 3, for Children eleven or
twelve years old.
--- Til C(HRISTMAS TRE: A Book of Stories.
-- THE TrlRTLE DOVE oF CARNML; and otherStories.
vARANCE, and other Tales. By Mary Howilt, Mrs. S.
C. I lall, and others.
THI BIRDS. Designed for the Instruction of Children
respecting their Treatment of Animals.
Tales of the Americm;u Revolution.
iNO: Thirteenr New Stories from the Danish of Hans
Christian Andersen.
---- A PICTURE BooK WITHOUT PICTURES ; anG ,ner Stories:
by Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by Mary
Howitt, with a Memoir of the Author.
A Swiss Tale. By a Mother; author of "Always Hap-
py," "'True Stories from I history &c.
compiled from the Memoirs of Remarkable Women.
Iy a Mother.
HOLIDAY STORIES. Containing five Moral Tales.
and her Young Family.
-- THE CLERIYMAN'S WIDOW, and her Young Family.
- THE MERCHANT's WVIDOW, and her Young Family.

Instruction and Amusement of Young Persons. By the
author of "A American Popular Lessons," &c.
Ta PIVATu Puasi CL;svEIxjSs, ad other Tales


frns i t.'s Eittle itaq.r.

Thirty volumes of this series have been published, including some
of the choicest books for young people, by Mary Howitt; Maris
Child; Mrs. Hofland; Mrs. Hall; Mrs. Oilman; Miss Leslie;
Hans Andersen, and others.

SStorq tnr(tllrr; TALES FROM THE DANISH Of
Hans Christian Andersen.
Containing Ole Luckile; The Buckwheat; The Wild swans;
The Angel; The Fellow-Traveler; The Elfin Mound; The Fly-
ing Trunk; The Bundle of Matches.

S9lt 1gl4 r3ntkI AND OTHER TALES: by Hal
Christian Andersen.
Containing The Ugly Duck ; Top and Ball; The Little Mermaid;
The Storks; The Nightingale; The Rose of the Elf; Holger
Danske; The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa; The Dying Child.

rtitt t (fi L AND OTHER TALES: by Hans Chris-
tian Andersen.
Containing Little Ellie; The Tinder Box; The Wicked King;
The Resolute Leaden Soldier; The Garden of Paradise; The
Shepherdess and Chimney-Sweep; Little Ida's Flowers; The
Daisy; New Year's Eve.

S tr tlianft's Bangtrtr; AND OTHER TALE:
by Mrs. S. C. Hall.

liim ttn Ti 1]u. I1 OR, RHODA'S LESSON. A
story for the Young.
6 A delightful little book, which will *ot only attract the young, but
aaitlier laitrueionl to the instvators of y0uthPn-Md.& WftaSm









------------------- -~-


SHUSH, Sarah!" exclaimed old Jacob Bond;
as he sat up in his bed, while the wind clattered
and whistled through the shivering window
frames. Huslh! Is that Brindle's bark i"
No, father; it is one of the farm dogs near
the village. Lie down, dearest father; it is a
cold night, and you are trembling."
"I don't know why I should feel cold, Sa-
rah," he replied, pointing his shadowy fingers
towards the grate, where an abundant fire
blazed; "I am sure you have put down as
much wood as would roast an ox."
It is so very cold, father."
"Still, we must not be wasteful, Sarah," he
answered; wilful waste makes woful want."
Sarah Bond covered the old man carefully
over, while he laid himself stiffly down upon his
pallet, re-muttering his favourite proverb over
and over again.
She then drew the curtains more closely,
and seated herself in an old-fashioned chair
beside a little table in front of the fire,


The room had been the drawing-room of the
old house in which Mr. Bond and his daughter
resided, but for the sake of saving both labour
and expense, lie had had his bed removed into
it; and though anything but comfortable, a so-
litary, impoverished, anid yet gorgeous appear-
ance pervaded the whole, such as those who
delineate interiors, loving small lights and deep
shadows, would covet to convey to their can-
vass. The bed upon which the old man lay
was canopied, and of heavy crimson damask.
In the dim light of that spacious room, it look-
ed to the worn-out eyes of Sgr:h Bond more
like a hearse than a bed. Near it was an old
spinnet, upon which stood a labelled vial, a tea-
cup, and a spoon. When Sarah seated her-
self at the table, slie placed her elbows upon it,
and pressed her folded hands across her eyes;
no sigh or moan escaped her, but her chest
heaved convulsively; and when she removed
her hands, she drew a Bible toward her, trimmed
the lamp, and began to read.
The voice of an old French clock echoed
painfully through the chamber. Sarah longed
to stop it, and yet it was a companion in her
watching. Once, a shy, suspicious, bright-
eyed mouse rattled among the cinlders, and ran
into the wainscot, and then came out again,
and stared at Sarah Bond, who, accustomed
to such visits, did not raise her eyes to inquire
into the cause of the rustling which in a few


more moments took place upon a tray contain.
ing the remnants of some bread and cheese,
her frugal supper.
Sarah," croaked Mr. Bond; "what noise
is that 1"
Only the mice, father, as usual; do, father,
try to sleep. I watch carefully; there is noth-
ing to fear."
Ay, ay, men and mice all the same; noth-
ing but waste. When I am gone, Sarah, keep
what you will have; it won't be much, Sarah,
my poor girl, it won't be much; just enough to
need care; but KEEP IT; don't lend it, or give
it, or spend it; you are fond of spending, my
poor girl; see that huge fire, enough for three
nights; early bad habits. When we lived in a
small house and were poor, it was then you
learned to be extravagant; I had no money
then, so did not know its value."
But we were happier then, father," said
Sarah Bond; we were so cheerful and happy
then, and so many poor people blessed my dear
mother, and Mary"-
"Hiss-ss," uttered the dying miser; ," don't
dare mention your sister, who disgraced me by'
marrying a pauper; a pauper who threatened
my life, because I would not give him my money
to save him from starving; but he did not get
the old father-in-law's gold; no; he starved,
and "-
The words thus uttered by her father, who



she knew had not many hours to live-uttered,
too, with such demoniac bitterness-forced the
gentle, patient woman to start from her seat,
and pass rapidly across the room to the side of
his bed, where she sank upon her knees, and
seized his shrunken hands in hers. Father !"
she exclaimed, I have been your child for forty
years, and you have said, that during that pe-
riod, by no act of my own, have I ever angered
you. Is it not so V" The old man withdrew
one hand gently, turned himself round, and
looked in her face: "Forty years Is it forty
years 1" he repeated; but it must be; the fair
brow is wrinkled, and the abundant hair grown
thin and gray. You were a pretty baby, Sarah,
and a merry child; a cheerful girl, too, until
that foolish fancy. Well, dear, I'll say no more
about it; good, dutiful girl. You gave it up to
please your father full twenty years ago, and
when he dies, you shall have all his gold-there's
a good father! You must keep it, Sarah, and
not give it, nor lend it. I know you won't
marry, as he is dead; nor see your sister-mind
that; if you see her, or serve her, the bitterest
curse that ever rose from a father's grave will
compass you in on every side."
My father !" she said, oh in mercy to
yourself, revoke these words. She knew noth-
ing of her husband's conduct; he used her even
worse than he used you. Oh! for my sake
say you will forgive Mary. It is all I ask. Do

what you please with your wealth, but forgive
my sister."
You were always a fool, Sarah," he replied
faintly and peevishly. "If I could do as I
please, I would take my property with me, for
you will surely spend it. But there is another
condition, another promise you must give me.
Now, don't interrupt me again. We will talk
of her by-and-bye, perhaps. As long as you
live, Sarah, as you value my blessing, you
must not part with anything in this room. You
will live on in the old house, or perhaps sell it,
and have a smaller; yet don't spend money in
new furnishing--don't; but never part with
anything in this room; never so much as a stick."
This promise was willingly given; for, inde-
pendently of her love for her father, Sarah Bond
had become attached to the inanimate objects
which had so long been before her. Again she
endeavoured to lead her father away from that
avarice which had corrupted his soul, and driven
happiness and peace from their dwelling. She
urged the duty of forgiveness, and pleaded hard
for her sister; but, though the hours wore away,
she made no impression upon him. Utterly
unmindful of her words, he did not either in-
terrupt her or fall into his former violence. On
the contrary, he seemed involved in some intri.
cate calculation-counting on his fingers, or
casting up lines of imaginary figures upon the




Sarah, heart-broken, and silently weeping,
retreated to the table, and again, after turning
,lie fire, netook her to her solace-the precious
volume that never fails to afford consolation to
the afflicted. She read a few passages, and
then, though she looked upon the book, her
mind wandered. She recalled the happy days
of her childhood, before her father, by the ex-
traordinary and most unexpected bequest of a
distant relative, became possessed of property
to what extent she could form no idea. She
knew that this relative had quarrelled with the
heir-at-law, and left'all to one he had never seen.
This bequest had closed up her father's heart;
instead of being a blessing, so perfectly avari-
cious had he grown, that it was a curse. Pre-
viously, he had been an industrious farmer; and
though a thrifty one, had evinced none of the
bitterness of avarice, none of its hardness or
tyranny. He could then sleep at nights, permit
his wife and children to share their frugal stores
with those who needed, troll "Ere around the
huge oak," while his wife accompanied him on
the spinnet, and encourage his daughters to wed
men in what was their then sphere of life, rather
than those who might not consider the gentle
blood they. inherited, and their superior educa-
tion, a sufficient set-off to their limited means
and humble station. Suddenly, riches poured
in upon him : his eldest daughter, true to the
faith she plighted, would marry her humble
lover, and her father's subsequent harshness to


her favourite child broke the mother's heart.
Saral not only had less firmness of character
than her sister, but laved her father more devo-
tedly, and gave up the affection of her young
heart to please him. His narrow nature could
not understand the sacrifice: and when her
cheek faded, and her really beautiful face con-
tracted into the painful expression of that pining
melancholy which has neither words nor tears
-to lull his sympathy, he muttered to himself,
" good girl, she shall have all I have."
No huiran passion grows with so steady, so
imperceptible, yet so rampant a growth as ava-
rice. It takes as many shapes as Proteus, and
may be called, above all others, the vice of mid-
dle life, that soddens into the gangrene of old
age; gai*i*g strength by vanquishing all vir-
tues and generous emotions, it is a creeping, sly,
keen, persevering, insidious sin, assuming vari-
ous forms, to cheat even itself; for it shames
to name itself unto itself; a cowardly, dark-
ness-loving sin, never daring to look human
nature in the face; full of lean excuses for self-
imposed starvation, only revelling in the impu-
rity and duskiness of its own shut-up heart. At
last the joy-bells ring its knell, while it crawls
into eternity like a vile reptile, leaving a slimy
track upon the world.
The inmates of the mansion enclosed in its
old court-yard had long ceased to attract the
observation of their neighbours. Sometimes


Sarah called at the butcher's, but she exchanged
smiles or greetings with few; and the baker
rang the rusty bell twice a-week, which was an-
swered by their only servant. When Mr. Bond
first took possession of the manor-house, he
hired five domestics, ard everybody said they
could not do with so few; and there were two
men to look after the gardens; but after his
daughter's elopement and his wife's death, three
were discharged, and he let the lands and gar-
dens; and then another went, and Sarah felt
the loneliness so great, that she made the remain-
ing one sleep in her own room. The house had
been frequently attacked; once, in a fit of des.
pair, her brother-in-law had forced his way in
the night to the old man's side, and but for her
prompt interference, murder would have been
done. No wonder, then, that her shattered
nerves trembled as she watched the shortening
candle, and heard the raving of the wind, saw
the spectral shadows the broken plumes that
ornamented the canopy of the bed cast upon
the fantastic walls, felt that his hour was at
hand, and feared that "he would die and make
no sign;" still, while those waving fantasies
passing to and fro through her active but weak.
ened mind, made her tremble in every limb,
and ooze at every pore; and though unable to
read on steadily, her eyes continued fixed upon
the book which her hand grasped, with the same
feeling that made those of old cling to the altar



of their God for sanctuary. Suddenly her father
called-and she started as from a dream-
She hastened to his side; "Dear father, what
do you want ?"
Child, the rooft is dark; and you had so
much light just now. All is dark. Where are
you? But it was better, after all, to put out the
light; wilful waste makes "-
Before the miser had concluded his proverb,
the light of his existence was extinguished for


Several weeks elapsed before Sarah Bond
recovered sufficiently from the shock, ay, and
genuine grief, occasioned by her father's death,
so as to investigate her affairs; the hardness
and the tyranny she had borne for so many
years had become habitual, and her own will
was absolutely paralysed by inaction. Jacob
Bond had always treated his daughter as if she
were a baby, and it was some time before she
could collect herself sufficiently to calculate upon
her future plans. She had no friends; and the
sister to whom, despite her father's cruel words,
her heart clung so fondly, was far from bar,



she knew not where. The mourning for her-
self and her servant was ordered from a neigh
bouring shop, with a carelessness as to expense
which made people say that Sarah was of
habits different from her father.
The rector and curate of the parish both
called, but she shrunk from strangers. The
very first act, however, of her liberty, was to
take a pew at church, a whole pew, to herself,
which she ordered to be curtained all round.
Some said this indicated pride, some said os
tentation; but it was simply shyness. And
soon after she placed in the aisle a white mar-
ble tablet, "To the memory of Jacob Bond,
who died in the seventy-eighth year of his age,
deeply lamented by his sorrowing daughter."
Some ladies connected with a society for
clothing the poor, called upon and explained
to her their object; she poked five old guineas
into the hands of the spokeswoman, but for-
bade the insertion of her donation in the visit-
er's book. During the following week she had
numerous applications from various charitable
bodies, to whom she gave generously, they
said, while she reproached herself with narrow-
ness; to all, however, she positively refused to
become a yearly subscriber; and when closely
urged by the rector to be one of the patrons of
his school, she answered, Sir, my father re-
ceived his property suddenly, and I may be as
suddenly deprived of it. I will give, but I will


not promise." Her impulse was to give|her
habit to withhold.
She added one more servant to her establish-
ment; and as she did not send out cards re-
turning thanks for the 'inquiries,' which in-
creased daily, Sarah Bond was a very lonely
woman; for though some, from curiosity, others
from want of occupation, others, again, from
the unfortunately universal desire to fbrm ac-
quaintance with the rich, would have been glad,
now the solitary old miser was gone, to make
fellowship with his gentle-looking and wealthy
daughter, yet her reserve and quietness prevent-
ed the fulfilment of their wishes. Weeks and
months rolled on; the old house had been re-
paired and beautified. Mr. Cramp, Sarah's
law agent and man of business,' advised her
to let the house, of which she occupied about as
much as a wren could fill of the nest of an eagle;
and, strangely enough, finding that the house of
her childhood was to let, she took it, removing
thither all the furniture which her father made
her promise never to part with. The ceiling of
the best bed-room was obliged to be raised to
admit the lofty bed with its plumes, and the spin.
net was assigned a very comfortable corner in
a parlour, where the faded stately chairs and
gorgeous furniture formed a curious contrast to
the bright neatly-papered walls and drugget-
covered floor; for in all matters connected with



her~wn personal expenses, Sarah Bond was
exceedingly frugal.
After her removal, though shy and strange as
ever, still she looked kind things to her rich, and
did kind things to her poor neighbours, only in
a strange, unusual way; and her charity was
given by fits and starts-not continuously. She
moved silently about her garden, and evinced
much care for her plants and flowers. Closely
economical from long habit, rather than in-
clination, her domestic arrangements were
strangely at variance with what could not be
called public gifts, because she used every effort
in her power to conceal her munificence. She
did not, it is true, think and calculate, how the
greatest good could be accomplished. She
knew but one path to charity, and that was
paved with gold. She did not know how to
offer sympathy, or to enhance a gift by the
manner of giving. Her father had sacrificed
everything to multiply and keep his wealth;
all earthly happiness had been given up for it;
and unsatisfying as it had been to her own
heart, it had satisfied his. Inclination prompt-
ed to give, habit to withhold; and certainly
Sarah Bond felt far more enjoyment in obeying
inclination than in following habit; though
sometimes what she believed a duty triumphed
over inclination.
If Sarah Bond ministered to her sister's ne-
cessities, she did so secretly, hardly venturing


to confess she did so, but shielding herself from
her father's curse, by sending to her sister's
child, and not her sister. Receiving few letters,
the village postman grumbled far more at hav-
ing to walk out to Greenfield, than if he was
accustomed to do so every day; and one morn-
ing in particular; when he was obliged to do so
while the rain poured, he exhibited a letter,
sealed with a large black seal, to the parish-
clerk, saying he wished with all his heart Miss
Bond had remained at the old manor-house up
street, instead of changing; and where was
the good of taking her a mourning letter such
a gloomy day ? it would be very unkind, and
he would keep it till the rain stopped;" and
so he did, until the next morning; then taking
back word to the village postmaster that Miss
Bond wanted a post-chaise and four horses in-
stantly, which intelligence set not only the inn,
but the whole village in commotion. She, who
had never wanted a post-chaise before, to want
four horses to it now, was really wonderful.
Which road shall I take, Miss I" inquired
the post-boy, turning round in his saddle, and
touching his cap.
"On straight," was the answer. Such a
thrill of disappointment as ran through the
little crowd, who stood at the door to witness
her departure. On straight !" Why, they
must *ait the post-boy's return before they
could possibly know which way she went. Such



provoking suspense was enough to drive the
entire village demented.
Miss Bond remained away a month, and then
returned, bringing with her her niece, a girl of
about eight years old-her deceased sister's
only child, Mabel Graham.
The following Sunday Sarah Bond wenf to
church, leading her young companion by the
hand; both were in deep mourning, and yet
the very least observant of the congregation
remarked, that they had never seen Miss Bond
look so happy as when, coming out after ser-
vice, and finding that the wind had changed to
the north-east, she took off her scarf in the
church porch, and put it round the neck of the
lovely girl, who strongly remonstrated against
the act. It was evident that Mabel had been
accustomed to have her own way; for when
she found her aunt was resolved her throat
should be protected, she turned round, and in
a moment tore the silk into halves. "Now,
dear aunt, neither of our throats will suffer,"
she exclaimed; while Sarah Bond did not
know whether she ought to combat her wilful-
ness or applaud the tender care of herself. It
was soon talked of throughout the village, how
wonderfully Sarah Bond was changed; how
cheerful and even gay she had become. In-
stead of avoiding society, how willingly, yet
how awkwardly, she entered into it; how
eagerly she sought to learn and to make her-



self acquainted with every source and system
of education. No traveller in the parchy desert
ever thirsted more for water than she did for
knowledge, and her desire seemed to increase
with what it fed upon. The more she had the
more she required; and all this was for the
sake of imparting all she learned to Mabel.
She fancied that teachers might not be kind to
this new-found idol; that she could transfer in-
formation more gently and continuously; that
the relative was the best instructress; in short,
the pent-up tenderness of her nature, the re-
strained torrent of affections that had so long
lain dormant, were poured forth upon the little
heiress, as she was already called; and captious
and determined she was, as ever heiress could
be; but withal of so loving a nature, and so
guileless a heart, so confiding, so generous, and
so playful, and overflowing with mirth and mis-
chief, that it would have been impossible to
fancy any living creature who had felt the sun.
shine of fourteen summers more charming or
I wish, dear aunt," exclaimed Mabel, one
morning, as she sat at her embroidery, the sun
shining through the open window upon the
abundant glories of her hair, while her aunt sat,
as she always did, opposite to her, that she
might, when she raised her eyes from off the
Italian lesson she was conning for her especial
edification, have the happiness of seeing her



without an effort; "I wish, dear aunt, you
would send that old spinnet out of the room;
it looks so odd by the side of my beautiful
"My dear Mabel," replied her aunt, I have
put as much new furniture as you wished into
this room, but I cannot part with the old"-
"Rubbish!" added Mabel, snapping her
worsted with the impatience of the movement.
It may be rubbish in your eyes, Mabel, but
I have told you before that my dear father de-
sired I should never part with the furniture of
the room he died in."
Mabel looked the truth-" that she was not
more inclined toward the old furniture on that
account;" but she did not say so. "Have you
got the key of the old spinnet, aunt? I should
like to hear its tone."
"I have never found the key, my dear,
though I have often looked for it; I supose my
father lost it. I have danced to its music be-
fore now to my mother's playing; but I am
sure it has not a tone left."
I wish you would dance now, dear aunt,"
exclaimed Mabel, jumping up at the idea; you
never told me you could dance; I never, some-
how, fancied you could.dance, and I have been
obliged to practise my quadrilles with two high.
backed chairs and my embroidery frame. Do,
dear aunt; put by that book, and dance." It
would be impossible to fancy a greater contrast


than aunt and niece. Sarah Bond's erect and
perfectly flat figure was surmounted by a long
head and face, round which an abundance of
gray hair was folded; for by no other term can
I describe its peculiar dress; her cap plain, but
white as snow; and a black silk gown, that had
seen its best days, was pinned and primmed on,
so as to sit as close as possible to a figure which
would have been greatly improved by heavy and
abundant drapery. Mabel, lithe and restless,
buoyant and energetic, unable even to wish for
more luxury or more happiness than she pos-
sessed, so that her active mind was forced to
'employ its longings on trifles, as it really had
nothing else to desire; her face was round as
those faces are which become oval in time; and
her bright laughing eyes sparkled like sunbeams
at the bare notion of making "aunt Sarah"
take either the place of a high-backed chair, or
the embroidery frame in a quadrille. "Do
dance," she repeated.
"My dear child, I know as little of your
quadrilles as you do of my country dances and
reels. No, Mabel; I can neither open the
spinnet nor dance quadrilles; so you have been
twice refused this morning; a novelty, is it not,
my dearest Mabel?"
But why do you not break open the spin-
net Do break it open, aunt; I want to see
the inside of it so much."
No, Mabel; the lock is a peculiar one, and



could not be broken without defacing the mar-
quetre on the cover, which I should not like to
do. My poor mother was so proud of that
cover, and used to dust and polish it with her
own hands."
"What! herself" exclaimed the pretty Ma-
bel; why did not her servants do it ?"
"Because, my dear, she had but one."
"But one! I remember when my poor
mamma had none," sighed Mabel, "and we
were so miserable."
But not from lack of attendants, I think,"
answered Sarah Bond. If they are comforts,
they are careful ones, and sadly wasteful. We
were never so happy as we were then. 'Your
mother and I used to set the milk, and mind the
poultry, and make the butter, and cultivate the
flower-garden, and help to do the house work;
and then in the evening we would run in the
meadows, come home laden with wild flowers,
and tired as we were by alternate work and
play, my dear mother would play on that old
instrument, and my poor father sing, and we
sisters wound up the evening by a merry dance,
your mother and myself trying hard which
could keep up the dance longest."
Mabel resumed her embroidery without once
speaking. Sarah Bond laid down the book she
had been reading, and moved restlessly about;
her manner, when either thoughtful or excited,
prevented her features from being disturbed; so


her feelings were soothed by wandering from
place to place, or table to table ; but after a con-
siderable pause, she said-" I wish you were a
little older, Mabel; I wish you to be older, that
I might convince you, dear, that it is in vain to
expect happiness from the possession of wealth,
unless we circulate it, share it with others, and
yet do so prudently and watchingly. Yet, my
poor dear father would be very angry if he
heard me say that, Mabel."
"Yes, I know," interrupted the thoughtless
girl, "for he was a miser."
"Hush, Mabel!" exclaimed her aunt; "how
can you say anything so harsh of him from
whom we inherit all we have. He was careful,
peculiar, very peculiar; but he saved all for
me; and may God judge mercifully between
him and me if I cannot in all things do as he
would have had me," and then she paused, as
if reasoning and arguing with herself; apolo-
gising for the human throes in her own bosom
that led her to act so frequently in direct oppo-
sition to her father's desires; so that to those
who could not understand her motives and feel-
ings, she appeared everyday more inconsistent.
"It is difficult to judge of motives in any case.
I am sure, if he had only gone abroad into the
world, and seen distress as I have seen it, he
could not have shut his heart against his fellow-
creatures: but his feelings were hardened
against some, whom he considered types of all,



and he shut himself up; and seeing no misery,
at last believed, as many do, whom the world
never dreams of calling as you called him, Ma-
bel-seeing no misery, believed that it only ex-
isted in the popular whine. I am sure, if he
had seen, he would have relieved it. I always
think that when I am giving; it is a great
blessing to be able to give; and I would give
more, were I not fearful that it might injure
"Injure me, dear aunt, how 1"
"Why, Mabel, my heart is greatly fixed up-
on seeing you a rich heiress, and, in time, suit-
ably established."
You have just been saying how much hap-
pier you were when you were all poor together,
and yet you want to make me rich."
"People may be very happy in poverty be-
fore they have known riches; but having once
been rich, it would, I think, be absurd to suppose
we could ever be happy again in poverty."
I saw,". replied the girl, "two children pass
the gate this morning while I was gathering
flowers-bunches of the simple white jessamine
you love so much, dear aunt-and they asked
so hard for bread, that I sent them a shilling."
Too much," interrupted Sarah Bond, ha-
bitually rather than from feeling; too much,
dear Mabel, to give to common beggars."
There were two, you know, and they look-
ed wan and hungry. About three hours after,


I was cantering my pony down Swanbrook
Lane-the grass there is so soft and green, that
you cannot hear his feet, while I can hear
every grasshopper that chirps-suddenly, I
heard a child's voice singing a tune full of
mirth, and I went sbftly, softly on; and there,
under a tree, sat one of my morning acquaint-
ances, making believe to sing through a stick,
while the other danced with bare feet, and her
very rags fluttered in time to the tune. .They
looked pale and hungry, though a thick crust of
bread upon the grass proved that they were not
the latter; but I never saw more joy in well-
fed, well-clothed children, for they paused and
laughed, and then began again. Poverty was
no pain to them, at all events."
"My dear," said Sarah Bond, you forget
the crust of bread was their riches, for it was a
"And is it not very shocking that in England
a crust of bread should be a superfluity," in-
quired Mabel.
Very, dear; but a shilling was a great deal
to give at the gate," observed her aunt, adding,
after a pause, and yet it shows how little will
make the poor happy. I am sure, if my father
had looked abroad, instead of staying at home
to watch his-his-money, he would have
thought it right to share what he had. It is an
unnatural thing to shut one's self up from the
duties of life; one gets no interest for any other


outlay to do the heart service; but though
those poor children danced their rags in the
sunshine, and felt not the stones they danced
on, yet my dear Mabel could not dance with
poverty as her companion--'my blessed,blessed
"I'd rather dance a jig with mirth than a
minuet with melancholy," laughed the girl;
"and yet it would take a great deal to make
me miserable if I were with you, and you loved
me, my dear aunt. Still, I own I like to be
rich, so as to have everything I want, and give
everybody what they want; and, aunt Sarah,
you know very well I cannot finish this rose
without the pale floss silk, and my maid forgot
both that and to order the seed pearl."
Mabel's complaint was interrupted by the
entrance of the servant, who told Miss Bond
that Mr. Cramp, her attorney, wished to see
"Show him in," said Miss Bond.
He wishes to see you alone, ma'am."
"His wife is going to die, and he will want
you to marry him!" exclaimed Mabel, heedless
of the servant's presence. Do, dear aunt,
and let me be bride's-maid."
Sarah Bond changed colour; and then,
while stooping to kiss her wayward niece, she
called her a foolish child."



Mr. Cramp, whom we introduced at the con
clusion of the last chapter, as Miss Bond's man
of business, was a plain little man, skilled in
the turnings and windings of the law, beside
which he could not be said to know distinctly
any other code of morals.
On this particular morning, after a few com-
mon-place observations, Mr. Cramp made a
somewhat strange inquiry. Had Miss Bond
heard that Mr. Alfred Bond had come over to
England No; she had not heard it. It
was, Mr. Cramp insinuated (for he never said
anything directly)-it was rather an awkward
circumstance Mr. Alfred Bond's coming to
England. He thought-he believed-he hoped
it would make no difference to Miss Bond.
Miss Bond opened her wide eyes still more
widely. She knew that Mr. Alfred Bond was
the heir-at-law to the -property bequeathed her
father; but what of that? he had never, that
she heard of, dreamed of disputing the will;
and she had never felt one pang of insecurity
as to the possessions which had of late grown
so deeply into her heart. At this unexpected
intimation she felt the blood rush through her
veins io wild untameable manner. In all her
trials.-and they had been many-in all her ill-



nesses-not a few-she had never fainted, never
fallen into that symptom of weak-mindedness,
a fit of hysterics; but now she sat without power
of speech, looking at Mr. Cramp's round face.
My dear Miss Bond, you are not ill, I hope 1"
exclaimed Mr. Cramp. "I pray you to bear up;
what has been said is doubtless wrong-must
be wrong; a threat of the opposite party-an
undefined threat, which we must prepare our-
selves to meet in a lawyer-like way. Hope for
the best, and prepare"-
For what, sir ?" inquired Miss Bond, gasp-
For any-anything-that is my plan. Un-
fortunately, the only way to deal with the world,
so as to meet it on equal terms, is to think every
man a rogue. It is a deeply painful view to
take of human nature, and it agonizes me to
do so. Let me, however, entreat you to bear
up "-
Against what, sir?" said Sarah Bond abrupt-
ly, and almost fiercely, for now Mr. Cramp's
face was reduced to its original size, and she
had collected her ideas. "There are few things
I could not bear up against, but I must know
what I have to sustain."
Your father's will, my dear lady, is safe;
the document, leaving everything to you, that
is safe, and all other documents are safe enough
except Cornelius Bond Hobart's will- will
bequeathing the property to your uncle. 'W ere


is that will to be found ? for if Alfred Bond pro-
ceeds, the veritable document must be produced."
Why, so it can be, I suppose," said Sarah
Bond, relapsing in some degree into agitation;
"it was produced when my father inherited the
property, as you know."
I beg your pardon, Miss Bond," he answer-
ed; certainly not as I know, for I had not the
honour of being your father's legal adviser at
that time. It was my master and subsequent
partner. I had not the privilege of your father's
confidence until after my colleague's death."
No one," said Miss Bond, "ever had my
father's confidence, properly so called; he was
very close in all money transactions. The will,
however, must be, I think, in Doctors' Com-
mons Go there immediately, Mr. Crafip;
and-stay-I will go with you; there it is, and
there are the names of the witnesses."
My dear lady !" expostulated the attorney,
in the softest tones of his soft voice, "I have
been there already. I wished to spare a lady
of your sensibility as much pain as possible;
and so I went there myself, with Mr. Alfred
Bond's man of business, whom I happened to
know; and I was grieved-cut up, I may say,
to the veryheart's core, to hear what he said;
and he examined the document very closely too
-very closely; and, I assure you, spoke in
the handsomest, I may say, the very handsomest
manner of you, of your character, and useful-



ness, and generosity, and Christian qualities;
he did indeed; but we have all our duties to
perform in this world; paramount things are
duites, Miss Bond, and his is a very painful

SWhat need of all these words to state a
simple matter. Have you seen the will ?" said
Sarah Bond.
"I have."
Well, and what more is there to see, unless
Mr. Alfred Bond denies his relative's power to
make a will?"
Which, I believe he does not do. He says
he never made a will; that is all."
But there is the will," maintained Sarah
I am very sorry to wound you; but cannot
you understand ?"
Speak plainly if you can, sir," said Sarah
Bond sternly; "speak plainly if you can; I
He maintains, on the part of his client, that
the will is a forgery."
He maintains a falsehood, then," exclaimed
Miss Bond, with a firm determination and dig-
nity of manner that astonished Mr. Cramp.
" If the will be forged, who is the forger? Cer-
tainly not my father; for he inherited the pro-
perty from his elder brother, who died insane.
The will is in his favour, and not in my father's.
Besides, neither of them held any correspon-



dence with the testator for twenty years; he
died abroad, and the will was sent to England
after his death. Would any one there do a
gratuitous service to persons they had never
seen ? Where could be the reason-the motive?
How is it, that, till now, Alfred Bond urged no
claim. There are reasons," she continued,
" reasons to give the world. But I havl within
me, what passes all reason-a feeling, a con-
viction, a true positive knowledge, that my father
was incapable of being a party to such a crime.
He was a stern man, loving money--I grant
that-but honest in heart and soul. The only
creature he ever wronged was himself. He did
that, I know. He despoiled himself of peace
and comfort, of rest and repose. In that he
sinned against God's dispensation, who gives
that we may give, not merely to others, but law-
fully to ourselves. After all, it wpuld have
been but a small thing for him to have been
without this property, for it gave him no one
additional luxury. I wonder, Mr. Cramp, that
you, as a man, have courage to stand before me,
a poor unprotected woman, and dare to say,
that will is forged."
While she spoke, Sarah Bond stood forth a
new creature in the astonished eyes of the sleek
attorney. He absolutely quailed before the ve-
hemence and fervour of the usually mild woman.
He assured her she was mistaken; that he had
not yielded to the point that the will was a for-



gery; that he never would confess that such
was the case; that it should be his business to
disprove the charge; that he hoped she did not
suppose he yielded to the plaintiff, who was re-
solved to bring the matter into a court of jus-
tice. He would only ask her one little question;
had she ever seen her father counterfeit differ-
ent hands? Yes, she said, she had; he cbuld
counterfeit, copy, any hand he ever saw, so that
the real writer could not tell the counterfeit from
the original. Mr. Cramp made no direct ob-
servation on this, except to beg that she would
not mention that "melancholy circumstance "
to any one else.
Sarah Bond told him she should not feel
bound to make this talent of her father's a crime,
by twisting into a secret what lie used to do as
an amusement. Mr. Cramp urged mildly the
folly of this, when she had a defence to make;
but she stood all the more firmly upon what she
fearlessly considered the dignity of right and
truth; at the same time assuring him, she would
to the last contest that right, not so much for
her own sake, or the sake of one who was dear
to her beyond all power of expression, but for
the sake of him in whose place she stood, and
whose honour she would preserve with her life.
Mr. Cramp was a good, shrewd man of business.
He considered all Miss Bond's energy, on the
subject of her father's honour, as romance,
though he could not help believing she was in


earnest about it. He thought it was perfectly
in accordance with the old miser's character,
that he should procure or make such a docu-
ment; though he considered it very extraordi-
nary, for many reasons, that it should have im-
posed upon men more penetrating and learned
than himself.
Sarah Bond, after his departure, endeavoured
to conceal her anxiety from her niece; but in
vain. Mabel was too clear-sighted; and it was
a relief, as much as an astonishment to her
aunt, to see how bravely she bore up against
the evil news. Miss Bond did not remember
that the knowledge of tle power of wealth does
not belong to sixteen summers. Mabel knew
Sand thought so little of its artificial influence,
that sle believed her happiness sprang from
birds and flowers, from music, and dancing,
and books-those silent but immortal tongues
that live through centuries, for our advantage;
besides, her young heart welled forth so much
hope, that she really did not understand, even
if they lost their fortune, their "troublesome
fortune," as she called it, that it would seriously
affect their happiness. There was no philoso-
phy, no heroism in this; it was simply the im-
pulse of a bright, sunny, beautiful young mind.
The course of events promised soon to strip
Mabel of all except her own bright conceptions.
Mr. Alfred Bond urged on his plea with all the
energy and bitterness of one who had been for




many years despoiled of his right. His solicitor,
soon after his claim was first declared, made an
offer to Sarah Bond to settle an annuity on her
and her niece.during the term of their natural
lives; but this was indignantly spurned by
Sarah; from him she would accept no favour;
she either had or had not a right to the whole
of the property originally left to her uncle. Va-
rious circumstances, too tedious to enumerate,
combined to prove that the will deposited in
Doctors Commons was not a true document;
the signature of Cornelius Bond Hobart was
disproved by many; lit second only to one in-
cident in strangeness was the fact, that though
sought in every direction, and widely advertised
for in the newspapers of the day, the witnesses
to the disputed document could not be found-
they had vanished.
The incident, so strange as to make more
than one lawyer believe for a time that really
such a quality as honesty was to be found in
the world, was as follows:-Sarah Bond, be it
remembered, had never seen the disputed will;
she was very anxious to do so; and yet, after-
wards, she did not like to visit Doctors Com-
mons with any one. She feared, she knew not
what; and yet, above all things, did she desire
to see this will with her own eyes.
Mr. Cramp was sitting in his office when a
woman, muffled in a cloak, and veiled, entered
and seated herself without speaking. After a


moment she unclasped her cloak, loosened thq
wrapping from her throat, threw back her veil,
and asked for a glass of water.
Bless me, Miss Bond, is it you I I am sure
I am much honoured-very much!"
No honour, sir," she replied, "but necessi-
ty. I have been to Doctors Commons; have
seen the will-it is my father's writing !"
You confess this to me I" said Mr. Cramp,
drawing back on his chair, and almost gasping
for breath.
"1 do," she answered; I proclaim it; it is
my father's copy of the original will. But how
the copy could have been substituted for the
real will, I can only conjecture."
Surmise is something," replied the lawyer,
a little relieved; conjecture sometimes leads
to proof."
"My father and uncle lived together whep
the will came into their possession. They were
in partnership as farmers. My father's habits
were precise : he always copied every writing,
and endorsed his copies with a large C; the
very C is marked upon the will I have just seep
at Doctors Commons."
That is singular," remarked Cramp; "but
it does not show us the way out of the difficult
ty; on the contrary, that increases. Somebody
-I don't for an instant suppose Mr. Jacc
Bond-in proving the will must have sworn
that, to the best of their knowledge and belief,



those were the real, which are only copies of
the signatures."
"True-and such a mistake was extremely
characteristic of my uncle, who performed
many strange acts before he was known to be
insane. This was doubtless one of them."
"But where is the original I" inquired the
man of business.
Heaven knows I cannot find it; but I am
not the less assured of its existence."
Then we must persist in our plea of the
truth of the document in Doctors Commons."
"Certainly not," said Sarah; "you must
not persist in a falsehood in my name. If you
do, I shall rise up in court, and contradict you!
I feel it my duty, having seen the will, to state
my firm belief that it is a copy of the original
will, and nothing more."
Poor Mr. Cramp was dreadfully annoyed.
He could, he thought, manage all sorts of cli-
ents. He reasoned, he proved, he entreated,
he got her counsel to call upon her, but all was
in vain. She would go into court, she said,
herself, if her counsel deserted her. She would
not give up the cause; she would plead for the
sake of her father's honour. She was well as-
sured that the real will was still in existence,
and would be discovered-found-sooner or
later-though not, perhaps, till she was in her
The senior counsel was so provoked at what


he called his client's obstinacy, that he threw up
his brief, and the junior took advantage of the
circumstance to make a most eloquent speech,
enlarging upon the singularity of no appeal
having been previously made by the plaintiff-
of the extraordinary disappearance of the wit-
nesses-of the straight-forward, simple, and
beautiful truthfulness of the defendant; in short,
he moved the court to tears, and laid the foun-
dation of his future fortune. But after that
day, Sarah Bond and her niece, Mabel, were
homeless and houseless. Yet I should not say
that; for the gates of a jail gaped widely for
the "miser's daughter," but only for a few
days; after which society rang with praises,
loud and repeated, of Mr. Alfred Bond's libera-
lity, who had discharged the defendant's costs
as well as his own. In truth, people talked so
much and so loudly about this, that they alto-
gether forgot to inquire what had become of
Sarah and Mabel.


The clergyman of the parish was their first
visiter. He assisted them to look into the fu
ture. It was, he who conveyed to Sarah Bond
Alfred's determination that she should be held



scatheless. The good man delivered this in-
formation with the manner of a person who
feels he comes with good news, and expects it
will be so received; but Sarah Bond could only
regard Alfred as the calumniator of her father's
memory, the despoiler of her rights. The wild
expression of joy in Mabel's face, as she threw
herself on her aunt's bosom, gave her to under-
stand that she ought to be thankful for what
saved her from a prison.
Words struggled for utterance. She who
had borne so much and so bravely, was over-
come. Again and again she tried to speak,
but for some hours she fell from one fainting
fit into another. She had borne up against all
disasters, until the power of endurance was
overwhelmed; and now, she was attacked by
an illness so violent, that it threatened dissolu-
tion. At this very time, when she needed so
much sympathy, a stern and severe man, in
whom there was no pity, a man who had re-
ceived large sums of money from Miss Bond
as a tradesman, and whose account had stood
over from a particular request of his own, be-
lieving that all was gone, and that he should
lose, took advantage of her illness to levy an
execution upon the goods, and to demand a
At this time her reason had quite deserted
her, and poor Mabel was incapable of thought
beyond her duty to her aunt, which made her


remove her to a cottage-lodging from the tur-
moil of the town. No one distinctly knew, ex-
cept Mabel, why Sarah Bond was so attached
to the old furniture, and few cared. And yet
more than one kind heart remembered how she
had liked the rubbishingg things," and bought
in several, resolved that, if she recovered, and
ever had "a place of her own again," they
would offer them for her acceptance. Her ill-
ness was so tedious, that except the humble cu-
rate and the good rector, her inquirers had fall-
en off-for long sickness wears out friends.
Some would pause as they passed the cottage
window, where the closely-pinned down curtain
told of the caution and quiet of sickness; and
then they would wonder how poor Miss Bond
was; and if they entered the little passage to
inquire, they could scarcely recognize in the
plainly-dressed, jaded, bent girl, whose eyes
knew no change but from weeping to watching,
and watching to weeping, the buoyant and beau-
tiful heiress whose words were law, and who
once revelled in luxury. The produce of the
sale-though everything, of course, went below
its value-left a small surplus, after all debts
and expenses were paid; which the clergyman
husbanded judiciously, and gave in small por-
tions to Mabel. Alfred Bond himself called to
offer any assistance that might be required,
which Mabel declined, coldly and at once.
Patiently and devotedly did she watch beside



the couch of her poor aunt; one day suffering
the most acute anxiety if the symptoms became
worse than usual; the next full of hope as they
abated. Did I say that one day after another
this was the case I should have written it,
one hour after another; for truly, at times she
fluctuated so considerably, that no one less
hopeful than Mabel could have continued faith-
ful to hope. As Sarah Bond gained strength,
she began to question her as to the past. Ma-
bel spoke cautiously; but, unused to any spe-
cies of dissimulation, could not conceal the
fact, that the old furniture, so valued by her
uncle, and bequeathed with a conditional bless-
ing, was gone-sold This had a most unhap-
py effect on the mind of Sarah Bond. She felt
as if her father's curse was upon her. She
dared not trust herself to speak upon the sub-
ject. When the good rector (Mr. Goulding)
alluded to the sale, and attempted to enter into
particulars, or give an account of the affairs he
had so kindly and so ably managed, she ad-
jured him in so solemn a manner never to speak*
of the past, if he wished her to retain her rea-
son, that he, unconscious of the motive, and
believing it arose entirely from regret at her
changed fortunes, avoided it as much as she
could desire; and thus she had no opportunity
of knowing how much had been saved by the
benevolence of a few kind persons. Sarah
Bond fell into the very common error of ima



agining that persons ought to know her thoughts
and feelings, without her explaining them. But
her mind and judgment had been so enfeebled
by illness and mental suffering, that, even while
she opposed her opinions, she absolutely leaned
on Mabel-as if the oak called to the wood-
bine to support its branches. What gave Ma-
bel the most uneasiness, was the determination
she had formed to leave the cottage as soon as
she was able to be removed; and she was se-
riously displeased because Mabel mentioned this
intention to Mr. Goulding. Despite all poor
Mabel could urge to the contrary, they quitted
the neighbourhood-the sphere of Sarah Bond's
sudden elevation, and as sudden depression-
alone, at night, and on foot. It was a clear,
moonlight evening, in midsummer, when the
twilight can hardly be said to give place to
darkness; and when the moon shines out so
very brightly, that the stars are reduced to pale
lone sparks of white rather than light, in the
blue sky. It was a lovely evening; the widow
with whom they had lodged was not aware of
their intention until about an hour before their
departure. She was very poor and ignorant,
but her nature was kind; and when Sarah Bond
pressed upon her, out of her own scanty store,
a little present of money beyond her stipulated
rent, she would not take it, but accompanied
them to the little gate with many tears, receiving
charge of a farewell letter to the rector. "And



haven't you one to leave me for the curate I"
she inquired. "Deary me! but I'm sure for
every once the old gentleman came when Miss
Bond was so bad, the curate came three times;
and no letter for him deary, oh, deary me P"
Why did you not put me in mind to write
to Mr. Lycight, Mabel ?" inquired her aunt,
after the gate, upon which the poor woman
leaned, had closed.
Mabel made no reply; but Sarah felt the
hand she held tightly within hers tremble and
throb. How did she then remember the days
of her own youth, as she thought, "Oh.! in
mercy she might have escaped from what only
so causes the pulses to beat or the hand to
tremble !" Neither spoke; but Sarah had
turned over the great page of Mabel's heart,
while Mabel did not confess, even to herself,
that Mr. Lycight's words, however slight, were
more deeply cherished than Mr. Goulding's pre-
cepts. They had'a long walk to take that
night, and both wept at first; but however sad and
oppressed the mind and spirits maybe, there is a
soothing and balmy influence .in nature that
lulls, if it does not dispel, sorrow; every breeze
was perfumed. As they passed the hedges,
there was a rustling and murmuring of birds
amongst the leaves; and Mabel could not for-
bear an exclamation of delight when she saw a
narrow river, now half-shadowed, then bright
in the moonbeams, bounding in one place like


a thing of life, then brawling around sundry
large stones that impeded its progress, again
subsiding into silence, and flowing onward to
where a little foot-bridge, over which they had
to pass, arched its course; beyond this was the
church, and there Mabel knew they were to
await the coach which was to convey them to a
village many miles from their old homes, and
where Sarah Bond had accidentally heard there
was a chance of establishing a little school.
Mabel paused for a moment to look at the ve-
nerable church standing by the highway, the
clergyman's house crouching in the grove be-
hind. The hooting and wheeling of. the old
owls in the ivied tower was a link of life. Sa-
rah Bond passed the turn-stile that led into the
church-yard, followed by Mabel, who shudder-
ed when she found herself surrounded by damp
grass-green graves, and beneath the shadows
of old yew-trees.
She knew not where her aunt was going, but
followed her silently. Sarah Bond led the way
to a lowly grave, marked by a simple head-
stone. She knelt down by its side, and while
her bosom throbbed, she prayed earnestly,
deeply, within her very soul-she prayed, now
a faded, aged woman-she prayed above the
ashes, the crumbling bones of him she had loved
with a love that never changes-that is green
when the head is gray-that Mabel might never
suffer as she had suffered. Relieved by these

W 47


devotional exercises, Sarah rose, and the hum-
ble and stricken pair bade adieu to the melan.
choly scene, and betook themselves to their toil-
some journey. Fortunately the stage soon
overtook them, and having, with some difficul-
ty, obtained seats, they were in due time deposi-
ted in a village, where Sarah felt there would
be no eyes prying into their poverty, no ears to
hear of it, no tongue to tell thereof, and point
them out as the poor ladies that once were
rich." This was a great relief, though it came
of pride, and she knew it; and she said within
herself, When health strengthens my body, I
will wrestle with this feeling, for it is unchris-
tian. She never even to Mabel alluded to
what was heaviest on her mind-the loss of the
old furniture; though she cheered her niece by
the assurance that, after a few months, if the
Almighty blessed the exertions they must make
for their own support, she would write to their
friend Mr. Goulding, and say where they were;
by that time," she said, she hoped to be hum-
ble, as a Christian should be. After this assu-
rance was given, it was astonishing to see how
Mabel revived. Her steps recovered their elas-
ticity, her eyes their brightness. Sarah Bond
had always great superiority in needlework, and
this procured her employment; while Mabel
obtained at once, by her grace aud correct
speaking, two or three day pupils. Her wild
and wayward temper had been subdued by



change of circumstances; but if she had not
found occupation it would have become morose
Here was not only occupation, but success;
success achieved by the most legitimate means *
-the exertion of her own faculties; there were
occasionally bitter tears and many disappoint-
ments; and the -young soft fingers, so slender
and beautiful, were obliged to work in earnest;
and she was forced by necessity to rise early
and watch late; and then she had to think, not
how pounds could be spent, but pennies cquld
be earned. We need not, however, particular-
ize their labours in this scene of tranquil useful-
ness. It is sufficient to say that Mabel's little
school increased; and both she and her aunt
came at length to feel and speak thankfully of
the uses of adversity, and bless God for taking
as well as for giving.


Though Sarah Bond had used every means
within her power to conceal her place of retreat,
yet she often felt bitterly pained that no one had
sou t her out. She said she wished to bor-
gotWl, unless she had the power to clear Way
the imputation on her father's name. And yet,


unknown to herself, she cherished the hope,
that some one would have traced them, though
only to say one cheering word of approbation
*regarding their attempt at self-dependence.
Sarah thanked the Almightly greatly for one
thing, that Mabel's cheerfulness was continued
and unfluctuating, and that her mind seemed
to have gathered strength by wholesome exer-
cise. She believed her affections, if not free,
were not entangled, and that her pride had risen
against her imagination; and it was beautiful
to see how, watching to avoid giving each other
pain, striving continually to show the bright side
of every question, the one to the other, and ex-
tract sweets instead of bitters from every little
incident, led to their actually enjoying even the
privations which exercised their tenderness to-
wards each other.
Time wore away many of their sorrows, which
old father Time always does; a kindness we
forget to acknowledge, though we often arraign
him for spoiling our pleasures. Sarah and Ma-
bel had been taking an evening walk, wonder-
ing how little they existed upon, and feeling
that it was a wide step towards independence to
have few wants.
"' I can see good working in all things," said
Mabel; 1" for if I had obtained the companion-
shipgf books, which I so eagerly desired at first,
I s~lild not have had the same inducemedl to
pursue my active duties, to read my own heart,


and the great book of nature, which is opened
alike to peer and peasant; I have found so much
to learn, so much to think of by studying ob-
jects and persons-reading persons instead of
Yes," added Sarah Bond; "and seeing how
much there is to admire in every development
of nature, and how much of God there is in
every human being."
As they passed along the village street, Mabel
observed that the cottagers looked after them,
and several of her little pupils darted thier heads
in and out of their homes, and laughed; she
thought that some village fun was afloat, that
some rural present of flowers, or butter, or
eggs, had been sent-a little mysterious offering
for her to guess at; and when she turned to
fasten the wicket gate, there were several of the
peasants knotted together talking. A sudden ex-
clamation from her aunt, who had entered the
cottage, confirmed her suspicion; but it was
soon dissipated. In their absence, their old
friends Mr. Goulding and the curate had arrived
by the coach, and entered their humble dwell-
ing. From a wagon at the same time were
lifted several articles of old furniture, which
were taken into the cottage, and properly ar-
ranged. There were two old chairs, an em-
broidered stool, a china vase, a cabinet, a table,
and the spinnet. Strangely the furniture look-
ed on the sanded floor, but never was the spici-



est present from India more grateful to its re-
ceiver than these were to the eyes of Sarah Bond.
She felt as if a ban was removed from her when
she looked upon the old things so valued by her
father. Absorbed in the feelings of the moment,
she did not even turn to inquire how they had
so unexpectedly come there. Nor did she note
the cold and constrained greeting which Mabel
gave to Mr. Lycight. She herself, after the first
self-engrossed thoughts were past, turned to
give both gentlemen the cordial reception which
their many former kindnesses, not to speak of
their apparent connexion with the present gra-
tifying occurrence, deserved. 'From Mr. Goul-
ding she learnt that the furniture had been
bought up by a few old friends, and committed
to him to be sent to her as a mark of their good-
will; he had only delayed bringing it to her,
till she should have proved, as he knew she
would, superior to her misfortunes, by entering
upon some industrious career.
As the evening closed in, and the astonish-
ment and feelings of their first meeting subsid-
ed, Sarah Bond and Mr. Goulding conversed
apart, and then, indeed, she listened with a
brimming heart and brimming eyes. He told
of his young friend's deep attachment to Ma-
bel; how he had prevailed upon him to pause
before he declared it; to observe how she en-
dured her changed fortune; and to avoid en-
gaging her affections until he had a prospect of


placing her beyond the reach of the most har-
rowing of all poverties, that which keeps up an
appearance above its means. Her cheerful-
ness, her industry, her goodness, have all been
noted," he continued. "She has proved her-
self capable of accommodating herself to her
circumstances; the most difficult of all things
to a young girl enervated by luxury and indul-
gence. And if my friend can establish an inter-
est in her affections, he has no higher views of
earthly happiness, and I think he ought to have
no other. You will, I am sure, forgive me for
having counselled the trial. If deep adversity
had followed your exertions-if you had failed
instead of succeeded-I should have been at
hand to succour and to aid."
Sarah Bond had never forgotten the emotion
of Mabel, caused by the mention of the curate's
name when they quitted their old neighbourhood,
and the very reserve Mabel showed proved to
Sarah's searching and clear judgment, that the
feeling was unchanged. Truly in that hour
was her chastened heart joyful and grateful.
"Mabel must wait,".she said, until the pros.
pect of advancement became a reality; for it
would be an ill return of disinterested love
for a penniless orphan to become a burden in-
stead of a blessing. Mabel would grow more
worthy every day; they were doing well; ay,
he might look round the white-washed walls and
smile, but they were prosperous, healthful, hap.


py, and respected; and if she could only live to
see the odium cast upon her father's memory
removed, she would not exchange her present
poverty for her past pride." She frequently
afterwards thought of the clergyman's rejoinder
--" That riches, like mercy, were as blessed to
the giver as to the receiver, and that they only
created evil when hoarded, or bestowed by a
heedless hand."
They certainly were a happy group in that
lowly cottage room that evening. Mabel's
proud bearing had given place, as'if by magic,
to a blushing shyness; which she tried to shield
from observation by every possible attempt at
ease. She talked to Mr. Goulding, and found
a thousand uses for the old furniture she had
once so heartily despised. She would sit jn
the great high chair at the end of that table,
with her feet on the stool, and the china vase in
the midst, filled with humble cottage flowers-
meadow-sweet and wild roses, and sweet-willi-
ams, sea-pinks, woodbine, and wild convolvu-
lus! Did Mr. Goulding like cottage flowers
best ?" No; the clergyffan said he did not,
but he thought Mr. Lycight did, and the young
man assured her that it was so; and then gazed
*on the only love his heart, his deep, unworn,
earnest heart, had throbbed to, with an admira-
tion which is always accompanied by fear, lest
something should prevent the realization of the
one great earthly hope.


And Mabel was more fitful than her aunt had
ever seen her. Fearful lest her secret, as she
thought it, should be discovered, she made as
many turns and windings as a hare; and yet,
unskilled in disguising her feelings, after spend-
ing many wordsin arranging and re-ganging,
she suddenly wished that the spinnet could be
opened, If," she exclaimed, that could be
opened, I should be able to teach Mary Godwin
music; and her mother seemed to wish it so
much: surely we can open the instrument 1"
"It has not been opened for years," replied
Miss Bond; and I remember, once before,
Mabel wished it opened, and I refused, lest
forcing the lock might harf the marquetre, of
which my poor mother was so fond. It has
never been opened since her death." But Ma-
bel's desire was of too much consequence, in
her lover's eyes, to be passed over, although all
seemed agreed that if it were opened it could
not be played upon; so in a few minutes he
procured a smith, who said he would remoove
the hinges, and then unscrew the lock from the
inside, which would not injure the cover. This
was done; but greatly to poor MabeJ's dismay,
the cavity, where strings once had been, was
filled with old papers. V
"Now, is not this provoking 1" said Mabel,
flinging out first one and then another bundle
of letters. Is not this provoking "
"No, no," exclaimed Sarah Nond, grasping



a lean, long, parchment, round which an abun-
dance of tape was wound. "No. Who knows
what may be found here ?" At once the idea
was caught, Mabel thought no more of the
strings. "I cannot," said Sarah Bond to Mr.
Gouldig," untie this; can yqu 1" Her fingers
trembled, and she sank on her knees by the
clergyman's side. The eyes of the little group
were fixed upon him; not a word was spoken;
every breath was hushed; slowly he unfastened
knot after knot; at last the parchment was un-
folded; still, neither Sarah Bond nor Mabel
spoke; the latter gasped for breath-her lips
apart, her cheeks flushed; while Sarah's hands
were clasped together, locked upon her bosom,
and every vestige of colour had deserted her
Be calm, my dear friend," he said, after
glancing his eyes over the parchment; "be
calm. You have experienced enough of the
changes and chances of this world not to build
too quickly upon any foundation but the one-
the goodness of God; I do believe this is an
especial proof of His Providence, for I do think
this is Cornelius Bond Hobart's original will in
your unclA's favour."
It would be useless to attempt a description
of the scene that followed; but the joy at the
reality of the discovery was a heartful tempe-
rate joy-the joy of chastened .hearts. Sarah
Bond, blessing God, above all things, that, go


the law as it would, her father's memory would
now be held as the memory of an honest man;
that he had, as she had said, copied, not forged
the will. Mr. Goulding declared he should find
it difficult to forgive himself for having so long
prevented the old furniture from being.sent, as-
suring her, the dread"that Mabel was unfit to
contend with the privations to which the lives
of humble men are doomed, made him tremble
for the happiness of the young friend who had
been consigned to his care by a dying mother;
he feared to renew the inte~prse, until her
character was developed; Ole poor Mabel
had little thought how closely she was watched
along the humble and thorny paths she had to
Sarah Bond's spirit was so chastened, that
she regretted nothing save the shadow cast upon
her father's grave; and now that was removed,
she was indeed happy. She assured the rector
how useful adversity had been to them-how
healthful it had rendered Mabel's mind-and
how much better, if they recovered what had
been lost, they should know how to employ
their means of usefulness. Mr. Lycight's con-
gratulations were not so hearty as Mr. Gould-
ing'st he felt that now he was the curate and
Mabel the Itiress; and he heard the kind good
night which Mabel spoke with'a tingling ear.
He was proud in his own way; and pride, as
well as his affection, had been gratified by the



idea of elevating her he loved. Mabel saw this,
and she wept during the sleepless night, that he
should believe her so unworthy and so ungrate-
There was much to think of and to do; the
witnesses were to be found, and lawyers con-
suited, and proceedings taken, and much of the
turmoil and bitterness of the law to be endured,
which it pains every honest heart to think upon;
and Mr. Cramp was seized with a sudden fit of
virtuous indignaion against' Mr. Alfred Bond,
after Sarah Bon& new man of business" had
succeeded in producing the only one of the wit-
nesses in existence, who, he also discovered,
had been purposely kept out of the way, on a
former occasion, by some one or other. The
delays were vexatious, and the quirks and turns,
and foldings, and doubles innumerable; but
they came to an end at last, and Mr. Alfred
Bond was obliged in his turn to vacate the old
mansion, in which he had revelled-a miser in
selfish pleasures.
I have dwelt longer than was perhaps neces-
sary on the minutiae of this relation, the princi-
pal events of which are so strongly impressed
upon my memory. But the more 1 have thought
over the story, the more I have beenstruc with
the phases and impulses of Sarah Bond's un-
obtrusive, but deep feeling mind; her self-sacri-
ficing spirit, her devotion to her father's will,
her dread, when first in possession of the pro-


perty, that any one act of liberality on her part
might be considered a reproach to his memory;
her habits struggling with her feelings, leading
me to the conclusion that she would never have
become, even with the expanding love of her
niece to enlarge her views, thoroughly unmana-
cled from the parsimonious habits of her father,
but for her lesson in adversity, which, instead
of teaching as it does a worldly mind, the value
of money, taught her higher nature its proper
It was'beautiful to see how Mabel grew into
her aunt's virtues; and even Mr. Goulding was
startled by the energy and thoughtfulness of her
character. She soon convinced Mr. Lycight
that-her prospects grew brighter in his Jove;
and for a time he was romantic enough to wish
she had continued, penniless, and he had been
born a peer, to prove his disinterested affection.
This, however, wore away, as man's romance
always does, and he absolutely became recon-
ciled to his. bride's riches. Sarah Bond was
living a very few years ago, beloved and hon-
oured, the fountain of prosperity and blessing
to all who needed. There was no useless ex-
penditure, no show, no extravagance in the
establishment" at the old manor house; but it
was pleasant to perceive the prosperity of the
poor in the immediate neighbourhood; there
was evidence of good heads and kind hearts,
superintending all moral and intellectual im-



provements; there were flourishing schools,
and benevolent societies, and the constant ex-
ercise of individual charities; and many said
that Sarah Bond, and niece, and nephew, did
more good with hundreds than others did with
thousands. From having had practical expe-
rience of poverty, they understood how to re-
medy its wants, and minister to its sorrows.
And to the last hour of her prolonged life,
Sarah Bond remembered


THERE, they go!" exclaimed old Mrs. Myles,
looking after two exceedThgly beautiful children,
as they passed hand in hand down the street of
the small town of Abbeyweld, to the only school,
that had "' Seminary for Young Ladies," writ-
ten in large hand, on a proportionably large
card, and placed against the bow window of an
ivied cottage. There they go !" she repeat-
ed; and though I'm their grandmother, I may
say a sweeter pair of children than Helen Marsh
and Rose Dillon never trod the main street of
Abbeyweld-God bless them!" She added
earnestly, God Almighty bless them!"
"Amen !" responded a kind voice; and
turning round, Mrs. Myles saw the curate of
the parish, the Reverend Mr. Stokes, standing
just at the entry of her own house. To curtsey
with the respect which in the good old times"
was customary towards those who "meekly
taught, and led the way," and invite the minis-
ter in, was the work of a moment; the next be.

.3i~l~f' ~~_~~ L +i~i~;:.-YS7*~;~i~~Ja~i~l~:II~C~q~*LT\ ~C: -~pl~


9eld Mrs. Myles and her $siter tete-a-tete in the
widow's small parlour. It was a cheerful, plea-
sant room, such as is often met with in the clean
villages of England. There were two or three
pieces of embroidery, in frames of faded gild-
ing; an old-fashioned semicircular card-table
stood opposite the window, and upon it rested
a filagree tea-caddy, basg by a mark-a-tree
work-box, flanked on one1k by the Bible, on
the other by a prayer-book; while on the space
in front was placed The Whole Art of Cook-
ery," by Mrs. Glasse.' High-backed chairs of
black mahogany were ranged along the white-
washed walls; a corner cupboard displayed
upon its door the magnificence of King Solo-
mon, and the liberality of the Queen of Sheba,
while within glittered engraved glasses, and
fairy-like cups and saucers, that would delight
the hearts of the fashionables of the present
day. Indeed, Mrs. Myles knew their value,
and prided herself thereon, for wlhnever the
squire or any great lady paid her a visit, she
was sure, before they entered, to throw the cup-
board door slyly open, so as to display its trea-
sures; and then a little bit of family pride would
creep out-" Yes, every one said they were
pretty-and so she supposed they were-but
they were nothing to her grandmother's, where
she remembered the servants eating off real India
chaney." The room also contained a high-
backed sofa, covered with chintz; very stately,


hard, and uncomfortable it was to sit upon;
indeed, no one except visitors ever did sit upon
it, save on Sundays, when Helen and Rose were
permitted so to do, "if they kept quiet," which
in truth they seldom did for more than five
minutes together. Moonlight "-Mrs. Myles's
large cat-Moonlight would take a nap there
sometimes; but as Mrs. Myles, while she husk-
ed him off, declared he was a "clean creature,"
it may be said that Moonlight was the only
thing privileged to enjoy the sofa to his heart's
content. Why he liked it, I could not under-
stand. Now she invited Mr. Stokes to sit upon
it; but he. knew better, and took the window
seat in preference.
They are fine children-are they not, sir 1"
inquired the good old lady, reverting in the
pride of her heart to her young charges. "Rose,
poor thing, will be obliged to shift for herself,
for her father and mother left her almost with-
out proviion: but when Helen's father returns,
I do hope he will be able to introduce her in the
way she seems born for. She has the heart
of a princess-bless her!" added Mrs. Myles,
I hope, my good friend, she will have a
Christian's heart," said Mr. Stokes.
Oh, certainly, sir, certainly, we all have
that, I hope."
"I hope so too; but I think you will act
wisely in directing the proud spirit of Helen


into an humbler channel, iile you rouse and
strengthen the modest and retiring one of
They are very, very different, sir," said the
old lady, looking particularly sagacious; I
don't mean as to talent, for they are both very
clever, nor as to goodness, for, thank God, they
are both good; but Helen has such a noble
spirit-such an uplooking way with her."
We should all look up to God," said the
"Oh, of course we all do." Mrs. Myles
paused. "She has such a ladylike, independ-
ent way with her, I'm sure she'll turn out some-
thing great, sir. Well, there's no harm in a
little ambition now and then; we all, you know,
want to be a little bit better off than we are."
We are too apt to indulge in a desire for
what is beyond our reach," said the minister,
gravely; if every one was to reside on the
hills, Wiho would cultivate the valleys? We
should not forget that godliness, with content-
ient, is great gain. It would be far better,
Mrs. Myles, if, instead of struggling to get out
of our sphere, we laboured to do the best we
could in-it."
"Ah, sir, and that's true," replied Mrs.
Myles; "just'what I say to Mrs. Jones, who
will give b cherry at her little tea-parties; good
gooseberry, I say, is better than bad sherry.
Will you taste mine, sir ?'


No, thank you' said the good man, w
at the very moment was pondering over the at:
of self-deception, as practised by ourselves upon
ourselves. "No, thank you; but do, my dear
madam, imbue those children with a contented
spirit; there is nothing that keeps us so truly
at peace with the world as contentment-or with
ourselves, for it teaches peace-or with a Higher
Power, for it is insulting to His wisdom and ove
to go on repining through this beautiful world,
instead of enjoying what as Christian wie can
enjoy, and regarding without envy that which
we have not."
"Exactly so, good sir. 'Be content,' I said
to Helen only this very mnIing-' be content,
my. dear, with your pink gingham; who knows
but by and by you may have a silk dress for
"Ah, my dear Mrs. Myles, you are sowti"
bad seed," said the clergyman.
What, sir, when I told her to be content
with the little pink gingham ?"
No; but when you told her she might have
a silk one hereafter. Don't you see, instead of
uprooting you were fostering pride ?-instead
of directing her ambition to a noble object, aad
thereby elevating her mind, you were lowering
it by drawing it down to an inferior one 1"
I did not see it," observed Mrs. Myle4
simply; but you know, sir, there's no mar
harm in a silk than a cotton."



"I must go now, my fbod lady," said the
minister;." only observing that there is no more
harm in one than in the other, except when the
desire to possess anything beyond our means
leads to discontent, if not to more actively dan-
gerous faults. I must come and lecture the lit-
tle maids myself."
"And welcome, sir, and thank you kindly
besides; poor little dears, they have no one to
look after them but me. I daresay I am wrong
sometimes, but I do my best-I' do my best."
The curate thought she did according to her
knowledge, but he lamented that two such ex-
quisitely beautiful children, possessed of such
natural gifts, should be left to the management
of a vain old woman-most vain-though kind-
ly and good-hearted-giving kindness with plea-
sure, and receiving it with gratitude-yet totally
unfit to bring up a pair of beauties, who, of all
the female sex, require the most discretion in the
"I wonder," thought the Reverend Mr. Stokes
-" I wonder when our legislature will contrive
to establish a school for mothers. If girls are
sent to school, the chances are that the contam-
ination over which the teacher can have no
control-the contamination of evil girls-ren-
ders them vicious; if, on the contrary, they are
kept at home, the folly of their mothers makes
them fools-a pretty choice!" Mr. Stokes
turned down a lane that ran parallel with the

***w.l: ;"' ^-. *'*-S "-


garden where the dildren went to school; and
hearing Helen's voice in loud dispute, he paus-
ed for a moment to ascertain the cause.
I tell you," said the little maid, Rose may
be what she likes, but I'll be queen."
How unfit," quoth the curate to himself-
how utterly unfit is Mrs. Myles to manage
Helen!" The good man paused again; and
to the no small confusion of the little group,
who had been making holiday under the sha-
dow of a spreading apple-tree, suddenly enter-
ed amongst them, and read her a lecture, gently,
kindly, and judicious. Having thus performed
what he conceived his duty, he walked on; but
his progress was arrested by a little hand being
thrust into his; and when he looked down, the
beaming, innocent face of Rose Dillon was up-
turned towards him.
"Do please, sir," she said, let Helen Marsh
be queen of the game; if she is not, she won't
play with a bit of heart-she won't, indeed, sir.
She will play to be sure, but not with any heart."
"I cannot unsay what I have said, little
Rose," he answered; "I cannot; it is better
for her to play without heart, as you call it,
than to have that heart too highly uplifted by
Happy would it have been for Helen Marsh
if she had always had ajudicious friend to cor-
rect her dangerous ambition. The good curate
admonished the one, and brought forward the


other, of the cousins; but *bat availed his oc.
casional admonishing when counteracted by the
weak flattery of Mrs. Myles?


Years passed; the lovely children, who trip-
ped hand in hand down the street of Abbeyweld,
grew into ripe girlhood, and walked arm in
arm-the pride and admiration of every villa-
ger. The curate became at last rector, and
Mrs. Myles's absurdities increased with her
years. The perfect beauty of the cousins, both
of face and form, rendered them celebrated far
and near. Each had a separate character as
from the first; and yet-but that Rose Dillon
was a little shorter than her cousin Helen
Marsh, and that the expsession of her eyes was
so different that it was almost impossible to be-
lieve they were the same shape-and colour, the
cousins might have been mistaken for each
other--I say might, because it is rather remark-
able that they never were. Helen's fine dark
eyes had a lofty and forbidding aspect, while
Rose had not the power, if indeed she ever en-
tertained the will, of looking either the one or
the other. I thought Rose the most graceful of


the two in her carriage, but there could be no
doubt as to Helen's being the most dignified;
both girls were almost rustic in their manners,
but rusticity and vulgarity are very distinct in
their feelings and attributes. They could not
do or say aught that was vulgar or at variance
with the kindnesses of life-those tender no-
things which make up so large a something in
the account of every day's existence. Similar,
withal, as the cousins were in appearance, they
grew up as dissimilar in feelings and opinions
as it is possible to conceive, and yet loving each
other dearly. Still Helen never for a moment
fancied that any one in the village of Abbeyweld
could compete with her in any way. She had
never questioned herself as to this being the
case, but the idea had been nourished since her
earliest infancy-had never been disputed, ex-
cept perhaps when latterly a town belle, or even
a more conceited specimen, a country belle, vi-
sited in the neighbourhood; but popular voice
(and there is a popular voice, be it loud or gen-
tle, everywhere) soon discovered that blonde,
and feathers, and flowers, had a good deal to do
with this disturbing of popular opinion; and
after a few days, the good people invariably
returned to their allegiance. "Ah! ah!" old
Mrs. Myles would observe on these occasions-
"Ah! ah !"-I told you they'd soon find the
fair lady was shaded by her fine laces. I dare-
say now she's on the look-out for a good match,



poor thing! Not that Helen is handsome-
don't look in the glass, Helen, child! My
grandmother always said that Old Nitk stood
behind every young lady's shoulder when she
looked in the glass, with a rouge-pot all ready to
make her look handsomer in her own eyes than
she really was; which shows how wicked it is
to look much in a glass. Only a little some-
times, Nell, darling-we'll forgive her for look-
ing a little ; but certainly when I looked at the
new beauty in church the other day, and then
looked, I know where, I thought-but no mat-
ter, Helen, no matter-I don't want to make
either of my girls vain."
Why Mrs. Myles so decidedly preferred Helen
to Rose, appeared a mystery to all who did not
know the secret sympathy, the silent unsatisfied
ambition, that lurked in the bosoms of both the
old and the young. Mrs. Myles had lived for a
long time upon the reputation of her own beauty;
and whenever she needed sympathy (a food
which the weak-minded devour rapidly,) she la-
mented to one or two intimates, while indulging
in the luxury of tea, that she was an ill-used
person, simply because she had not been a baro-
net's lady at the very least. Helen's ambition
echoed that of her grandmother; it was not the
longing of a village lass for a new bonnet or a
brilliant dress-it was an ambition of sufficient
strength to have sprung up in a castle. She
resolved to be something beyond what she was;


and there are very few who have strength to
give birth to, and cherish up a resolve, who will
not achieve a purpose, be it for good or bad, for
weal or for wo. Rose was altogether ahd per-
fectly simple and single-hearted: conscious that
she was an orphan, dependent upon her grand-
mother's slender annuity for support, and that
Helen's father could not provide both for his
daughter and his niece, her life was one of pa-
tient industry and unregretted privation. Be-
fore she was fifteen, she had persuaded her
grandmother to part with her serving maiden,
and,with very little assistance from Helen, she
performed the labours of their cottage, aided
twice a-week by an elderly woman, who often
declared that such another girl as Rose Dillon
was not to be found in the country. Both were
now verging on seventeen, and Helen received
the addresses of a young farmer in the neigh-
bourhood-a youth of excellent yoman family,
and of superior education and manners.
The cousins walked out one evening together,
and Rose turned into the lane where they used
frequently to meet Edward Lynne.
No, Rose," said Helen, "not there; I am
not in a humour to meet Edward to-night."
"But you said you would," said Rose.
Well, do not look so solemn about it. I
daresay I did-but lover's promises-if indeed
we are lovers. Do you kiiow, Rose, I should
be very much obliged to you to take Edward



off my hands-he is just the husband for you,
so rustic and quiet."
Edward to be taken off your hands, Helen!
-Edward Lynne !-the protector of our child-
hood-the pride of the village-the very com-
panion of Mr. Stokes-why, he dined with him
lastSunday! Edward Lynne! You jest, cousin!
and "- Rose Dillon paused suddenly, for
she was going to add, You ought not to jest
with me." She checked herself in time; stoop-
ed down to gather some flowers to hide her agi-.
tation ; felt her cheeks flush, her heart beat, her
head swim, and then a chill creep through her
frame. Helen had unconsciously awoke the
hope which Rose had never dared to confess
unto herself. The waking was ecstatic; but
she knew the depth of Edward's love for Helen.
She had been his confidant-she believed it was
a jest-how could her cousin do otherwise than
love Edward Lynne ? And with this belief, she
recovered the self-possession which the necessity
for subduing her feelings had taught her even at
that early age.
"And Rose," said Helen, in a quiet voice,
"did you really think I ever intended to marry
Edward Lynne 1"
6" Certainly, cousin. Why, you love him, do
you not t Besides, he is rich-very rich in com-
parison to you-very, very rich. And if he
were not-oh, Helen !-is he not in himself-


but I need not reason-you are in your usual
high spirits, and say what you do not mean."
"I do not, Rose, now, at all events. Last
evening, Edward was so earnest, so affectionate,
so very earnest, it is pleasant to have a true and
faithful lover; but I should not quite like to
break his heart-it would not be friendly, know-
ing him so long; for indeed," she added, gaily,
"though I don't like Edward Lynne well enough
to marry him, I like him too well to break his
heart in downright earnest."
There are women cold and coquettish by na-
ture. The disposition flourishes best in courtly
scenes, but it will grow anywhere, ay, and
flourish anywhere. It unfortunately requires
but little culture; still Helen was in her novi-
tiate. If she had not been so, she would not
have cared whether Edward broke his heart or
But Helen," stammered Rose, surely-
you-you have been very wrong."
"I know it-I know-there, don't you hear
me say I know it, and yet your lecturing face is
as long as ever. Surely," she continued pettish-
ly, I confess my crime; and even Mr. Stokes
says, when confessed it is amended."
"Helen !" exclaimed Rose suddenly; "He-
len !-if what you have now said is really true,
you have only told me half the truth. Helen
Marsh, you have seen some one you like better
than Edward Lynne."



No!" was Helen's prompt reply, for she
would not condescend to a falsehood-her own
pride was a sufficient barrier against that. No,
Rose, I have not seen any one 1 like better than
Edward. But, Rose"- She buried her
face in her hands, and as suddenly withdrew
them, and shaking back her luxuriant ringlets,
while a bright triumphant colour mounted to
her cheeks, added--" There is no reason why
I should be ashamed. I saw, last week, at
Mrs. Howard's, one whom I would rather
"I always thought," murmured Rose, weep-
ing in the fulness of her generous nature, as the
idea of Edward's future misery came upon her
-" I always thought no good would come of
your visiting a lady so much above us." It
would be impossible to describe the contemptu-
ous expression of Helen's finely moulded fea-
tures, while she repeated, as if to herself, "Above
us!-above me!" And then she added aloud,
and with what seemed to Rose a forced expres-
sion of joy, "But good will come of it, Rose-
good will surely come of it; never fear but it
will-it must. And when I am a great lady,
Rosey, who but you, sweet cousin, will be next
my heart "
I am satisfied to be near, even without being
next it, Helen," she replied mournfully; but
why have you kept this matter concealed from
me so long? Why have you"--


Found !" interrupted a well-known voice;
and at the same moment Edward Lynne shook
a shower of perfumed hawthorn blossoms from
the scattered hedge which he struggled through;
and repeating "Found!" in his full echoing
voice, stood panting before the startled girls.
"' I have had such a hunt!" he exclaimed joy-
fully-" such a hunt for you, Helen! I have
been over Woodland brook, and up as far as
Fairmill, where you said you would be-oh,
you truant! And I doubt if I should have
caught you at last, but for poor Dash"-and
the sagacious dog sprung about, as if conscious
that he deserved a large portion of the praise.
Rose was astonished at the perfect self-posses-
sion with which, after the first flush of surprise,
Helen received her lover. Nor was poor Rose
unconscious that she herself occupied no por-
tion of his attention beyond the glance of re-.
cognition which he cast while throwing himself
on the sward at Helen's feet.
We must go home," said the triumphant
beauty, after hearing a few of those half-whis-
pered nothings which are considered of such
importance in a lover's calendar; the dew is
falling, and I may catch cold."
"The dew falling!" repeated Edward.-
"Why, look, the sky is still golden from the
sun's rays; do not-do not, dearest Helen, go
home yet. Besides," he added, "your grand-
mother has plenty of employment; there is



Mrs. Howard's companion, and one or two
strangers from the hall, at your cottage-so she
is not at all lonesome."
"( Who did you say V' inquired Helen, eager-
ly, now really losing her self-command.
Oh, some of Mrs. Howard's fine friends. I
never," he continued, see those sort of people
in an humble village, without thinking of the
story of the agitation of all the little hedgerow
birds, when they first saw a paroquet amongst
them, and began longing for his gay feathers.
Do not go, dear Helen-they will soon be gone;
and I do so want you to walk as far as Fairmill
Lawn. I have planted with my own hands this
morning the silver firs you said you admired,
just where the bank juts over the stream. Do
Rose will go, and tell me all about it, but I
must get home. Granny cannot do without
me; besides, Mrs. Howard is so kind to me,
that I cannot suffer her friends to be neglected.
Nay, Edward, you may look as you please, but
I certainly shall go." Edward Lynne remon-
strated, implored, and, finally, flew into a pas-
sion. At any other time Helen's proud spirit
would have risen so as to meet this outburst of
temper with one to the full as violent; but the
knowledge of what had grown to maturity in
her own mind, and the presence of Rose, re-
strained her, and she continued to walk home
without reply.


And I shall go also," he said, bitterly, but
notwith you." Even at that moment Helen Marsh
exulted in her own mind to findhis words and his
steps at variance; he was still by her side. The
most perilous of all triumphs is the knowledge of
possessing power over the affections of our fel-
low-creatures; it is so especially intoxicating
to women as to be greatly dangerous, and those
who do not abuse such power deserve much
praise. Rose walked timidly behind them,
wondering how Helen cottid have imagined
any alliance in the world more brilliant-but
no, that was not the idea-any alliance in the
world so happy as that with Edward Lynne
must be. When they reached the commence-
ment of the village, Edward said, for the fifth
or sixth time, Then you wilgo, Helen V"
"Very well, Helen. Good evening."
Good evening, Edward," was the cool re-
ply. Not one word of adieu did he bestow on
Rose as he dashed into another path ; while his-
dog stood for a moment, uncertain as to whe-
ther his master would return or not, and then
rapidly followed.
"Oh, Helen! what have you done?" mur-
mured Rose. Helen replied by one of those low
murmuring laughs which sound like the very
melody of love; and the two girls, in a few
moments more, were in their own cottage,
where Rose saw that evening, for the first time,



the gentleman whom Helen had declared she
did not prefer to Edward, though she would
rather marry him.


I think I have said before that the most try-
ing and dangerous position a young woman
can occupy, is that where her station. is not de-
fined-where she considers herself above the
industrious classes by whom she is surrounded
-and where those with whom her tastes and
habits assimilate, consider her greatly beneath
them. Superficial observers (and the great
mass of human beings are nothing more) in-
variably look for happiness in the class one or
two degrees above their own. They would
consider themselves absurd if they at once set
their minds upon being dukes and princes; they
only want to be a little bit higher, only the
smallest bit, and never for a moment look to
what they call" beneath them for happiness.
This was particularly the'case with these young
girls. Their station was not defined, yet how
different their practice! One was ambitious
of the glittering tinsel of the world-the other,
refined but not ambitious, sought her happiness


in the proper exercise of the affections; neither
could have described her particular feelings,
but an accurate observer could not fail to do so
for them. That night neither girl had courage
to speak to the other on the occurrences of the
past day, and yet each thought of nothing else.
They knelt down, side by side, as they had done
from infancy, repeating the usual prayers as
they had been accustomed to do. Helen's
voice did not falter, but continued its unvaried
tone to the end: Rose (Helen thought) deliv-
ered the petition of lead us not into tempta-
tion" with deeper feeling than usual; and in-
stead of rising when Helen rose, and exchanging
with her the kiss of sisterly affection, Rose bu-
ried her face in her hands; while her cousin,
seated opposite the small glass which stood on
their little dressing-table, commenced curling
her hair, as if that day, which had completed a
revolution in her way of thinking, had been as
smooth as all the other days of her short calen-
dar. The candle was extinguished, and Helen
slept profoundly. The moon shone in brightly
through the latticed window, whose leaden
cross-bars chequered the sanded floor. Rose
looked earnestly upon the face of the sleeper,
and so bright it was, that she saw, or fancied
she saw, a smile of triumph curling on her lip.
She crept quietly out of bed, and leaned her
throbbing temples against the cool glass. How
deserted the long street of Abbeyweld appeared;


the shadows of the opposite trees and houses
lay prostrate across the road-the aspect of the
village street was lonely, very lonely and sad-
there was no hum from the school-no inquisi-
tive eyes peeped from the casements-no echo-
ing steps upon the neatly-gravelled footpath-
the old elm-tree showed like a mighty giant,
standing out against the clear calm sky-and
there was one star, only one, sparkling amid its
branches-a diamond of the heavens, shedding
its brightness on the earth. The stillness was
positively oppressive. Rose felt as if every time
she inhaled the air, she disturbed the death-like
quiet of the scene. A huge shadow passed along
the ledge of the opposite cottage; her nerves
wereeso unstrung that she started back as it ad-
vanced. It was only their own gentle cat,
whose quick eye recognized its mistress, and
without waiting for invitation, crawled quickly
from its eminence, and came rubbing itself
against the glass, and then moved stealthily
away, intent upon the destruction of some un-
suspicious creature, who, taught by nature, be-
lieves that with night comes safety.
Almost at the end of the street, the darkness
was as it were divided by a ray of light, that
neither flickered nor wavered. What a picture
it brought at once before her!-the pale, lame
grandchild of old Jenny Oram, watching by the
dying bed of the only creature that had ever
loved her--her poor deaf grandmother. And


the girl's great trouble was, that the old woman
could neither see to read the Word of God her-
self, nor hear her when she read it to her; but
the lame girl had no time to waste with grief,
so she plied her needle rapidly through the night-
watches, not daring to shed a tear upon the
work, or damp her needle with a sigh. Rose
was not as sorry for her as she would have been
at any other time, for individual sorrow has few
sympathies; but the more she thought of the
lonely lame girl, the less became her own trou-
ble, and she might have gone to bed with the
consciousness which, strange to say, brings con-
solation, that there was one very near more
wretched than herself, had she not seen the form
of Edward Lynne glide like a spectre from be-
neath the old elm-tree, and stand before the
window. Rose retreated, but still observed him;
the moon was shining on the window, so he
must have seen the form, without, perhaps, being
able to distinguish whose it was. Rose watch-
ed him until his silent death-like presence op-
pressed her heart and brain, and she closed her
eyes to shut out what had become too painful
to look upon. When she looked again, all was
sleeping in the moonlight as before; but he was
one. At the same moment Helen turned rest-
essly on her pillow, and sobbed and muttered
o herself. Rose felt that pillow wet with tears.
"Helen!" she exclaimed; Helen, dear
elen! awake! Awake, Helen!" Her cousin,


at length aroused, flung her arms around her
neck; and the proud lip which she had left
curled with the consciousness of beauty and
power, quivered and paled, while she sank
awake and weeping on Rose's bosom.


Never had the bells of Abbeyweld, within the
memory of living man-within the memory of
old Mrs. Myles herself, and she was the oldest
living woman in the parish-rung so merry a
peal as on the morning that Helen Marsh was
married to the handsome and Honourable Mr.
Ivers. He was young as well as handsome-
honourable both by name and nature-rich in
possession and expectancy. On his part it was
purely and entirely what is called a love
match"-one of the strangest of all strange
things perpetrated by a young man of rank and
fashion. His wealth and position in society en-
abled him to select for himself; and he did so,
of course, to the disappointment of as many,
or perhaps a greater number of mothers than
daughters, inasmuch as it is the former whose
speculations are the deepest laid and most dian-
gerous in arts matrimonial.


Every body was astonished. Mrs. Howard
-Helen's kind friend"-Mrs. Howard, little
short of distracted for three weeks at the very
least, did nothing but exclaim, "Who would
have thought it!" Who, indeed was the
reply, in various tones of sympathy, envy, and
surprise. Poor Mrs. Howard, to the day of
her death, never suffered another portionless
beauty to enter her doors while even the shadow
of an eldest son rested on its threshold. Mrs.
Myles was of course in an ecstacy of delight;
her prophecy was fulfilled. Helen, her Helen,
was the honourable wife of a doubly honoura-
ble man. What triumphant glances did she
cast over the railings of the communion-table
at Mr. Stokes-with what an air she marched
down the aisle-how patronising and conde-
scending was her manner to those neighbours
whom she considered her inferiors-how bitter-
ly did she lament that the Honourable Mr.
Ivers would inot have any one to breakfast with
them but Mr. Stokes-and how surpassingly_-
though silently, angry was she with Mr. Stokes
for not glorying with her when the bride and
bridegroom drove off in their own carriage,"
leaving her in a state of prideful excitement,
and Rose Dillon in a flood of tears.
Well, sir !" exclaimed the old lady--" well,
sir, you see it has turned out exactly as I said
it would; there's station-there's happiness.
Why, sir, if his brother dies without children,


his own valet told me, Mr. Ivers would be a
lord and Helen a lady. Didn't she look beau-
tiful! Now, please, reverend sir, do speak,
didn't she look beautiful I"
"She did."
Ah! it's a great gift that beauty; though,"
she added, resorting to the strain of morality
which persons of her character are apt to con-
sider a salvo for sin-" though it's all vanity, all
vanity. Flesh is grass'-a beautiful text that
was your reverence preached from last Sunday
-' All flesh is grass.' Ah, well-a-day! so it
is. We ought not to be puffed up or conceited
-no, no. As I said to Mrs. Leicester, 'Don't
be puffed up, my good woman, because your
niece has what folk call a pretty face, nor don't
expect that she's to make a good market of it-
it's but skin deep; remember our good rector's
sermon, 'All flesh is grass." Ah, deary me!
people do need such putting in mind; and, if
you believe me, sir, unless indeed it be Rose,
poor child, who never had a bit of love in her
head yet, I'll be bound every girl is looking
above her station-there's a pity, sir. All are
not born with a coach and horses; no, no;"
and so, stimulated a little, perhaps, by a glass
of real, not gooseberry, champagne, poor Mrs.
Myles would have galloped on with a strange
commentary upon her own conduct (of the mo-
tives to which she was perfectly ignorant,) had


not the rector suddenly exclaimed, "1 Where is
Rose 1"
Crying in her own room, 1'll be bound;
I'm sure she is. Why, Rose-and I really
must get your reverence to speak to her, she is
a sad girl-Rose Dillon, I say-so silent and
homely-like-ah, dear! Why, grandaughter-
now, is it not undutiful of her, good sir, when
she knows how much I have suffered parting
from my Helen. Rose Dillon!"
But Rose Dillon was not weeping in her
room, nor did she hear her grandmother's voice
when the carriage, that bore the bride to a new
world, drove off. Rose ran down the garden,
intending to keep the equipage in sight as long
as it could be distinguished from an eminence
that was called the Moat, and which command-
ed an extensive view of the high road. There
was a good deal of brushwood creeping up the
elevation, and at one side it was overshadowed
by several tall trees; in itself it was a sweet,
sequestered spot, a silent watching place. ShP
could hardly hear the carriage wheels, though
she saw it whirled along, just as it passed within
sight of the tall trees. Helen's arm, with its
glittering bracelet, waved an adieu; this little
act of remembrance touched Rose, and, falling
on her knees, she sobbed forth a prayer, earit
and heartfelt, for her cousin's happiness.
God bless you, Rose !" exclaimed the trem.
bling voice of the discarded lover, who, pale and


wo-worn, had been unintentionally concealed
among the trees-" God bless you, Rose !-that
prayer has done me good. Amen to every word
of it! She is quite, quite gone now-another's
bride-the wife of a gentleman-and so best;
the ambition which fits her for her present sta-
tion unfitted her to be my wife. I say this, and
think this-I know it! But though I do know
it, her face-that face I loved from infancy, un-
til it became a sin for me to love it longer-that
face comes between me and reason, and its
brightness destroys all that reason taught."
Rose could not trust herself to reply. She
longed to speak to him, but she could not; she
dared not. He continued-" Did she leave no
message, speak no word, say nothing, to be
said to me ?"
"She said," replied her cousin, that she
hoped you would be happy; that you deserved
to be so "
"Deserved to be so !" he repeated bitterly;
tand that was the reason why she made me
Miserable. Oh! the folly, the madness of the
nan who trusts to woman's love-to woman's
faith! But the spell once broken, the charm
once dispelled, that is enough!" And yet it
was not enough, for Edward talked on, and
rre than once was interrupted by Rose, who,
never she could vindicate her cousin, did so
bravely and generously-not in a half-consent-
ing, frigid manner, but as a true woman does


when she defends a woman, as, if she be either
good or wise, she will always do.
Rose did not know enough of human nature
to understand that the more Edward complain-
ed of Helen's conduct and desertion, the less he
really felt it; and the generous portion of his
own nature sympathised with the very generos-
ity which he argued against. He had found
one, who while she listened sweetly and patient-
ly to his complaints, vindicated, precisely as he
would have desired, the idol of his heart's first
love. What we love appears so entirely our
own, that we question the right of others to
blame it, whatever we may do ourselves. If he
had known the deep, the treasured secret that
poor Rose concealed within the sanctuary of her
bosom, he would have wondered at the unosten-
tatious generosity of her pure and simple nature.
It is evident," said Rose Dillon to herself,
when she bade Edward adieu; it is quite evi-
dent he never will or can love another. Such
affection is everlasting." How blind she was I
"Poor fellow he will either die in the flower
of his age of a broken heart, or drag on a mis-
erable existence! And if he does," questioned
the maiden, and if he does, what is that to
me ?" She did not, for a moment or two, trust
herself to frame an answer, though the tell-
tale blood, first mounting to and then reeedige
from her cheek, replied ; but then she began to
calculate how long she had known Edward,


and thought how very natural it was she should
feel interested, deeply interested, in him. He
had no sister; why should she not be to him a
sister? Ah, Rose, Rose! that sisterly reason-
ing is of all others the most perilous.
Time passed on. The bride wrote a letter,
which, in its tone and character, sounded pretty
much like a long trumpet-note of exultation.
Mrs. Myles declared it to be a dear letter, a
charming letter, a most lady-like letter, and yet
evidently she was not satisfied therewith. She
read scraps of it to all the neighbours, and
vaunted Mrs. Ivers, the Honourable Mrs. Ivers,
up to the skies. Like all persons whose dig-
nity and station are not the result of inheritance,
in the next epistle she was even more anxious
to impress her humble relatives with an idea of
her consequence. Mingled with a few epithets
of love, were a great many eulogiums on her
new station. She was too honest to regret, even
in seeming, the rural delights of the country,
(for Helen could not stoop to deceit,) but she
gave a list of titled visitors, and said she would
write more at length, were it not that every
spare moment was spent in qualifying herself
to fill her station so as to do credit to her hus-
band." This old Mrs. Myles could not under-
stand; she considered Helen fit to be a queen,
and said so.



For more than two months, Rose and Ed-
ward did not meet again; for more than four
after that, he never entered the cottage which
had contained what he held most dear on earth;
but one evening he called with Mr. Stokes. The
good rector might have had his own reasons for
bringing the young man to the cottage; but if
he had he kept them to himself, the best way of
rendering them effective.
After that, Edward often came, sometimes
with a book from the rectory, sometimes with a
newspaper for Mrs. Myles, sometimes to know
if he could do anything for the old lady in the
next town,'where he was going, sometimes for
one thing, sometimes for another, but always
with some excuse, which Rose was happy to
accept as the true one-; satisfied that she could
see him, hear him, know that he was there.
It so chanced that, calling one evening (even-
ing calls are suspicious where young people are
concerned,) Edward was told that Mrs. Myles
had gone over to Lothery, the next post town,
and that Miss Rose was out. The servant
(ever since Helen's marriage, Mrs. Myles had
thought it due to her dignity to employ such a
person) sail this with an air of mystery, and
Edward inquired which way Miss Rose had
walked. Indeed, she did not know.



Edward therefore trusted to chance, and he
had not gone very far down a lane leading to
the common of Abbeyweld, when he saw her
seated .under a tree (where heroines are surely
found at some period or other of their life's
eventful history) reading a letter. Of course he
interrupted her, and then apologised.
The letter," said Rose, frankly, is from
poor Helen."
Why do you call her poor V" he inquired.
Because she is very ill; and I am going to
her to-morrow morning."
"Ill !-to-morrow!-so suddenly-so soon!"
stammered Edward.
Rose turned homewards with an air of cold
constraint. She could not attribute Edward's
agitation to any other cause than his anxiety on
Helen's account, and the conviction gave her
intense pain.
Stay, Rose," he said. Rose walked steadi-
ly forward. There is," he continued bitterly,
" a curse, a spell upon this place. Do you not
remember that it was here-here, within five
yards of where we stand-that she first .
But where's the use of thinking of that, or any
thing else," he exclaimed with a sudden burst
of passion, "where a woman is concerned?
They are all, zll alike, and I am double fool!
But go, Rose, go-enjoy her splendour, and lie
in wait, as she did, for some rich idiot!"
It was now Rose's turn to interrupt. Turn-


ing upon Edward, with an expression of deeply
insulted feeling, Sir," she said; and before
she proceeded the cold monosyllable had enter-
ed his heart; Sir, my cousin Helen did not lie
in wait a woman's beauty may be called a
snare, if you please, but it is not one of her own
making; she was sought and won, and not by
an idiot; and it is ungenerous in you to speak
thus now, when time, and her being another's
wife "
Poor Rose had entered on perilous ground,
and she felt it, and the feeling prevented her pro-
ceeding. She trembled violently; and if Ed-
ward could have seen her blanched cheek and
quivering lip, he would have checked his im-
petuosity, and bitterly reproached himself for
the rash words he had uttered. If he could
but have known how devoutly 'the poor fond
beating heart loved him at that moment, he
would, rustic though he was, have fallen at her
feet, and entreated her forgiveness. Doubtless
it was better as it was, for if men could see into
women's hearts, I very much fear their reliance
on their own power would increase, and that
would be neither pleasant nor profitable to them-
selves or others; the very existence of love often
depends on its uncertainty. Some evil star at
that moment shed its influence over them, for
Edward Lynne, catching at Rose's words, an-
You need not, I assure you, entertain your


cousin with an account of how I grieve; and
remember, believe me, I take good care to pre-
vent any woman's caprice from having power
over me a second time."
You do quite right," replied Rose-" quite
right." They walked on together until they
arrived within sight of the cottage door, but nei-
ther spoke.
I have a great deal to do-much to prepare.
I must wish you good-night. Good-bye, and a
kinder- temper." She faltered.
Going," said Edward-" going away in
such haste; and to -part thus. There must be
some mistake. I have watched you narrowly,
suspiciously, as men do who have been once
deceived; and I have seen no trace of un-
womanly ambition in you; I little thought
you would, on the slightest hint, so willingly
embrace the first opportunity of entering into
the sphere I thought you dreaded-as I do."
I told you Helen was ill."
A megrim-a whim-a"
You do her wrong; she has been a mother,
and her child is dead."
A blow to her ambition," said Edward, so
coldly that Rose (such is human nature) braath-
ed more freely. Was it possible, then-could
it be possible-that his feelings had been excit-
ed not by the remembrance of Helen, but the
thought of her own departure ? Yet still her
simple sense of justice urged her to say, Again


you do her wrong; Helen has a great deal of
For herself," he answered tersely, "I dare
say she has."
I did not think you could be so unjust and
ungenerous," replied Rose; "but you are out
of sorts to-night, and will be sorry before morn-
ing. You were always hasty, Edward. Good-
"Good-bye, then, Rose-good-bye;" and
without taking her hand, without one kind
word, one sign of love, Edward Lynne rushed
through the garden gate and disappeared.
Rose entered the little parlour, which of late
had been well cared for. The old sofa, though
as stiff and hard as ever, triumphed in green
and yellow; and two cushions, with large yel-
low tassels, graced the ends, and a huge square
ottoman, which every country visiter invariably
tumbled over, stood exactly in front of the old
seat. Upon this Rose flung herself, and, cov-
ering her face with her hands, bent down her
head upon the stately seat. Her sobs were-not
loud but deep; and as she was dealing with
feelings, and not with time, she had no idea
how long she had remained in that state, until
aroused by a voice, whose- every tone sent the
blood throbbing and tingling through her veins.
Rose-dear Rose!"
Blushing-trembling-ashamed of an emo-
tion she had not the power to control-Rose


could not move, did not at all events, until Ed-
ward was on his knees beside her-until he had
poured forth his affection-had assured her how
completely she had possessed herself of his re-
spect and admiration; that his feelings towards
her not being of that passionate nature which
distracted him with love for Helen, he had not
truly felt her value until the idea of losing her
for ever came upon him; that then he indeed
felt as though all hope of happiness was to be
taken away for ever-felt that he should lose a
friend, one on whose principles and truth he
could rely-felt that in her his all was concen-
trated. It is only those who, having loved long
and hopelessly for years, find that love return-
ed, and at' the very moment when they were
completely bowed down by the weight of disap-
pointment, can understand what Rose experi-
enced. She did not violate any of the laws of
maiden modesty, because she was pure in heart
and single of purpose; but she was too truth-
ful to withhold the confession of her love, and
too sincere to conceal her happiness.
I will give you a promise; but receive none,"
said the generous lover. I should be indeed
miserable if I, for a moment, fancied you were
controlled only by a promise. I rely upon you
solely and entirely; no matter with what temp-
tations you may be surrounded. If Helen is so
much admired, you must be admired also; but
I do not fear you will forget me; for now my


only astonishment is how I could have prefer.
red the spirit and power of the one to the ten-
der and womanly grace of the other." In the
midst of these effusions, sb dear to lovers' hearts,
Mrs. Myles entered. Many and many a time
had she prayed that Edward Lynne might trans-
fer his affections to Rose Dillon; it would be
auch a capital match for her, poor thing." She
would repeat to herself, Yes, quite the thing
for her, though, of course, for Helen I could not
hear of it-yet quite the thing of all others for
her." This frame of mind continued until the
invitation arrived, and it was determined that
Rose'should visit her cousin. It is," argued
the good woman in her own way, "it is only
to nurse her strong and well again, I dare say;
but yet, who knows, she may see some one, or
some one may see her I She certainly is a very
pretty, modest-looking girl; and I have heard
say that modest-looking girls are sometimes
greatly admired among the grandees in fashion-
able places, because of their rarity. I shall cer-
tainly show the cold shoulder to Edward Lynne
the next time he comes, and give him a hint as
to the expectations I have for Rose. I must
not suffer the poor child to throw herself away
-oh no!-oh no! Edward Lynne is a very
nice young man certainly; and if Rose had not
been going to London"--- She opened the
parlour door as she so reasoned; and the pecu-
liar expression which passed over the counte-

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