Deerbrook, by Harriet Martineau. 

________________________________________________________________________Harriet Martineau was the daughter of a Norwich textile manufacturer ofHuguenot descent--hence the name and trade. In 1829 the bank in whichshe, her mother and her sisters, had placed their money, failed and shewas forced to earn a living through writing, at which she was verytalented, particularly on political issues, such as the poverty facing afamily on the death of the wage-earner. In 1839, after her travels inAmerica, she wrote two long novels, of which Deerbrook was one, and abook about Toussaint L'Ouverture the other. 

This book, therefore gives great insight into the lives of upper middleclass families of the mid nineteenth century. No one in families thesedays talks to the rest of the family in the polite, perhaps over-polite, terms used in this book. For this reason, though it was not meant to betaken as such, this book is a true social document. 

________________________________________________________________________DEERBROOK, BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

AN EVENT. 

Every town-bred person who travels in a rich country region, knows whatit is to see a neat white house planted in a pretty situation, --in ashrubbery, or commanding a sunny common, or nestling between twohills, --and to say to himself, as the carriage sweeps past its gate, "Ishould like to live there, "--"I could be very happy in that prettyplace. " Transient visions pass before his mind's eye of dewy summermornings, when the shadows are long on the grass, and of bright autumnafternoons, when it would be luxury to saunter in the neighbouringlanes; and of frosty winter days, when the sun shines in over thelaurustinus at the window, while the fire burns with a different lightfrom that which it gives in the dull parlours of a city. 

Mr Grey's house had probably been the object of this kind ofspeculation to one or more persons, three times a week, ever since thestage-coach had begun to pass through Deerbrook. Deerbrook was a ratherpretty village, dignified as it was with the woods of a fine park, whichformed the background to its best points of view. Of this prettyvillage, Mr Grey's was the prettiest house, standing in a field, roundwhich the road swept. There were trees enough about it to shade withoutdarkening it, and the garden and shrubbery behind were evidently of nocontemptible extent. The timber and coal yards, and granaries, whichstretched down to the river side, were hidden by a nice management ofthe garden walls, and training of the shrubbery. 

In the drawing-room of this tempting white house sat Mrs Grey and hereldest daughter, one spring evening. It was rather an unusual thing forthem to be in the drawing-room. Sophia read history and practised hermusic every morning in the little blue parlour which looked towards theroad; and her mother sat in the dining-room, which had the same aspect. The advantage of these rooms was, that they commanded the house of MrRowland, Mr Grey's partner in the corn, coal, and timber business, andalso the dwelling of Mrs Enderby, Mrs Rowland's mother, who lived justopposite the Rowlands. The drawing-room looked merely into the garden. The only houses seen from it were the greenhouse and the summerhouse;the latter of which now served the purpose of a schoolroom for thechildren of both families, and stood on the boundary-line of the gardensof the two gentlemen of the firm. The drawing-room was so dull, that itwas kept for company; that is, it was used about three times a-year, when the pictures were unveiled, the green baize removed, and theground-windows, which opened upon the lawn, thrown wide, to afford tothe rare guests of the family a welcome from birds and flowers. 

The ground-windows were open now, and on one side sat Mrs Grey, workinga rug, and on the other Sophia, working a collar. The ladies wereevidently in a state of expectation--a state exceedingly trying topeople who, living at ease in the country, have rarely anything toexpect beyond the days of the week, the newspaper, and their dinners. Mrs Grey gave her needle a rest every few minutes, to listen! and rangthe bell three times in a quarter of an hour, to make inquiries of hermaid about the arrangements of the best bedroom. Sophia could notattend to her work, and presently gave information that Fanny and Marywere in the orchard. She was desired to call them, and presently Fannyand Mary appeared at the window, --twins of ten years old, and verypretty little girls. 

"My dears, " said Mrs Grey, "has Miss Young done with you for to-day?"

"Oh yes, mamma. It is just six o'clock. We have been out of schoolthis hour almost. "

"Then come in, and make yourselves neat, and sit down with us. I shouldnot wonder if the Miss Ibbotsons should be here now before you areready. But where is Sydney?"

"Oh, he is making a pond in his garden there. He dug it before schoolthis morning, and he is filling it now. "

"Yes, " said the other; "and I don't know when he will have done, for asfast as he fills it, it empties again, and he says he cannot think howpeople keep their ponds filled. "

"He must have done now, however, " said his mother. "I suppose he istearing his clothes to pieces with drawing the water-barrel, and wettinghimself to the skin besides. "

"And spoiling his garden, " said Fanny. "He has dug up all his hepaticasand two rose-bushes to make his pond. "

"Go to him, my dears, and tell him to come in directly, and dresshimself for tea. Tell him I insist upon it. Do not run. Walk quietly. You will heat yourselves, and I do not like Mrs Rowland to see yourunning. "

Mary informed her brother that he was to leave his pond and come in, andFanny added that mamma insisted upon it. They had time to do this, towalk quietly, to have their hair made quite smooth, and to sit down withtheir two dolls on each side the common cradle, in a corner of thedrawing-room, before the Miss Ibbotsons arrived. 

The Miss Ibbotsons were daughters of a distant relation of Mr Grey's. Their mother had been dead many years; they had now just lost theirfather, and were left without any nearer relation than Mr Grey. He hadinvited them to visit his family while their father's affairs were incourse of arrangement, and till it could be discovered what their meansof living were likely to be. They had passed their lives in Birmingham, and had every inclination to return to it, when their visit to theirDeerbrook relations should have been paid. Their old schoolfellows andfriends all lived there: and they thought it would be easier andpleasanter to make the smallest income supply their wants in theirnative town, than to remove to any place where it might go further. They had taken leave of their friends as for a very short time, and whenthey entered Deerbrook, looked around them as upon a place in which theywere to pass a summer. 

All Deerbrook had been informed of their expected arrival--as it alwayswas of everything which concerned the Greys. The little Rowlands werewalking with their mother when the chaise came up the street; but beingparticularly desired not to look at it, they were not much benefited bythe event. Their grandmamma, Mrs Enderby, was not at the moment underthe same restriction; and her high cap might be seen above the greenblind of her parlour as the chaise turned into Mr Grey's gate. Thestationer, the parish clerk, and the milliner and her assistant, hadobtained a passing view of sundry boxes, the face of an elderly woman, and the outline of two black bonnets, --all that they could boast of torepay them for the vigilance of a whole afternoon. 

Sophia Grey might be pardoned for some anxiety about the reception ofthe young ladies. She was four years younger than the younger of them;and Hester, the elder, was one-and-twenty, --a venerable age to a girl ofsixteen. Sophia began to think she had never been really afraid ofanything before, though she remembered having cried bitterly when firstleft alone with her governess; and though she had always been remarkablefor clinging to her mother's side on all social occasions, in theapproaching trial her mother could give her little assistance. Thesecousins would be always with her. How she should read history, orpractise music with them in the room, she could not imagine, nor whatshe should find to say to them all day long. If poor Elizabeth had butlived, what a comfort she would have been now; the elder one would havetaken all the responsibility! And she heaved a sigh once more, as shethought, to the memory of poor Elizabeth. 

Mr Grey was at a market some miles off; and Sydney was sent by hismother into the hall, to assist in the work of alighting, and causingthe luggage to alight. As any other boy of thirteen would have done, heslunk behind the hall door, without venturing to speak to the strangers, and left the business to the guests and the maids. Mrs Grey and Sophiaawaited them in the drawing-room, and were ready with information abouthow uneasy they had all been about the rain in the morning, till theyremembered that it would lay the dust, and so make the journeypleasanter. The twins shouldered their dolls, and looked on from theirstools, while Sydney stole in, and for want of some better way ofcovering his awkwardness, began rocking the cradle with his foot, tillhe tilted it over. 

Sophia found the first half-hour not at all difficult to surmount. Sheand Margaret Ibbotson informed each other of the precise number of milesbetween Deerbrook and Birmingham. She ascertained fully to hersatisfaction that her guests had dined. She assisted them in theobservation that the grass of the lawn looked very green after thestreets of Birmingham; and she had to tell them that her father wasobliged to attend the market some miles off, and would not be home foran hour or two. Then the time came when bonnets were to be taken off, and she could offer to show the way to the spare-room. There she tookHester and Margaret to the window, and explained to them what they sawthence; and, as it was necessary to talk, she poured out what was mostfamiliar to her mind, experiencing a sudden relief from all the unwontedshyness which had tormented her. 

"That is Mr Rowland's house--papa's partner, you know. Isn't it anugly place, with that ridiculous porch to it? But Mrs Rowland cannever be satisfied without altering her house once a year. She has madeMr Rowland spend more money upon that place than would have built a newone of twice the size. --That house opposite is Mrs Enderby's, MrsRowland's mother's. So near as she lives to the Rowlands, it isshocking how they neglect her. There could be no difficulty in beingproperly attentive to her, so near as she is, could there? But when sheis ill we are obliged to go and see her sometimes, when it is veryinconvenient, because Mrs Rowland has never been near her all day. Isnot it shocking?"

"I rather wonder she should complain of her family, " observed Margaret. 

"Oh, she is not remarkable for keeping her feelings to herself, poorsoul! But really it is wonderful how little she says about it, exceptwhen her heart is quite full, --just to us. She tries to excuse MrsRowland all she can; and she makes out that Mrs Rowland is such anexcellent mother, and so busy with her children, and all that. But youknow that is no excuse for not taking care of her own mother. "

"Those are the Verdon woods, are they not?" said Hester, leaning out ofthe window to survey the whole of the sunny prospect. "I suppose youspend half your days in those woods in summer. "

"No; mamma goes out very little, and I seldom walk beyond the garden. But now you are come, we shall go everywhere. Ours is considered a verypretty village. "

The sisters thought it so beautiful, that they gazed as if they fearedit would melt away if they withdrew their eyes. The one discovered thebridge, lying in shadow; the other the pointed roof of the buildingwhich surmounted the spring in the park woods. Sophia was well pleasedat their pleasure; and their questions, and her descriptions, went onimproving in rapidity, till a knock at the door of the room cut shortthe catechism. It was Morris, the Miss Ibbotsons' maid; and herappearance gave Sophia a hint to leave her guests to refresh themselves. She glanced over the room, to see that nothing was wanting; pointed outthe bell, intimated that the washstands were mahogany, which showedevery splash, and explained that the green blinds were meant to bealways down when the sun shone in, lest it should fade the carpet. Shethen withdrew, telling the young ladies that they would find tea readywhen they came down. 

"How very handsome Hester is!" was the exclamation of both mother anddaughter, when Sophia had shut the drawing-room door behind her. 

"I wonder, " said Mrs Grey, "that nobody ever told us how handsome weshould find Hester. I should like to see what fault Mrs Rowland canfind in her face. "

"It is rather odd that one sister should have all the beauty, " saidSophia. "I do not see anything striking in Margaret. "

"Mrs Rowland will say she is plain; but, in my opinion, Margaret isbetter looking than any of the Rowlands are ever likely to be. Margaretwould not be thought plain away from her sister. --I hope they are notfine ladies. I am rather surprised at their bringing a maid. She looksa very respectable person; but I did not suppose they would keep a maidtill they knew better what to look forward to. I do not know what MrGrey will think of it. "

When Hester and Margaret came down, Mrs Grey was ready with an accountof the society of the place. 

"We are as well off for society, " said she, "as most places of the size. If you were to ask the bookseller at Blickley, who supplies our club, he would tell you that we are rather intellectual people: and I hope youwill see, when our friends have called on you, that though we seem to beliving out of the world, we are not without our pleasures. I think, Sophia, the Levitts will certainly call. "

"Oh, yes, mamma, to-morrow, I have no doubt. "

"Dr Levitt is our rector, " observed Mrs Grey to her guests. "We aredissenters, as you know, and our neighbour, Mrs Rowland, is very muchscandalised at it. If Mr Rowland would have allowed it, she would havemade a difficulty on that ground about having her children educated withmine. But the Levitts' conduct might teach her better. They make nodifference on account of our being dissenters. They always call on ourfriends the first day after they arrive, --or the second, at furthest. Ihave no doubt we shall see the Levitts to-morrow. "

"And Mrs Enderby, I am sure, " said Sophia, "if she is at all able tostir out. "

"Oh, yes, Mrs Enderby knows what is right, if her daughter does not. If she does not call to-morrow, I shall think that Mrs Rowlandprevented her. She can keep her mother within doors, as we know, whenit suits her purposes. "

"But Mr Philip is here, mamma, and Mrs Enderby can do as she likeswhen she has her son with her. --I assure you he is here, mamma. I sawthe cobbler's boy carry home a pair of boots there this morning. "

Sydney had better evidence still to produce. Mr Enderby had beentalking with him about fishing this afternoon. He said he had come downfor a fortnight's fishing. Fanny also declared that Matilda Rowland hadtold Miss Young to-day, that uncle Philip was coming to see the newschoolroom. Mrs Grey was always glad, on poor Mrs Enderby's account, when she had her son with her: but otherwise she owned she did not carefor his coming. He was too like his sister to please her. 

"He is very high, to be sure, " observed Sophia. 

"And really there is no occasion for that with us, " resumed Mrs Grey. "We should never think of mixing him up with his sister's proceedings, if he did not do it himself. No one would suppose him answerable forher rudeness; at least, I am sure such a thing would never enter myhead. But he forces it upon one's mind by carrying himself so high. "

"I don't think he can help being so tall, " observed Sydney. 

"But he buttons up, and makes the most of it, " replied Sophia. "Hestalks in like a Polish count. "

The sisters could not help smiling at this proof that the incursions ofthe Poles into this place were confined to the book club. They happenedto be well acquainted with a Polish count, who was short of stature anddid not stalk. They were spared all necessity of exerting themselves inconversation, for it went on very well without the aid of more than aword or two from them. 

"Do you think, mamma, the Andersons will come?" asked Sophia. 

"Not before Sunday, my dear. The Andersons live three miles off, " sheexplained, "and are much confined by their school. They may possiblycall on Saturday afternoon, as Saturday is a half-holiday; but Sundayafter church is a more likely time. --We do not much approve of Sundayvisits; and I dare say you feel the same: but this is a particularcase, --people living three miles off, you know, and keeping a school. And being dissenters, we do not like to appear illiberal to those whoare not of our own way of thinking: so the Andersons sometimes come inafter church; and I am sure you will accept their call just as if it wasmade in any other way. "

Hester and Margaret could only say that they should be happy to see Mrand Mrs Anderson in any mode which was most convenient to themselves. A laugh went through the family, and a general exclamation of "Mr andMrs Anderson!" "The Andersons" happened to be two maiden sisters, whokept a young ladies' school. It was some time before Mrs Grey herselfcould so far command her countenance as to frown with becoming severityat Fanny, who continued to giggle for some time, with intervals ofconvulsive stillness, at the idea that "the Andersons" could mean Mrand Mrs Anderson. In the midst of the struggle, Mr Grey entered. Helaid a hand on the head of each twin, observed that they seemed verymerry, and asked whether his cousins had been kind enough to make themlaugh already. To these cousins he offered a brief and hearty welcome, remarking that he supposed they had been told what had prevented hisbeing on the spot on their arrival, and that he need not trouble themwith the story over again. 

Sydney had slipped out as his father entered, for the chance of ridinghis horse to the stable, --a ride of any length being in his opinionbetter than none. When he returned in a few minutes, he tried towhisper to Sophia, over the back of her chair, but could not forlaughing. After repeated attempts, Sophia pushed him away. 

"Come, my boy, out with it!" said his father. "What you can tell yoursister you can tell us. What is the joke?"

Sydney looked as if he had rather not explain before the strangers; buthe never dared to trifle with his father. He had just heard from littleGeorge Rowland, that Mrs Rowland had said at home, that the youngladies at Mr Grey's, who had been made so much fuss about, were not_young_ ladies, after all: she had seen the face of one, as they passedher in the chaise, and she was sure the person could not be less thanfifty. 

"She saw Morris, no doubt, " said Hester, amidst the general laugh. 

"I hope she will come to-morrow, and see some people who are very littlelike fifty, " said Mrs Grey. "She will be surprised, I think, " sheadded, looking at Hester, with a very meaning manner of admiration. "Ireally hope, for her own sake, she will come, though you need not mindif she does not. You will have no great loss. Mr Grey, I suppose youthink she will call?"

"No doubt, my dear. Mrs Rowland never omits calling on our friends;and why should she now?" And Mr Grey applied himself to conversationwith his cousins, while the rest of the family enjoyed further merrimentabout Mrs Rowland having mistaken Morris for one of the Miss Ibbotsons. 

Mr Grey showed a sympathy with the sisters, which made them more athome than they had felt since they entered the house. He knew some oftheir Birmingham friends, and could speak of the institutions andinterests of the town. For a whole hour he engaged them in briskconversation, without having once alluded to their private affairs orhis own, or said one word about Deerbrook society. At the end of thattime, just as Mary and Fanny had received orders to go to bed, and wereputting their dolls into the cradle in preparation, the scrambling of ahorse's feet was heard on the gravel before the front door, and thehouse-bell rang. 

"Who can be coming at this time of night?" said Mrs Grey. 

"It is Hope, I have no doubt, " replied her husband. "As I passed hisdoor, I asked him to go out to old Mr Smithson, who seems to me to berather worse than better, and to let me know whether anything can bedone for the old gentleman. Hope has come to report of him, no doubt. "

"Oh, mamma, don't send us to bed if it is Mr Hope!" cried the littlegirls. "Let us sit up a little longer if it is Mr Hope. "

"Mr Hope is a great favourite with the children, --with us all, "observed Mrs Grey to the sisters. "We have the greatest confidence inhim as our medical man; as indeed every one has who employs him. MrGrey brought him here, and we consider him the greatest acquisition oursociety ever had. "

The sisters could not be surprised, at this when they saw Mr Hope. Theonly wonder was, that, in the description of the intellectual society ofDeerbrook, Mr Hope had not been mentioned first. He was not handsome;but there was a gaiety of countenance and manner in him, under which thevery lamp seemed to burn brighter. He came, as Mr Grey had explained, on business; and, not having been aware of the arrival of the strangers, would have retreated when his errand was done; but, as opposition wasmade to this by both parents and children he sat down for a quarter ofan hour, to be taken into consultation about how the Miss Ibbotsons wereto be conducted through the process of seeing the sights of Deerbrook. 

With all sincerity, the sisters declared that the woods of the parkwould fully satisfy them, --that they had been accustomed to a life soquiet, that excursions were not at all necessary to their enjoyment. Mr Grey was determined that they should visit every place worth seeingin the neighbourhood, while it was in its summer beauty. Mr Hope wasexactly the right person to consult, as there was no nook, no hamlet, towhich his tastes or his profession had not led him. Sophia put paperbefore him, on which he was to note distances, according to his and MrGrey's computations. Now, it was one peculiarity of Mr Hope that hecould never see a piece of paper before him without drawing upon it. Sophia's music-books, and any sheet of blotting-paper which might everhave come in his way, bore tokens of this: and now his fingers were asbusy as usual while he was talking and computing and arranging. When, as he said, enough had been planned to occupy a month, he threw down hispencil, and took leave till the morning, when he intended to make a callwhich should be less involuntary. 

The moment he was gone, the little girls laid hands on the sheet ofpaper, on which he had been employed. As they expected, it was coveredwith scraps of sketches; and they exclaimed with delight, "Look here!Here is the spring. How fond Mr Hope is of drawing the spring! Andhere is the foot-bridge at Dingleford! And what is this? Here is aplace we don't know, papa. "

"I do not know how you should, my dears. It is the Abbey ruin down theriver, which I rather think you have never seen. "

"No, but we should like to see it. Are there no faces this time, Fanny?None anywhere? No funny faces this time! I like them the best of MrHope's drawings. Sophia, do let us show some of the faces that are onyour music-books. "

"If you will be sure and put them away again. But you know if Mr Hopeis ever reminded of them, he will be sure to rub them out. "

"He did old Owen fishing so that he can't rub it out if he would, " saidSydney. "He did it in ink for me; and that is better than any of yoursketches, that will rub out in a minute. "

"Come, children, " said their father, "it is an hour past your bedtime. "

When the children were gone, and Sophia was attending the sisters totheir apartment, Mrs Grey looked at her husband over her spectacles. "Well, my dear!" said she. 

"Well, my dear!" responded Mr Grey. 

"Do not you think Hester very handsome?"

"There is no doubt of it, my dear. She is very handsome. "

"Do not you think Mr Hope thinks so too?"

It is a fact which few but the despisers of their race like toacknowledge, and which those despisers of their race are therefore aptto interpret wrongly, and are enabled to make too much of--that it isperfectly natural, --so natural as to appear necessary, --that when youngpeople first meet, the possibility of their falling in love should occurto all the minds present. We have no doubt that it always is so; thoughwe are perfectly aware that the idea speedily goes out again, asnaturally as it came in: and in no case so speedily and naturally as inthe minds of the parties most nearly concerned, from the moment that theconcern becomes very near indeed. We have no doubt that the minds inMr Grey's drawing-room underwent the common succession of ideas, --slight and transient imaginations, which pass into nothingness whenunexpressed. Probably the sisters wondered whether Mr Hope wasmarried, whether he was engaged, whether he was meant for Sophia, in theprospect of her growing old enough. Probably each speculated for half amoment, unconsciously, for her sister, and Sophia for both. ProbablyMr Grey might reflect that when young people are in the way of meetingfrequently in country excursions, a love affair is no very unnaturalresult. But Mrs Grey was the only one who fixed the idea in her ownmind and another's by speaking of it. 

"Do not you think Mr Hope thinks Hester very handsome, Mr Grey?"

"I really know nothing about it, my dear. He did not speak on thesubject as he mounted his horse; and that is the only opportunity he hashad of saying anything about the young ladies. "

"It would have been strange if he had then, before Sydney and theservants. "

"Very strange indeed. "

"But do you not think he must have been struck with her? I should likevery well to have her settled here; and the corner-house of MrRowland's might do nicely for them. I do not know what Mrs Rowlandwould think of Mr Hope's marrying into our connection so decidedly. "

"My dear, " said her husband, smiling, "just consider! For anything weknow, these young ladies may both be attached and engaged. Hope may beattached elsewhere--. "

"No; that I will answer for it he is not. I--"

"Well, you may have your reasons for being sure on that head. But hemay not like the girls; they may not like him:--in short, the only thingthat has happened is, that they have seen each other for one quarter ofan hour. "

"Well! there is no saying what may come of it. "

"Very true: let us wait and see. "

"But there is no harm in my telling you whatever comes into my head!"

"None in the world, unless you get it so fixed there that somebody elsehappens to know it too. Be careful, my dear. Let no one of these youngpeople get a glimpse of your speculation. Think of the consequence tothem and to yourself. "

"Dear me, Mr Grey! you need not be afraid. What a serious matter youmake of a word or two!"

"Because a good many ideas belong to that word or two, my dear. "

CHAPTER TWO. 

MOONLIGHT TO TOWNSFOLK. 

The moment the door closed behind Sophia, as she left the sisters intheir apartment, Hester crossed the room with a step very like a dance, and threw up the window. 

"I had rather look out than sleep, " said she. "I shall be ashamed toclose my eyes on such a prospect. Morris, if you are waiting for us, you may go. I shall sit up a long while yet. "

Morris thought she had not seen Hester in such spirits since herfather's death. She was unwilling to check them, but said somethingabout the fatigues of the journey, and being fresh for the next day. 

"No fear for to-morrow, Morris. We are in the country, you know, and Icannot fancy being tired in the fields, and in such a park as that. Good-night, Morris. "

When she too was gone, Hester called Margaret to her, put her arm roundher waist, and kissed her again and again. 

"You seem happy to-night, Hester, " said Margaret's gentle voice. 

"Yes, " sighed Hester; "more like being happy than for a long time past. How little we know what we shall feel! Here have I been dreading anddreading this evening, and shrinking from the idea of meeting the Greys, and wanting to write at the last moment to say that we would not come;--and it turns out--Oh, so differently! Think of day after day, weekafter week of pure country life! When they were planning for usto-night, and talking of the brook, and lanes, and meadows, it made myvery heart dance. "

"Thank God!" said Margaret. "When your heart dances, there is nothingleft to wish. "

"But did not yours? Had you ever such a prospect before, --such aprospect of delicious pleasure for weeks together, --except perhaps whenwe caught our first sight of the sea?"

"Nothing can ever equal that, " replied Margaret. "Do not you hear nowthe shout we gave when we saw the sparkles on the horizon, --heavingsparkles, --when we were a mile off, and mamma held me up that I mightsee it better; and baby, --dear baby, --clapped his little hands? Does itnot seem like yesterday?"

"Like yesterday: and yet, if baby had lived, he would now have been ourcompanion, taking the place of all other friends to us. I thought ofhim when I saw Sydney Grey; but he would have been very unlike SydneyGrey. He would have been five years older, but still different fromwhat Sydney will be at eighteen--graver, more manly. "

"How strange is the idea of having a brother!" said Margaret. "I neversee girls with their brothers but I watch them, and long to feel what itis, just for one hour. I wonder what difference it would have madebetween you and me, if we had had a brother. "

"You and he would have been close friends--always together, and I shouldhave been left alone, " said Hester, with a sigh. "Oh, yes, " shecontinued, interrupting Margaret's protest, "it would have been so. There can never be the same friendship between three as between two. "

"And why should you have been the one left out?" asked Margaret. "Butthis is all nonsense--all a dream, " she added. "The reality is thatbaby died--still a baby--and we know no more of what he would have been, than of what he is. The real truth is, that you and I are alone, to beeach other's only friend. "

"It makes me tremble to think of it, Margaret. It is not so long sinceour home seemed full. How we used all to sit round the fire, and laughand play with papa, as if we were not to separate till we had all grownold: and now, young as we are, here we are alone! How do we know thatwe shall be left to each other?"

"There is only one thing we can do, Hester, " said Margaret, resting herhead on her sister's shoulder. "We must make the most of being togetherwhile we can. There must not be the shadow of a cloud between us for amoment. Our confidence must be as full and free, our whole minds asabsolutely open, as--as I have read and heard that two minds can neverbe. "

"Those who say so do not know what may be, " exclaimed Hester. "I amsure there is not a thought, a feeling in me, that I could not tell you, though I know I never could to any one else. "

"If I were to lose you, Hester, there are many, many things that wouldbe shut up in me for ever. There will never be any one on earth to whomI could say the things that I can tell to you. Do you believe this, Hester?"

"I do. I know it. "

"Then you will never again doubt me, as you certainly have donesometimes. You cannot imagine how my heart sinks when I see you arefancying that I care for somebody else more than for you; when you thinkthat I am feeling differently from you. Oh, Hester, I know every changeof your thoughts by your face; and indeed your thoughts have beenmistaken sometimes. "

"They have been wicked, often, " said Hester, in a low voice. "I havesometimes thought that I must be hopelessly bad, when I have found thatthe strongest affection I have in the world has made me unjust and cruelto the pet son I love best. I have a jealous temper, Margaret; and ajealous temper is a wicked temper. "

"Now you are unkind to yourself, Hester. I do believe you will neverdoubt me again. "

"I never will. And if I find a thought of the kind rising in me, I willtell you the moment I am aware of it. "

"Do, and I will tell you the moment I see a trace of such a thought inyour face. So we shall be safe. We can never misunderstand each otherfor more than a moment. "

By the gentle leave of Heaven, all human beings have visions. Not thelowest and dullest but has the coarseness of his life relieved atmoments by some scenery of hope rising through the brooding fogs of hisintellect and his heart. Such visitations of mercy are the privilege ofthe innocent, and the support of the infirm. Here were the lonelysisters sustained in bereavement and self-rebuke, by the vision of afriendship which should be unearthly in its depth and freedom; they wereso happy for the hour, that nothing could disturb them. 

"I do not see, " observed Hester, "that it will be possible to enjoy anyintimate intercourse with this family. Unless they are of a differentorder from what they seem, we cannot have much in common; but I am surethey mean to be kind, and they will let us be happy in our own way. Oh, what mornings you and I will have together in those woods! Did you eversee anything so soft as they look--in this light?"

"And the bend of the river glittering there! Here, a little more thisway, and you will see it as I do. The moon is not at the full yet; theriver will be like this for some nights to come. "

"And these rides and drives, --I hope nothing will prevent our goingthrough the whole list of them. What is the matter, Margaret? Why areyou so cool about them?"

"I think all the pleasure depends upon the companionship, and I havesome doubts about that. I had rather sit at work in a drawing-room allday, than go among mountains with people--"

"Like the Mansons; Oh, that spreading of shawls, and bustle about thesandwiches, before they could give a look at the waterfall! I am afraidwe may find something of the same drawback here. "

"I am afraid so. "

"Well, only let us get out into the woods and lanes, and we will manageto enjoy ourselves there. We can contrive to digress here and theretogether without being missed. But I think we are judging ratherhastily from what we saw this evening even about this family; and wehave no right to suppose that all their acquaintance are like them. "

"No, indeed; and I am sure Mr Hope, for one, is of a different order. He dropped one thing, one little saying, which proved this to my mind. "

"I know what you mean--about the old man that is to be our guide overthat heath they were talking of--about why that heath is a different andmore beautiful place to him than to us, or to his former self. Is itnot true, what he said?"

"I am sure it is true. I have little to say of my own experience, orwisdom, or goodness, whichever it was that he particularly meant asgiving a new power of sight to the old man; but I know that no treewaves to my eye as it did ten years ago, and the music of running wateris richer to my ear as every summer comes round. "

"Yes; I almost wonder sometimes whether all things are not made at themoment by the mind that sees them, so wonderfully do they change withone's mood, and according to the store of thoughts they lay open inone's mind. If I lived in a desert island (supposing one's intellectcould go on to grow there), I should feel sure of this. "

"But not here, where it is quite clear that the village sot (if there beone), and Mr Hope, and the children, and we ourselves all see the sameobjects in sunlight and moonlight, and acknowledge them to be the same, though we cannot measure feelings upon them. I wish Mr Hope may saysomething more which may lead to the old man on the heath again. He iscoming to-morrow morning. "

"Yes; we shall see him again to-morrow. "

CHAPTER THREE. 

MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 

The sisters were not so fatigued with their journey but that they wereearly in the open air the next morning. In the shrubbery they met thetwins, walking hand in hand, each with a doll on the disengaged arm. 

"You are giving your dolls an airing before breakfast, " said Hester, stopping them as they would have passed on. 

"Yes; we carry out our dolls now because we must not run beforebreakfast. We have made arbours in our own gardens for our dolls, wherethey may sit when we are swinging. "

"I should like to see your arbours and your gardens, " said Margaret, looking round her. "Will you take me to them?"

"Not now, " answered they; "we should have to cross the grass, and wemust not go upon the grass before breakfast. "

"Where is your swing? I am very fond of swinging. "

"Oh! it is in the orchard there, under that large tree. But youcannot--"

"I see; we cannot get to it now, because we should have to cross thegrass. " And Margaret began to look round for any place where they mightgo beyond the gravel-walk, on which they stood. She moved towards thegreenhouse, but found it was never unlocked before breakfast. Thesummerhouse remained, and a most unexceptionable path led to it. Thesisters turned that way. 

"You cannot go there, " cried the children; "Miss Young always has theschoolroom before breakfast. "

"We are going to see Miss Young, " explained Hester, smiling at theamazed faces with which the children stared from the end of the path. They were suddenly seen to turn, and walk as fast as they could, withoutits being called running, towards the house. They were gone to theirmother's dressing-room door, to tell her that the Miss Ibbotsons weregone to see Miss Young before breakfast. 

The path led for some little way under the hedge which separated MrGrey's from Mr Rowland's garden. There were voices on the other side, and what was said was perfectly audible. Uneasy at hearing what was notmeant for them, Hester and Margaret gave tokens of their presence. Theconversation on the other side of the hedge proceeded; and in a veryshort time the sisters were persuaded that they had been mistaken insupposing that what was said was not meant for them. 

"My own Matilda, " said a voice, which evidently came from under a lady'sbonnet which moved parallel with Hester's and Margaret's; "My ownMatilda, I would not be so harsh as to prevent your playing where youplease before breakfast. Run where you like, my love. I am sorry forlittle girls who are not allowed to do as they please in the cool of themorning. My children shall never suffer such restriction. "

"Mother, " cried a rough little person, "I'm going fishing with UnclePhilip to-day. Sydney Grey and I are going, I don't know how far up theriver. "

"On no account, my dear boy. You must not think of such a thing. Ishould not have a moment's peace while you are away. You would not beback till evening, perhaps; and I should be fancying all day that youwere in the river. It is out of the question, my own George. "

"But I must go, mother. Uncle Philip said I might; and Sydney Grey isgoing. "

"That is only another reason, my dear boy. Your uncle will yield to mywishes, I am sure, as he always does. And if Mrs Grey allows her sonto run such risks, I am sure I should not feel myself justified. Youwill stay with me, love, won't you? You will stay with your mother, myown boy. "

George ran roaring away, screaming for Uncle Philip; who was not athand, however, to plead his cause. 

"My Matilda, " resumed the fond mother, "you are making yourself a sadfigure. You will not be fit to show yourself at breakfast. Do yousuppose your papa ever saw such a frock as that? There! look--drippingwet! Pritchard, take Miss Matilda, and change all her clothes directly. So much for my allowing her to run on the grass while the dew is on!Lose no time, Pritchard, lest the child should catch cold. Leave MissAnna with me. Walk beside me, my Anna. Ah! there is papa. Papa, wemust find some amusement for George today, as I cannot think of lettinghim go out fishing. Suppose we take the children to spend the morningwith their cousins at Dingleford?"

"To-morrow would suit me better, my love, " replied the husband. "IndeedI don't see how I can go to-day, or you either. " And Mr Rowlandlowered his voice, so as to show that he was aware of his liability tobe overheard. 

"Oh, as to that, there is no hurry, " replied the lady, aloud. "If I hadnothing else to do, I should not make that call to-day. Any day will doas well. "

As Hester and Margaret looked at each other, they heard the gentlemansoftly say "Hush!" But Mrs Rowland went on as audibly as ever. 

"There is no reason why I should be in any hurry to call on Mrs Grey'sfriends, whoever and whatever they may be. Any day will do for that, mydear. "

Not having been yet forbidden to run before breakfast, Hester andMargaret fled to the summer-house, to avoid hearing any more of thedomestic dialogues of the Rowland family. 

"What shall we do when that woman calls?" said Hester. "How will it bepossible to speak to her?"

"As we should speak to any other indifferent person, " replied Margaret. "Her rudeness is meant for Mrs Grey, not for us; for she knows nothingabout us: and Mrs Grey will never hear from us what has passed. --Shallwe knock?"

In answer to the knock, they were requested to enter. Miss Young rosein some confusion when she found her visitors were other than herpupils: but she was so lame that Hester made her sit down again, whilethey drew seats for themselves. They apologised for breaking in uponher with so little ceremony, but explained that they were come to beinmates at Mr Grey's for some months, and that they wished to lose notime in making themselves acquainted with every resort of the family, ofwhich they considered themselves a part. Miss Young was evidentlypleased to see them. She closed her volume, and assured them they werewelcome to her apartment; "For, " said she, "everybody calls it myapartment, and why should not I?"

"Do you spend all your time here?" asked Hester. 

"Almost the whole day. I have a lodging in the village; but I leave itearly these fine mornings, and stay here till dark. I am so lame as tomake it inconvenient to pass over the ground oftener than is necessary;and I find it pleasanter to see trees and grass through every windowhere, than to look out into the farrier's yard, --the only prospect frommy lodging. The furnace and sparks are pretty enough on a winter'sevening, especially when one is too ill or too dismal to do anything butwatch them; but at this season one grows tired of old horse-shoes andcinders; and so I sit here. "

To the sisters there seemed a world of desolation in these words. Theywere always mourning for having no brother. Here was one who appearedto be entirely alone. From not knowing exactly what to say, Margaretopened the book Miss Young had laid aside. It was German--Schiller'sThirty Years' War. Every one has something to say about Germanliterature; those who do not understand it asking whether it is not verymystical, and wild, and obscure; and those who do understand it sayingthat it is not so at all. It would be a welcome novelty if the twoparties were to set about finding out what it is to be mystical, --apoint which, for aught that is known to the generality, is not yetascertained. Miss Young and her visitors did not enter upon precisedefinitions this morning. These were left for a future occasion. Meantime it was ascertained that Miss Young had learned the Germanlanguage by the aid of dictionary and grammar alone, and also that ifshe should happen to meet with any one who wished to enjoy what she wasenjoying, she should be glad to afford any aid in her power. Hester wassatisfied with thanking her. She was old enough to know that learning anew language is a serious undertaking. Margaret was somewhat younger, and ready for any enterprise. She thought she saw before her hours oflong mornings, when she should be glad to escape from the work-table toMiss Young's companionship and to study. The bright field of Germanliterature seemed to open before her to be explored. She warmly thankedMiss Young, and accepted her offered assistance. 

"So you spend all your days alone here, " said she, looking round uponthe rather bare walls, the matted floor, the children's desks, and thesingle shelf which held Miss Young's books. 

"Not exactly all the day alone, " replied Miss Young; "the children arewith me five hours a day, and a set of pupils from the village comes tome besides, for a spare hour of the afternoon. In this way I see a goodmany little faces every day. "

"And some others too, I should hope; some besides little faces?"

Miss Young was silent. Margaret hastened on--

"I suppose most people would say here what is said everywhere else aboutthe nobleness and privilege of the task of teaching children. But I donot envy those who have it to do. I am as fond of children as any one;but then it is having them out to play on the grass, or romping withthem in the nursery, that I like. When it becomes a matter of desks andschool-books, I had far rather study than teach. "

"I believe everybody, except perhaps mothers, would agree with you, "said Miss Young, who was now, without apology, plying her needle. 

"Indeed! then I am very sorry for you. "

"Thank you; but there's no need to be sorry for me. Do you suppose thatone's comfort lies in having a choice of employments? My experienceleads me to think the contrary. "

"I do not think I could be happy, " said Hester, "to be tied down to anemployment I did not like. "

"Not to a positively disgusting one. But I am disposed to think thatthe greatest number of happy people may be found busy in employmentsthat they have not chosen for themselves, and never would have chosen. "

"I am afraid these very happy people are haunted by longings to be doingsomething else. "

"Yes: there is their great trouble. They think, till experience makesthem wiser, that if they were only in another set of circumstances, ifthey only had a choice what they would do, a chance for the exercise ofthe powers they are conscious of, they would do such things as should bethe wonder and the terror of the earth. But their powers may bedoubted, if they do not appear in the conquest of circumstances. "

"So you conquer these giddy children, when you had rather be conqueringGerman metaphysicians, or ---, or ---, what else?"

"There is little to conquer in these children, " said Miss Young; "theyare very good with me. I assure you I have much more to conquer inmyself, with regard to them. It is but little that I can do for them;and that little I am apt to despise, in the vain desire to do more. "

"How more?"

"If I had them in a house by myself, to spend their whole time with me, so that I could educate, instead of merely teaching them. But here I amdoing just what we were talking of just now, --laying out apretty-looking field of duty, in which there would probably be as manythorns as in any other. Teaching has its pleasures, --its greatoccasional, and small daily pleasures, though they are not to becompared to the sublime delights of education. "

"You must have some of these sublime delights mixed in with the humbler. You are, in some degree, educating these children while teaching them. "

"Yes: but it is more a negative than a positive function, a very humbleone. Governesses to children at home can do little more than standbetween children and the faults of the people about them. I speak quitegenerally. "

"Is such an occupation one in which anybody can be happy?"

"Why not, as well as in making pins' heads, or in nursing sick people, or in cutting square blocks out of a chalk pit for thirty yearstogether, or in any other occupation which may be ordained to prove tous that happiness lies in the temper, and not in the object of apursuit? Are there not free and happy pin-makers, and sick-nurses, andchalk-cutters?"

"Yes: but they know how much to expect. They have no idea of pin-makingin itself being great happiness. "

"Just so. Well: let a governess learn what to expect; set her free froma hankering after happiness in her work, and you have a happygoverness. "

"I thought such a thing was out of the order of nature. "

"Not quite. There have been such, though there are strong influencesagainst it. The expectations of all parties are unreasonable; and thosewho are too humble, or too amiable, to be dissatisfied with others, arediscontented with themselves, when the inevitable disappointment comes. There is a great deal said about the evils of the position of agoverness--between the family and the servants--a great deal said thatis very true, and always will be true, while governesses have proudhearts, like other people: but these are slight evils in comparison withthe grand one of the common failure of the relation. --There! do you hearthat bell?"

"What is it? The breakfast bell?"

"Yes. You must go. I would not be understood as inviting you here; forit is not, except upon sufferance, my room; and I have no inducement tooffer. But I may just say, that you will always be welcome. "

"Always?" said Margaret. "In and out of school hours?"

"In and out of school hours, unless your presence should chance to turnmy pupils' heads. In that case, you will not be offended if I ask youto go away. "

Mary and Fanny had just reported in the breakfast-parlour, that the MissIbbotsons had been "such a time with Miss Young!" when Hester andMargaret entered. The testimony there was all in favour of Miss Young. Mr Grey called her a most estimable young woman; and Mrs Grey declaredthat, though she could not agree with her on all points, and decidedlythought that she overrated Matilda Rowland's talents, she was convincedthat her children enjoyed great advantages under her care. Sophiaadded, that she was very superior, --quite learned. Mrs Grey furtherexplained that, though now so much at ease on the subject of herdaughters' education, no one could have an idea of the trouble she hadhad in getting the plan arranged. It had seemed a pity that theRowlands and her children should not learn together: it was such anadvantage for children to learn together! But Mrs Rowland had made athousand difficulties. After breakfast, she would show her youngfriends the room which she had proposed should be the schoolroom, --asairy and advantageous in every way as could be imagined: but MrsRowland had objected that she could not have Matilda and George come outin all weathers, --as if they would have had to walk a mile, instead ofjust the sweep of the gravel-walk! Mrs Rowland had proposed that herback-parlour should be the schoolroom: but really it was not to bethought of--so small and close, and such a dull room for Miss Young!The gentlemen had been obliged to take it up at last. Nobody could everfind out which of them it was that had thought of the summerhouse, though she was satisfied in her own mind that Mr Rowland was not in thehabit of having such clever ideas; but, however, it was soon settled. The summer-house was so exactly on the boundary-line between the twogardens, that really no objection had been left for Mrs Rowland tomake. She came as near to it as she could, however; for she had had thewalk covered in at great expense from her garden door to thesummer-house, when everybody knew she did not mind her children gettingwet at other times on the grass before the dew was off. 

"And the covered way is quite an eyesore from the drawing-room windows, "added Sophia. 

"Quite, " said Mrs Grey; "and it can be seen from ours, as I dare sayyou observed last night. But I have no doubt that entered into hercalculations when she had it made. "

Mr Grey inquired about the arrangements for the morning, and whether hecould be of any service. It happened to be a leisure morning with him, and he did not know when he might have another at command. Sophiareminded her father that it would be impossible for the ladies of thefamily to go out, when they were expecting the neighbours to call: andthis brought on another speculation as to who would call, --andespecially when the Rowlands might be looked for. Hester and Margaretbelieved they could have settled this matter; but they forbore to speakof what they had overheard. They began to wonder whether the subject ofMrs Rowland was to be served up with every meal, for a continuance; andHester found her anticipations of delight in a country life somewhatdamped, by the idea of the frowning ghost of the obnoxious lady beingfor ever present. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

MORNING CALLS. 

The little girls had been dismissed to the schoolroom before Mr Greyhad finally pushed away his tea-cup. Not being wanted by the ladies, hewalked off to his timber-yard, and his wife followed to ask him somequestion not intended for the general ear. Sophia was struck with asudden panic at being left alone with the strangers, and escaped byanother door into the store-room. As the last traces of the breakfastthings vanished, Hester exclaimed--

"So we may please ourselves, it seems, as to what we are to do with ourmorning!"

"I hope so, " said Margaret. "Do let us get down to the meadow we seefrom our window--the meadow that looks so flat and green! We may verywell take two hours' grace before we need sit down here in form andorder. "

Hester was willing, and the bonnets were soon on. As Margaret waspassing down stairs again, she saw Mrs Grey and Sophia whispering in aroom, the door of which stood open. She heard it shut instantly, andthe result of the consultation soon appeared. Just as the sisters wereturning out of the house, Sophia ran after them to say that mamma wishedthey would be so good as to defer their walk; mamma was afraid that ifthey were seen abroad in the village, it would be supposed that they didnot wish to receive visitors: mamma would rather that they should staywithin this morning. There was nothing for it but to turn back; andHester threw down her bonnet with no very good grace, as she observed toher sister that, to all appearance, a town life was more free than acountry one, after all. 

"Let us do our duty fully this first morning, " said Margaret. "Look, Iam going to carry down my work-bag; and you shall see me sit on the samechair from this hour till dinner-time, unless I receive directions tothe contrary. "

The restraint did not amount to this. Hester's chair was placedopposite to Mrs Grey, who seemed to have pleasure in gazing at her, andin indulging in audible hints and visible winks and nods about herbeauty, to every lady visitor who eat near her. Margaret might placeherself where she pleased. In the intervals of the visits of themorning, she was treated with a diversity of entertainments by Sophia, who occasionally summoned her to the window to see how Matilda Rowlandwas allowed to run across the road to her grandmamma's, without so muchas a hat upon her head, --to see Jim Bird, the oldest man in the parish(believed to be near a hundred), who was resting himself on the bank ofthe hedge, --to see the peacock which had been sent as a present from SirWilliam Hunter to Mr James, the lawyer, and which was a great nuisancefrom its screaming, --to say whether the two little Reeves, droppingtheir curtseys as they went home from school, were not littlebeauties, --and, in short, to witness all the village spectacles whichpresent themselves before the windows of an acute observer on a finespring morning. The young ladies had to return to their seats as oftenas wheels were heard, or the approach of parasols was discerned. 

Among the earliest visitors were Mrs Enderby and her redoubtable son, Mr Philip. Mrs Enderby was a bright-eyed, brisk, little old lady, whowas rather apt to talk herself quite out of breath, but who hadevidently a stronger tendency still; and that was, to look on the brightside of everything and everybody. She smiled smiles full of meaning andassent in return for Mrs Grey's winks about Hester's beauty; and reallycheered Hester with accounts of how good everybody was at Deerbrook. She was thankful that her maid Phoebe was better; she knew that MrsGrey would not fail to inquire; really Phoebe was very much better; theinfluenza had left sad effects, but they were dispersing. It would be apity the girl should not quite recover, for she was a most invaluableservant--such a servant as is very rarely to be met with. The credit ofrestoring her belonged to Mr Hope, who indeed had done everything. Shesupposed the ladies would soon be seeing Mr Hope. He was extremelybusy, as everybody knew--had very large practice now; but he alwayscontrived to find time for everything. It was exceedingly difficult tofind time for everything. There was her dear daughter, Priscilla (MrsRowland, whose husband was Mr Grey's partner); Priscilla devoted herlife to her children (and dear children they were); and no one who knewwhat she did for her children would expect anything more from her; but, indeed, those who knew best, she herself, for instance, were fullysatisfied that her dear Priscilla did wonders. The apology for MrsRowland, in case she should not call, was made not without ingenuity. Hester fully understood it; and Mrs Grey showed by her bridling that itwas not lost upon her either. 

Mr Enderby, meanwhile, was behaving civilly to Margaret and Sophia;that is to say, he was somewhat more than merely civil to Margaret, andsomewhat less to Sophia. It was obviously not without reason thatSophia had complained of his hauteur. He could not, as Sydney hadpleaded, help being tall; but he might have helped the excessivefrigidity with which he stood upright till invited to sit down. Thefact was, that he had reason to believe that the ladies of Mr Grey'sfamily made very free with his sister's name and affairs; and though hewould have been sorry to have been obliged to defend all she said anddid, he felt some very natural emotions of dislike towards those whowere always putting the worst construction upon the whole of herconduct. He believed that Mr Grey's influence was exerted on behalf ofpeace and good understanding, and he thought he perceived that Sydney, with the shrewdness which some boys show very early, was more or lesssensible of the absurdity of the feud between the partners' wives anddaughters; and towards these members of the Grey family, Mr Enderbyfelt nothing but good-will; he talked politics with Mr Grey in theshrubbery after church on Sunday, executed commissions for him inLondon, and sent him game: and Sydney was under obligations to him formany a morning of sport, and many a service such as gentlemen who arenot above five-and-twenty and its freaks can render to boys enteringtheir teens. Whatever might be his opinion of women generally, from theparticular specimens which had come in his way, he had too much senseand gentlemanly feeling to include Mrs Grey's guests in the dislike hefelt towards herself, or to suppose that they must necessarily share herdisposition towards his relations. Perhaps he felt, unknown to himselfsome inclination to prepossess them in favour of his connections; tostretch his complaisance a little, as a precaution against theprejudices with which he knew Mrs Grey would attempt to occupy theirminds. However this might be, he was as amicable with Margaret as hismother was with her sister. 

He soon found out that the strangers were more interested about thenatural features of Deerbrook than about its gossip. He was amused atthe earnestness of Margaret's inquiries about the scenery of theneighbourhood, and he laughingly promised that she should see every nookwithin twenty miles. 

"People always care least about what they have just at hand, " said he. "I dare say, if I were to ask you, you have never seen a glass-bottleblown, or a tea-tray painted?"

"If I have, " said Margaret, "I know many ladies in Birmingham who havenot. "

"You will not be surprised, then, if you find some ladies in Deerbrookwho do not ride, and who can tell you no more of the pretty places nearthan if they had been brought up in Whitechapel. They keep their bestsights for strangers, and not for common use. I am, in reality, only avisitor at Deerbrook. I do not live here, and never did; yet I ambetter able to be your guide than almost any resident. The ladies, especially, are extremely domestic: they are far too busy to have everlooked about them. But I will speak to Mr Grey, and--"

"Oh, pray, do not trouble Mr Grey! He has too much business on hishands already; and he is so kind, he will be putting himself out of hisway for us; and all we want is to be in the open air in the fields. "

"`All you want!' very like starlings in a cage;" and he looked as if hewas smiling at the well-known speech of the starling; but he did notquote it. "My mother is now saying that Mr Hope finds time foreverything: and she is right. He will help us. You must see Hope, andyou must like him. He is the great boast of the place, next to the newsign. "

"Is the sign remarkable, or only new?"

"Very remarkable for ingenuity, if not for beauty. It is `The Bonnet soBlue:'--a lady's bonnet of blue satin, with brown bows, or whatever youmay call the trimming when you see it; and we are favoured besides witha portrait of the milliner, holding the bonnet so blue. We talk nearlyas much of this sign as of Mr Hope; but you must see them both, andtell us which you like best. "

"We have seen Mr Hope. He was here yesterday evening. "

"Well, then, you must see him again; and you must not think the worse ofhim for his being praised by everybody you meet. It is no ordinary caseof a village apothecary. "

Margaret laughed; so little did Mr Hope look like the villageapothecary of her imagination. 

"Ah, I see you know something of the predilection of villagers for theirapothecary, --how the young people wonder that he always cures everybody;and how the old people could not live without him; and how the poorfolks take him for a sort of magician; and how he obtains more knowledgeof human affairs than any other kind of man. But Hope is, though a veryhappy man, not this sort of privileged person. His friends are soattached to him that they confide to him all their own affairs; but theyrespect him too much to gossip at large to him of other people's. I seeyou do not know how to credit this; but I assure you, though theinhabitants of Deerbrook are as accomplished in the arts of gossip asany villagers in England, Hope knows little more than you do at thismoment about who are upon terms and who are not. "

"My sister and I must learn his art of ignorance, " said Margaret. "Ifit be really true that the place is full of quarrels, we shall be afraidto stay, unless we can contrive to know nothing about them. "

"Oh, do not suppose we are worse than others who live in villages. Since our present rector came, we have risen somewhat above the ruralaverage of peace and quiet. "

"And the country has always been identical with the idea of peace andquiet to us town-bred people!" said Margaret. 

"And very properly, in one sense. But if you leave behind the din ofstreets for the sake of stepping forth from your work-table upon a softlawn, or of looking out upon the old church steeple among the trees, while you hear nothing but bleating and chirping, you must expect someset-off against such advantages: and that set-off is the being among asmall number of people, who are always busy looking into one another'ssmall concerns. "

"But this is not a necessary evil, " said Margaret. "From what you weresaying just now, it appears that it may be avoided. "

"From what I was saying about Hope. Yes; such an one as Hope may getall the good out of every situation, without its evils; but--"

"But nobody else, " said Margaret, smiling. "Well, Hester and I must trywhether we cannot have to do with lawns and sheep for a few months, without quarrelling or having to do with quarrels. "

"And what if you are made the subject of quarrels?" asked Mr Enderby. "How are you to help yourselves, in that case?"

"How does Mr Hope help himself in that case?"

"It remains to be seen. As far as I know, the whole place is agreedabout him at present. Every one will tell you that never was society soblessed in a medical man before;--from the rector and my mother, whonever quarrel with anybody, down to the village scold. I am not goingto prepossess you against even our village scold, by telling her name. You will know it in time, though your first acquaintance will probablybe with her voice. "

"So we are to hear something besides bleating and chirping?"

A tremendous knock at the door occurred, as if in answer to this. Allthe conversation in the room suddenly stopped, and Mr and Mrs Rowlandwalked in. 

"This is my sister, Mrs Rowland, " observed Mr Enderby to Margaret. 

"This is my daughter Priscilla, Mrs Rowland, " said Mrs Enderby toHester. 

Both sisters were annoyed at feeling timid and nervous on beingintroduced to the lady. There is something imposing in hearing a merename very often, in the proof that the person it belongs to fills alarge space in people's minds: and when the person is thus frequentlynamed with fear and dislike, an idea is originated of a command overpowers of evil which makes the actual presence absolutely awful. Thisseemed now to be felt by all. Sophia had nothing to say: Mrs Grey'shead twitched nervously, while she turned from one to another withslight remarks: Mrs Enderby ran on about their having all happened tocall at once, and its being quite a family party in Mrs Grey's parlour;and Mr Philip's flow of conversation had stopped. Margaret thought hewas trying to help laughing. 

The call could not be an agreeable one. The partners' ladies quotedtheir own children's sayings about school and Miss Young, and MissYoung's praise of the children; and each vied with the other in eulogiumon Miss Young, evidently on the ground of her hopes of Fanny and Mary onthe one hand, and of Matilda, George, and Anna, on the other. MrsEnderby interposed praises of all the children, while Mr Rowlandengaged Hester's attention, calling off her observation and his own fromthe sparring of the rival mothers. Philip informed Margaret at length, that George was a fine little fellow, who would make a good sportsman. There was some pleasure in taking such a boy out fishing. But MrPhilip had lighted on a dangerous topic, as he soon found. His sisterheard what he was saying, and began an earnest protest against littleboys fishing, on account of the danger, and against any idea that shewould allow her George to run any such risks. Of course, this made MrsGrey fire up, as at an imputation upon her care of her son Sydney; andbefore the rest of the company could talk down the dispute, it bore toomuch of the appearance of a recrimination about the discharge ofmaternal duties. Margaret thought that, but for the relationship, MrsRowland might fairly be concluded to be the village scold alluded to byMr Enderby. It was impossible that he could have been speaking of hissister; but Deerbrook was an unfortunate place if it contained a moreunamiable person than she appeared at this moment. The faces of the twoladies were still flushed with excitement when Mr Hope came in. Thesisters thought he appeared like a good genius, so amiable did the partygrow on his entrance. It seemed as if he was as great a favourite withthe Rowlands as with the other family; so friendly was the gentleman, and so gracious the lady; while Mr Hope was, to all appearance, unconscious of the existence of any unpleasant feelings among hisneighbours. The talk flowed on about the concerns of personages of thevillage, about the aspect of public affairs, about the poets of the age, and what kind of poetry was most read in Deerbrook, and how the BookSociety went on, till all had grown cordial, and some began to proposeto be hospitable. Mrs Rowland hoped for the honour of seeing the MissIbbotsons one day the next week, when Mr Rowland should have returnedfrom a little excursion of business. Mrs Enderby wondered whether shecould prevail on all her young friends to spend an evening with herbefore her son left Deerbrook; and Mrs Grey gave notice that she shouldshortly issue her invitations to those with whom she wished her youngcousins to become better acquainted. 

All went right for the rest of the morning. When the Enderbys andRowlands went away, the Levitts came. When Dr Levitt inquired aboutthe schools of Birmingham, it could not but come out that Hester andMargaret were dissenters. Yet, as they were desired to observe, he didnot seem in the least shocked, and his manner was just as kind to themafter this disclosure as before. He was pronounced a very liberal man. Mr Hope was asked to stay to dinner, and Mrs Grey complacently relatedthe events of the morning to her husband as he took his place at table. Deerbrook had done its duty to Hester and Margaret pretty well for thefirst day. Everybody of consequence had called but the Andersons, andthey would no doubt come on Sunday. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

THE MEADOWS. 

The afternoon was the time when Miss Young's pupils practised themysteries of the needle. Little girls are not usually fond of sewing. Till they become clever enough to have devices of their own, to cut outa doll's petticoat, or contrive a pin-cushion to surprise mamma, sewingis a mere galling of the fingers and strain upon the patience. Everywry stitch shows, and is pretty sure to be remarked upon: the seam orhem seems longer the oftener it is measured, till the little work-womanbecomes capable of the enterprise of despatching a whole one at asitting; after which the glory is found to ameliorate the toil, andthere is a chance that the girl may become fond of sewing. 

Miss Young's pupils had not arrived at this stage. It was a mystery tothem that Miss Young could sit sewing, as fast as her needle could fly, for the whole afternoon, and during the intervals of their lessons inthe morning. It was in vain that she told them that some of herpleasantest hours were those which she passed in this employment: andthat she thought they would perhaps grow as fond of work as their sisterSophia before they were as old as she. With languid steps did the twinsreturn to the house this afternoon for another pair of shirt-sleeves, and to show mamma the work they had finished. Hand in hand, as usual, and carrying up for judgment their last performance, they entered thehouse. In a very different mood did they return. Running, skipping, and jumping, they burst again into the summer-house. 

"Miss Young, oh, Miss Young, we are to have a holiday!"

"Mamma sends her compliments to you, Miss Young, and she hopes you willgive us a holiday. It is a fine afternoon, she thinks, and my cousinshave never gathered cowslips; and we are all going into the meadow for acowslip-gathering; and Mr Hope will come to us there. He has to gosomewhere now, but he will come to us before we have half done. "

Matilda Rowland looked fall of dismay till she was told that Mrs Greyhoped she would be of the party, and begged that she would, go directlyand ask her mamma's leave. 

"What a quantity of cowslips we shall get!" observed Mary, as she tookdown Fanny's basket from the nail on which it hung, and then her own. "We are each to have a basket, mamma says, that we may not quarrel. What shall we do with such a quantity of cowslips?"

"Make tea of them, to be sure, " replied Fanny. "We may dry them in thiswindow, may not we, Miss Young? And we will give you some of ourcowslip-tea. "

Miss Young smiled and thanked them. She did not promise to drink any ofthe promised tea. She had a vivid remembrance of the cowslip-drying ofher young days, when the picked flowers lay in a window till they werelaced all over with cobwebs; and when they were at length popped intothe teapot with all speed, to hide the fact that they were mouldy. Sheremembered the good-natured attempts of her father and mother to swallowa doll's cupful of her cowslip-tea, rather than discourage the spirit ofenterprise which, now that she had lost those whom she loved, was allthat she had to trust to. 

"Fanny, " said Mary, with eyes wide open, "cannot we have a feast herefor my cousins, when we make our cowslip-tea?"

"A feast! Oh, that would be grand!" replied Fanny. "I have a shilling, and so have you; and we could buy a good many nice things for that: andMatilda Rowland will lend us her doll's dishes to put with ours. MissYoung, will you let us have our feast here, one afternoon? We will askmy cousins, without telling them anything; and they will be sosurprised!"

Miss Young promised everything, engaged not to tell, smoothed theirhair, tied their bonnets, and sent them away quite happy with theirsecret. 

Such a holiday as this was one of Miss Young's few pleasures. Therewere several occasions in the year when she could make sure beforehandof some hours to herself. Her Sundays were much occupied with theSunday-school, and with intercourse with poor neighbours whom she couldnot meet on any other day: but Christmas-day, the day of the annual fairof Deerbrook, and two or three more, were her own. These were, however, so appropriated, long before, to some object, that they lost much oftheir character of holidays. Her true holidays were such as theafternoon of this day, --hours suddenly set free, little gifts of leisureto be spent according to the fancy of the moment. Let none pretend tounderstand the value of such whose lives are all leisure; who take up abook to pass the time; who saunter in gardens because there are nomorning visits to make; who exaggerate the writing of a family letterinto important business. Such have their own enjoyments: but they knownothing of the paroxysm of pleasure of a really hardworking person onhearing the door shut which excludes the business of life, and leavesthe delight of free thoughts and hands. The worst part of it is thehaving to decide how to make the most of liberty. Miss Young was notlong in settling this point. She just glanced up at her shelf of books, and down upon her drawing-board, and abroad through the south window, and made up her mind. The acacia with its fresh bunches of blossoms waswaving above the window, casting in flickering shadows upon the floor:the evergreens of the shrubbery twinkled in the sun, as the light breezeswept over them: the birds were chirruping all about, and a yellowbutterfly alighted and trembled on the window-sill at the moment. Itwas one of the softest and gayest days of spring; and the best thing wasto do nothing but enjoy it. She moved to the south window with herwork, and sewed or let the wind blow upon her face as she looked out. 

The landscape was a wide one. Far beyond, and somewhat below the gardenand shrubberies in which the summerhouse stood, flat meadows stretchedto the brink of the river, on the other side of which were the parkwoods. All was bathed in the afternoon sunshine, except where a treehere and there cast a flake of shadow upon the grass of the meadows. 

"It is a luxury, " thought the gazer, "for one who cannot move about tosit here and look abroad. I wonder whether I should have been with theparty if I had not been lame. I dare say something would have taken offfrom the pleasure if I had. But how well I can remember what thepleasure is! the jumping stiles--the feel of the turf underfoot, --therunning after every flower, --the going wherever one has a fancy to go, --how well I remember it all! And yet it gives me a sort of surprise tosee the activity of these children, and how little they are aware ofwhat their privilege is. I fancy, however, the pleasure is more in therecollection of all such natural enjoyments than at the moment. It isso with me, and I believe with everybody. This very landscape is morebeautiful to me in the dark night when I cannot sleep, than at this verymoment, when it looks its best and brightest: and surely this is thegreat difference between that sort of pleasures and those which comealtogether from within. The delight of a happy mood of mind is beyondeverything at the time; it sets one above all that can happen; it steepsone in heaven itself; but one cannot recall it: one can only rememberthat it was so. The delight of being in such a place as those woods isgenerally more or less spoiled at the time by trifles which areforgotten afterwards;--one is hungry, or tired, or a little vexed withsomebody, or doubtful whether somebody else is not vexed; but then theremembrance is purely delicious, --brighter in sunshine, softer inshade, --wholly tempered to what is genial. The imagination is a bettermedium than the eye. This is surely the reason why Byron could notwrite poetry on Lake Leman, but found he must wait till he got withinfour walls. This is the reason why we are all more moved by theslightest glimpses of good descriptions in books than by the amplitudeof the same objects before our eyes. I used to wonder how that was, when, as a child, I read the openings of scenes and books in `ParadiseLost. ' I saw plenty of summer sunrises; but none of them gave me afeeling like the two lines:--

 "`Now morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl. '

"If all this be so, our lot is more equalised than is commonly thought. Once having received pictures into our minds, and possessing a clear eyein the mind to see them with, the going about to obtain more is not ofvery great consequence. This comforts one for prisoners suffering_carcere duro_, and for townspeople who cannot often get out of thestreets; and for lame people like me, who see others tripping overcommons and through fields where we cannot go. I wish there was as muchcomfort the other way, --about such as suffer from unhappy moods of mind, and know little of the joy of the highest. It would be a small gain tothem to fly like birds, --to see like the eagle itself. --Oh, there arethe children! So that is their cowslip meadow! How like children theyall look together, down on the grass!--gathering cowslips, I suppose. The two in black are more eager about it than Sophia. She sits on thestile while they are busy. The children are holding forth to theircousins, --teaching them something, evidently. How I love to overlookpeople, --to watch them acting unconsciously, and speculate for them! Itis the most tempting thing in the world to contrast the little affairsone sees them busy about, with the very serious ones which await them, --which await every one. There are those two strangers busy gatheringcowslips, and perhaps thinking of nothing beyond the fresh pleasure ofthe air and the grass, and the scent of their flowers, --their mindsquite filled with the spirit of the spring, when who knows what may beawaiting them! Love may be just at hand. The tempest of passion may bebrewing under this soft sunshine. They think themselves now as full ofhappiness as possible; and a little while hence, upon a few wordsspoken, a glance exchanged, they may be in such a heaven of bliss thatthey will smile at their own ignorance in being so well pleased to-day. Or--but I pray they may escape the other chance. Neither of them knowsanything of that misery yet, I am confident. They both look too young, too open, too free to have really suffered. --I wonder whether it isfoolish to fancy already that one of them may be settled here. It canhardly be foolish, when the thought occurs so naturally: and these greataffairs of life lie distinctly under the eye of such as are themselvescut off from them. I am out of the game, and why should not I look uponits chances? I am quite alone; and why should I not watch for others?Every situation has its privileges and its obligations. --What is it tobe alone, and to be let alone, as I am? It is to be put into a post ofobservation on others: but the knowledge so gained is anything but agood if it stops at mere knowledge, --if it does not make me feel andact. Women who have what I am not to have, a home, an intimate, aperpetual call out of themselves, may go on more safely, perhaps, without any thought for themselves, than I with all my bestconsideration: but I, with the blessing of a peremptory vocation, whichis to stand me instead of sympathy, ties and spontaneous action, --I mayfind out that it is my proper business to keep an intent eye upon thepossible events of other people's lives, that I may use slight occasionsof action which might otherwise pass me by. If one were thoroughly wiseand good, this would be a sort of divine lot. Without being at allwiser or better than others, --being even as weak in judgment and infaith as I am, --something may be made of it. Without daring to meddle, one may stand clear-sighted, ready to help. --How the children are flyingover the meadow towards that gentleman who is fastening his horse to thegate! Mr Hope, no doubt. He is the oldest cowslip gatherer of themall, I fancy. If one could overhear the talk in every house along thevillage, I dare say some of it is about Mr Hope winning one of theseyoung ladies. If so, it is only what I am thinking about myself. Everyone wishes to see Mr Hope married, --every one, even to the servantshere, who are always disputing whether he will not have Miss Sophia, orwhether Miss Sophia is not to make a grander match. Sophia will not dofor him; but it is very possible that one of these girls may. And theother--but I will not think about that to-day. --How yellow the glow isupon those woods! What heavenly hues hang about the world we live in!but how strange is the lot of some in it! One would wonder why, whenall are so plainly made to feel and act together, there should be anyone completely solitary. There must be a reason: I would fain know it;but I can wait till we may know all. "

Such were some of Maria Young's natural and unchecked thoughts. Therewas not much of common holiday spirit in them: but to Maria, liberty andpeace were holiday, and her mind was not otherwise than peaceful. Shewas serious, but not sad. Any one who could at the moment have seen herface, would have pronounced her cheerful at heart; and so she was. Shehad been so long and so far banished from ordinary happiness, that herown quiet speculations were material enough for cheerfulness. Thesubject on which she would not think to-day, was the possibility of oneof the sisters attaching Mr Enderby. Maria Young had not always beensolitary, and lame, and poor. Her father had not been very long dead;and while he lived, no one supposed that his only child would be poor. Her youth passed gaily, and her adversity came suddenly. Her father waswont to drive her out in his gig, almost every summer day. One evening, the horse took fright, and upset the gig on a heap of stones by theroad-side. Mr Young was taken up dead, and Maria was lamed for life. She had always known the Enderbys very well; and there had been somegossip among their mutual acquaintance, about the probability thatPhilip would prove to be Maria's lover, when he should be old enough tothink of marrying. It never went further than this, --except in Maria'sown heart. She had, indeed, hoped--even supposed--that in Philip's mindthe affair had at least been entertained thus far. She could neversettle to her own satisfaction whether she had been weak and mistaken, or whether she had really been in any degree wronged. There had beenwords, there had been looks, --but words and looks are so easilymisinterpreted! The probability was that she had no one to blame butherself--if fault there was. Perhaps there was no fault anywhere: butthere was misery, intense and long. During her illness, no tidings cameof Philip. He was in another part of the country when the accidenthappened; and it was not till long after it had been made known that MrYoung had died insolvent, --not till after Maria had recovered, as far asrecovery was possible, --not till she had fallen into the habit ofearning her bread, that Philip reappeared, and shook hands with her, andtold her with how much concern he had heard of her sufferings. Thisinterview gave her entire possession of herself:--so she believed. Shegot through it calmly, and it left her with one subject at least ofintense thankfulness, --that her mind was known only to herself. Whatever might be her solitary struggles, she might look without shameinto the face of every human being. She could bear being pitied for herpoverty, for her lameness, for her change of prospects, when therecollection of this came across any of her acquaintance. If it hadbeen necessary, she could probably have borne to be pitied for havingloved without return; but she could not be too thankful that it was notnecessary. 

Maria was right in her supposition that the village was speculating uponthe newly-arrived young ladies. The parish clerk had for some years, indeed ever since the death of the late stationer and dispenser ofletters, carried on a flirtation with the widow, notwithstanding therumours which were current, as to the cause to which her late husbandowed his death. It was believed that poor Harry Plumstead died ofexhaustion from his wife's voice; for she was no other than the villagescold, of whose existence Margaret had been warned by Mr Enderby. Somethought that Owen was acting a politic part in protracting thisflirtation, --keeping her temper in check by his hold upon herexpectations; and such had little doubt that the affair would linger onto the end, without any other result than Owen's exemption meanwhilefrom the inflictions of her tongue, to which, in the discharge of hisoffice, he might otherwise become frequently liable. Others wished tosee them married, believing that in Owen, a Welshman sufficientlyirascible, Mrs Plumstead would at last meet her match. This afternoon, an observer would have thought the affair was proceeding to this point. Mrs Plumstead, looking particularly comely and gracious, was putting upan unclaimed letter at the window for display, when Owen stopped to askif she had seen the pretty young ladies who had come to Deerbrook. Heremarked that, to be sure, they might have gone to some place where theywere more wanted, for Deerbrook was not without pretty faces of its ownbefore: and, as he said so, he smiled hard in the widow's face. Heshould not wonder if some work for the rector should rise up beforelong, for, where there were pretty faces, weddings might be looked for. He even asked Mrs Plumstead if she did not think so: and addedsomething so ambiguous about his own share in the work for the rectorwhich was to arise, that the widow could not make out whether he spokeas her admirer or as parish clerk. In the milliner's workroom there wasa spirited conversation between Miss Nares and her assistant, on thepast wedding dresses of Deerbrook, arising out of the topic of theday, --the Miss Ibbotsons. Mrs Howell, who, with her shopwoman, MissMiskin, dispensed the haberdashery of the place, smiled winningly atevery customer who entered her shop, and talked of delightfulacquisitions, and what must be felt about Mr Hope, in the midst of suchcharming society, and what it must be hoped would be felt; and how gaythe place was likely to be with riding parties, and boating parties, andsome said, dances on the green at Mrs Enderby's; and how partners in adance have been known to become partners for life, as she had beenjocosely told when her poor dear Howell prevailed on her to stand upwith him, --the first time for twenty years, --at his niece's wedding. Hester's beauty, and what Mrs Grey had said about it to her maid, werediscussed, just at the moment when Hester, passing the shop, wasentreated by Sophia to look at a new pattern of embroidery which hadlately arrived from London, and was suspended at the window. MrsHowell and her gossips caught a glimpse of the face of the young lady, through the drapery of prints and muslins, and the festoons of ribbons;and when the party proceeded down the street, there was a rush to thedoor, in order to obtain a view of her figure. She was pronouncedbeautiful; and it was hoped that some gentleman in the village wouldfind her irresistible. It was only rather strange that no gentleman wasin attendance on her now. 

If the gossips could have followed the party with their eyes into themeadow, they would soon have been satisfied; for it was not long beforeMr Hope joined them there. On leaving Mr Grey's table, he was aslittle disposed to go and visit his patient, as medical men are whenthey are called away from the merriest company, or at the mostinteresting moment of a conversation. The liability to this kind ofinterruption is one of the great drawbacks of the profession, to whichMr Hope belonged; another is, the impossibility of travelling, --thebeing fixed to one place for life, without any but the shortestintervals of journeying. Mr Hope had been settled for five years atDeerbrook; and, during that time, he had scarcely been out of sight ofits steeple. His own active and gladsome mind had kept him happy amonghis occupations. There was no one in the place with whom he could holdequal converse; but, while he had it not, he did not feel the pressingwant of it. He loved his profession, and it kept him busy. His kindheart was ever full of interest for his poorer patients. Seeing thebest side of everybody, he could be entertained, though sometimes vexed, by his intercourse with the Greys and Rowlands. Then there was thekindly-tempered and gentlemanly rector; and Philip Enderby often camedown for a few weeks; and Mr Hope had the chief management of the BookSociety, and could thus see the best new books; and his professionalrides lay through a remarkably pretty country. 

He kept up a punctual and copious correspondence with the members of hisown family, --with his married sisters, and with his only brother, nowwith his regiment in India, --relating to them every importantcircumstance of his lot, and almost every interesting feeling of hisheart. With this variety of resources, life had passed away cheerily, on the whole, with Mr Hope, for the five years of his residence atDeerbrook; though there were times when he wondered whether it was to bealways thus, --whether he was to pass to his grave without any higher ordeeper human intercourses than he had here. If it had been possible, hemight, like other men as wise as himself, have invested some one of theyoung ladies of Deerbrook with imaginary attributes, and have fallen inlove with a creature of his own fancy. But it really was not possible. There was no one of the young ladies of Deerbrook who was not so farinferior to the women of Hope's own family, --to the mother he had lost, and the sisters who were settled far away, --as to render this commonestof all delusions impossible to him. 

To such a man, so circumstanced, it may be imagined how great an eventwas the meeting with Hester and Margaret. He could not be in theirpresence ten minutes without becoming aware of their superiority toevery woman he had seen for five years past. The beauty of the one, thesincerity and unconsciousness of the other, and the general elevation ofboth, struck him forcibly the first evening. His earliest thought thenext morning was of some great event having taken place; and when heleft Mr Grey's door after dinner, it was with an unwillingness whichmade him spur himself and his horse on to their business, that he mightthe sooner return to his new-found pleasure. His thoughts alreadydarted forward to the time when the Miss Ibbotsons would be leavingDeerbrook. It was already a heavy thought how dull Deerbrook would bewithout them. He was already unconsciously looking at every object inand around the familiar place with the eyes of the strangers, speculating on how the whole would appear to them. In short, his mindwas full of them. There are, perhaps, none who do not know what thiskind of impression is. All have felt it, at some time or other, --manyhave felt it often, --about strangers whom they have been predisposed tolike, or with whom they have been struck at meeting. Nine times out often, perhaps, the impression is fleeting; and when it is gone, there isan unwillingness to return to it, from a sense of absurdity in havingbeen so much interested about one who so soon became indifferent: butthe fact is not the less real and general for this. When it happensbetween two young people who are previously fancy-free, andcircumstances favour the impression till it sinks deeper than the fancy, it takes the name of love at first sight. Otherwise it passes awaywithout a name, without a record:--for the hour it is a secret: in anafter time it is forgotten. 

Possessed unconsciously with this secret, Hope threw himself from hishorse at the entrance of the meadow where the cowslip-gatherers werebusy, fastened his steed to the gate, and joined the party. Thechildren ran to him with the gleanings of intelligence which they hadacquired since he saw them last, half an hour before:--that it was wellthey did not put off their gathering any longer, for some of the flowerswere beginning to dry up already: that cousins had never tastedcowslip-tea;--(was not this _very_ odd?)--that cousin Hester would nothelp to pick the flowers for drying, --she thought it such a pity to pullthe blossom out of the calyx: that Sophia would not help either, becauseit was warm: that cousin Margaret had gathered a great many, but she hadbeen ever so long watching a spider's nest, --a nasty large spider's nestthat Matilda was just going to break into, when cousin Margaret askedher not to spoil it?

Margaret was indeed on her knees, prying into the spider's nest. Whenduly laughed at, she owned to having seen cobwebs before, but maintainedthat cobwebs in a closet were a very different affair from a spider'snest in a field. 

"I rather think, however, " said she, "the word `nest' itself hassomething to do with my liking, for what I have been looking at. Someof your commonest country words have a charm to the ear and imaginationof townspeople that you could not understand. "

"But, " said Mr Hope, "I thought nests were very common in Birmingham. Have you not nests of boxes, and nests of work-tables?"

"Yes, and so we have stacks of chimneys; but yet we do not think ofhay-making when we see the smoke of the town. --I rather think countrywords are only captivating as relating to the country; but then youcannot think how bewitching they are to people who live in streets. "

"The children might have found you a prettier sort of nest to indulgeyour fancy with, I should think. There must be plenty of creaturesbesides spiders in this wide meadow. "

Mr Hope called out to the little girls, that whoever should find anysort of a nest in the meadow, for Miss Margaret Ibbotson, should have aride on his horse. Away flew the children; and Hester and Sophia camefrom the water-side to know what all the bustle was about. Fannyreturned to inquire whether the nests must be _in_ the meadow; whetherjust outside would not do. She knew there was an ants' nest in thebank, just on the other side of the hedge. The decision was that theants' nest would do only in case of her not being able to find any otherwithin bounds. Sophia looked on languidly, probably thinking all thisvery silly. It put her in mind of an old schoolfellow of hers who hadbeen called very clever before she came to school at nine years old. Till she saw her, Sophia had believed that town children were alwaysclever: but no later than the very first day, this little girl had gotinto disgrace with the governess. Her task was to learn by heartGoldsmith's Country Clergyman, in the `Deserted Village. ' She said itquite perfectly, but, when questioned about the meaning, stopped shortat the first line, --"Near yonder copse where once a garden smiled. " Shepersisted that she did not know what a copse was: the governess said shewas obstinate, and shut her up in the play hours between morning andafternoon school. Sophia never could make out whether the girl wasfoolish or obstinate in persisting that she did not know what a copsewas: but her cousin Margaret now put her in mind of this girl, with allher town feelings, and her fuss about spiders' nests. 

"How is old Mr Smithson to-day?" Sophia inquired of Mr Hope, by wayof introducing something more rational. 

"Not better: it is scarcely possible that he should be, " was the reply. 

"Papa thought last night he must be dying. "

"He is dying. "

"Have you just come from a patient who is dying?" asked Hester, with alook of anxiety, with which was mixed some surprise. 

"Yes: from one who cannot live many days. "

Sophia observed that Mr James had been sent for early this morning--nodoubt to put the finish to the will: but nobody seemed to know whetherthe old gentleman would leave his money to his nephew or his step-son, or whether he would divide it between them. Hester and Margaret showedno anxiety on this point, but seemed so ready to be interested aboutsome others as to make Mr Hope think that they were only restrained bydelicacy from asking all that he could tell about his patient's state. They knew enough of the profession, however, to be aware that this kindof inquiry is the last which should be addressed to a medical man. 

"You are surprised, " said he, "that I am come from a dying patient toplay with the children in the fields. Come, acknowledge that this is inyour minds. "

"If it is, it is an unreasonable thought, " said Margaret. "You must seeso many dying people, it would be hard that in every case you should beput out of the reach of pleasure. "

"Never mind the hardship, if it be fitting, " said Hope. "Hard or nothard, is it natural, --is it possible?"

"I suppose witnessing death so often does lessen the feelings about it, "observed Hester. "Yet I cannot fancy that one's mind could be atliberty for small concerns immediately after leaving a house full ofmourners, and the sight of one in pain. There must be somethingdistasteful in everything that meets one's eyes, --in the sunshineitself. "

"True. That is the feeling in such cases: but such cases seldom occur. Yes: I mean what I say. Such cases are very rare. The dying person iscommonly old, or so worn out by illness as to make death at last noevil. When the illness is shorter, it is usually found that a few hoursin the sick room do the work of months of common life, in reconcilingthe minds of survivors. "

"I am sure that is true, " observed Margaret. 

"It is so generally the case that I know no set of circumstances inwhich I should more confidently reckon on the calmness, forethought, andcomposure of the persons I have to deal with than in the family of adying person. The news comes suddenly to the neighbours: all thecircumstances rush at once into their imaginations: all theirrecollections and feelings about the sufferer agitate them in quicksuccession; and they naturally suppose the near friends must be moreagitated, in proportion to their nearness. "

"The watchers, meanwhile, " said Hester, "have had time in the long nightto go over the past and the future, again and again; and by morning allseems so familiar, that they think they can never be surprised intogrief again. "

"So familiar, " said Mr Hope, "that their minds are at liberty for thesmallest particulars of their duty. I usually find them ready for theminutest directions I may have to give. "

"Yes: the time for surprise, --for consternation, --is long afterwards, "said Hester, with some emotion. "When the whole has become settled andfinished in other minds, the nearest mourners begin to wake up to theirmourning. "

"And thus, " said Margaret, "the strongest agitation is happily notwitnessed. "

"Happily not, " said Mr Hope. "I doubt whether anybody's strongestagitations ever are witnessed. I doubt whether the sufferer himself isoften aware of what are really his greatest sufferings; and he is soashamed of them that he hides them from himself when it is possible. Icannot but think that any grief which reveals itself is very endurable. "

"Is not that rather hard?" asked Margaret. 

"How does it seem to you hard? Is it not merciful that we can keep ourworst sorrows, --that we are disposed, as it were forced, to keep themfrom afflicting our friends?"

"But is it not saying that bereavement of friends is not the greatest ofsorrows, while all seem to agree that it is?"

"Is it, generally speaking, the greatest of sorrows? I think not, formy own part. There are cases in which the loss is too heavy to bearbeing the subject of any speculation, almost of observation; forinstance, when the happiest married people are separated, or when afirst or only child dies: but I think there are many sorrows greaterthan a separation by death of those who have faith enough to liveindependently of each other, and mutual love enough to deserve, as theyhope, to meet again hereafter. I assure you I have sometimes come awayfrom houses unvisited, and unlikely to be visited by death, with a heartso heavy as I have rarely or never brought from a deathbed. "

"I should have thought that would be left for the rector to say, "observed Hester. "I should have supposed you meant cases of guilt orremorse. "

"Cases of guilt or remorse, " continued Mr Hope, "and also of infirmity. People may say what they will, but I am persuaded that there isimmeasurably more suffering endured, both in paroxysms and for acontinuance, from infirmity, tendency to a particular fault, or theprivation of a sense, than from the loss of any friend upon earth, except the very nearest and dearest; and even that case is no exception, when there is the faith of meeting again, which almost every mournerhas, so natural and welcome as it is. "

"Do you tell your infirm friends the high opinion you have of theirsufferings?" asked Margaret. 

"Why, not exactly; that would not be the kindest thing to do, would it?What they want is, to have their trouble lightened to them, not made theworst of;--lightened, not by using any deceit, of course, but by simplytreating their case as a matter of fact. "

"Then surely you should make light of the case of the dying too: makelight of it even to the survivors. Do you do this?"

"In one sense I do; in another sense no one can do it. Not regardingdeath as a misfortune, I cannot affect to consider it so. Regarding thechange of existence as a very serious one, I cannot, of course, makelight of it. "

"That way of looking at it regards only the dying person; you have notsaid how you speak of it to survivors. "

"As I speak of it to you now, or to myself when I see any one die; withthe added consideration of what the survivors are about to lose. Thatis a large consideration certainly; but should not one give them creditfor viewing death as it is, and for being willing to bear their own losscheerfully, as they would desire to bear any other kind of loss?especially if, as they say, they believe it to be only for a time. "

"This as looking on the bright side, " observed Hester, in a low voice;but she was overheard by Mr Hope. 

"I trust you do not object to the bright side of things, " said he, smiling, "as long as there is so much about us that is really verydark?"

"What can religion be for, " said Margaret, "or reason, or philosophy, whichever name you may call your faith by, but to show us the brightside of everything--of death among the rest? I have often wondered whywe seem to try to make the most of that evil (if evil it be), while wethink it a duty to make the least of every other. I had some suchfeeling, I suppose, when I was surprised to hear that you had comehither straight from a deathbed: I do not wonder at all now. "

"Mr Smithson will not be much missed, " observed Sophia, who feltherself relieved from the solemnity of the occasion, by what had passed, and at liberty to speak of him as freely as if he was no nearer deaththan ever. "He has never been a sociable neighbour. I always thoughthim an odd old man, from the earliest time I can remember. "

"Some few will miss him, " said Mr Hope. "He is a simple-hearted, shyman, who never did himself justice, except with two or three who sawmost of him. Their affection has been enough for him--enough to makehim think now that his life has been a very happy one. There!" criedHope, as a lark sprang up almost from under the feet of theparty--"There is another member of Deerbrook society, ladies, who isanxious to make your acquaintance. " There were two or three larkshovering above the meadow at this moment, and others were soaringfurther off. The air was full of lark music. The party stood still andlistened. Looking up into the sunny sky, they watched one littlewarbler, wheeling round, falling, rising again, still warbling, till itseemed as if it could never be exhausted. Sophia said it made her headache to look up so long; and she seemed impatient for the bird to havedone. It then struck her that she also might find a nest, like hersisters; and she examined the place whence the lark had sprung. Under athick tuft of grass, in a little hollow, she found a family of infantlarks huddled together, and pointed them out to her cousins. 

The children came upon being called. They were damped in spirits. Theydid not see how they were to find any nests, if the ants' nest would notdo; unless, indeed, Mr Hope would hold them up into the trees or hedgesto look; but they could not climb trees, Mr Hope knew. They weresomewhat further mortified by perceiving that they might have found anest by examining the ground, if they had happened to think of it. Margaret begged they would not be distressed at not finding nests forher; and Mr Hope proposed to try his luck, saying, that if hesucceeded, every one who wished should have a ride on his horse. 

To the surprise of the children, he turned towards the water, and walkedalong the bank. The brimming river was smooth as glass; and where itstood in among the rushes, and in every tiny inlet, it was as clear asthe air, and alive with small fish, which darted at the flies thatdimpled the surface. A swan, which had been quietly sailing in themiddle of the stream, changed its deportment as the party proceededalong the bank. It ruffled its breast feathers, arched back its necktill the head rested between the erect wings, and drove through thewater with a speed which shivered the pictures in it as a sweeping galewould have done. 

"What is the matter with the creature?" asked Margaret; "I never saw aswan behave so. "

The children seemed rather afraid that the bird would come on shore andattack them. Mr Hope took the opportunity of its being at some littledistance, to open the rushes, and show where a fine milk-white egg layin a large round nest. 

"Oh, Mr Hope, you knew!" cried the children, "you knew there was aswan's nest near. "

"Yes; and did not you, when you saw how the swan behaved? But I wasaware of this nest before. Tom Creach has the care of the park swans;he made this nest, and he told me where it was. Let your cousins have apeep; and then we will go, before the poor swan grows too muchfrightened. And now, who will have a ride on my horse?"

All the children chose to ride; and, while Mr Hope was coursing withthem in turn, round and round the meadow, the young ladies proceededalong the bank. A quarter of a mile further on, they fell in withSydney Grey and his friend Mr Philip. They had been successful intheir sport. Mr Enderby had had enough of it, and was stretched on thegrass reading, while Sydney stood on the roots of an old oak, castinghis line into the pool beneath its shadow. 

"So, here you are, quite safe!" said Sophia; "George Rowland might havecome after all. Poor boy! I am glad he is not with us, he would be somortified to see all the fish you have caught without him!"

"How many times have we been in the river, Sydney? Can you remember?"asked Mr Enderby. 

"I have seen no fish big enough to pull us in, " said Sydney; "and I donot know any other way of getting a wetting at this sport. Mrs Rowlandshould have seen George and me climbing the old oak at the two-mileturning. I dared George to it, and there he hung over the water, at theend of the branch, riding up and down like a see-saw. She would thinknothing of letting him go fishing after that. "

"If the branch had broken, " said Mr Enderby, "what would you have donethen?"

"Oh, it is not often that a branch breaks. "

"Old oaks are apt to break, sooner or later; and, the next time you dareGeorge to see-saw over the river, I would advise you to considerbeforehand how you would get him out, in case of his dropping in. "

"Oh, he is not afraid. One day lately, when the water was low, heoffered to cross the weir at Dingleford. I did not persuade him tothat; but he pulled off his shoes and stockings, and got over and back, safe enough. "

"Indeed! and you tried it too, I suppose?"

"Yes; it would be a shame if I could not do what George can. It wasalmost as easy as walking along this bank. "

"I shall talk to Master George, however, before he goes to Dinglefordagain, or he may chance to find it easier some day to miss his footingthan to hold it. "

"I wonder Mrs Rowland is afraid to let George go out with you, " saidSophia, "considering what things he does when you are not with him. "

"She does not know of these pranks, or she would feel as you do; and Ihope every one here will be kind enough not to tell her. It would onlybe making her anxious to no purpose, whenever the boy is out of hersight. It would be a pity to make a coward of him; and I think I canteach him what is mischief, and what is not, without disturbing her. Come, ladies, suppose you rest yourselves here; you will find a pleasantseat on this bank: at least, I fell asleep on it just now, as if I hadbeen on a sofa. "

"I wish you would all go to sleep, or else walk off, " said Sydney. "Youmake so much noise I shall never catch any fish. "

"Suppose you were to go somewhere else, " said Mr Enderby. 

"Would not that be rather more civil than sending us all away?"

Sydney thought he would find another place: there were plenty along thebank. He gathered up bait and basket, and trudged off. There was anamusement, however, which he liked better even than fishing; and forwhich he now surrendered it. He was presently seen cantering round themeadow on Mr Hope's horse. 

Mr Enderby hoped the Miss Ibbotsons were able to say "No" withdecision. If not, he did not envy them their supper this evening; forSydney would certainly ask them to eat all the fish he had caught--breamand dace and all. The first pleasure of young anglers is to catch thesesmall fry; and the next is, to make their sisters and cousins eat them. Sophia solemnly assured her cousins that mamma never allowed Sydney'sfish to come to table, at least in the house. If the children liked toget the cook to boil them for their dolls' feasts in the schoolroom, they might. 

"And then Miss Young is favoured with a share, I suppose?" saidMargaret. 

"Have you made acquaintance with Miss Young yet?" inquired Mr Enderby. 

"Oh, yes! I had the pleasure of knowing Miss Young long before I knewyou. "

"Long! how long? I was not aware that you had ever met. Where did youmeet?"

"In the schoolroom, before breakfast, --full four hours before you calledthis morning. "

"Oh, that is all you mean! I wondered how you should know her. "

Sophia asked whether Margaret and Miss Young were not going to studytogether: Margaret assented. Miss Young was kind enough to promise tohelp her to read German. 

"And you?" said Mr Enderby to Hester. 

"Why, no; I am rather afraid of the undertaking. "

"And you, Miss Grey?"

"No. Mamma says, I have enough to do with my history and my music;especially while my cousins are here. I began German once, but mammathought I was growing awry, and so I left it off. I find Mrs Rowlandmeans Matilda to learn German. "

"We are all disposed to have my little nieces learn whatever Miss Youngwill be kind enough to teach them; they will gain nothing but good fromher. "

"She is very learned, to be sure, " observed Sophia. 

"And something more than learned, I should think, " said Hester; "I fancyshe is wise. "

"How can you have discovered that already?" asked Mr Enderby, whosefingers were busy dissecting a stalk of flowering grass. 

"I hardly know; I have nothing to quote for my opinion. Herconversation leaves a general impression of her being very sensible. "

"Sensible, as she is a woman, " observed Margaret; "if she were a man, she would be called philosophical. "

"She _is_ very superior, " observed Sophia. "It was mamma's doing thatshe is the children's governess. "

"Philosophical!" repeated Mr Enderby. "It is a happy thing that she isphilosophical in her circumstances, poor thing!"

"As she happens to be unprosperous, " said Margaret, smiling. "If shewere rich, and strong, and admired, her philosophy would be laughed at;it would only be in the way. "

Mr Enderby sighed, and made no answer. Before any one spoke again, MrHope and his little companions came up. 

"How quiet you all are!" exclaimed Sydney. "I've a good mind to comeand fish here again, if you will only go on to be so drowsy. "

Sophia declared that they had been talking, up to the last minute, aboutMiss Young, and learning German, and being philosophical. 

"And which of the party have you made out to be the most philosophical?"inquired Mr Hope. 

"We have not so much as made out what philosophy is for, " said Hester;"can you tell us?"

As she looked up at Mr Hope, who was standing behind her, Sydneythought her question was addressed to him. Swinging his fishing-rodround, he replied doubtfully that he thought philosophy was good to knowhow to do things. What sort of things? Why, to make phosphorus lights, and electrify people, as Dr Levitt did, when he made Sophia jump offthe stool with glass legs. Sophia was sure that any one else would havejumped off the stool as she did. She should take good care never tojump on it again. But she wondered Sydney did not know any better thanthat what philosophy was for. Her cousins said Miss Young wasphilosophical, and she had nothing to do with phosphorus or electricalmachines. 

Mr Enderby explained to Mr Hope that he had said what he was ready tomaintain; that it was a happy thing for any one who, like Miss Young, was not so prosperous as she had been, to be supported by philosophy. 

"And, granting this, " said Margaret, "it was next inquired whether thissame philosophy would have been considered equally admirable, equally amatter of congratulation, if Miss Young had not wanted it for solace. "

"A question as old as the brigg at Stirling, " replied Mr Hope; "older, older than any bridges of man's making. "

"Why Stirling brigg? What do you mean?"

"I mean--do not you know the story?--that an old woman wanted to crossthe Forth, and some ferrymen would have persuaded her to go in theirboat when she was confident that a tempest was coming on, which wouldhave made the ferry unsafe. They told her at last that she must trustto Providence. `Na, na, ' said she, `I will ne'er trust to Providencewhile there is a brigg at Stirling. ' The common practice is, you know, with the old woman. --We will not trust to the highest support we professto have, till nothing else is left us. We worship philosophy, but neverthink of making use of it while we have prosperity as well. "

"The question is whether such practice is wise, " said Margaret: "we allknow it is common. "

"For my part, " said Mr Enderby, "I think the old Scotchwoman was right;Providence helps those that help themselves, and takes care of those whotake care of themselves. "

"Just so, " said Hope. "Her error was in supposing that the one coursewas an alternative from the other, --that she would not be trusting inProvidence as much in going by the bridge as in braving the tempest. Ithink we are in the same error when we set up philosophy and prosperityin opposition to each other, taking up with the one when we cannot getthe other, as if philosophy were not over all, compassing our life asthe blue sky overarches the earth, brightening, vivifying, harmonisingall, whether we look up to see whence the light comes or not. "

"You think it a mistake, then, " said Margaret, "not to look up to ittill all is night below, and there is no light to be seen but by gazingoverhead?"

"I do not see why we should miss seeing the white clouds and blue depthsat noon because we may reckon upon moon and stars at midnight. Thenagain, what is life at its best without philosophy?"

"I can tell you, as well as anybody, " said Mr Enderby, "for I never hadany philosophy, --no, neither wisdom, nor the love of wisdom, norpatience, nor any of the things that philosophy is understood to mean. "

"Oh, Mr Enderby!" cried Sydney, "what pains you took to teach me tofish, and to make me wait patiently for a bite! _You_ say you are notpatient!"

"My account of life without philosophy, " said Mr Enderby, proceeding asif he did not hear the children testifying to his patience withthem, --"my account of life without philosophy is, that it slips awaymighty easily, till it is gone, you scarcely know where or how. "

"And when you call upon philosophy at last to give an account of it, what does she say?" asked Margaret. 

"I do not understand how life can slip away so, " said Hester. "Is thereever a day without its sting?--without doubt of somebody, disappointmentin oneself or another, dread of some evil, or weariness of spirit?Prosperity is no more of a cure for these than for sickness and death. If philosophy is--"

"Well!" exclaimed Mr Hope, with strong interest, "if philosophy is--"

"Happy they that have her, for all need her. "

"Hear a testimony at least as candid as your own, Enderby. If youreally find life steal away as easily as you now fancy, depend upon ityou are more of a philosopher than you are aware of. "

"What is philosophy?" asked Matilda of Sydney in a loud whisper, whichthe boy was not in any hurry to take notice of, so little was there inthe conversation which seemed to bear upon phosphorus and electricity. 

"A good question, " observed Mr Enderby. "Hope, will you tell uschildren what we are talking about, --what philosophy is all this while?"

"You gave us a few meanings just now, which I should put into one. Callit enlargement of views, and you have wisdom, and the love of wisdom, and patience, all at once: ay, Sydney, and your kind of philosophytoo:--It was by looking far and deep into nature that men foundelectricity. "

"Did Dr Levitt find it out?" asked Matilda: "he is so veryshort-sighted! I don't believe he would see those fish snapping up theflies, if he sat where I do. What was that that fell on my bonnet? Isit raining?"

Sydney, tired of fishing, had climbed into the oak, and was sending downtwigs and leaves upon the heads of the party. Sophia desired him tocome down, and even assured him that if he did not, she should be angry. He replied, that he would only stay to see whether she would be angryor not. The experiment was cut short by the whole party rising, andmoving homewards. The sun was setting, and the picked cowslips must nothave any dew upon them. 

As the group passed up the street, Sydney in advance, with his rod andbasket, on Mr Hope's horse, Mr Hope himself following with Hester, andthe tall Mr Enderby, with Sophia and Margaret on either arm, all, likethe little girls, laden with cowslips, the gossips of Deerbrook weresatisfied that the stranger ladies must have enjoyed their walk in themeadows. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

THE SCHOOL-ROOM. 

Mrs Rowland was mortified that the Greys had been beforehand with herin the idea of a cowslip-gathering. From the moment of Matilda's askingleave to accompany them, she resolved to have such an expedition fromher house as her neighbours should not be able to eclipse. Like Lear, she did not yet know what her deed was to be; but it should be thewonder and terror of the place: she would do such things as shouldstrike the strangers with admiration. When she heard an account of itfrom her little daughter, she found this had been a very poorbeginning, --a mere walk in the meadows, and home again to tea;--noboiling the kettle in the woods, --not even a surprise of earlystrawberries. She could not call this being forestalled; it could notgive the young ladies any idea of a proper country excursion, with fouror five carriages, or a boat with an awning. As soon as Mr Rowlandcame home in the evening, she consulted him about the day, the place, the mode, and the numbers to be invited. Mr Rowland was so wellpleased to find his lady in the mood to be civil to her neighbours, thathe started no difficulties, and exerted himself to overcome such ascould not be overlooked. All the planning prospered so well, that notesto the Grey family and to the Miss Ibbotsons lay on Mr Grey'sbreakfast-table the next morning, inviting the whole party to dine withMrs Rowland in Dingleford woods, that day week--the carriages to be atthe door at ten o'clock. 

The whole village rang with the preparations for this excursion; and thevillage was destined to ring with other tidings before it took place. Mrs Rowland often said that she had the worst luck in the world; and itseemed as if all small events fell out so as to plague her. She had anunusual fertility in such sensible suppositions and reasonablecomplaints; and her whole diversity of expressions of this kind wascalled into play about this expedition to Dingleford woods. The hamswere actually boiled, and the chicken-pies baked, when clouds began togather in the sky; and on the appointed morning, pattens clinked in thevillage street, Miss Young's umbrella was wet through in the meretransit from the farrier's gate to the schoolroom; the gravel-walkbefore Mr Grey's house was full of yellow pools, and the gurgling ofspouts or drips from the trees was heard on every side. The worst of itwas, this rain came after a drought of many weeks, which had perilledthe young crops, and almost destroyed the hopes of hay; the ladies andchildren had been far from sufficiently sorry to hear that some of thepoorer wheat lands in the county had been ploughed up, and that therewas no calculating what hay would be a ton the next winter. They werenow to receive the retribution of their indifference; rain had set in, and the farmers hoped that it might continue for a month. It would notbe wise to fix any country excursion for a few weeks to come. Let theyoung people enjoy any fine afternoon that they might be able to turn tothe account of a walk, or a drive, or a sail on the river; but picnicparties must be deferred till settled weather came. There was everyhope that the middle of the summer would be fine and seasonable, if therains came down freely now. 

This course of meteorological events involved two great vexations toMrs Rowland. One was, that the neighbours, who could pretend toentertain the strangers only in a quiet way at home, took theopportunity of the rainy weather to do so, hoping, as they said, not tointerfere with any more agreeable engagements. Mrs Rowland reallynever saw anything so dissipated as the Greys; they were out almostevery evening when they had not company at home. It was impossible thatSophia's studies could go on as they ought to do. What with taking aquiet cup of tea with one acquaintance, and being at a merry readingparty at another's, and Mrs Enderby's little dance, and dinner at theLevitts', there were few evenings left; and on those few evenings theywere never content to be alone. They were always giving the young menencouragement to go in. Mr Hope made quite a home house of Mr Grey's;and as for Philip, he seemed now to be more at Mr Grey's than even athis own mother's or Sister's. Mrs Grey ought to remember how bad allthis was for a girl of Sophia's age. It would completely spoil theexcursion to Dingleford woods. The young people knew one another sowell by this time, that the novelty was all worn off, and they wouldhave nothing left to say to each other. It was provoking that MrRowland had promised that the excursion should take place whenever theweather should be settled enough. It might so fairly have been givenup! and now it must be gone on with, when every one was tired of theidea, and the young people must almost be weary of one another, frombeing always together!

The other vexation was, that there were frequent short intervals of fineweather, which were immediately taken advantage of for a drive, or awalk, or a sail; and it came out one day from the children, who hadlearned it in the schoolroom, that the Miss Ibbotsons had been inDingleford woods. There had been no such intention when the party setout; they had not designed to go nearly so far; but they had beentempted on by the beauty of the evening and of the scenery, till theyhad found it the shortest way to come home through the Dingleford woods. Mrs Rowland pronounced this abominable; and she was not appeased byhearing that her brother had been the proposer of this mode of return, and the guide of the party. Philip forgot everything, she declared, inhis fancy for these girls; it was always his fault that he was carriedaway by the people he was with: he had got the name of a flirt by it, and a flirt he was; but she had never known him so possessed as heseemed to be by these strangers. She must speak to Mr Rowland aboutit; the matter might really become serious; and if he should ever beentrapped into marrying into the Grey connections, among people sodecidedly objectionable, it would be a terrible self-reproach to her aslong as she lived, that she had not interfered in time. She shouldspeak to Mr Rowland. 

Meanwhile she kept a watchful eye on her brother's proceedings. Shefound from the children that their Uncle Philip had fulfilled hispromise of going to see the schoolroom, and had been so much better thanhis word, that he had been there very often. When he went, it wasalways when the Miss Ibbotsons were there, learning German, or drawing, or talking with Miss Young. It was impossible to pick a quarrel withMiss Young about this; for she always sent her visitors away the momentthe clock struck the school hour. The summer-house was Mr Grey'sproperty, too; so that Mrs Rowland could only be angry at the studieswhich went on in it, and had no power to close the doors against any ofthe parties. 

The rainy weather had indeed been very propitious to the study ofGerman. For a fortnight Margaret had spent some hours of each day withMiss Young; and over their books they had learned so much of oneanother's heart and mind, that a strong regard had sprung up betweenthem. This new friendship was a great event to Miss Young;--how great, she herself could scarcely have believed beforehand. Her pupils foundthat Miss Young was now very merry sometimes. Mr Grey observed to hiswife that the warmer weather seemed to agree with the poor young woman, as she had some little colour in her cheeks at last; and Margaretherself observed a change in the tone of the philosophy she had admiredfrom the beginning. There was somewhat less of reasoning in it, andmore of impulse; it was as sound as ever, but more genial. While neverforgetting the constancy of change in human affairs, she was heartilywilling to enjoy the good that befell her, while it lasted. It was wellthat she could do so; for the good of this new friendship was presentlyalloyed. 

She was not aware, and it was well that she was not, that Hester wasjealous of her, almost from the hour of Margaret's learning what a vastnumber of irregular verbs there is in the German. Each sisterremembered the conversation by the open window, on the night of theirarrival at Deerbrook. Remembering it, Margaret made Hester a partakerin all her feelings about Maria Young; her admiration, her pity, heresteem. Reserving to herself any confidence which Maria placed in her(in which, however, no mention of Mr Enderby ever occurred), she keptnot a thought or feeling of her own from her sister. The consequencewas, that Hester found that Maria filled a large space in Margaret'smind, and that a new interest had risen up in which she had littleshare. She, too, remembered the conversation, but had not strength toact up to the spirit of it. She had then owned her weakness, and calledit wickedness, and fancied that she could never mistrust her sisteragain. She was now so ashamed of her own consciousness of being oncemore jealous, that she strove to hide the fact from herself; and was nottherefore likely to tell it to Margaret. She struggled hourly withherself, rebuking her own temper, and making appeals to her owngenerosity. She sat drawing in the little blue parlour, morning aftermorning, during Sophia's reading or practising, telling herself thatMargaret and Miss Young had no secrets, no desire to be always_tete-a-tete_; that they had properly invited her to learn German; andthat she had only to go at any moment, and offer to join them, to bejoyfully received. She argued with herself, --how mean it would be to doso; to agree to study at last, in order to be a sort of spy upon them, to watch over her own interests; as if Margaret--the most sincere andfaithful of living beings--were not to be trusted with them. She hadoften vowed that she would cure the jealousy of her temper; now was theoccasion, and she would meet it; she would steadily sit beside Sophia orMrs Grey every morning, when Margaret was not with her, and never lether sister know how selfish she could be. 

This was all very well; but it could not make Margaret suppose hersister happy when she was not. She could not be certain what was thematter, but she saw that something was wrong. At times, Hester's mannerwas so unboundedly affectionate, that it was impossible to suppose thatunkind feelings existed towards herself; though a few pettish words wereat other times let drop. Hester's moods of magnanimity and jealousywere accounted for in other ways by her sister. Margaret believed, after a course of very close observation, that she had discovered, ininvestigating the cause of Hester's discomposure, a secret which wasunknown to her sister herself. Margaret was not experienced in love, nor in watching the signs of it; but here was the mind she understoodbest, discomposed without apparent cause--more fond, more generous toherself than ever, yet not reposing its usual confidence in her--andsubject to those starts of delight and disappointment which she hadheard and could understand to be the moods of love. She was confirmedin her suspicion by observing that the merits of Mr Hope were becomingdaily a less common subject of conversation between them, while it wascertain that he had in no degree lost favour with either. They had beencharmed with him from the beginning, and had expressed to each other thefreest admiration of his truth, his gaiety, his accomplishments, andgreat superiority to the people amidst whom he lived. He was now spokenof less every day, while his visits grew more frequent, longer, and, Margaret could not but think, more welcome to her sister. The hourswhen he was sure not to come happened to be those which she spent withMiss Young--the hours in which gentlemen are devoted to their business. Margaret thus witnessed all that passed; and if her conjecture aboutHester was right, she could have wished to see Mr Hope's manner ratherdifferent from what it was. He was evidently strongly attracted to thehouse; and there was some reason to think that Mrs Grey believed thatHester was the attraction. But Margaret had no such impression. Shesaw that Mr Hope admired her sister's beauty, listened to herconversation with interest, and was moved at times by the generosity ofher tone of moral feeling; but this, though much, was not enough for theanxious sister's full satisfaction; and the one thing besides which shewould fain have discerned she could not perceive. These were early daysyet, however; so early that, in the case of any one whom she knew, except her sister, she should have supposed her own conjectures wild andalmost improper; but Hester's was one of those natures to which time andcircumstance minister more speedily and more abundantly than to thegenerality. By the strength of her feelings, and the activity of heraffections, time was made more comprehensive, and circumstance moreweighty than to others. A day would produce changes in her which theimpressions of a week would not effect in less passionate natures; andwhat were trifling incidents to the minds about her, were great eventsto her. 

Margaret began to consider what was to be done. The more she thought, the more plainly she perceived that there was nothing to be done but tooccupy Hester, simply and naturally, with as many interests as possible. This was safe practice, be the cause of her occasional discomposurewhat it might. It was particularly desirable that she should notcontinue the habit of sitting in silence for a considerable part ofevery morning. 

One day, just after the voices of the children had been heard in thehall, giving token that school was over, Hester, sitting in the littleblue parlour alone, with her head on her hand, was apparentlycontemplating the drawing on her board, but really considering thatMargaret was now beginning to be happy with her friend, and asking whyMargaret should not be happy with her friend, when Margaret herselfentered. 

"Do you want Sophia?" said Hester. "She is up-stairs. "

"No; I want you. "

"Indeed!"

There was an ironical tone of surprise in the one word she spoke, whichlet fall a weight upon Margaret's heart;--an old feeling, but one towhich she had made no progress towards being reconciled. 

"I cannot help you with your German, you know. How can you pretend towant me?"

"It is not about the German at all that I want you. Maria has found aSpenser at last, and I am going to read her the `Hymn of HeavenlyBeauty, ' I know you never can hear that often enough; so come!"

"Perhaps Miss Young had rather not. I should be sorry to intrude myselfupon her. But, however, " continued she, observing Margaret's look ofsurprise, "I will come. Do not wait for me, dear. I will come themoment I have put up my drawing. "

Margaret did wait, running over the keys of the open piano meanwhile. 

"Shall I call Sophia too?" asked Hester, as she took up her work-bag. "I dare say she never read any of Spenser. "

"I dare say not, " replied Margaret; "and she would not care about itnow. If you think we ought, we will call her. If not--"

Hester smiled, nodded, and led the way to the schoolroom without callingSophia. She had not been two minutes in the cordial presence of hersister and Maria, before she felt the full absurdity of the feelingswhich had occupied her so lately, and was angry with herself to her ownsatisfaction. Her companions looked at each other with a smile as theyobserved at the same moment the downcast attitude of her moistened eyes, the beautiful blush on her cheek, and the expression of meek emotion onher lips. They thought that it was the image of heavenly beauty whichmoved her thus. 

Before they had quite finished the Hymn, the door was burst open, andthe children entered, dragging in Mr Enderby. Mr Enderby rebukedthem, good-naturedly, for introducing him with so little ceremony, anddeclared to the ladies that Matilda had promised to knock before sheopened the door. Hester advised Mary and Fanny to be more quiet intheir mode of entrance, observing that they had made Miss Young startwith their hurry. 

Matilda was glad her uncle remembered to come sometimes. He hadpromised it several weeks before he came at all; even when he said hewas going away in a fortnight. 

"And if I had gone away in a fortnight, " said he, "I should not haveseen your schoolroom. But this is not the first time I have seen it, asyou remember very well. I have been here often lately. "

"But you never attend to me here, uncle! And I want so to show you mydesk, where I keep my copy-book, and the work-box you gave me on mybirthday. "

"Well, you can show me now, cannot you? So, this is your desk! Itseems convenient enough, whatever we may think of its beauty. I supposeit will hold all the knowledge you will want to have put into your headfor some time to come. Now show me which is George's desk, and whichFanny's; and now Mary's, --a nice row of desks! Now, " whispering to her, "can you show me which is Miss Margaret's desk?"

The little girl giggled as she answered, that Miss Margaret was too oldto be a school-girl. 

"So she is: but she learns of Miss Young, and I know she keeps some ofher books here. Can you show me where?"

There was a desk rather larger than the rest, the lid of which nowhappened to be standing open. Matilda slyly pointed to it. While theladies were engaged with the other children, Mr Enderby cast a glanceinto this desk, saw a book which he knew to be Margaret's, laidsomething upon it from his pocket, and softly closed the lid; the wholepassing, if it was observed at all, as a survey of the children's desks. He then pretended to look round for the rod. 

"No rod!" said he to the laughing children. "Oh, I should like to learnhere very much, if there is no rod. Miss Margaret, do you not find itvery pleasant learning here?"

The children were shouting, "Miss Young, Miss Young, do let uncle Philipcome and learn with us. He says he will be a very good boy, --won't you, uncle Philip? Miss Young, when may uncle Philip come and learn hislessons?"

Margaret saw that there was constraint in the smile with which Mariaanswered the children. Little as she knew, it struck her that in hisfun with the children, Mr Enderby was relying quite sufficiently on thephilosophy he had professed to admire in Miss Young. Mr Enderby drew achair to the window round which the ladies were sitting, and took up thevolume Margaret had just laid down. 

"Go, go, children!" said he; "run away to your gardens! I cannot spareyou any more play to-day. "

"Oh, but uncle, we want to ask you a question. "

"Well, ask it. "

"But it is a secret. You must come into the corner with Fanny, andMary, and me. "

For peace and quiet he went into the corner with them, and theywhispered into each ear a question, how many burnt almonds andgingerbread-buttons, and how much barley-sugar, two shillings andthreepence halfpenny would buy? The cowslips were now ready to make teaof, and the feast on the dolls' dishes might be served any day. MrEnderby promised to inquire at the confectioner's, and not to tellanybody else; and at last the children were got rid of. 

"Now that we have done with mysteries, " said he, as he resumed his seatby the window, "that is, with children's mysteries that we can see tothe bottom of, let us look a little into the poet's mysteries. Whatwere you reading? Show me, and I will be your reader. Who or what isthis Heavenly Beauty? We have not done with mysteries yet, I see. "

"I was wondering, " said Margaret smiling, "whether you take up Spenserbecause you are tired of mysteries. In such a case, some other poetmight suit you better. "

"What other?"

"Some one less allegorical, at least. "

"I do not know that, " said Hester. "The most cunning allegory that everwas devised is plain and easy in comparison with the simplest truestory, --fully told: and a man is a poet in proportion as he fully tellsa simple true story. "

"A story of the mind, you mean, " said Mr Enderby, "not of the mereevents of life?"

"Of the mind, of course, I mean. Without the mind the mere life isnothing. "

"Is not allegory a very pretty way of telling such a story of the mind, under the appearance of telling a story of a life?"

"Yes, " said Margaret; "and that is the reason why so many like allegory. There is a pleasure in making one's way about a grotto in a garden; butI think there is a much higher one in exploring a cave on the sea-shore, dim and winding, where you never know that you have come to the end, --amuch higher pleasure in exploring a life than following out anallegory. "

"You are a true lover of mystery, Miss Margaret. You should have liveda thousand years ago. "

"Thank you: I am very glad I did not. But why so long ago? Are therenot mysteries enough left?"

"And will there not be enough a thousand years hence?" said Hester. 

"I am afraid not. You and I cannot venture to speak upon what theGermans may be doing. But these two ladies can tell us, perhaps, whether they are not clearing everything up very fast;--making windowsin your cave, Miss Margaret, till nobody will be afraid to look intoevery cranny of it. "

"And then our complaint, " said Miss Young, "will be like Mrs Howell's, when somebody told her that we were to have the Drummond light on everychurch steeple. `Oh dear, ma'am!' said she, `we shall not know how inthe world to get any darkness. '"

"You speak as if you agreed that the Germans really are the makers ofwindows that Mr Enderby supposes them, " observed Margaret; "but you donot think we are any nearer the end of mysteries than ever, do you?"

"Oh, no; not till we have struck our stone to the bottom of theuniverse, and walked round it: and I am not aware that the Germanspretend to be able to do that, any more than other people. Indeed, Ithink there are as many makers of grottoes as explorers of caves amongthem. What do you want, my dear?"

This last was addressed to George, whose round face, red with exertion, appeared at a back window. The little girls were hoisting him up, thathe might call out once more, "Uncle Philip, be sure you remember not totell. "

"It would be a pity that mysteries should come to an end, " observed MrEnderby, "when they seem to please our human tastes so well. See there, how early the love of mystery begins! and who can tell where it ends?Is there one of your pupils, Miss Young, in whom you do not find it?"

"Not one; but is there not a wide difference between the love of makingmysteries, and a taste for finding them out?"

"Do you not find both in children, and up into old age?"

"In children, one usually finds both: but I think the love ofmystery-making and surprises goes off as people grow wiser. Fanny andMary were plotting all last week how to take their sister Sophia bysurprise with a piece of India-rubber, a token of fraternal affection, as they were pleased to call it; and you see George has a secret to-day:but they will have fewer hidings and devices every year: and, if theygrow really wise, they will find that, amidst the actual business oflife, there is so much more safety, and ease, and blessing in perfectfrankness than in any kind of concealment, that they will givethemselves the liberty and peace of being open as the daylight. Such ismy hope for them. But all this need not prevent their delighting in themysteries which are not of man's making. "

"They will be all the more at leisure for them, " said Margaret, "fromhaving their minds free from plots and secrets. "

"Surely you are rather hard upon arts and devices, " said Philip. "Without more or fewer of them, we should make our world into a Palaceof Truth, --see the Veillees du Chateau, which Matilda is reading withMiss Young. Who ever read it, that did not think the Palace of Truththe most disagreeable place in the world?"

"And why?" asked Margaret. "Not because the people in it spoke truth;but because the truth which they spoke was hatred, and malice, andselfishness. "

"And how much better, " inquired Hester, "is the truth that we shouldspeak, if we were as true as the daylight? I hope we shall always beallowed to make mysteries of our own selfish and unkind fancies. Therewould be little mutual respect left if these things were told. "

"I think there would be more than ever, " said Margaret, carefullyavoiding to meet her sister's eye. "I think so many mistakes would beexplained, so many false impressions set right, on the instant of theirbeing made, that our mutual relations would go on more harmoniously thannow. "

"And what would you do with the affairs now dedicated to mystery?" askedMr Enderby. "How would you deal with diplomacy, and government, andwith courtship? You surely would not overthrow the whole art of wooing?You would not doom lovers' plots and devices?"

The ladies were all silent. Mr Enderby, however, was determined tohave an answer. He addressed himself particularly to Margaret. 

"You do not disapprove of the little hidden tokens with which a man maymake his feelings secretly known where he wishes them to beunderstood;--tokens which may meet the eye of one alone, and carry nomeaning to any other! You do not disapprove of a more gentle andmysterious way of saying, `I love you, ' than looking full in oneanother's face, and declaiming it like a Quaker upon affirmation? Youdo not disapprove--"

"As for disapproving, " said Margaret, who chanced to perceive thatMaria's hand shook so that she could not guide her needle, and that shewas therefore apparently searching for something in her work-box, --"asfor disapproving, I do not pretend to judge for other people--"

She stopped short, struck with the blunder she had made. Mr Enderbyhastened to take advantage of it. He said, laughing:

"Well, then, speak for yourself. Never mind other people's case. "

"What I mean, " said Margaret, with grave simplicity, "is, that alldepends upon the person whose regard is to be won. There are sillygirls, and weak women, who, liking mysteries in other affairs, are bestpleased to be wooed with small artifices;--with having their vanity andtheir curiosity piqued with sly compliments--"

"Sly compliments! What an expression!"

"Such women agree, as a matter of course, in the old notion, --suitableenough five centuries ago, --that the life of courtship should be asunlike as possible to married life. But I certainly think those muchthe wisest and the happiest, who look upon the whole affair as thesolemn matter that it really is, and who desire to be treated, from thebeginning, with the sincerity and seriousness which they will requireafter they are married. "

"If the same simplicity and seriousness were common in this as arerequired in other grave transactions, " said Hester, "there would be lessof the treachery, delusion, and heart-breaking, which lie heavy upon thesouls of many a man and many a woman. "

Mr Enderby, happening to be looking out of the window here, as if forsomething to say, caught the eye of his sister, who was walking in hergarden. She beckoned to him, but he took no notice, not desiring to bedisturbed at present. Turning again to Margaret, he said:

"But you would destroy all the graces of courtship: you would--"

"Nay, " said Hester, "what is so graceful as the simplicity of entiremutual trust?--the more entire the more graceful. "

"I wish you had left out the word `trust. ' You have spoiled somethingthat I was going on to say about the simplicity of drawing lots like theMoravians, --the most sincere courtship of all: but that word `trust'puts my illustration aside. You need not protest. I assure you I amnot so dull as not to understand that you think love necessary to thewooing which seems graceful in your eyes;--Oh, yes: love, and mutualknowledge, and mutual reverence, and perfect trust! Oh, yes, Iunderstand it all. "

"Philip!" cried a soft, sentimental voice under the window:

"Brother, I want your arm for a turn in the shrubbery. "

Mrs Rowland's bonnet was visible as she looked up to the window. Shesaw the braids of the hair of the young ladies, and her voice was ratherless soft as she called again, "Philip, do you hear? I want you. "

It was impossible to seem not to hear. Mr Enderby was obliged to go:but he left his hat behind him, as a sort of pledge that he meant tolimit himself to the single turn proposed. 

For various reasons, the young ladies were all disinclined to speakafter he had left them. Miss Young was the first to move. She rose togo to her desk for something, --the desk in which Margaret kept the booksshe used in this place. Ever on the watch to save Maria the trouble ofmoving about, which was actual pain to her, Margaret flew to see if shecould not fetch what was wanted: but Miss Young was already looking intothe desk. Her eye caught the pretty new little volume which lay there. She took it up, found it was a volume of Tieck, and saw on the fly-leaf, in the well-known handwriting, "From PE. " One warm beam of hope shotthrough her heart:--how could it be otherwise, --the book lying in herdesk, and thus addressed? But it was only one moment's joy. The nextinstant's reflection, and the sight of Margaret's German exercise, onwhich the book had lain, revealed the real case to her. In sickness ofheart, she would, upon impulse, have put back the book, and concealedthe incident: but she was not sure but that Margaret had seen thevolume, and she _was_ sure of what her own duty was. With a smile and asteady voice she held out the book to Margaret, and said:

"Here is something for you, Margaret, which looks a little like one ofthe hidden, and gentle, and mysterious tokens Mr Enderby has beentalking about. Here it is, lying among your books; and I think it wasnot with them when you last left your seat. "

Margaret blushed with an emotion which seemed to the one who knew herbest to be too strong to be mere surprise. She looked doubtful for amoment about the book being meant for her. Its German aspect wasconclusive against its being designed for Hester: but Miss Young, --wasit certain that the volume was not hers? She asked this; but Mariareplied, as her head was bent over her desk:

"There is no doubt about it. I am sure. It is nobody's but yours. "

Some one proposed to resume the reading. The `Hymn to Heavenly Beauty'was finished, but no remark followed. Each was thinking of somethingelse. More common subjects suited their present mood better. It wasurged upon Hester that she should be one of the daily party; and, herlonely fancies being for the hour dispersed, she agreed. 

"But, " she observed, "other people's visits alter the case entirely. Ido not see how study is to go on if any one may come in from eitherhouse, as Mr Enderby did to-day. It is depriving Miss Young of herleisure, too, and making use of her apartment in a way that she may wellobject to. "

"I am here, out of school hours, only upon sufferance, " replied MissYoung. "I never call the room mine without this explanation. "

"Besides, " said Margaret, "it is a mere accident Mr Enderby's coming into-day. If he makes a habit of it, we have only to tell him that wewant our time to ourselves. "

Miss Young knew better. She made no reply; but she felt in her inmostsoul that her new-born pleasures were, from this moment, to be turnedinto pains. She knew Mr Enderby; and knowing him, foresaw that she wasto be a witness of his wooings of another, whom she had just begun totake to her heart. This was to be her fate if she was strong enough forit, --strong enough to be generous in allowing to Margaret opportunitieswhich could not without her be enjoyed, of fixing the heart of one whomshe could not pronounce to have been faulty towards herself. Hisconversation today had gone far to make her suppose him blameless, andherself alone in fault; so complete had seemed his unconsciousness withregard to her. Her duty then was clearly to give them up to each other, with such spirit of self-sacrifice as she might be capable of. If notstrong enough for this, the alternative was a daily painful retreat toher lodging, whence she might look out on the heaps of cinders in thefarrier's yard, her spirit abased the while with the experience of herown weakness. Neither alternative was very cheering. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

FAMILY CONFIDENCE. 

"When do you leave us, Philip?" inquired Mrs Rowland, putting her armwithin her brother's, and marching him up the gravel-walk. 

"Do you wish me to go?" replied he, laughing. "Is this what you were soanxious to say?"

"Why, we understood, six weeks since, that you meant to leave Deerbrookin a fortnight: that is all. "

"So I did: but my mother is kind enough to be pleased that I am stayinglonger; and since I am equally pleased myself, it is all very well. Irather think, too, that the children consider Uncle Philip a good boy, who deserves a holiday. "

"My mother! Oh, she always supposes everything right that you do; andthat is the reason why Mr Rowland and I--"

"The reason why Rowland and I agree so well, " interrupted the brother. "Yes, that is one reason, among many. Rowland's wish is to see the oldlady happy; and she is naturally happiest when she has both her childrenwith her; and for every merry hour of hers, your good husband looks themore kindly upon me. "

"Of course; all that is a matter of course; though you are not aware, perhaps, of the fatigue it is to my mother to have any one with her toolong a time. She will not tell _you_; but you have no idea how low sheis for some time after you go away, if you have stayed more than a fewdays, from exhaustion--from pure exhaustion. Ah! you do not perceiveit, because the excitement keeps her up while you are here; and shenaturally makes an effort, you know. But if you were to see her as wedo after you are gone;--you cannot think how it sets the Greys talkingabout her low spirits. "

"Poor soul! I wish I could be always with her. I will try whether Icannot; for some time to come, at least. But, sister, how does ithappen that neither you nor Rowland ever told me this before?"

"Oh, we would not distress you unnecessarily. We knew it was anunavoidable evil. You cannot always be here, and you must--"

"Yes, I must sometimes come: that is an unavoidable evil; and alwayswill be, sister, while I have a good old mother living here. "

"My dear Philip, how you do misunderstand one! I never heard anythingso odd. "

"Why odd? Have you not been giving me to understand, all this time, that you do not wish to have me here, --that you want me to go away? Ifnot this, I do not know what you have been talking about. "

"What an idea! My only brother! What can you be thinking of? Why uponearth should I wish you anywhere else?"

"That you may manage my mother and her affairs all your own way, Iimagine. "

Mrs Rowland had nothing to oppose to this plain speech butexclamations. When she had exhausted all she could muster, she avowedthat the only consideration which could reconcile her to the sacrificeof her dear brother's society was anxiety for his happiness. 

"Then, supposing I am happiest here, we are all satisfied. " And UnclePhilip would have made a diversion from the path to give George hisfavourite swing, quite up to the second branch of the great pear-tree. 

"Pray let George swing himself for once, brother. Hold your tongue, George! You are a very troublesome boy, and your uncle and I are busy. It is about your own affairs, brother, that I want to open my mind toyou. As for your always remaining here, as you kindly hinted justnow--"

"I did not mean to hint, " said Philip; "I thought I had spoken quiteplainly. "

"Well, well. We all know how to appreciate the kindness of yourintentions, I am sure: but your happiness must not be sacrificed to thegood of any of us here. We can take care of one another: but, as it isimpossible that you should find a companion for life here, and as it istime you were thinking of settling, we must not be selfish, and detainyou among us when you should be creating an interest elsewhere. MrRowland and I are extremely anxious to see you happily married, brother;and indeed we feel it is time you were thinking about it. "

"I am glad of that, sister. I am somewhat of the same opinion myself. "

"I rejoice to hear it, " replied the lady, in a rather uneasy tone. "Wehave been delighted to hear of these frequent visits of yours to theBuchanans'. There is a strong attraction there, I fancy, Philip. "

"Joe Buchanan is the attraction to me there. If you mean Caroline, shehas been engaged these three years to her brother's friend, Annesley. "

"You do not say so! But you did not know it?"

"I have known it these two years, under the seal of secrecy. Ah!sister, I have had many an hour's amusement at your schemes on my behalfabout Caroline Buchanan. "

"I have been quite out, I see. When do you go to the Bruces', to makethe visit you were disappointed of at Christmas?"

"When they return from the Continent, where they are gone for threeyears. Miss Mary is out of reach for three years, sister. "

"Out of reach! You speak as if Paris, --or Rome, if you will, --was inAustralia. And even in Australia one can hardly speak of people beingout of reach. "

"If one wishes to overtake them, " said Mr Enderby: "whereas, I can waitvery well for the Bruces till they come home again. Now, no more, sister! I cannot stand and hear the young ladies of my acquaintancecatalogued as a speculation for my advantage. I could not look them inthe face again after having permitted it. "

"There is somebody in the schoolroom, I declare!" cried the lady, as ifastonished. And she stood looking from afar at the summer-house, inwhich three heads were distinctly visible. 

"Were you not aware of that before? Did you suppose I was asleep there, or writing poetry all alone, or what? The Miss Ibbotsons are there, andMiss Young. "

"You remind me, " said the lady, "of something that I declared to MrRowland that I would speak to you about. My dear brother, you shouldhave some compassion on the young ladies you fall in with. "

"I thought your great anxiety just now was that the young ladies shouldhave compassion upon me. "

"One, Philip; the right one. But you really have no mercy. You are toomodest to be aware of the mischief you may be doing. But let me entreatyou not to turn the head of a girl whom you cannot possibly thinkseriously of. "

"Whom do you mean?"

"You may be making even more mischief than flattering the poor girl withvain hopes. If you once let it get into the heads of the Greys that anyone belonging to us could think of marrying into their connection, youdo not know the trouble you will impose upon Mr Rowland and me. "

"Does Rowland say so?"

"Does he say so? one would think--Dear me! brother, there is nothing onemight not think from your manner. You terrify me. "

"Have you a pocket-mirror about you?" asked Philip. "I should like tosee what this terrible manner of mine is like. "

"Now, pray, no joking, Philip. I declare my nerves will not bear it. But I tell you what, Philip: if you let your old admiration of beautycarry you away, and make you forget yourself so far as to dream ofmarrying into that connection, you will repent it as long as you live. I shall never forgive you; and you will kill our poor dear mother. "

"I will ask her whether she thinks so, " said Philip, "and I give you myword of honour that I will not kill my mother. "

"Girls seem to think that beauty is everything, " continued the angrylady, "and so do their connections for them. I declare Mrs Grey sitswinking at my mother when Miss Ibbotson has a colour, as if nobody eversaw a good complexion before. I declare it makes me sick. Now, Philip, you have been fairly warned; and if you fall into the trap, you will notdeserve any consideration from me. "

"I have let you lay down the law to me, sister, in your own way, becauseI know your way. Say what you please to me of myself and my affairs, and a joke is the worst that will come of it. But I tell you gravely, that I will not hear of traps--I will not hear imputations like thoseyou have just spoken against these young ladies or their connections, without rebuke. You can know nothing of the Miss Ibbotsons which canjustify this conversation. "

"I shall soon believe you are in love, " cried the lady, in highresentment. 

"Only take care what grounds you go upon before you speak and act, sister. In my turn, I give you fair warning how you take any measuresagainst them, even in your own inmost mind, without being quite surewhat you are about. "

"You do not say now that you do not mean to have that girl?" cried MrsRowland, fixing her fiery eyes upon her brother's face. 

"Why should I? You have not set about obtaining my confidence in anyway which could succeed. If I am in love, it would not be easy to ownit upon such unwarrantable pressure. If I am not in love--"

"Ah! If you are not--"

"In that case I am disinclined to make my not caring for them thecondition, on which those young ladies may receive your civilities. These civilities are due to them, whatever I may feel or intend; and myrespect for them is such that I shall keep my mind to myself. "

"At least, " said the lady, somewhat humbled, "do not be so much withthem. For my sake, do not go into the schoolroom again. "

"I am sorry I cannot oblige you, " said he, smiling, "but I must go atthis moment:--not to sit down, --not to speak five words, however, --butonly to get my hat. I have to go into the village, on an errand for thechildren. Can I do anything for you in the village?"

"She thinks only of Hester, it is plain, " thought he. "If I am to haveany more lectures and advice, I hope they will proceed on the samesupposition: it will make my part easier, and save my being driven toassert my own will, and so plunging poor Priscilla into hysterics. Ican bear her interference, as long as Margaret's name is not on herlips. The moment she casts an evil eye on her, I shall speak toRowland; which I had much rather avoid. It would be delicious, too, tobe _her_ protector, without her knowing it, --to watch over her as shewalks in her bright innocence, --to shield her--but from whom? From myown sister? No! no! better keep her out of suspicion: better let itpass that it is really Hester. Hester has plenty of friends to stand byher. The Greys are so proud of her beauty, they have no eyes or earsbut for her. People who meddle with concerns they have no businesswith, are strangely blind, --they make odd mistakes, from running awaywith notions of their own, prepared beforehand. Here is everybodydetermined that we shall all fall in love with Hester. Priscilla hasjumped to her conclusion at once, --perhaps in emulation of Mrs Grey. Mrs Grey has clearly given Hester to Hope, in her own mind. I ratherthink Hope would be obliged to her if she would not show so plainly whatis in her thoughts. I fear so, --I may be jealous, --but I am afraid Hopeand I are too much of the same mind about these girls. I will stand upfor Mrs Grey, as long as I live, if she proves right here. She shallwink and nod for evermore, and I will justify her, if Hope turns out tobe in love with Hester. I will be the first to congratulate him, if hesucceeds with her: and really he would be a happy fellow. She is alovely creature; and how she will love whenever she does love! Shewould be a devoted wife. Why cannot he see the matter so, and leave myMargaret to me? Now, how will she look up as I go in?"

His vision of Margaret's looks remained a vision. No one was in theschoolroom but Miss Young, writing a letter. 

"They are not here!" said Mr Enderby. 

"No; they are gone with Mrs Grey into the village, I believe. "

"Oh, well, I only came for my hat. You are in the children's secret, ofcourse, Miss Young?"

"About their feast. Yes, I believe I know all about it. "

"I am going to ask some important questions for them at theconfectioner's. You will not object to my bringing them a few goodthings?"

"I? Oh, no. "

"I would not act in so serious a matter without asking you. Can I be ofany use to you in the village? Or perhaps you may want some pens mendedbefore I go?"

"No, I thank you. "

"Then I will not interrupt your letter any longer. Good morning. "

It was a wonder that the letter was written at all. When Maria had doneleaning back in her chair, and had taken up her pen again, she wasdisturbed by painful sounds from Mrs Rowland's garden. The lady's ownMatilda, and precious George, and darling Anna, were now pronounced tobe naughty, wilful, mischievous, and, finally, to be combined togetherto break their mamma's heart. It was clear that they were receiving thedischarge of the wrath which was caused by somebody else. Now a wail, now a scream of passion, went to Maria's heart. She hastened on withher letter, in the hope that Mrs Rowland would presently go into thehouse, when the little sufferers might be invited into the schoolroom, to hear a story, or have their ruffled tempers calmed by some other suchsimple means. 

"What a life of discipline this is!" thought Maria. "We all have it, sooner or later. These poor children are beginning early. If one canbut help them through it! There she goes in, and shuts the door behindher! Now I may call them hither, and tell them something or anotherabout Una and her lion. "

At the well-known sound of Miss Young's lame step, the little ones allcame about her. One ashamed face was hid on her shoulder; another wasrelieved of its salt tears; and the boy's pout was first relaxed, andthen forgotten. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

FAMILY CORRESPONDENCE. 

From the time of the great event of the arrival of the Miss Ibbotsons, Mr Hope had longed to communicate all connected with it to his family. As often as Hester looked eminently beautiful, he wished his sisterscould see her. As often as he felt his spirit moved and animated by hisconversations with Margaret, he thought of Frank, and wished that thepoor fellow could for a day exchange the heats and fatigues, and vapidsociety, of which he complained as accompaniments of service in India, for some one of the wood and meadow rambles, or garden frolics, whichwere the summer pleasures of Deerbrook, now unspeakably enhanced by theaddition lately made to its society. Frank wrote that the very names ofmeadows and kine, of cowslips, trout, and harriers, were a refreshmentto a soldier's fancy, when the heats, and the solitude of spirit inwhich he was compelled to live, made him weary of the novelties whichhad at first pleased him in the East. He begged that Edward would go onto write as he did of everything that passed in the village--ofeverything which could make him for a whole evening fancy himself inDeerbrook, and repose himself in its shacks and quietness. Mr Hope hadfelt, for a month past, that such a letter was by this time due toFrank, and that he had, for once, failed in punctuality: but he now, forthe first time, found it difficult to get time to write. He neverdreamed of sending Frank letters, which would be esteemed by others of amoderate length. When he did write, it was an epistle indeed: andduring this particular May and June, there was always somethinghappening which prevented his having his hours to himself. In otherwords, he was always at the Greys' when not engaged in his professionalduties. The arrival of a letter from Frank one day gave him thenecessary stimulus, and he sat down on the instant to open his heart tohis brother. 

Frank was his younger and only brother, and the person in the world mostdeeply indebted to him. Their parents being dead, it was Edward who hadbeen Frank's dependence as he grew up. It was Edward who had, at greatcost and pains, gratified his wish to go into the army, and had procuredhim the best educational advantages in preparation for a military life. It was Edward who had always treated him with such familiar friendship, that he had scarcely felt as if he wanted any other intimate, and whoseemed to forget the five years' difference of age between them at alltimes but when it afforded a reason for pressing kindness and assistanceupon him. The confidence between them was as familiar and entire as ifthey had been twin-brothers. The epistle which Frank was to have thebenefit of, on the present occasion, was even longer than usual, fromthe delay which had caused an accumulation of tidings and of thoughts. 

 "Deerbrook, _June 20th_, 18--. 

 "Dear Frank, --Your letter of December last has arrived to remind me how far I am past my time in writing to you. I make no apologies for my delay, however, and I do not pretend to feel any remorse about it. We never write to one another from a mere sense of duty; and long may it be before we do so! Unless we write because we cannot help it, pray let us let it alone. As for the reasons why my inclination to talk to you has not overpowered all impediments till now, --you shall have them by-and-by. Meanwhile, here, before your eyes, is the proof that I cannot but spend this June evening with you. 

 "You ask about your grandfather; and I have somewhat to say to you about him. He is still living, --very infirm, as you may suppose, but, I think, as clear in mind as I have ever known him. He sent for me two months ago, as you will have heard from the letter I find he caused to be written to you about the business which then occupied his mind. My share in that business he would represent to you as it appeared to him: but I must give you an account of it as it appears to myself. He sent for me to take leave of me, as he said; but, in my opinion, to receive my acknowledgments for his latest disposition of his property by will. The new arrangements did not please me at all; and I am confident that you would have liked them no better than I; and I wished not a little that you were nearer, that we might have acted together. I know that he once intended to divide his property equally among us four; but of late, from some unaccountable feeling of indifference about Emily and Anne, or, as is more likely, from some notion about women not wanting money, and not knowing how to manage it, he has changed his mind, and destined his money for you and me, leaving my sisters only a hundred pounds each as a remembrance. He informed me of this, as soon as I arrived. I thought him quite well enough to hear reason, and I spoke my mind plainly to him. I had no right to answer for you, any further than for your sense of Justice, and your affection for your sisters. The way in which the matter was settled at last, therefore, with great pains and trouble, was, that you and our sisters share equally, and that I have the legacy of 100 pounds, which was destined for one of them. The reasons why I declined a fourth part of the property were sufficient to my mind, and will be so, I doubt not, to yours. Out of this property I have had my professional education, while you and my sisters have received nothing at all. This professional education has enabled me to provide sufficiently for myself, so far, and this provision will in all probability go on to increase; while my sisters want as much as can fairly be put into their hands. Their husbands are not likely ever to be rich men, and will probably be poor for some years to come. Their children have to be educated; and in short, there is every reason why Emily and Anne should have this money, and none why I should. I am afraid the old gentleman is not very well pleased with my way of receiving what he intended for kindness; but that cannot be helped. If he falls back into his previous state of mind, and leaves the whole, after all, to you and me, I shall set the matter right, as far as I can, by dividing my portion between my sisters: and I feel confident that you will do the same; but I earnestly hope this will not happen. It will be a very different thing to my sisters receiving this money by their grandfather's will as their due, and from our hands as a gift--(the way in which they will look at it). The letter to you was sent off without delay, in order that, in case of any dissatisfaction whatever on your part, your wishes might have the better chance of being made known to us during the old gentleman's life. I doubt not that your thoughts, whatever they may be, will be on the way to me before this reaches you; and I can have as little doubt what they are. You know Mr Blunt says, that men are created to rob their sisters, --a somewhat partial view of the objects and achievements of mortal existence, it must be owned, and a statement which I conceive the course of your life, for one, will not go to confirm; but a man must have had a good deal of experience, of what he is talking of, before he could make so sweeping a generalisation from the facts of life; and I am afraid Mr Blunt has some reason for what he says. Medical men receive many confidences in sick rooms, you know; and some, among others, which had better be reserved for the lawyer. What I have seen in this way leads me to imagine that my grandfather's notion is a very common one, --that women have little occasion for money, and do not know how to manage it; and that their property is to be drawn upon to the very last, to meet the difficulties and supply the purposes of their brothers. On the utter injustice and absurdity of such a notion there can be no disagreement between you and me; nor, I imagine, in our actions with regard to it. 

 "I heard from Emily yesterday. The letter is more than half full of stories about the children, and accounts of her principles and plans with regard to them. She writes on the same subjects to you, no doubt, for her heart is full of them. Her husband finds the post of consul at a little Spanish port rather a dull affair, as we anticipated, and groans at the mention of Bristol or Liverpool shipping, he says. But I like the tone of his postscript very well. He is thankful for the honest independence his office affords him, and says he can tolerate his Spanish neighbours (though they are as ignorant as Turkish ladies), for the sake of his family, and of the hope of returning, sooner or later, to live in his own country, after having discharged his duty to his children. Theirs must be an irksome life enough, as much of it as is passed out of their own doors: but they seem to be finding out that it is not so much the _where_ and the _how_, as the _what_ people are, that matters to their peace of mind; and I suppose those who love each other, and have settled what they are living for, can attain what they most want, nearly so well in one place as another. 

 "Poor Anne wrote to _you_, I know, after the death of her infant--her little Highlandman, as she proudly called him in her last letter before she lost him. Gilchrist talked last year of bringing her and his boy south this summer, and I had some hopes of seeing them all here: but I have not been able to get them to speak again of travelling, and I give it up for this year. I hope your letters and theirs fall due seasonably; that your reports of all your devices to cool yourself, reach them in the depth of their Caithness winter; and that all they say to you of their snow-drifts and freshets is acceptable when you are panting in the hottest of your noons. Anne writes more cheerfully than she did, and Gilchrist says she is exerting herself to overcome her sorrow. Their love must be passing strange in the eyes of all such as despised Anne's match. It is such as should make Anne's brothers feel very cordially towards Gilchrist. We have drifted asunder in life rather strangely, when one comes to think of it; and our anchorage grounds are pretty far apart. Who would have thought it, when we four used to climb the old apple-tree together, and drop down from the garden wall? I wonder whether we shall ever contrive to meet in one house once more, and whether I may be honoured by my house being the place? It is possible; and I spend certain of my dreams upon the project. Do you not find that one effect of this wide separation is, to make one fancy the world smaller than one used to think it? You, on the other side of it, probably waked up to this conviction long ago. It is just opening upon me, shut up in my nook of our little island. When I have a letter from you, like that which lies before me, spiced with an old family joke or two, and a good many new ones of your own, all exactly like yourself, I am persuaded you cannot be very far off; and I should certainly call you from my window to come in to tea, but from a disagreeable suspicion that I should get no answer. But do tell me in your next whether our globe has not been made far too much of its children, and whether its oceans do not look very like ponds, when you cast your eye over them to that small old apple-tree I mentioned just now. 

 "But you want news, --this being the place of all others to send to from the other side of the world for news. Deerbrook has rung with news and rumours of news since winter. The first report after the ice broke up in March was, that I was going to be married to Deborah Giles. `Who is Deborah Giles?' you will ask. She is not going to be a relation of yours, in the first place. Secondly, she is the daughter of the boatman whose boats Enderby and I are wont to hire. The young lady may be all that ever woman was, for aught I know, for I never spoke to her in my life, except that I one day asked her for something to bale the boat with: but I heard that the astonishment of Deerbrook was, that I was engaged to a woman who could not read or write. So you see we of Deerbrook follow our old pastime of first inventing marvels, and then being scarcely able to believe them. I rather suspect that we have some wag among us who fabricates news, to see how much will be received and retailed: but perhaps these rumours, even the wildest of them, rise `by natural exhalation' from the nooks and crevices of village life. My five years' residence has not qualified me to pronounce absolutely upon this. 

 "Old Smithson is dead. You could not have seen him half-a-dozen times when you were here; but you may chance to recollect him, --a short old man, with white hair, and deep-set grey eyes. He is less of a loss to the village than almost any other man would be. He was so shy and quiet, and kept so much within his own gate, that some fancied he must be a miser: but though he spent little on himself, his money made its way abroad, and his heirs are rather disappointed at finding the property no larger than when he came into it. He is much missed by his household, and, I own, by myself. I was not often with him: but it was something to feel that there was one among us who was free from ambition and worldly cares, content to live on in the enjoyment of humble duties and simple pleasures, --one who would not have changed colour at the news of a bequest of ten thousand pounds, but could be very eager about his grand-nephew's prize at school, and about the first forget-me-not of the season beside his pond, and the first mushroom in his meadow. During the fortnight of his illness, the village inquired about him; but when it was all over, there was not much to forget of one so little known, and we hear of him no more. 

 "The Greys and Rowlands go on much as usual, the gentlemen of the family agreeing very well, and the ladies rather the reverse. The great grievance this spring has been, that Mrs Rowland has seen fit to enlarge her hall, and make a porch to her door. Her neighbours are certain that, in the course of her alterations, every principal beam of her house has been cut through, and that the whole will fall in. No such catastrophe has yet occurred, however. I have not been called in to set any broken bones; and I have not much expectation of an accident, as Mr Rowland understands building too well to allow his house to be cut down over his head. As for the porch, I do not perceive what can be alleged to its disadvantage, but that some people think it ugly. 

 "Here I must cease my gossip. I regularly begin my letters with the intention of telling you all that I hear and see out of my profession but I invariably stop short, as I do now, from disgust at the nonsense I should have to write. It is endurable enough to witness; for one thing quickly dismisses another, and some relief occurs from the more amiable or intellectual qualities of the parties concerned: but I hate detail in writing; and I never do get through the whole list of particulars that I believe you would like to have. You must excuse me now, and take my word for it, in the large, that we are all pretty much what we were when you saw us three years ago, except of course, being three years older, and some few of us three years wiser. It will be a satisfaction to you also to know that my practice has made a very good growth for the time. You liked my last year's report of it. It has increased more since that time than even during the preceding year; and I have no further anxiety about my worldly prospects. I am as well satisfied with my choice of an occupation in life as ever. Mine has its anxieties, and _desagremens_, as others have: but I am convinced I could not have chosen better. You saw, when you were with me, something of the anxiety of responsibility; what it is, for instance, to await the one or the other event of a desperate case: and I could tell you a good deal that you do not and cannot know of the perils, and troubles attendant upon being the depository of so much domestic and personal confidence as my function imposes upon me the necessity of receiving. I sometimes long to be able to see nothing but what is apparent to all in society; to perceive what is ostensible, and to dream of nothing more, --not exactly like children, but like the members of large and happy families, who carry about with them the purity and peace of their homes, and therefore take cognisance of the pure and peaceful only whom they meet abroad; but it is childish, or indolent, or cowardly, to desire this. While there is private vice and wretchedness, and domestic misunderstanding, one would desire to know it, if one can do anything to cure or alleviate it. Dr Levitt and I have the same feeling about this; and I sometimes hope that we mutually prepare for and aid each other's work. There is a bright side to our business, as I need not tell you. The mere exercise of our respective professions, the scientific as well as the moral interest of them, is as much to us as the theory of your business to you; and that is saying a great deal. You will not quarrel with the idea of the scientific interest of Dr Levitt's profession in his hands; for you know how learned he is in the complex science of Humanity. You remember the eternal wonder of the Greys at his liberality towards dissenters. Of that liberality he is unconscious: as it is the natural, the inevitable result of his knowledge of men, --of his having been `hunting the waterfalls' from his youth up, --following up thought and prejudice to their fountains. When I see him bland and gay amongst us, I feel pretty confident that his greatest pleasure is the same as mine, --that of reposing in the society of the innocent, the single-hearted, the unburdened, after having seen what the dark corners of social life are. It is like coming out of a foetid cave into the evening sunshine. Of late, we have felt this in an extraordinary degree. But I must tell you in an orderly way what has happened to us. I have put off entering upon the grand subject, partly from the pleasure of keeping one's best news for the last, and partly from shyness in beginning to describe what it is impossible that you should enter into. I am well aware of your powers of imagination and sympathy: but you have not lived five years within five miles of a country village; and you can no more understand our present condition than we can appreciate your sherbet and your mountain summer-house. 

 "There are two ladies here from Birmingham, so far beyond any ladies that we have to boast of, that some of us begin to suspect that Deerbrook is not the Athens and Arcadia united that we have been accustomed to believe it. You can have no idea how our vanity is mortified, and our pride abased, by finding what the world can produce out of the bounds of Deerbrook. We bear our humiliation wonderfully, however. Our Verdon woods echo with laughter; and singing is heard beside the brook. The voices of children, grown and ungrown, go up from all the meadows around; and wit and wisdom are wafted over the surface of our river at eventide. The truth is, these girls have brought in a new life among us, and there is not one of us, except the children, that is not some years younger for their presence. Mr Grey deserts his business for them, like a school-boy; and Mr Rowland watches his opportunity to play truant in turn. Mrs Enderby gives dances, and looks quite disposed to lead off in person. Mrs Plumstead has grown quite giddy about sorting the letters, and her voice has not been heard further than three doors off since the arrival of the strangers. Dr Levitt is preaching his old sermons. Mrs Grey is well-nigh intoxicated with being the hostess of these ladies, and has even reached the point of allowing her drawing-room to be used every afternoon. Enderby is a fixture while they are so. Neither mother, sister, friend, nor frolic, ever detained him here before for a month together. He was going away in a fortnight when these ladies came: they have been here six weeks, and Enderby has dropped all mention of the external world. If you ask, as you are at this moment doing in your own heart, how I stand under this influence, I really cannot tell you. I avoid inquiring too closely. I enjoy every passing day too much to question it, and I let it go; and so must you. 

 "`But who are they?' you want to know. They are distant cousins of Mr Grey's, --orphans, and in mourning for their father. They are just above twenty, and their name is Ibbotson. `Are they handsome?' is your next question. The eldest, Hester, is beautiful as the evening star. Margaret is very different. It does not matter what she is as to beauty, for the question seems never to have entered her own mind. I doubt whether it has often occurred to her whether she can be this, or that, or the other. She _is_, and there is an end of the matter. Such pure _existence_, without question, without introspection, without hesitation or consciousness, I never saw in any one above eight years old. Yet she is wise; it becomes not me to estimate how wise. You will ask how I know this already. I knew it the first day I saw them; I knew it by her infinite simplicity, from which all selfishness is discharged, and into which no folly can enter. The airs of heaven must have been about her from her infancy, to nourish such health of the soul. What her struggle is to be in life I cannot conceive, for not a morbid tendency is to be discerned. I suppose she may be destined to make mistakes, --to find her faith deceived, her affections rebuked, her full repose delayed. If, like the rest of us, she be destined to struggle, it must be to conflict of this kind; for it is inconceivable that any should arise from herself. Yet is she as truly human as the weakest of us, --engrossed by affection, and susceptible of passion. Her affection for her sister is a sort of passion. It has some of the features of the serene guardianship of one from on high; but it is yet more like the passionate servitude--of the benefited to a benefactor, for instance--which is perhaps the most graceful attitude in which our humanity appears. Where are the words that can tell what it is to witness, day by day, the course of such a life as this?--to see, living and moving before one's eyes, the very spirit that one had caught glimpses of, wandering in the brightest vistas of one's imagination, in the holiest hours of thought! Yet is there nothing fearful, as in the presence of a spirit; there is scarcely even a sense of awe, so childlike is her deportment. I go, grave and longing to listen; I come away, and I find I have been talking more than any one; revealing, discussing, as if I were the teacher and not the learner, --you will say the worshipper. Say it if you will. Our whole little world worships the one or the other. Hester is also well worthy of worship. If there were nothing but her beauty, she would have a wider world than ours of Deerbrook at her feet. But she has much more. She is what you would call a true woman. She has a generous soul, strong affections, and a susceptibility which interferes with her serenity. She is not exempt from the trouble and snare into which the lot of women seems to drive them, --too close a contemplation of self, too nice a sensitiveness, which yet does not interfere with devotedness to others. She will be a devoted wife: but Margaret does not wait to be a wife to be devoted. Her life has been devotedness, and will be to the end. If she were left the last of her race, she would spend her life in worshipping the unseen that lay about her, and would be as unaware of herself as now. 

 "What a comfort it is to speak freely of them! This is the first relief of the kind I have had. Every one is praising them; every one is following them: but to whom but you can I speak of them? Even to you, I filled my first sheet with mere surface matter. I now wonder how I could. As for the `general opinion' of Deerbrook on the engrossing subject of the summer, you will anticipate it in your own mind, --concluding that Hester is most worshipped, on account of her beauty, and that Margaret's influence must be too subtle and refined to operate on more than a few. This is partly, but not wholly the case. It has been taken for granted from the beginning, by the many, that Hester is to be exclusively the adored; and Enderby has, I fancy, as many broad hints as myself of this general conclusion. But I question whether Enderby assents, any more than myself. Margaret's influence may be received as unconsciously as it is exerted, but it is not, therefore, the less real, while it is the more potent. I see old Jem Bird raise himself up from the churchyard bench by his staff, and stand uncovered as Hester passes by; I see the children in the road touch one another, and look up at her; I see the admiration which diffuses itself like sunshine around her steps: all this homage to Hester is visible enough. But I also see Sydney Grey growing manly, and his sisters amiable, under Margaret's eye. I fancy I perceive Enderby--But that is his own affair. I am sure I daily witness one healing and renovating process which Margaret is unconsciously effecting. There is no one of us so worthy of her, so capable of appreciating her, as Maria Young: they are friends, and Maria Young is becoming a new creature. Health and spirit are returning to that poor girl's countenance: there is absolutely a new tone in her voice, and a joyous strain in her conversation, which I, for one, never recognised before. It is a sight on which angels might look down, to see Margaret, with her earnest face, listening humbly, and lovingly serving the infirm and much-tried friend whom she herself is daily lifting up into life and gladness. I have done with listening to abuse of life and the world. I will never sit still under it again. If there are two such as these sisters, springing out of the bosom of a busy town, and quietly passing along their path of life, casting sanctity around them as they go, --if there are two such, why not more? If God casts such seeds of goodness into our nook, how do we know but that he is sowing the whole earth with it? I will believe it henceforth. 

 "You will wonder, as I have wondered many a time within the last six weeks, what is to become of us when we lose these strangers. I can only say, `God help us!' But that time is far off. They came for several months, and no one hints at their departure yet. They are the most unlearned creatures about country life that you can conceive, with a surpassing genius for country pleasures. Only imagine the charm of our excursions! They are never so happy as when in the fields or on the river; and we all feel ourselves only too blest in being able to indulge them. Our mornings are all activity and despatch, that our afternoons may be all mirth, and our evenings repose. I am afraid this will make you sigh with mingled envy and sympathy; but whatever is that can be told, you may rely upon it that I shall tell you, trusting to your feeling both pleasure and pain in virtuous moderation. 

 "I have done my story; and now I am going to look what o'clock it is-- a thing I have refrained from, in my impulse to tell you all. The house is quite still, and I heard the church clock strike something very long just now; but I would not count. It is so. It was midnight that the clock struck. I shall seal this up directly. I dare not trust my morning--my broad daylight mood with it. Now, as soon as you have got thus far, just take up your pen, and answer me, telling me as copiously of your affairs as I have written of ours. Heaven bless you. 

 "Yours ever, "Edward Hope. "

It was not only Mr Hope's broad daylight mood which was not to betrusted with this letter. In this hour of midnight a misgiving seizedupon him that it was extravagant. He became aware, when he laid downhis pen, that he was agitated. The door of his room opened into thegarden. He thought he would look out upon the night. It was the nightof the full moon. As he stood in the doorway, the festoons of creepersthat dangled from his little porch waved in the night breeze; longshadows from the shrubs lay on the grass; and in the depth of one ofthese shadows glimmered the green spark of a glow-worm. It wasdeliciously cool and serene. Mr Hope stood leaning against thedoor-post, with his arms folded, and was not long in settling thequestion whether the letter should go. 

"Frank will think that I am in love, " he considered. "He will notunderstand the real state of my feeling. He will think that I am inlove. I should conclude so in his place. But what matters it what heinfers and concludes? I have written exactly what I thought and felt atthe moment, and it is not from such revelations that wrong inferencesare usually drawn. What I have written is true; and truth carriessafely over land and sea--more safely than confidence compounded withcaution. Frank deserves the simplest and freshest confidence from me. I am glad that no hesitation occurred to me while I wrote. It shallgo--every word of it. "

He returned to his desk, sealed and addressed the letter, and placed itwhere it was sure to be seen in the morning, and carried to thepost-office before he rose. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

CHILD'S PLAY. 

The afternoon arrived when the children were to have their feast in thesummer-house. From the hour of dinner the little people were as busy asaldermen's cooks, spreading their table. Sydney thought himself too oldfor such play. He was hard at work, filling up the pond he had dug inhis garden, having tried experiments with it for several weeks, andfound that it never held water but in a pouring rain. While he wasoccupied with his spade, his sisters and the little Rowlands werearranging their dishes, and brewing their cowslip-tea. 

"Our mamma is coming, " said Fanny to Matilda: "is yours?"

"No; she says she can't come--but papa will. "

"So will our papa. It was so funny at dinner. Mr Paxton came in, andasked whether papa would ride with him; and papa said it was out of thequestion; it must be to-morrow; for he had an engagement thisafternoon. "

"A very particular engagement, he said, " observed Mary: "and he smiledat me so, I could not help laughing. Fanny, do look at Matilda's dishof strawberries! How pretty!"

"There's somebody coming, " observed little Anna, who, being too young tohelp, and liable to be tempted to put her fingers into the good things, was sent to amuse herself with jumping up and down the steps. 

"There now! That is always the way, is not it, Miss Young?" criedFanny. "Who is it, George? Mr Enderby? Oh, do not let him come inyet! Tell him he must not come this half-hour. "

Mr Enderby chose to enter, however, and all opposition gave way beforehim. 

"Pray don't send me back, " said he, "till you know what I am come for. Now, who will pick my pockets?"

Little Anna was most on a level with the coat pocket. She almost buriedher face in it as she dived, the whole length of her arm, to the verybottom. George attacked its fellow, while the waistcoat pockets were atthe mercy of the taller children. A number of white parcels made theirappearance, and the little girls screamed with delight. 

"Miss Young!" cried Fanny, "do come and help us to pick Mr Enderby'spockets. See what I have got--the very largest of all!"

When every pocket had been thoroughly picked without Miss Young'sassistance, the table did indeed show a goodly pile of whitecornucopia, --that most agitating form of paper to children's eyes. Whenopened, there was found such a store of sweet things as the little girlshad seldom before seen out of the confectioner's shop. Difficulties areapt to come with good fortune; and the anxious question was now asked, how all these dainties were to be dished up. Miss Young was, as usual, the friend in need. She had before lent two small china plates of herown; and she now supplied the further want. She knew how to make prettysquare boxes out of writing-paper; and her nimble scissors and neatfingers now provided a sufficiency of these in a trice. Uncle Philipwas called upon, as each was finished, to admire her skill; and admirehe did, to the children's entire content. 

"Is this _our_ feast, Mr Enderby?" inquired Mary, finally, when Annahad been sent to summon the company. "May we say it is ours?"

"To be sure, " cried Fanny. "Whose else should it be?"

"It is all your own, I assure you, " said Mr Enderby. "Now, you twoshould stand at the head of the table, and Matilda at the foot. "

"I think I had better take this place, " said Sydney, who had made hisappearance, and who thought much better of the affair now that he sawMr Enderby so much interested in it. "There should always be agentleman at the bottom of the table. "

"No, no, Sydney, " protested Mr Enderby; "not when he has had no costnor trouble about the feast. March off. You are only one of thecompany. Stand there, Matilda, and remember you must look very polite. I shall hide behind the acacia there, and come in with the ladies. "

A sudden and pelting shower was now falling, however; and instead ofhiding behind a tree, Mr Enderby had to run between the house and theschoolroom, holding umbrellas over the ladies' heads, setting clogs forthem, and assuring Mrs Grey at each return that the feast could not bedeferred, and that nobody should catch cold. Mr Grey was on the spot;to give his arm to Mrs Enderby, who had luckily chanced to look in, --athing which "she really never did after dinner. " Mr Hope had been seenriding by, and Mrs Grey had sent after him to beg he would come in. Mr Rowland made a point of being present: and thus the summer-house wasquite full, --really crowded. 

"I am glad Mrs Rowland keeps away, " whispered Mrs Grey to Sophia. "She would say it is insufferably hot. "

"Yes; that she would. Do not you think we might have that window open?The rain does not come in on that side. Did you ever see such a feastas the children have got? I am sure poor Elizabeth and I never managedsuch a one. It is really a pity Mrs Rowland should not see it. MrRowland should have made her come. It looks so odd, her being the onlyone to stay away!"

The room resounded with exclamations, and admiration, and grave jokesupon the children. Notwithstanding all Uncle Philip could do, theingenuous little girls answered to every compliment--that Mr Enderbybrought his, and that that and the other came out of Uncle Philip'spocket. They stood in their places, blushing and laughing, and servedout their dainties with hands trembling with delight. 

Maria's pleasure was, as usual, in observing all that went on. 

She could do this while replying, quite to the purpose, to MrsEnderby's praise of her management of the dear children, and to George'spressing offers of cake; and to Mr Rowland's suspicions that thechildren would never have accomplished this achievement without her, asindeed he might say of all their achievements; and to Anna's entreatythat she would eat a pink comfit, and then a yellow one, and then agreen one; and to Mrs Grey's wonder where she could have put away allher books and things, to make so much room for the children. She couldsee Mr Hope's look of delight when Margaret declined a cup ofchocolate, and said she preferred tasting some of the cowslip-tea. Shesaw how he helped Mary to pour out the tea, and how quietly he took theopportunity of getting rid of it through the window behind Margaret, when she could not pretend to say that she liked it. She observed MrRowland's somewhat stiff politeness to Hester, and Mr Enderby's equalpartition of his attentions between the two sisters. She could see MrsGrey watching every strawberry and sugar-plum that went down the throatsof the little Rowlands, and her care, seconded by Sophia's, that her ownchildren should have an exactly equal portion of the good things. Shebelieved, but was not quite sure, that she saw Hester's colour andmanner change as Mr Hope came and went, in the course of his serviceabout the table; and that once, upon receiving some slight attentionfrom him, she threw a hasty glance towards her sister, and turned quiteaway upon meeting her eye. 

The rain had not prevented the servants from trying to amuse themselveswith witnessing the amusement of the family. They were clusteredtogether under umbrellas at the window nearest the stables, where theythought they should be least observed. Some commotion took place amongthem, at the same moment that an extraordinary sound became audible, from a distance, above the clatter of plates, and the mingling ofvoices, in the summer-house. 

"What in the world is that noise?" asked Margaret. 

"Only somebody killing a pig, " replied Sydney, decidedly. 

"Do not believe him, " said Mr Enderby. "The Deerbrook people havebetter manners than to kill their pigs in the hearing of ladies onsummer afternoons. "

"But what is it? It seems coming nearer. "

"I once told you, " said Mr Enderby, "that we possess an inhabitant, whose voice you might know before her name. I suspect it is that samevoice which we hear now. "

"A human voice! Impossible!"

"What is the matter, Alice?" Mrs Grey asked of her maid out of thewindow. 

"Oh, ma'am, it is Mrs Plumstead! And she is coming this way, ma'am. She will be upon us before we can get to the house. Oh, ma'am, whatshall we do?"

Mrs Grey entreated permission of the ladies to allow the maid-servantsto come into the summer-house. Their caps might be torn from theirheads before they could defend themselves, she said, if they remainedoutside. Of course, leave was given instantly, and the maids crowdedin, with chattering teeth and many a tale of deeds done by MrsPlumstead, in her paroxysms of rage. 

The children shared the panic, more or less: and not only they. MrGrey proposed to put up the shutters of the windows nearest to the sceneof action; but it was thought that this might draw on an attack from thevirago, who might let the party alone if she were left unnoticed bythem. She was now full in sight, as, with half Deerbrook at her heels, she pursued the object of her rage through the falling shower, andamidst the puddles in front of the stables. Her widow's cap was at theback of her head, her hair hanging from beneath it, wet in the rain: herblack gown was splashed to the shoulders; her hands were clenched; herface was white as her apron, and her vociferations were dreadful tohear. She was hunting a poor terrified young countrywoman, who, betweenfright and running, looked ready to sink. 

"We must put a stop to this, " cried Mr Grey and Mr Rowland, eachspeaking to the other. It ended with their issuing forth together, looking as dignified as they could, and placing themselves between thescold and her victim. It would not do. They could not make themselvesheard; and when she shook her fist in their faces, they retiredbackwards, and took refuge among their party, bringing the victim inwith them, however. Mr Enderby declared this retreat too bad, and wasgone before the entreaties of his little nieces could stop him. He heldhis ground longer; and the dumb show he made was so energetic as tocause a laugh in the summer-house, in the midst of the uneasiness of hisfriends, and to call forth shouts of mirth from the crowd at thevirago's heels. 

"That will not do. It will only exasperate her the more, " said MrHope, pressing his way to the door. "Let me pass, will you?"

"Oh, Mr Hope! Oh, sir!" said Alice, "don't go! Don't think of going, sir! She does not mind killing anybody, I assure you, sir. "

"Oh, Mr Hope, don't go!" cried almost everybody. Maria was sure sheheard Hester's voice among the rest. The young countrywoman and thechildren grasped the skirts of his coat; but he shook them off, laughing, and went. Little Mary loved Mr Hope very dearly. She shotout at the door with him, and clasped her hands before Mrs Plumstead, looking up piteously, as if to implore her to do Mr Hope no harm. Already, however, the vixen's mood had changed. At the first glimpse ofMr Hope, her voice sank from being a squall into some resemblance tohuman utterance. She pulled her cap forward, and a tinge of colourreturned to her white lips. Mr Enderby caught up little Mary andcarried her to her mamma, crying bitterly. Mr Hope might safely beleft to finish his conquest of the otherwise unconquerable scold. Hestood still till he could make himself heard, looking her full in theface; and it was not long before she would listen to his remonstrance, and even at length take his advice, to go home and compose herself. Hewent with her, to ensure the good behaviour of her neighbours, and hadthe satisfaction of seeing her lock herself into her house alone beforehe returned to his party. 

"It is as you told me, " said Margaret to Mr Enderby; "Mr Hope's powerextends even to the temper of the Deerbrook scold. How she began togrow quiet directly! It was like magic. "

Mr Enderby smiled; but there was some uneasiness in his smile. 

The countrywoman was commended to the servants, to be refreshed, anddismissed another way. There was no further reason for detaining herwhen it appeared that she really could give no account of how she hadoffended Mrs Plumstead in selling her a pound of butter. It remainedto console little Mary, who was still crying, --more from grief for MrsPlumstead than from fear, Maria thought, though Mrs Grey was profuse inassurances to the child that Mrs Plumstead should not be allowed tofrighten her any more. All the children seemed so depressed andconfounded, that their guests exerted themselves to be merry again, andto efface, as far as was possible, the impression of the late scene. When Mr Hope returned, he found Mr Grey singing his single ditty, about Dame Dumshire and her crockery-ware, amidst great mirth andunbounded applause. Then Mrs Enderby was fluttered, and somewhatflattered, by an entreaty that she would favour the company with one ofthe ballads, for which she had been famous in her time. She could notrefuse on such an occasion, --if indeed she had ever been able to refusewhat she was told would give pleasure. She made her son choose for herwhat she should sing; and then followed a wonderful story of GilesCollins, who loved a lady: Giles and the lady both died of true love;Giles was laid in the lower chancel, and the lady in the higher; fromthe one grave grew a milk-white rose, and from the other a briar, bothof which climbed up to the church top, and there tied themselves into atrue-lover's knot, which made all the parish admire. At this part, Annawas seen looking up at the ceiling; but the rest had no eyes but forMrs Enderby, as she gazed full at the opposite wall, and the shrill, quavering notes of the monotonous air were poured out, and the wordswere as distinct as if they were spoken. 

"Is that true, grandmamma?" asked Anna, when all was over. 

"You had better ask the person who made the song, my dear. I did notmake it. "

"But did you ever see that church with the briar growing in it, beforethe sexton cut it down?"

"Do not let us talk any more about it, " said Philip, solemnly. "Iwonder grandmamma dares sing such a sad song. "

"Why, you asked her, Uncle Philip. "

"Oh, ay, so I did. Well, we are much obliged to her; and now we willhave something that is not quite so terrible. --Miss Grey, you willfavour us with a song?"

Sophia's music-books were all in the house, and she could not singwithout. Mr Enderby would fetch some, if she would give him directionswhat to bring. No; she could not sing without the piano. As it wasclearly impossible to bring that, Philip feared the company must waitfor the pleasure of hearing Miss Grey till another time. Mr Grey wouldhave Hester and Margaret sing; and sing they did, very simply andsweetly, and much to the satisfaction of all present. One thing led onto another; they sang together, --with Mr Grey, --with Mr Enderby; MrHope listening with an unlearned eagerness, which made Mrs Grey wink ather husband, and nod at Sophia, and exchange smiles with Mrs Enderby. They proceeded to catches at last; and when people really fond of musicget to singing catches in a summer-house, who can foresee the end?

"`Fair Enslaver!'" cried Mr Enderby. "You must know `Fair Enslaver:'there is not a sweeter catch than that. Come, Miss Ibbotson, begin;your sister will follow, and I--"

But it so happened that Miss Ibbotson had never heard `Fair Enslaver. 'Margaret knew it, she believed; but she did not. With a gay eagerness, Mr Enderby turned round to Maria, saying that he knew she could singthis catch; and everybody was aware that when she had the power of doinga kindness, she never wanted the will;--he remembered that she couldsing `Fair Enslaver. ' He might well remember this, for often had theysung it together. While several of the company were saying they did notknow Miss Young could sing, and the children were explaining that sheoften sang at her work, Mr Enderby observed some signs of agitation inMaria, and hastened to say, --"You had rather not, perhaps. Pray do notthink of it. I will find something else in a moment. I beg yourpardon: I was very inconsiderate. "

But Maria thought she had rather not accept the consideration; andbesides, the children were anxious that she should sing. She bore herpart in a way which made Mr Rowland and Mrs Grey agree that she was avery superior young woman indeed; that they were singularly fortunate tohave secured her for their children; and that she was much to be pitied. 

"I think Miss Young has got a little cold, though, " observed Sydney. "Her voice is not in the least husky when she sits singing here byherself. --Father! look there! there are all the servants huddledtogether under the window again, to listen to the singing. "

This was true; and the rain was over. It was presently settled that theschoolroom should be evacuated by the present party; that the childrenshould be allowed to invite the servants in, to dispense to them theremains of the feast; and that Miss Young must favour Mrs Grey with hercompany this evening. 

Mr Rowland was obliged to return home to business; but, before hisfriends dispersed, he must just say that Mrs Rowland and he had never, for a moment, given up the hope of the pleasure of entertaining them atdinner in the Dingleford woods; and, as the rains were now dailyabating, he might perhaps be allowed to name Wednesday of the next weekas the day of the excursion. He hoped to see the whole of the presentcompany, from the oldest to the youngest, --bowing, as he spoke, to MrsEnderby and to his own little daughter Anna. This was one of MrRowland's pieces of independent action. His lady had given him nocommission to bring the affair to an issue; and he returned home, involuntarily planning what kind of an unconcerned face and manner heshould put on, while he told her what he had done. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 

Mr Rowland hoped "to see the whole of the present company, from theoldest to the youngest. " This was the best part of his speech to theears of the children; it made an impression also upon some others. Twoor three days afterwards, Sydney burst, laughing, into the dining-room, where his mother and her guests were at work, to tell them that he hadseen Mr Hope riding a pony in the oddest way, in the lane behind hislodgings. He had a side-saddle, and a horse-cloth put on like a lady'sriding-habit. He rode the pony in and out among the trees, and made itscramble up the hill behind, and it went as nicely as could be, whereverhe wanted it to go. Mr Hope's new way of riding was easily explained, the next time he called. Miss Young was certainly included in theinvitation to Dingleford woods: it was a pity she should not go; and shecould not walk in wild places:--the pony was training for her. MrsGrey quite agreed that Miss Young ought to go, but thought that Mr Hopewas giving himself much needless trouble; there would be room made forher in some carriage, of course. No doubt; but no kind of carriagecould make its way in the woods; and, but for this pony, Miss Youngwould have to sit in a carriage, or under a tree, the whole time thatthe rest of the party were rambling about; whereas, this quiet activelittle pony would take care that she was nowhere left behind. It coulddo everything but climb trees. It was to be taken over to Dinglefordthe evening before, and would be waiting for its rider on the verge ofthe woods, when the party should arrive. 

Miss Young was touched, and extremely pleased with Mr Hope's attention. In the days of her prosperity she had been accustomed to ride much, andwas very fond of it; but since her misfortunes she had never once beenin the saddle--lame as she was, and debarred from other exercise. To beon a horse again, and among the woods, was a delicious prospect; andwhen a few misgivings had been reasoned away--misgivings about beingtroublesome, about being in the way of somebody's pleasure orconvenience--Maria resigned herself to the full expectation of a mostdelightful day, if the weather would only be fine. The children wouldbe there; and they were always willing to do anything for her. Sydneywould guide her pony in case of need, or show her where she might staybehind by herself, if the others should exhibit a passion forimpracticable places. She knew that Margaret would enjoy the day allthe more for her being there; and so would Mr Hope, as he had amplyproved. Maria was really delighted to be going, and she and thechildren rejoiced together. 

This great pleasure involved some minor enjoyments too, in the way ofpreparation. On Sunday Mr Hope told her, that he believed the pony wasnow fully trained; but he should like that she should try it, especiallyas she had been long out of the habit of riding. She must take a ridewith him on Monday and Tuesday afternoons, for practice. The Monday'sride was charming; through Verdon woods, and home over the heath fromCrossley End. The circuit, which was to have been three miles, hadextended to ten. She must be moderate, she said to herself, the nextday, and not let Mr Hope spend so much of his time upon her; andbesides, the pony had to be sent over to Dingleford in the evening, after she had done with it, to be in readiness for her on Wednesdaymorning. 

The ride on Tuesday was happily accomplished, as that of Monday: but itwas much shorter. Mr Hope agreed that it should be short, as he had apatient to visit on the Dingleford road, so near the hamlet that hemight as well take the pony there himself. It would trot along besidehis horse. Sydney saved him part of the charge. Sydney would at alltimes walk back any distance for the sake of a ride out, on whateverkind of saddle, or almost any kind of quadruped. He was in waiting atthe farrier's gate, when Miss Young returned from her ride; and havingassisted her into the house, he threw himself upon her pony, and rodethree miles and a half on the Dingleford road before he would dismount, and deliver his bridle into Mr Hope's hand. Tea was over, and thetea-things removed, before he appeared at home, heated and delightedwith his expedition. He ran to the dairy for a basin of milk, anddeclared that his being hot and tired did not matter in the least, as hehad no lessons to do--the next day being a holiday. 

It was about two hours after this, when Hester and Margaret were singingto Sophia's playing, that Mr Grey put his head in at the door, andbeckoned Mrs Grey out of the room. She remained absent a considerabletime; and when she returned, the singers were in the middle of anotherduet. She wandered restlessly about the room till the piece wasfinished, and then made a sign to Sophia to follow her into thestoreroom, the double door of which the sisters could hear carefullyclosed. They were too much accustomed to the appearance of mysteryamong the ladies of the Grey family, to be surprised at any number ofsecret conferences which might take place in the course of the day. Butevening was not the usual time for these. The family practice was totransact all private consultations in the morning, and to assemble roundthe work-table or piano after tea. The sisters made no remark to eachother on the present occasion, but continued their singing, eachsupposing that the store-room conference related to some preparation forthe next day's excursion. 

It was too dark to distinguish anything in the room before their hostessre-entered it. Margaret was playing quadrilles; Hester was standing atthe window, watching the shadows which the risen moon was flingingacross the field, and the lighting up of Mrs Enderby's parlour behindthe blinds; and Sydney was teasing his twin sisters with rough play onthe sofa, when Mrs Grey returned. 

"You are all in the dark, " said she, in a particularly grave tone. "Why, did you not ring for lights, my dears?" and she rang immediately. "Be quiet, children! I will not have you make so much noise. "

The little girls seemed to wish to obey; but their brother still forcedthem to giggle; and their struggling entreaties were heard--"Now don't, Sydney; now pray, Sydney, don't!"

"Mary and Fanny, go to bed, " said their mother, decidedly, when lightswere brought. "Sydney, bid your cousins good-night, and then come withme; I want to ask you a question. "

"Good-night already, mother! Why, it is not time yet this half-hour. "

"It is enough that I choose you to go to bed. Wish your cousinsgood-night, and come with me. "

Mrs Grey led the way once more into the store-room, followed, rathersulkily, by Sydney. 

"What can all this be about?" whispered Hester to Margaret. "There isalways something going on which we are not to know. "

"Some affair of fruit, or wine, or bonbons, perhaps, which are all thebetter for making their appearance unexpectedly. "

At this moment Sophia and her mother entered by opposite doors. Sophia's eyes were red; and there was every promise in her face that theslightest word spoken to her would again open the sluices of her tears. Mrs Grey's countenance was to the last degree dismal: but she talked--talked industriously, of everything she could think of. This was thebroadest possible hint to the sisters not to inquire what was thematter; and they therefore went on sewing and conversing very diligentlytill they thought they might relieve Mrs Grey by offering to retire. They hesitated only because Mr Grey had not come in; and he soregularly appeared at ten o'clock, that they had never yet retiredwithout having enjoyed half an hour's chat with him. 

"Sophia, my dear, " said her mother, "are the night candles there? Lightyour cousins' candles. --I am sure they are wishing to go; and it isgetting late. You will not see Mr Grey to-night, my dears. He hasbeen sent for to a distance. "

At this moment, the scrambling of a horse's feet was heard on the gravelbefore the front door. Sophia looked at her mother, and each lighted acandle precipitately, and thrust it into a hand of each cousin. 

"There, go, my dears, " said Mrs Grey. "Never mind stopping for MrGrey. I will deliver your good-night to him. You will have to berather early in the morning, you know. Good-night, good-night. "

Thus Hester and Margaret were hurried up-stairs, while the front doorwas in the act of being unbarred for Mr Grey's entrance. Morris wasdespatched after them, with equal speed, by Mrs Grey's orders, and shereached their chamber-door at the same moment that they did. 

Hester set down her candle, bade Morris shut the door, and threw herselfinto an armchair with wonderful decision of manner, declaring that shehad never been so treated;--to be amused and sent to bed like a baby, ina house where she was a guest!

"I am afraid something is the matter, " said Margaret. 

"What then? they might have told us so, and said plainly that they hadrather be alone. "

"People must choose their own ways of managing their own affairs, youknow: and what those ways are cannot matter to us, as long as we are notoffended at them. "

"Do you take your own way of viewing their behaviour, then, and leave memine, " said Hester hastily. 

Morris feared there was something amiss; and she believed Alice knewwhat it was: but she had not told either cook or housemaid a syllableabout it. By Morris's account, Alice had been playing the mysterious inthe kitchen as her mistress had in the parlour. Mr Grey had beensuddenly sent for, and had saddled his horse himself, as his people wereall gone, and there was no one on the premises to do it for him. Awine-glass had also been called for, for Miss Sophia, whose weeping hadbeen overheard. Master Sydney had gone to his room very cross, complaining of his mother's having questioned him overmuch about hisride, and then sent him to bed half an hour before his usual time. 

A deadly fear seized upon Margaret's heart, when she heard of Sydney'scomplaint of being overmuch questioned about his ride, --a deadly fearfor Hester. If her suspicion should prove true, it was out of pureconsideration that they had been "amused and sent to bed like babies. "A glance at Hester showed that the same apprehension had crossed hermind. Her eyes were closed for a moment, and her face was white asashes. It was not for long, however. She presently said, withdecision, that whatever was the matter, it must be some entirely privateaffair of the Greys'. If any accident had happened to any one in thevillage, --if bad news had arrived of any common friend, --there would beno occasion for secrecy. In such a case, Mrs Grey would have givenherself the comfort of speaking of it to her guests. It must certainlybe some entirely private, some family affair. --Hester was sincere inwhat she said. She knew so little of the state of her own heart, thatshe could not conceive how some things in it could be divined orspeculated upon by others. Still only on the brink of the discoverythat she loved Mr Hope, she could never have imagined that any one elsecould dream of such a thing, --much less act upon it. She was angry withherself for letting her fears now point for a moment to Mr Hope; for, if this bad news had related to him, her sister and she would, ofcourse, have heard of it the next moment after the Greys. Margaretcaught her sister's meaning, and strove to the utmost to think as shedid; but Sydney's complaint of being "overmuch questioned about hisride" was fatal to the attempt. It returned upon her incessantly duringthe night; and when, towards morning, she slept a little, these wordsseemed to be sounding in her ear all the while. Before undressing, bothshe and Hester had been unable to resist stepping out upon the stairs towatch for signs whether it was the intention of the family to sit up orgo to rest. All had retired to their rooms some time before midnight;and then it was certain that nothing more could be learned beforemorning. 

Each sister believed that the other slept; but neither could be sure. It was an utterly wretched night to both, and the first which they hadever passed in misery, without speaking to each other. Margaret'ssuffering was all from apprehension. Hester was little alarmed incomparison; but she this night underwent the discovery which her sisterhad made some little time ago. She discovered that nothing could happento her so dreadful as any evil befalling Mr Hope. She discovered thathe was more to her than the sister whom she could have declared, but afew hours before, to be the dearest on earth to her. She discoveredthat she was for ever humbled in her own eyes; that her self-respect hadreceived an incurable wound: for Mr Hope had never given her reason toregard him as more than a friend. During the weary hours of this night, she revolved every conversation, every act of intercourse, which shecould recall; and from all that she could remember, the same impressionresulted--that Mr Hope was a friend, a kind and sympathising friend--interested in her views and opinions, in her tastes and feelings;--thathe was this kind friend, and nothing more. He had in no casedistinguished her from her sister. She had even thought, at times, thatMargaret had been the more important of the two to him. That might befrom her own jealous temper, which, she knew, was apt to make her fancyevery one preferred to herself: but she _had_ thought that he likedMargaret best, as she was sure Mr Enderby did. Whichever way shelooked at the case, it was all wretchedness. She had lost herself-sufficiency and self-respect, and she was miserable. 

The first rays of morning have a wonderful power of putting to flightthe terrors of the darkness, whether their causes lie without us orwithin. When the first beam of the midsummer sunshine darted into thechamber, through the leafy limes which shaded one side of the apartment, Hester's mood transiently changed. There was a brief reaction in herspirits. She thought she had been making herself miserable far tooreadily. The mystery of the preceding evening might turn out a trifle:she had been thinking too seriously about her own fancies. If she hadreally been discovering a great and sad secret about herself, no oneelse knew it, nor need ever know it. She could command herself; and, inthe strength of pride and duty, she would do so. All was not lost. Before this mood had passed away, she fell asleep, with prayer in herheart, and quiet tears upon her cheek. Both sisters were roused fromtheir brief slumbers by a loud tapping at their door. All in readinessto be alarmed, Margaret sprang up, and was at the door to know who wasthere. 

"It is us--it is we, Fanny and Mary, cousin Margaret, " answered thetwins, "come to call you. It is such a fine morning, you can't think. Papa does not believe we shall have a drop of rain to-day. The baker'sboy has just carried the rolls, --such a basket-full!--to Mrs Rowland's:so you must get up. Mamma is getting up already. "

The sisters were vexed to have been thrown into a terror for nothing;but it was a great relief to find Mr Grey prophesying fine weather forthe excursion. Nothing could have happened to cast a doubt over it. Margaret, too, now began to think that the mystery might turn out atrifle; and she threw up the sash, to let in the fresh air, with agaiety of spirits she had little expected to feel. 

Another tap at the door. It was Morris, with the news that it was afine morning, that the whole house was astir, and that she had nofurther news to tell. 

Another tap before they were half-dressed. It was Mrs Grey, with aface quite as sorrowful as on the preceding evening, and the peculiarnervous expression about the mouth--which served her instead of tears. 

"Have you done with Morris yet, my dears?"

"Morris, you may go, " said Hester, steadily. 

Mrs Grey gazed at her with a mournful inquisitiveness, while she spoke;and kept her eyes fixed on Hester throughout, though what she saidseemed addressed to both sisters. 

"There is something the matter, Mrs Grey, " continued Hester, calmly. "Say what it is. You had better have told us last night. "

"I thought it best not to break your sleep, my dears. We always thinkbad news is best told in the morning. "

"Tell us, " said Margaret. Hester quietly seated herself on the bed. 

"It concerns our valued friend, Mr Hope, " said Mrs Grey. Hester'scolour had been going from the moment Mrs Grey entered the room: it wasnow quite gone; but she preserved her calmness. 

"He was safe when Sydney lost sight of him, on the ridge of the hill, onthe Dingleford road; but he afterwards had an accident. "

"What kind of accident?" inquired Margaret. 

"Is he killed?" asked Hester. 

"No, not killed. He was found insensible in the road. The miller's boyobserved his horse, without a rider, plunge into the river below thedam, and swim across; and another person saw the pony Sydney had beenriding, grazing with a side-saddle on, on the common. This made themsearch, and they found Mr Hope lying in the road insensible, as I toldyou. "

"What is thought of his state?" asked Margaret. 

"Two medical men were called immediately from the nearest places, andMr Grey saw them last night; for the news reached us while you were atthe piano, and we thought--"

"Yes but what do the medical men say?"

"They do not speak very favourably. It is a concussion of the brain. They declare the case is not hopeless, and that is all they can say. Hehas not spoken yet; only just opened his eyes: but we are assured thecase is not quite desperate; so we must hope for the best. "

"I am glad the case is not desperate, " said Hester. "He would be agreat loss to you all. "

Mrs Grey looked at her in amazement, and then at Margaret. Margaret'seyes were full of tears. She comprehended and respected the effort hersister was making. 

"Oh, Mrs Grey!" said Margaret, "must we go to-day? Surely it is notime for an excursion of pleasure. "

"That must be as you feel disposed, my dears. It would annoy MrsRowland very much to have the party broken up; so much so, that some ofus must go: but my young people will do their best to fill your places, if you feel yourselves unequal to the exertion. " She looked at Hesteras she spoke. 

"Oh, if anybody goes, we go, of course, " said Hester. "I think you arequite right in supposing that the business of the day must proceed. Ifthere was anything to be done by staying at home, --if you could make usof any use, Mrs Grey, it would be a different thing: but--"

"Well, if there is nothing in your feelings which--if you believeyourselves equal to the exertion--"

Margaret now interposed. "One had rather stay at home and be quiet, when one is anxious about one's friends: but other people must beconsidered, as we seem to be agreed, --Mr and Mrs Rowland, and all thechildren. So we will proceed with our dressing, Mrs Grey. But can youtell us, before you go, how soon--How soon we shall know;--when thiscase will probably be decided?"

It might be a few hours, or it might be many days, Mrs Grey said. Sheshould stay at home to-day, in case of anything being sent for from thefarmhouse where Mr Hope was lying. He was well attended--in the handsof good nurses--former patients of his own: but something might bewanted; and orders had been left by Mr Grey that application should bemade to his house for whatever could be of service: so Mrs Grey couldnot think of leaving home. Mr Grey would make inquiry at the farmhouseas the party went by to the woods: and he would just turn his horse backin the middle of the day, to inquire again: and thus the Rowlands' partywould know more of Mr Hope's state than those who remained at home. Having explained, Mrs Grey quitted the room, somewhat disappointed thatHester had received the disclosure so well. 

The moment the door was closed, Hester sank forward on the bed, her facehidden, but her trembling betraying her emotion. 

"I feared this, " said Margaret, looking mournfully at her sister. 

"You feared what?" asked Hester, quickly, looking up. 

"I feared that some accident had happened to Mr Hope. "

"So did I. "

"And if, " said Margaret, "I feared something else--Nay, Hester, you mustlet me speak. We must have no concealments, Hester. You and I arealone in the world, and we must comfort each other. We agreed to this. Why should you be ashamed of what you feel? I believe that you have astronger interest in this misfortune than any one in the world; andwhy--"

"How do you mean, a stronger interest?" asked Hester, trying to commandher voice. "Tell me what you mean, Margaret. "

"I mean, " said Margaret, steadily, "that no one is so much attached toMr Hope as you are. "

"I think, " said Margaret, after a pause, "that Mr Hope has a highrespect and strong regard for you. " She paused again, and then added, "If I believed anything more, I would tell you. "

When Hester could speak again, she said, gently and humbly, "I assureyou, Margaret, I never knew the state of my own mind till this lastnight. If I had been aware--"

"If you had been aware, you would have been unlike all who ever reallyloved, if people say true. Now that you have become aware, you will actas you _can_ act--nobly--righteously. You will struggle with yourfeelings till your mind grows calm. Peace will come in time. "

"Do you think there is no hope?"

"Consider his state. "

"But if he should recover? Oh, Margaret, how wicked all this is! Whilehe lies there, we are grieving about me! What a selfish wretch I am!"

Margaret had nothing to reply, there seemed so much truth in this. Evenshe reproached herself with being exclusively anxious about her sister, when such a friend might be dying; when a life of such importance tomany was in jeopardy. 

"I could do anything, I could bear anything, " said Hester, "if I couldbe sure that nobody knew. But you found me out, Margaret, andperhaps--"

"I assure you, I believe you are safe, " said Margaret. "You can hidenothing from me. But, Mrs Grey--and nobody except myself, has watchedyou like Mrs Grey--has gone away, I am certain, completely deceived. But, Hester! my own precious sister, bear with one word from me! Do nottrust too much to your pride. "

"I do trust to _my_ pride, and I will, " replied Hester, her cheeks in aglow. "Do you suppose I will allow all in this house, all in thevillage, to be pitying me, to be watching how I suffer, when no onesupposes that he gave me cause? It is not to be endured, even in thebare thought. No. If you do not betray me--"

"I betray you?"

"Well, well! I know you will not: and then I am safe. _My_ pride I cantrust to, and I will. "

"It will betray you, " sighed Margaret. "I do not want you to paradeyour sorrow, God knows! It will be better borne in quiet and secrecy. What I wish for you is, that you should receive this otherwise than as apunishment, a disgrace in your own eyes for something wrong. You havedone nothing wrong, nothing that you may not appeal to God to help youto endure. Take it as a sorrow sent by Him, to be meekly borne, as whatno earthly person has any concern with. Be superior to the opinions ofthe people about us, instead of defying them. Pride will give you nopeace: resignation will. "

"I am too selfish for this, " sighed Hester. "I hate myself, Margaret. I have not even the grace to love _him_, except for my own sake; andwhile he is dying, I am planning to save my pride! I do not care whatbecomes of me. Come, Margaret, let us dress and go down. Do nottrouble your kind heart about me: I am not worth it. "

This mood gave way a little to Margaret's grief and endearments; butHester issued from her chamber for the day in a state of towering pride, secretly alternating with the anguish of self-contempt. 

It was a miserable day, as wretched a party of pleasure as could beimagined. Mrs Rowland was occupied in thinking, and occasionallysaying, how strangely everything fell out to torment her, how somethingalways occurred to cross every plan of hers. She talked about this toher mother, Sophia, and Hester, who were in the barouche with her, tillthe whole cavalcade stopped, just before reaching the farmhouse whereMr Hope lay, and to which Mr Grey rode on to make inquiries. Margaretwas with Mr Rowland in his gig. It was a breathless three minutes tillMr Grey brought the news. Margaret wondered how Hester was bearing it:it would have pleased her to have known that Mrs Rowland was holdingforth so strenuously upon her disappointment about a dress at the lastBuckley ball, and about her children having had the measles on the onlyoccasion when Mr Rowland could have taken her to the races in the nextcounty, that Hester might sit in silence, and bear the suspenseunobserved. Mr Grey reappeared, quite as soon as he could be lookedfor. There might have been worse news. Mr Hope was no longer in astupor: he was delirious. His medical attendants could not pronounceany judgment upon the case further than that it was not hopeless. Theyhad known recovery in similar cases. As Mr Grey bore his report fromcarriage to carriage, every one strove to speak cheerfully, and to makethe best of the case; and those who were not the most interested reallysatisfied themselves with the truth that the tidings were better thanthey might have been. 

The damp upon the spirits of the party was most evident, when all haddescended from the carriages, and were collected in the woods. Therewas a general tremor about accidents. If one of the gentlemen had goneforward to explore, or the children had lagged behind for play, therewas a shouting, and a general stop, till the missing party appeared. Miss Young would fain have declined her pony, which was duly in waitingfor her. It was only because she felt that no individual could well bespared from the party that she mounted at all. Mr Hope was to have hadthe charge of her; and though she had requested Sydney to take hisplace, as far as was necessary, Mr Enderby insisted on doing so; acircumstance which did not add to her satisfaction. She was notaltogether so heart-sick as her friends, the Ibbotsons; but even to her, everything was weariness of spirit:--the landscape seemed dull; thesplendid dinner on the grass tiresome; the sunshine sickly; and even thechildren, with their laughter and practical jokes, fatiguing andtroublesome. Even she could easily have spoken sharply to each and allof the little ones. If she felt so, what must the day have been toHester? She bore up well under any observation that she might supposeherself the object of; but Margaret saw how laboriously she strove, andin vain, to eat; how welcome was the glass of wine; how mechanical hersinging after dinner; and how impatient she was of sitting still. Thestrangest thing was to see her walking in a dim glade, in the afternoon, arm-in-arm with Mrs Rowland, --as if in the most confidentialconversation, --Mrs Rowland apparently offering the confidence, andHester receiving it. 

"Look at them!" said Mr Enderby. "Who would believe that my sisterprohibited solitary walks and _tete-a-tetes_, only three hours ago, onthe ground that every one ought to be sociable to-day? I shall go andbreak up the conference. "

"Pray do not, " said Margaret. "Let them forget rules, and pass theirtime as they like best. "

"Oh! but here is news of Hope. Mr Grey has now brought word that he isno worse. I begin to think he may get through, which, God knows I hadno idea of this morning. "

"Do you really think so? But do not tell other people, unless you arequite confident that you really mean what you say. "

"I may be wrong, of course: but I do think the chances improve withevery hour that he does not get worse; and he is certainly not worse. Ihave a strong presentiment that he will struggle through. "

"Go, then; and tell as many people as you choose: only make themunderstand how much is presentiment. "

The _tete-a-tete_ between the ladies, being broken off by Mr Enderbywith his tidings, was not renewed. Hester walked beside Miss Young'spony, her cheek flushed, and her eye bright. Margaret thought there waspride underneath, and not merely the excitement of renewed hope, sofeeble as that hope must yet be, and so nearly crushed by suspense. 

Before the hour fixed for the carriages to be in readiness, the partyhad given up all pretence of amusing themselves and each other. Theysat on a ridge, watching the spot where the vehicles were to assemble;and message after message was sent to the servants, to desire them tomake haste. The general wish seemed to be, to be getting home, thoughthe sun was yet some way from its setting. When the first sound ofwheels was heard, Hester whispered to her sister--"I cannot be in thesame carriage with that woman. No; you must not either. I cannot nowtell you why. I dare say Miss Young would take my place, and let me gowith the children in the waggon. "

"I will do that; and you shall return in Mr Rowland's gig. You cantalk or not as you please with him; and he is very kind. He is no moreto be blamed for his wife's behaviour, you know, than her mother or herbrother. It shall be so. I will manage it. "

Margaret could manage what she pleased, with Maria and Mr Enderby bothdevoted to her. Hester was off with Mr Rowland, and Margaret with onechild on her lap, and the others rejoicing at having possession of her, before Mrs Rowland discovered the shifting of parties which had takenplace. Often during the ride she wanted to speak to her brother: threetimes out of four he was not to be had, so busy was he joking with thechildren, as he trotted his horse beside the waggon; and when he didhear his sister's call he merely answered her questions, said somethingto make his mother laugh, and dropped into his place beside the waggonagain. It struck Maria that the waggon had not been such an attractionin going, though the flowers with which it was canopied had then beenfresh, and the children more merry and good-humoured than now. 

The report to be carried home to Deerbrook was, that Mr Hope was stillno worse: it was thought that his delirium was somewhat quieter. MrsGrey was out on the steps to hear the news, when the carriageapproached. As it happened, the gig arrived first, and Hester had togive the relation. She spoke even cheerfully, declaring Mr Enderby'sopinion, that the case was going on favourably, and that recovery wasvery possible. Mrs Grey, who had had a wretchedly anxious day byherself, not having enjoyed even the satisfaction of being useful, nothing having been sent for from the farmhouse, was truly cheered byseeing her family about her again. 

"I have been watching for you this hour, " said she; "and yet I hardlyexpected you so soon. As it grew late, I began to fancy all manner ofaccidents that might befall you. When one accident happens, it makesone fancy so many more! I could not help thinking about Mr Grey'shorse. Does that horse seem to you perfectly steady, Hester? Well, Iam glad of it: but I once saw it shy from some linen on a hedge, and itwas in my mind all this afternoon. Here you are, all safe, however: andI trust we may feel more cheerfully now about our good friend. If hegoes on to grow better, I shall get Mr Grey to drive me over soon tosee him. But, my dears, what will you have after your ride? Shall Iorder tea, or will you have something more substantial?"

"Tea, if you please, " said Hester. Her tongue was parched: and whenMargaret followed her up-stairs, she found her drinking water, as if shehad been three days deep in the Great Desert. 

"Can you tell me now, " asked Margaret, "what Mrs Rowland has beensaying to you?"

"No, not at present: better wait. Margaret! what do you think now?"

"I think that all looks brighter than it did this morning; but what awretched day it has been!"

"You found it so, did you? Oh, Margaret, I have longed every hour tolie down to sleep in that wood, and never wake again!"

"I do not wonder: but you will soon feel better. The sleep from whichyou will wake to-morrow morning will do nearly as well. We must sleepto-night, and hope for good news in the morning. "

"No good news will ever come to me again, " sighed Hester. "No, no; I donot quite mean that. You need not look at me so. It is ungrateful tosay such a thing at this moment. Come: I am ready to go down to tea. It is really getting dark. I thought this day never would come to anend. "

The evening was wearisome enough. Mrs Grey asked how Mrs Rowland hadbehaved, and Sophia was beginning to tell, when her father checked her, reminding her that she had been enjoying Mrs Rowland's hospitality. This was all he said, but it was enough to bring on one of Sophia'sinterminable fits of crying. The children were cross with fatigue: MrsGrey thought her husband hard upon Sophia; and, to complete theabsurdity of the scene, Hester's and Margaret's tears proveduncontrollable. The sight of Sophia's set them flowing; and though theylaughed at themselves for the folly of weeping from mere sympathy, thisdid not mend the matter. Mrs Grey seemed on the verge of tearsherself, when she observed that she had expected a cheerful eveningafter a lonely and anxious day. A deep sob from the three answered tothis observation, and they all rose to go to their apartments. Hesterwas struck by the peculiar tender pressure of the hand given her by MrGrey, as she offered him her mute good-night. It caused her a freshburst of grief when she reached her own room. 

Margaret was determined not to go to rest without knowing what it wasthat Mrs Rowland had said to her sister. She pressed for it now, hoping that it would rouse Hester from more painful thoughts. 

"Though I have been enjoying that woman's hospitality, as Mr Greysays, " declared Hester, "I must speak of her as I think, to you. Oh, she has been so insolent!"

"Insolent to you! How? Why?"

"Nay: you had better ask her why. Her confidence was all about herbrother. She seems to think, --she did not say so, or I should haveknown better how to answer her, but she seems to think that her brotheris--(I can hardly speak it even to you, Margaret!)--is in some way indanger from me. Now, you and I know that he cares no more for me thanfor any one of the people who were there to-day; and yet she went ontelling me, and I could not stop her, about the views of his family forhim!"

"What views?"

"Views which, I imagine, it by no means follows that he has for himself. If she has been impertinent to me, she has been even more so to him. Iwonder how she dares meddle in his concerns as she does. "

"Well, but what views?" persisted Margaret. 

"Oh, about his marrying:--that he is the darling of his family, --thatlarge family interests hang upon his marrying, --that all his relationsthink it is time he was settling, and that he told her last week that hewas of that opinion himself:--and then she went on to say that there wasthe most delightful accordance in their views for him;--that they didnot much value beauty, --that they should require for him something of afar higher order than beauty, and which indeed was seldom found withit--"

"Insolent creature! Did she say that to you?"

"Indeed she did: and that her brother's wife must be of a good family, with a fortune worthy of his own; and, naturally, of a county family. "

"A county family!" said Margaret, half laughing. "What matters countyor city, when two people are watching over one another for life anddeath, and for hereafter?"

"With such people as Mrs Rowland, " said Hester, "marriage is a verysuperficial affair. If family, fortune, and equipage are but right, therest may be left to Providence. Temper, mind, heart--. The worst ofall, however, was her ending--or what was made her ending by our beinginterrupted. "

"Well! what was her finish?"

"She put her face almost under my bonnet, as she looked smiling at me, and said there was a young lady--she wished she could tell me all aboutit--the time would come when she might--there was a sweet girl, belovedby them all for many years, from her very childhood, whom they had hopesof receiving, at no very distant time, as Philip's wife. "

"I do not believe it, " cried Margaret. After a pause, she added, "Doyou believe it, Hester?"

"I am sure I do not know. I should not rate Mrs Rowland's word veryhighly: but this would be such a prodigious falsehood! It is possible, however, that she may believe it without its being true. Or, such awoman might make the most, for the occasion, of a mere suspicion of herown. "

"I do not believe it is true, " repeated Margaret. 

"At all events, " concluded Hester, "nothing that Mrs Rowland says isworth regarding. I was foolish to let myself be ruffled by her. "

Margaret tried to take the lesson home, but it was in vain. She wasruffled; and, in spite of every effort, she did believe in the existenceof the nameless young lady. It had been a day of trouble; and thus wasit ending in fresh sorrow and fear. 

Morris came in, hesitated at the door, was told she might stay, andimmediately busied herself in the brushing of hair and the folding ofclothes. Many tears trickled down, and not a word was spoken, till allthe offices of the toilet were finished. Morris then asked, with aglance at the book-shelf, whether she should go or stay. 

"Stay, Morris, " said Hester, gently. "You shall not suffer for ourbeing unhappy to-night. Margaret, will you, can you read?"

Margaret took the volume in which it was the sisters' common practice toread together, and with Morris at night. While Morris took her seat, and reverently composed herself to hear, Margaret turned to the wordswhich have stilled many a tempest of grief, from the moment when theywere first uttered to mourners, through a long course of centuries, "Letnot your heart be troubled. " "Believe in God; believe in me. " Morrissometimes spoke on these occasions. She loved to hear of the manymansions in the House of the Father of all; and she said that though itmight seem to her young ladies that their parents had gone there fullsoon, leaving them to undergo trouble by themselves, yet she had nodoubt they should all be at peace together, sooner or later, and theirpassing troubles seem as nothing. Even this simple and obvious remarkroused courage in the sisters. They remembered what their father hadsaid to them about his leaving them to encounter the serious businessand trials of life, and how they had promised to strive to be wise andtrustful, and to help each other. This day the serious business andtrials of life had manifestly begun: they must strengthen themselves andeach other to meet them. They agreed upon this, and in a mood of faithand resolution fell asleep. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

MEDIATION. 

Mr Hope's case turned out more favourably than any of his attendantsand friends had ventured to anticipate. For some days the symptomscontinued as alarming as at first; but from the hour that he began toamend, his progress towards recovery was without drawback, and unusuallyrapid. Within a month, the news circulated through the village, that hehad been safely brought home to his own lodgings; and the day after, theladies at Mr Grey's were startled by seeing him alight from a gig atthe door, and walk up the steps feebly, but without assistance. Hecould not stay away any longer, he declared. He had been above a monthshut up in a dim room, without seeing any faces but of doctor, nurse, and Mrs Grey, and debarred from books; now he was well enough toprescribe for himself; and he was sure that a little society, and agradual return to his usual habits of life, would do him more good thananything. 

Mrs Grey kept all her own children out of sight during this firstvisit, that Mr Hope might not see too many faces at once. She admittedonly Hester and Margaret, and Alice, who brought him some refreshment. The girl made him a low curtsey, and looked at him with an expression ofawe and pleasure, which brought tears into the eyes of even hermistress. Mr Hope had been a benefactor to this girl. He had broughther through a fever. She had of late little expected ever to see himagain. Mr Hope replied to her mute looks:

"Thank you, Alice, I am much better. I hope to be quite well soon. Didnot you make some of the good things Mrs Grey has been kind enough tobring me?--I thought so. Well, I'm much obliged to you; and toeverybody who has been taking pains to make me well. I do not know howit is, " he continued, when Alice had left the room, "but things do notappear as they used to do. Perhaps my eyes are dim still; but the roomdoes not seem bright, and none of you look well and merry. "

Mrs Grey observed that she had drawn the blinds down, thinking he wouldfind it a relief after the sunshine. Margaret said ingenuously--

"We are all well, I assure you; but you should not wonder if you find usrather grave. Much has happened since we met. We have been thinking ofyou with great anxiety for so long, that we cannot on a sudden talk aslightly as when you used to come in every day. "

"Ah!" said he, "I little thought, at one time, that I should ever seeany of you again in this world. "

"We have thought of you as near death, " said Margaret; "and since that, as having a sick-room experience, which we respect and stand in awe of;and that is reason enough for our looking grave. "

"You feel as if you had to become acquainted with me over again. Well, we must lose no time; here is a month gone that I can give no accountof. "

Hester felt how differently the case stood with her. The last month hadbeen the longest she had ever known, --tedious as to the state captive, serving his noviciate to prison life. She would have been thankful tosay that she could give no account of the past month. She inquired howthe accident happened; for this was still a mystery to everybody. MrHope could not clear up the matter: he remembered parting with Sydney, and trotting, with the bridle of the pony in his hand, to the top of theascent, --the point where Sydney lost sight of him: he had no distinctremembrance of anything more, --only a sort of impression of his horserearing bolt upright. He had never been thrown before; and hissupposition was, that a stone cast from behind the hedge might havestruck his horse: but he really knew no more of the affair than any oneelse. The ladies all trusted he would not ride the same horse again;but this he would not promise: his horse was an old friend; and he wasnot in a hurry to part with old friends. He was glad to find that MissYoung had not laid the blame on the pony, but had ridden it through thewoods as if nothing had happened. 

"Not exactly so, " said Margaret, smiling. 

"The young folks did not enjoy their excursion very much, I fancy, " saidMrs Grey, smiling also. "Mrs Rowland was quite put out, poor soul!You know she thinks everything goes wrong, on purpose to plague her. "

"I think she had some higher feelings on that occasion, " said Mr Hope, gently, but gravely. "I am indebted to her for a very anxious concernon my account, and for kind offices in which perhaps none of my manygenerous friends have surpassed her. "

Mrs Grey, somewhat abashed, said that Mrs Rowland had some goodqualities: it was only a pity that her unhappy temper did not allow themfair play. 

"It is a pity, " observed Mr Hope; "and it is at the same time, anappeal to us to allow her the fair play she does not afford herself. That sofa looks delightfully comfortable, Mrs Grey. "

"Oh, you are tired; you are faint, perhaps?"

"Shall I ring?" said Hester, moving to the bell. 

"No, no, " said he, laughing; "I am very well at present. I only meanthat I should like to stay all day, if you will let me. I am sure thatsofa is full as comfortable as my own. I may stay, may I not?"

"No, indeed you shall not, this first day. If you will go away nowbefore you are tired, and if I find when I look in upon you thisevening, that you are not the worse for this feat, you shall stay longerto-morrow. But I assure you it is time you were at home now. My dears, just see whether the gig is at the door. "

"So I only get sent away by begging to stay, " said Mr Hope. "Well, Ihave been giving orders to sick people for so many years, that I supposeit is fairly my turn to obey now. May I ask you to send to Widow Rye'sto-day? I looked in as I came; and her child is in want of better food, better cooked, than she is able to give him. "

"I will send him a dinner from our table. You are not going to see anymore patients to-day, I hope?"

"Only two that lie quite in my road. If you send me away, you must takethe consequences. Farewell, till tomorrow. "

"Mr Grey and I shall look in upon you this evening. Now do not lookabout you out of doors, to catch anybody's eye, or you will be visitinga dozen patients between this house and your own. "

There were, indeed, many people standing about, within sight of MrGrey's door, to see Mr Hope come out. All Mr Grey's children andservants were peeping through the shrubbery. Mrs Enderby waved herhand from a lower, and her two maids looked out from an upper window. The old man of a hundred years, who was sunning himself on the bank, asusual, rose and took off his hat: and the little Reeves and theirschoolfellows stood whispering to one another that Mr Hope lookedrarely bad still. Mrs Plumstead dropped a low curtsey, as she stoodtaking in the letter-bag, at her distant door. Mrs Grey observed toHester on the respect which was paid to Mr Hope all through the place, as if Hester was not feeling it in her heart of hearts at the moment. 

Mrs Grey flattered herself that Mr Hope was thinking of Hester when hesaid his friends did not look well. She had been growing thinner andpaler for the last month, and no doubt remained in Mrs Grey's mindabout the cause. Hester had commanded herself, to her sister'sadmiration; but she could not command her health, and that was givingway under perpetual feelings of anxiety and humiliation. Mrs Greythought all this had gone quite far enough. She was more fond and proudof Hester every day, and more impatient that she should be happy, themore she watched her. She spoke to Margaret about her. Margaret wasprepared for this, having foreseen its probability; and her answers, while perfectly true and sincere, were so guarded, that Mrs Grey drewfrom them the comfortable inference that she alone penetrated thematter, and understood Hester's state of mind. She came to theresolution at last of making the young people happy a little sooner thanthey could have managed the affair for themselves. She would help themto an understanding, but it should be with all possible delicacy andregard to their feelings. Not even Mr Grey should know what she wasabout. 

Opportunities were not wanting. When are opportunities wanting tomatch-makers? If such do not find means of carrying their points, theycan construct them. Few match-makers go to work so innocently andsecurely as Mrs Grey; for few can be so certain of the inclinations ofthe parties as she believed herself. Her own admiration of Hester wasso exclusive, and the superiority of Hester's beauty so unquestionable, that it never occurred to her that the attraction which drew Mr Hope tothe house could be any other than this. About the state of Hester'saffections she felt justly confident; and so, in her view, nothingremained to be done but to save her from further pining by bringingabout an explanation. She was frequently with Mr Hope at his lodgings, during his recovery, seeing that he took his afternoon rest, andbeguiling a part of his evenings; in short, watching over him as over ason, and declaring to Hester that he was no less dear to her. 

One evening, when she was spending an hour in Mr Hope's parlour, whereMr Grey had deposited her till nine o'clock, when he was to call forher, she made the same affectionate declaration to Mr Hope himself, --that he was as dear to her as if he had been her own son; "and, " shecontinued, "I shall speak to you with the same freedom as I should usewith Sydney, and may, perhaps, ten years hence. "

"Pray do, " said Mr Hope. "I shall be glad to hear anything you have tosay. Are you going to find fault with me?"

"Oh dear, no! What fault should I have to find with you? unless, indeed, it be a fault or a folly to leave your own happiness and that ofanother person in needless uncertainty. "

Mr Hope changed colour, quite to the extent of her wishes. 

"I know, " continued she, "that your illness has put a stop toeverything; and that it has left you little nerve for any explanation ofthe kind: but you are growing stronger every day now, and the case isbecoming so serious on the other side that I own I dread theconsequences of much further delay. You see I speak openly. "

She had every encouragement to do so, for Mr Hope's countenance wasflushed with what appeared to her to be delight. "You observed, yourself, you know, that Hester did not look well; and indeed the fewweeks after your accident were so trying to her, --the exertions she madeto conceal her feelings were so--. But I must spare her delicacy. Itrust you are quite assured that she has not the most remote idea of myspeaking to you thus. Indeed, no human being is in the least aware ofit. "

"Hester! Miss Ibbotson! Pray, Mrs Grey, do not say another word. Letus talk of something else. "

"Presently; when I have finished. You must have seen that I love thisdear girl as a daughter; and there is not a thought of her heart thatshe can conceal from me, though her delicacy is so great that I amconfident she thinks me unaware of her state of mind at this moment. But I saw how the affair was going from the very beginning; and thefailure of her health and looks since your accident have left me nodoubt whatever, and have made me feel it my duty to give you theencouragement your modesty requires, and to confide to you how whollyher happiness lies in your hands. "

"Hester! Miss Ibbotson! I assure you, Mrs Grey, you must becompletely mistaken. "

"I beg your pardon: I am not so easily mistaken as some people. Thereis Mrs Rowland, now! I am sure she fancies that her brother is in lovewith Hester, when it is plain to everybody but herself that he and myother young cousin are coming to a conclusion as fast as need be. However, I know you do not like to hear me find fault with Mrs Rowland;and, besides, I have no right to tell Margaret's secrets; so we will sayno more about that. "

Mr Hope sighed heavily. These remarks upon Enderby and Margaretaccorded but too well with his own observations. He could not let MrsGrey proceed without opposition; but all he was capable of was to repeatthat she was entirely mistaken. 

"Yes, that is what men like you always say, --in all sincerity, ofcourse. Your modesty always stands in the way of your happiness for awhile: but you are no losers by it. The happiness is all the sweeterwhen it comes at last. "

"But that is not what I mean. You have made it difficult for me toexplain myself. I hardly know how to say it; but it must be said. Youhave mistaken my intentions, --mistaken them altogether. "

It was now Mrs Grey's turn to change colour. She asked in a tremblingvoice:

"Do you mean to say, Mr Hope, that you have not been paying attentionsto Hester Ibbotson?"

"I do say so; that I have paid no attentions of the nature you suppose. You compel me to speak plainly. "

"Then I must speak plainly too, Mr Hope. If any one had told me youwould play the part you have played, I should have resented theimputation as I resent your conduct now. If you have not intended towin Hester's affections, you have behaved infamously. You have won herattachment by attentions which have never varied, from the very firstevening that she entered our house, till this afternoon. You haveamused yourself with her, it seems; and now you are going to break herheart. "

"Stop, stop, Mrs Grey! I cannot hear this. "

"There is not a soul in the place that does not think as I do. There isnot a soul that will not say--. "

"Let us put aside what people may say. If, by any imprudence of my own, I have brought blame upon myself, I must bear it. The important pointis--. Surely, Mrs Grey, it is possible that you may be in error aboutMiss Ibbotson's--Miss Ibbotson's state of mind. "

"No, Mr Hope, it is not possible. " And being in for it, as she said, Mrs Grey gave such a detail of her observations, and of unquestionablefacts, as left the truth indeed in little doubt. 

"And Margaret, " said Mr Hope, in a troubled voice: "do you knowanything of her views of my conduct?"

"Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester, " said Mrs Grey: anassertion from which Mr Hope silently dissented; Margaret appearing tohim the most simple-minded person he had ever known; lucid in hersincerity, transparent in her unconsciousness. He was aware that MrsGrey had been so occupied with Hester as not to have been open toimpression from Margaret. 

"Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester, you know; and she andI have never talked over your conduct confidentially: but if Margaretdoes not perceive the alteration in her sister, and the cause of it, itcan only be because she is occupied with her own concerns. "

"That is not like Margaret, " thought Mr Hope. 

"However, she does see it, I am sure; for she has proposed their returnto Birmingham, --their immediate return, though their affairs are farfrom being settled yet, and they do not know what they will have to liveupon. They promised to stay till October, too; and we are only halfthrough August yet. Margaret can hardly have any wish to leave us onher own account, considering whom she must leave behind. It is forHester's sake, I am confident. There is no doubt of the fact, Mr Hope. Your honour is involved. I repeat, you have won this dear girl'saffections; and now you must act as a man of conscience, which I havealways supposed you to be. "

Mr Hope was tempted to ask for further confirmation, from the opinionsof the people who were about Hester; but he would not investigate thedegree of exposure which might have taken place. Even if no one agreedwith Mrs Grey, this would be no proof that her conviction was a wrongone; it might happen through Hester's successful concealment of what shemust be striving to suppress. 

Mrs Grey urged him about his honour and conscience more closely than hecould bear. He faintly begged her to leave him. He obtained from her apromise that she would inform no person of what had been said; and sheagain assured him that neither Hester, nor any one else, had theremotest idea of her speaking as she had done this evening. On hispart, Mr Hope declared that he should reflect on what had passed, andact with the strictest regard to duty. As, in Mrs Grey's eyes, hisduty was perfectly clear, this declaration was completely satisfactory. She saw the young people, with her mind's eye, settled in the cornerhouse which belonged to Mr Rowland, and was delighted that she hadspoken. As soon as she was gone, Mr Hope would discover, she hadlittle doubt, that he had loved Hester all this time without having beenconscious what the attraction had really been; and in a little while hewould be thankful to her for having smoothed his way for him. Withthese thoughts in her mind, she bade him good-night, just as Mr Greydrove up to the door. She whispered once more, that he was as dear toher as a son, and that this was the reason of her having spoken soplainly. 

"How are you this evening, Hope?" said Mr Grey, from the doorway. "Onthe sofa, eh? don't rise for me, then. Rather done up, eh? Ah! I wasafraid you were for getting on too fast. Bad economy in the end. Youwill be glad to be rid of us: so I shall not come in. Take care ofyourself, I beg of you. Good-night. "

In what a state of mind was Hope left! His plain-speaking motherlyfriend little guessed what a storm she had raised in a spirit usually ascalm as a summer's morning. There was nothing to him so abhorrent asgiving pain; nothing so intolerable in idea as injuring any human being:and he was now compelled to believe that through some conduct of hisown, some imprudence, in a case where imprudence is guilt, he had brokenup the peace of a woman whom, though he did not love, he respected andwarmly regarded! His mind was in too tumultuous a state for him toattempt to settle with himself the degree of his culpability. He onlyknew that he was abased in his own sense of deep injury towards afellow-creature. In the same breath came the destruction of hishopes, --hopes, of which, till the moment, he had been scarcelyconscious, --with regard to the one on whom his thoughts had been reallyfixed. He had pledged himself to act strictly according to his sense ofduty. His consolation, his refuge in every former trial of life, sincethe days of childhood, had been in resolving to abide faithfully by thedecisions of duty. In this he had found freedom; in this he had metstrength and repose, so that no evil had been intolerable to him. Butwhat was his duty now? Amidst the contradictions of honour andconscience in the present case, where should he find his accustomedrefuge? At one moment he saw clearly the obligation to devote himselfto her whose affections he had gained, --thoughtlessly and carelessly, itis true, but to other eyes purposely. At the next moment, the sin ofmarrying without love, --if not while loving another, --rose vividlybefore him, and made him shrink from what, an instant before, seemedclear duty. The only hope was in the possibility of mistake, whichmight yet remain. The whole could not be mistake, about Hester, andEnderby, and Margaret, and all Mrs Grey's convictions. Some of allthis must be true. The probability was that it was all true: and ifso, --he could almost repine that he had not died when his death wasexpected. Then he should not have known of all this injury and woe;then he should not have had to witness Margaret's love for another: thenHester's quiet grief would have melted away with time, unembittered byreproach of him. No one had, till this hour, loved and relished lifemore than he; yet now this gladsome being caught himself mourning thathe had survived his accident. He roused himself from this; but all wasfearful and confused before him. He could see nothing as it was, and asit ought to be: he could decide upon nothing. He must take time: hemust be deliberate upon this, the most important transaction of hislife. 

Thus he determined, as the last remains of twilight faded away in hisapartment, and the night air blew in chill from the open window. He wasso exhausted by his mental conflict as to be scarcely able to rise toclose the window, and retire to rest. There was one hope, familiar asthe sunshine to his eyes, but unusually feeble, still abiding in hismind for comfort, --that he should, sooner or later, clearly discern whatit was his duty to do. All was at present dark; but this light mightflow in. He would wait: he would not act till it did. 

He did wait. For many days he was not seen in any of the haunts, towhich he had begun to return. The answer to inquiries was that Mr Hopewas not so well, and wished for entire quiet. Everyone was anxious. Hester was wretched, and Mrs Grey extremely restless and uneasy. Shemade several attempts to see him; but in no instance did she succeed. She wrote him a private note, and received only a friendly verbalanswer, such as all the world might hear. 

Mr Hope did wait for his duty to grow clear in the accumulating lightof thought. He decided at length how to act; and he decided wrong;--notfor want of waiting long enough, but because some considerationsintruded themselves which warped his judgment, and sophisticated hisfeelings. He decided upon making the great mistake of his life. 

Nothing had ever been clearer to his mind than the guilt of marryingwithout love. No man could have spoken more strongly, more solemnlythan he, on the presumption, the dishonourableness, the profligacy, ofsuch an act: but he was unaware how a man may be betrayed into it whilehe has neither presumption, nor treachery, nor profligacy in histhoughts. Hope went through a world of meditation during the days ofhis close retirement; some of his thoughts were superficial, and somedeceived him. He considered Margaret lost to him: he glanced forwardsto his desolation when he should lose the society of both sisters--anevent likely to happen almost immediately, unless he should so act as toretain them. He dwelt upon Hester's beauty, her superiority of mind toevery woman but one whom he had known, her attachment to himself; herdependence upon him. He pondered these things till the tone of his mindwas lowered, and too many superficial feelings mingled with thesacredness of the transaction, and impaired its integrity. Under theirinfluence he decided what to do. 

He had no intention, all this while, of taking Mrs Grey's word for thewhole matter, without test or confirmation. From the beginning, he wasaware that his first step must be to ascertain that she was notmistaken. And this was his first step. 

There were two obvious methods of proceeding. One was to consult MrGrey, who stood in the place of guardian to these girls, as to theprobability of his success with Hester, in case of his proposing himselfto her. The other was to ask the same question of Margaret. Theadvantage of speaking to Mr Grey was, that he might not be bound toproceed, in case of Mr Grey differing from his lady's view of the case;but then, Mr Grey was perhaps unaware of the real state of Hester'smind. From Margaret there was certainty of hearing nothing but thetruth, however little of it her feelings for her sister might allow herto reveal; but such a conversation with her would compel him to proceed:all retreat would be cut off after it; and he naturally shrank fromconversing with Margaret, of all people, on this subject. But Hope wasequal to any effort which he thought a matter of duty; and he resolvednot to flinch from this. He would speak first to Mr Grey; and if MrGrey did not undertake to answer for Hester's indifference, he wouldseek an interview with Margaret. If Margaret should encourage hisadvances on her sister's behalf; the matter was decided. He should havea wife who might be the pride of any man, --whom it would be an honour toany man to have attached. If, as was still just possible, Margaretshould believe that her sister felt no peculiar regard for him, hethought he might intimate so much of the truth as, without offending herfeelings on her sister's account, would secure for him freedom toreconsider his purposes. No man disliked more than he so circuitous amethod of acting in the most important affair of life. He had alwaysbelieved that, in the case of a genuine and virtuous attachment, therecan or ought to be nothing but the most entire simplicity of conduct inthe parties, --no appeal to any but each other, --no seeking of anintervention, where no stranger ought to intermeddle with the joy: butthe present affair, though perpetually brightening before Hope's fancy, could not for a moment be thought of as of this kind: and here thecircuitous method, which had always appeared disgusting to hisimagination, was a matter of necessity to his conscience. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

A TURN IN THE SHRUBBERY. 

Mr Grey looked extremely pleased when asked whether he supposed Hestermight be won. His reply was simple enough. He was not in his youngcousin's confidence: he could not undertake to answer for the state ofmind of young ladies; but he knew of no other attachment, --of nothingwhich need discourage his friend Hope, who would have his hearty goodwishes if he should persevere in his project. Yes, yes; he fullyunderstood: it was not to be spoken of;--it was to rest entirely betweenthemselves till Hope should have felt his way a little. He knew it wasthe fashion in these days to feel the way a little more than was thoughtnecessary or desirable in his time: but he liked that all should followtheir own method in an affair which concerned themselves so much morethan any one else: so the matter should be a perfect secret, as Mr Hopedesired; though he did not fancy it would have to be kept so close forany great length of time. 

This was over. Now for the interview with Margaret, which had becomenecessary. 

His reappearance in the family party at Mr Grey's, under theinquisitive eyes of Mrs Grey herself, must be an awkward business atthe best, while he remained in uncertainty. The only way was to put anend to the uncertainty as soon as possible. He would go this veryafternoon, and ascertain his fate before the day was over. He wentboldly up to the door and rang. "The family were all out in the gardenafter dinner, " Alice said: "would Mr Hope join them there, or would herest himself while she told them he had arrived?" Alice's anxiety abouthis looks was not yet satisfied. 

"I will step in here, " said he, the door of the blue parlour being open. "Send Morris to me, " Morris at that moment crossing the hall. "Morris, I want to see Miss Margaret. Will you just tell her that some onewishes to speak with her? I know she will excuse my asking the favourof her to come in. "

"Miss Margaret, sir?"

"Yes. "

"I am sure, sir, you look more fit to sit here than to be gatheringapples with them all in the orchard. Did you say Miss Margaret, sir?"

"Yes. "

"Whatever else may be in Morris's mind, " thought Hope, "it is clear thatshe is surprised at my wanting to see Margaret. --Here she comes. "

He was not sorry that the step paused in the hall, --that there was adelay of some seconds before Margaret appeared. He felt as weak at themoment as on first rising from his bed after his accident; but herallied his resolution before he met her eye, --now timid and shrinkingas he had never seen it before. Margaret was very grave, and as nearlyawkward as it was possible for her to be. She shook hands with him, however, and hoped that he was better again. 

"I am better, thank you. Will you sit down, and let me speak to you fora few minutes?"

It was impossible to refuse. Margaret sank down, while he shut thedoor. 

"I hear, " said he, "that you are already thinking of returning toBirmingham. Is this true?"

"Yes: we shall go home in a few days. "

"Then, before you leave us, will you allow me to ask your advice--?"

At the word "advice" a glow of pleasure passed over Margaret's face, andshe could not quite suppress a sigh of relief. She now looked up freelyand fearlessly. All this was good for Mr Hope: but it went to hisheart, and for a moment checked his speech. He soon proceeded, however. 

"I want your advice as a friend, and also some information which youalone can give me. What I have to say relates to your sister. "

Margaret's ecstasy of hope was scarcely controllable. For her sister'ssake she hung her head upon her bosom, the better to conceal her joy. It was a bitter moment for him who could not but note and rightlyinterpret the change in her countenance and manner. 

"I wish to know, if you have no objection to tell me, whether yoursister is disengaged. "

"I have no objection to say, " declared Margaret, looking up cheerfully, "that my sister is not engaged. "

"That is the information I wished for. Now for the opinion which Iventure to ask of you, as of the one to whom your sister's mind is bestknown. Do you believe that, if I attempt it, I am likely to win her?"

Margaret was silent. It was difficult to answer the question withperfect truth, and with due consideration to her sister. 

"I see, " said Hope, "that you do not approve my question: nor do Imyself. Rather tell me whether you suppose that she prefers any one tome, --that she had rather I should not seek her, --whether, in short, youwould advise me to withdraw. "

"By no means, " said Margaret. "I cannot say anything tending to deteryou. I know of nothing which need discourage you; and I assure you, youhave my best wishes that you may succeed. "

She looked at him with the bright expression of sincerity and regardwhich had touched his heart oftener and more deeply than all Hester'sbeauty. He could not have offered to shake hands at the moment; but sheheld out hers, and he could not but take it. The door burst open at thesame instant, and Mr Enderby entered. Both let drop the hand theyheld, and looked extremely awkward and grave. A single glance wasenough to send Mr Enderby away, without having spoken his errand, whichwas to summon Margaret to the orchard, for the final shake of theapple-tree. When he was gone, each saw that the face of the other wascrimson: but while Hope had a look of distress which Margaret wonderedat, remembering how soon Mr Enderby would understand the nature of theinterview, she was struggling to restrain a laugh. 

"Thank you for your truth, " said Mr Hope. "I knew I might depend uponit from you. "

"I have told you all I can, " said Margaret rising; "and it will be bestto say no more at present. It is due to my sister to close ourconversation here. If she should choose, " continued she, gaily, "togive us leave to renew it hereafter, I shall have a great deal to say toyou on my own part. You have done me the honour of calling me `friend. 'You have my friendship, I assure you, and my good wishes. "

Hope grasped her hand with a fervour which absolved him from the use ofwords. He then opened the door for her. 

"I must return to the orchard, " said she. "Will you go? or will yourepose yourself here till we come in to tea?"

Mr Hope preferred remaining where he was. The die was cast, and hemust think. His hour of meditation was salutary. He had never seenMargaret so--he dared not dwell upon it: but then, never had hersimplicity of feeling towards him, her ingenuous friendship, unmixedwith a thought of love, been so clear. He had made no impression uponher, except through her sister, and for her sister. He recalled thestiffness and fear with which she had come when summoned to a_tete-a-tete_; her sudden relief on the mention of her sister; and herjoyous encouragement of his project. 

"I ought to rejoice--I do rejoice at this, " thought he. "It seems as ifeveryone else would be made happy by this affair. It must have been myown doing; there must have been that in my manner and conduct whichauthorised all this expectation and satisfaction, --an expectation andsatisfaction which prove to be no fancy of Mrs Grey's. I have broughtupon myself the charge of Hester's happiness. She is a noble woman, bound to me by all that can engage my honour, my generosity, myaffection. She shall be happy from this day, if my most entire devotioncan make her so. Margaret loves Enderby: I am glad I know it. I madehim dreadfully jealous just now; I must relieve him as soon as possible. I do not know how far matters may have gone between them; but Margaretis not at liberty to explain what he saw till I have spoken to Hester. There must be no delay: I will do it this evening. I cannot bringmyself to communicate with Mrs Grey. If Mr Grey is at home, he willmake the opportunity for me. "

Mr Grey was at home, and on the alert to take a hint. "I guessed howit was, " said he. "Margaret has been trying to keep down her spirits, but not a child among them all flew about the orchard as she did, whenMr Enderby had been to look for her, and she followed him back. Ithought at first it was something on her own account; but Enderby lookedtoo dull and sulky for that. I have no doubt he is jealous of you. Hefound you together, did he? Well, he will soon know why, I trust. Oh, you have a hearty well-wisher in Margaret, I am sure! Now, you see theyare setting Sophia down to the piano; and I think I can find for you theopportunity you want, if you really wish to bring the business to aconclusion this evening. I will call Hester out to take a turn with mein the shrubbery, as she and I often do, these fine evenings; and then, if you choose, you can meet us there. "

Hester was not at all sorry to be invited by Mr Grey to the turn in theshrubbery, which was one of the best of her quiet pleasures, --a solacewhich she enjoyed the more, the more she became attached to kind MrGrey: and she did much respect and love him. This evening she was gladof any summons from the room. Margaret had fully intended not to speakto her of what had passed, thinking it best for her sister's dignity, and for Mr Hope's satisfaction, that he should not be anticipated. Allthis was very wise and undeniable while she was walking back to theorchard: but it so happened that Hester's hand hung by her side, as shestood looking up at the apple-tree, unaware that Margaret had left theparty. Margaret could not resist seizing the hand, and pressing it withso much silent emotion, such a glance of joy, as threw Hester into astate of wonder and expectation. Not a syllable could she extort fromMargaret, either on the spot or afterwards, when summoned to tea. Whether it was on account of Mr Hope's return to the house, she couldnot satisfy herself. She had sat, conscious and inwardly distressed, atthe tea-table, where nothing remarkable had occurred; and was glad toescape from the circle where all that was said appeared to her excitedspirit to be tiresome, or trifling, or vexatious. 

How different was it all when she returned to the house! How she lovedthe whole world, and no one in it was dull, and nothing was trifling, and it was out of the power of circumstances to vex her! Life hadbecome heaven: its doubts, its cares, its troubles, were gone, and allhad given place to a soul-penetrating joy. She should grow perfect now, for she had one whom she believed perfect to lead her on. Her pride, her jealousy, would trouble her no more: it was for want of sympathy--perfect sympathy always at hand--that she had been a prey to them. Sheshould pine no more, for there was one who was her own. A calm, nameless, all-pervading bliss had wrapped itself round her spirit, andbrought her as near to her Maker as if she had been his favoured child. There needs no other proof that happiness is the most wholesome moralatmosphere, and that in which the immortality of man is destinedultimately to thrive, than the elevation of soul, the religiousaspiration, which attends the first assurance, the first sobercertainty, of true love. There is much of this religious aspirationamidst all warmth of virtuous affections. There is a vivid love of Godin the child that lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, andclasps its arms about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps unconsciously)for the brightness of his earth, on summer evenings, when a brother andsister, who have long been parted, pour out their heart stores to eachother, and feel their course of thought brightening as it runs. Whenthe aged parent hears of the honours his children have won, or looksround upon their innocent faces as the glory of his decline, his mindreverts to Him who in them prescribed the purpose of his life, andbestowed its grace. But, religious as is the mood of every goodaffection, none is so devotional as that of love, especially so called. The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity, of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the human creature shoots upinto the angel: there is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity--nothing in hell too appalling for its heroism--nothing in heaven tooglorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified by thatmost mysterious power, union with another spirit, it feels itself setwell forth on the way of victory over evil, sent out conquering and toconquer. There is no other such crisis in human life. The philosophermay experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his principle ofbalancing systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he actually saw thecreative hand in the act of sending the planets forth on theireverlasting way; but this philosopher, solitary seraph, as he may beregarded, amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment no emotions sodivine as those of the spirit becoming conscious that it is beloved--beit the peasant girl in the meadow, or the daughter of the sage, reposingin her father's confidence, or the artisan beside his loom, or the manof letters musing by his fireside. The warrior, about to strike thedecisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with thesolemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty resolution asthose who, by joining hearts, are laying their joint hands on the wholewide realm of futurity for their own. The statesman who, in the momentof success, feels that an entire class of social sins and woes isannihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimate athankfulness as they who are aware that their redemption is come in thepresence of a new and sovereign affection. And these are many--they arein all corners of every land. The statesman is the leader of a nation--the warrior is the grace of an age--the philosopher is the birth of athousand years; but the lover--where is he not? Wherever parents lookround upon their children, there he has been--wherever children are atplay together, there he will soon be--wherever there are roofs underwhich men dwell--wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with humanvoices, there is the lover, and there is his lofty worship going on, unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness of the eye, the majesty ofthe presence, and the high temper of the discourse. Men have beenungrateful and perverse; they have done what they could to counteract, to debase, this most heavenly influence of their life; but the laws oftheir Maker are too strong, the benignity of their Father is too patientand fervent, for their opposition to withstand: and true love continues, and will continue, to send up its homage amidst the meditations of everyeventide, and the busy hum of noon, and the song of the morning stars. 

Hester, when she re-entered the house, was full of the commonest feelingof all in happy lovers, --a wonder that such intense happiness should bepermitted to her. Margaret was lingering about the stair-head in thedusk, and met her sister at the door of their own apartment. 

"May I come in?" said she. 

"May you come in? Oh, Margaret! I want you. "

"All is right: all is well; is it, Hester? And I was quite wrongthroughout. I grieve now that I helped to make you miserable: but, indeed, I was miserable myself. I saw no hope; I was completelymistaken. "

"We were both mistaken, " said Hester, resting her head at Margaret'sshoulder. "Mistaken in judgment, --blinded by anxiety. But all that isover now. Margaret, what have I done that I should be so happy?"

"You have loved one who deserves such a love as yours, " said Margaret, smiling. "That is what you have done: and you will have the blessingsof all who know you both. You have mine, dearest. "

"What an ungrateful wretch shall I be, if I do not make every one happythat is within my reach!" cried Hester. "Margaret, I will never grievehis heart as I have grieved yours. I will never grieve yours again. "

"But how is it?" asked Margaret. "You have not told me yet. Is it allsettled?"

A silent embrace told that it was. 

"I may shake hands with you upon it, then. Oh, Hester, after all ourlongings for a brother, you are going to give me one! We are not alonein the world. My father, --our mother, --where are they? Do they know?Have they foreseen while we have been suffering so? Do they now foreseefor us?"

"There was not one word of his, " said Hester, "that I should not havegloried in their hearing. So gentle, Margaret! so noble! so calm!"

"And you?" said Margaret, softly. "Did you speak--speak openly?"

"Yes: it was no time for pride. With him I have no pride. I could nothave believed how I should tell him all: but he was so noble, --spoke sogloriously, --that it would have been an insult to use any disguise. Heknows all that you know, Margaret, --and I am not ashamed. "

"I honour you, " said Margaret. "Thank God, all is right! But where isMr Hope all this time?"

"He went away when I came in. You will see him in the morning. "

"Can you go down this evening? If you think you can--. "

"Go down! Yes:--this moment. I feel as if I could face the wholeworld. "

"Let me ask one thing. May I tell Maria in the morning? She will be sopleased! and no one but you understands my feelings so well. Everybodywill rejoice with me; but I can say anything to her. May I tell her allin the morning?"

"Dear Maria! Oh, yes: tell her from me, with my love. I know I shallhave her blessing. Now let us go down. "

"But we must just settle how matters are to proceed, " said Margaret. "Are the family to know or not?"

"Oh, let all that take its chance!" said Hester. "I am sure I do notcare. Let it be as it happens, for to-night at least. "

"For to-night at least, " agreed Margaret. 

All was going on as usual below-stairs. The working of collars and ofrugs was proceeding, as the family sat round the lamp. On theappearance of Hester and Margaret, the book, with the Society's cover onit, was produced; and it was requested that some one would read aloud, as it was necessary that forty pages a day should be gone through, toget the volume done by the time it must be sent to Mrs Enderby. Sophiaasked whether some one else would be so good as to read this evening, asshe thought she could finish her collar by keeping steadily to it tillbedtime. 

Margaret took the book, and was surprised to find how easy a process itis to read aloud passably without taking in a word of the sense. Fortunately the Greys were not much given, to make remarks on what theyread. To have gone through the books that came from the Society wasenough; and they could not have accomplished the forty pages an eveningif they had stopped to talk. The only words spoken during the lecture, therefore, were occasional remarks that the reader seemed hoarse, andthat some one else had better take the book; and whispered requestsacross the table for scissors, thread, or the adjustment of the light. Such being the method of literary exercise in the family, Hester andMargaret were able to think of anything they pleased with impunity. 

"There! here comes papa!" said Sophia; "and I do not believe we haveread nearly forty pages. Where did you begin, Margaret?"

Margaret resigned the volume to her to have the place found, and wastold that she should not have shifted the marker till the eveningreading was done, unless she at once set it forward forty pages: it madeit so difficult to find the place. Sophia was detained only fiveminutes from her collar, however, before she discovered that they hadread only eight-and-twenty pages. Mrs Grey observed that Mr Grey wascoming in rather earlier than usual to-night; and Sophia added, that hercousins had been a good while in their own room. 

Hester was conscious that Mr Grey cast a rapid, penetrating glance uponher as he drew his chair, and took his seat at her elbow. 

"What a clever book this is!" said Mrs Grey. 

"Very entertaining, " added Sophia. 

"What is your opinion of it?" asked Mr Grey of Hester. 

She smiled, and said she must read more of it before she could judge. 

"It is such a relief, " said Mrs Grey, "to have a book like this in handafter the tiresome things Mr Rowland orders in! He consults MrsRowland's notions about books far too much; and she always takes a fancyto the dullest. One would almost think it was on purpose. "

Sydney liked the sport of knocking on the head charges against theRowlands. He showed, by a reference to the Society's list, that thebook just laid down was ordered by the Rowlands. 

"Dear me! Sophia, " said her mother, "you made quite a mistake. Youtold us it was ordered in by Mr Hope. I am sure, I thought so all thistime. "

"Well, I dare say we shall not be able to finish it, " said Sophia. "Wehave read only eight-and-twenty pages this evening. Papa! howshockingly Mr Hope looks still, does not he? I think he looks worsethan when he was here last. "

"And I trust he will look better when we see him next. I have thestrongest hopes that he will now gain ground every day. "

"I am sure he seems to have gained very little yet. "

"Oh, yes, he has; as I trust you will soon see. "

Sophia was about to bewail Mr Hope's sickly looks again, when hermother trod on her foot under the table; and, moreover, winked andfrowned in a very awful way, so that Sophia felt silenced, she could notconceive for what reason. Not being able to think of anything else tosay, to cover her confusion, she discovered that it was bedtime, --atleast for people who had been gathering apples. 

Once more Mrs Grey gazed over her spectacles at her husband, when theyoung people were gone. 

"My dear, " said she, "what makes you think that Mr Hope is gainingground every day?"

"My dear, what made you tread on all our toes when I said so?"

"Dear me, I only gave Sophia a hint, to prevent her saying dismal thingsbefore people. One does not know what may be passing in their minds, you know. "

"And so you kindly show what is passing in yours. However, these youngladies may soon be able, perhaps, to tell us more about Hope than we cantell them. "

"My dear, what do you mean?"

"I saw a glance between them, a smile, when you were silencing Sophia. I believe you may prepare yourself for some news, my dear. "

"I have no doubt of Hester's state of mind--"

"And I feel confident of Hope's; so here is the case, pretty well madeout between us. "

Mrs Grey was in raptures for a moment; but she then resumed her systemof mysterious tokens. She shook her head, and owned that she had reasonto think her husband was mistaken. 

"Well, just observe them the next time they are together; that is all. "

"And my poor Hester looks wretchedly, Mr Grey. It really makes myheart ache to see her. "

"How differently people view things! I was just thinking that I neversaw her so lovely, with such a sprightliness, such a glow in her face, as five minutes ago. "

"Just this evening, she does not look so pale; but she is sadlyaltered--grievously changed indeed. Seeing this, is the only thingwhich reconciles me to parting with her. Now, Mr Grey, I should liketo know what sets you smiling in that manner at the poor girl. "

"I was smiling to think how, as young ladies have been known to changetheir minds, it may be possible that we may have the pleasure of seeingHester pick up her good looks again here, in spite of all that Morrissays about her native air. I should not wonder that we may persuade herto stay yet. "

Mrs Grey shook her head decisively. She should have been very glad, alittle while since, to hear her husband's opinion that Mr Hope's viewswere fixed upon Hester; but now--. But men were always so positive; andalways the most positive where they knew the least! A deep sigh fromthe one party, and a broad smile from the other, closed theconversation. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

SOPHIA IN THE VILLAGE. 

Deerbrook was not a place where practical affairs could be long keptsecret, even where the best reasons for secrecy existed. About Hester'sengagement there was no reason whatever for concealment; and it wasaccordingly made known to every one in Deerbrook in the course of thenext day. --Margaret shut herself up with Maria before breakfast, andenjoyed an hour of hearty sympathy from her, in the first place. Asthey were both aware that this communication was a little out oforder, --Mr and Mrs Grey having a clear title to the earliestinformation, --Maria had to be discreet for nearly three hours--till sheheard the news from another quarter. 

Immediately after breakfast, Mr Hope called on Mr Grey at the office, and informed him. Mr Grey stepped home, and found Margaretenlightening his wife. Sophia was next called in, while Morris wascloseted with her young ladies. Sophia burst breathless into thesummer-house to tell Miss Young, which she did in whispers so loud as tobe overheard by the children. Matilda immediately found she had lefther slate-pencil behind her, and ran into the house to give her mammathe news, just at the moment that Mr Grey was relating it to hispartner in the office. On returning, Sophia found her mother putting onher bonnet, having remembered that it was quite time she should bestepping across the way to hear how poor Mrs Enderby was, after thethunder-storm of three days ago. This reminded Sophia that she ought tobe inquiring about the worsteds which Mrs Howell must have got downfrom London by this time, to finish Mrs Grey's rug. Mrs Grey couldnot trust her eyes to match shades of worsteds; and Sophia now set outwith great alacrity to oblige her mother by doing it for her. On theway she met Dr Levitt, about to enter the house of a sick parishioner. Dr Levitt hoped all at home were well. All very well, indeed, Sophiawas obliged to him. Her only fear was that the excitement of presentcircumstances might be too much for mamma. Mamma was so very muchattached to cousin Hester, and it would be such a delightful thing tohave her settled beside them! Perhaps Dr Levitt had not heard thatHester and Mr Hope were going to be married. No, indeed, he had not. He wondered his friend Hope had not told him of his good fortune, ofwhich he heartily wished him joy. How long had this happy affair beensettled? Not long, he fancied? Not very long; and perhaps Mr Hope didnot consider that it was quite made public yet: but Sophia thought thatDr Levitt ought to know. Dr Levitt thanked her, and said he would tryand find Hope in the course of the morning, to congratulate him; and heand Mrs Levitt would give themselves the pleasure of calling on theladies, very shortly. 

"Ritson, how is your wife?" said Sophia, crossing over to speak to alabourer who was on his way up the street. 

"A deal better, Miss. She's coming about right nicely!"

"Ah! that is Mr Hope's doing. He attends her, of course. "

"Oh, yes, Miss; he's done her a sight o' good. "

"Ah! so he always does: but Ritson, if he should not be able to attendto her quite so closely as usual, just now, you will excuse it, when youhear how it is. "

"Lord, Miss! the wonder is that he has come at all, so ill as he hasbeen hisself. "

"I don't mean that: you will soon see him very well now. He is going tobe married, Ritson--"

"What, is he? Well--"

"To my cousin, Miss Ibbotson. He will be more at our house, you know, than anywhere else. " And with a wink which was a very good miniature ofher mother's Sophia passed on, leaving Ritson to bless Mr Hope and thepretty young lady. 

She cast a glance into the butcher's shop as she arrived opposite to it;and her heart leaped up when she saw Mrs James, the lawyer's wife, watching the weighing of a loin of veal. 

"You will excuse my interrupting you, Mrs James, " said she, from thethreshold of the shop: "but we are anxious to know whether Mr Jamesthinks Mrs Enderby really altered of late. We saw him go in last week, and we heard it was to make an alteration in her will. "

"I often wonder how things get abroad, " said Mrs James, "My husbandmakes such a particular point of never speaking of such affairs; and Iam sure no one ever hears them from me. "

"I believe Mrs Enderby told mamma that about the will herself. "

"Well, that is as she pleases, of course, " said Mrs James, smiling. "What is the weight with the kidney, Mr Jones?"

"We should like so to know, " resumed Sophia, "whether Mr Jamesconsiders Mrs Enderby much altered of late. "

"I should think you would be better able to judge than he, Miss Grey; Ibelieve you see her ten times to his once. "

"That is the very reason: we see her so often, that a gradual changewould be less likely to strike us. "

"Mr Hope will give you satisfaction: he must be a better judge than anyof us. "

"Oh, yes; but we cannot expect him to have eyes for any person but one, at present, you know. "

"Oh, so he is going to marry Deborah Giles, after all?"

"Deborah Giles!"

"Yes; was he not said to be engaged to her, some time ago?"

"Deborah Giles! the boatman's daughter! I declare I never heard of sucha place as this for gossip! Why, Deborah Giles can barely read andwrite; and she is beneath Mr Hope in every way. I do not believe heever spoke to her in his life. "

"Oh, well; I do not pretend to know. I heard something about it. Eleven and threepence. Can you change a sovereign, Mr Jones? And, pray, send home the chops immediately. "

"It is my cousin, Miss Ibbotson, that Mr Hope is engaged to, " saidSophia, unable to refrain from disclosures which she yet saw were notcared for:--"the beautiful Miss Ibbotson, you know. "

"Indeed: I am sure somebody said it was Deborah Giles. Then you think, Mr Jones, we may depend upon you for game when the season begins?"

Mr Jones seemed more interested in the news than his customer; hewished Mr Hope all good luck with his pretty lady. 

Sophia thought herself fortunate when she saw Mr Enderby turn out ofthe toy-shop with his youngest nephew, a round-faced boy, still inpetticoats, perched upon his shoulder. Mr Enderby bowed, but did notseem to heed her call: he jumped through the turnstile, and proceeded tocanter along the church lane amidst the glee of the child so rapidly, that Sophia was obliged to give up the hope of being the first to tellhim the news. It was very provoking: she should have liked to see howhe would look. 

She was sure of a delighted listener in Mrs Howell, to whom nocommunication ever came amiss: but there was a condition to MrsHowell's listening--that she should be allowed to tell her own newsfirst. When she found that Sophia wanted to match some worsteds, sheand her shop-woman exchanged sympathetic glances--Mrs Howell sighing, with her head on the right side, and Miss Miskin groaning, with her headon the left side. 

"Are you ill, Mrs Howell?" asked Sophia. 

"It shook me a little, I confess, ma'am, hearing that you wantedworsteds. We have no relief, ma'am, from ladies wanting worsteds. "

"No relief, day or night, " added Miss Miskin. 

"Day or night! Surely you do not sell worsteds in the night-time?" saidSophia. 

"Not sell them, ma'am; only match them. The matching them is the trial, I assure you. If you could only hear my agent, ma'am--the things he hasto tell about people in my situation--how they are going mad, all overthe country, with incessantly matching of worsteds, now that that kindof work is all the fashion. And nothing more likely, ma'am, for thereis no getting one's natural rest. I am for ever matching of worsteds inmy dreams; and when I wake, I seem to have had no rest: and, as you see, directly after breakfast, ladies come for worsteds. "

"And Miss Anderson's messenger left a whole bundle of skeins to bematched for her young ladies, as early as eight this morning, " declaredMiss Miskin: "and so we go on. "

"It will not be for long, I dare say, Mrs Howell. It is a fashionablekind of work, that we may soon grow tired of. "

"Dear me, ma'am, think how long former generations went on with it!Think of our grandmothers' work, ma'am, and how we are treading in theirsteps. We have the beautifulest patterns now, I assure you. MissMiskin will confirm that we sold one, last week, the very day we hadit--the interior of Abbotsford, with Sir Walter, and the furniture, andthe dogs, just like life, I assure you. "

"That was beautiful, " said Miss Miskin, "but not to compare--"

"Oh, dear, no! not to compare, Miss Grey, with one that we were justallowed the sight of--not a mere pattern, but a finished specimen--and Inever saw anything so pathetic. --I declare I was quite affected, and sowas Miss Miskin. It was `By the Rivers of Babylon, ' most sweetly done!There were the harps all in cross-stitch, ma'am, and the willows all intent-stitch--I never saw anything so touching. "

"I don't think mamma will trouble you for many more worsteds for sometime to come, Mrs Howell. When there is going to be a wedding in thefamily, there is not much time for fancy-work, you know. "

"Dear me, a wedding!" smiled Mrs Howell. 

"A wedding! Only think!" simpered Miss Miskin. 

"Yes: Mr Hope and my cousin Hester are going to be married. I am surethey will have your best wishes, Mrs Howell?"

"That they will, ma'am, as I shall make a point of telling Mr Hope. But Miss Grey, I should think it probable that your mamma may think ofworking a drawing-room screen, or perhaps a set of rugs, for the youngfolks; and I assure you, she will see no such patterns anywhere as myagent sends down to me; as I have no doubt you will tell her. And pray, ma'am, where are Mr Hope and his lady to live? I hope they havepleased their fancy with a house?"

"That point is not settled yet. It is a thing which requires someconsideration, you know. "

"Oh, dear, ma'am! to be sure it does: but I did not mean to beimpertinent in asking, I am sure. Only you mentioned makingwedding-clothes, Miss Grey. "

"I did not mean that we have exactly set about all that yet. I was onlylooking forward to it. "

"And very right too, ma'am. My poor dear Howell used to say so to me, every time he found so much difficulty in inducing me to listen tofuture projects--about the happy day, you know, ma'am. He was alwaysfor looking forward upon principle, dear soul! as you say, ma'am. Thatis the very brown, ma'am--no doubt of it. Only two skeins, ma'am?"

Here ended Sophia's pleasures in this kind. She could not summoncourage to face Mrs Plumstead, without knowing what was the mood of theday; and the half-door of the little stationery shop was closed, and noface was visible within. All her father's household, and all whom shehad told, were as busy as herself; so that by the time she walked downthe street again, nobody remained to be informed. She could only gohome, put off her bonnet, and sit with her mother, watching who wouldcall, and planning the external arrangements which constitute the wholeinterest of a wedding to narrow minds and apathetic hearts. 

No one in Deerbrook enjoyed the news more than Mr Enderby. When heevaded Sophia in the street, he little knew what pleasure she had it inher power to afford him. It was only deferred for a few minutes, however; for, on his returning his little nephew to mamma's side, hefound his mother and sister talking the matter over. Mrs Grey's visitto Mrs Enderby had been unusually short, as she could not, on so busy aday, spare much time to one person. The moment she was gone, the oldlady rang for her calash and shawl, and prepared to cross the way, telling the news meanwhile to her maid Phoebe. It was a disappointmentto find Mrs Rowland already informed: but then came Philip, ignorantand unconscious as could be desired. 

The extreme graciousness of his sister guided him in his guess when hewas desired to say who was going to be married; but there was atrembling heart beneath his light speech. It was more difficult todisguise his joy when he heard the truth. He carried it off by rompingwith the child, who owed several rides from corner to corner of the roomto the fact that Mr Hope was going to be married to Hester. 

"I am delighted to see Philip take it in this way, " observed MrsRowland. 

"I was just thinking the same thing, " cried Mrs Enderby; "but I believeI should not have said so if you had not. I was afraid it might be asad disappointment to poor Philip; and this prevented my saying quite somuch as I should have done to Mrs Grey. Now I find it is all right, Ishall just call in, and express myself more warmly on my way home. "

"I beg Philip's pardon, I am sure, " said Mrs Rowland, "for supposingfor a moment that he would think of marrying into the Grey connexion. Idid him great injustice, I own. "

"By no means, " said Philip. "Because I did not happen to wish to marryMiss Ibbotson, it does not follow that I should have been wrong if Ihad. It was feeling this, and a sense of justice to her and myself, which made me refuse to answer your questions, some weeks ago, or tomake any promises. "

"Well, well: let us keep clear of Mrs Grey's connexions, and then youmay talk of them as you please, " said the sister, in the complaisance ofthe hour. 

Philip remembered his pledge to himself to uphold Mrs Grey as long ashe lived, if she should prove right about Mr Hope and Hester. He beganimmediately to discharge his obligations to her, avowing that he did notsee why her connexion was not as good as his own; that Mrs Grey hadmany excellent points; that she was a woman of a good deal of sagacity;that she had shown herself capable of strong family attachments; thatshe had been gracious and kind to himself of late in a degree which hefelt he had not deserved; and that he considered that all his familywere obliged to her for her neighbourly attentions to his mother. MrsEnderby seized the occasion of her son's support to say some kind thingof the Greys. It gave her frequent pain to hear them spoken of afterMrs Rowland's usual fashion; but when she was alone with her daughter, she dared not object. Under cover of Mr Rowland's presenceoccasionally, and to-day of Philip's, she ventured to say that shethought the Greys a very fine family, and kind neighbours to her. 

"And much looked up to in Deerbrook, " added Philip. 

"And a great blessing to their poor neighbours, " said his mother. 

"Dr Levitt respects them for their conscientious dissent, " observedPhilip. 

"And Mr Hope, who knows them best, says they are a very united familyamong themselves, " declared Mrs Enderby. 

Mrs Rowland looked from one to the other as each spoke, and askedwhether they were both out of their senses. 

"By no means, " said Philip; "I never was more in earnest in my life. "

"I have always thought just what I now say, " protested Mrs Enderby. 

"Yes, my dear ma'am, " said the daughter, scornfully, "we are all awareof your ways of thinking on some points--of your--"

"Of my mother's love of justice and neighbourly temper, " said Philip, giving his little nephew a glorious somerset from his shoulder. "Ibelieve, if we could find my mother's match, the two would be anexcellent pair to put into Eddystone lighthouse. They would chat awayfor a twelvemonth together without ever quarrelling. "

"Philip, do let that poor boy alone, " said mamma. "You are shaking himto pieces. "

"We have both had enough for the present, eh, Ned? Mother, I am at yourservice, if you are going to call at the Greys. "

Mrs Enderby rose with great alacrity. 

"Come to me, my pet, " cried mamma. "Poor Ned shall rest his head inmamma's lap. There, there, my pet!"

Mamma's pet was not the most agreeable companion to her when they wereleft alone: he was crying lustily after uncle Philip, for all mammacould say about uncle Philip always tiring him to death. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

PREPARING FOR HOME. 

The affair proceeded rapidly, as such affairs should do where there isno reason for delay. There was no more talk of Birmingham. The journeywhich was to have been taken in a few days was not spoken of again. Theexternal arrangements advanced well, so many as there were anxious aboutthis part of the matter, and accomplished in habits of business. MrRowland was happy to let the corner-house to Mr Hope, not even takingadvantage, as his lady advised, of its being peculiarly fit for asurgeon's residence, from its having a door round the corner (made to bea surgery-door!), to raise the rent. Mr Rowland behaved handsomelyabout everything, rent, alterations, painting, and papering, and layingout the garden anew. Mr Grey bestirred himself to get the affairs atBirmingham settled; and he was soon enabled to inform Mr Hope thatHester's fortune was ascertained, and that it was smaller than couldhave been wished. He believed his cousins would have seventy poundsa-year each, and no more. It was some compensation for the mortifyingnature of this announcement, that Mr Hope evidently did not care at allabout the matter. He was not an ambitious, nor yet a luxurious man: hispractice supplied an income sufficient for the ease of young marriedpeople, and it was on the increase. 

No one seemed to doubt for a moment that Margaret would live with hersister. There was no other home for her; she and Hester had never beenparted; there seemed no reason for their parting now, and everyinducement for their remaining together. Margaret did not dream ofobjecting to this: she only made it a condition that fifty pounds of heryearly income should go into the family-stock, thus saving her fromobligation to any one for her maintenance. Living was so cheap inDeerbrook, that Margaret was assured that she would render herself quiteindependent by paying fifty pounds a-year for her share of the householdexpenses, and reserving twenty for her personal wants. 

Both the sisters were surprised to find how much pleasure they took inthe preparations for this marriage. They could not have believed it, and, but that they were too happy to feel any kind of contempt, theywould have despised themselves for it. But such contempt would havebeen misplaced. All things are according to the ideas and feelings withwhich they are connected; and if, as old George Herbert says, dusting aroom is an act of religious grace when it is done from a feeling ofreligious duty, furnishing a house is a process of high enjoyment whenit is the preparation of a home for happy love. The dwelling is hungall round with bright anticipations, and crowded with blissful thoughts, spoken by none, perhaps, but present to all. On this table, and by thissnug fireside, will the cheerful winter breakfast go forward, when eachis about to enter on the gladsome business of the day; and that sofawill be drawn out, and those window-curtains will be closed, when theintellectual pleasures of the evening--the rewards of the laboriousday--begin. Those ground-windows will stand open all the summer noon, and the flower stands will be gay and fragrant; and the shaded parlourwill be the cool retreat of the wearied husband, when he comes in torest from his professional toils. There will stand the books destinedto refresh and refine his higher tastes; and there the music with whichthe wife will indulge him. Here will they first feel what it is to havea home of their own--where they will first enjoy the privacy of it, thesecurity, the freedom, the consequence in the eyes of others, thesacredness in their own. Here they will first exercise the graces ofhospitality, and the responsibility of control. Here will they feelthat they have attained the great resting-place of their life--theresting-place of their individual lot, but only the starting-point oftheir activity. Such is the work of furnishing a house once in alifetime. It may be a welcome task to the fine lady, decking herdrawing-room anew, to gratify her ambition, or divert her _ennui_--itmay be a satisfactory labour to the elderly couple, settling themselvesafresh when their children are dispersed abroad, and it becomesnecessary to discard the furniture that the boys have battered andspoiled--it may be a refined amusement to the selfish man of taste, wishing to prolong or recall the pleasures of foreign travel; but tonone is it the conscious delight that it is to young lovers and theirsympathising friends, whether the scene be the two rooms of the hopefulyoung artisan, about to bring home his bride from service; or the palaceof a nobleman, enriched with intellectual luxuries for the lady of hisadoration; or the quiet abode of an unambitious professional man, whoseaim is privacy and comfort. 

Margaret's delight in the process of preparation was the most intense ofall that was felt, except perhaps by one person. Mrs Grey and Sophiaenjoyed the bustle, and the consequence, and the exercise of theirfeminine talents, and the gossip of the village, and the spitefulness ofMrs Rowland's criticisms, when she had recovered from her delight ather brother's escape from Hester, and had leisure to be offended at MrHope's marrying into the Grey connexion so decidedly. The childrenrelished the mystery of buying their presents secretly, and hiding themfrom their cousins, till the day before the wedding. Sydney was proudto help Margaret in training the chrysanthemums, putting the garden intowinter trim, and in planting round the walls of the surgery with largeevergreens. Mr Grey came down almost every evening to suggest andapprove; and Morris left her needle (now busy from morning till night inHester's service) to admire, and to speak her wishes, when desired, about the preparations in her department. Morris, another maid, and afoot-boy, were the only servants; and Morris was to have everything asshe liked best for her own region. But Margaret was as eager andinterested as all the rest together. Her heart was light for hersister; and for the first time since she was capable of thought, shebelieved that Hester was going to be happy. Her own gain was almost toogreat for gratitude: a home, a brother, and relief from theresponsibility of her sister's peace--as often as she thought of theseblessings, she looked almost as bright as Hester herself. 

How was Mr Hope, all this while? Well, and growing happier every day. He believed himself a perfectly happy man, and looked back with wonderto the struggle which it had cost him to accept his present lot. He wasnot only entirely recovered from his accident before the rich month ofOctober came in, but truly thankful for it as the means of bringing tohis knowledge, sooner at least, the devoted affection which he hadinspired. It cannot but be animating, flattering, delightful to a manof strong domestic tendencies, to know himself the object of theexclusive attachment of a strong-minded and noble-hearted woman: andwhen, in addition to this, her society affords the delight of mentalaccomplishment and personal beauty, such as Hester's, he must be a churlindeed if he does not greatly enjoy the present, and indulge in sweetanticipations for the future. Hope also brought the whole power of hiswill to bear upon his circumstances. He dwelt upon all the happiestfeatures of his lot; and, in his admiration of Hester, thought as littleas he could of Margaret. He had the daily delight of seeing how heconstituted the new-born happiness of her whose life was to be devotedto him: he heard of nothing but rejoicings and blessings, and fullybelieved himself the happy man that every one declared him. He dwelt onthe prospect of a home full of domestic attachment, of rational pursuit, of intellectual resource; and looked forward to a life of religioususefulness, of vigorous devotedness to others, of which he trusted thathis first act of self-sacrifice and its consequences were the earnestand the pledge. He had never for a moment repented what he had done;and now, when he hastily recurred to the struggle it had cost him, itwas chiefly to moralise on the short-sightedness of men in their wishes, and to be grateful for his own present satisfaction. A few coldmisgivings had troubled him, and continued to trouble him, if Hester atany time looked at all less bright and serene than usual: but heconcluded that these were merely the cloud-shadows which necessarilychequer all the sunshine of this world. He told himself that when twohuman beings become closely dependent on each other, their peace musthang upon the variations in one another's moods; and that moods mustvary in all mortals. He persuaded himself that this was a necessaryconsequence of the relation, and to be received as a slight set-offagainst the unfathomable blessings of sympathy. He concluded that hehad deceived himself about his feelings for Margaret: he must have beenmistaken; for he could now receive from her the opening confidence of asister; he could cordially agree to the arrangement of her living withthem; he could co-operate with her in the preparation for the comingtime, without any emotion which was inconsistent with his duty toHester. With unconscious prudence, he merely said this to himself, andlet it pass, reverting to his beautiful, his happy, his own Hester, andthe future years over which her image spread its sunshine. The oneperson who relished the task of preparation more than Margaret herselfwas Hope. Every advance in the work seemed to bring him nearer to thesource of the happiness he felt. Every day of which they marked thelapse appeared to open wider the portals of that home which he was nowmore than ever habituated to view as the sanctuary of duty, of holiness, and of peace. All remarked on Mr Hope's altered looks. The shynessand coldness with which he had seemed to receive the firstcongratulations on his engagement, and which excited wonder in many, anduneasiness in a few, had now given place to a gaiety only subdued by amore tender happiness. Even Mrs Grey need no longer watch hiscountenance and manner, and weigh his words with anxiety, and try toforget that there was a secret between them. 

One ground of Mr Hope's confidence was Hester's candour. She had trulytold her sister, she felt it was no time for pride when he offeredhimself to her. Her pride was strong; but there was something in her asmuch stronger in force than her pride as it was higher in its nature;and she had owned her love with a frankness which had commanded hisesteem as much as it engaged his generosity. She had made a no lessopen avowal of her faults to him. She had acknowledged theimperfections of her temper (the sorest of her troubles) both at theoutset of their engagement, and often since. At first, the confessionwas made in an undoubting confidence that she should be reasonable, andamiable, and serene henceforth for ever, while she had him by her side. Subsequent experience had moderated this confidence into a hope that, byhis example, and under his guidance, she should be enabled to surmounther failings. He shared this hope with her; pledged himself to her andto himself to forbear as he would be forborne; to aid her, and to honourher efforts; and he frequently declared, for his own satisfaction andhers, that all must be safe between them while such generous candour wasthe foundation of their intercourse, --a generosity and candour in whosenoble presence superficial failings of temper were as nothing. Headmitted that her temper was not perfect; and he must ever remember hisown foreknowledge of this: but he must also bear in mind whence thisforeknowledge was derived, and pay everlasting honour to the greatnessof soul to which he owed it. 

An early day in December was fixed for the marriage, and no cause ofdelay occurred. There happened to be no patients so dangerously ill asto prevent Mr Hope's absence for his brief wedding trip; thework-people were as nearly punctual as could be expected, and the housewas all but ready. The wedding was really to take place, therefore, though Mrs Rowland gave out that in her opinion the engagement had beena surprisingly short one; that she hoped the young people knew what theywere about, while all their friends were in such a hurry; that it was awretched time of year for a wedding; and that, in her opinion, it wouldhave been much pleasanter to wait for fine spring weather. 

As it happened, the weather was finer than it had been almost any day ofthe preceding spring. The day before the wedding was sunny and mild asan October morning, and the fires seemed to be blazing more for showthan use. When Mr Hope dropped in at the Greys', at two o'clock, hefound the family dining. It was a fancy of Mrs Grey's to dine early onwhat she considered busy days. An early dinner was, with her, aspecific for the despatch of business. On this day, the arrangement wasrather absurd; for the great evil of the time was, that everything wasdone, except what could not be transacted till the evening; and thehours were actually hanging heavy on the hands of some members of thefamily. Morris had packed Hester's clothes for her little journey, andput out of sight all the mourning of both sisters, except what theyactually had on. Sophia's dress for the next morning was laid out, inreadiness to be put on, and the preparations for the breakfast were ascomplete as they could be twenty hours beforehand. It only remained totake a final view of the house in the evening (when the children'spresents were to be discovered), and to cut the wedding-cake. In theinterval, there was nothing to be done. Conversation flagged; every onewas dull; and it was a relief to the rest when Mr Hope proposed toHester to take a walk. 

Mrs Rowland would have laughed at the idea of a walk on a Decemberafternoon, if she had happened to know of the circumstance; but othersthan lovers might have considered it pleasant. The sun was still anhour from its setting; and high in the pale heaven was the large moon, ready to shine upon the fields and woods, and shed a milder day. Nofrost had yet bound up the earth; it had only stripped the trees with atouch as gentle as that of the fruit-gatherer. No wintry gusts had yetswept through the woods; and all there was this day as still as in theautumn noon, when the nut is heard to drop upon the fallen leaves, andthe light squirrel is startled at the rustle along its own path. As amatter of course, the lovers took their way to the Spring in the Vernonwoods, the spot which had witnessed more of their confidence than anyother. In the alcove above it they had taken shelter from the summerstorm and the autumn shower; they had sat on its brink for many an hour, when the pure depths of its rocky basin seemed like coolness itself inthe midst of heat, and when falling leaves fluttered down the wind, anddimpled the surface of the water. They now paused once more undershelter of the rock which overhung one side of the basin, and listenedto the trickle of the spring. If "aside the devil turned for envy" inthe presence of the pair in Paradise, it might be thought that he wouldtake flight from this scene also; from the view of this resting of thelovers on their marriage eve, when the last sun of their separate liveswas sinking, and the separate business of their existence was finished, and their paths had met before the gate of their paradise, and they wereonly waiting for the portal to open to them. But there was that onHester's brow which would have made the devil look closer. She wasdiscomposed, and her replies to what was said were brief, and not muchto the purpose. After a few moments' silence, Mr Hope said gaily--

"There is something on our minds, Hester. Come, what is it?"

"Do not say `our minds. ' You know you never have anything on yours. Ibelieve it is against your nature; and I know it is against yourprinciples. Do not say `our minds. '"

"I say it because it is true. I never see you look grave but my heartis as heavy--. But never mind that. What is the matter, love?"

"Nothing, " sighed Hester. "Nothing that any one can help--. People maysay what they will, Edward: but there can be no escape from living alonein this world, after all. "

"What _do_ you mean?"

"I mean what no one, not even you, can gainsay. I mean that `the heartknoweth its own bitterness;' that we have disappointments, andanxieties, and remorse, and many, many kinds of trouble that we cannever tell to any human being--that none have any concern with--that weshould never dare to tell. We must be alone in the world, after all. "

"Where is your faith, while you feel so?" asked Edward, smiling. "Doyou really think that confidence proceeds only while people believe eachother perfect, --while they have not anxieties, and disappointments, andremorse? Do you not feel that our faults, or rather our failures, bindus together?"

"Our faults bind us together!" exclaimed Hester. "Oh how happy I shouldbe, if I could think that!"

"We cannot but think it. We shall find it so, love, every day. Whenour faith fails, when we are discouraged, instead of fighting the battlewith our faithlessness alone, we shall come to one another for courage, for stimulus, for help to see the bright, the true side of everything. "

"That supposes that we can do so, " said Hester, sadly. "But I cannot. I have all my life intended to repose entire confidence, and I havenever done it yet. "

"Yes: you have in me. You cannot help it. You think that you cannot, only because you mean more by reposing confidence than others do. Yourspirit is too noble, too ingenuous, too humble for concealment. Youcannot help yourself, Hester: you have fully confided in me, and youwill go on to do so. "

Hester shook her head mournfully. "I have done it hitherto with you, and with you only, " said she: "and the mason has been--you know thereason--the same which made me own all to you, that first evening in theshrubbery. Ah! I see you think that this is a lasting security; that, as you will never change, I never shall: but you do not understand mewholly yet. There is something that you do not know, --that I cannotmake you believe: but you will find it true, when it is too late. Nogood influence is permanent with me; many, all have been tried; and theevil that is in me gets the better of them all at last. "

She snatched her hand from her lover's, and covered her face to hide hertears. 

"I shall not contradict you, Hester, " said he, tenderly, "because youwill only abase yourself the more in your own eyes. But tell me again--where is your faith, while you let spectres from the past glide overinto the future, to terrify you? I say `you' and not `us, ' because I amnot terrified. I fear nothing. I trust you, and I trust Him whobrought us together, and moved you to lay open your honest heart to me. "

"My sick heart, Edward. It is sick with fear. I thought I had got overit. I thought you had cured it; and that now, on this day, of all days, I should have been full of your spirit--of the spirit which made me sohappy a few weeks ago, that I was sure I should never fall back again. But I am disappointed in myself, Edward--wholly disappointed in myself. I have often been so before, but this time it is fatal. I shall nevermake you happy, Edward. "

"Neither God nor man requires it of you, Hester. Dismiss it--. "

"Oh, hear me!" cried Hester, in great agitation. "I vowed to devotemyself to my father's happiness, when my mother died; I promised toplace the most absolute confidence in him. I failed. I fanciedmiserable things. I fancied he loved Margaret better; and that I wasnot necessary to him; and I was too proud, too selfish, to tell him so:and when he was dying, and commended Margaret and me to each other--Oh, so solemnly!--I am sure it was in compassion to me--and I shrank fromit, even at that moment. When we came here, and Margaret and I feltourselves alone among strangers, we promised the same confidence I vowedto my father. The next thing was--perhaps you saw it--I grew jealous ofMargaret's having another friend, though Maria was as ready to be myfriend as hers, if I had only been worthy of it. Up to this hour--atthis very moment, I believe I am jealous of Maria--and with Margaretbefore my eyes--Margaret, who loves me as her own soul, and yet hasnever felt one moment's jealousy of you, I am certain, if her heart wasknown. "

"We will rejoice, then, in Margaret's peace of mind, the reward of herfaith. "

"Oh, so I do! I bless God that she is rewarded, better than by me. Butyou see how it is. You see how I poison every one's life. I never madeanybody happy! I never shall make anyone happy!"

"Let us put the thought of making happiness out of our mindsaltogether, " said Hope. "I am persuaded that half the misery in theworld comes of straining after happiness. "

"After our own, " said Hester. "I could give up my own. But yours! Icannot put yours out of my thoughts. "

"Yes, you can; and you will when you give your faith fair play. Whycannot you trust God with my happiness as well as your own? And whycannot you trust me to do without happiness, if it be necessary, as wellas yourself?"

"I know, " said Hester, "that you are as willing to forego all for me asI am for you; but I cannot, I dare not, consent to the risk. Oh, Edward! if ever you wished to give me ease, do what I ask now! Give meup! I shall make you wretched. Give me up, Edward!"

Hope's spirit was for one instant wrapped in storm. He recoiled fromthe future, and at the moment of recoil came this offer of release. Onemoment's thought of freedom, one moment's thought of Margaret convulsedhis soul; but before he could speak the tempest had passed away. Hester's face, frightfully agitated, was upraised: his countenanceseemed heavenly to her when he smiled upon her, and replied--

"I will not. You are mine; and, as I said before, all our failures, allour heart-sickness, must bind us the more to each other. "

"Then you must sustain me--you must cure me--you must do what no one hasever yet been able to do. But above all, Edward, you must never, happenwhat may, cast me off. "

"That is, as you say, what no one has ever been able to do, " said he, smiling. "Your father's tenderness was greatest at the last; andMargaret loves you, you know, as her own soul. Let us avoid promises, but let us rest upon these truths. And now, " continued he, as he drewnearer to her, and made his shoulder a resting-place for her throbbinghead, "I have heard your thoughts for the future. Will you hear mine?"

Hester made an effort to still her weeping. 

"I said just now, that I believe half the misery in our lives is owingto straining after happiness; and I think, too, that much of our sin isowing to our disturbing ourselves too much about our duty. Instead ofyielding a glad obedience from hour to hour, it is the weakness of manyof us to stretch far forward into the future, which is beyond ourpresent reach, and torment ourselves with apprehensions of sin, which weshould be ashamed of if they related to pain and danger. "

"Oh, if you could prove to me that such is my weakness!" cried Hester. 

"I believe that it is yours, and I know that it is my own, my Hester. We must watch over one another. Tell me, is it not faithless to let ourhearts be troubled about _any_ possible evil which we cannot, at themoment of the trouble, prevent? And are we not sacrificing, what is, atthe time, of the most importance--our repose of mind, the holiness, thereligion of the hour?"

"I know I have defiled the holiness of this hour, " said Hester, humbly. "But as my thoughts were troubled, was it not better to speak them? Icould not but speak them. "

"You cannot but do and speak what is most honourable, and true, andgenerous, Hester; and that is the very reason why I would fain have youtrust, for the future as well as the present, to the impulse of thehour. Surely, love, the probation of the hour is enough for thestrength of every one of us. "

"Far, far too much for me. "

"At times, too much for all. Well, then, what have we to do? To restthe care of each other's happiness upon Him whose care it is: to beready to do without it, as we would hold ourselves ready to do withoutthis, or that, or the other comfort, or supposed means of happiness. Depend upon it, this happiness is too subtle and too divine a thing forour management. We have nothing to do with it but to enjoy it when itcomes. Men say of it--`Lo! it is here!'--`Lo! there!'--but never hasman laid hold of it with a voluntary grasp. "

"But we can banish it, " said Hester. 

"Alas! yes: and what else do we do at the very moment when we afflictourselves about the future? Surely our business is to keep our heartsopen for it--holy and at peace, from moment to moment, from day to day. "

"And yet, is it not our privilege--said at least to be so--to lookbefore and after? I am not sure, however, that I always think this aprivilege. I long sometimes to be any bird of the air, that I mightlive for the present moment alone. "

"Let us be so far birds of the air--free as they, neither toiling norspinning out anxious thoughts for the future: but why, with all this, should we not use our human privilege of looking before and after, toenrich and sanctify the present? Should we enjoy the wheat-fields inJune as we do if we knew nothing of seed-time, and had never heard ofharvest? And how should you and I feel at this moment, sitting here, ifwe had no recollection of walks in shrubberies, and no prospect of ahome, and a lifetime to spend in it, to make this moment sacred? Lookat those red-breasts: shall we change lots with them?"

"No, no: let us look forward; but how? We cannot persuade ourselvesthat we are better than we are, for the sake of making the futurebright. "

"True: and therefore it must be God's future, and not our own, that wemust look forward to. "

"That is for confessors and martyrs, " said Hester. "They can lookpeacefully before and after, when there is a bright life and a world ofhopes lying behind; and nothing around and before them but ignominy andpoverty, or prison, or torture, or death. They can do this: but notsuch as I. God's future is enough for them--the triumph of truth andholiness; but--. "

"And I believe it would be enough for you in their situation, Hester. Ibelieve you could be a martyr for opinion. Why cannot you and I bravethe suffering of our own faults as we would meet sickness or bereavementfrom Heaven, and torture and death from men?"

"Is this the prospect in view of which you marry me?"

"It is the prospect in view of which all of us are ever living, since weare all faulty, and must all suffer. But marriage justifies a holierand happier anticipation. The faults of human beings are temporaryfeatures of their prospect: their virtues are the firm ground undertheir feet, and the bright arch over their heads. Is it not so?"

"If so, how selfish, how ungrateful have I been in making myself and youso miserable! But I do so fear myself!"

"Let us fear nothing, but give all our care to the day and the hour. Iam confident that this is the true obedience, and the true wisdom. Ifthe temper of the hour is right, nothing is wrong. "

"And I am sure, if the temper of the hour is wrong, nothing is right. If one could always remember this--. "

"If we could always remember this, we should perhaps find ourselves alittle above the angels, instead of being, like the serene, the Fenelonsof our race, a little below them. We shall not always remember it, love; but we must remind each other as faithfully as may be. "

"You must bring me here, when I forget, " said Hester. "This spring willalways murmur the truth to me--`If the temper of the hour is rightnothing is wrong. ' How wrong has my temper been within this hour!"

"Let it pass, my Hester. We are all faithless at times, and without theexcuse of meek and anxious love. Is it possible that the moon caststhat shadow?"

"The dark, dark hour is gone, " said Hester, smiling as she looked up, and the moon shone on her face. "Nothing is wrong. Who would havebelieved, an hour ago, that I should now say so?"

"When you would have given me up, " said Hope, smiling. "Oh, let usforget it all! Let us go somewhere else. Who will say this is winter?Is it October, or `the first mild day of March?' It might be either. "

"There is not a breath to chill us; and these leaves--what a soft autumncarpet they make! They have no wintry crispness yet. "

There was one inexhaustible subject to which they now recurred--MrHope's family. He told over again, what Hester was never weary ofhearing, how his sisters would cherish her, whenever circumstancesshould allow them to meet--how Emily and she would suit best, but howAnne would look up to her. As for Frank--. But this representation ofwhat Frank would say, and think, and do, was somewhat checked andimpaired by the recollection that Frank was just about this timereceiving the letter, in which Margaret's superiority to Hester waspretty plainly set forth. The answer to that letter would arrive, sometime or other, and the anticipated awkwardness of that circumstancecaused some unpleasant feelings at this moment, as it had often donebefore, during the last few weeks. Nothing could be easier than to setthe matter right with Frank, as was already done with Emily and Anne;the first letter might occasion some difficulty. Frank was passed overlightly, and the foreground of the picture of family welcome wasoccupied by Emily and Anne. 

It was almost an hour from their leaving the Spring before the loversreached home. They were neither cold nor tired; they were neither merrynor sad. The traces of tears were on Hester's face; but even Margaretwas satisfied when she saw her leaning on Edward's arm, receiving thepresents of the children where alone the children would present them--inthe new house. There was no fancy about the arrangements, no ceremonyabout the cake and the ring, to which Hester did not submit with perfectgrace. Notwithstanding the traces of her tears, she had never looked sobeautiful. 

The same opinion was repeated the next morning by all the many who sawher in church, or who caught a glimpse of her, in her way to and fromit. No wedding was ever kept a secret in Deerbrook; and Mr Hope's wasthe one in which concealment was least of all possible. The church washalf full, and the path to the church-door was lined with gazers. Thosewho were obliged to remain at home looked abroad from their doors; sothat all were gratified more or less. Every one on Mr Grey's premiseshad a holiday--including Miss Young, though Mrs Rowland did not see whyher children should lose a day's instruction, because a distant cousinof Mr Grey's was married. The marriage was made far too much a fuss offor her taste; and she vowed that whenever she parted with her ownMatilda, there should be a much greater refinement in the mode. Everyone else appeared satisfied. The sun shone; the bells rang; and theservants drank the health of the bride and bridegroom. Margaretsucceeded in swallowing her tears, and was, in her inmost soul, thankfulfor Hester and herself. The letters to Mr Hope's sisters and brother, left open for the signatures of Edward and Hester Hope, were closed anddespatched; and the news was communicated to two or three of theIbbotsons' nearest friends at Birmingham. Mr and Mrs Grey agreed, atthe end of the day, that a wedding was, to be sure, a most fatiguingaffair for quiet people like themselves; but that nothing could havegone off better. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

MARIA AND MARGARET. 

Mr Hope's professional duties would not permit him to be long absent, even on such an occasion as his wedding journey. The young couple wentonly to Oxford, and were to return in a week. Margaret thought thatthis week never would be over. It was not only that she longed for restin a home once more, and was eager to repose upon her new privilege ofhaving a brother: she was also anxious about Hester, --anxious to beconvinced, by the observation of the eye and the hearing of the ear, that her sister was enjoying that peace of spirit which reason seemed todeclare must be hers. It would be difficult to determine how muchMargaret's attachment to her sister was deepened and strengthened by theincessant solicitude she had felt for her, ever since this attachmenthad grown out of the companionship of their childhood. She couldscarcely remember the time when she had not been in a state of eitherhope or fear for Hester;--hope that, in some new circumstances, shewould be happy at last; or dread lest these new circumstances shouldfail, as all preceding influences had failed. If Hester had been lesscandid and less generous than she was, her sister's affection might havegiven way under the repeated trials and disappointments it had had tosustain; and there were times when Margaret's patience _had_ given way, and she had for a brief while wished, and almost resolved, that shecould and would regard with indifference the state of mind of one whowas not reasonable, and who seemed incapable of being contented. Butsuch resolutions of indifference dissolved before her sister's nextmanifestations of generosity, or appeals to the forgiveness of thoseabout her. Margaret always ended by supposing herself the cause of theevil; that she had been inconsiderate; that she could not allowsufficiently for a sensitiveness greater than her own; and above all, that she was not fully worthy of such affection as Hester's--notsufficient for such a mind and heart. She had looked forward, withardent expectation when she was happiest, and with sickly dread when shewas depressed, to the event of Hester's marriage, as that which mustdecide whether she could be happy, or whether her life was to bethroughout the scene of conflict that its opening years had been. Hester's connexion was all that she could have desired, and far beyondher utmost hopes. This brother-in-law was one of a thousand--one whomshe was ready to consider a good angel sent to shed peace over hersister's life: and during the months of her engagement, she had keptanxiety at bay, and resigned herself to the delights of gratitude and ofsweet anticipations, and to the satisfaction of feeling that her ownresponsibilities might be considered at an end. She had deliveredHester's happiness over into the charge of one who would cherish itbetter and more successfully than she had done; and she could not butfeel the relief of the freedom she had gained: but neither could sherepress her anxiety to know, at the outset, whether all was indeed aswell as she had till now undoubtingly supposed that it would be. 

Margaret's attachment to her sister would have been in greater danger ofbeing worn out but for the existence of a closer sympathy between themthan any one but themselves, and perhaps Morris, was aware of. Margarethad a strong suspicion that in Hester's place her temper would have beenexactly what Hester's was in its least happy characteristics. She hadtendencies to jealousy; and if not to morbid self-study, and todissatisfaction with present circumstances, she was indebted for this, she knew, to her being occupied with her sister, and yet more to theperpetual warning held up before her eyes. This conviction generated nosense of superiority in Margaret--interfered in no degree with thereverence she entertained for Hester, a reverence rather enhanced thanimpaired by the tender compassion, with which she regarded her mentalconflicts and sufferings. Every movement of irritability in herself(and she was conscious of many) alarmed and humbled her, but, at thesame time, enabled her better to make allowance for her sister; andevery harsh word and unreasonable mood of Hester's, by restoring her toher self-command and stimulating her magnanimity, made her sensible thatshe owed much of her power over herself to that circumstance which keptthe necessity of it perpetually before her mind. For the same reasonthat men hate those whom they have injured, Margaret loved with unusualfervour the sister with whom she had to forbear. For the same reasonthat the children, even the affectionate children, of tyrannical or laxparents, love liberty and conscientiousness above all else, Margaret wasin practice gentle, long-suffering, and forgetful of self. For the samereason that the afflicted are looked upon by the pure-minded as sacred, Margaret regarded her sister with a reverence which preserved herpatience from being spent, and her attachment from wasting away. 

The first letter from her brother and sister had been opened in greatinternal agitation. All was well, however. It was certain that all waswell; for, while Hester said not one word about being happy, she wasfull of thought for others. She knew that Margaret meant to takepossession of the corner-house, to "go home, " a few days before thearrival of the travellers, in order to make all comfortable for them. Hester begged that she would take care to be well amused during thesefew days. Perhaps she might induce Maria Young to waive the ceremony ofbeing first invited by the real housekeepers, and to spend as much timeas she could with her friend. "Give my kind regards to Maria, " said theletter, "and tell her I like to fancy you two passing a long evening bythat fireside where we all hope we shall often have the pleasure ofseeing her. " Six months ago Hester would not have spoken so freely andso kindly of Maria: she would not have so sanctioned Margaret's intimacywith her. All was right, and Margaret was happy. 

Maria came, and, thanks to the holiday spirit of a wedding week, for along day. Delicious are the pleasures of those whose appetite for themis whetted by abstinence. Charming, wholly charming, was this day toMaria, spent in quiet, free from the children, free from the observationof other guests, passed in all external luxury, and in sister-likeconfidence with the friend to whom she had owed some of the bestpleasures of the last year. Margaret was no less happy in indulgingher, and in opening much more of her heart to her than she could to anyone else since Hester married--which now, at the end of six days, seemeda long time ago. 

Miss Young came early, that she might see the house, and everything init, before dark; and the days were now at their shortest. She did notmind the fatigue of mounting to the very top of the house. She must seethe view from the window of Morris's attic. Yesterday's fall of snowhad made the meadows one sheet of white; and the river looked black, andthe woods somewhat frowning and dismal; but those who knew the place sowell could imagine what all this must be in summer; and Morris wasassured that her room was the pleasantest in the house. Morriscurtseyed and smiled, and did not say how cold and dreary a widelandscape appeared to her, and how much better she should have liked tolook out upon a street, if only Mr Hope had happened to have beensettled in Birmingham. She pointed out to Maria how good Miss Hesterhad been, in thinking about the furnishing of this attic. She had takenthe trouble to have the pictures of Morris's father and mother, whichhad always hung opposite her bed at Birmingham, brought hither, andfixed up in the same place. The bed-hangings had come, too; so that, except for its being so much lighter, and the prospect from the windowso different, it was almost like the same room she had slept in forthree-and-twenty years before. When Maria looked at "the pictures"--silhouettes taken from shadows on the wall, with numerous littledeformities and disproportions incident to that method of takinglikenesses--she appreciated Hester's thoughtfulness; though she fullyagreed in what Margaret said, that if Morris was willing to leave aplace where she had lived so many years, for the sake of remaining withHester and her, it was the least they could do to make her feel as muchat home as possible in her new abode. 

Margaret's own chamber was one of the prettiest rooms in the house, withits light green paper, its French bed and toilet at one end, and thebook-case, table and writing-desk, footstool and armchair, at the other. 

"I shall spend many hours alone here in the bright summer mornings, "said Margaret. "Here I shall write my letters, and study, and think. "

"And nod over your books, perhaps, " said Maria. "These seem comfortablearrangements for an old or infirm person; but I should be afraid theywould send you to sleep. You have had little experience of being alone:do you know the strong tendency that solitary people have to napping?"

Margaret laughed. She had never slept in the daytime in her life, except in illness. She could not conceive of it, in the case of a youngperson, full of occupation, with a hundred things to think about, andtwenty books at a time that she wanted to read. She thought thatregular daily solitude must be the most delightful, the most improvingthing in the world. She had always envied the privilege of people whocould command solitude; and now, for the first time in her life, she wasgoing to enjoy it, and try to profit by it. 

"You began yesterday, I think, " said Maria. "How did you like it?"

"It was no fair trial. I felt restless at having the house in mycharge; and I was thinking of Hester perpetually; and then I did notknow but that some of the Greys might come in at any moment: andbesides, I was so busy considering whether I was making the most of theprecious hours, that I really did next to nothing all day. "

"But you looked sadly tired at night, Miss Margaret, " said Morris. "Inever saw you more fit for bed after any party or ball. "

Maria smiled. She knew something of the fatigues, as well as thepleasures, of solitude. Margaret smiled too; but she said it would bequite another thing when the family were settled, and when it shouldhave become a habit to spend the morning hours alone; and to this Mariafully agreed. 

Morris thought that people's liking or not liking to be alone dependedmuch on their having easy or irksome thoughts in their minds. Margaretanswered gaily, that in that case, she was pretty sure of likingsolitude. She was made grave by a sigh and a shake of the head fromMorris. 

"Morris, what do you mean?" said Margaret, apprehensively. "Why do yousigh and shake your head? Why should not I have easy thoughts as oftenas I sit in that chair?"

"We never know, Miss Margaret, my dear, how things will turn out. Doyou remember Miss Stevenson, that married a gentleman her family allthought a great deal of, and he turned out a swindler, and--?"

The girls burst out a-laughing, and Maria assured Morris that she couldanswer for no accident of that kind happening with regard to Mr Hope. Morris laughed too, and said she did not mean that, but only that shenever saw anybody more confident of everything going right than MissStevenson and all her family; and within a month after the wedding, theywere in the deepest distress. That was what she meant: but there weremany other ways of distress happening. 

"There is death, my dears, " she said. "Remember death, Miss Margaret. "

"Indeed, Morris, I do, " said Margaret. "I never thought so much ofdeath as I have done since Mr Hope's accident, when I believed deathwas coming to make us all miserable; and the more I have since recoiledfrom it, the oftener has the thought come back. "

"That is all right, my dear: all very natural. It does not seem naturalto undertake any great new thing in life, without reminding one's selfof the end that must come to all our doings. However, I trust my masterand mistress, and you, have many a happy year to live. "

"I like those words, Morris. I like to hear you speak of your masterand mistress, it has such a domestic sound! Does it not make one feelat home, Maria? Yes, Morris, there I shall sit, and feel so at ease! soat home, once more!"

"But there may be other--. " Morris stopped, and changed her mood. Shestepped to the closet, and opened the door, to show Miss Young theprovision of shelves and pegs; and pointed out the part of the roomwhere she had hoped there would be a sofa. She should have liked thatMiss Margaret should have had a sofa to lie down on when she pleased. It seemed to her the only thing wanting. Margaret gaily declared thatnothing was wanting. She had never seen a room more entirely to hertaste, though she had inhabited some that were grander. 

By the time the little breakfast-room had been duly visited, and it hadbeen explained that the other small parlour must necessarily be kept fora waiting-room for Mr Hope's patients, and the young ladies hadreturned to the drawing-room, Maria was in full flow of sympathy withthe housekeeping interests and ideas which occupied, or rather amused, her companion. Women do inevitably love housekeeping, unlesseducational or other impediments interfere with their natural tastes. Household management is to them the object of their talents, the subjectof their interests, the vehicle of their hopes and fears, the mediumthrough which their affections are manifested, and much of theirbenevolence gratified. If it be true, as has been said, that there isno good quality of a woman's heart and mind which is not necessary toperfect housekeeping, it follows that there is no power of the mind oraffection of the heart which may not be gratified in the course of itsdischarge. As Margaret and her guest enjoyed their pheasant, theirtable drawn close to the sofa and the fire, that Maria might be savedthe trouble of moving, their talk was of tradespeople, of shopping atDeerbrook, and the market at Birmingham; of the kitchen and store-room, and the winter and summer arrangements of the table. The foot-boy, whomMargaret was teaching to wait, often forgot his function, and stoodstill to listen, and at last left the room deeply impressed with thewisdom of his instructor and her guest. When the dinner and the winewere gone, they sang, they gossiped, they quizzed. The Greys weresacred, of course; but many an anecdote came out, told honestly and withgood-nature, of dear old Mrs Enderby, and her talent for being pleased;of Mrs Rowland's transactions abroad and at home--all regulated by theprinciple of eclipsing the Greys; and of Mrs Howell's and Miss Miskin'sfine sentiments, and extraordinary pieces of news. Margaret producedsome of her brother-in-law's outlines, which she had picked up andpreserved--sketches of the children, in the oddest attitudes ofchildren--of Dr Levitt, resting his book on the end of his nose, as heread in his study-chair--of Mrs Plumstead, exasperated by the arrivalof an illegible letter--of almost every oddity in the place. Then outcame the pencils, and the girls supplied omissions. They sketched MrHope himself; listening to an old woman's theory of her own case; theysketched each other. Mr Enderby was almost the only person omittedaltogether, in conversation and on paper. 

"Where can I have hidden my work bag?" asked Maria, after tea. 

"You laid it beside you, and I put it away, " said Margaret. "I wantedto see whether you could spend a whole afternoon without the feel ofyour thimble. You shall have it again now, for you never once asked forit between dinner and tea. "

"I forgot it: but now you must give it me. I must finish my collar, orI shall not duly honour your sister in my first call. We can talk aswell working as idle. "

"Cannot I help you? Our affairs are all in such dreadfully perfectorder, that I have not a stitch of work to do. I see a hole in yourglove: let me mend it. "

"Do; and when you have done that, there is the other. Two years hence, how you will wonder that there ever was a time when you had not a stitchof work in the house! Wedding clothes last about two years, and thenthey all wear out together. I wish you joy of the work you will have todo then--if nothing should come between you and it. "

"What should come between us and it?" said Margaret, struck by the tonein which Maria spoke the last words. "Are you following Morris's lead?Are you going to say, --`Remember death, Miss Margaret?'"

"Oh, no; but there are other things which happen sometimes besidesdeath. I beg your pardon, Margaret, if I am impertinent--"

"How should you be impertinent? You, the most intimate friend but onethat I have in the world! You mean marriage of course; that I may marrywithin these same two years? Any one may naturally say so, I suppose, to a girl whose sister is just married: and in another person's case itwould seem to me probable enough, but I assure you, Maria, I do not feelas if it was at all likely that I should marry. "

"I quite believe you, Margaret. I have no doubt you feel so, and thatyou will feel so till--. But, dear, you may one day find yourselffeeling very differently without a moment's warning; and that day mayhappen within two years. Such things have been known. "

"If there was any one--" said Margaret, simply--"if I had ever seen anyone for whom I could fancy myself feeling as Hester did--"

"If there was any one!"--repeated Maria, looking up in some surprise. "My dear Margaret, do you mean to say there is no one?"

"Yes, I do; I think so. I know what you mean, Maria. I understand yourface and your voice. But I do think it is very hard that one cannotenjoy a pleasant friendship with anybody without seeing people on thewatch for something more. It is so very painful to have such ideas putinto one's mind, to spoil all one's intercourse--to throw restraint overit--to mix up selfishness with it! It is so wrong to interfere betweenthose who might and would be the most useful and delightful companionsto each other, without having a thought which need put constraintbetween them! Those who so interfere have a great deal to answer for. They do not know what mischief they may be doing--what pain they may begiving while they are gossiping, and making remarks to one another aboutwhat they know nothing at all about. I have no patience with suchmeddling!"

"So I perceive, indeed, " replied Maria, somewhat amused. "But, Margaret, you have been enlarging a good deal on what I said. Not asyllable was spoken about any remarks, any observations between anypeople; or even about reference to any particular person. I alone mustbe subject to all this displeasure, and even I did not throw out asingle hint about any friend of yours. "

"No, you did not; that is all very true, " said Margaret, blushing: "butneither was I vexed with you;--at least, not so much as with someothers. I was hasty. "

"You were, indeed, " said Maria, laughing. "I never witnessed such anoutburst from you before. "

"And you shall not see such another; but I was answering less what yousaid than what I have reason to suppose is in the minds of several otherpeople. "

"In their minds? They have not told you their thoughts, then. And_several_ other people, too! Why, Margaret, I really think it is notvery reasonable in you to find fault with others for thinking somethingwhich they have not troubled you to listen to, and which is so natural, that it has struck `several' of them. Surely, Margaret, you must be alittle, just a very little, touchy upon the matter. "

"Touchy! What should make me touchy?"

"Ay, what?"

"I do assure you, Maria, nothing whatever has passed between that personand me which has anything more than the commonest--No, I will not saythe commonest friendship, because I believe ours is a very warm andintimate friendship; but indeed it is nothing more. You may be surethat, if it had been otherwise, I should not have said a word upon thewhole matter, even to you; and I would not have allowed even you tospeak ten words to me about it. Are you satisfied now?"

"I am satisfied that you any what you think. "

"Oh, Maria! what a sigh! If you have no objection, I should like toknow the meaning of that sigh. "

"I was thinking of `the course of true love. '"

"But not that it `never does run smooth. ' That is not true. WitnessHester's. "

"Dear Margaret, be not presumptuous! Consider how early the days ofthat love are yet. "

"And that love in their case has only just leaped out of the fountain, and can hardly be said to have begun its course. Well! may Heaven smileon it! But tell me about that course of love which made you sigh as youdid just now. "

"What can I tell you about it? And yet, you shall know, if you like, how it appears to me. "

"Oh, tell me! I shall see whether you would have understood Hester'scase. "

"The first strange thing is, that every woman approaches this crisis ofher life as unawares as if she were the first that ever loved. "

"And yet all girls are brought up to think of marriage as almost theonly event in life. Their minds are stuffed with thoughts of it almostbefore they have had time to gain any other ideas. "

"Merely as means to ends low enough for their comprehension. It is notmarriage--wonderful, holy, mysterious marriage--that their minds arefull of, but connection with somebody or something which will give themmoney, and ease, and station, and independence of their parents. Thishas nothing to do with love. I was speaking of love--the grandinfluence of a woman's life, but whose name is a mere empty sound to hertill it becomes, suddenly, secretly, a voice which shakes her being tothe very centre--more awful, more tremendous, than the crack of doom. "

"But why? Why so tremendous?"

"From the struggle which it calls upon her to endure, silently andalone;--from the agony of a change of existence which must be wroughtwithout any eye perceiving it. Depend upon it, Margaret, there isnothing in death to compare with this change; and there can be nothingin entrance upon another state which can transcend the experience Ispeak of. Our powers can but be taxed to the utmost. Our being can butbe strained till not another effort can be made. This is all that wecan conceive to happen in death; and it happens in love, with theadditional burden of fearful secrecy. One may lie down and await death, with sympathy about one to the last, though the passage hence must besolitary; and it would be a small trouble if all the world looked on tosee the parting of soul and body: but that other passage into a newstate, that other process of becoming a new creature, must go on in thedarkness of the spirit, while the body is up and abroad, and no one mustknow what is passing within. The spirit's leap from heaven to hell mustbe made while the smile is on the lips, and light words are upon thetongue. The struggles of shame, the pangs of despair, must be hidden inthe depths of the prison-house. Every groan must be stifled before itis heard: and as for tears--they are a solace too gentle for the case. The agony is too strong for tears. "

"Is this true love?" asked Margaret, in agitation. 

"This is true love; but not the whole of it. As for what follows--"

"But is this what every woman has to undergo?"

"Do you suppose that every woman knows what love really is? No; noteven every unmarried woman. There are some among them, though I believebut few, who know nothing of what love is; and there are, undoubtedly, amultitude of wives who have experienced liking, preference, affection, and taken it for love; and who reach their life's end without beingaware that they have never loved. There are also, I trust, a multitudeof wives who have really loved, and who have reaped the best fruits ofit in regeneration of soul. "

"But how dreadful is the process, if it be as you say!"

"I said I had alluded to only a part of it. As for what follows, according as it is prosperous or unreturned love, heaven ensues uponthis purgatory, or one may attain a middle region, somewhat dim, butserene. You wish me to be plainer?"

"I wish to hear all you think--all you know. But do not let us go onwith it if it makes you sigh so. "

"What woman ever spoke of love without sighing?" said Maria, with asmile. "You sighed yourself, just now. "

"I was thinking of Hester, I believe. How strange, if this processreally awaits women--if it is a region through which their path of lifemust stretch--and no one gives warning, or preparation, or help!"

"It is not so strange as at first sight it seems. Every mother andfriend hopes that no one else has suffered as she did--that herparticular charge may escape entirely, or get off more easily. Thenthere is the shame of confession which is involved: some conclude, at adistance of time, that they must have exaggerated their own sufferings, or have been singularly rebellious and unreasonable. Some lose thesense of the anguish in the subsequent happiness; and there are not afew who, from constitution of mind, forget altogether `the things thatare behind. ' When you remember, too, that it is the law of nature andprovidence that each should bear his and her own burden, and that nowarning would be of any avail, it seems no longer so strange that whilegirls hear endlessly of marriage, they are kept wholly in the dark aboutlove. "

"Would warning really be of no avail?"

"Of no more avail than warning to a pilgrim in the middle of the desertthat he will suffer from thirst, and be deluded by the mirage, before hegets into green fields again. He has no longer the choice whether to bea pilgrim in the desert or to stay at home. No one of us has the choiceto be or not to be; and we must go through with our experience, underits natural conditions. "

"`To be or not to be, '" said Margaret, with a grave smile. "You remindone that the choice of suicide remains: and I almost wonder--Surelysuicide has been committed from dread of lighter woes than you havedescribed. "

"I believe so: but in this case there is no dread. We find ourselves inthe midst of the struggle before we are aware. And then--"

"Ay, and then--"

"He, who appoints the struggles of the spirit, supplies aids andsupports. I fully believe that this time of conflict is that in whichreligion first becomes to many the reality, for which they everafterwards live. It may have been hitherto a name, a fancy, a dimabstraction, or an intermitting though bright influence: and it may yetbe resorted to merely as a refuge for the spirit which can find noother. But there is a strong probability that it may now be found to bea wonderful reality; not only a potent charm in sorrow, but the life ofour life. This is with many the reason why, and the mode in which, theconflict is endured to the end. "

"But the beginning, " said Margaret; "what can be the beginning of thiswonderful experience?"

"The same with that of all the most serious of our experiences--levity, unconsciousness, confidence. Upon what subject in the world is there agreater accumulation of jokes than upon love and marriage; and upon whatsubject are jokes so indefatigably current? A girl laughs at hercompanions, and blushes or pouts for herself; as girls have done forthousands of years before her. She finds, by degrees, new, and sweet, and elevated ideas of friendship stealing their way into her mind, andshe laments and wonders that the range of friendship is not wider--thatits action is not freer--that girls may not enjoy intimate friendshipwith the companions of their brothers, as well as with their own. Thereis a quick and strong resentment at any one who smiles at, or speculatesupon, or even observes the existence of such a friendship. "

"Oh, Maria!" exclaimed Margaret, throwing down her work, and coveringher face with her hands. 

"This goes on for a while, " proceeded Maria, as if she did not observeher companion, "this goes on for a while, smoothly, innocently, serenely. Mankind are then true and noble, the world is passing fair, and God is tender and bountiful. All evil is seen to be tending togood; all tears are meant to be wiped away; the gloom of the gloomy isfaithless; virtue is easy and charming; and the vice of the vicious isunaccountable. Thus does young life glide on for a time. Then therecomes a day--it is often a mystery why it should be that day of alldays--when the innocent, and gay, and confident young creature findsherself in sudden trouble. The film on which she lightly trod has burstand she is in an abyss. It seems a mere trifle that plunged her there. Her friend did not come when she looked for him, or he is gonesomewhere, or he has said something that she did not expect. Some suchtrifle reveals to her that she depends wholly upon him--that she has forlong been living only for him, and on the unconscious conclusion that hehas been living only for her. At the image of his dwelling anywhere butby her side, of his having any interest apart from hers, the universeis, in a moment, shrouded in gloom. Her heart is sick, and there is norest for it, for her self-respect is gone. She has been reared in amaidenly pride, and an innocent confidence: her confidence is whollybroken-down; her pride is wounded and the agony of the wound isintolerable. We are wont to say, Margaret, that everything is endurablebut a sense of guilt. If there be an exception, this is it. Thiswounding of the spirit ought not perhaps to be, but it is very like thesting of guilt; and a `wounded spirit who can bear?'"

"How is it borne--so many as are the sufferers, and of a class usuallythought so weak?"

"That is a mistake. There is not on earth a being stronger than a womanin the concealment of her love. The soldier is called brave whocheerfully bears about the pain of a laceration to his dying day; andcriminals, who, after years of struggle, unbosom themselves of theirsecret, give tremendous accounts of the sufferings of those years; but Iquestion whether a woman whose existence has been burdened with anunrequited love, will not have to unfold in the next world a moreharrowing tale than either of these. "

"It ought not to be so. "

"It ought not, where there is no guilt. But how noble is such power ofself-restraint! Though the principle of society may be to cultivate ourpride to excess, what fortitude grows out of it! There are no bounds tothe horror, disgust, and astonishment expressed when a woman owns herlove to its object unasked--even urges it upon him; but I acknowledge mysurprise to be the other way--that the cases are so rare. Yet, fancyingthe case one's own--"

"Oh, dreadful!" cried Margaret. 

"No woman can endure the bare thought of the case being her own; andthis proves the strong natural and educational restraint under which weall lie: but I must think that the frequent and patient endurance provesa strength of soul, a vigour of moral power, which ought to console andanimate us in the depth of our abasement, if we could but recall it thenwhen we want support and solace most. "

"It can be little estimated--little understood, " said Margaret, "or itwould not be sported with as it is. "

"Do not let us speak of that, Margaret. You talk of my philosophysometimes; I own that that part of the subject is too much for anyphilosophy I have. "

"I see nothing philosophical, " said Margaret, "in making light of thedeepest cruelty and treachery which is transacted under the sun. A manwho trifles with such affections, and abuses such moral power, and callshis cruelty flirtation--"

"Is such an one as we will not speak of now. Well! it cannot be butthat good--moral and intellectual good--must issue from such exerciseand discipline as this; and such good does issue often, perhapsgenerally. There are sad tales sung and told everywhere of brainscrazed, and graves dug by hopeless love: and I fear that many more sinkdown into disease and death from this cause, than are at all suspectedto be its victims: but not a few find themselves lifted up from theirabyss, and set free from their bondage of pride and humiliation. Theymarry their loves and stand amazed at their own bliss, and are truly thehappiest people upon earth, and in the broad road to be the wisest. Inmy belief, the happiest are ever so. "

"Bless you for that, for Hester's sake! And what of those who are notthus released?"

"They get out of the abyss too; but they have to struggle out alone. Their condition must depend much on what they were before the conflictbefell them. Some are soured, and live restlessly. Some are weak, andcome out worldly, and sacrifice themselves, in marriage or otherwise, for low objects. Some strive to forget, and to become as like aspossible to what they were before; and of this order are many of thewomen whom we meet, whose minds are in a state of perpetual andincurable infancy. It is difficult to see the purpose of theirsuffering, from any effects it appears to have produced: but then thereis the hope that their griefs were not of the deepest. "

"And what of those whose griefs are of the deepest?"

"They rise the highest above them. Some of these must be content withhaving learned more or less, of what life is, and of what it is for, andwith reconciling themselves to its objects and conditions. "

"In short, with being philosophical, " said Margaret, with an inquiringand affectionate glance at her friend. 

"With being philosophical, " Maria smilingly agreed. "Others, of ahappier nature, to whom philosophy and religion come as one, and arewelcomed by energies not wholly destroyed, and affections not altogethercrushed, are strong in the new strength which they have found, withhearts as wide as the universe, and spirits the gayest of the gay. "

"You never told me anything of all this before, " said Margaret; "yet itis plain that you must have thought much about it--that it must havebeen long in your mind. "

"It has; and I tell it to you, that you may share what I have learned, instead of going without the knowledge, or, alas! gathering it up foryourself. "

"Oh, then, it is so--it is from your own--"

"It is from my own experience that I speak, " said Maria, without lookingup. "And now, there is some one in the world who knows it besidemyself. "

"I hope you do not--I hope you never will repent having told me, " saidMargaret, rising and taking her seat on the sofa, beside her friend. 

"I do not, and I shall not repent, " said Maria. "You are faithful: andit will be a relief to me to have sympathy--to be able to speaksometimes, instead of having to deny and repress my whole heart andsoul. But I can tell you no more--not one word. "

"Do not. Only show me how I can comfort--how I can gratify you. "

"I need no special comfort now, " said Maria, smiling. "I _have_sometimes grievously wanted a friend to love and speak with--and if Icould, to serve. Now I have a friend. " And the look with which shegazed at her companion brought the tears into Margaret's eyes. 

"Come, let us speak of something else, " said Maria, cheerfully. "Whendo you expect your friend, Mr Enderby, at Deerbrook again?"

"His sister says nobody knows; and I do not think he can tell himself. You know he does not live at Deerbrook. "

"I am aware of that; but his last visit was such a long one--"

"Six days, " said Margaret, laughing. 

"Ah! I did not mean his last week's appearance, or any of his popvisits. I was thinking of his summer visitation. It was so long, thatsome people began to look upon him as a resident. "

"If his mother does not grow much better soon, we shall see him again, "said Margaret. "It is always her illness that brings him. --Do you notbelieve me, Maria?"

"I believe, as before, that you say what you think. Whether you aremistaken is another question, which I cannot pretend to answer. "

"I hope, Maria, that as you have placed so much confidence in me, youwill not stop short at the very point which is of the greatestimportance to me. "

"I will not, dear. What I think on the subject of Mr Enderby, inrelation to you, is, that some of your friends believe that you are thecause of his stay having been so long in the summer, and of his comingso often since. I know no more than this. How should I?"

"Then I will tell you something more, that I might as well havementioned before. When Mrs Rowland had an idea that Mr Enderby mightthink of Hester, she told Hester--that miserable day in Dinglefordwoods--that his family expected he would soon marry a young lady offamily and fortune, who was a great favourite with all his connections. "

"Who may this young lady be?"

"Oh, she did not say; some one too high for our acquaintance, if we areto believe what Mrs Rowland declared. "

"And do you believe it?"

"Why--. Do you?"

"I dare say Mrs Rowland may believe it herself; but she may bemistaken. "

"That is exactly what Hester said, " observed Margaret, eagerly. "Andthat was more than five months ago, and we have not heard a syllable ofthe matter since. "

"And so intimate a friendship as yours and Mr Enderby's is, " saidMaria, smiling, --"it is scarcely probable that his mind should be fullof such an affair, and that he should be able to conceal it so perfectlyfrom you. "

"I am glad you think so, " said Margaret, ingenuously. "You cannotimagine how strange it is to see Mrs Grey and others taking for grantedthat he is free, when Hester and I could tell them in a moment what MrsRowland said. But if you think Mrs Rowland is all wrong, what do youreally suppose about his coming so much to Deerbrook?"

"I have little doubt that those friends of yours--Mrs Grey and theothers--are right. But--. "

"But what?"

"Just this. If I might warn you by myself; I would caution you, notonly against dwelling much upon such a fact, but against interpreting itto mean more than it possibly may. This is my reason for speaking toyou upon the matter at all. I do it because you will be pretty sure tohear how the fact itself is viewed by others, while no one else would belikely to give you the caution. Mr Enderby _may_ come, as you suppose, entirely to see his mother. He may come to see you: but, supposing hedoes, if he is like other men, he may not know his own mind yet: and, there is another possible thing--a thing which is possible, Margaret, though he is such a dear and intimate friend--that he may not knowyours--all its strength of affection, all its fidelity, all its trustand power of self-control. "

"Oh, stop; pray stop, " said Margaret. "You frighten me with thethoughts of all you have been saying this evening, though I could soentirely satisfy you as to what our intercourse has been--though I knowMr Enderby so much better than you do. You need warn me no more. Iwill think of what you have said, if I find myself doubting whether hecomes to see his mother--if I find myself listening to what others maysuppose about his reasons. Indeed, I will remember what you have said. "

"Then I am glad I ventured to say it, particularly as you are not angrywith me this time. "

"I am not at all angry: how could I be so? But I do not agree with youabout the fact. "

"I know it, and I may be mistaken. "

"Now tell me, " said Margaret, "what you suppose Morris meant when shesaid what you heard about the pleasure of solitude depending on one'sthoughts being happy or otherwise. I know it is a common old ideaenough; but Morris does not know that; and I am sure she had someparticular instance in view. Morris does not make general propositions, except with a particular case in her mind's eye; and she is a wisewoman; and we think her sayings are weighty. "

"It struck me that she had a real probability in her mind; but I did notthink it related to Mr Enderby, or to anything so exclusively your ownconcern. "

"No; I hope not: but what then?"

"I think that Morris knows more of life and the world than you, and thatshe does not anticipate quite so much happiness from Hester's marriageas you do. Do not be distressed or alarmed. She means no mistrust ofanybody, I imagine; but only that there is no perfect happiness in thislife, that nobody is faultless; and no home, not even where her youngladies live, is quite free from care and trouble. It would not hurtyou, surely, if she was to say this outright to you?"

"Oh, no; nor a good deal more of the same tendency. She might come muchnearer to the point, good soul! without hurting me. Suppose I ask herwhat it was she did mean, to-night or to-morrow, when she and I arealone?"

"Well! if she is such a wise woman--. But I doubt whether you could gether nearer to the point without danger of hurting her. Can she bringherself to own that either of you have faults?"

"Oh, yes: she has never spared us, from the time we were two feet high. "

"What can make you so anxious as to what she meant?"

"I really hardly know, unless it be that where one loves very much, onefears--Oh, so faithlessly! I know I ought to fear less for Hester thanever; and yet--. "

The door burst open, and the foot-boy entered with his jingling tray, and news that the sedan for Miss Young was at the door. What sedan?Margaret had asked Mrs Grey for hers, as the snow had fallen heavily, and the streets were not fit for Maria's walking. Maria was verythankful. 

Here was an end of Maria's bright holiday. Mr Grey's porters must notbe kept waiting. The friends assured each other that they should neverforget this day. It was little likely that they should. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

HOME. 

Margaret had an unconscious expectation of seeing her sister altered. This is an irresistible persuasion in almost every case where anintimate friend is absent, and is under new influences, and amidst newcircumstances. These accessories alter the image of the beloved one inour minds; our fancy follows it, acting and being acted upon in ways inwhich we have no share. Our sympathy is at fault, or we conceive it tobe so; and doubt and trouble creep over us, we scarcely know why. Though the letters which come may be natural and hearty, as of old, breathing the very spirit of our friend, we feel a sort of surprise atthe handwriting being quite familiar. We look forward with a kind oftimidity to meeting, and fear there may be some restraint in it. Whenthe hour of meeting comes, there is the very same face, the line of thecheek, the trick of the lip, the glance of the eye; the rise and fall ofthe voice are the same; and the intense familiarity makes our veryspirit swim in joy. We are amazed at our previous fancy--we laugh atthe solemn stiffness in which our friend stood before our mind's eye, and to relieve which we had striven to recall the ludicrous situationsand merry moods, in which that form and that face had been seen; andperhaps we have no peace till we have acknowledged to the beloved onethe ingenuity of our self-tormentings. Is there a girl whose heart iswith her brother at college, who does not feel this regularly as thevacation comes round? Is there a parent whose child is reaping honoursin the field of life, and returning childlike from time to time, to restin the old country-home--is there such a parent who is not conscious ofthe misgiving and the re-assurance, as often as the absence and there-union occur? Is there even the most trustful of wives, whose husbandis on the other side of the globe, that is wholly undisturbed by thetransmutation of the idol in her mind? When the husband is returning, and her hungry heart is feasting on the anticipation of his appearance, she may revel in the thought--

 "And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak?"

But it is not till that vivid face and that piercing voice thrill hersight and her ear again that all misgiving vanishes. There is nothingin life that can compensate for long partings. There ought to be few orno insurmountable obstacles to the frequent meetings, however short, ofthose who love each other. No duties and no privileges can be of moreimportance than the preservation, in all their entireness, of domesticfamiliarity and faith. 

A very short separation will afford the experience of a long one, if itbe full of events, or if the image of the absent one be dwelt upon, fromhour to hour, with laborious strivings of the fancy. It has been saidthat this week of Hester's absence was the longest that Margaret hadever known. Besides this, she felt that she had forgotten her sisterfurther than she could have supposed possible after a ten years'separation. On the evening when she was expecting the travellers home, her heart was sick with expectation; and yet she was conscious of atimidity which made her feel as if alone in the world. Again and againshe looked round her, to fancy what would be the aspect, of everythingto Hester's eye. She wandered about the house to see once more that allwas in its right place, and every arrangement in due order. She watchedthe bright drawing-room fire nervously, and made herself anxious aboutthe tea-table, and sat upright on the sofa, listening for the sound ofhorses' feet in the snowy street, as if it had been a solemn strangerthat she was expecting, instead of her own sister Hester, with whom shehad shared all her heart, and spent all her days. But a small part ofthis anxiety was given to Mr Hope: she retained her image of himunperplexed, as a treasure of a brother, and a man with a mind sohealthy that he was sure to receive all things rightly, and be pleasedand satisfied, happen what might. 

They came; and Hester's spring from the carriage, and her husband's wayof rubbing his hands over the fire, put all Margaret's anxieties toflight. How sweet was the welcome! How delicious the contest aboutwhich was to give the welcome to this, the lasting home of the three--whether she who had put all in order for them, or they who claimed tohave the charge of her! Margaret's eyes overflowed when Hester led herto Edward for his brotherly kiss. Mr Hope's mind was disturbed for onesingle moment that he had not given this kiss with all the heartinessand simplicity of a brother; but the feeling was gone almost before hewas conscious of it. 

The fire crackled, the kettle sang, Hester took her own place at once atthe tea-board, and her husband threw himself on the sofa, afterascertaining that there were no family letters for him. He knew that itwas impossible that there should be any in answer to the announcement ofhis marriage. Even Anne's could not arrive these four or five days yet. He desired Margaret not to tell him at present if there were anymessages for him; for, if all Deerbrook had colds, he had no inclinationto go out to-night to cure them. There was a long list of messages, Margaret said, but they were in the surgery; and the pupil there mightbring them in, if he thought proper: they should not be sent for. Thisone evening might be stolen for home and comfort. Their journey hadbeen delightful. Oxford was more splendid than Hester had had an ideaof. Every facility had been afforded them for seeing it, and Mr Hope'sacquaintances there had been as kind as possible. The fall of snow hadnot put them in any danger, and the inconveniences it had caused wererather stimulating to people who had travelled but little. Hester hadhad to get out of the carriage twice; and once she had walked a mile, when the driver had been uncertain about the road; but as Mrs Grey hadhad the foresight to cause a pair of snow boots to be put into thecarriage at the last moment, no harm had happened, --not even to thewetting of feet; only enough inconvenience to make them glad to be nowby their snug fireside. Hester was full of mirth and anecdote. Sheseemed to have been pleased with everybody and awake to everything. Asher sister looked upon her brow, now open as a sleeping child's, uponthe thick curl of glossy brown hair, and upon the bright smile whichlighted up her exquisite face, she was amazed at herself for havingperplexed such an image with apprehensive fancies. 

How had Margaret spent her week? Above all, it was to be hoped she hadnot fatigued herself in their service. There were four days' grace yetfor preparation, before they should receive their company. Margaretshould not have worked so hard. Had Maria Young come yesterday? DearMaria! she must often come. Should not the Greys be asked to dine in aquiet way, before any one else was admitted into the house? Was it notdue to them? But could the footboy wait at table? Would it be possibleto bring him into such training as would prevent Mrs Grey's being toomuch shocked at their way of getting through dinner? Or was there anyone in Deerbrook who went out as a waiter? Morris must be consulted;but they must have the Greys to dinner before Monday. How was MrsEnderby? Was her illness really thought serious, or was it only MrsRowland's way of talking, which was just the same, whether Mrs Enderbyhad a twinge of rheumatism or one of her frightful attacks? Was MrEnderby coming?--that was the chief point. If he did not appear, it wascertain that he could not be feeling uneasy about his mother. Margaretblushed when she replied that she had not heard of Mr Enderby's beingexpected. She could not but blush; for the conversation with Maria camefull into her mind. Mr Hope saw the blush, and painfully wondered thatit sent trouble through his soul. 

How were Morris and the new maid likely to agree? Did Morris think thegirl promising? Surely it was time to take some notice of the servants. Edward would ring the bell twice, the signal for Morris; and Morrisshould introduce the other two into the parlour. They came, Morris inher best gown, and with her wedding ribbon on. When she had shakenhands with her master and mistress, and spoken a good word for herfellow-servants, as she called them, the ruddy-faced girl appeared, hercheeks many shades deeper than usual, and her cap quillings standing offlike the rays on a sign-post picture of the sun. Following her came theboy, feeling awkward in his new clothes, and scraping with his left legtill the process was put a stop to by his master's entering intoconversation with him. Hester's beauty was really so striking, as witha blushing bashfulness, she for the first time enacted the mistressbefore her husband's eyes, that it was impossible not to observe it. Margaret glanced towards her brother, and they exchanged smiles. Butthe effect of Margaret's smile was that Mr Hope's died away, and lefthim grave. 

"Brother!" said Margaret; "what is the true story belonging to thatgreat book about the Polar Sea, that you see lying there?"

"How do you mean? Is there any story belonging to it at all?"

"Three at least; and Deerbrook has been so hot about it--"

"You should send round the book to cool them. It is enough to freezeone to look at the plates of those polar books. "

"Sending round the book is exactly the thing I wanted to do, and couldnot. Mrs Rowland insists that Mrs Enderby ordered it in; and MrsGrey demands to have it first; and Mr Rowland is certain that youbespoke it before anybody else. I was afraid of the responsibility ofacting in so nice a case. An everlasting quarrel might come out of it:so I covered it, and put in the list, all ready to be sent at a moment'swarning; and then I amused myself with it while you were away. Now, brother, what will you do?"

"The truth of the matter is, that I ordered it in myself, as Mr Rowlandsays. But Mrs Enderby shall have it at once, because she is ill. Itis a fine large type for her; and she will pore over the plates, andforget Deerbrook and all her own ailments, in wondering how the peoplewill get out of the ice. "

"Do you remember, Margaret, " said Hester, "how she looked one summerday, --like a ghost from the grave, --when she came down from her books, and had even forgotten her shawl?"

"Oh, about the battle!" cried Margaret, laughing. 

"What battle?" asked Hope. "An historical one, I suppose, and not thatof the Rowlands and Greys. Mrs Enderby is of a higher order than therest of us Deerbrook people: she gets most of her news, and all herbattles, out of history. "

"Yes: she alighted among us to tell us that such a great, such awonderful battle had been fought, at a place called Blenheim, by theDuke of Marlborough, who really seemed a surprisingly clever man: it wassuch a good thought of his to have a swamp at one end of his line, andto put some of his soldiers behind some bushes, so that the enemy couldnot get at them! and he won the battle. "

"This book will be the very thing for her, " said Margaret. "It is onlya pity that it did not come in at Midsummer instead of Christmas. I amafraid she will sympathise so thoroughly that Phoebe will never be ableto put on coals enough to warm her. "

"Nay, " said Mr Hope, "it is better as it is. She must be told now, atall events: whereas, if this book came to her at Midsummer, it wouldchill her whole month of July. She would start every time she lookedout of her window, and saw the meadows green. "

"I hope she is not really very ill, " said Hester. 

"You were thinking the same thought that I was, " said her husband, starting up from the sofa. "It is certainly my business to go and seeher to-night, if she wishes it. I will step down into the surgery, andlearn if there is any message from her. "

"And if there is not from her, there will be from some one else, " saidHester, sorrowfully. "What a cold night for you to go out, and leavethis warm room!"

Mr Hope laughed as he observed what an innocent speech that was for asurgeon's wife. It was plain that her education in that capacity hadnot begun. And down he went. 

"Here are some things for you, cards and notes, " said Margaret to hersister, as she opened a drawer of the writing-table: "one from MrsGrey, marked `Private. ' I do not suppose your husband may not see it;but that is your affair. My duty is to give it you privately. "

"One of the Grey mysteries, I suppose, " said Hester, colouring, andtearing open the letter with some vehemence: "These mysteries werefoolish enough before; they are ridiculous now. So, you are going out?"cried she, as her husband came in with his hat on. 

"Yes; the old lady will be the easier for my seeing her this evening;and I shall carry her the Polar Sea. Where is pen and ink, Margaret?We do not know the ways of our own house yet. "

Margaret brought pen and ink; and while Mr Hope wrote down the dates inthe Book Society's list, Hester exclaimed against Mrs Grey for havingsent her a letter marked "Private, " now that she was married. 

"If you mean it not to be private, you shall tell me about it when Icome back, " said her husband. "If I see Mrs Enderby to-night, I mustbe gone. "

It was not twenty minutes before he was seated by his own firesideagain. His wife looked disturbed; and was so; she even forgot toinquire after Mrs Enderby. 

"There is Mrs Grey's precious letter!" said she. "She may mean to bevery kind to me: I dare say she does: but she might know that it is notkindness to write so of my husband. "

"I do not see that she writes any harm of me, my dear, " said he, layingthe letter open upon the table. "She only wants to manage me a little:and that is her way, you know. "

"So exceedingly impertinent!" cried Hester, turning to Margaret. "Shewants me to use my influence, quietly, and without betraying her, tomake my husband--, " she glanced into her husband's face, and checked hercommunication. "In short, " she said, "Mrs Grey wants to be meddlingbetween my husband and one of his patients. "

"Well, what then?" said Margaret. 

"What then? Why, if she is to be interfering already in our affairs--ifshe is to be always fancying that she has anything to do with Edward, --and we living so near, --I shall never be able to bear it. "

And Hester's eyes overflowed with tears. 

"My dear! is it possible?" cried Edward. "Such a trifle--. "

"It is no trifle, " said Hester, trying to command her voice; "it cannever be a trifle to me that any one shows disrespect to you. I shallnever be able to keep terms with any one who does. "

Margaret believed that nothing would be easier than to put a stop to anysuch attempts--if indeed they were serious. Mrs Grey was so fond ofHester that she would permit anything from her; and it would be easy forHester to say that, not wishing to receive any exclusively privateletters, she had shown Mrs Grey's to her husband, though to no oneelse: and that it was to be the principle of the family not tointerfere, more or less, with Mr Hope's professional affairs. 

"Or, better still, take no notice of the matter in any way whatever, this time, " said Mr Hope. "We can let her have her way while we keepour own, cannot we? So, let us put the mysterious epistle into thefire--shall we? I wait your leave, " said he, laughing, as he held theletter over the flame. 

"It is your property. "

Hester signed to have it burned; but she could not forget it. Sherecurred to Mrs Grey, again and again. "So near as they lived, " shesaid--"so much as they must be together. "

"The nearer we all live, and the more we must be with our neighbours, "said her husband, "the more important it is that we should allow eachother our own ways. You will soon find what it is to live in a village, my love; and then you will not mind these little trifles. "

"If they would meddle only with me, " said Hester, "I should not mind. Ihope you do not think I should care so much for anything they could sayor do about me. If they only would let you alone--"

"That is the last thing we can expect, " said Margaret. "Do they let anypublic man alone? Dr Levitt, or Mr James?"

"Or the parish clerk?" added Mr Hope. "It was reported lately thatsteps were to be taken to intimate to Owen, that it was a constant habitof his to cough as he took his seat in the desk. I was told oncemyself, that it was remarked throughout Deerbrook that I seemed to behalf whistling as I walked up the street in the mornings; and that itwas considered a practice too undignified for my profession. "

Hester's colour rose again. Margaret laughed, and asked:

"What did you do?"

"I made my best bow, and thought no more about the matter, till eventsbrought it to mind again at this moment. So, Hester, suppose we thinkno more of Mrs Grey's hints?" Seeing that her brow did not entirelyclear, he took his seat by her, saying:

"Supposing, love, that her letter does not show enough deference to myimportant self to satisfy you, still it remains that we owe respect toMrs Grey. She is one of my oldest, and most hospitable, and faithfulfriends here; and I need say nothing of her attachment to you. Cannotwe overlook in her one little error of judgment?"

"Oh, yes, certainly, " said Hester, cheerfully. "Then I will say nothingto her unless she asks; and then tell her, as lightly as I may, whatMargaret proposed just now. So be it. "

And all was bright and smooth again--to all appearance. But this littlecloud did not pass away without leaving its gloom in more hearts thanone. As Margaret set down her lamp on her own writing-table, and sankinto the chair of whose ease she had bidden Maria make trial, she mighthave decided, if she had happened at the moment to remember theconversation, that the pleasure of solitude does depend much on the easeof the thoughts. She sat long, wondering how she could have overlookedthe obvious probability that Hester, instead of finding the habit ofmind of a lifetime altered by the circumstances of love and marriage, would henceforth suffer from jealousy for her husband in addition to theburden she had borne for herself. Long did Margaret sit there, turningher voluntary musings on the joy of their meeting, and the perfectpicture of comfort which their little party had presented; butperpetually recurring, against her will, to the trouble which hadsucceeded, and following back the track of this cloud, to see whetherthere were more in the wind--whether it did not come from a horizon ofstorm. 

Yet hers was not the most troubled spirit in the house. Hester'svexation had passed away, and she was unconscious, as sufferers of herclass usually are, of the disturbance she had caused. She presentlyslept and was at peace. Not so her husband. A strange trouble--afearful suspicion had seized upon him. He was amazed at the return ofhis feelings about Margaret, and filled with horror when he thought ofthe days, and months, and years of close domestic companionship withher, from which there was no escape. There was no escape. The peace ofhis wife, of Margaret--his own peace in theirs--depended wholly on thedeep secrecy in which he should preserve the mistake he had made. Itwas a mistake. He could scarcely endure the thought; but it was so. For some months, he had never had a doubt that he was absolutely in theroad of duty; and, if some apprehension about his entire happiness hadchilled him, from time to time, he had cast them off, as inconsistentwith the resolution of his conscience. Now he feared, he felt he hadmistaken his duty. As, in the stillness of the night, the apprehensionassailed him, that he had thrown away the opportunity and the promise ofhis life--that he had desecrated his own home, and doomed to witheringthe best affections of his nature, he for the moment wished himselfdead. But his was a soul never long thrown off its balance. Heconvinced himself, in the course of a long sleepless night, thatwhatever might have been his errors, his way was now clear, thoughdifficult. He must devote himself wholly to her whose devotion to himhad caused him his present struggles; and he must trust that, ifMargaret did not ere long remove from the daily companionship which mustbe his sorest trial, he should grow perpetually stronger in hisself-command. Of one thing he was certain--that no human beingsuspected the real state of his mind. This was a comfort and support. Of something else he felt nearly certain--that Margaret loved Philip. This was another comfort, if he could only feel it so; and he had littledoubt that Philip loved her. He had also a deep conviction, which henow aroused for his support--that no consecration of a home is so holyas that of a kindly, self-denying, trustful spirit in him who is thehead and life of his house. If there was in himself a love which mustbe denied, there was also one which might be indulged. Withouttrammelling himself with vows, he cheered his soul with the image of thelife he might yet fulfil, shedding on all under his charge the blessingsof his activity, patience, and love; and daily casting off the burden ofthe day, leaving all care for the morrow to such as, happier thanhimself, would have the future the image of the present. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

FIRST HOSPITALITY. 

The Greys needed only to be asked to come and dine before the rest ofthe world could have an opportunity of seeing the bride and bridegroom. They had previously settled among themselves that they should beinvited, and the answer was given on the instant. The only doubt washow far down in the family the pleasure ought to extend. Sydney wasfull of anxiety about it. His mother decided that he ought to be asked, but that perhaps he had better not go, as he would be in the way; andSophia was sure it would be very dull for him; a sentence which madeSydney rather sulky. But Hester insisted on having him, and pleadedthat William Levitt would come and meet him, and if the lads should findthe drawing-room dull, there was the surgery, with some very curiousthings in it, where they might be able to amuse themselves. So Sydneywas to take up his lot with the elderly ones, and the little girls wereto be somewhat differently entertained another day. 

Oh, the anxieties of a young wife's first dinner-party! If remembered, they become laughable enough when looked back upon from future years;but they are no laughing matter at the time. The terror lest thereshould be too little on the table, and the consequent danger of therebeing too much: the fear at once of worrying the cook with too manydirections, and leaving any necessary thing unsaid: the trembling doubtof any power of entertainment that may exist in the house; theanticipation of a yawn on the part of any guest, or of such a silence asmay make the creaking of the footboy's shoes heard at dinner, or thestriking of the hall clock in the evening--these are the apprehensionswhich make the young wife wish herself on the other side of her firstdinner-party, and render alluring the prospect of sitting down next dayto hash or cold fowl, followed by odd custards and tartlets, with astray mince-pie. Where a guest so experienced and so vigilant as MrsGrey is expected, the anxiety is redoubled, and the servants are sure todiscover it by some means or other. Morris woke, this Saturday morning, with the feeling that something great was to happen that day; and Sallybegan to be sharp with the footboy as early as ten o'clock. Hester andMargaret were surprised to find how soon there was nothing more left forthem to do. The wine was decanted, the dessert dished up in the littlestoreroom, and even the cake cut for tea, soon enough to leave almostthe whole morning to be spent as usual. Margaret sat down to studyGerman, and Hester to read. She had just observed that they could notexpect to see Edward for some hours, as he had been sent for to thealmshouses, and meant to pay a country visit which would cost him acircuit on his return. These almshouses were six miles off; and whenMr Hope was sent for by one of the inmates, nearly all the rest werewont to discover that they ailed more or less; so that their medicalguardian found it no easy matter to get away, and his horse had learned, by practice, to stand longer there than anywhere else without fidgeting. Knowing this, Margaret fully agreed to her sister's proposition, thatit must be some hours before Edward could appear. In a little while, however, Hester threw down her book, and took up her work, laying herwatch just under her eyes upon the table. 

"Do you mean to do that for life, when your husband takes a countryride?" said Margaret, laughing. 

"I hate these everlasting country rides!" cried Hester. "I do wish hewould give up those almshouses. "

"Give them up!"

"Yes: they are nothing but trouble and anxiety. The old folks are neversatisfied, and never would be, if he lived among them, and attended tonobody else. And as often as he goes there, he is sure to be morewanted here than at any other time. There is another knock. There havebeen two people wanting him within this hour; and a country gentlemanhas left word that he shall call with his daughter at one o'clock. "

"Well, let them come. If he is home, well and good; if not, they mustwait till he arrives. "

Hester started up, and walked about the room. 

"I know what is in your mind, " said Margaret. "The truth is, you areafraid of another accident. I do not wonder at it; but, dearest Hester, you must control this fear. Consider; supposing it to be Heaven'spleasure that you and he should live for forty or fifty years together, what a world of anxiety you will inflict on yourself if you are tosuffer in this way every time he rides six miles out and back again!"

"Perhaps I shall grow used to it: but I do wish he would give up thosealmshouses. "

"Suppose we ask him to give up practice at once, " said Margaret, "thatwe may have him always with us. No, no, Hester; we must consider himfirst, and ourselves next, and let him have his profession all tohimself, and as much of it as he likes. "

"Ourselves!" cried Hester, contemptuously. 

"Well, yourself, then, " said Margaret, smiling. "I only put myself inthat I might lecture myself at the same time with you. "

"Lecture away, dear, " said Hester, "till you make me as reasonable as ifI had no husband to care for. "

Margaret might have asked whether Hester had been reasonable when shehad had neither husband nor lover to care for; but, instead of this, sheopened the piano, and tempted her sister away from her watch to practisea duet. 

"I will tell you what I am thinking of, " cried Hester, breaking off inthe middle of a bar of the second page. "Perhaps you thought me hastyjust now; but you do not know what I had in my head. You remember howlate Edward was called out, the night before last?"

"To Mrs Marsh's child? Yes; it was quite dark when he went. "

"There was no moon. Mr Marsh wanted to send a servant back with him asfar as the high-road: but he was sure he knew the way. He was ridingvery fast, when his horse suddenly stopped, and almost threw him overits head. He spurred in vain; the animal only turned round and round, till a voice called from somewhere near, `Stop there, for God's sake!Wait till I bring a light. ' A man soon came with a lantern, and wheredo you think Edward found himself? On the brink of a mill-dam! Anotherstep in the dark night, and he might have been heard of no more!"

Margaret was not at all surprised that Hester covered her face with herhands at the end of this very disagreeable anecdote. 

"It is clear, " said she, "that Edward is the person who wants lecturing. We must bid him not ride very fast on dark nights, on roads that hedoes not know. But I have a high opinion of this horse of his. One ofthe two is prudent; and that is a great comfort. And, for the present, there is the consolation that there are no mill-dams in the way to thealmshouses, and that it is broad daylight. So let us go on with ourduet, --or shall we begin again?"

Hester played through the duet, and then sighed over a newapprehension--that some of those old invalids would certainly be takingMr Hope away from home on the two mornings when their neighbours wereto pay the wedding visit. "And what shall we do then?" she inquired. 

"We shall see when the time comes, " replied Margaret. "Meanwhile we aresure of one good thing, --that Edward will not be called away from thedinner-table to-day by the almshouse people. Come! let us play thisover once more, that it may be ready for Mr Grey in the evening. "

Sooner than he was looked for--sooner than it was supposed possible thathe could have come--Edward appeared. 

"Safe!" cried he, laughing: "what should prevent my being safe? Whatsort of a soldier's or sailor's wife would you have made?" he asked, looking in Hester's happy face. 

"She would be crazed with every gale, and die at `rumours of wars, '"said Margaret: "mill-dams are horror enough for her--and, to say thetruth, brother, for other people, too, while you ride as you do. "

"That was an accident which cannot recur, " observed Hope. "I am sorryMr Marsh's man mentioned it. But Hester--. "

"I see what you would say, " sighed Hester; "your mention of soldiers'and sailors' wives reminds me. I have no faith, I know: and I thought Ishould when--. Oh, I wonder how those old crusaders' wives enduredtheir lives! But, perhaps, seven years' suspense was easier to bearthan seven hours'. "

Hester joined in the laugh at this speech, and Edward went to see hispatients in a place where there was really no danger--in thewaiting-room. Yet Hester was a little ruffled when the Greys appeared. So many messages had arrived for Edward, that the country gentleman andhis daughter had been kept waiting, and a livery servant had calledtwice, as if impatient. She was afraid that people would blame Edward--that he would never manage to satisfy them all. Her colour was raised, and her brow slightly bent, when her guests entered; but all was rightwhen Edward followed, looking perfectly at leisure, and stood talkingbefore the fire, as if he had been a man of no profession. 

Mr Hope had caused his feelings to be so well understood on oneimportant subject, that it was necessary to respect them; and no mentionof the Rowlands was made, either before dinner or in the presence of theservants. Nor was there any need of the topic. There was abundance tobe said, without having recourse to doubtful subjects; and Margaretbecame so far relieved from all apprehension on this account, by thetime the cheese appeared, that she assured herself that the day waspassing off extremely well. There had not been a single pause left tobe filled up with the clatter of knives and forks. Mrs Grey pronouncedthe room delightfully warm; Sophia protested that she liked having thefire at her back; and Mr Grey inquired where Hope got his ale. Theboys, who had looked for the first half-hour as if they could not speakfor the stiffness of their collars, were now in a full career of jokes, to judge by their stifled laughter. Hester blushed beautifully at everylittle circumstance that occurred, and played the hostess verygracefully. The day was going off extremely well. 

The approaching county election was the principal topic at dinner, as itwas probably at every dinner-table in Deerbrook. Mrs Grey first toldHope, at the bottom of the table, all about her wonder at seeing sevenor eight gentlemen on horseback entering their field. She wasexceedingly surprised to observe such a troop approaching the door: andshe hardly knew what to make of it when the servant came in to say thatthe gentlemen wished to see her, as Mr Grey was at a distance--atmarket that day. It was strange that she should so entirely forget thatthere was to be an election soon. To be sure, it might have occurred toher that the party came to canvass Mr Grey: but she did not happen toremember at first; and she thought the gentleman who was spokesmanexcessively complimentary, both about the place and about some otherthings, till he mentioned his name, and that he was candidate for thecounty. Such a highly complimentary strain was not to her taste, sheacknowledged; and it lost all its value when it was made so common as inthis instance. This gentleman had kissed the little Rowlands all round, she had since been assured:--not that she wished to enlarge on thatsubject; but it only showed what gentlemen will do when they arecanvassing. The other candidate, Mr Lowry, seemed a very highpersonage indeed. When he found Mr Grey was not at home, he and allhis party rode straight on, without inquiring for the ladies. Everyoneseemed to think that Mr Lowry was not likely to carry his election, hismanners were so extremely high. 

Meanwhile, Mr Grey was observing to his hostess that he was sorry tofind there was an election impending. People in a small place likeDeerbrook were quite apt enough to quarrel, day by day;--an electionthrew the place into an uproar. 

"`How delightful!' those boys are thinking, " said Hester, laughing. 

"I am sure, " said Sophia, "it is anything but delightful to me. Iremember, last time, Sydney brought some squibs into the garden, and letthem off while mamma and I were in the shrubbery; and we could none ofus get to sleep till after midnight for the light of the bonfire downthe street. "

"They should manage those things more quietly, " observed Mr Grey. "This time, however, there will be only a little effusion of joy, andthen an end; for they say Ballinger will carry every vote in the place. "

"Why, father!" cried Sydney, "are you going to vote for Ballinger thistime?"

"No, my boy. I did not say so. I shall not vote at all, " he added, observing that he was expected to explain himself. No remark beingmade, he continued--"It will not be convenient to me to meddle inelection matters this time; and it would be of no use, as Lowry has notthe slightest chance. One gets nothing but ill-will and trouble bymeddling. So, my dear, " turning to Hester, "your husband and I willjust keep quiet, and let Deerbrook have its own way. "

"I believe you may speak for yourself, " replied Hester, her eyessparkling. "Edward has no idea--. " Then, remembering that she wasspeaking to a guest, she cut short her assurance that Edward had no ideaof neglecting his duty when it was wanted most, for such a reason asthat it was then most irksome. 

"There is no occasion in the world for your husband to come forward, "observed Mr Grey, with kind anxiety. "I was saying, Hope, that you arequite absolved from interfering in politics. Nobody expects it from amedical man. Everyone knows the disadvantage to a professional man, circumstanced like you, of taking any side in a party matter. You mightfind the consequences very serious, I assure you. "

"And nobody expects it of a medical man, " echoed Mrs Grey. 

Mr Hope did not reply, that he voted for other reasons than that it wasexpected of him. He had argued the subject with Mr Grey before, andknew that they must agree to differ. He quietly declared his intentionof voting for Mr Lowry, and then asked Sophia to take wine. His mannerleft no resource to Mrs Grey but to express her feelings to his wife inthe drawing-room, after dinner. 

She there drew Hester's arm within her own, and kindly observed whatpleasure it gave her to see her anticipations so fulfilled. She had hadthis home, fitted up and inhabited as it now was, in her mind's eye fora longer time than she should choose to tell. Elderly folks might beallowed to look forward, and Mr Grey could bear witness that she haddone so. It was delightful to look round and see how all had come topass. 

"Everybody is so interested!" observed Sophia. "Mrs Howell says, somehave observed to her what a pity it is that you are dissenters, so thatyou will not be at church on Sunday. Everybody would be sure to bethere: and she says she is of opinion that, considering how many friendswish to see you make your first appearance, you ought to go, for once. She cannot imagine what harm it could do you to go for once. But, whatever you may think about that, it shows her interest, and I thoughtyou would like to know it. Have you seen Mrs Howell's window?"

"My dear! how should they?" exclaimed her mother. 

"I forgot they could not go out before Sunday. But, Margaret you mustlook at Mrs Howell's window the first thing when you can get out. Itis so festooned with purple and white, that I told Miss Miskin I thoughtthey would be obliged to light up in the daytime, they have made theshop so dark. "

"And they have thrust all the green and orange into the little sidewindow, where nobody can see it!" cried Sydney. 

"You managed to see it, I perceive, " said Hester; Sydney having at themoment mounted a cockade, and drawn out his green and orangewatch-ribbon into the fullest view. William Levitt lost no time ingoing through the same process with his purple and white. 

"You will be the ornaments of Deerbrook, " said Margaret, "if you walkabout in that gay style. I hope I shall have the pleasure of meetingyou both in the street, that I may judge of the effect. "

"They will have lost their finery by that time, " said Sophia. "We had aterrible snatching of cockades last time. "

"Snatching! let them try to snatch mine, and see what they'll get byit!" cried Sydney. 

"What would they get but the ribbons?" asked Margaret. Sydney drew herto the light, opened the bows of his cockade, and displayed acorking-pin stuck upright under each bow. 

"Isn't it horrid?" said Sophia. 

"Horrid! It is not half so horrid as fish-hooks. "

And Sydney related how fish-hooks had actually been used during the lastelection, to detain with their barbs the fingers of snatchers ofcockades. "Which do you use?" he asked of William Levitt. 

"Neither. My father won't let me do anything more than just wear acockade and watch-ribbon. I have got a watch-guard too, you see, forfear of losing my watch. But you won't get my cockade off a bit thesooner for my having no spikes under it. I have a particular way offastening it on. Only try, any day. I defy you to it. "

"Hush, hush, boys! don't talk of defiance, " said Mrs Grey. "I am sure, I wish there were no such things as elections--in country places, atleast. They make nothing but mischief. And, indeed, Hester, my dear, it is a great pity that those should meddle who can keep out of them, asyour husband fairly may. Whichever way he might vote, a great manydisagreeable remarks would be made; and if he votes as he says, for MrLowry, I really think, and so does Mr Grey, that it will be a seriousinjury to him in his profession. "

Hester replied, with some gravity, that people could never do theirwhole duty without causing disagreeable remarks; and seldom withoutsuffering serious injury. 

"But why should he vote?" persisted Mrs Grey. 

"Because he considers it his duty, which is commonly his reason forwhatever he does. "

"An excellent reason too: but I rather thought--I always fancied hedefended acting from impulse. But I beg your pardon, my dear:" and shenodded and winked towards the young people, who were trying theimpression of a new seal at the centre table, heeding nothing abouteither duty or impulse. Margaret had fixed the attention of the boysupon this curious seal of hers, in order to obviate a snatching ofcockades, or other political feud, upon the spot. 

"It seems as if I could speak about nothing but your husband, my dear, "continued Mrs Grey, in a whisper: "but you know I feel towards him astowards a son, as I have told him. Do you think he has quite, entirely, got over his accident?"

"Entirely, he thinks. He calls himself in perfect health. "

"Well, he ought to know best; but--"

"But what?" asked Hester, anxiously. 

"It has occurred to us, that he may still want watching and care. Ithas struck both Mr Grey and me, that he is not quite the same that hewas before that accident. It is natural enough. And yet I thought inthe autumn that he was entirely himself again: but there is still alittle difference--a little flatness of spirits sometimes--a little moregravity than used to be natural to him. "

"But you do not think he looks ill? Tell me just what you think. "

"Oh, no, not ill; rather delicate, perhaps; but I am sure it iswonderful that he is so well after such an accident. He calls himselfperfectly well, does he?"

"Perfectly. "

"Oh, then, we may be quite easy; for he must know best. Do not letanything that I have said dwell upon your mind, my dear. I only justthought I would ask. "

How common it is for one's friends to drop a heavy weight upon one'sheart, and then desire one not to let it dwell there! Hester's spiritswere irrecoverably damped for this evening. Her husband seemed to be analtered man, flat in spirits, and looking delicate, and she told not tobe uneasy! She was most eager for the entrance of the gentlemen fromthe dining-room, that she might watch him and, till they came, she hadnot a word of amusement to furnish to her guests. Margaret perceivedthat something had gone wrong and talked industriously till reinforcedfrom the dining-room. 

Sophia whispered a hint to her mother to inquire particularly about MrsEnderby's health. At the mention of her name Mr Hope took his seat onthe sofa beside Mrs Grey, and replied gravely and fully--that hethought Mrs Enderby really very unwell--more so than he had ever knownher. She was occasionally in a state of great suffering, and anyattention that her old friends could show her in the way of a quiet callwould be a true kindness. Had he alarmed her family? There was quitehint enough for alarm, he said, in the state in which her relations sawher at times. But Mrs Rowland was always trying to make out thatnothing was the matter with her mother: was it not so? Not exactly so. Mrs Rowland knew that there was no immediate danger--that her mothermight live many months, or even a few years; but Mr Hope believedneither Mrs Rowland, nor any one else, could deny her sufferings. 

"They say Mr Philip is coming, " observed Mr Grey. 

"Oh, I hope he is!" cried Sydney, turning round to listen. 

"Some people say that he is otherwise occupied, " observed Sophia, "Ifall accounts be true--" She caught her mother's eye, and stoppedsuddenly and awkwardly. 

Mr Hope involuntarily glanced at Margaret, as one or two others weredoing at the same time. Nothing was to be discerned, for she wasstooping over the volume of engravings that she was showing to WilliamLevitt; and she remained stooping for a long while. 

When the proper amount of playing and singing had been gone through, andMrs Grey's sedan was announced the cloaked and muffled guest leftbehind a not very happy party. Margaret's gaiety seemed exhausted, andshe asked if it was not late. Hester was gazing at her husband. Shesaw the perspiration on his brow. She put her arm within his, andanxiously inquired whether he was not unwell. She was sure he had neverfully recovered his strength: she had not taken care enough of him: whydid he not tell her when he was weary and wanted nursing?

Mr Hope looked at her with an unaffected surprise, which went far toconsole her, and assured her that he was perfectly well; and that, moreover, he was so fond of indulgence that she would be sure to hear ofit, if ever he could find a pretence for getting upon the sofa. 

Hester was comforted, but said that his spirits were not always whatthey had been: and she appealed to Margaret. Margaret declared that anyfailure of spirits in Edward was such a new idea, that she must considerbefore she gave an answer. She thought that he had been too busy todraw so many caricatures as usual lately; but she had observed no deepersigns of despondency than that. 

"Do not let us get into the habit of talking about spirits, " said Hope. "I hear quite enough about that away from home; and I can assure you, professionally, that it is a bad subject to dwell upon. Every one wholives has variations of spirits: they are like the sunshine, or like DrLevitt's last sermon, of which Mrs Enderby says every Sunday in thechurch porch--`It is to be felt, not talked about. '"

"But, as a sign of health--" said Hester. 

"As a sign of health, my dear, the spirits of all this household may beleft to my professional discrimination. Will you trust me, my dear?"

"Oh, yes!" she uttered, with a sigh of relief. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

GRANDMAMMA IN RETREAT. 

"I am better now, Phoebe, " said Mrs Enderby, sinking back faintly inher easy-chair, after one of her attacks of spasms. "I am better now;and if you will fan me for a minute or two, I shall be quite fit to seethe children--quite delighted to have them. "

"I declare, " said the maid, "here are the drops standing upon your facethis cold day, as if it was August! But if the pain is cone, never mindanything else! And I, for one, won't say anything against your havingthe children in; for I'm sure the seeing your friends has done you noharm, and nothing but good. "

"Pray, draw up the blind, Phoebe, and let me see something of thesunshine. Bless me! how frosty the field looks, while I have beenstifled with heat for this hour past! I had better not go to thewindow, however, for I begin to feel almost chilly already. Thank you, Phoebe; you have fanned me enough. Now call the children, Phoebe. "

Phoebe wrapped a cloak about her mistress's knees, pinned her shawl upcloser around her throat, and went to call the children in from theparlour below. Matilda drew up her head and flattened her back, andthen asked her grandmamma how she did. George looked up anxiously inthe old lady's face. 

"Ah, George, " said she, smiling; "it is an odd face to look at, is notit? How would you like your face to look as mine does?"

"Not at all, " said George. 

Mrs Enderby laughed heartily, and then told him that her face was notunlike his once--as round, and as red, and as shining in frosty weather. 

"Perhaps if you were to go out now into the frost, your face would lookas it used to do. "

"I am afraid not. When my face looked like yours, it was when I was alittle girl, and used to slide and make snowballs as you do. That was along time ago. My face is wrinkled now, because I am old; and it ispale, because I am ill. "

George heard nothing after the word "snowballs. " "I wish some more snowwould come, " he observed. "We have plenty of ice down in the meadows, but there has been only one fall of snow, and that melted almostdirectly. "

"Papa thinks there will be more snow very soon, " observed Matilda. 

"If there is, you children can do something for me that I should likevery much, " said grandmamma. "Shall I tell you what it is?"

"Yes. "

"You can make a snow-man in that field. I am sure Mr Grey will giveyou leave. "

"What good will that do you?" asked Matilda. 

"I can sit here and watch you; and I shall like that exceedingly. Ishall see you gathering the snow, and building up your man: and if youwill turn about and shake your hand this way now and then, I shall besure to observe it, and I shall think you are saying something kind tome. "

"I wish the snow would come, " cried George, stamping with impatience. 

"I do not believe mamma will let us, " observed Matilda. "She prohibitsour going into Mr Grey's field. "

"But she shall let us, that one time, " cried George. "I will ask papa, and Mr Grey, and Sydney, and Uncle Philip, and all. When will UnclePhilip come again?"

"Some time soon, I dare say. But, George, we must do as your mammapleases about my plan, you know. If she does not wish you to go intoMr Grey's field, you can make your snow-man somewhere else. "

"But then you won't see us. But I know what I will do. I will speak toSydney, and he and Fanny and Mary shall make you a snow-man yonder, where we should have made him. "

Mrs Enderby pressed the boy to her, and laughed while she thanked him, but said it was not the same thing seeing the Greys make a snow-man. 

"Why, George!" said Matilda, contemptuously. 

"When _will_ Uncle Philip come?" asked the boy, who was of opinion thatUncle Philip could bring all things to pass. 

"Why, I will tell you how it is, my dear. Uncle Philip is very busylearning his lessons. "

The boy stared. 

"Yes: grown-up people who mean to be great lawyers, as I believe UnclePhilip does, have to learn lessons like little boys, only much longerand much harder. "

"When will he have done them?"

"Not for a long while yet: but he will make a holiday some time soon, and come to see us. I should like to get well before that. Sometimes Ithink I shall, and sometimes I think not. "

"Does he expect you will?"

"He expects nothing about it. He does not know that I am ill. I do notwish that he should know it, my dears; so, when I feel particularlywell, and when I have heard anything that pleases me, I ask Phoebe tobring me the pen and ink, and I write to Uncle Philip. "

"And why does not mamma tell him how you are?"

"Ah! why, indeed, " muttered Phoebe. 

"She knows that I do not wish it. Uncle Philip writes charming longletters to me, as I will show you. Bring me my reticule. Here--here isa large sheet of paper, quite full, you see--under the seal and all. When will you write such long letters, I wonder?"

"I shall when I am married, I suppose, " said Matilda, again drawing upher little head. 

"You married, my love! And pray when are you to be married?"

"Mamma often talks of the time when she shall lose me, and of whatthings have to be done while she has me with her. "

"There is a great deal to be done indeed, love, before that day, if itever comes. "

"There are more ways than one of losing a child, " observed Phoebe, inher straightforward way. "If Mrs Rowland thinks so long beforehand ofthe one way, it is to be hoped she keeps Miss Matilda up to the thoughtof the other, which must happen sooner or later, while marrying maynot. "

"Well, Phoebe, " said the old lady, "we will not put any dismal thoughtsinto this little head: time enough for that: we will leave all that toMiss Young. " Then, stroking Matilda's round cheek, she inquired, "Mylove, did you ever in your life feel any pain?"

"Oh, dear, yes, grandmamma: to be sure I have; twice. Why, don't youremember, last spring, I had a dreadful pain in my head for nearly twohours, on George's birthday? And last week, after I went to bed, I hadsuch a pain in my arm, I did not know how to bear it. "

"And what became of it?"

"Oh, I found at last I could bear it no longer, and I began to thinkwhat I should do. I meant to ring the bell, but I fell asleep. "

Phoebe laughed with very little ceremony, and grandmamma could not helpjoining. She supposed Matilda hoped it might be long enough before shehad any more pain. In the night-time, certainly, Matilda said. And notin the daytime? Is not pain as bad in the daytime? Matildaacknowledged that she should like to be ill in the daytime. Mamma tookher on her lap when she was ill; and Miss Young was so very sorry forher; and she had something nice to drink. 

"Then I am afraid, my dear, you don't pity me at all, " said grandmamma. "Perhaps you think you would like to live in a room like this, with asofa and a screen, and Phoebe to wait upon you, and whatever you mightfancy to eat and drink. Would you like to be ill as I am?"

"Not at present, " said Matilda: "not till I am married. I shall enjoydoing as I like when I am married. "

"How the child's head runs upon being married!" said Phoebe. "And tosuppose that being ill is doing as one likes, of all odd things!"

"I should often like to fly all over the world, " said Mrs Enderby, "andto get anywhere out of this room--I am so tired of it: but I know Icannot: so I get books, and read about all the strange places, far off, that Mungo Park tells us about, and Gulliver, and Captain Parry. And Ishould often like to sleep at night when I cannot; and then I get upsoftly, without waking Phoebe, and look out at the bright stars, andthink over all we are told about them--about their being all full of menand women. Did you know that, George?" asked she--George being now atthe window. 

"Oh, yes, " answered Matilda for him, "we know all about those things. "

"Are falling stars all full of men and women?" asked George. 

"There were none on a star that my father saw fall on the Dinglefordroad, " observed Phoebe. "It wasn't big enough to hold men and women. "

"Did it fall in the middle of the road?" asked George, turning from thewindow. "What was it like?"

"It was a round thing, as big as a house, and all bright and crystallike, " said Phoebe, with absolute confidence. "It blocked up the roadfrom the great oak that you may remember, close by the second milestone, to the ditch on the opposite side. "

"Phoebe, are you sure of that?" asked Mrs Enderby, with a face full ofanxious doubt. 

"Ma'am, my father came straight home after seeing it fall, and he let mybrother John and me go the next morning early, to bring home some of thesplinters. "

"Oh, well, " said Mrs Enderby, who always preferred believing todoubting; "I have heard of stones falling from the moon. "

"This was a falling star, ma'am. "

"Can you show me any of the splinters?" asked George, eagerly. 

"There was nothing whatsoever left of them, " said Phoebe, "by the timeJohn and I went. We could not find a piece of crystal so big as mythimble. My father has often laughed at John and me since, for nothaving been there in time, before it was all gone. "

"It is a good thing, my dears, depend upon it, as I was saying, "observed Mrs Enderby, "to know all such things about the stars, and soon, against the time when you cannot do as you like, and go where youplease. Matilda, my jewel, when you are married, as you were talkingabout, and can please yourself, you will take great care to be kind toyour mamma, my dear, if poor mamma should be old and ill. You willalways wish to be tender to your mother, love, I am sure; and that willdo her more good than anything. "

"Perhaps mamma won't be ill, " replied Matilda. 

"Then if she is never ill, she will certainly be old, some day; and thenyou will be as kind to her as ever you can be, --promise me, my love. Your mamma loves you dearly, Matilda. "

"She says I dance better than any girl in Miss Anderson's school, grandmamma. I heard her tell Mrs Levitt so, yesterday. "

"Here comes mamma, " said George, from the window. 

"Your mamma, my dear? Phoebe, sweep up the hearth. Hang that curtainstraight. Give me that letter, --no, not that, --the large letter. There! now put it into my knitting-basket. Make haste down, Phoebe, tobe ready to open the door for Mrs Rowland. Don't keep her waiting amoment on the steps. "

"She has not got to the steps yet, " said George. "She is talking toMrs Grey. Mrs Grey was coming here, and mamma went and spoke to her. Oh, Matilda, come and look how they are nodding their bonnets at eachother! I think Mrs Grey is very angry, she wags her head about so. There! now she is going away. There she goes across the road! and mammais coming up the steps. "

After a minute or two of silent expectation, Mrs Rowland entered hermother's room. She brought with her a draught of wintry air, which, asshe jerked aside her ample silk cloak, on taking her seat on the sofa, seemed to chill the invalid, though there was now a patch of colour oneach withered cheek. 

"How much better you look, ma'am!" was the daughter's greeting. "Ialways thought it would be a pity to disturb Philip about you: and now, if he were to see you, he would not believe that you had been ill. MrRowland would be satisfied that I am right, I am sure, if he were tocome in. "

"My mistress is noways better, " said Phoebe, bluntly. "She is not thebetter for that flush she has got now, but the worse. "

"Never mind, Phoebe! I shall do very well, I dare say, " said MrsEnderby, with a sigh. "Well, my dear, how do you all go on at home?"

"Much as usual, ma'am. But that reminds me--Matilda, my own love, MissYoung must be wanting you for your lesson on objects. Go, my dear. "

"I hoped Matilda was come for the day, " said Mrs Enderby. "I quiteexpected she was to stay with me to-day. Do let me have her, my dear:it will do me so much good. "

"You are very kind, ma'am, but it is quite impossible. It is totallyout of the question, I assure you. Matilda, my love, go this instant. We make a great point of the lessons on objects. Pray, Phoebe, tie MissRowland's bonnet, and make haste. "

Phoebe did so, taking leave to observe that little girls were likely tolive long enough to know plenty of things after they had no grandmammasleft to be a comfort to. 

Mrs Enderby struggled to say, "Hush, Phoebe;" but she found she couldnot speak. George was desired to go with his sister, and was scarcelyallowed time to kiss his grandmamma. While Phoebe was taking thechildren down stairs, Mrs Rowland wondered that some people allowedtheir servants to take such liberties as were taken; and gave noticethat though she tolerated Phoebe, because Phoebe's mistress had taken afancy to her, she could not allow her family plans to be made a subjectof remark to her mother's domestics. Mrs Enderby had not quite decidedupon her line of reply, when Phoebe came back, and occupied herself insupplying her mistress, first with a freshly-heated footstool, and thenwith a cup of arrowroot. 

"Where do you get your arrowroot, ma'am?" asked Mrs Rowland. "I wantsome extremely for my poor dear Anna; and I can procure none that is atall to compare with yours. "

"Mrs Grey was so kind as to send me some, my dear; and it really isexcellent. Phoebe, how much of it is there left? I dare say there maybe enough for a cup or two for dear little Anna. "

Phoebe replied, that there was very little left--not any more than hermistress would require before she could grow stronger. Mrs Rowlandwould not take the rest of the arrowroot on any account: she was onlywondering where Mrs Grey got it, and how it was that the Greys alwayscontrived to help themselves to the best of everything. Phoebe wasgoing to observe that they helped their neighbours to good things aswell as themselves; but a look from her mistress stopped her. MrsEnderby remarked that she had no doubt she could learn from Mrs Grey orSophia, the next time she saw either of them, where they procured theirarrowroot. "It is a long time since I saw Mrs Grey, " she observed, timidly. 

"My dear ma'am, how can you think of seeing any one in your presentstate?" inquired the daughter. "One need but see the flush in yourface, to know that it would be highly improper for you to admit company. I could not take the responsibility of allowing it. "

"But Mrs Grey is not company, my love. "

"Any one is company to an invalid. I assure you I prevented MrRowland's coming for the reason I assign. He was coming yesterday, butI would not let him. "

"I should like to see him, however. And I should like to see Mrs Greytoo. "

Under pretence of arranging her mistress's shawl, Phoebe touched the oldlady's shoulder, in token of intelligence. Mrs Enderby was somewhatflurried at the liberty which she felt her maid had taken with herdaughter; but she could not notice it now; and she introduced anothersubject. Had everybody done calling on the Hopes? Were the weddingvisits all over? Oh, yes, Mrs Rowland was thankful to say; that fusswas at an end at last. One would think nobody had ever been marriedbefore, by the noise that had been made in Deerbrook about this youngcouple. 

"Mr Hope is such a favourite!" observed Mrs Enderby. 

"He has been so; but it won't last. I never saw a young man so gone offas he is. He has not been like the same man since he connected himselfwith the Greys so decidedly. Surely, ma'am, you must perceive that. "

"It had not occurred to me, my dear. He comes very often, and he isalways extremely kind and very entertaining. He brought his bride withhim yesterday, which I thought very attentive, as I could not go and paymy respects to her. And really, Priscilla, whether it was that I hadnot seen her for some time, or that pretty young ladies look prettiestin an old woman's sick-room, I thought she was more beautiful thanever. "

"She is handsome, " admitted Mrs Rowland. "Poor thing! it makes onesorry for her, when one thinks what is before her. "

"What is before her?" ask Mrs Enderby, alarmed. 

"If she loves her husband at all, she must suffer cruelly in seeing himact as he persists in doing; and she must tremble in looking forward tothe consequences. He is quite obstinate about voting for Mr Lowry, though there is not a soul in Deerbrook to keep him in countenance; andeverybody knows how strongly Sir William Hunter has expressed himself infavour of Mr Ballinger. It is thought the consequences will be veryserious to Mr Hope. There is his almshouse practice at stake, at allevents; and I fancy a good many families will have no more to do withhim if he defies the Hunters, and goes against the opinions of all hisneighbours. His wife must see that he has nobody with him. I do pitythe poor young thing!"

"Dear me!" said the old lady, "can nothing be done, I wonder. I declareI am quite concerned. I should hope something may be done. I wouldtake the liberty of speaking to him myself, rather than that any harmshould happen to him. He has always been so very kind to me, that Ithink I could venture to say anything to him. I will turn it over in mymind, and see what can be done. "

"You will not prevail with him, ma'am, I am afraid. If Mr Grey speaksin vain (as I know he has done), it is not likely that any one else willhave any influence over him. No, no; the wilful must be left to theirown devices. Whatever you do, ma'am, do not speak to the bride aboutit, or there is no knowing what you may bring upon yourself. "

"What could I bring upon myself, my dear?"

"Oh, those who do not see the vixen in that pretty face of hers, havenot such good eyes as she has herself. For God's sake, ma'am, do notoffend her!"

Mrs Enderby was now full of concern; and being as unhappy as she couldbe made for the present, her daughter took her leave. The old ladylooked into the fire and sighed, for some minutes after she was leftalone. When Phoebe re-entered, her mistress declared that she feltquite tired out, and must lie down. Before she closed her eyes, sheraised her head again, and said--

"Phoebe, I am surprised at you--"

"Oh, ma'am, you mean about my taking the liberty to make a sign to you. But, ma'am, I trust you will excuse it, because I am sure Mr Hope wouldhave no objection to your seeing Mrs Grey; and, to my thought, there isno occasion to consult with anybody else; and I have no doubt Mrs Greywill be calling again some day soon, just at a time when you are fit tosee her. Is not there any book, or anything, ma'am, that I could becarrying over to Mrs Grey's while you are resting yourself, ma'am?"

"Ah! do so, Phoebe. Carry that book, --it is not quite due, but thatdoes not signify; carry that book over, and give my regards, and beg toknow how Mrs Grey and all the family are. And if Mrs Grey _should_come in this evening, " she continued, in excuse to herself for herdevices, "I shall be able to find out, in a quiet way, where she getsher arrowroot; and Priscilla will be glad to know. "

Whatever it might be that Phoebe said to Alice, and that brought MrsGrey out into the hall to speak herself to Phoebe, the result was thatMrs Grey's lantern was ordered as soon as it grew dark, and that shearrived in Mrs Enderby's apartment just as the old lady had waked fromher doze, and while the few tears that had escaped from under hereyelids before she slept were yet scarcely dried upon her cheeks. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

HOME AT "THE HOPES'. "

The evil consequences of Mr Hope's voting for Lowry had not beenexaggerated in the anticipations of his friends and vigilant neighbours;and these consequences were rather aggravated than alleviated by thecircumstance that Mr Lowry won the election. First, the inhabitants ofDeerbrook were on the watch for any words which might fall from SirWilliam or Lady Hunter; and when it was reported that Sir William hadfrowned, and sworn an oath at Mr Hope, on hearing how he had voted, andthat Lady Hunter had asked whether it was possible that Mr Hope hadforgotten under whose interest he held his appointment to attend thealmshouses and the neighbouring hamlet, several persons determined to bebeforehand with their great neighbours, and to give the benefit of theirfamily practice to some one of better politics than Mr Hope. Inanother set of minds, a real fear of Mr Hope, as a dangerous person, sprang up under the heat of the displeasure of the influential membersof society. Such were slow to have recourse to another medicalattendant, and undertook the management of the health of their ownfamilies, till they could find an adviser in whom they could perfectlyconfide. When Mr Lowry gained the contest, the population of Deerbrookwas electrified, and the unpleasantness of their surprise was visitedupon the only supporter of Mr Lowry whom the place contained. Wisefolks were not wanting who talked of the skill which some persons had inkeeping on the winning side, --of reasons which time sometimes revealedfor persons choosing to be singular, --and some remarkable incidents werereported of conversations between Mr Lowry and Mr Hope in the lanes, and of certain wonderful advantages which had lately fallen to one oranother of Mr Hope's acquaintances, through some strong politicalinterest. Mr Rowland doubted, at his own table, all the news he heardon the subject, and said everywhere that he did not see why a man shouldnot vote as he pleased. Mr Grey was very sorry about the whole affair;he was sorry that there had been any contest at all for the county, asit disturbed the peace of Deerbrook; he was sorry that the candidate hepreferred had won, as the fact exasperated the temper of Deerbrook; hewas sorry that Hope had voted, to the detriment of his name and risingfortunes; and he was sorry that he himself had been unable at last tovote for Lowry, to keep his young friend in countenance: it was trulyunlucky that he should have passed his promise early to Sir WilliamHunter not to vote. It was a sad business altogether. It was only tobe hoped that it would pass out of people's minds; that things wouldsoon get into their usual train; and that it might be seven years beforethere was another election. 

Hester complained to her husband and sister of the manner in which shewas treated by the tradespeople of the place. She had desired to putherself on a footing of acquaintanceship with them, as neighbours, andpersons with whom there must be a constant transaction of business forlife. She saw at once the difference in the relation betweentradespeople and their customers in a large town like Birmingham, and ina village where there is but one baker, where the grocer and hatter arethe same personage, and where you cannot fly from your butcher, be heever so much your foe. Hester therefore made it her business totransact herself all affairs with the village tradesmen. She began herhousekeeping energetically, and might be seen in Mr Jones's open shopin the coldest morning of January, selecting her joint of meat; ordeciding among brown sugars at Tucker's, the grocer's. After theelection, she found some difference in the manner of most of theshop-people towards her; and she fancied more than there was. With someof these persons, there was no more in their minds than theconsciousness of having discussed the new family and Mr Hope's vote, and come to a conclusion against his "principles. " With others, MrsRowland's influence had done deeper mischief. A few words dropped byherself, or reports of her sayings, circulated by her servants, occasioned dislike or alarm which Hester's sensitiveness apprehended atonce, and forthwith exaggerated. She complained to her husband that shecould not go to the shops with any comfort, and that she thought shemust turn over the housekeeping to Morris. Margaret remonstratedagainst this; and, by being her sister's constant companion in her walksof business as well as pleasure, hoped to be able to keep the peace, andto preserve or restore, if need were, a good understanding betweenparties who could most materially promote or injure each other'scomfort. The leisure hours to which she had looked forward with suchtransport were all chequered with anxiety on this subject, in theintervals of speculation on another matter, to which she found her mindconstantly recurring, in spite of her oft-repeated conviction that itwas no concern of hers, --where Mr Enderby was, --what he was doing, --andwhen he would come. Day by day, as she spread her books before her, orbegan to write, she wondered at her own listlessness about employmentsto which she had looked forward with so much eagerness; and when shedetected herself gazing into the fire by the half-hour together, orallowing the ink to dry in her suspended pen, she found that she was asfar as ever from deciding whether Hester was not now in the way to beless happy than ever, and how it was that, with all her close friendshipwith Philip Enderby, of which she had spoken so confidently to Maria, she was now in perfect ignorance of his movements and intentions. Thewhole was very strange, and, in the experience, somewhat dreary. 

Her great comfort was Edward: this was a new support and a strong one:but even here she was compelled to own herself somewhat disappointed. This brotherly relation, for which she had longed all her life, did notbring the fulness of satisfaction which she had anticipated. She hadnot a fault to find with Edward: she was always called upon by his dailyconduct for admiration, esteem, and affection; but all this was not ofthe profit to her which she had expected. He seemed altered: the flowof his spirits was much moderated; but perhaps this was no loss, as hiscalmness, his gentle seriousness, and domestic benevolence were broughtout more strikingly than ever. Margaret's disappointment lay in theintercourse between themselves. That Edward was reserved--that beneathhis remarkable frankness there lay an uncommunicativeness ofdisposition--no one could before his marriage have made her believe: yetit certainly was so. Though Hester and she never discussed Edward'scharacter, more or less--though Hester's love for him, and Margaret'srespect for that love, rendered all such conversation unpossible, Margaret was perfectly well aware that Hester's conviction on thisparticular point was the same as her own--that Hester had discoveredthat she had not fully understood her husband, and that there remained aregion of his character into which she had not yet penetrated. Margaretwas obliged to conclude that all this was natural and right, and thatwhat she had heard said of men generally was true even of Edward Hope--that there are depths of character where there are not regions ofexperience, which defy the sympathy and sagacity of women. Howevernatural and right all this might be, she could not but be sorry for it. It brought disappointment to herself, and, as she sadly suspected, toHester. While continually and delightedly compelled to honour andregard him more and more, and to rely upon him as she had never beforerelied, she felt that he did not win, and even did not desire, anyintimate confidence. She found that she could still say things to Mariawhich she could not say to him; and that, while their domesticconversation rarely flagged--while it embraced a boundless range offact, and all that they could ascertain of morals, philosophy, andreligion--the greatest psychological events, the most interestingexperiences of her life might go forward without express recognitionfrom Edward. Such was her view of the case; and this was thedisappointment which, in the early days of her new mode of life, she hadto acknowledge to herself, and to conceal from all others. 

One fine bright morning towards the end of January, the sisters set outfor their walk, willingly quitting the clear crackling fire within forthe sharp air and sparkling pathways without. 

"Which way shall we go?" asked Margaret. 

"Oh, I suppose along the high-road, as usual. How provoking it is thatwe are prevented, day after day, from getting to the woods by mysnow-boots not having arrived! We will go by Mrs Howell's for thechance of their having come. "

Mrs Howell had two expressions of countenance--the gracious and theprim. Till lately, Hester had been favoured with the first exclusively. She was now to be amused with variety, and the prim was offered to hercontemplation. Never did Mrs Howell look more inaccessible thanto-day, when she scarcely rose from her stool behind the counter, tolearn what was the errand of her customer. 

"You guess what I am come for, Mrs Howell, I dare say. Have my bootsarrived yet?"

"I am not aware of their having arrived, ma'am. But Miss Miskin is nowoccupied in that department. "

"Only consider how the winter is getting on, Mrs Howell! and I can walknowhere but in the high-road, for want of my boot. "

Mrs Howell curtsied. 

"Can you not hasten your agent, or help me to my boots, one way oranother? Is there no one in Deerbrook whom you could employ to make mea pair?"

Mrs Howell cast up her hands and eyes. 

"How do other ladies manage to obtain their boots before the snow comes, instead of after it has melted?"

"Perhaps you will ask them yourself ma'am: I conceive you know all theladies in Deerbrook. You will find Miss Miskin in that department, ladies, if you wish to investigate. "

Hester invaded the domain of Miss Miskin--the shoe-shop behind the othercounter--in the hope of finding something to put on her feet, whichshould enable her to walk where she pleased. While engaged in turningover the stock, without any help from Miss Miskin, who was imitatingMrs Howell's distant manner with considerable success, a carriage droveup to the door, which could be no other than Sir William Hunter's; andLady Hunter's voice was accordingly heard, the next minute, asking forgreen sewing-silk. The gentle drawl of Mrs Howell's tone conveyed thather countenance had resumed its primary expression. She observed uponthe horrors of the fire which had happened at Blickley the night before. Lady Hunter had not heard of it; and the relation therefore followedof: the burning down of a house and shop in Blickley, when a nursemaidand baby were lost in the flames. 

"I should hope it is not true, " observed Lady Hunter. "Last night, didyou say?--Early this morning? There has scarcely been time for the newsto arrive of a fire at Blickley early this morning. "

"It is certainly true, however, my lady. No doubt whatever of thecatastrophe, I am grieved to say. " And Mrs Howell's sighs weresympathetically responded to by Miss Miskin in the back shop. 

"But how did you hear it?" asked Lady Hunter. 

There was no audible answer. There were probably signs and intimationsof something; for Lady Hunter made a circuit round the shop, on somepretence, and stared in at the door of the shoe-parlour, just at theright moment for perceiving, if she so pleased, the beautiful smallnessof Hester's foot. Some low, murmuring, conversation then passed at MrsHowell's counter, when the words "black servant" alone met Margaret'sear. 

Hester found nothing that she could wear. The more she pressed forinformation and assistance about obtaining boots, the more provokinglycool Miss Miskin grew. At last Hester turned to her sister with a hastyinquiry what was to be done. 

"We must hope for better fortune before next winter, I suppose, " saidMargaret, smiling. 

"And wet my feet every day this winter, " said Hester; "for I will not beconfined to the high-road for any such reason as this. "

"Dear me, ma'am, you are warm!" simpered Miss Miskin. 

"I warm! What do you mean, Miss Miskin?"

"You are warm, ma'am:--not that it is of any consequence; but you are alittle warm at present. "

"Nobody can charge that upon you, Miss Miskin, I must say, " observedMargaret, laughing. 

"No, ma'am, that they cannot, nor ever will. I am not apt to be warm, and I hope I can excuse... Good morning, ladies. "

Mrs Howell treated her customers with a swimming curtsey as they wentout, glancing at her shop-woman the while. Lady Hunter favoured themwith a full stare. 

"What excessive impertinence!" exclaimed Hester. "To tell me that I waswarm, and she hoped she could excuse! My husband will hardly believeit. "

"Oh, yes, he will. He knows them for two ignorant, silly women; worthobserving, perhaps, but not worth minding. Have you any other shop togo to?"

Yes, the tinman's, for a saucepan or two of a size not yet supplied, forwhich Morris had petitioned. 

The tinman was either unable or not very anxious to understand Hester'srequisitions. He brought out everything but what was wanted; and was soextremely interested in observing something that was going on over theway, that he was every moment casting glances abroad between thedutch-ovens and fenders that half-darkened his window. The ladies atlast looked over the way too, and saw a gig containing a black footmanstanding before the opposite house. 

"A stranger in Deerbrook!" observed Margaret, as they issued from theshop. "I do not wonder that Mr Hill had so little attention to sparefor us. "

The sisters had been so accustomed, during all the years of theirBirmingham life, to see faces that they did not know, that they couldnot yet sympathise with the emotions caused in Deerbrook by theappearance of a stranger. They walked on, forgetting in conversationall about the gig and black servant. Hester had not been pleased by theinsufficient attention she had met with in both the shops she hadvisited, and she did not enjoy her walk as was her wont. As they trodthe crisp and glittering snow, Margaret hoped the little Rowlands andGreys were happy in making the snow-man which had been the vision oftheir imaginations since the winter set in: but Hester cast longing eyeson the dark woods which sprang from the sheeted meadows, and thoughtnothing could be so delightful as to wander among them, and gathericicles from the boughs, even though the paths should be ankle-deep insnow. 

Just when they were proposing to turn back, a horseman appeared on theridge of the rising ground, over which the road passed. "It is Edward!"cried Hester. "I had no idea we should meet him on this road. " And shequickened her pace, and her countenance brightened as if she had notseen him for a month. Before they met him, however, the gig with theblack footman, now containing also a gentleman driving, overtook andslowly passed them--the gentleman looking round him, as if in search ofsome dwelling hereabouts. On approaching Hope, the stranger drew up, touched his hat, and asked a question; and on receiving the answer, bowed, turned round, and repassed Hester and Margaret. Hope joined hiswife and sister, and walked his horse beside the path. 

"Who is that gentleman, Edward?"

"I believe it is Mr Foster, the surgeon at Blickley. "

"What did he want with you?"

"He wanted to know whether he was in the right road to the RussellTaylors. "

"The Russell Taylors! Your patients!"

"Once my patients, but no longer so. It seems they are Mr Foster'spatients now. "

Hester made no reply. 

"Can you see from your pathway what is going on below there in themeadow? I see the skaters very busy on the ponds. Why do not you gothere, instead of walking here every day?"

Margaret had to explain the case about the snow-boots, for Hester's facewas bathed in tears. Edward rallied her gently; but it would not do. She motioned to him to ride on, and he thought it best to do so. Thesisters proceeded in silence, Hester's tears flowing faster and faster. Instead of walking through Deerbrook, she took a back road homewards, and drew down her veil. As ill luck would have it, however, they metSophia Grey and her sisters, and Sophia would stop. She was about toturn back with them, when she saw that something was the matter, andthen she checked herself awkwardly, and wished her cousins good morning, while Fanny and Mary were staring at Hester. 

"One ought not to mind, " said Margaret, half laughing: "there are somany causes for grown people's tears! but I always feel now as I didwhen I was a child--a shame at being seen in tears, and an excessivedesire to tell people that I have not been naughty. "

"You could not have told Sophia so of me, I am sure, " said Hester. 

"Yes, I could; you are not crying because you have been naughty, but youare naughty because you cry; and that may be cured presently. "

It was not presently cured, however. During the whole of dinner-time, Hester's tears continued to flow; and she could not eat, though she madeefforts to do so. Edward and Margaret talked a great deal about skatingand snow-men, and about the fire at Blickley; but they came to a standat last. The foot-boy went about on tiptoe, and shut the door as if hehad been in a sick-room; and this made Hester's short sobs only the moreaudible. It was a relief when the oranges were on the table at last, and the door closed behind the dinner and the boy. Margaret began topeel an orange for her sister, and Edward poured out a glass of wine; heplaced it before her, and then drew his chair to her side, saying--

"Now, my dear, let us get to the bottom of all this distress. "

"No, do not try, Edward. Never mind me! I shall get the better ofthis, by-and-by: only let me alone. "

"Thank you!" said Hope, smiling. "I like to see people reasonable! Iam to see you sorrowing in this way, and for very sufficient cause, andI am neither to mind your troubles nor my own, but to be as merry as ifnothing had happened! Is not this reasonable, Margaret?"

"For very sufficient cause!" said Hester, eagerly. 

"Yes, indeed; for very sufficient cause. It must be a painful thing toyou to find my neighbours beginning to dislike me; to have thetradespeople impertinent to you on my account; to see my patients leaveme, and call in somebody from a distance, in the face of all Deerbrook. It must make you anxious to think what is to become of us, if thediscontent continues and spreads: and it must be a bitter disappointmentto you to find that to be my wife is not to be so happy as we expected. Here is cause enough for tears. "

In the midst of her grief, Hester looked up at her husband with anexpression of gratitude and tenderness which consoled him for her. 

"I will not answer for it, " he continued, "but that we may all three sitdown to weep together, one of these days. "

"And then, " said Margaret, "Hester will be the first to cheer up andcomfort us. "

"I have no doubt of it, " replied Hope. "Meantime, is there anythingthat you would have had done otherwise by me? Was I right or not tovote? and was there anything wrong in my manner of doing it? Is thereany cause whatever for repentance?"

"None, none, " cried Hester. "You have been right throughout. I gloryin all you do. "

"To me it seems that you could not have done otherwise, " observedMargaret. "It was a simple, unavoidable act, done with the simplicityof affairs which happen in natural course. I neither repent it for you, nor glory in it. "

"That is just my view of it, Margaret. And it follows that theconsequences are to be taken as coming in natural course too. Does notthis again simplify the affair, Hester?"

"It lights it up, " replied Hester. "It reminds me how all would havebeen if you had acted otherwise than as you did. It is, to be sure, scarcely possible to conceive of such a thing, --but if you had notvoted, I should have--not despised you in any degree, --but lostconfidence in you a little. "

"That is a very mild way of putting it, " said Hope, laughing. 

"Thank Heaven, we are spared that!" exclaimed Margaret. "But, brother, tell us the worst that you think can come of this displeasure againstyou. I rather suspect, however, that we have suffered the worstalready, in discovering that people can be displeased with you. "

"That being so extremely rare a lot in this world, and especially in theworld of a village, " replied Hope, "I really do not know what to expectas the last result of this affair, nor am I anxious to foresee. I neverliked the sort of attachment that most of my neighbours have testifiedfor me. It was to their honour in as far as it showed kindness ofheart, but it was unreasonable: so unreasonable that I imagine theopposite feelings which are now succeeding may be just as much inexcess. Suppose it should be so, Hester?"

"Well, what then?" she asked, sighing. 

"Suppose our neighbours should send me to Coventry, and my patientsshould leave me so far as that we should not have enough to live on?"

"That would be persecution, " cried Hester, brightening. "I could bearpersecution, --downright persecution. "

"You could bear seeing your husband torn by lions in the amphitheatre, "said Margaret, smiling, "but... "

"But a toss of Mrs Howell's head is unendurable, " said Hope, withsolemnity. 

Hester looked down, blushing like a chidden child. 

"But about this persecution, " said she. "What made you ask thosequestions just now?"

"I find my neighbours more angry with me than I could have supposedpossible, my dear. I have been treated with great and growing rudenessfor some days. In a place like this, you know, offences seldom comealone. If you do a thing which a village public does not approve, therewill be offence in whatever else you say and do for some time after. And I suspect that is my case now. I may be mistaken, however; andwhatever happens, I hope, my love, we shall all be to the last degreecareful not to see offence where it is not intended. "

"Not to do the very thing we are suffering under ourselves, " observedMargaret. 

"We will not watch our neighbours, and canvass their opinions of us byour own fireside, " said Hope. "We will conclude them all to be ourfriends till they give us clear evidence to the contrary. Shall it notbe so, love?"

"I know what you mean, " said Hester, with some resentment in her voiceand manner. "You cannot trust my temper in your affairs: and you areperfectly right. My temper is not to be trusted. "

"Very few are, in the first agonies of unpopularity; and such faith inone's neighbours as shall supersede watching them ought hardly to belooked for in the atmosphere of Deerbrook. We must all look toourselves. "

"I understand you, " said Hester. "I take the lesson home, I assure you. It is clear to me through your cautious phrase, --the `we, ' and `all ofus, ' and `ourselves. ' But remember this, --that people are not madealike, and are not able, and not intended to feel alike; and if somehave less power than others over their sorrow, at least over theirtears, it does not follow that they cannot bear as well what they haveto bear. If I cannot sit looking as Margaret does, peeling oranges andphilosophising, it may not be that I have less strength at my heart, butthat I have more at stake, --more--"

Hope started from her side, and leaned against the mantelpiece, coveringhis face with his hands. At this moment, the boy entered with a messagefrom a patient in the next street, who wanted Mr Hope. 

"Oh, do not leave me, Edward! Do not leave me at this moment!" criedHester. "Come back for five minutes!"

Hope quietly said that he should return presently, and went out. Whenthe hall door was heard to close behind him, Hester flung herself downon the sofa. Whatever momentary resentment Margaret might have felt ather sister's words, it vanished at the sight of Hester's attitude ofwretchedness. She sat on a footstool beside the sofa, and took hersister's hand in hers. 

"You are kinder to me than I deserve, " murmured Hester: "but, Margaret, mind what I say! never marry, Margaret! Never love, and never marry, Margaret!"

Margaret laid her hand on her sister's shoulder, saying, --"Stop here, Hester! While I was the only friend you had, it was right and kind totell me all that was in your heart. But now that there is one nearerand dearer, and far, far worthier than I, I can hear nothing like this. Nor are you fit just now to speak of these serious things: you arediscomposed--"

"One would think you were echoing Miss Miskin, Margaret, --`You are warm, ma'am. ' But you must hear this much. I insist upon it. If you wouldhave heard me, you would have found that I was not going to say a wordabout my husband inconsistent with all the love and honour you wouldhave him enjoy. I assure you, you might trust me not to complain of myhusband. I have no words in which to say how noble he is. But, oh! itis all true about the wretchedness of married life! I am wretched, Margaret. "

"So I see, " said Margaret, in deep sorrow. 

"Life is a blank to me. I have no hope left. I am neither wiser, norbetter, nor happier for God having given me all that should make a womanwhat I meant to be. What can God give me more than I have?"

"I was just thinking so, " replied Margaret, mournfully. 

"What follows then?"

"Not that all married people are unhappy because you are. "

"Yes, oh, yes! all who are capable of happiness: all who can love. Thetruth is, there is no perfect confidence in the world: there is no restfor one's heart. I believed there was, and I am disappointed: and ifyou believe there is, you will be disappointed too, I warn you. "

"I shall not neglect your warning; but I do believe there is rest forrational affections--I am confident there is, if the primary conditionis fulfilled--if there is repose in God together with human love. "

"You think that trust in God is wanting in me?"

"Do let us speak of something else, " said Margaret. "We are wrong tothink and talk of ourselves as we do. There is something sickly aboutour state while we do so, and we deserve to be suffering as we are. Come! let us be up and doing. Let me read to you; or will you practisewith me till Edward comes back?"

"Not till you have answered my question, Margaret. Do you believe thatmy wretchedness is from want of trust in God?"

"I believe, " said Margaret, seriously, "that all restless and passionatesuffering is from that cause. And now, Hester, no more. "

Hester allowed Margaret to read to her; but it would not do. She wastoo highly wrought up for common interests. The reading was broken offby her hysterical sobs; and it was clear that the best thing to be donewas to get her to bed, under Morris's care, that all agitatingconversation might be avoided. When Mr Hope returned, he foundMargaret sitting alone at the tea-table. If she had had no greaterpower of self-control than her sister, Edward might have been madewretched enough, for her heart was full of dismay: but she felt theimportance of the duty of supporting him, and he found her, thoughserious, apparently cheerful. 

"I have sent Hester to bed, " said she, as he entered. "She was wornout. Yes: just go and speak to her; but do not give her the opportunityof any more conversation till she has slept. Tell her that I am goingto send her some tea; and by that time yours will be ready. "

"Just one word upon the events of to-day, " said Hope, as he took hisseat at the tea-table, after having reported that Hester was tolerablycomposed:--"just one word, and no more. We must avoid bringing emotionsto a point--giving occasion for--"

"I entirely agree with you, " said Margaret. "She requires to be drawnout of herself. She cannot bear that opening of the sluices, which is abenefit and comfort to some people. Let us keep them shut, and when itcomes to acting, see how she will act!"

"Bless you for that!" was on Hope's lips; but he did not say it. Teawas soon dismissed, and he then took up the newspaper; and when that wasfinished, he found he could not read to Margaret--he must write:--he hada case to report for a medical journal. 

"I hope I have not spoiled your evening, " said Hester, languidly, whenher sister went to bid her good-night. "I have been listening; but Icould not hear you either laughing or talking. "

"Because we have been neither laughing nor talking. My brother has beenwriting--"

"Writing! To whom? To Emily, or to Anne?"

"To a far more redoubtable person than either: to the editor of some oneof those green and blue periodicals that he devours, as if they werepoetry. And I have been copying music. "

"How tired you look!"

"Well, then, good-night!"

Margaret might well look tired; but she did not go to rest for long. How should she rest, while her soul was sick with dismay, her heartweighed down with disappointment, her sister's sobs still sounding inher ear, her sister's agonised countenance rising up from moment tomoment, as often as she closed her eyes? And all this within the sacredenclosure of home, in the very sanctuary of peace! All this where lovehad guided the suffering one to marriage--where there was presentneither sickness, nor calamity, nor guilt, but the very opposites of allthese! Could it then be true, that the only sanctuary of peace is inthe heart? that while love is the master passion of humanity, themain-spring of human action, the crowning interest of human life--whileit is ordained, natural, inevitable, it should issue as if it werediscountenanced by Providence, unnatural, and to be repelled? Could itbe so? Was Hester's warning against love, against marriage, reasonable, and to be regarded? That warning Margaret thought she could never putaside, so heavily had it sunk upon her heart, crushing--she knew notwhat there. If it was not a reasonable warning, whither should she turnfor consolation for Hester? If this misery arose out of an incapacityin Hester herself for happiness in domestic life, then farewell sisterlycomfort--farewell all the bright visions she had ever indulged on behalfof the one who had always been her nearest and dearest? Instead ofthese, there must be struggle and grief, far deeper than in the anxiousyears that were gone; struggle with an evil which must grow if it doesnot diminish, and grief for an added sufferer--for one who deservedblessing where he was destined to receive torture. This was not thefirst time by a hundred that Hester had kept Margaret from her pillow, and then driven rest from it; but never had the trial been so great asnow. There had been anxiety formerly; now there was something likedespair, after an interval of hope and comparative ease. 

Mankind are ignorant enough, Heaven knows, both in the mass, aboutgeneral interests, and individually, about the things which belong totheir peace: but of all mortals, none perhaps are so awfullyself-deluded as the unamiable. They do not, any more than others, sinfor the sake of sinning; but the amount of woe caused by their selfishunconsciousness is such as may well make their weakness an equivalentfor other men's gravest crimes. There is a great diversity ofhiding-places for their consciences--many mansions in the dim prison ofdiscontent: but it may be doubted whether, in the hour when all shall beuncovered to the eternal day, there will be revealed a lower deep thanthe hell which they have made. They, perhaps, are the only order ofevil ones who suffer hell without seeing and knowing that it is hell. But they are under a heavier curse even than this; they inflicttorments, second only to their own, with an unconsciousness almostworthy of spirits of light. While they complacently conclude themselvesthe victims of others, or pronounce, inwardly or aloud, that they aretoo singular, or too refined, for common appreciation, they are puttingin motion an enginery of torture whose aspect will one day blast theirminds' sight. The dumb groans of their victims will sooner or laterreturn upon their ears from the depths of the heaven, to which thesorrows of men daily ascend. The spirit sinks under the prospect of theretribution of the unamiable, if all that happens be indeed foreternity, if there be indeed a record--an impress on some one or otherhuman spirit--of every chilling frown, of every querulous tone, of everybitter jest, of every insulting word--of all abuses of that tremendouspower which mind has over mind. The throbbing pulses, the quiveringnerves, the wrung hearts, that surround the unamiable--what a cloud ofwitnesses is here! and what plea shall avail against them? The terrorof innocents who should know no fear--the vindictive emotions ofdependants who dare not complain--the faintness of heart of life-longcompanions--the anguish of those who love--the unholy exultation ofthose who hate, --what an array of judges is here! and where can appealbe lodged against their sentence? Is pride of singularity a rationalplea? Is super-refinement, or circumstance of God, or uncongeniality inman, a sufficient ground of appeal, when the refinement of one is agrace granted for the luxury of all, when circumstance is given to beconquered, and uncongeniality is appointed for discipline? Thesensualist has brutified the seraphic nature with which he was endowed. The depredator has intercepted the rewards of toil, and marred the imageof justice, and dimmed the lustre of faith in men's minds. The imperialtyrant has invoked a whirlwind, to lay waste, for an hour of God'seternal year, some region of society. But the unamiable--the domestictorturer--has heaped wrong upon wrong, and woe upon woe, through thewhole portion of time which was given into his power, till it would berash to say that any others are more guilty than he. If there be hopeor solace for such, it is that there may have been tempers about him theopposite of his own. It is matter of humiliating gratitude that therewere some which he could not ruin; and that he was the medium ofdiscipline by which they were exercised in forbearance, in divineforgiveness and love. If there be solace in such an occasional result, let it be made the most of by those who need it; for it is the onlypossible alleviation to their remorse. Let them accept it as the freegift of a mercy which they have insulted, and a long-suffering whichthey have defied. 

Not thus, however, did Margaret regard the case of her sister. She hadbut of late ceased to suppose herself in the wrong when Hester wasunhappy: and though she was now relieved from the responsibility of hersister's peace, she was slow to blame--reluctant to class the case lowerthan as one of infirmity. Her last waking thoughts (and they were verylate) were of pity and of prayer. 

As the door closed behind Margaret, Hope had flung down his pen. In onemoment she had returned for a book; and she found him by the fireside, leaning his head upon his arms against the wall. There was something inhis attitude which startled her out of her wish for her book, and shequietly withdrew without it. He turned, and spoke, but she was gone. 

"So this is home!" thought he, as he surveyed the room, filled as it waswith tokens of occupation, and appliances of domestic life. "It is hometo be more lonely than ever before--and yet never to be alone with mysecret! At my own table, by my own hearth, I cannot look up into thefaces around me, nor say what I am thinking. In every act and everyword I am in danger of disturbing the innocent--even of sullying thepure, and of breaking the bruised reed. Would to God I had never seenthem! How have I abhorred bondage all my life! and I am in bondageevery hour that I spend at home. I have always insisted that there wasno bondage but in guilt. Is it so? If it be so, then I am eitherguilty, or in reality free. I have settled this before. I am guilty;or rather, I have been guilty; and this is my retribution. Not guiltytowards Margaret. Thank God, I have done her no wrong! Thank God, Ihave never been in her eyes--what I must not think of! Nor could I everhave been, if... She loves Enderby, I am certain, though she does notknow it herself. It is a blessing that she loves him, if I could butalways feel it so. I am not guilty towards her, nor towards Hester, except in the weakness of declining to inflict that suffering upon herwhich, fearful as it must have been, might perhaps have proved lessthan, with all my care, she must undergo now. There was my fault. Idid not, I declare, seek to attach her. I did nothing wrong so far. But I dared to measure suffering--to calculate consequencespresumptuously and vainly: and this is my retribution. How would ithave been, if I had allowed them to go back to Birmingham, and had beenhaunted with the image of her there? But why go over this again, whenmy very soul is weary of it all? It lies behind, and let it beforgotten. The present is what I have to do with, and it is quiteenough. I have injured, cruelly injured myself; and I must bear withmyself. Here I am, charged with the duty of not casting my shadow overthe innocent, and of strengthening the infirm. I have a clear dutybefore me--that is one blessing. The innocent will soon be taken fromunder my shadow--I trust so--for my duty there is almost too hard. Howshe would confide in me, and I must not let her, and must continuallydisappoint her, and suffer in her affection. I cannot even be to herwhat our relation warrants. And all the while her thoughts are mythoughts; her... But this will never do. It is enough that she trustsme, and that I deserve that she should. This is all that I can everhave or hope for; but I have won thus much; and I shall keep it. Not adoubt or fear, not a moment's ruffle of spirits, shall she everexperience from me. As for my own poor sufferer--what months and yearsare before us both! What a discipline before she can be at peace! Ifshe were to look forward as I do, her heart would sink as mine does, andperhaps she would try... But we must not look forward: her heart mustnot sink. I must keep it up. She has strength under her weakness, andI must help her to bring it out and use it. There ought to be, theremust be, peace in store for such generosity of spirit as lies under thejealousy, for such devotedness, for such power. Margaret says, `When itcomes to acting, see how she will act. ' Oh, that it might please Heavento send such adversity as would prove to herself how nobly she can act!If some strong call on her power, would come in aid of what I would faindo for her, I care not what it is. If I can only witness my own wrongrepaired--if I can but see her blessed from within, let all other thingsbe as they may! The very thought frees me, and I breathe again!"

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

ENDERBY NEWS. 

"Mamma, what do you think Fanny and Mary Grey say?" asked Matilda of hermother. 

"My dear, I wish you would not tease me with what the Greys say. Theysay very little that is worth repeating. "

"Well, but you must hear this, mamma. Fanny and Mary were walking withSophia yesterday, and they met Mrs Hope and Miss Ibbotson in Turn-stileLane; and Mrs Hope was crying so, you can't think. "

"Indeed! Crying! What, in the middle of the day?"

"Yes; just before dinner. She had her veil down, and she did not wantto stop, evidently, mamma. She--. "

"I should wonder if she did, " observed Mr Rowland from the other sideof the newspaper he was reading. "If Dr and Mrs Levitt were to comein the next time you cry, Matilda, you would not want to stay in theparlour, evidently, I should think. For my part, I never show my facewhen I am crying. "

"You cry, papa!" cried little Anna. "Do you ever cry?"

"Have you never found me behind the deals, or among the sacks in thegranary, with my finger in my eye?"

"No, papa. Do show us how you look when you cry. "

Mr Rowland's face, all dolefulness, emerged from behind the newspaper, and the children shouted. 

"But, " said Matilda, observing that her mother's brow began to lower, "Ithink it is very odd that Mrs Hope did not stay at home if she wantedto cry. It is so very odd to go crying about the streets!"

"I dare say Deerbrook is very much obliged to her, " said papa. "It willbe something to talk about for a week. "

"But what could she be crying for, papa?"

"Suppose you ask her, my dear? Had you not better put on your bonnet, and go directly to Mr Hope's, and ask, with our compliments, what MrsHope was crying for at four o'clock yesterday afternoon? Of course shecan tell better than anybody else. "

"Nonsense, Mr Rowland, " observed his lady. "Go, children, it is verynear school-time. "

"No, mamma; not by--"

"Go, I insist upon it, Matilda. I will have you do as you are bid. Go, George: go, Anna. --Now, my love, did I not tell you so, long ago? Donot you remember my observing to you, how coldly Mr Hope took ourcongratulations on his engagement in the summer? I was sure there wassomething wrong. They are not happy, depend upon it. "

"What a charming discovery that would be!"

"You are very provoking, Mr Rowland! I do believe you try to imitateMr Grey's dry way of talking to his wife. "

"I thought I had heard you admire that way, my dear. "

"For her, yes: it does very well for a woman like her: but I beg youwill not try it upon me, Mr Rowland. "

"Well, then, Mrs Rowland, I am going to be as serious as ever I was inmy life, when I warn you how you breathe such a suspicion as that theHopes are not happy. Remember you have no evidence whatever about thematter. When you offered Mr Hope your congratulations, he was feeblefrom illness, and probably too much exhausted at the moment to show anyfeeling, one way or another. And as for this crying fit of Mrs Hope's, no one is better able than you, my dear, to tell how many causes theremay be for ladies' tears besides being unhappily married. "

"Pray, Mr Rowland, make yourself easy, I beg. Whom do you suppose Ishould mention such a thing to?"

"You have already mentioned it to yourself and me, my dear, which isjust two persons too many. Not a word more on the subject, if youplease. "

Mrs Rowland saw that this was one of her husband's authority days;--rare days, when she could not have her own way, and her quiet husbandwas really formidable. She buckled on her armour, therefore, forthwith. That armour was--silence. Mr Rowland was sufficiently aware of theprocess now to be gone through, to avoid speaking, when he knew heshould obtain no reply. He finished his newspaper without furtherremark, looked out a book from the shelves, half-whistling all thewhile, and left the room. 

Meantime, the children had gone to the schoolroom, disturbing Miss Youngnearly an hour too soon. Miss Young told them she was not at liberty;and when she heard that their mamma had sent them away from thedrawing-room, she asked why they could not play as usual. It was socold! How did George manage to play? George had not come in with therest. If he could play, so could they. The little girls had no doubtGeorge would present himself soon: they did not know where he had run;but he would soon have enough of the cold abroad, or of the dullness ofthe nursery. In another moment Miss Young was informed of the fact ofHester's tears of yesterday; and, much as she wanted the time she wasdeprived of; she was glad the children had come to her, that this pieceof gossip might be stopped. She went somewhat at length with them intothe subject of tears, showing that it is very hasty to conclude that anyone has been doing wrong, even in the case of a child's weeping; andmuch more with regard to grown people. When they had arrived atwondering whether some poor person had been begging of Mrs Hope, orwhether one of Mr Hope's patients that she cared about was very ill, orwhether anybody had been telling her an affecting story, Miss Youngbrought them to see that they ought not to wish to know;--that theyshould no more desire to read Mrs Hope's thoughts than to look over hershoulder while she was writing a letter. She was just telling them astory of a friend of hers who called on an old gentleman, and found himin very low spirits, with his eyes all red and swollen; and how herfriend did not know whether to take any notice; and how the truth cameout, --that the old gentleman had been reading a touching story:--she wasjust coming to the end of this anecdote, when the door opened andMargaret entered, holding George by the hand. Margaret looked rathergrave, and said--

"I thought I had better come to you first, Maria, for an explanationwhich you may be able to give. Do you know who sent little George witha message to my sister just now? I concluded you did not. George hasbeen calling at my brother's door, with his papa's and mamma'scompliments, and a request to know what Mrs Hope was crying foryesterday, at four o'clock. "

Maria covered her face with her hands, with as much shame as if she hadbeen in fault, while "Oh, George!" was reproachfully uttered by thelittle girls. 

"Matilda, " said Miss Young, "I trust you to go straight to your papa, without saying a word of this to any one else, and to ask him to comehere this moment. I trust you, my dear. "

Matilda discharged her trust. She peeped into the drawing-room, andpopped out again without speaking, when she saw papa was no longerthere. She found him in the office, and brought him, without giving anyhint of what had happened. He was full of concern, of course; said thathe could not blame George, though he was certainly much surprised; thatit would be a lesson to him not to use irony with children, since eventhe broadest might be thus misunderstood; and that a little family scenehad thus been laid open, which he should hardly regret if it dulyimpressed his children with the folly and unkindness of village gossip. He declared he could not be satisfied without apologising, --well, then, without explaining, to Mrs Hope how it had happened; and he would do itthrough the medium of Mr Hope; for, to say the truth, he was ashamed toface Mrs Hope till his peace was made. Margaret laughed at this, andbegged him to go home with her; but he preferred stepping over to MrsEnderby's, where Mr Hope had just been seen to enter. Mr Rowlandconcluded by saying, that he should accept it as a favour in MissIbbotson, as well as Miss Young, if she would steadily refuse to gratifyany impertinent curiosity shown by his children, in whatever directionit might show itself. They were exposed to great danger from example inDeerbrook, like most children brought up in small villages, he supposed:and he owned he dreaded the idea of his children growing up the scourgesto society that he considered foolish and malignant gossips to be. 

"Do sit down, Margaret, " said Maria. "I shall feel uncomfortable whenyou are gone, if you do not stay a minute to turn our thoughts tosomething pleasanter than this terrible mistake of poor George's. "

"I cannot stay now, however, " said Margaret, smiling. "You know I mustgo and turn my sister's thoughts to something pleasanter. There she is, sitting at home, waiting to know how all this has happened. "

"Whether she has not been insulted? You are right, Margaret. Makehaste back to her, and beg her pardon for us all. Shall she not, children, if she will be so kind?"

Margaret was overwhelmed with the petitions for pardon she had to carry;and not one of the children asked what Mrs Hope had been crying for, after all. 

Hester looked up anxiously as Margaret entered the drawing-room at home. 

"It is all a trifle, " said Margaret, gaily. 

"How can it be a trifle?"

"The little Greys told what they saw yesterday, of course; and one ofthe little Rowlands wondered what was the reason;--(children can neverunderstand what grown people, who have no lessons to learn, can cry for, you know); and Mr Rowland, to make their gossip ridiculous tothemselves, told them they had better come and ask; and poor George, whocannot take a joke, came without any one knowing where he was gone. They were all in great consternation when I told them, and there is anample apology coming to you through Edward. That is the whole story, except that Mr Rowland would have come himself to you, instead of goingto your husband, but that he was ashamed of his joke. So there is anend of that silly matter, unless it be to make George always askhenceforth whether people are in joke or in earnest. "

"I think Mr Rowland might have come to me, " observed Hester. "Are yousure Mrs Rowland had nothing to do with it?"

"I neither saw her nor heard of her. You had better not go out to-day, it is so like snow. I shall be back soon; but as I have my bonnet on, Ishall go and see Johnny Rye and his mother. Can I do anything for you?"

"Oh, my snow-boots! But I would not have you go to Mrs Howell's whileshe is in such a mood as she was in yesterday. I would not go myself. "

"Oh! I will go. I am not afraid of Mrs Howell; and we shall have toencounter her again, sooner or later. I will buy something, and thensee what my diplomacy will effect about the boots. "

Mr Hope presently came in, and found his wife prepared for the apologyhe brought from Mr Rowland. But it was obvious that Hope's mind wasfar more occupied with something else. 

"Where is Margaret?"

"She is gone out to Widow Rye's, and to Mrs Howell's. "

"No matter where, as long as she is out. I want to consult you aboutsomething. " And he drew a chair to the fire, and told that he hadvisited Mrs Enderby, whom he found very poorly, apparently fromagitation of spirits. She had shed a few tears on reporting her health, and had dropped something which he could not understand, about thisbeing almost the last time she should be able to speak freely to him. Hester anxiously hoped that the good old lady was not really going todie. There was no near probability of this, her husband assured her. He thought Mrs Enderby referred to some other change than dying; butwhat, she did not explain. She had gone on talking in rather an excitedway, and at last hinted that she supposed she should not see her son forsome time, as Mrs Rowland had intimated that he was fully occupied withthe young lady he was going to be married to. Mrs Enderby plainly saidthat she had not heard this from Philip himself; but she seemed toentertain no doubt of the truth of the information she had received. She appeared to be struggling to be glad at the news; but it was clearthat the uppermost feeling was disappointment at having no immediateprospect of seeing her son. 

"Now, what are we to think and do?" said Hope. 

"This agrees with what Mrs Rowland told me in Dingleford woods, sixmonths ago, " said Hester; "and I suppose what she then said may havebeen true all this time. "

"How does that agree with his conduct to Margaret? Or am I mistaken inwhat I have told you I thought about that? Seriously--very seriously--how do you suppose the case stands with Margaret?"

"I know no more than you. I think he went further than he ought, if hewas thinking of another; and, but for his conduct since, I should havequite concluded, from some observations that I made, that he wasattached to Margaret. "

"And she--?"

"And she certainly likes him very well; but I can hardly fancy herhappiness at stake. I have thought her spirit rather flat of late. "

Hope sighed deeply. 

"Ah! you may well sigh, " said Hester, sighing herself, and sinking backin her chair. "You know what I am going to say. I thought I might bethe cause of her being less gay than she should be. I have disappointedher expectations, I know. But let us talk only of her. "

"Yes: let us talk only of her, till we have settled what is our duty toher. Ought we to tell her of this or not?"

Both considered long. At length Hester said--

"I think she ought to hear it quietly at home first (whether it be trueor not), to prepare her for anything that may be reported abroad. Perhaps, if you were to drop, as we sit together here, what Mrs Enderbysaid--"

"No, no; not I, " said Hope, quickly. He went on more calmly: "Hersister and bosom friend is the only person to do this--if, indeed, itought to be done. But the news may be untrue; and then she need perhapsnever hear it. Do not let us be in a hurry. "

Hester thought that if Margaret felt nothing more than friendship forEnderby, she would still consider herself ill-used; for the friendshiphad been so close an one that she might reasonably expect that sheshould not be left to learn such an event as this from common report. But was it certain, Hope asked, that she had anything new to learn? Wasit certain that she was not in his confidence all this time--that shehad not known ten times as much as Mrs Rowland from the beginning?Certainly not from the beginning, Hester said; and she had a strongpersuasion that Margaret was as ignorant as themselves of Enderby'spresent proceedings and intentions. 

At this moment, a note was brought in. It was from Mrs Enderby to MrHope, written hurriedly, and blistered with tears. It told that she hadbeen extremely wrong in mentioning to him prematurely what was uppermostin her mind about a certain family affair, and begged the great favourof him to keep to himself what she had divulged, and, if possible, toforget it. Once more, Mr Hope unconsciously sighed. It was at theidea that he could forget such a piece of intelligence. 

"Poor old lady!" said Hester; "she has been taken to task, I suppose, for relieving her mind to you. But, Edward, this looks more and more asif the news were true. My darling Margaret! How will it be with her?Does it not look too like being true, love?"

"It looks as if Enderby's family all believed it, certainly. This notesettles the matter of our duty, however. If the affair is so privatethat Mrs Enderby is to be punished for telling me, it is hardly likelythat Margaret will hear it by out-door chance. You are spared the taskfor the present at least, my dear!"

"I should like to be sure that Margaret does not love--that she mightpass through life without loving, " said Hester, sighing, "But here shecomes! Burn the note!"

The note curled in the flames, was consumed, and its ashes fluttered upthe chimney, and Margaret did not enter. She had gone straightup-stairs. She did not come down till dinner was on the table. She wasthen prepared with the announcement that the snow-boots might be lookedfor very soon. She told of her visit to Widow Rye's, and had somethingto say of the probability of snow; but she was rather absent, and shetook wine. These were all the circumstances that her anxious sistercould fix upon, during dinner, for silent comment. After dinner, havingeaten an orange with something like avidity, Margaret withdrew for avery few minutes. As the door closed behind her, Hester whispered--

"She has heard. She knows. Is it not so?"

"There is no question about it, " replied Hope, examining the screen heheld in his hand. 

"I wonder who can have told her. "

"Tellers of bad news are never wanting, especially in Deerbrook, " saidHope, with a bitterness of tone which Hester had never heard from himbefore. 

Margaret took up the other screen when she returned, and played with ittill the table was cleared, so that she could have the use of herwork-box. It was Morris who removed the dessert. 

"Morris, " said Mr Hope, as she was leaving the room, "I want Charles:pray send him. "

"Charles is out, sir. "

"Out! when will he be back?"

"He will be back presently, " said Margaret. "I sent him with a note toMaria. "

As she leant over her work again, Hester and her husband exchangedglances. 

An answer from Maria soon arrived. Margaret read it as she sat, herbrother and sister carefully withdrawing their observation from her. Whatever else might be in the note, she read aloud the latter part--twoor three lines relating to the incident of the morning. Her voice washusky, but her manner was gay. During the whole evening she was gay. She insisted on making tea, and was too quick with the kettle for Edwardto help her. She proposed music, and she sang--song after song. Hesterwas completely relieved about her; and even Edward gave himself up tothe hope that all was well with her. From music they got to dancing. Margaret had learned, by sitting with Maria during the children'sdancing-lesson, a new dance which had struck her fancy, and they must beready with it next week at Dr Levitt's. Alternately playing the danceand teaching it, she ran from the piano to them, and from them to thepiano, till they were perfect, and her face was as flushed as it couldpossibly be at Mrs Levitt's dance next week. But in the midst of thisflush, Hope saw a shiver: and Hester remarked, that during the teaching, Margaret had, evidently without being aware of it, squeezed her handwith a force which could not have been supposed to be in her. Thesethings made Hope still doubt. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

CONSCIOUSNESS TO THE UNCONSCIOUS. 

Mr Hope might well doubt. Margaret was not gay but desperate. Yes, even the innocent may be desperate under circumstances of education andcustom, by which feelings natural and inevitable are made occasions ofshame; while others, which are wrong and against the better nature ofman, bask in daylight and impunity. There was not a famishing wretchprowling about a baker's door, more desperate than Margaret this day. There was not a gambler setting his teeth while watching the last turnof the die, more desperate than Margaret this day. If there was acriminal standing above a sea of faces with the abominable executioner'shands about his throat, Margaret was, for the time, as wretched as he. 

If any asked why--why it should be thus with one who has done no wrong, the answer is--Why is there pride in the human heart?--why is there aparticular nurture of this pride into womanly reserve?--Why is it thatlove is the chief experience, and almost the only object, of a woman'slife? Why is it that it is painful to beings who look before and afterto have the one hope of existence dashed away--the generous faithoutraged--all self-confidence overthrown--life in one moment made drearyas the desert--Heaven itself overclouded--and death all the whilestanding at such a weary distance that there is no refuge within thehorizon of endurance? Be these things right or wrong, they are: andwhile they are, will the woman who loves, unrequited, feel desperate onthe discovery of her loneliness--and, the more pure and proud, innocentand humble, the more lonely. 

For some little time past, Margaret had been in a state of greattranquillity about Philip--a tranquillity which she now much wonderedat--now that it was all over. She had had an unconscious faith in him;and, living in this faith, she had forgotten herself, she had notthought of the future, she had not felt impatient for any change. Oftenas she wished for his presence, irksome as she had sometimes felt it toknow nothing of him from week to week, she had been tacitly satisfiedthat she was in his thoughts as he was in hers; and this had been enoughfor the time. What an awakening from this quiescent state was hers thisday!

It was from no other than Dr Levitt that she had heard in the morningthat Mr Enderby was shortly going to be married to Miss Mary Bruce. Dr Levitt was at Widow Rye's when Margaret went, and had walked part ofthe way home with her. During the walk, this piece of news had droppedout, while they were talking of Mrs Enderby's health. All that DrLevitt knew of Miss Mary Bruce was, that she was of sufficiently goodfamily and fortune to make the Rowlands extremely well satisfied withthe match; that Mrs Enderby had never seen her, and that it would besome time before she could see her, as the whole family of the Bruceswas at Rome for the winter. When Dr Levitt parted from Margaret at thegate of the churchyard, these last words contained the hope she clungto--a hope which might turn into the deepest reason for despair. Philiphad certainly not been abroad. Was it likely that he should lately havebecome engaged to any young lady who had been some time in Rome? It wasnot likely: but then, if it was true, he must have been long engaged: hemust have been engaged at the time of his last visit of six days, whenhe had talked over his views of life with Margaret, and been so anxiousto obtain hers:--he must surely have been engaged in the summer, whenshe found Tieck in the desk, and when he used to spend so many eveningsat the Greys'--certainly not on Hester's account. At one moment she wasconfident all this could not be; she was relieved; she stepped lightly. The next moment, a misgiving came that it was all too true; the weightfell again upon her heart, she lost breath, and it was intolerable tohave to curtesy to Mrs James, and to answer the butcher's inquiry aboutthe meat that had been ordered. If these people would only go on withtheir own business, and take no notice of her! Then, again, the thoughtoccurred, that she knew Philip better than any, --than even his ownfamily; and that, say what they might, he was all her own. In thesechanges of mood, she had got through dinner; the dominant idea was thenthat she must, by some means or other, obtain certainty. She thought ofMaria. Maria was likely to know the facts, from her constantintercourse with the Rowlands, and besides, there was certainly asomething in Maria's mind in relation to Philip, --a keen insight, whichmight be owing to the philosophical habit of her mind, or to somethingelse, --but which issued in information about him, which it wassurprising that she could obtain. She seldom spoke of him; but when shedid, it was wonderfully to the purpose. Margaret thought she couldlearn from Maria, in a very simple and natural way, that which she somuch wished to know: and when she left the room after dinner, it was towrite the note which might bring certainty. 

 "Dear Friend, --I saw Dr Levitt this morning while I was out, and he told me, with all possible assurance, that Mr Enderby is going to be married very shortly to a young lady at Rome, --Miss Mary Bruce. Now, this is true or it is not. If true, you are as well aware as we are that we are entitled to have known it otherwise and earlier than by common report. If not true, the rumour should not be allowed to spread. If you know anything certainly, one way or the other, pray tell us. 

 "Yours affectionately, "Margaret Ibbotson. "

The "we" and "us" were not quite honest; but Margaret meant to make themas nearly so as possible by _ex-post-facto_ communication with herbrother and sister: a resolution so easily made, that it did not occurto her how difficult it might be to execute. While her messenger wasgone, she wrought herself up to a resolution to bear the answer, whatever it might be, with the same quietness with which she must bearthe whole of her future life, if Dr Levitt's news should prove to befounded in fact. The door opening seemed to prick the nerves of herears: her heart heaved to her throat at the sight of the white paper:yet it was with neatness that she broke the seal, and with a steady handthat she held the note to read it. The handwriting was only toodistinct: it seemed to burn itself in upon her brain. All was over. 

 "Dear Margaret, --I do not know where Dr Levitt got his news; but I believe it is true. Mrs Rowland pretends to absolute certainty about her brother's engagement to Miss Bruce; and it is from this that others speak so positively about it. Whatever are the grounds that Mrs R. Goes upon, there are others which afford a strong presumption that she is right. Some of these may be known to you. They leave no doubt in my mind that the report is true. As to the failure of confidence in his friends, --what can be said?--unless by way of reminder of the old truth that, by the blessing of Heaven, wrongs--be they but deep enough--may chasten a human temper into something divine. 

 "George has been very grave for the last three hours, pandering, I fancy, what irony can be for. Your sister will not grudge him his lesson, though afforded at her expense. 

 "Yours affectionately, "Maria Young. "

"Wrongs!" thought she;--"Maria goes too far when she speaks of wrongs. There was nothing in my note to bring such an expression in answer. Itis going too far. "

This was but the irritability of a racked soul, needing to spend itsagony somewhere. The remembrance of the conversation with Maria, heldso lately, and of Maria's views of Philip's relation to her, returnedupon her, and her soul melted within her. She, felt that Maria hadunderstood her better than she did herself; and was justified in thewords she had used. Under severe calamity, to be endured alone, evilthoughts sometimes come before good ones. Margaret was, for an hour ortwo, possessed with the bad spirit of defiance. Her mind sank back intowhat it had been in her childhood, when she had hidden herself in thelumber-room, or behind the water-tub, for many hours, to make the familyuneasy, because she had been punished, --in the days when she bore everyinfliction that her father dared to try, with apparent unconcern, ratherthan show to watchful eyes that she was moved, --in the days when theslightest concession would dissolve her stubbornness in an instant, butwhen, to get rid of a life of contradiction, she had had seriousthoughts of cutting her throat, had gone to the kitchen door to get thecarving-knife, and had been much disappointed to find the servants atdinner, and the knife-tray out of reach. This spirit, so long agodriven out by the genial influences of family love, by the religion ofan expanding intellect, and the solace of appreciation, now came back toinhabit the purified bosom which had been kept carefully swept andgarnished. It was the motion of this spirit, uneasy in its unfit abode, that showed itself by the shiver, the flushed cheek, the clenching hand, and the flashing eye. It kept whispering wicked things, --"I will baffleand deceive Maria: she shall withdraw her pity, and laugh at it withme. " "I defy Edward and Hester: they shall wonder how it is that myfancy alone is free, that my heart alone is untouched, that the stormsof life pass high over my head, and dare not lower. " "I will humblePhilip, and convince him... " But, no; it would not do. The abode wastoo lowly and too pure for the evil spirit of defiance: the demon didnot wait to be cast out; but as Margaret sat down in her chamber, alonewith her lot, to face it as she might, the strange inmate escaped, andleft her at least herself. 

Margaret was in agonised amazement at the newness of the misery she wassuffering. She really fancied she had sympathised with Hester thatdreadful night of Hope's accident: she had then actually believed thatshe was entering into her sister's feelings. It had been as much likeit as seeing a picture of one on the rack is like being racked. ButHester had not had so much cause for misery, for she never had tobelieve Edward unworthy. Her pride had been wounded at finding that herpeace was no longer in her own power; but she had not been trifledwith--duped. Here again Margaret refused to believe. The fault was allher own. She had been full of herself, full of vanity; fancying, without cause, that she was much to another when she was little. Shewas humbled now, and she no doubt deserved it. But how ineffably weakand mean did she appear in her own eyes! It was this which cloudedHeaven to her at the moment that earth had become a desert. She felt sodebased, that she durst not ask for strength where she was wont to findit. If she had done one single wrong thing, she thought she could bearthe consequences cheerfully, and seek support, and vigorously set aboutrepairing the causes of her fault; but here it seemed to her that herwhole state of mind had been low and selfish. It must be this sort ofblindness which had led her so far in so fearful a delusion. And if thewhole condition of her mind had been low and selfish, while herconscience had given her no hint of anything being amiss, where was sheto begin to rectify her being? She felt wholly degraded. 

And then what a set of pictures rose up before her excited fancy!Philip going forth for a walk with her and Hester, after having justsealed a letter to Miss Bruce, carrying the consciousness of what he hadbeen saying to the mistress of his heart, while she, Margaret, hadsupposed herself the chief object of his thought and care! Again, Philip discussing her mind and character with Miss Bruce, as those of afriend for whom he had a regard! or bestowing a passing imagination onhow she would receive the intelligence of his engagement! Perhaps hereserved the news till he could come down to Deerbrook, and call andtell her himself, as one whose friendship deserved that he should be thebearer of his own tidings. That footstep, whose spring she hadstrangely considered her own signal of joy, was not hers but another's. That laugh, the recollection of which made her smile even in thesedreadful moments, was to echo in another's home. She was stripped ofall her heart's treasure, of his tones, his ways, his thoughts, --atreasure which she had lived upon without knowing it; she was strippedof it all--cast out--left alone--and he and all others would go on theirways, unaware that anything had happened! Let them do so. It was hardto bear up in solitude when self-respect was gone with all the rest; butit must be possible to live on--no matter how--if to live on wasappointed. If not, there was death, which was better. 

These thoughts were not beneath one like Margaret--one who was religiousas she. It requires time for religion to avail anything whenself-respect is utterly broken-down. A devout sufferer may surmount thepangs of persecution at the first onset, and wrestle with bodily pain, and calmly endure bereavement by death; but there is no power of faithby which a woman can attain resignation under the agony of unrequitedpassion otherwise than by conflict, long and terrible. 

Margaret laid down at last, because her eyes were weary of seeing; andshe would fain have shut out all sounds. The occasional flicker of atiny blaze, however, and the fall of a cinder in the hearth, served tolull her senses, and it was not long before she slept. But, oh, thehorrors of that sleep! The lines of Maria's note stared her in theface--glaring, glowing, gigantic. Sometimes she was trying to readthem, and could not, though her life depended on them. Now Mrs Rowlandhad got hold of them; and now they were thrown into the flames, butwould not burn, and the letters grew red-hot. Then came the image ofPhilip; and that horror was mixed up with whatever was most ludicrous. Once she was struggling for voice to speak to him, and he mocked heruseless efforts. Oh, how she struggled! till some strong arm raisedher, and some other voice murmured gently in her throbbing ear. 

"Wake, my dear! Wake up, Margaret! What is it, dear? Wake!"

"Mother! is it you? Oh, mother! have you come at last?" murmuredMargaret, sinking her head on Morris' shoulder. 

It was some moments before Margaret felt a warm tear fall upon hercheek, and heard Morris say:

"No, my dear: not yet. Your mother is in a better place than this, where we shall all rest with her at last, Miss Margaret. "

"What is all this?" said Margaret, raising herself, and looking roundher. "What did I mean about my mother? Oh, Morris, my head is allconfused, and I think I have been frightened. They were laughing at me, and when somebody came to help me, I thought it must be my mother. Oh, Morris, it is a long while--I wish I was with her. "

Morris did not desire to hear what Margaret's dream had been. Theimmediate cause of Margaret's distress she did not know; but she had forsome time suspected that which only one person in the world was aware ofbesides herself. The terrible secret of this household was no secret toher. She was experienced enough in love and its signs to know, withoutbeing told where love was absent, and where it rested. She had notdoubted, up to the return from the wedding-trip, that all was right; butshe had never been quite happy since. She had perceived no sign thateither sister was aware of the truth; the continuance of their sisterlyfriendship was a proof that neither of them was: but she wished to avoidhearing the particulars of Margaret's dream, and all revelations which, in the weakness and confusion of an hour like this, she might be temptedto make. Morris withdrew from Margaret's clasp, moved softly across theroom, gently put the red embers together in the grate, and lighted thelamp which stood on the table. 

"I hope, " whispered Margaret, trying to still her shivering, "thatnobody heard me but you. How came you to think of coming to me?"

"My room being over this, you know, it was easy to hear the voice of aperson in an uneasy sleep. I am glad I happened to be awake: so I puton my cloak and came. "

Morris did not say that Edward had heard the stifled cry also, and thatshe had met him on the stairs coming to beg that she would see whatcould be done. Hester having slept through it, Margaret need never knowthat other ears than Morris' had heard her. Thus had Hope and Morristacitly agreed. 

"Now, my dear, when I have warmed this flannel, to put about your feet, you must go to sleep again. I will not leave you till daylight--tillthe house is near being astir: so you may sleep without being afraid ofbad dreams. I will rouse you if I see you disturbed. Now, no moretalking, or we shall have the house up; and all this had better bebetween you and me. "

To satisfy Margaret, Morris lay down on the outside of the bed, warmlycovered; and the nurse once more, as in old days, felt her favouritechild breathing quietly against her shoulder: once more she wiped awaythe standing tears, and prayed in her heart for the object of her care. If her prayer had had words, it would have been this:--

"Thou hast been pleased to take to thyself the parents of these dearchildren; and surely thou wilt be therefore pleased to be to them asfather and mother, or to raise up or spare to them such as may be so. This is what I would ask for myself; that I may be that comfort to them. Thou knowest that a strange trouble hath entered this house--thouknowest, for thine eye seeth beneath the face into the heart, as the sunshines into a locked chamber at noon. Thou knowest what these youngcreatures know not. Make holy to them what thou knowest. Let thysilence rest upon that which must not be spoken. Let thy strength besupplied where temptation is hardest. Let the innocence which has comeforth from thine own hand be kept fit to appear in all the light of thycountenance. Oh! let them never be seen sinking with shame before thee. Father, if thou hast made thy children to love one another for theirgood, let not love be a grief and a snare to such as these. Thou canstturn the hearts even of the wicked: turn the hearts of these thy dutifulchildren to love, where love may be all honour and no shame, so thatthey may have no more mysteries from each other, as I am sure they havenone from thee. All who know them have doubtless asked thy blessing ontheir house, their health, their basket and store: let me ask it also onthe workings of their hearts, since, if their hearts be right, all iswell--or will be in thine own best time. "

When Margaret entered the breakfast-room in the morning, she found herbrother sketching the skaters of Deerbrook, while the tea was brewing. Hester was looking over his shoulder, laughing, as she recognised oneafter another of her neighbours in the act of skating--this one by thestoop--that by the formality--and the other by the coat-flaps flying outbehind. No inquiries were made--not a word was said of health orspirits. It seems strange that sufferers have not yet found means tostop the practice of such inquiries--a practice begun in kindness, andcarried on in the spirit of hospitality, but productive of greatannoyance to all but those who do not need such inquiries--the healthfuland the happy. There are multitudes of invalids who can give nocomfortable answer respecting their health, and who are averse fromgiving an uncomfortable one, and for whom nothing is therefore left butevasion. There are only too many sufferers to whom it is irksome to bequestioned about their hours of sleeplessness, or who do not choose tohave it known that they have not slept. The unpleasant old custom ofpressing people to eat has gone out: the sooner the other observance ofhospitality is allowed to follow it, the better. All who like to tellof illness and sleeplessness can do so; and those who have reasons forreserve upon such points, as Margaret had this morning, can keep theirown counsel. 

At the earliest possible hour that the etiquette of Deerbrook wouldallow, there was a knock at the door. 

"That must be Mrs Rowland, " exclaimed Hester. "One may know thatwoman's temper by her knock--so consequential, and yet so sharp. Margaret, love, you can run upstairs--there is time yet--if you do notwish to see her. "

"Why should I?" said Margaret, looking up with a calmness whichperplexed Hester. 

"This is either ignorance, " thought she, "or such patience as I wish Ihad. "

It _was_ Mrs Rowland, and she _was_ come to tell what Hester fearedMargaret might not be able to bear to hear. She was attended only bythe little fellow who was so fond of riding on Uncle Philip's shoulder. It was rather lucky that Ned came, as Margaret was furnished withsomething to do in taking off his worsted gloves, and rubbing his littlered hands between her own. And then she could say a great many thingsto him about learning to slide, and the difficulty of keeping on thesnow-man's nose, and about her wonder that they had not thought ofputting a pipe into his mouth. Before this subject was finished, MrsRowland turned full round to Margaret, and said that the purpose of hervisit was to explain fully something that her poor mother had let dropyesterday to Mr Hope. Her mother was not what she had been--though, indeed, she had always been rather apt to let out things that she shouldnot. She found that Mr Hope had been informed by her mother of herbrother Philip's engagement to a charming young lady, who would indeedbe a great ornament to the connexion. 

"I assure you, " said Margaret, "my brother is very careful, and alwaysremembers that he is upon honour as to what he hears in a sick-room. Hehas not mentioned it. "

"Oh! then it is safe. We are much obliged to Mr Hope, I am sure. Isaid to my mother--`My dear ma'am, '--"

"But I must mention, " said Margaret, "that the news was abroad before... I must beg that you will not suppose my brother has spoken of it, ifyou should find that everybody knows it. I heard it from Dr Levittyesterday, about the same time, I fancy, that Mr Hope was hearing itfrom Mrs Enderby. "

Hester sat perfectly still, to avoid all danger of showing that this wasnews to her. 

"How very strange!" exclaimed the lady. "I often say there is nokeeping anything quiet in Deerbrook. Do you know where Dr Levitt gothis information?"

"No, " said Margaret, smiling. "Dr Levitt generally knows what he istalking about. I dare say he had it from some good authority. Theyoung lady is at Rome, I find. "

"Are you acquainted with Miss Bruce?" asked Hester, thinking it time torelieve Margaret of her share of the conversation. 

Margaret started a little on finding that her sister had heard the news. Was it possible that her brother and sister had been afraid to tellher? No: it was a piece of Edward's professional discretion. His wifealone had a right to the news he heard among his patients. 

"Oh, yes!" replied Mrs Rowland; "I have long loved Mary as a sister. Their early attachment made a sister of her to me an age ago. "

"It has been a long engagement, then, " said Hester, glad to say anythingwhich might occupy Mrs Rowland, as Margaret's lips were now turningvery white. 

"Not now, my dear, " Margaret was heard to say to little Ned, over whomshe was bending her head as he stood by her side. "Stand still here, "she continued, with wonderful cheerfulness of tone; "I want to hear yourmamma tell us about Uncle Philip. " With the effort her strengthrallied, and the paleness was gone before Mrs Rowland had turned round. 

"How long the engagement has existed, " said the lady, "I cannot ventureto say. I speak only of the attachment. Young people understand theirown affairs, you know, and have their little mysteries, and laugh behindour backs, I dare say, at our ignorance of what they are about. Philiphas been sly enough as to this, I own: but I must say I had mysuspicions. I was pretty confident of his being engaged from the daythat he told me in the summer, that he fully agreed with me that it wastime he was settled. "

"How differently some people understood that!" thought Hester andMargaret at the same moment. 

"Is Mr Enderby at Rome now?" asked Hester. 

"No: he is hard at work, studying law. He is really going to apply to aprofession now. Not that it would be necessary, for Mary has a verygood fortune. But Mary wishes so much that he should--like a sensiblegirl as she is. "

"It is what I urged when he consulted me, " thought Margaret. She hadhad little idea whose counsel she was following up. 

"We shall soon hear of his setting off for the Continent, however, Ihave no doubt, " said the lady. 

"To bring home his bride, " observed Margaret, calmly. 

"Why, I do not know that. The Bruces will be returning early in thespring; and I should like the young people to marry in town, that we mayhave them here for their wedding trip. "

"How you do hug me!" cried the laughing little boy, around whomMargaret's arm was passed. 

"Have I made you warm at last?" asked Margaret. "If not, you may go andstand by the fire. "

"No, indeed; we must be going, " said mamma. "As I find this news isabroad, I must call on Mrs Grey. She will take offence at once, if shehears it from anybody but me. So much for people's husbands beingpartners in business!"

Margaret was now fully qualified to comprehend her sister'sirritability. Every trifle annoyed her. The rustle of Mrs Rowland'shandsome cloak almost made her sick; and she thought the hall clockwould never have done striking twelve. When conscious of this, she puta strong check upon herself. 

Hester stood by the mantelpiece, looking into the fire, and taking nonotice of their mutual silence upon this piece of news. At last shemuttered, in a soliloquising tone--

"Do not know--but I am not sure this news is true, after all. "

After a moment's pause, Margaret replied--"I think that is not veryreasonable. What must one suppose of everybody else, if it is nottrue?"

Hester was going to say, "What must we think of him, if it is?" but shechecked herself. She should not have said what she had; she felt this, and only replied--

"Just so. Yes; it must be true. "

Margaret's heart once more sank within her at this corroboration of herown remark. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

THE MEADOWS IN WINTER. 

Hester was tired of her snow-boots before she saw them. She had spentmore trouble on them than they were worth; and it was three weeks yetbefore they came. It was now past the middle of February--rather latein the season for snow-boots to arrive: but then there was Margaret'sconsolatory idea, that they would be ready for next year's snow. 

"It is not too late yet, " said Mr Hope. "There is skating every day inthe meadow. It will soon be over; so do not lose your opportunity. Come! let us go to-day. "

"Not unless the sun shines out, " said Hester, looking with a shiver upat the windows. 

"Yes, to-day, " said Edward, "because I have time to-day to go with you. You have seen me quiz other skaters: you must go and see other skatersquiz me. "

"What points of your skating do they get hold of to quiz?" askedMargaret. 

"Why, I hardly know. We shall see. "

"Is it so very good, then?"

"No. I believe the worst of my skating is, that it is totally devoid ofevery sort of expression. That is just the true account of it, " hecontinued, as his wife laughed. "I do not square my elbows, nor set mycoat flying, nor stoop, nor rear; but neither is there any grace. Ijust go straight on; and, as far as I know, nobody ever bids any otherbody look at me. "

"So you bid your own family come and look at you. But how are yourneighbours to quiz you if they do not observe you?"

"Oh, that was only a bit of antithesis for effect. My last account isthe true one, as you will see. I shall come in for you at twelve. "

By twelve the sun had shone out, and the ladies, booted, furred, andveiled, were ready to encounter the risks and rigours of the ice andsnow. As they opened the hall door they met on the steps a young woman, who was just raising her hand to the knocker. Her errand was soon told. 

"Please, ma'am, I heard that you wanted a servant. "

"That is true, " said Hester. "Where do you come from?--from any placenear, so that you can call again?"

"Surely, " said Margaret, "it is Mrs Enderby's Susan. "

"Yes, miss, I have been living with Mrs Enderby. Mrs Enderby willgive me a good character, ma'am. "

"Why are you leaving her, Susan?"

"Oh, ma'am, only because she is gone. "

"Gone!--where?--what do you mean?"

"Gone to live at Mrs Rowland's, ma'am. You didn't know?--it _was_ verysudden. But she moved yesterday, ma'am, and we were paid off--exceptPhoebe, who stays to wait upon her. I am left in charge of the house, ma'am: so I can step here again, if you wish it, some time when you arenot going out. "

"Do so; any time this evening, or before noon to-morrow. "

"Did you know of this, Edward?" said his wife, as they turned thecorner. 

"Not I. I think Mrs Rowland is mistaken in saying that nothing can bekept secret in Deerbrook. I do not believe anybody has dreamed of thepoor old lady giving up her house. "

"Very likely Mrs Rowland never dreamed of it herself; till the day itwas done, " observed Margaret. 

"Oh, yes, she did, " said Mr Hope. "I understand now the old lady'sagitation, and the expressions she dropped about `last times' nearly amonth ago. "

"By-the-by, that was the last time you saw her--was it not?"

"Yes; the next day when I called I was told that she was better, andthat she would send when she wished to see me again, to save me thetrouble of calling when she might be asleep. "

"She has been asleep or engaged every time I have inquired at the doorof late, " observed Margaret. "I hope she is doing nothing but what shelikes in this change of plan. "

"I believe she finds most peace and quiet in doing what her daughterlikes, " said Mr Hope. "Here, Margaret, where are you going? This isthe gate. I believe you have not learned your way about yet. "

"I will follow you immediately, " said Margaret: "I will only go a fewsteps to see if this can really be true. "

Before the Hopes had half crossed the meadow, Margaret joined them, perfectly convinced. The large bills in the closed windows of MrsEnderby's house bore "To be Let or Sold" too plainly to leave any doubt. 

As the skating season was nearly over, all the skaters in Deerbrook wereeager to make use of their remaining opportunities, and the banks of thebrook and of the river were full of their wives, sisters, and children. Sydney Grey was busy cutting figures-of-eight before the eyes of hissisters, and in defiance of his mother's careful warnings not to gohere, and not to venture there, and not to attempt to cross the river. Mr Hope begged his wife to engage Mrs Grey in conversation, so thatSydney might be left free for a while, and promised to keep near the boyfor half an hour, during which time Mrs Grey might amuse herself withwatching other and better performers further on. As might have beenforeseen, however, Mrs Grey could talk of nothing but Mrs Enderby'sremoval, of which she had not been informed till this morning, and whichshe had intended to discuss in Hester's house, on leaving the meadows. 

It appeared that Mrs Enderby had been in agitated and variable spiritsfor some time, apparently wishing to say something that she did not say, and expressing a stronger regard than ever for her old friends--aregular sign that some act of tyranny or rudeness might speedily beexpected from Mrs Rowland. The Greys were in the midst of theirspeculations, as to what might be coming to pass, when Sydney burst in, with the news that Mrs Enderby's house was to be "Let or Sold. " MrsGrey had mounted her spectacles first, to verify the fact, and then sentAlice over to inquire, and had immediately put on her bonnet and cloak, and called on her old friend at Mrs Rowland's. She had been told atthe door that Mrs Enderby was too much fatigued with her removal to seeany visitors. "So I shall try again to-morrow, " concluded Mrs Grey. 

"How does Mr Hope think her spasms have been lately?" asked Sophia. 

"He has not seen her for nearly a month; so I suppose they are better. "

"I fear that does not follow, my dear, " said Mrs Grey, winking. "Somepeople are afraid of your husband's politics, you are aware; and I knowMrs Rowland has been saying and doing things on that score which youhad better not hear about. I have my reasons for thinking that the oldlady's spasms are far from being better. But Mrs Rowland has been sobusy crying up those drops of hers, that cure everything, and praisingher maid, that I have a great idea your husband will not be admitted tosee her till she is past cure, and her daughter thoroughly frightened. Mr Hope has never been forgiven, you know, for marrying into ourconnection so decidedly. And I really don't know what would have beenthe consequence, if, as we once fancied likely, Mr Philip and Margarethad thought of each other. "

Margaret was happily out of hearing. A fresh blow had just been struck. She had looked to Mrs Enderby for information on the subject which forever occupied her, and on which she felt that she must know more orsink. She had been much disappointed at being refused admission to theold lady, time after time. Now all hope of free access and privateconversation was over. She had set it as an object before her to seeMrs Enderby, and learn as much of Philip's affair as his mother choseto offer: now this object was lost, and nothing remained to be done orhoped--for it was too certain that Mrs Enderby's friends would not beallowed unrestrained intercourse with her in her daughter's house. 

For some little time Margaret had been practising the device, sofamiliar to the unhappy, of carrying off mental agitation by bodilyexertion. She was now eager to be doing something more active thanwalking by Mrs Grey's side, listening to ideas which she knew just aswell without their being spoken. Mrs Grey's thoughts about MrsRowland, and Mrs Rowland's ideas of Mrs Grey, might always beanticipated by those who knew the ladies. Hester and Margaret hadlearned to think of something else, while this sort of comment wasproceeding, and to resume their attention when it came to an end. Margaret had withdrawn from it now, and was upon the ice with Sydney. 

"Why, cousin Margaret, you don't mean that you are afraid of walking onthe ice?" cried Sydney, balancing himself on his heels. "Mr Hope, whatdo you think of that?" he called out, as Hope skimmed past them. "Cousin Margaret is afraid of going on the ice!"

"What does she think can happen to her?" asked Mr Hope, his last wordsvanishing in the distance. 

"It looks so grey, and clear, and dark, Sydney. "

"Pooh! It is thick enough between you and the water. You would have toget down a good way, I can tell you, before you could get drowned. "

"But it is so slippery!"

"What of that? What else did you expect with ice? If you tumble, youcan get up again. I have been down three times this morning. "

"Well, that is a great consolation, certainly. Which way do you want meto walk?"

"Oh, any way. Across the river to the other bank, if you like. Youwill remember next summer, when we come this way in a boat, that youhave walked across the very place. "

"That is true, " said Margaret. "I will go if Sophia will go with me. "

"There is no use in asking any of them, " said Sydney. "They standdawdling and looking, till their lips and noses are all blue and red, and they are never up to any fun. "

"I will try as far as that pole first, " said Margaret. "I should notcare if they had not swept away all the snow here, so as to make the icelook so grey and slippery. "

"That pole!" said Sydney. "Why, that pole is put up on purpose to showthat you must not go there. Don't you see how the ice is broken allround it? Oh, I know how it is that you are so stupid and cowardlyto-day. You've lived in Birmingham all your winters, and you've neverbeen used to walk on the ice. "

"I am glad you have found that out at last. Now, look--I am reallygoing. What a horrid sensation!" she cried, as she cautiously put downone foot before the other on the transparent floor. She did better whenshe reached the middle of the river, where the ice had been ground bythe skates. 

"Now, you would get on beautifully, " said Sydney, "if you would not lookat your feet. Why can't you look at the people, and the treesopposite?"

"Suppose I should step into a hole. "

"There are no holes. Trust me for the holes. What do you flinch sofor? The ice always cracks so, in one part or another. I thought youhad been shot. "

"So did I, " said she, laughing. "But, Sydney, we are a long way fromboth banks. "

"To be sure: that is what we came for. "

Margaret looked somewhat timidly about her. An indistinct idea flittedthrough her mind--how glad she should be to be accidentally, innocentlydrowned; and scarcely recognising it, she proceeded. 

"You get on well, " shouted Mr Hope, as he flew past, on his return upthe river. 

"There, now, " said Sydney, presently; "it is a very little way to thebank. I will just take a trip up and down, and come for you again, togo back; and then we will try whether we can't get cousin Hester over, when she sees you have been safe there and back. "

This was a sight which Hester was not destined to behold. Margaret hadan ignorant partiality for the ice which was the least grey; and, whenleft to herself, she made for a part which looked less like glass. Nobody particularly heeded her. She slipped, and recovered herself: sheslipped again, and fell, hearing the ice crack under her. Every timeshe attempted to rise, she found the place too slippery to keep herfeet; next, there was a hole under her; she felt the cold water--she wassinking through; she caught at the surrounding edges--they broke away. There was a cry from the bank, just as the death-cold waters seemed toclose all round her, and she felt the ice like a heavy weight above her. One thought of joy--"It will soon be all over now"--was the onlyexperience she was conscious of. 

In two minutes more, she was breathing the air again, sitting on thebank, and helping to wring out her clothes. How much may pass in twominutes! Mr Hope was coming up the river again, when he saw a bustleon the bank, and slipped off his skates, to be ready to be of service. He ran as others ran, and arrived just when a dark-blue dress wasemerging from the water, and then a dripping fur tippet, and then thebonnet, making the gradual revelation to him who it was. For oneinstant he covered his face with his hands, half-hiding an expression ofagony so intense that a bystander who saw it, said, "Take comfort, sir:she has been in but a very short time. She'll recover, I don't doubt. "Hope leaped to the bank, and received her from the arms of the men whohad drawn her out. The first thing she remembered was hearing, in thelowest tone she could conceive of--"Oh, God! my Margaret!" and a groan, which she felt rather than heard. Then there were many warm and busyhands about her head--removing her bonnet, shaking out her hair, andchafing her temples. She sighed out, "Oh, dear!" and she heard thatsoft groan again. In another moment she roused herself, sat up, sawHope's convulsed countenance, and Sydney standing motionless and deadlypale. 

"I shall never forgive myself, " she heard her brother exclaim. 

"Oh, I am very well, " said she, remembering all about it. "The airfeels quite warm. Give me my bonnet. I can walk home. "

"Can you? The sooner the better, then, " said Hope, raising her. 

She could stand very well, but the water was everywhere dripping fromher clothes. Many bystanders employed themselves in wringing them out;and in the meanwhile Margaret inquired for her sister, and hoped she didnot know of the accident. Hester did not know of it, for Margarethappened to be the first to think of any one but herself. 

Sydney was flying off to report, when he was stopped and recalled. 

"You must go to her, Edward, " said Margaret, "or she will be frightened. You can do me no good. Sydney will go home with me, or any one here, Iam sure. " Twenty people stepped forward at the word. Margaret partedwith her heavy fur tippet, accepted a long cloth cloak from a poorwoman, to throw over her wet clothes, selected Mr Jones, the butcher, for her escort, sent Sydney forward with directions to Morris to warmher bed, and then she set forth homeward. Mr Hope and half a dozenmore would see her across the ice; and by the time she had reached theother bank, she was able to walk very much as if nothing had happened. 

Mr Hope had perfectly recovered his composure before he reached thesomewhat distant pond where Hester and the Greys were watching slidingas good as could be seen within twenty miles. It had reachedperfection, like everything else, in Deerbrook. 

"What! tired already?" said Hester to her husband. "What have you donewith your skates?"

"Oh, I have left them somewhere there, I suppose. " He drew her armwithin his own. "Come, my dear, let us go home. Margaret is gone. "

"Gone! Why? Is not she well? It is not so very cold. "

"She has got wet, and she has gone home to warm herself. " Hester didnot wait to speak again to the Greys when she comprehended that hersister had been in the river. Her husband was obliged to forbid herwalking so fast, and assured her all the way that there was nothing tofear. Hester reproached him for his coolness. 

"You need not reproach me, " said he. "I shall never cease to reproachmyself for letting her go where she did. " And yet his heart told himthat he had only acted according to his deliberate design of keepingaloof from all Margaret's pursuits and amusements that were not sharedwith her sister. And as for the risk, he had seen fifty people walkingacross the ice this very morning. Judging by the event, however, hevery sincerely declared that he should never forgive himself for havingleft her. 

When they reached home, Margaret was quite warm and comfortable, and herhair drying rapidly under Morris's hands. Hester was convinced thateverybody might dine as usual. Margaret herself came down-stairs totea; and the only consequence of the accident seemed to be, that Charleswas kept very busy opening the door to inquirers how Miss Ibbotson wasthis evening. 

It made Hope uneasy to perceive how much Margaret remembered of what hadpassed around her in the midst of the bustle of the morning. If she wasstill aware of some circumstances that she mentioned, might she notretain others--the words extorted from him, the frantic action which henow blushed to remember?

"Brother, " said she, "what _was_ the meaning of something that I heardsome one say, just as I sat up on the bank? `There's a baulk for thedoctor! He is baulked of a body in his own house. '"

"Oh, Margaret, " cried her sister, who sat looking at her all the eveningas if they had been parted for ten years, "you dreamed that. It was afancy. Think what a state your poor head was in! It may have a fewstrange imaginations left in it still. May it not, Edward?"

"This is not one, " he replied. "She heard very accurately. "

"What did they mean?"

"There is a report abroad about me, arising out of the old prejudiceabout dissection. Some of my neighbours think that dissecting is theemployment and the passion of my life, and that I rob the churchyard asoften as anybody is buried. "

"Oh, Edward! how frightful! how ridiculous!"

"It is very disagreeable, my dear. I am taunted with this wherever Igo. "

"What is to be done?"

"We must wait till the prejudices against me die out: but I see that weshall have to wait some time; for before one suspicion is given up, another rises. "

"Since that unhappy election, " said Hester, sighing. "What a strangething it is that men like you should be no better treated! Here is MrsEnderby taken out of your hands, and your neighbours suspecting andslandering you, whose commonest words they are not worthy to repeat. "

"My dear Hester!" said he, in a tone of serious remonstrance. "That israther a wife-like way of putting the case, to be sure, " said Margaret, smiling: "but, in as far as it is true, the matter surely ceases to bestrange. Good men do not come into the world to be what the world callsfortunate, but to be something far better. The best men do not use themeans to be rich, to be praised by their neighbours, to be out of theway of trouble; and if they will not use the means, it does not becomethem--nor their wives--to be discouraged at losing their occupation, orbeing slandered, or suspected as dangerous people. "

Edward's smile thanked her, and so did her sister's kiss. But Hesterlooked grave again when she said--"I suppose we shall know, sooner orlater, why it is that good people are not to be happy here, and that themore they love one another, the more struggles and sorrows they have toundergo. "

"Do we not know something of it already?" said Hope, after a pretty longpause. "Is it not to put us off from the too vehement desire of beingwhat we commonly call happy? By the time higher things become moreinteresting to us than this, we begin to find that it is given to us toput our own happiness under our feet, in reaching forward to somethingbetter. We become, by natural consequence, practised in this (forgetfulof the things that are behind); and if the practice be painful, whatthen? We shall not quarrel with it, surely, unless we are willing toexchange what we have gained for money, and praise, and animal spirits, shutting in an abject mind. "

"Oh, no, no!" said Hester; "but yet there are troubles--" She stoppedshort on observing Margaret's quivering lip. 

"There are troubles, I own, which it is difficult to classify andinterpret, " said her husband. "We can only struggle through them, taking the closest heed to our innocence. But these affairs of ours--these mistakes of my neighbours--are not of that sort. They areintelligible enough, and need not therefore trouble us much. "

Hope was right in his suspicion of the accuracy of Margaret's memory. His tones, his words, had sunk deep into her heart--her innocent heart--in which everything that entered it became safe and pure as itself. "OhGod! my Margaret!" sounded there like music. 

"What a heart he has!" she thought. "I was very selfish to fancy himreserved; and I am glad to know that my brother loves me so. If it issuch a blessing to be his sister, how happy must Hester be--in spite ofeverything! God has preserved my life, and He has given these two toeach other! And, oh, how He has shown me that they love me! I willrouse myself, and try to suffer less. "

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

MOODS OF THE MIND. 

Hester's sleeping as well as waking thoughts were this night full ofsolicitude as to her feelings and conduct towards her sister. Athousand times before the morning she had said to herself, in dreams andin meditation, that she had failed in this relation--the oldest, and, till of late, the dearest. She shuddered to think how nearly she hadlost Margaret; and to imagine what her state of mind would have been, ifher sister had now been beyond the reach of the voice, the eye, thehand, which she was resolved should henceforth dispense to her nothingbut the love and the benefits she deserved. She reflected that to fewwas granted such a warning of the death of beloved ones: to few was itpermitted to feel, while it was yet not too late, the agony of remorsefor pain inflicted, for gratifications withheld; for selfish neglect, for insufficient love. She remembered vividly what her emotions hadbeen as a child, on finding her canary dead in its cage;--how she hadwept all day, not so much for its loss as from the recollection of themany times when she had failed to cheer it with sugar, and groundsel, and play, and of the number of hours when she had needlessly covered upits cage in impatience at its song, shutting out its sunshine, andchanging the brightest seasons of its little life into dull night. Ifit had been thus with her sister! Many a hasty word, many an unjustthought, came back now to wring her heart, when she imagined Margaretsinking in the water, --the soft breathing on which our life somarvellously hangs, stopped without struggle or cry. How near--how verynear, had Death, in his hovering, stooped towards their home! Howstrange, while treading thus precariously the film which covers theabyss into which all must some day drop, and which may crack under thefeet of any one at any hour, --how strange to be engrossed with pettyjealousies, with selfish cares, and to be unmindful of the greatinterests of existence, the exercises of mutual love and trust! ThankGod! it was not too late. Margaret lived to be cherished, to beconsoled for her private griefs, as far as consolation might bepossible; to have her innocent affections redeemed from the waste towhich they now seemed doomed, --gathered gradually up again, and knitinto the interests of the home life in which she was externally bearingher part. Full of these thoughts, and forgetting how often her bestfeelings had melted away beneath the transient heats kindled by thelittle provocations of daily life, Hester now believed that Margaretwould never have to suffer from her more, --that their love would behenceforth like that of angels, --like that which it would have been ifMargaret had really died yesterday. It was yet early, when, in the fullenjoyment of these undoubting thoughts, Hester stood by her sister'sbedside. 

Margaret was still sleeping, but with that expression of weariness inher face which had of late become too common. Hester gazed long at thecountenance, grieving at the languor and anxiety which it revealed. Shehad not taken Margaret's suffering to heart, --she had been unfeeling, --strangely forgetful. She would minister to her now with reverent care. As she thus resolved, she bent down, and kissed her forehead. Margaretstarted, shook off sleep, felt quite well, would rise;--there was noreason why she should not rise at once. 

When she entered the breakfast-room, Hester was there, placing her chairby the fire, and inventing indulgences for her, as if she had been aninvalid. It was in vain that Margaret protested that no effects of theaccident remained, --not a single sensation of chill: she was to be takencare of; and she submitted. She was touched by her sister's gentleoffices, and felt more like being free and at peace, more like beinglifted up out of her woe, than she had yet done since the fatal hourwhich rendered her conscious and wretched. Breakfast went oncheerfully. The fire blazed bright: the rain pelting against thewindows gave welcome promise of exemption from inquiries in person, andfrom having to relate, many times over, the particulars of the event ofyesterday. Hester was beautiful in all the glow of her sensibilities, and Edward was for this morning in no hurry. No blue or yellow backedpamphlet lay beside his plate; and when his last cup was empty, he stillsat talking as if he forgot that he should have to go out in the rain. In the midst of a laugh which had prevented their hearing a premonitoryknock, the door opened, and Mrs Grey's twin daughters entered, lookinghalf-shy, half-eager. Never before had they been known to come out inheavy rain: but they were so very desirous to see cousin Margaret aftershe had been in the water!--and Sydney had held the great gig umbrellaover himself and them, as papa would not hear of Sydney not coming:--hewas standing outside the door now, under the large umbrella, for he saidnothing should make him come in and see cousin Margaret--he would neversee her again if he could help it. Sydney had said another thing, --sucha wicked thing! Mamma was quite ashamed of him. Mr Hope thought theyhad better not repeat anything wicked that any one had said: but Hesterconsidered it possible that it might not appear so wicked if spoken asif left to the imagination. What Sydney had said was, that if cousinMargaret had been really drowned, he would have drowned himself beforedinner-time. Mary added that she heard him mutter that he was almostready to do it now. Mr Hope thought that must be the reason why he wasstanding out at present, to catch all this rain, which was very nearlyenough to drown anybody; and he went to bring him in. But Sydney wasnot to be caught. He was on the watch; and the moment he saw Mr Hope'scoat instead of his sisters' cloaks, he ran off with a speed whichdefied pursuit, and was soon out of sight with the large umbrella. 

His cousins were sorry that he felt the event so painfully, and that hecould not come in and confide his trouble of mind to them. Hoperesolved not to let the morning pass without seeing him, and, ifpossible, bringing him home to dinner, with William Levitt to take offthe awkwardness. 

"What are we to do?" exclaimed Sydney's little sisters. "He has carriedoff the great umbrella. "

"I cannot conveniently send you, just at present, " said Hester; "so youhad better put off your cloaks, and amuse yourselves here till the rainabates, or some one comes for you. We will speak to Miss Young toexcuse your not being with her. "

"Oh, cousin Margaret, " said the children, "if you will speak to MissYoung, she will give us any sort of a holiday. She minds everything yousay. She will let us stop all day, and dine here, if you ask her. "

Hester said she could not have them stay all day, --she did not mean tohave them to dinner: and the little girls both looked up in her face atonce, to find out what made her speak so angrily. They saw cousinMargaret glancing the same way too. 

"Do you know, Mary, " said Fanny, "you have not said a word yet of whatMiss Young bade you say?"

Mary told cousin Margaret, that Miss Young was wishing very much to seeher, and would be pleased if Margaret would mention what evening shewould spend with her, --a nice long evening, Mary added, to begin as soonas it grew dark, and on till--nobody knew when. 

"Maria had better come here, " observed Hester, quickly; "and then someone else besides Margaret may have the benefit of her conversation. Sheseems to forget that anybody cares for her besides Margaret. Tell MissYoung she had better fix an evening to come here. "

"I do not think she will do that, " said both the little girls. 

"Why not?"

"She is very lame now, " replied Mary, "and she cannot walk further thanjust to school and back again. "

"And, besides, " remarked Fanny, "she wants to talk with cousin Margaretalone, I am sure. They have such a great deal of talk to do wheneverthey are together! We watch them sometimes in the schoolroom, throughthe window, when we are at play in the garden; and their heads nod atone another in this way. I believe they never leave off for a minute. We often wonder what it can be all about. "

"Ah, my dears, you and I had better not ask, " said Hester. "I have nodoubt it is better that we should not know. "

Margaret looked beseechingly at her sister. Hester replied to her look:

"I mean what I say, Margaret. You cannot but be aware how much more youhave to communicate to Maria than to me. Our conversation soon comes toa stand: and I must say I have had much occasion to admire your greattalent for silence of late. Maria has still to learn youraccomplishments in that direction, I fancy. "

Margaret quietly told the little girls that she would write a note toMaria, with her answer. 

"You must not do that, " said Fanny. "Miss Young said you must not. That was the reason why she sent you a message instead of a note--thatyou might not have to write back again, when a message would do aswell. "

Margaret, nevertheless, sat down at the writing-table. 

"You go to-day, of course, " said Hester, in the voice of forced calmnesswhich Margaret knew so well. "The little girls may as well stay anddine, after all, as I shall otherwise be alone in the evening. "

"I shall not go to-day, " said Margaret, without turning her head. 

"You will not stay away on my account, of course. "

"I have said that I shall go on Thursday. "

"Thursday! that is almost a week hence. Now, Margaret, do not bepettish, and deny yourself what you know you like best. Do not be ababy, and quarrel with your supper. I had far rather you should goto-night, and have done with it, than that you should wait tillThursday, thinking all day long till then that you are obliging me bystaying with me. I cannot bear that. "

"I wish I knew what you could bear, " said Margaret, in a voice which thechildren could not hear. "I wish I knew how I could save you pain. "

The moment the words were out, Margaret was sorry for them. She wasaware that the best kindness to her sister was to take as little noticeas possible of her discontents--to turn the conversation--to avoidscenes, or any remarks which could bring them on. It was hard--sometimes it seemed impossible--to speak calmly and lightly, while everypulse was throbbing, and every fibre trembling with fear andwretchedness; but yet it was best to assume such calmness and lightness. Margaret now asked the little girls, while she sealed her note, howtheir patchwork was getting on--thus far the handsomest patchwork quiltshe had ever seen. 

"Oh, it will be far handsomer before it is done. Mrs Howell has foundup some beautiful pieces of print for us--remnants of her firstmorning-gown after she was married, and of her poor dear Howell's lastdressing-gown, as she says. We were quite sorry to take those; but shewould put them up for us; and she is to see the quilt sometimes inreturn. "

"But Miss Nares's parcel was the best, cousin Margaret. Such a quantityof nankeen for the ground, and the loveliest chintz for the centremedallion! Is not it, Mary?"

"Oh, lovely! Do you know, cousin Margaret, Miss Nares and Miss Flintboth cried when they heard how nearly you were drowned! I am sure, Ihad no idea they would have cared so much. "

"Nor I, my dear. But I dare say they feel kindly towards anyone savedfrom great danger. "

"Not everybody, " said Fanny; "only you, because you are a greatfavourite. Everybody says you are a great favourite. Papa cried lastnight--just a little tear or two, as gentlemen do--when he told mammahow sorry everybody in Deerbrook would have been if you had died. "

"There! that will do, " said Hester, struggling between her better andworse feelings--her remorse of this morning, and her present jealousy--and losing her temper between the two. "You have said quite enoughabout what you do not understand, my dears. I cannot have you make sofree with your cousin's name, children. "

The little girls looked at each other in wonder; and Hester thought shedetected a lurking smile. 

"I see what you are thinking, children. Yes, look, the rain is nearlyover; and then you may go and tell Mrs Howell and Miss Nares, and allthe people you see on your way home, that they had better attend totheir own concerns than pretend to understand what would have been feltif your cousin had been drowned. I wonder at their impertinence. "

"Are you in earnest, cousin Hester? Shall we go and tell them so?"

"No; she is not in earnest, " said Margaret. "But before you go, Morrisshall give you some pieces for your quilt--some very pretty ones, suchas she knows I can spare. "

Margaret rang, and Morris took the children up-stairs, to choose forthemselves out of Margaret's drawer of pieces. When the door had closedbehind them, Margaret said--"Sister, do not make me wish that I had diedunder the ice yesterday. "

"Margaret, how dare you say anything so wicked?"

"If it be wicked, God forgive me! I was wretched enough before--I wouldfain have never come to life again: and now you almost make me believethat you would have been best pleased if I never had. "

At this moment Hope entered. He had left them in a far different mood:it made him breathless to see his wife's face of passion, and Margaret'sof woe. 

"Hear her!" exclaimed Hester. "She says I should have been glad to havelost her yesterday!"

"Have mercy upon me!" cried Margaret, in excessive agitation. "Youoppress me beyond what I can bear. I cannot bear on as I used to do. My strength is gone, and you give me none. You take away what I had!"

"Will you hear me spoken to in this way?" cried Hester, turning to herhusband. 

"I will. "

Margaret's emotion prevented her hearing this, or caring who was by. She went on--"You leave me nothing--nothing but yourself--and you abusemy love for you. You warn me against love--against marriage--you chillmy very soul with terror at it. I have found a friend in Maria; and youpoison my comfort in my friendship, and insult my friend. There is notan infant in a neighbour's house but you become jealous of it the momentI take it in my arms. There is not a flower in your garden, not a bookon my table, that you will let me love in peace. How ungenerous--whileyou have one to cherish and who cherishes you, that you will have melonely!--that you quarrel with all who show regard to me!--that yourefuse me the least solace, when my heart is breaking with itsloneliness! Oh, it is cruel!"

"Will you hear this, Edward?"

"I will, because it is the truth. For once, Hester, you must hearanother's mind; you have often told your own. "

"God knows why I was saved yesterday, " murmured Margaret; "for a moredesolate creature does not breathe. "

Hope leaned against the wall. Hester relieved her torment of mind withreproaches of Margaret. 

"You do not trust me, " she cried; "it is you who make me miserable. Yougo to others for the comfort you ought to seek in me. You place thatconfidence in others which ought to be mine alone. You are cheered whenyou learn that the commonest gossips in Deerbrook care about you, andyou set no value on your own sister's feelings for you. You have faithand charity for people out of doors, and mistrust and misconstructionfor those at home. I am the injured one, Margaret, not you. "

"Margaret, " said Hope, "your sister speaks for herself. I think thatyou are the injured one, as Hester herself will soon agree. So far fromhaving anything to reproach you with, I honour your forbearance, --unremitting till this hour, --I mourn that we cannot, if we would, console you in return. But whatever I can do shall be done. Yourfriendships, your pursuits, shall be protected. If we persecute youraffections at home, I will take care that you are allowed their exerciseabroad. Rely upon me, and do not think yourself utterly lonely whileyou have a brother. "

"I have been very selfish, " said Margaret, recovering herself at thefirst word of kindness; "wretchedness makes me selfish, I think. "

She raised herself up on the sofa, and timidly held out her hand to hersister. Hester thrust it away. Margaret uttered a cry of agony, suchas had never been heard from her since her childhood. Hope fell on thefloor--he had fainted at the sound. 

Even now there was no one but Morris who understood it. Margaretreproached herself bitterly for her selfishness--for her loss of thepower of self-control. Hester's remorse, however greater in degree, wasof its usual kind, strong and brief. She repeated, as she had donebefore, that she made her husband wretched--that she should never haveanother happy moment--that she wished he had never seen her. For therest of the day she was humbled, contrite, convinced that she shouldgive way to her temper no more. Her eyes filled when her husband spoketenderly to her, and her conduct to Margaret was one act ofsupplication. But a lesser degree of this same kind of penitence hadproduced no permanent good effect before; and there was no security thatthe present paroxysm would have a different result. 

Morris had seen that the children were engaged up-stairs when she camedown at Margaret's silent summons, to help to revive her master. Whenshe saw that there had been distress before there was illness, she tookher part. She resolved that no one but herself should hear his firstwords, and sent the ladies away when she saw that his consciousness wasreturning. All the world might have heard his first words. Herecovered himself with a vigorous effort, swallowed a glass of wine, andwithin a few minutes was examining a patient in the waiting-room. Therethe little girls saw him as they passed the half-open door, on their wayout with their treasure of chintz and print; and having heard somebustle below, they carried home word that they believed Mr Hope hadbeen doing something to somebody which had made somebody faint; andSophia, shuddering, observed how horrid it must be to be a surgeon'swife. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

WARNINGS. 

Maria Young's lodging at the farrier's had one advantage over manybetter dwellings;--it was pleasanter in Winter than in Summer. Therewas little to find fault with in the tiny sitting-room after candleswere lighted. The fire burned clear in the grate; and when the screenwas up, there were no draughts. This screen was quite a modernimprovement. When Fanny and Mary Grey had experienced the pleasure ofsurprising Sophia with a token of sisterly affection, in the shape of apiece of India-rubber, and their mother with a token of filialaffection, in the form of a cotton-box, they were unwilling to stop, andlooked round to see whether they could not present somebody with a tokenof some other sort of affection. Sophia was taken into their counsels;and she, being aware of how Miss Young's candle flared when the wind washigh, devised this screen. The carpenter made the frame; Sydney coveredit with canvas and black paper for a ground; and the little girls pastedon it all the drawings and prints they could muster. Here was theDargle, an everlasting waterfall, that looked always the same in thesunny-coloured print. There was Morland's Woodcutter, with his tallfigure, his pipe, his dog, and his faggot, with the snow lying allaround him. Two or three cathedrals were interspersed; and, in themidst of them, and larger than any of them, a silhouette of Mr Grey, with the eyelash wonderfully like, and the wart upon his nose not to bemistaken. Then there was Charles the First taking leave of his family;and, on either side of this, an evening primrose in water-colours, byMary, and a head of Terror, with a square mouth and starting eyes, incrayon, by Fanny. Mrs Grey produced some gay border which thepaper-hanger had left over when the attics were last furnished; andSydney cut out in white paper a huntsman with his whip in the air, afox, a gate, and two hounds. Mr Grey pleaded, that, having contributedhis face, he had done all that could be expected of him: nevertheless, he brought home one day, on his return from market, a beautiful Streamof Time, which made the children dance round their screen. It wassettled at first that this would nobly ornament the whole of one side;but it popped into Sydney's head, just as he was falling asleep onenight, how pretty it would be to stick it round with the planets. Sothe planets were cut out in white, and shaded with Indian ink. Therewas no mistaking Saturn with his ring, or Jupiter with his moons. Atlength, all was done, and the cook was glad to hear that no more pastewould be wanted, and the little girls might soon leave off giggling whenMiss Young asked them, in the schoolroom, why they were jogging oneanother's elbows. Mr Grey spared one of his men to deposit theprecious piece of handiwork at Miss Young's lodging; and there, when shewent home one cold afternoon, she found the screen standing between thefire and the door, and, pinned on it, a piece of paper, inscribed, "AToken of friendly Affection. "

This was not, however, the only, nor the first, gift with which Maria'sparlour was enriched. Amidst all the bustle of furnishing the Hopes'house, Margaret had found time to plan and execute a window-curtain forher friend's benefit; and another person--no other than Philip Enderby--had sent in a chaise-longue, just the right size to stand between thefire and the table. It had gone hard with Maria to accept this lastgift; but his nephew and nieces were Philip's plea of excuse for theact; and this plea cut her off from refusing: though in her heart shebelieved that neither the children nor ancient regard were in histhoughts when he did it, but rather Margaret's affection for her. Forsome time, this chaise-longue was a couch of thorns; but now affairs hadput on a newer aspect still, and Maria forgot her own perplexities andtroubles in sympathy with her friend. 

There was nothing to quarrel with in the look of the chaise-longue, whenMargaret entered Maria's room in the twilight, in the afternoon of theappointed Thursday. 

"Reading by fire-light?" said Margaret. 

"I suppose I am: but it had not occurred to me--the daylight went awayso softly. Six o'clock, I declare! The days _are_ lengthening, as wesay every year. But we will have something better than firelight, ifyou will be so kind as to set those candles on the table. "

The time was long put when Maria thought of apologising for asking herfriend to do what her lameness rendered painful to herself. Margaretlaid aside her bonnet and cloak behind the screen, lighted the candles, put more coals on the fire, and took her seat--not beside Maria, but ina goodly armchair, which she drew forward from its recess. 

"Now, " said she, "we only want a cat to be purring on the rug to make usa complete winter picture. The kettle will be coming soon to sing onthe hob: and that will do nearly as well. But, Maria, I wonder _you_have no cat. We have set up a cat. I think I will send you a kitten, some day, as a token of neighbourly affection. "

"Thank you. Do you know, I was positively assured lately that I had acat? I said all I could in proof that I had none; but Mrs Tuckerpersisted in her inquiries after its health, notwithstanding. "

"What did she mean?"

"She said she saw a kitten run into the passage, and that it never cameout again: so that it followed of course that it must be here still. One day, when I was in school, she came over to satisfy herself; andtrue enough, there had been a kitten. The poor thing jumped from thepassage window into the yard, and went to see what they were about atthe forge. A hot horse-shoe fell upon its back, and it mewed sodolefully that the people drowned it. So there you have the story of mycat, as it was told to me. "

"Thank you, it is a good thing to know. But what does Mrs Grey say toyour setting up a cat?"

"When she heard Mrs Tucker's first inquiries, she took them for animputation, and was vexed accordingly. `Miss Young!' said she, `Youmust be mistaken, Mrs Tucker. Miss Young cannot afford to keep akitten!'"

"Oh, for shame!" said Margaret, laughing. "But what is the annualexpense of a kitten--can you tell us? I am afraid we never consideredthat. "

"Why, there is the breast of a fowl, once a year or so, when your cookforgets to shut the larder-door behind her. Cats never take thedrumsticks when there is a breast, you are aware. You know best how MrHope looks, when the drumsticks and side bones come to table, with anempty space in the middle of the dish where the breast ought to havebeen. "

"I will tell you, the first time it happens. " And Margaret sank into anabsent fit, brought on by the bare suggestion of discontent at home. Hester had made her uncomfortable, the last thing before she left thehouse, by speaking sharply of Maria, without any fresh provocation. Undisciplined still by what had happened so lately, she had wished MariaYoung a hundred miles off. Margaret meditated and sighed. It was sometime before Maria spoke. When she did, she said:

"Margaret, do not you think people had better not persuade themselvesand their very intimate friends that they are happy when they are not?"

"They had better not think, even in their own innermost minds, whetherthey are happy or not, if they can help it. "

"True: but there are times when that is impossible--when it is farbetter to avoid the effort. Come--I suspect we may relieve each otherjust now, by allowing the truth. I will own, if you will, that I amvery unhappy to-night. Never mind what it is about. "

"I will, if you will, " replied Margaret, faintly smiling. 

"There now, that's right! We shall be all the better for it. We havequite enough of seeming happy, God knows, beyond these doors. We cantalk there about kittens and cold fowl. Here we will not talk at all, unless we like; and we will each groan as much as we please. "

"I am sorry to hear you speak so, " said Margaret, tenderly. "Not that Ido not agree with you. I think it is a terrible mistake to fancy thatit is religious to charm away grief, which, after all, is rejecting itbefore it has done its work; and, as for concealing it, there must bevery good reasons indeed for that, to save it from being hypocrisy. Butthe more I agree with you, the more sorry I am to hear you say just whatI was thinking. I am afraid you must be very unhappy, Maria. "

"I'm in great pain to-night; and I do not find that pain becomes less ofan evil by one's being used to it. Indeed, I think the reverse happens;for the future comes into the consideration. "

"Do you expect to go on to suffer this same pain? Can nothing cure it?Is there no help?"

"None, but in patience. There are intermissions, happily, and prettylong ones. I get through the summer very well; but the end of thewinter--this same month of February--is a sad aching time; and so itmust be for as many winters as I may have to live. But I am better offthan I was. Last February I did not know you. Oh, Margaret, if theyhad not brought you up from under the ice, the other day, how differentwould all have been to-night!"

"How strange it seems to think of the difference that hung on that oneact!" said Margaret, shivering again at the remembrance of her icyprison. "What, and where, should I have been now? And what would havebeen the change in this little world of ours? You would have missed me, I know; and on that account I am glad it ended as it did. "

"And on no other?" asked Maria, looking earnestly at her friend. 

"My sister would have grieved sadly at first--you do not know what careshe takes of me--how often she is thinking of my comfort. And Edward isfond of me too: I know he is; but they live for each other, and couldspare every one else. You and Morris would have been my mourners, andyou two are enough to live for. "

"To say nothing of others who may arise. "

"I hope nothing more will arise in my life, Maria. I want no change. Ihave had enough of it. "

"You think so now. I understand your feeling very well. But yet I canfancy that when you are twice as old as you are--when a few grey hairspeep out among all that brown--when this plump little hand grows thin, and that girlish figure of yours looks dignified and middle-aged, andpeople say that nobody thought when you were young that you would turnout a handsome woman--I can fancy that when all this has happened, youmay be more disposed to look forward, and less disinclined to change, than you feel at this moment. But there is no use in saying so now. You shake your head, and I nod mine. You say, `No, ' and I say, `Yes, 'and there is an end of it. "

"Where will you be then, I wonder?"

"I do not wish to know, nor even to inquire of my own judgment. Myhealth is very bad--worse than you are aware of. I cannot expect to beable to work always; some of my present pupils are growing very tall;and no strangers will take me if I do not get much better; which is, Ibelieve, impossible. The future, therefore, is all a mystery; and solet it remain. I am not anxious about that. "

"But I am. "

"Here comes tea. Now you will be doing a finer thing in making us agood cup of tea, than in settling my future ever so satisfactorily--seeing that you cannot touch it with so much as your little finger. Thetea is wholly in your power. "

"You look forward to other people's grey hair and sedateness of face, though you will not to your own. "

"Mere grey hair is as certain as futurity itself; and I will allow youto prophesy that much for me or for anybody. "

"Why should we not prophesy about your pupils too? They seem to beimproving very much. "

"They certainly are; and I am glad you have lighted upon the pleasantestsubject I ever think about. Oh, Margaret, you do not know whatencouragement I have about some of those children! Their lot is andwill be a hard one, in many respects. It will be difficult for them togrow kindly, and liberal, and truthful, with such examples as they havebefore their eyes. They advance like the snail on the wall, creepingthree inches on in the day, and falling back two at night. They get outof a pretty mood of mind in the morning, and expand and grow interestedin things out of Deerbrook; and then, in the evening, the greater partof this is undone, and they go to bed with their heads full of small, vile notions about their neighbours. "

"And when they grow too wise to have their heads so filled, their heartswill be heavy for those who are not rising like themselves. "

"That is unavoidable, and they must bear the sorrow. We must hope thatthey will disperse from Deerbrook, and find their way into a more genialsociety than they can ever know here. I must keep the confidence of mychildren sacred even from you, Margaret: but you may believe me when Itell you, that if you knew all that we have to say to one another, youwould find some of these children animated with really noble thoughts, and capable of really generous acts. "

"`Some of them. ' Mary, in particular, I venture to conjecture to be inyour thoughts. "

"Yes: Mary in particular; but she had always a more gentle and generoustemper than her sisters. Fanny, however, is improving remarkably. "

"I am delighted to hear it, and I had begun to suspect it. Fanny, Iobserve, lays fewer informations than she did; and there is more ofthought, and less of a prying expression, in her face. She is reallygrowing more like Mary in countenance. The little Rowlands--the youngerones--seem simple enough; but Matilda, what a disagreeable child sheis!"

"The most that can be done with her is to leave her only a poorcreature--to strip her of the conceit and malice with which her motherwould overlay her feeble intellect. This sounds deplorably enough; but, as parents will not speak the plain truth to themselves about theircharge, governesses must. There is, perhaps, little better material inFanny: but I trust we may one day see her more lowly than she can atpresent relish the idea of being, and with energy enough to improveunder the discipline of life, when she can no longer have that ofschool. She and Mary have been acknowledging to-day a fine piece ofexperience. Mr Grey is pleased with their great Improvement in Latin. He finds they can read, with ease and pleasure, some favourite classicalscraps which he used to talk about without exciting any interest inthem. They honestly denied having devoted any more time to Latin thanbefore, or having taken any more pains; and no new methods have beentried. Here was a mystery. To-day they have solved it. They find thatall is owing to their getting up earlier in the morning to teach thoselittle orphans, the Woods, to read and sew. "

"Not a very circuitous process, " said Margaret; "love and kind interest, energy and improvement--whether in Latin or anything else. But what didyou mean just now about truth? What should make the Greys otherwisethan truthful?"

"Oh, not the Greys! I was thinking of the other family when I saidthat. But that is a large subject: let us leave it till after tea. Will you give me another cup?"

"Now; shall we begin upon our large subject?" said she, as the doorclosed behind the tea-tray and kettle, and Margaret handed her herwork-bag. 

"I am aware that I asked for it, " replied Margaret; "but it is adisagreeable topic, and perhaps we had better avoid it. "

"You will take me for a Deerbrook person, if I say we will go into it, will not you?"

"Oh, no: you have a reason, I see. So, why should not the littleRowlands be truthful?"

"Because they have so perpetual an example of falsehood before them athome. I have made some painful discoveries there lately. "

"Is it possible you did not know that woman long ago?"

"I knew her obvious qualities, which there is no need to specify: butthe depth of her untruth is a new fact to me. "

"Are you sure of it, now?"

"Quite sure of it in some particulars, and strongly suspecting it inothers. Do not tell your sister anything of what I am going to say, unless you find it necessary for the direction of her conduct. Let yourdisclosures be rather to Mr Hope. That is settled, is it? Well, MrsRowland's ruling passion just now is hatred to your household. "

"I suspected as much. But--the untruth. "

"Wait a little. She dislikes you, all and severally. "

"What, my brother?"

"Oh, yes; for marrying into the Grey connection so decidedly. Did youever hear that before?"

Margaret laughed; and her friend went on--

"This capture and imprisonment of her mother (for the poor old lady isnot allowed to see whom she pleases) is chiefly to get her from underMr Hope's care. I fancy, from her air, and from some things she hasdropped, that she has some grand _coup-de-theatre_ in reserve about thatmatter; but this is merely suspicion: I will now speak only of what Iknow to exist. She is injuring your brother to an extent that he isnot, but ought to be, aware of. "

"What does she say? She shudders at his politics, I know. "

"Yes; that might be ignorance merely, and even conscientious ignorance:so we will let that pass. She also hints, very plainly and extensively, that your brother and sister are not happy together. "

"She is a wicked woman, " said Margaret, with a deep sigh. "I halfsuspected what you tell me, from poor George's errand that unhappy day. "

"Right. Mr Rowland's irony was intended to stop his wife'sinsinuations before the children. She says the most unwarrantablethings about Mrs Grey's having made the match--and she intimates thatHester has several times gone to bed in hysterics, from Mr Hope havingupbraided her with taking him in. "

"What _is_ to be done?" cried Margaret, throwing down her work. 

"Your brother will decide for himself whether to speak to Mr Rowland, or to let the slander pass, and live it down. Our duty is to give himinformation; and I feel that it is a duty. And now, have you been toldanything about Mr Hope's practice of dissection?"

Margaret related what she had heard on the bank of the river, and Hope'sexplanation of it. 

"He knows more than he told you, I have no doubt, " replied Maria. "Thebeginning of it was, your brother's surgery-pupil having sent a greattoe, in a handsome-looking sealed packet, to some lad in the village, who happened to open it at table. You may imagine the conjectures as towhere it came from, and the revival of stories about robbingchurchyards, and of prejudices about dissection. Mrs Rowland could notlet such an opportunity as this pass by; and her neighbours have beenfavoured with dark hints, as to what has been heard under the churchyardwall, and what she herself has seen from her window in sleepless nights. Now, Mr Hope must take notice of this. It is too dangerous a subjectto be left quietly to the ignorance and superstitions of such a set ofpeople as those among whom his calling lies. No ignorance on earthexceeds that of the country folks whom he attends. "

"But they worship him, " cried Margaret. 

"They have worshipped him; but you know, worship easily gives place tohatred among the extremely ignorant; and nothing is so likely to quickenthe process as to talk about violating graves. Do not be frightened; Itell you this to prevent mischief, not to prophesy it. Mr Hope willtake what measures he thinks fit: and I shall tell Mr Rowland, tomorrowmorning, that I am the source of your information. I was just going towarn him to-day that I meant to speak to you in this way; but I left ittill to-morrow, that I might not be prevented. "

"Dear Maria, this will cost you your bread. "

"I believe not; but this consideration belongs to that future of time onwhich, as I was saying, we cannot lay our little fingers. The presentis clear enough--that Mr Hope ought to know his own case. "

"He shall know it. But, Maria, do you mean that Mrs Rowland talks ofall these affairs before her children?"

"When Mr Rowland is not present to check it. And this brings me tosomething which I think ought to be said, though I have no proof tobring. Having found of late what things Mrs Rowland can say for apurpose--how variously and how monstrously untrue--and seeing that allher enterprises are at present directed against the people who live in apleasant little corner-house--"

"But why? You have not yet fully accounted for this enmity. "

"I have not, but I will now. I think she joins your name with herbrother's, and that she accordingly hates you now as she once hatedHester. But mind, I am not sure of this. "

"But how--? Why--?"

"You will divine that I have changed my opinion about Mr Enderby'sbeing engaged to Miss Bruce, since you asked me for my judgment upon it. I may very possibly be mistaken: but as Mr Enderby lies under censurefor forming and carrying on such an arrangement in strange concealmentfrom his most intimate friends, I think it due to him at least to putthe supposition that he may not be guilty. "

Margaret could not speak, though a thousand questions struggled in herheart. 

"I am aware, " continued Maria, "with what confidence she has everywherestated the fact of this engagement, and that Mrs Enderby fully believesit. But I have been struck throughout with a failure of particularityin Mrs Rowland's knowledge. She cannot tell when her brother last sawMiss Bruce, nor whether he has any intention of going to Rome. She doesnot know, evidently, whether he was engaged when he was last here; and Icannot get rid of the impression, that his being engaged now is a matterof inference from a small set of facts, which will bear more than oneinterpretation. "

"Surely she would not dare--. " Margaret paused. 

"It is a bold stroke (supposing me right), but she would strike boldlyto make a quarrel between her brother and his friends in thecorner-house: and if the device should fail at last, she has theintermediate satisfaction of making them uncomfortable. "

"Horrid creature!" said Margaret, feeling, however, that she wouldforgive all the horridness for the sake of finding that Mrs Rowland haddone this horrid thing. 

"We must not forget, " said Maria, "that there is another side to thequestion. Young men have been known to engage themselves mysteriously, and without sufficient respect to the confidence of intimate friends. "

"This must be ascertained, Maria;" and again Margaret stopped short witha blush of shame. 

"By time, Margaret; in no other way. I cannot, of course, speak to MrRowland, or any one, on so private an affair of the family; nor, underthe circumstances, can Mr Hope stir in it. We must wait; but it cannotbe for long. Some illumination must reach Deerbrook soon--either fromMr Enderby's going to Rome, or coming here to see his mother. "

"Mrs Rowland said he would come here, she hoped, for his weddingjourney. "

"She did say so, I know. And she has told plenty of people that herbrother is delighted that Mrs Enderby is settled with her; whereas somebeautiful plants arrived this morning for Mrs Enderby's conservatory, by his orders (the Rowlands have no conservatory you know). Thechildren were desired not to mention the arrival of these plants tograndmamma; and Mrs Rowland wrote by return of post--I imagine toinform him for the first time of his mother's removal. "

Margaret thought these things were too bad to be true. 

"I should have said so, too, some time ago: and as I cannot tooearnestly repeat, I may be wrong now. But I have done my duty in givingyou reason for suspending your judgment of Mr Enderby. This beingdone, we will talk of something else. --Now, do not you think there maybe some difficulty in preserving my pupils from a habit of untruth?"

"Yes, indeed. "

But the talking of something else did not operate so well as it sounded. The pauses were long after what had passed. At length, when Margaretdetected herself in the midst of the speculation, "if he is not engagedto Miss Bruce, it does not follow--, " she roused herself, andexclaimed--

"How very good it is of you, Maria, to have laid all this open to me!"

Maria hung her head over her work, and thought within herself that herfriend could not judge of the deed. She replied--

"Thank you! I thought I should get some sympathy from you in the end, to repay me for the irksomeness of exposing such a piece of social viceas this poor lady's conduct. "

"Yes, indeed, I ought to have acknowledged it before, as I feel it; butyou know there is so much to think over! it is so wonderful--so almostinconceivable!"

"It is so. "

"Is it quite necessary, Maria--yes, I see it is necessary that youshould speak to Mr Rowland to-morrow? You are bound in honesty to doso; but it will be very painful. Can we not help you? Can we not insome way spare you?"

"No, you cannot, thank you. For Mr Rowland's sake, no one must be by;and none of you can testify to the facts. No; leave me alone. By thistime to-morrow night it will be done. What knock is that? No one everknocks on my account. Surely it cannot be your servant already. It isonly now half-past eight. "

"I promised Hester I would go home early. "

"She cannot want you half so much as I do. Stay another hour. "

Margaret could not. Hester made a point of her returning at this time. When the cloaking and final chat were done, and Margaret was at thedoor, Maria called her. Margaret came skipping back to hear herfriend's whisper. 

"How is your wretchedness, Margaret?"

"How is yours?" was Margaret's reply. 

"Much better. The disburdening of it is a great comfort. "

"And the pain--the aching?"

"Oh, never mind that!"

Margaret shook her head; she could not but mind it--but wish that shecould take it upon herself sometimes. She had often thought lately, that she should rather enjoy a few weeks of Maria's pain, as analternative to the woe under which she had been suffering; but this, ifshe could have tried the experiment, she would probably have found to bea mistake. When she saw her friend cover her eyes with her hand, as iffor a listless hour of solitude, she felt that she had been wrong inyielding to her sister's jealousy of her being so much with Maria; andshe resolved that, next time, Maria should appoint the hour for herreturn home. 

When Maria was thus covering her eyes with her hand, she wasthinking--"Now, half this task is over. The other half to-morrow--andthen the consequences!"

When Margaret entered the drawing-room at home, where her brother wasreading aloud to Hester, he exclaimed--

"We beat all Deerbrook for early visiting, I think. Here are you home;and I dare say Mr Tucker has still another pipe to smoke, and the wineis not mulled yet at the Jameses. "

"It is quite time Margaret was giving us a little of her company, I amsure, " said Hester. "You forget how early she went. If it was not forthe school, I think she and Maria would spend all their time together. I have every wish not to interfere: but I cannot think that thisfriendship has made Maria less selfish. "

"It would, I dare say, my dear, but that there was no selfishness tobegin upon. I am afraid she is very unwell, Margaret?"

"In much pain, I fear. "

"I will go and see if I can do her any good. You can glance over whatwe have read, and I shall be back in a quarter of an hour, to go on withit. "

"I wonder you left Maria, if she is so poorly. "

"I determined that I would not, another time; but this time I hadpromised. "

"Pray, do not make out that I am any restraint upon your intercoursewith Maria. And yet--it is not quite fair to say that, either. "

"I do not think it is quite fair. "

"But you should warn me--you should tell me, if I ask anythingunreasonable. When are you going again? An old patient of my husband'shas sent us a quarter of a chest of very fine oranges. We will carryMaria a basketful of oranges to-morrow. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

LONG WALKS. 

The unhappy are indisposed to employment: all active occupations arewearisome and disgusting in prospect, at a time when everything, lifeitself, is full of weariness and disgust. Yet the unhappy must beemployed, or they will go mad. Comparatively blessed are they, if theyare set in families, where claims and duties abound, and cannot beescaped. In the pressure of business there is present safety andultimate relief. Harder is the lot of those who have few necessaryoccupations, enforced by other claims than their own harmlessness andprofitableness. Reading often fails. Now and then it may beguile; butmuch oftener the attention is languid, the thoughts wander, andassociations with the subject of grief are awakened. Women who findthat reading will not do, will obtain no relief from sewing. Sewing ispleasant enough in moderation to those whose minds are at ease thewhile; but it is an employment which is trying to the nerves when longcontinued, at the best; and nothing can be worse for the harassed, andfor those who want to escape from themselves. Writing is bad. The penhangs idly suspended over the paper, or the sad thoughts that are alivewithin write themselves down. The safest and best of all occupationsfor such sufferers as are fit for it, is intercourse with youngchildren. An infant might beguile Satan and his peers the day afterthey were couched on the lake of fire, if the love of children chancedto linger amidst the ruins of their angelic nature. Next to this comeshonest, genuine acquaintanceship among the poor; not merecharity-visiting, grounded on soup-tickets and blankets, but intercourseof mind, with real mutual interest between the parties. Gardening isexcellent, because it unites bodily exertion with a sufficientengagement of the faculties, while sweet, compassionate Nature isministering cure in every sprouting leaf and scented blossom, andbeckoning sleep to draw nigh, and be ready to follow up her benignantwork. Walking is good, --not stepping from shop to shop, or fromneighbour to neighbour; but stretching out far into the country, to thefreshest fields, and the highest ridges, and the quietest lanes. However sullen the imagination may have been among its griefs at home, here it cheers up and smiles. However listless the limbs may have beenwhen sustaining a too heavy heart, here they are braced, and the lagginggait becomes buoyant again. However perverse the memory may have beenin presenting all that was agonising, and insisting only on what cannotbe retrieved, here it is first disregarded, and then it sleeps and thesleep of the memory is the day in Paradise to the unhappy. The merebreathing of the cool wind on the face in the commonest highway, is restand comfort which must be felt at such times to be believed. It isdisbelieved in the shortest intervals between its seasons of enjoyment:and every time the sufferer has resolution to go forth to meet it, itpenetrates to the very heart in glad surprise. The fields are betterstill; for there is the lark to fill up the hours with mirthful music;or, at worst, the robin and flocks of fieldfares, to show that thehardest day has its life and hilarity. But the calmest region is theupland, where human life is spread out beneath the bodily eye, where themind roves from the peasant's nest to the spiry town, from theschool-house to the churchyard, from the diminished team in the patch offallow, or the fisherman's boat in the cove, to the viaduct that spansthe valley, or the fleet that glides ghost-like on the horizon. This isthe perch where the spirit plumes its ruffled and drooping wines, andmakes ready to let itself down any wind that Heaven may send. 

No doubt Margaret found the benefit of exercise, and the solitaryenjoyment of the country; for, during the last few weeks, walking seemedto have become a passion with her. Hester was almost out of patienceabout it, when for a moment she lost sight of what she well knew must bethe cause of this strong new interest. Every doubtful morning, Margaretwas at the window exploring the clouds. Every fine day she laid herwatch on the table before her, impatiently waiting the approach of thehour when her brother was to come in for Hester, and when she might setoff by herself, not to return till dinner-time. She became renowned inDeerbrook for the length of her excursions. The grocer had met her farout in one direction, when returning from making his purchases at themarket town. The butcher had seen her in the distant fields, when hepaid a visit to his grazier in the pastures. Dr Levitt had walked hishorse beside her in the lane which formed the limit of the longer of histwo common rides; and many a neighbour or patient of Mr Hope's had beensurprised at her declining a cast in a taxed-cart or gig, when there wasonly a long stretch of plain road before her, and the lanes and fieldswere too miry to enable her to seek any variety in them, in her wayhome. 

These were, in fact, Margaret's times of refreshing--of practicalworship. These were the times when she saw what at other moments sheonly repeated to herself--that all things are right, and that ourpersonal trials derive their bitterness from our ignorance and spiritualinexperience. At these times she could not only pity all who suffered, but congratulate all who enjoyed, and could afford feelings ofdisinterested regard to Philip, and of complacency to Miss Bruce. Sheremembered that Miss Bruce was unconscious of having injured her--waspossibly unaware even of her existence; and then she enjoyed the luxuryof blessing her rival, and of longing for an opportunity to serve hersecretly and silently, as the happy girl's innocence of all wrongtowards her deserved. 

Margaret's desire for a long solitary walk was as strong as ever, theday after she had visited Maria. No opportunity had occurred ofspeaking to her brother without alarming Hester; and she had almostdetermined merely to refer him to Maria, instead of telling the storyherself. She should not see him again till dinner. He was gone intothe country: the day was gloomy and cold, and Hester was not disposed toleave the fireside: so Margaret issued forth, with thick shoes, umbrella, and muff--guarded against everything that might occur overheadand under foot. She had generally found hope, or at least comfort, abroad; to-day, when she ought to have been much happier, she foundanxiety and fear. The thought, the very words, would incessantly recur, `If he is not engaged to Miss Bruce, it does not follow... ' Then sheseriously grieved for her brother, and the troubles which she fearedawaited him; and then she reproached herself with not grieving enough--not having attention enough to spare from her own concerns. While shewas walking along on the dry causeway, looking straight before her, butthinking of far other things than the high-road, she was startled by thestroke of a horse's foot against a stone close by her side, and a voicespeaking almost in her ear. It was only Edward. He was going a coupleof miles forward, and he brought his horse beside the raised causeway, so that they could converse as if walking together. 

"There is nobody to overhear us, I think, " said Margaret, looking round. "I have been wanting, since yesterday evening, to speak to you alone--about something very disagreeable, which I would not disturb Hesterwith. You, of course, can do as you please about telling her. "

She related to him the whole story of Mrs Rowland's imputations andproceedings--her reports of the hysterics and their origin, thebody-snatching, and the cause and mode of Mrs Enderby's removal. Margaret had always considered her brother as a man of uncommon nerve;and her surprise was therefore great at seeing him change colour as hedid. 

"We shall agree, " said she, "that the worst of all this is, that thereis some truth at the bottom part of it. "

"Oh, Heavens!" thought Hope, "is it possible that Mrs Grey can havetold the share she had in my marriage?" It was but a momentary fear. Margaret went on. 

"I have never hoped--I never hoped at Birmingham, and much less here--that Hester could escape the observation of her neighbours--that heroccasional agitation of spirits should not excite remark andspeculation. As we are not quite whole and sound in our domesticpeace--(I must speak plainly, brother, at such a time as this) I shouldthink it would be better to take no notice of that set of imputations. I trust we shall live them down. "

"You gave me great comfort in a few words once, " said Hope. "Do youremember saying, `When the time for acting comes, see how she will act!'You know her well, and you judge her rightly: and you will, perhaps, bethe less sorry to hear that the time seems coming when we may all haveto act--I scarcely see how--but against adversity. "

"She will come out nobly then. I fear nothing for her but too muchprosperity. "

"There is no fear of that, I assure you, " said Hope, smiling somewhatsadly. 

"You find the effect of this woman's slanders?"

"My situation has, from one cause or more, totally changed since youfirst knew me. It would break Hester's heart to hear what I amsubjected to in the discharge of my daily business. I tell her a triflenow and then, to prepare her for what may happen; but she and you do notknow a tenth part, of what is inflicted upon me. "

"And what may happen?"

"I cannot see the extent of it myself: but I am losing my practice everyday. No; not through any failure; not through any of the accidentswhich will happen in all medical practice. There are reports of suchabroad, I believe; but nothing is commoner than those reports. Thetruth is, no patient of mine has died, or failed to do well, for anunusually long space of time. The discontent with me is from othercauses. "

"From Mrs Rowland's tongue, I doubt not, more than from your politics. "

"The ignorance of the people about us is the great evil. Without this, neither Mrs Rowland, nor any one else, could persuade them that I robthe churchyard, and vaccinate children to get patients, and draw goodteeth to sell again. "

"Oh, monstrous!" said Margaret, who yet could not help laughing. "Younever draw teeth, do you?"

"Sometimes; but not when I can get people to go to the dentist atBlickley. Mrs Grey used to boast to you of my popularity; but I neverliked it much. I had to be perpetually on the watch to avoidconfidences; and you see how fast the stream is at present running thecontrary way. I can hardly get on my horse now, without being insultedat my own door. "

"Must you submit to all this?"

"By no means. I have called two or three men to account, and shaken mywhip over one or two more--with excellent effect. If there were nonebut bullies among my enemies, I could easily deal with them. "

"But cannot we go away, and settle somewhere else?"

"Oh, no! Wherever I might go, it would soon be understood that I hadbeen obliged to leave Deerbrook, from being detected in body-snatchingand the like. I owe it to myself to stay. We must remain, and livedown all imputations whatever, if we can. "

"And if we cannot?"

"Then we shall see what to do when the time comes. "

"And having managed the bullies, how do you propose to manage MrsRowland? What do you think of speaking to Mr Grey?"

"I shall not do that. The Greys have no concern with it; but they willthink they have. Then there will be a partisan warfare, with me for thepretext, and the two families have had quite warfare enough for alifetime already. No, I shall not bring the Greys into it. I am sorryenough for Mr Rowland, for I am sure he has no part in all this. Ishall go to him to-day. I should confront the lady at once, and callher to account, but that Miss Young must be considered. The morecourageous and disinterested she is, the more care we must take of her. "

"Perhaps she is at this moment telling Mr Rowland what we talked aboutlast night. How very painful! Do you know she thinks--(it is right totell the whole for other people's sake)--she thinks that what MrsRowland says is not to be trusted, in any case where she feels enmity. Maria even doubts whether Mr Enderby has treated you and his otherfriends so very negligently--whether he is engaged to Miss Bruce, afterall. "

Mr Hope was so much engaged about one of his stirrups while Margaretsaid this, that he could not observe where and how she was looking. 

"Very likely, " replied Hope, at length. "Hester has thought all alongthat this was possible. We shall know the truth from Enderby himself, one of these days, by act or word. Meantime, I, for one, shall wait tohear his own story. "

There was another pause, at the end of which Mr Hope clapped spurs tohis horse, and said he must be riding on. Margaret called him back fora moment, to ask what he wished her to do about informing Hester of thestate of affairs. Mr Hope was disposed to tell her the whole, ifpossible; but not till he should have come to some issue with MrRowland. He hated mysteries--any concealments in families; and it wasdue both to Hester and to himself that there should be no concealment ofimportant affairs from her. The only cautions to be observed were, tosave her from suspense, to avoid the appearance of a formal telling ofbad news, and to choose an opportunity when she might have time, beforeseeing any of the Rowlands, to consider the principles which shouldregulate her conduct to them, that she might do herself honour by theconsistency and temper, of which she was capable under anycircumstances, when she was only allowed time. 

This was settled, and he rode off with almost his usual gaiety of air. 

He saw Mr Rowland before night. The next day but one, atravelling-carriage from Blickley was seen standing at Mr Rowland'sdoor; and before the clock struck nine, it was loaded with trunks andband-boxes, and crowded with people. As it drove down the villagestreet, merry little faces appeared at each carriage window. MrRowland was on the box. He was going to take his family to Cheltenhamfor the spring months. Miss Rowland was rather delicate, and Deerbrookwas cold in March. Mrs Enderby was left behind; but there was Phoebeto take care of her; and Mr Rowland was to return as soon as he hadsettled his family. It seemed rather a pity, to be sure, that the oldlady had been moved out of her own house just before she was to be leftalone in her new residence; but, between Mr Rowland and her maid, shewould be taken good care of; and the family would return when the warmweather set in. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

DISCLOSURES. 

The whole village seemed relieved by the departure of the Rowlands. Mrs Grey, who had always been refused admission to her old friend onone pretence or another, was joyfully welcomed by Phoebe, and wasplunged into all the delights of neighbourly chat before the clockstruck twelve, on the very first morning, Fanny and Mary Greyvoluntarily offered to go to Miss Young, now that they were her onlypupils, to save her the trouble of the walk to the schoolroom. This wasa great relief to Maria, and her little parlour held the three verynicely; and when the girls had sufficiently admired the screen overagain, --their father's profile, the planets, and the Dargle, theysettled quite as well as at home. There was still a corner left forcousin Margaret, when she chose to come with her German books, or herwork, and her useful remarks on what they were doing. No immediateconsequences had happened to Maria from her plain-dealing with MrRowland; and she was quite ready to enjoy the three months of freedom, without looking too anxiously towards the end of them. The verygardener at the Rowlands' seemed to bestir himself with unusual alacrityto put the garden into spring trim; and the cook and housemaid might beseen over the hedge, walking arm-in-arm on the gravel-walks, smelling atthe mezereon, and admiring Miss Anna's border of yellow crocuses, as thegardener said, as much as if they had been fine plants out of aconservatory. The birds themselves seemed to begin their twittering inthe trees, and the cows their lowing in the meadow, from the hour thatMrs Rowland went away. In other words, there were many whom that eventleft free and at ease to observe the harmonies of nature, who wereusually compelled to observe only the lady, and the discords of herhousehold. 

It was only the second day after the departure of the family thatMargaret took her seat in the offered corner of Maria's parlour. Shelaid down her book, and took up her work, when the question arose, whichhas probably interested all intelligent school-girls for many a year--What made so many Athenians, --so many, that there must have been somewise and good men among them, --treat such a person as Socrates in theway they did? Margaret was quite occupied in admiring the sort ofSocratic method, with which Maria drew out from the minds of her pupilssome of the difficult philosophy of Opinion, and the liberality withwhich she allowed for the distress of heathen moralists at having thesanction of Custom broken up. Margaret was thus quite occupied with thedelight of seeing a great subject skilfully let down into young minds, and the others were no less busy with the subject itself, when Marystarted, and said it made her jump to see Sydney bring Fairy close up tothe window. Fanny imperiously bade her mind what she was about, and letSydney alone: but yet, in a minute or two, Fanny's own eyes weredetected wandering into the yard where Sydney still remained. "He isgetting Fairy shod, " she said in a soliloquising tone. Every onelaughed, --the idea of shoeing a fairy was so ridiculous!--and somewitticisms, about Bottom the Weaver, and his ass's head, were sported. It was evident that Socrates had no more chance this day, and Mariachanged the subject. 

"Sydney looks very much as if he wanted to come in, " observed Mary. 

Sydney did particularly wish to come in; but he saw that cousin Margaretwas there: and he had felt an unconquerable awe of cousin Margaret eversince the day of his conveying her over the ice. So he stoodirresolutely watching, as nail after nail was driven into Fairy's hoof, casting glances every minute at the window. 

"Shall I see what he wants?" asked Margaret, perceiving that lessonswould not go on till Sydney had got out what he wished to say. "May Iopen the window for a moment, Maria, to speak to him?"

"What do you think?" cried Sydney, taking instant advantage of themovement, and carrying off his awkwardness by whipping the window-sillwhile he spoke. "What _do_ you think? Mr Enderby is come by the coachthis morning. I saw him myself; and you might have met our Ben carryinghis portmanteau home, from where he was put down, half an hour ago. We'll have rare sport, if he stays as long as he did last summer. I dobelieve, " he continued, leaning into the room, and speaking with a touchof his mother's mystery, "he would have come long since if Mrs Rowlandhad not been here. I wish she had taken herself off two months ago, andthen I might have had a run with the harriers with him, as he promised Ishould. "

"Now you have said just a little too much, Sydney; so you may go, " saidMaria. "Shut down the window, will you?"

It was well for Margaret that there was the recess of the window to leanin. There she stood, not speaking a word. It was not in nature forMaria to refrain from casting a glance at her, --which glance grew into alook of intelligence. 

"You do not quite wink as mamma does, " observed Fanny, "but I know verywell what you mean, Miss Young. "

"So people always fancy when they observe upon nothing, or upon whatthey know nothing about, Fanny. But I thought you were convinced, sometime ago, that you should not watch people's countenances, to find outwhat they are thinking, any more than--"

"I should read a letter they are writing, " interrupted Fanny. "Well, Ibeg your pardon, Miss Young; but I really thought I saw you looking atcousin Margaret's face. However, I dare say everybody supposes thesame, --that Mr Enderby would not have been here now if Mrs Rowland hadnot gone away. You need not mind Mary and me, Miss Young; you know wehear all about Mrs Rowland at home. "

"I know you are apt to fancy that you understand all about Mrs Rowland, my dear; but perhaps Mrs Rowland herself might happen to differ fromyou, if she could look into your mind. It is for you to settle withyourself, whether you think she would be satisfied that you have done byher as you would have her do by you. This is your own affair, Fanny; sonow, without any one trying to see in your face what you think ofyourself, we will go to our business. "

The scratching of pens in the exercise-books, and the turning over ofthe dictionary, now proceeded for some time in profound silence, in themidst of which Margaret stole back to her corner. 

"There goes twelve!" softly exclaimed Mary. "Mamma said we might gowith her to call at cousin Hester's, if we were home and ready byhalf-past twelve. We shall not have nearly done, Miss Young. "

Miss Young did not take the hint. She only said--

"Is your mamma going to call on Mrs Hope? Then, Margaret, do not letus detain you here. You will wish to be at home, I am sure. "

Never, as Maria supposed, had Margaret more impatiently desired to be athome. Though accustomed to go in and out of Maria's abode, with orwithout reason assigned, she had not now ventured to move, though thelittle room felt like a prison. An awkward consciousness had fixed herto her seat. Now, however, she made haste to depart, promising to visither friend again very soon. The little girls wanted her to arrange tocome every morning, and stay all the time of lessons: but Margaretdeclined making any such engagement. 

As she went home, she scarcely raised her eyes, for fear of seeing_him_; and yet she lingered for an instant at her brother's door, from afeeling of disappointment at having met no one she knew. 

She had fully and undoubtingly intended to tell Hester of Philip'sarrival; but when she had taken off her bonnet, and settled herselfbeside her sister in the drawing-room, she found that it was quiteimpossible to open the subject. While she was meditating upon this, theentrance of the Greys seemed to settle the matter. She supposed theywould make the disclosure for her: but she soon perceived that they hadnot heard the news. Mrs Grey went on quoting Mrs Enderby and Phoebe, and Sophia remarked on the forsaken condition of the old lady, in a waywhich was quite incompatible with any knowledge of the new aspect whichaffairs had assumed this morning. It was a great relief to Margaret tobe spared the discussion of a fact, on which so much was to be said; butlo! in the midst of a flow of talk about fomentations, and the best kindof night-light for a sick room, there was a knock at the door, everystroke of which was recognised to a certainty by Margaret. While theother ladies were pushing back their chairs, to break up the appearanceof a gossip, and make room for another party of visitors, Margaret waswholly occupied with contriving to sit upright, notwithstanding thedimness that came over her sight. 

It was he. He entered the room quickly, looked taller than ever, asSophia thought to herself, and more than ever like a Polish Count, nowthat his blue great-coat was buttoned up to the chin. He stopped forhalf a moment on seeing ladies in cloaks and bonnets, and then cameforward, and shook hands with everybody. Hester observed that he lookedfull at Margaret as he held out his hand to her; but Margaret did notsee this, for, though she commanded herself wonderfully, she could notmeet his eye. Of course, he was asked when he arrived, and had toanswer the question, and also the remarks which were made on the lengthof his absence, and on the expectations of everybody in Deerbrook thathe would have visited the old place at Christmas or New Year. He wasthen pitied on account of the state of his mother's health. To this hemade no reply whatever; but when Mrs Grey inquired how he found MrsEnderby, he briefly--somewhat abruptly--answered that he thought hervery ill. It was equally impossible for Margaret to sit totally silentwhile all this was going on, and to address herself to him: shetherefore kept some conversation with Sophia on the greenhouse, and thefate of the evergreens in the shrubbery, in consequence of the severityof the frost in January--which laurestinus had been lost, and how thearbutus had suffered, and how long it would be before the laurels on thegrass could grow up to their former size and beauty. While Sophia wastelling that the greenhouse occupied a great deal of time, and that shehad therefore turned over her interest in it to Sydney, and begged thelittle girls to divide her garden between them, Mr Enderby was seen totake Hester into the window, and after remarking upon the snowdropsbeneath, to speak privately to her. Margaret was afraid Mrs Grey wouldtake the hint, and go away. Her presence now appeared a sort ofprotection, which Margaret exerted herself to retain, by not allowingthe conversation to flag. She need not have feared; Mrs Grey wasturning over in her mind how she might best introduce hercongratulations on Mr Enderby's engagement, and her inquiries afterMiss Bruce's welfare--topics on which she conceived that good mannersrequired her to enter. Meantime, Mr Enderby had been saying to Hester:

"You will excuse the offer of my good wishes on your settlement herebeing briefly and hastily made; but I am at this moment in greatanxiety. Is Hope at home?"

"No: he is some miles off in the country. "

"Then I must charge you with a message to him. I think my mother veryill; and I find it is some time since Hope has seen her. Will you beghim to come to her without loss of time, when he returns?"

"Certainly; he will be home within two or three hours, I have no doubt. "

"And then ask him whether he will not prescribe a visit from you to mymother. It will do her good, I am confident. You know she is all alonenow with her maid. "

"I am aware of that. It is not from negligence or disinclination, Iassure you, that we have seen so little of Mrs Enderby for some timepast. "

"I know it, I know it, " said he, shaking his head. Then, after apause--"Shall you be at home this evening?"

"Yes. "

"And alone?"

"Yes. Will you come?"

"Thank you; I will come in for an hour. I shall then hear Hope's reportof my mother; and--between ourselves--I want a few words with yoursister. Can you manage this for me?"

"No doubt. "

He was gone in another moment, with a bow to the whole party. 

"Gone!" cried Mrs Grey; "and I have not said a word to him about hisengagement and Miss Bruce! How very odd he must think us, Sophia!"

"There will be plenty of time for all we have to say, " observed Hester. "He is so uneasy about his mother, I see, that he will not leave her yetawhile. "

Margaret was sure she perceived in her sister's beautiful eye and lipthe subtle expression of amusement that they bore when a gay thought wasin her mind, or when her neighbours were setting off in speculation on awrong scent. 

"But half the grace of one's good wishes is in their being offeredreadily, " said Mrs Grey, "as I was saying to Sophia, the other day, when we were considering whether Mr Grey should not write to MrEnderby with our congratulations. _We_ should not like to appearbackward on such an occasion, for many reasons. Well now, my dears; onething more. You must come to tea with us this evening. It will be amild evening, I have no doubt; and I have sent to Miss Young, to saythat my sedan will bring her at six o'clock. We have quite set ourhearts upon having you for a sociable evening. "

"Thank you, " said Hester: "we would come with great pleasure, but thatwe are engaged. "

"Engaged, my dear! Margaret has just told us that you have noengagement. "

"So Margaret thought: but we are engaged. A friend of Mr Hope's iscoming to spend the evening, and I promised that we would be at home. "

"Dear!" said Sophia; "and we had quite set our hearts upon your coming. "

"Cannot you bring the gentleman with you, my dear? I am sure Mr Greywill be happy to see any friend of Mr Hope's. "

"Thank you; but he is coming on business. "

"Oh, well! But Margaret can be spared, surely. I suppose you must stayand make tea, my dear. It would not do, I know, for you to appear toneglect your husband's country patients--particularly in the presentstate of affairs. But Margaret can come, surely. Sydney shall step forher, a little before six. "

"Oh, yes, " said Sophia; "Margaret can come. The gentleman can have nobusiness with her, I suppose. "

Margaret was again puzzled with the fun that lurked in the eye and lip. She had been passive till now; but seeing Hester's determination thatshe should not go, she said very decidedly that she should much prefercoming some evening when her brother and sister need not be left behind. 

"Mrs Grey is not very well pleased, " observed Margaret, when theirvisitors were gone. "Could not you have been a little more explicit asto this gentleman, whoever he may be?"

"I thought it better not to say more, " said Hester, now unable to helpstealing a glance at her sister. "Our visitor is to be Mr Enderby. Heis so uneasy about his mother, that my husband is to see her thisafternoon; and Mr Enderby offers to come in the evening, to discuss hercase. " After a slight pause, Hester continued--"Sophia was verypositive about its being impossible that our visitor could have anybusiness with you--was not she?"

"Oh, Hester!" said Margaret, imploringly, with her eyes full of tears. 

"Well, well, " said Hester, remembering how cruel this speech mightappear to her sister, "I ought not to speak to you from my own habitualdisbelief of Mrs Rowland's news. I will go away, dear; only justsaying, first, that I like Philip's looks very well. He does not seemhappier than he ought to be, while his mother is so ill: nor does he actas if he felt he had neglected us, his old friends. As my husband says, we must hear his own story before we judge him. "

When she left the room, Margaret could not have settled with herselfwhether there was most pain or pleasure in the prospect of this evening. Five minutes before, she had believed that she should spend it at theGreys'--should hear the monotonous hiss of the urn, which seemed to takeup its song, every time she went, where it had left off last--should seeMrs Grey's winks from behind it--should have the same sort of cake, cutby Sophia into pieces of exactly the same size--should hear Sydney toldto be quiet, and the little girls to go to bed--should have to play MrsGrey's favourite waltz, and sing Mr Grey's favourite song--and at last, to refuse a glass of sherry three times over, and come away, afterhearing much wonder expressed that the evening was gone already. Now, instead of this, there was to be the fear and constraint of Philip'spresence, so unlike what that had ever been before!--no longer gay, easy, and delightful, but all that was awkward. No one would be sure ofwhat the others were feeling; or whether there was any sufficient reasonfor their mutual feelings being so changed. Who would find theconversation? What could be talked about which would not bring one oranother into collision with Mrs Rowland or Miss Bruce? But yet, therewould be his presence, and with it, bliss. There would be his veryvoice; and something of his thoughts could not but come out. She wasbetter pleased than if his evening was to be spent anywhere else. 

Dinner passed, she did not know how, except that her brother thoughtMrs Enderby not materially worse than when he saw her last. Thetea-tray came and stood an hour--Mr Hope being evidently restless andon the watch. He said at last that it would be better to get tea overbefore Enderby came; and Margaret repeated in her own mind that it _was_less awkward; and yet she was disappointed. The moment the table wascleared, _his_ knock was heard. He would not have tea: he had beenmaking his mother's tea, and had had a cup with her. And now, what wasHope's judgment on her state of health?

The gentlemen had scarcely entered upon the subject when a note wasbrought in for Margaret. Everything made her nervous; but the purportof this note was merely to ask for a book which she had promised to lendMrs Levitt. As she went up to her room for it, she was vexed that theinterruption had occurred now; and was heartily angry with herself thatshe could command herself no better, and be no more like other peoplethan she fancied she had been this day. "There is Hester, " thought she, "looking nothing less than merry, and talking about whatever occurs, asif nothing had happened since we met him last; while I sit, feeling likea fool, with not a word to say, and no courage to say it if I had. Iwonder whether I have always been as insignificant and dull as I haveseen myself to be to-day. I do not believe I ever thought about thematter before: I wish I could forget it now. " Notwithstanding herfeeling of insignificance in the drawing-room, however, she was soimpatient to be there again that her hands trembled with eagerness indoing up the parcel for Mrs Levitt. 

When she re-entered the drawing-room, Philip was there alone--standingby the fire. Margaret's first impulse was to retreat; but her betterjudgment prevailed in time to intercept the act. Philip said:

"Mr and Mrs Hope have, at my desire, given me the opportunity ofspeaking to you alone. You must not refuse to hear what I have to say, because it is necessary to the vindication of my honour;--and it is alsodue to another person. "

Of course, Margaret sat down. She seemed to intend to speak, and Philipwaited to hear her; but no words came, so he went on. 

"You have been told, I find, that I have been for some time engaged to alady who is now at Rome--Miss Bruce. How such a notion originated, weneed not inquire. The truth is, that I am but slightly acquainted withMiss Bruce, and that nothing has ever occurred which could warrant sucha use of that lady's name. I heard nothing of this till to-day, and--"

"Is it possible?" breathed Margaret. 

"I was shocked to hear of it from my poor mother; but infinitely moreshocked--grieved to the very soul, to find that you, Margaret, believedit. "

"How could we help it? It was your sister who told us. "

"What does my sister know of me compared with you? I thought--I hoped--but I see now that I was presumptuous--I thought that you knew meenough, and cared for me enough, to understand my mind, and trust myconduct through whatever you might hear of me from others. I have beendeceived--I mean I have deceived myself, as to the relation in which westand. I do not blame you, Margaret--that is, I will not if I can helpit--for what you have given credit to about me; but I did not think youwould have mortified me so deeply. "

"You are partly wrong now; you are unjust at this moment, " repliedMargaret, looking up with some spirit. "I do not wish to speak of MrsRowland--but remember, your mother never doubted what your sister said;the information was given in such a way as left almost an impossibilityof disbelief. There was nothing to set against the most positiveassurances--nothing from you--not a word to any of your old friends--"

"And there was I, working away on a new and good plan of life, livingfor you, and counting the weeks and days between me and the time when Imight come and show you what your power over me had enabled me to do--and you were all the while despising or forgetting me, allowing me nomeans of defending myself, yielding me up to dishonour with a mere shakeof the head, as if I had been an acquaintance of two or threeball-nights. It is clear that you knew my mind no better than I nowfind I knew yours. "

"What would you have had me do?" asked Margaret, with such voice as shehad. 

"I believe I had not thought of that, " said Philip, half laughing. "Ionly felt that you ought to have trusted me--that you must have knownthat I loved neither Miss Bruce, nor any one but you; and that I couldnot be engaged to any one while I loved you. --Tell me at once, Margaret--did I not deserve this much from you?"

"You did, " said Margaret, distinctly. "But there is another way ofviewing the whole, which does not seem to have occurred to you. I havebeen to blame, perhaps; but if you had thought of the otherpossibility--"

"What other? Oh! do speak plainly. "

"I must, at such a time as this. If I could not think you guilty, Imight fancy myself to have been mistaken. "

"And did you fancy so? Did you suppose I neither loved you, nor meantyou to think that I did?"

"I did conclude myself mistaken. "

"Oh, Margaret! I should say--if I dared--that such a thought--suchhumility, such generosity--could come of nothing but love. "

Margaret made no reply. They understood one another too completely forwords. Even in the first gush of joy, there was intense bitterness inthe thought of what Margaret must have suffered; and Philip vowed, inthe bottom of his soul, that his whole life should be devoted to makeher forget it. He could have cursed his sister with equal energy. 

There was no end to what had to be said. Philip was impatient to tellwhat he had been doing, and the reasons of the whole of his conduct. Margaret's views had become his own, as to the desultoriness of the lifehe had hitherto led. He had applied himself diligently to the study ofthe law, intending to prove to himself and to her, that he was capableof toil, and of a steady aim at an object in life, before he asked herto decide what their relation to each other was henceforth to be. 

"Surely, " said he, "you might have discovered this much from my lettersto my mother. "

"And how were we to know what was in your letters to your mother?"

"Do you mean that you have not read or heard them all this time?"

"Not a word for these three months. We have scarcely seen her for manyweeks past; and then she merely showed us what long letters you wroteher. "

"And they were all written for you! She told me, the last time I washere, that she could keep nothing from you: and, relying upon her words, I have supposed this to be a medium of communication between usthroughout. I could have no other, you know. When did my mother leaveoff reading my letters to you?"

"From the week you went away last. Mrs Rowland came in while we werein the midst of one; and the consequence was--"

"That you have been in the dark about me ever since. You saw that I didwrite?"

"Yes. I have seen most of the post-marks--and the interiors--upsidedown. But Mrs Rowland was always there--or else Phoebe. "

"And have you really known nothing about me whatever?"

"Little George told me that you had lessons to learn, very hard and verylong, and, if possible, more difficult than his. "

"And did not you see then that I was acting upon your views?"

"I supposed Miss Bruce might have had them first. "

"Miss Bruce!" he cried, in a tone of annoyance. "I know nothing of MissBruce's views on any subject. I cannot conceive how my sister got sucha notion into her head--why she selected her. "

Margaret was going to mention the "sisterly affection" which had longsubsisted between Miss Bruce and Mrs Rowland, according to the latter;but it occurred to her that it was just possible that Philip might notbe altogether so indifferent to Miss Bruce as Miss Bruce was to him; andthis thought sealed her lips. 

"I wonder whether Rowland believed it all the time, " said Philip: "andHope? It was unworthy of Hope's judgment--of his faith--to view thecase so wrongly. "

"I am glad you are beginning to be angry with somebody else, " saidMargaret. "Your wrath seemed all to be for me: but your old friends, even to your mother, appear to have had no doubt about the matter. "

"There is an excuse for them which I thought you had not. I am analtered man, Margaret--you cannot conceive how altered since I began toknow you. They judged of me by what I was once... We will not say howlately. "

"I assure you I do not forget the accounts you used to give ofyourself. "

"What accounts?"

"Of how you found life pleasant enough without philosophy and withoutanything to do... And other wise sayings of the kind. "

"It is by such things that those who knew me long ago have judged melately--a retribution which I ought not to complain of. If theybelieved me fickle, idle, selfish, it is all fair. Oh! Margaret, menknow nothing of morals till they know women. "

"Are you serious?"

"I am solemnly persuaded of it. Happy they who grow up beside mothersand sisters whom they can revere! But for this, almost all men would bewithout earnestness of heart--without a moral purpose--withoutgenerosity, while they are all the while talking of honour. It was sowith me before I knew you. I am feeble enough, and selfish enough yet, God knows! but I hope still to prove that you have made a man of me, outof a light, selfish... But what right have I, you may think, to ask youto rely upon me, when I have so lately been what I tell you. I did notmean to ask you yet. This very morning, nothing could be further frommy intentions. I do not know how long I should have waited before Ishould have dared. My sister has rendered me an inestimable serviceamidst all the mischief she did me. I thank her. Ah! Margaret, yousmile!"

Margaret smiled again. The smile owned that she was thinking the samething about their obligations to Mrs Rowland. 

"Whatever you might have said to me this evening, " continued Philip, "ifyour regard for me had proved to have been quite overthrown--if you hadcontinued to despise me, as you must have done at times--I should stillhave blessed you, all my life--I should have worshipped you, as thebeing who opened a new world to me. You lifted me out of a life oftrifling--of trifling which I thought very elegant at the time--triflingwith my own time and faculties--trifling with other people's seriousbusiness--trifling with something more serious still, I fear--with theirfeelings. As far as I remember, I thought all this manly and refinedenough: and but for you, I should have thought so still. You earlyopened my eyes to all the meanness and gross selfishness of such a life:and if you were never to let me see you again, I believe I could notfall back into the delusion. But if you will be the guide of my life--"

Margaret sighed deeply. Even at this moment of vital happiness, herthoughts rested on her sister. She remembered what Hester'santicipations had been, in prospect of having Edward for the guide ofher life. 

"I frighten you, I see, " said Philip, "with my confessions; but, be theconsequences what they may, I must speak, Margaret. If you despise me, I must do you the justice, and give myself the consolation, ofacknowledging what I have been, and what I owe to you. "

"It is not that, " said Margaret. "Let the past go. Let it be forgottenin reaching forward to better things. But do not let us be confidentabout the future. I have seen too much of that. We must not providefor disappointment. Let us leave it till it comes. Surely, " she added, with a gentle smile, "we have enough for the present. I cannot lookforward yet. "

"How you must have suffered!" cried Philip, in a tone of grief. "Youhave lost some of your confidence, love. You did not cling to thepresent, and shrink from the future when... Oh, it is bitter, even now, to think, that while I was working on, in hope and resolution, you weresuffering here, making it a duty to extinguish your regard for me, I allthe time toiling to deserve it--and there was no one to set us right, and the whole world in league to divide us. "

"That is all over now. "

"But not the consequences, Margaret. They have shaken you: they havemade you know doubt and fear. "

"We are both changed, Philip. We are older, and I trust it will appearthat we are wiser than we were. Yes, older. There are times in one'slife when days do the work of years and our days have been of that kind. You have discovered a new life, and my wishes and expectations are muchaltered. They may not be fewer, or less bright, but they are verydifferent. "

"If they were pure from fears--"

"They are pure from fears. At this moment I can fear nothing. We havebeen brought together by the unquestionable Providence which rules ourlives; and this is enough. The present is all right; and the future, which is to come out of it, will be all right in its way. I have nofear--but I do not want to anticipate. This hour with itssatisfactions, is all that I can bear. "

Notwithstanding this, and Philip's transport in learning it, they did goback, again and again, into the past; and many a glance did they castinto the future. There was no end to their revelations of thecircumstances of the last two months, and of the interior history whichbelonged to them. At last, the burning out of one of the candlesstartled them into a recollection of how long their conversation hadlasted, and of the suspense in which Edward and Hester had been kept. Enderby offered to go and tell them the fact which they must beanticipating: and, after having agreed that no one else should know atpresent--that Miss Bruce's name should be allowed to die out ofDeerbrook speculations, for Mrs Rowland's sake, before any other wasput in its place, Philip left his Margaret, and went into thebreakfast-room, where his presence was not wholly unexpected. 

In five minutes, Margaret heard the hall door shut, and, in anothermoment, her brother and sister came to her. Hester's face was allsmiles and tears: her mind all tumult with the vivid recollection of herown first hours of happy hopeful love, mingled with the griefs whichalways lay heavy within her, and with that warm attachment to her sisterwhich circumstances occasionally exalted into a passion. 

"We ought to rejoice with nothing but joy, Margaret, " said she: "but Icannot see how we are to spare you. I do not believe I can live withoutyou. "

Her husband started at this echo of the thoughts for which he was at themoment painfully rebuking himself. He had nothing to say; but gave hisgreeting in a brotherly kiss, like that which he had offered on hismarriage with her sister, and on his entrance upon his home. 

"How quiet, how very quiet she is!" exclaimed Hester, an Margaret leftthe room, after a few words on the events of the evening, and a calmgood-night. "I hope it is all right. I hope she is quite satisfied. "

"Satisfied is the word, " said her husband. "People are quiet when theyare relieved--calm when they are satisfied--people like Margaret. It isonly great minds, I believe, which feel real satisfaction. "

Hester gave him pain by a deep sigh. She was thinking how seldom, andfor how short a time, she had ever felt real satisfaction. 

"And how often, and for how long, " she asked, "do great minds findthemselves in that heaven?"

"By the blessing of God, not seldom, I trust, " replied he; "though notso often as, by obeying their nature, they might. Intellectualsatisfaction is perhaps not for this world, except in a few of theinspired hours of the Newtons and the Bacons, who are sent to teach whatthe human intellect is. But as often as a great mind meets with fullmoral sympathy--as often as it is loved in return for love--as often asit confides itself unreservedly to the good Power which bestowed itsexistence, and appointed all its attributes, I imagine it must repose insatisfaction. "

"Then satisfaction ought to be no new feeling to Margaret, " said Hester. "She always loves every one: she meets with sympathy wherever sheturns; and I believe she has faith enough for a martyr, without knowingit. Ought not she--must not she, have often felt real satisfaction?"

"Yes. "

"I wonder you dole out your words so sparingly about such a being asMargaret, " said Hester, resentfully. "I can tell you, Edward, thoughyou take so coolly the privilege of having such a one so nearlyconnected with you, you might search the world in vain for her equal. You little know the wealth of her heart and soul, Edward. I ask youwhether she does not deserve to feel full satisfaction of conscience andaffections, and you just answer `Yes, ' with as much languor as if I hadasked you whether the clock has struck eleven yet! I can tell youthis--I have said in my own heart, and just to Morris, for years, thatthe happiest man of his generation will be he who has Margaret for awife: and here you, who ought to know this, give me a grudging `Yes, ' inanswer to the first question, arising out of my reverence for Margaret, that I ever asked you!"

"You mistake me, " replied Hope, in a tone of gentleness which touchedher very soul. "One's words may be restrained by reverence as well asby want of heart. I regard Margaret with a reverence which I should nothave thought it necessary to put into words for your conviction. "

"Oh, I am wrong--as I always am!" cried Hester. "You must forgive meagain, as you do far, far too often. But tell me, Edward, ought notMargaret's husband to be the happiest man living?"

"Yes, " said Edward, with a smile. "Will that do this time?"

"Oh, yes, yes, " replied she--the thought passing through her mind, that, whether or not her husband excepted himself as a matter of course, sheshould not have asked a question to which she could not bear allpossible answers. Even if he meant that Margaret's husband might be ahappier man than himself, it was only too true. As quick as lightningthese thoughts passed through her mind, and, apparently without a pause, she went on, "And now, as to Enderby--is he worthy to be this happyhusband? Does he deserve her?"

Mr Hope did pause before he replied:

"I think we had better dwell as little as we can on that point of thestory--not because I am afraid--(do not take fright and suppose I meanmore than I say)--not because I am afraid, but because we can donothing, discern nothing, about it. Time must show what Enderby is--orrather, what he has the power of becoming. Meanwhile, the thing issettled. They love and have promised, and are happy. Let us shun allcomparison of the one with the other of them, and hope everything fromhim. "

"There will be some amusement, " said Hester, after a smiling reverie, "in having this secret to ourselves for a time, while all the rest ofDeerbrook is so busy with a different idea and expectation. How _will_Mrs Rowland bear it?"

"Mrs Grey might have said that, " said Hope, laughing. 

"Well, but is it not true? Will it not be very amusing to see thecirculation of stories about Miss Bruce, given `from the bestauthority, ' and to have all manner of news told us about Philip; and towatch how Mrs Rowland will get out of the scrape she is in? Surely, Edward, you are not above being amused with all this?"

"I shall be best pleased when it is all over. I have lived some yearslonger than you in Deerbrook, and have had more time to get tired of itsmysteries and mistakes. "

"For your comfort, then, it cannot be long before all is open andrightly understood. We need only leave Mrs Rowland time to extricateherself, I suppose. I wonder how she will manage it. "

"We shall be taken by surprise with some clever device, I dare say. Itis a pity so much ingenuity should be wasted on mischief. "

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

A MORNING IN MARCH. 

Margaret was as calm as she appeared to be. To a nature like hers, blissful repose was congenial, and anxiety both appeared and feltunnatural. In her there was no weak wonder that Providence had blessedher as she felt she was blessed. While she suffered, she concluded withcertainty that the suffering was for some good purpose; but no degree ofhappiness took her by surprise, or seemed other than a natural influenceshed by the great Parent into the souls of his children. She had oflate been fearfully shaken, --not in her faith, but in her serenity. Ina moment this experience appeared like a sick dream, and her presentcertainty of being beloved spread its calm over her lately-troubledspirit, somewhat as her nightly devotions had done from her childhoodupwards. Even now, it was little that she thought of herself: herrecovered Philip filled her mind--he who had been a stranger--who hadbeen living in a world of which she could conceive nothing--who hadsuddenly vanished from her companionship, as if an earthquake hadswallowed him up--and who was now all her own again, by her side, and tobe lived for. Amidst this security, this natural and delightful stateof things, that restless uneasiness--now jealousy, and nowself-abasement--which she had called her own vanity and selfishness, disappeared, and she felt like one who has escaped from the horrors of afeverish bed into the cool fragrant airs and mild sunshine of the earlymorning. Anxieties soon arose--gentle doubts expressing themselves insoft sighs, which were so endeared by the love from which they sprangthat she would not have banished them if she could--anxieties lest sheshould be insufficient for Philip's happiness, lest he should overratethe peace of home, which she now knew was not to be looked for in fullmeasure there, any more than in other scenes of human probation. Gentlequestionings like these there were; but they tended rather to preservethan to disturb her calmness of spirit. Misery had broken her sleep bynight, and constrained her conduct by day. Happy love restored her atonce to her natural mood, lulling her to the deepest rest when sherested, and rendering her free and self-possessed in all the employmentsand intercourses of life. 

There was one person who must not be kept waiting for this intelligencetill Mrs Rowland's return--as Margaret told Philip--and that was Maria. Philip's heart was now overflowing with kindness towards all whomMargaret loved; and he spoke with strong interest of Maria, of hervirtues, her misfortunes, and the grace and promise which once bloomedin her. 

"You knew her before her misfortunes then?"

"To be sure I did:--that was the time when I did know her; for, as youmay perceive, there is not much opportunity now. And, besides, she isso totally changed, that I do not feel sure that I understand herfeelings--I am too much in awe of them to approach her very nearly. Ohyes, I knew Maria Young once, much better than I know her now. "

"She never told me so. How very strange!"

"Does she ever speak of any other circumstance of her prosperous days?"

"That is true, only incidentally. "

"Time was, " said Philip, "when some boyish dreams connected themselveswith Maria Young--only transiently, and quite at the bottom of my ownfancy. I never spoke of them to any one before, nor fully acknowledgedthem to myself. She was the first sensible woman I ever knew--the firstwho conveyed to me any conception of what the moral nature of a womanmay be, under favourable circumstances. For this I am under greatobligations to her; and this is all the feeling that I brought out ofour intercourse. It might possibly have come to more, but that Idisliked her father excessively, and left off going there on thataccount. What a selfish wretch I was in those days! I can hardlybelieve it now; but I distinctly remember rejoicing, on hearing of heraccident, that my esteem for her had not passed into a warmer feeling, as I should then have suffered so much on her account. "

"Is it possible?" cried Margaret, who, in the midst of the unpleasantfeeling excited by this fact, did not fail to remark to herself thatthere could have been no love in such a case. 

"I ought, for my own sake, however, Margaret, to say that Maria Younghad not the slightest knowledge of her influence over me--superficialand transient as it was. I never conveyed it to her by word or act; andI am thankful I did not--for this reason among many--that I am nowperfectly free to show her all the kindness she deserves, both from herown merits, and from her being a beloved friend of yours. "

Margaret had no doubt of Philip's full conviction of what he was saying;but she was far from certain that he was not mistaken--that looks andtones might not have communicated what words and acts had been forbiddento convey. She thought of Maria's silence about her former acquaintancewith Philip, of her surprising knowledge of his thoughts and ways, betraying itself to a vigilant observer through the most trivialconversation, and of her confession that there had been an attachment tosome one: and, thinking of these things, her heart melted within her forher friend. She silently resolved upon the only method she could thinkof, to spare her feelings. She would write the news of this engagement, instead of going to tell it, as she had intended. She was confidentthat it would be no surprise to Maria; but Maria should have time andsolitude in which to reconcile herself to it. 

What was to be done about Mrs Enderby? She had been told at once, onPhilip's arrival, that it was all a mistake about Miss Bruce; and shehad appeared relieved when freed from the image of an unknowndaughter-in-law. Philip and Margaret agreed that they must denythemselves the pleasure of revealing the rest of the truth to her, tillit had been inflicted upon Mrs Rowland. Mrs Enderby would never beable to keep it from the Greys; and she would be disturbed and alarmedin the expectation of the scenes which might ensue, when Mrs Rowlandshould discover that her brother meant to choose his wife for himself, instead of taking one of her selection. Margaret must go and see hismother as often as possible, but her new interest in her old friend mustbe concealed for the present. How Margaret--motherless for so many longyears--felt her heart yearn towards the old lady, who seemed to beeverybody's charge, but whom she felt now to be a sacred object of hercare!

The lovers immediately experienced some of the evils attendant onconcealment, in the difficulty of meeting as freely as they wished. There was the breakfast-room at Mr Hope's for them; and, by a littlemanagement on the part of brother and sister, a branching off in countrywalks, out of sight of the good people of Deerbrook. In company, too, they were always together, and without awkwardness. True lovers do notwant to talk together in company; they had rather not. It is enough tobe in mutual presence; and they have nothing to say at such times, andprefer joining in what everybody else is saying. When Philip had onceput a stop to all congratulations about Miss Bruce, by earnestly andmost respectfully, though gaily, releasing that lady's name from allconnection with his own, no further awkwardness remained. He treatedthe affair as one of the false reports which are circulating every day, and left it for his sister to explain how she had been misled by it. Itwas amusing to the corner-house family to see that Mrs Grey and Sophiainsisted on believing that either Mr Enderby was a rejected lover ofMiss Bruce's, or that it had been an engagement which was now brokenoff, or that it would soon be an engagement. The gay state of Enderby'sspirits accorded best with the latter supposition; but this gaiety mightbe assumed, to cover his mortification. Margaret was daily made alistener to one or other of these suppositions. 

One bright, mild, March day, Hester and Margaret were accompanyingPhilip to Mr Rowland's to call on Mrs Enderby, when they met MrRowland in the street, --returned the evening before from Cheltenham. 

"Ladies, your most obedient!" said he, stopping up the path before them. "I was on my way to call on you; but if you will step in to see MrsEnderby, we can have our chat there. " And he at once offered his arm toMargaret, bestowing a meaning smile on Hester. As soon as they werefairly on their way, he entered at once on the compliments it had beenhis errand to pay, but spoke for himself alone. 

"I did not write, " said he, "because I expected to deliver my goodwishes in person so soon; but they are not the less hearty for being alittle delayed. I find, however, that I am still beforehand with myneighbours--that even Mrs Enderby does not know, nor my partner'sfamily. All in good time: but I am sorry for this mistake about thelady. It is rather awkward. I do not know where Mrs Rowland got herinformation, or what induced her to rely so implicitly upon it. All Ican say is, that I duly warned her to be sure of her news before sheregularly announced it. But I believe such reports--oftener unfoundedthan true--have been the annoyance of young people ever since there hasbeen marriage and giving in marriage. We have all suffered in our turn, I dare say, though the case is not always so broad an one as this. --Come, Mr Philip, what are you about? Standing there, and keeping theladies standing! and I do believe you have not knocked. Our doors donot open of themselves, though it be to let in the most welcome guestsin the world. Now, ladies, will you walk in? Philip will prepare MrsEnderby to expect you up-stairs; and, meanwhile, let me show you what asplendid jonquil we have in blow here. "

The day was so mild, and the sun shone into the house so pleasantly, that Mrs Enderby had been permitted to leave her chamber, and establishherself for the day in the drawing-room. There she was found in aflutter of pleasure at the change of scene. Matilda's canary sang inthe sunshine; Philip had filled the window with flowering plants for hismother, and the whole room was fragrant with his hyacinths. The littleGreys had sent Mrs Enderby a bunch of violets; Phoebe had made bold, while the gardener was at breakfast, to abstract a bough from the almondtree on the grass; and its pink blossoms now decked the mantelpiece. These things were almost too much for the old lady. Her black eyeslooked rather too bright, and her pale thin face twitched when shespoke. She talked a great deal about the goodness of everybody to her, and said it was almost worth while being ever so ill to find one's selfso kindly regarded. It rejoiced her to see her friends around her againin this way. It was quite a meeting of friends again. If only her dearPriscilla, and the sweet children, had been here!--it was a greatdrawback, certainly, their being away, but she hoped they would soon beback; if they had been here, there would have been nothing left to wish. Hester asked if Mr Hope had visited her this morning. She had ratherexpected to meet him here, and had brought something for him which hehad wished very much to have--a letter from his brother in India. Shewas impatient till it was in his hands. Had he made his call, or mightshe expect him presently? Mrs Enderby seemed to find difficulty incomprehending the question; and then she could not recollect whether MrHope had paid his visit this morning or not. She grew nervous at herown confusion of mind--talked faster than ever; and, at last, when thecanary sang out a sudden loud strain, she burst into tears. 

"We are too much for her, " said Hester; "let us go, we have been verywrong. "

"Yes, go, " said Philip, "and send Phoebe. You will find your way intothe garden, and I will join you there presently. Rowland, you will gowith them. "

Margaret cast a beseeching look at Philip, and he gratefully permittedher to stay. Hester carried off the canary. Margaret drew down theblinds, and then kneeled by Mrs Enderby, soothing and speakingcheerfully to her, while tears, called up by a strange mixture ofemotions, were raining down her cheeks. Philip stood by themantelpiece, weeping without restraint; the first time that Margaret hadever seen tears from him. 

"I am a silly old woman, " said Mrs Enderby, half laughing in the midstof her sobs. "Here comes Phoebe--Phoebe, I have been very silly, and Ihardly know what about, I declare. My dear!" she exclaimed as she felttears drop upon the hand which Margaret was chafing--"my dear MissIbbotson--"

"Oh! call me Margaret!"

"But, my dear, I am afraid there is something the matter, after all. Something has happened. "

"Oh, dear, no, ma'am!" said Phoebe. "Only we don't like to see you inthis way. "

"There is nothing the matter, I assure you, " said Margaret. "We weretoo much for you; we tired you; and we are very sorry--that is all. Butthe room will be kept quite quiet now, and you will soon feel better. "

"I am better, my dear, thank you. How are you sitting so low? Blessme! you are kneeling. Pray, my dear, rise. To think of your kneelingto take care of me!"

"Give me one kiss, and I will rise, " said Margaret, bending over her. It was a hearty kiss which Mrs Enderby gave her, for the old lady putall her energy into it. Margaret rose satisfied; she felt as if she hadbeen accepted for a daughter. 

As soon as Mrs Enderby appeared disposed to shut her eyes and liequiet, Philip and Margaret withdrew, leaving her to Phoebe's care. Arm-in-arm they sauntered about the walks, till they came upon Hesterand Mr Rowland, who were sitting in the sun, under the shelter of anevergreen hedge. 

"Have you heard nothing of my husband yet?" asked Hester. "I do wish hewould come, and read this letter from Frank. "

"Her anxiety is purely disinterested, " said Margaret to Philip. "Therecan be nothing about her in that letter. His greetings to her will comein the next. "

"Edward enjoys Frank's letters above everything, " observed Hester. 

"Suppose you go in next door, and we will send Hope to you when hecomes, " said Philip, intending thus to set Mr Rowland free, to dismissHester, and have Margaret to himself for a garden walk. 

"The Greys are all out for the day, " observed Mr Rowland; "my partnerand all; and this must be my excuse to you, ladies, for wishing you agood morning. There is a lighter at the wharf down there, whose ladingwaits for me. "

"Ay, go, " said Philip: "we have detained you long enough. We will findour way by some means into the Greys' grounds, and amuse ourselvesthere. If you will bid one of your people call us when Hope comes, weshall hear. "

By the help of an overturned wheelbarrow, and some activity, and at theexpense of a very little detriment to the hedge, the ladies werepresently landed on Mr Grey's territories. By common consent, thethree directed their steps towards the end of the green walk, whencemight be seen the prospect of which the sisters were never tired. Apurple and golden crocus peeped up here and there from the turf of thiswalk; there was a wilderness of daffodils on either side, the blossomsjust bursting from their green sheaths; the periwinkle, with its starryflowers and dark shining sprays, overran the borders; and the hedgewhich bounded the walk was red with swollen buds. As the gazers leanedon this close-clipped, compact hedge, they overlooked a wide extent ofcountry. They stood on a sort of terrace, and below them was the fieldwhere the Greys' pet animals were wont to range. The old pony trottedtowards the terrace, as if expecting notice. Fanny's and Mary's lambsapproached and looked up, as awaiting something good. Philip amusedhimself and them with odd noises, but had nothing better for them; andso they soon scampered off, the pony throwing out his hind legs as if inindignation at his bad entertainment. Beyond this field, a few whitecottages, in the rear of the village, peeped out from the lanes, andseemed to sit down to rest in the meadows, so profound was the reposewhich they seemed to express. The river wound quietly through the greenlevel, filling its channel, and looking pearly under the light springsky; and behind it the woods uprose, their softened masses and outlinesprophesying of leafy summer shades. Near at hand the air was alive withtwitterings: afar off, nature seemed asleep, and nothing was seen tomove but the broad sail of a wherry, and a diminished figure of a manbeside his horse, bush-harrowing in a distant green field. 

Hester judged rightly that the lovers would like to have this scene tothemselves; and having surveyed it with that sigh of delight with whichSpring causes the heart to swell, she softly stole away, and sauntereddown the green walk. She proceeded till she reached a bench, whence shecould gaze upon the grey old church tower, rising between theintervening trees, and at the same time overlook Mr Rowland's garden. She had not sat many minutes before her husband leaped the hedge, andbounded over the grass towards her. 

"What news?" cried he. "There is good news in your face. "

"There is good news in my bag, I trust. " And she produced the largesquare epistle, marked "Ship letter" in those red characters which havea peculiar power of making the heart beat. She did not wonder that herhusband changed colour as she held up the letter. She knew that thearrival of news from Frank was a great event in life to Edward. Shegloried in being, for the first time, the medium through which this rarepleasure reached him; and she longed to share, for the first time, theconfidence of a brother. Margaret had for some months reposed upon thepossession of a brother: she was now to have the same privilege. Shemade room upon the bench for her husband, and proposed to lose no timein reading the letter together. But Hope did not sit down, though, fromhis agitation, she would have supposed him glad of a seat. He said hewould read in the shrubbery, and walked slowly away, breaking the sealas he went. Hester was rather disconcerted; but she suppressed herdisappointment, begged him to take advantage of the bench, and herselfretired into the orchard while he read his epistle. There, as she stoodapparently amusing herself by the pond, wiping away a tear or two whichwould have way, she little imagined what agony her husband was enduringfrom this letter, which she was supposing must make his heart overflowwith pleasure. The letter was half full of reply to Edward's account ofMargaret, in his epistle of last June--of raillery about her, ofintreaty that Edward would give him such a sister-in-law, and ofintimations that nothing could be more apparent than that the whole richtreasure of his heart's love was Margaret's own. Hope's soul sickenedas he read, with that deadly sickness which he had believed was past:but last June, with its delights and opening love, was too suddenly, andtoo vividly, re-awakened in his memory and imagination. The Margaret ofyesterday, of last month, he trusted he had arrived at regarding as asister: not so the Margaret of last summer. In vain he repeated, againand again, to himself, that he had expected this--that he always knew itmust come--that this was the very thing, and no more, that he had beendreading for half a year past--that it was over now--that he ought torejoice that he held in his hand the last witness and reminder of themistake of his life. In vain did he repeat to himself these reasonablethings--these satisfactory truths. They did not still the throbbing ofhis brain, or relieve the agony of his spirit;--an agony under which hecould almost have cursed the hilarity of his brother as levity, and hishearty affection as cruel mockery. He recovered some breath andcomposure when he read the latter half of Frank's volume ofcommunication, and, before he had finished it, the sound of distantfootsteps fell upon his excited ear. He knew they were coming--thethree who would be full of expectation as to what he should have to tellthem from India. It was they, walking very slowly, as if waiting forthe news. 

"Come!" said he, starting up, and going to meet them. "Now, to thegreen walk--we shall be quiet there--and I will read you all aboutFrank. "

He did read them all about Frank--all the last half of the letter--Hester hanging on his arm, and Philip and Margaret listening, as if theywere taking in their share of family news. When it was done, and someone said it was time to be turning homewards, Hope disengaged his armfrom Hester, and ran off, saying that he would report of Mrs Enderby toMr Rowland in the office, and meet them before they should be out ofthe shrubbery. He did so: but he first took his way round by a fencewhich was undergoing the operation of tarring, thrust Frank's letterinto the fire over which the tar was heating, and saw every inch of itconsumed before he proceeded. When he regained his party, Hester tookhis arm, and turned once more towards the shrubbery, saying--

"We have plenty of time, and I am not at all tired: so now read me therest. "

"My love, I have read you all I can. "

Hester stopped short, and with flashing eyes, whose fire was scarcelydimmed by her tears, cried--

"Do you mean to give me no more of your confidence than others? Is yourwife--"

"My dear, it is not my confidence: it is Frank's. "

"And is not Frank my brother? He is nothing to them. "

"He was not your brother when this letter was written, nor did he knowthat he should ever be so. Consider this letter as one of old time--asbelonging to the antiquity of our separate lives. I hope there willnever be another letter from Frank, or anybody else (out of the range ofmy professional affairs) whose contents will not be as much yours asmine. This must satisfy you now, Hester; for I can tell you no more. This ought to satisfy you. "

"It does not satisfy me. I never will be satisfied with giving all, andhaving nothing in return. I have given you all. Not a thought hasthere been in my heart about Margaret, from the day we married, that Ihave not imparted to you. Has it not been so?"

"I believe it, and I thank you for it. "

"And what is it to you to have a sister--you who have always hadsisters--what is it to you, in comparison with my longing to have abrother? And now you make him no more mine than he is Margaret's andPhilip's. He himself, if he has the heart of a brother, would cry outupon you for disappointing me. "

"I can allow for your feelings, Hester. I have known too well whatdisappointment is, not to feel for you. But here the fault is notmine. "

"Whose is it then? It is to be charged upon Providence, I suppose, likemost of our evils. "

"No, Hester; I charge it upon you. The disappointment was unavoidable;but the sting of it lies in yourself. You are unreasonable. It is atyour own request that I remind you to be reasonable. "

"And when was that request made? When I believed that you would hold meyour friend--that no others were to come near my place in yourconfidence--that all you cared for was to be equally mine--that yourbrother himself was to be my brother. It was when you promised me thesethings that I put my conscience and my feelings into your charge. Butnow all that is over. You are as much alone in your own soul as ever, and I am thrust out from it as if you were like other men... Oh!" shecried, covering her face with her hands, "call me your housekeeper atonce--for I am not your wife--and breathe not upon my conscience--looknot into my heart--for what are they to you? I reclaim from you, asyour servant, the power I gave you over my soul, when I supposed I wasto be your wife. "

"Now you must hear me, Hester. Sit down; for you cannot stand under thetempest of your own feelings. Now, what are the facts out of which allthis has arisen? I have had a letter, written before we were known tobe engaged, containing something which is confided to my honour. We hadboth rather that such had not been the case. Would you now have meviolate my honour? Let us have done. The supposition is tooridiculous. "

"But the manner, " pleaded Hester. "It is not curiosity about theletter. I care nothing if it contained the affairs of twenty nations. But, oh! your manner was cruel. If you loved me as you once did, youcould not treat me exactly as you treat Margaret and Philip. You do notlove me as you once did... You do not answer me, " she continued in atone of wretchedness. "Nay, do not answer me now. It will not satisfyme to hear you say upon compulsion that you love me. Ah! I hadMargaret once; and once I had you. Philip has taken my Margaret fromme; and if you despise me, I will lie down and die. "

"Fear not!" said Hope, with great solemnity. "While I live you shall behonoured, and have such rest as you will allow to your own heart. Butdo you not see that you have now been distrusting me--not I you? ShallI begin to question whether you love me? Could you complain ofinjustice if I did, when you have been tempting my honour, insulting mytrust in you, and wounding my soul? Is this the love you imagine Icannot estimate and return? This is madness, Hester. Rouse yourselffrom it. Waken up the most generous part of yourself. We shall bothhave need of it all. "

"Oh, God! what do you intend? Consider again, before you break myheart, if you mean to say that we must... Edward! forgive me, Edward!"

"I mean to say that we must support each other under troubles of God'ssending, instead of creating woes of our own. "

"Support each other! Thank Heaven!"

"I see how your spirit rouses itself at the first sound of threateningfrom without. I knew it would. Rough and trying times are coming, love, and I must have your support. Trouble is coming--daily and hourlyannoyance, and no end of it that I can see: and poverty, perhaps, instead of the ease to which we looked forward when you married me. Ido not ask you whether you can bear these things, for I know you can. Ishall look to you to help me to keep my temper. "

"Are you not mocking me?" doubtfully whispered Hester. 

"No, my love, " her husband replied, looking calmly in her face. "I knowyou to be a friend made for adversity. "

"Let it come, then!" exclaimed she. And she felt herself on thethreshold of a new life, in which all the past might yet be redeemed. 

They soon rejoined Margaret, and went home to relate and to hear whatnew threats the day had disclosed. 

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

DEERBROOK COMMOTIONS. 

Among many vague threats, there was one pretty definite menace which hadencountered Hope from various quarters of late. By whose agency, and bywhat means, he did not know, but he apprehended a design to supplant himin his practice. There was something more meant than that Mr Fosterfrom Blickley appeared from time to time in the village. Hope imaginedthat there was a looking forward to somebody else, who was to cure allmaladies as soon as they appeared, and keep death at a distance fromDeerbrook. It seemed to be among the poor people chiefly that such anexpectation prevailed. Philip was sure that Mr Rowland knew nothing ofit, nor Mrs Enderby. Mr Grey, when spoken to, did not believe it, butwould quietly and discreetly inquire. Mrs Grey was sure that theDeerbrook people would not venture to discountenance altogether any onewho had married into their connection so decidedly. Her young folkswere to hear nothing of the matter, as it would not do to propagate anidea which might bring about its own accomplishment. 

At the almshouses to-day, the threat had been spoken plainly enough; andHope had found his visit there a very unpleasant one. It had beenwholly disagreeable. When within a mile and a half of the houses, astone had been thrown at him from behind a hedge. It narrowly missedhim. A little further on, there was another, from the opposite side ofthe road. This indication was not to be mistaken. Hope leaped hishorse over a gate, and rode about the field, to discover who hadattacked him. For some time he could see no one; but, on looking moreclosely to the fence, he saw signs in one part that hedging was goingon. As he approached the spot, a labourer rose up from the ditch, andwas suddenly very busy at his work. He looked stupid, and denied havingthrown any stones, but admitted that there was nobody else in the fieldthat he knew of. Further on, more stones were thrown: it was evidentlya conspiracy; but Hope could find no one to call to account for it, butan old woman in one case, and two boys in another. --As he rode up to thealmshouses, the aged inmates came out to their doors, or looked fromtheir fanciful Gothic windows, with every indication of displeasure intheir faces and manner. The old women shook their heads at him, andsome their fists; the old men shook their sticks at him. He stopped tospeak to one man of eighty-three, who was sitting in the sun at hisdoor; but he could get no answer out of him, nothing but growls aboutthe doctor being a pretty doctor not to have mended his patient'seye-sight yet. Not a bit better could he see now than he could a yearago, with all the doctoring he had had: and now the gentleman would nottry anything more! A pretty doctor, indeed! But it would not be longbefore there would be another who would cure poor people's eyes as ifthey were rich: and poor people's eyes were as precious to them as richpeople's. --He next went into a house where an aged woman was confined tobed with rheumatism; but her gossips stopped him in the middle of theroom, and would not let him approach her, for fear he should be herdeath. As she had been lying awake the night before, she had heard herdeceased husband's shoes dance of their own accord in the closet; andthis was a sign that something was going to happen to somebody. Shethought of the doctor at the time, and prayed that he might be kept fromcoming near her; for she knew he would be the death of her, somehow, ashe had been of other folks. So Hope was obliged to leave her and herrheumatism to the gossips. The particular object of his visit to theplace to-day, however, was a little girl, a grandchild of one of thepensioners, admitted by special favour into the establishment. Thisgirl had small-pox, and her case was a severe one. Hope was admittedwith unwillingness even to her, and was obliged to assume his ultimatedegree of peremptoriness of manner with her nurses. He found hermuffled up about the head with flannel, and with a slice of fat bacon, folded in flannel, tied about her throat, --a means considered a specificfor small-pox in some regions. The discarding of the flannel and bacon, of course, caused great offence; and there was but too much reason tofear that all his directions as to the management of the girl would beobserved by contraries, the moment his back was turned. He had long agofound explanation and argument to be useless. All that he could do was, to declare authoritatively, that if his directions were not followed, the girl would die, and her death would lie at the door of her nurses;that, in that case, he expected some of the people about her would beill after her; but that if he was obeyed, he trusted she might getthrough, and nobody else be the worse. Almost before he was out of thehouse, another slice of fat bacon was cut, and the flannels put to thefire to heat again. 

Hope mounted his horse to depart, just at the hour when the labourerswere at their dinners in all the cottages around. They poured out tostare at him, some shouting that they should not have him long to lookat, as they would get a better doctor soon. Some sent their dogsyelping at his horse's heels, and others vented wrath or jokes aboutchurchyards. Soon after he had left the noise behind him, he met SirWilliam Hunter, riding, attended by his groom. Hope stopped him, makingit his apology that Sir William might aid in saving the life of apatient, in whom he was much interested. He told the story of thesmall-pox, of the rural method of treating it with which he had tocontend, and proposed that Sir William should use his influence insecuring for the patient a fair chance of her life. Sir Williamlistened coolly, would certainly call at the almshouses and makeinquiry; but did not like to interfere with the notions of the peoplethere: made a point indeed of leaving them pretty much to their ownways; owned that it would be a pity the girl should die, if she reallymight be got through; would call, therefore, and inquire, and seewhether Lady Hunter could not send down anything from the Hall. Hesmiled rather incredulously when assured that it was not anything thatcould be sent down from the Hall that was wanted by the patient, butonly the use of the fresh air that was about her, and the observance ofher doctor's simple directions. Sir William next began to make hishorse fidget, and Hope took the hint. 

"This has been my business with you at present, " said he. "At some moreconvenient time, I should be glad of a little conversation with you onother matters connected with these almshouses. "

Sir William Hunter bowed, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off, asif life or death depended on his reaching the Hall in three minutes anda half. 

These hints of "another doctor"--"a better doctor"--"a new man"--metHope in other directions. Mrs Howell was once quoted as a whisperer ofthe fact; and the milliner's young lady was known to have speculated, onwhether the new doctor would prove to be a single man. No one turnedaway from such gossip with more indifference than Hope; but it came tohim in the form of inquiries which he was supposed best able to answer. He now told Hester of them all; warned her of the probable advent of arival practitioner; and at the same time urged upon her a close economyin the management of the house, as his funds were rapidly failing. Ifhis practice continued to fall off as it was now doing, he scarcely sawhow they were to keep up their present mode of living. It grieved himextremely to have to say this to his wife in the very first year oftheir marriage. He had hoped to have put larger means in her power, from year to year; but at present he owned his way was far from beingclear. They had already descended to having no prospect at all. 

For all this Hester cared little. She had never known the pinchings ofpoverty, any more than the embarrassments of wealth. She could notconceive of such a thing, as being very anxious about what they shouldeat, and what they should drink, and wherewith they should be clothed;though, if she had looked more narrowly at her own imaginations ofpoverty, she would perhaps have discovered on the visionary table alwaysa delicate dish for her husband--in the wardrobe, always a sleek blackcoat--and in his waiting-room, a clear fire in winter; while the rest ofthe picture was made up of bread and vegetables, and shabby gowns forherself, and devices to keep herself warm without burning fuel. Herimagination was rather amused than alarmed with anticipations of thissort of poverty. It was certainly not poverty that she dreaded. A moreserious question was, how she could bear to see her husband supplanted, and, in the eyes of others, disgraced. This question the husband andwife now often asked each other, and always concluded by agreeing thattime must show. 

The girl at the almshouses died in a fortnight. Some pains were takento conceal from the doctor the time and the precise spot of herburial-points which the doctor never thought of inquiring about, and ofwhich it was therefore easy to keep him in ignorance. A few of theneighbouring cottagers agreed to watch the grave for ten nights, to savethe body from the designs of evil surgeons. One of the watchersreported, after the seventh night, that he had plainly heard a horsecoming along the road, and that he rather thought it stopped oppositethe churchyard. He had raised himself up, and coughed aloud, and thatwas no doubt the reason why nobody came: the horse must have turned backand gone away, whoever might be with it. This put people on the watch;and on the eighth night two men walked about the churchyard. They hadto tell that they once thought they had caught the doctor in the fact. They had both heard a loud whistle, and had stood to see what would comeof it (they could see very well, for it had dawned some time). A personcame through the turnstile with a sack, which seemed to leave hisintentions in no doubt. They hid themselves behind two opposite trees, and both sprang out upon him at once: but it was only the miller's boyon his way to the mill. On the ninth and tenth nights nothing happened;the neighbours began to feel the want of their regular sleep; and thequerulous grandmother, who seemed more angry that they meant to leavethe poor girl's body to itself now, than pleased that it had beenwatched at all, was compelled to put up with assurances that doctorswere considered to wish to cut up bodies within the first ten days, ifat all, and were not apt to meddle with them afterwards. 

It was full three weeks from this time when Hope was sent for to thealmshouses, after a longer interval than he had ever known to elapsewithout the old folks having some complaint to make. The inmate who wasnow ill was the least aged, and the least ignorant and unreasonableperson, in the establishment. He was grateful to Hope for havingrestored him from a former illness; and, though now much shaken inconfidence, had enough remaining to desire extremely to see his oldfriend, when he found himself ill and in pain. His neighbours wonderedat him for wishing to court destruction by putting himself again intothe hands of the suspicious doctor: but he said he could have no ease inhis mind, and was sure he should never get well till he saw thegentleman's face again; and he engaged an acquaintance to go toDeerbrook and summon him. This acquaintance spread the fact of hiserrand along the road as he went; and therefore, though Hope took careto choose his time, so as not to ride past the cottage-doors while thelabourers were at dinner, his visit was not more private or agreeablethan on the preceding occasion. 

The first symptom of his being expected on the road was, that SirWilliam Hunter, riding, as before, with his groom behind him, fell inwith Hope, evidently by design. 

Sir William Hunter's visit to the almshouses had produced the effect ofmaking him acquainted with the discontents of the people, and hadafforded him a good opportunity of listening to their complaints oftheir surgeon, without being troubled with the answers. Since theelection, he had been eager to hear whatever could be said against Hope, whose vote, given contrary to Sir William's example and influence, wasregarded by the baronet as an unpardonable impertinence. 

"So you lost your patient down there, I find, " said Sir William, rudely. "The girl slipped through your fingers, after all. However, I did myduty by you. I told the people they ought to allow you a fair chance. "

"I requested your interference on the girl's account, and not on myown, " said Hope. "But as you allude to my position among these people, you will allow me to ask, as I have for some time intended, whether youare aware of the treatment to which I am subjected, in yourneighbourhood, and among your dependants?"

"I find you are not very popular hereabouts, indeed, sir, " replied thebaronet, with a half-smile, which was immediately reflected in the faceof the groom. 

"With your leave, we will have our conversation to ourselves, " saidHope. 

The baronet directed his groom to ride on slowly. Hope continued:

"The extreme ignorance of the country people has caused some absurdstories against me to be circulated and believed. If those who are notin this state of extreme ignorance will do me justice, and give me, asyou say, a fair chance, I have no fear but that I shall live downcalumnies, and, by perseverance in my professional duty, recover thestation I lately held here. This justice, this fair chance, I claim, Sir William, from all who have the intelligence to understand the case, and rightly observe my conduct. I have done my best in the service ofthese pensioners of yours; and excuse my saying that I must be protectedin the discharge of my duty. "

"Ay, there's the thing, Mr Hope. That can't be done, you see. If thepeople do not like you, why then the only thing is for you to stayaway. "

"Then what is to become of the sick?"

"Ay, there's the thing, Mr Hope. If they do not like one, you see, whythen they must try another. That is what we have been thinking. Now, if you take my advice, you will not go forward to-day. You will repentit if you do, depend upon it. They do not like you, Mr Hope. "

"I need no convincing of that. You do not seem disposed to stir, SirWilliam, to improve the state of things; so I will go and try what I cando by myself. "

"I advise you not, sir. --Mr Hope!" shouted Sir William, as Hope roderapidly forward, "take care what you are about. They do not want to seeyou again. The consequences may be serious. "

"And this man is a magistrate, and he fancies himself my patron!"thought Hope, as he rode on. "He wants me to throw up the appointment;but I will not, till I see that the poor old creatures can be consignedto care as good as my own. If he chooses to dismiss me, he may, thoughwe can ill afford the loss just now. "

For one moment he had thought of turning back, as Sir William's cautionhad seemed to foretell some personal risk in proceeding; but theremembrance of Hester's parting look inspired him afresh. Instead ofthe querulous anxiety which had formerly harassed him from itsgroundlessness and apparent selfishness, it was now an anxiety worthy ofthe occasion that flushed her cheek. So far from entreating him toremain with her, she had bidden him go where his duty led him. She hadcalculated the probable length of his absence, and the watch was laid onthe table as formerly: but she had used the utmost expedition in sewingon the ring of his umbrella, and had kissed her hand to him from thewindow with a smile. He would not return to her without having fullydischarged his errand. "She might be a soldier's or sailor's wife, after all, " thought he. 

The hours of his absence were indeed very anxious ones to the family athome. For nearly two hours, the sisters amused themselves and oneanother as well as they could: but it was a great relief when Philipcame in. He would not believe anything they said, however, about theirreasons for fear. It was nonsense--it was Deerbrook talk. What harmcould a dozen old men and women, at almost a hundred years apiece, do toHope?--and the country people, the labourers round, they had their ownbusiness to attend to: they would just swear an oath at him, and let himpass; and if they ventured to lay a finger on his bridle, Hope knew howto use his whip. He would come home, and get his dinner, and be verydull, they would see, from having nothing to tell. --Before Philip hadfinished his picture of the dull dining they might expect, Morrisentered, and shut the door before she came forward to the table andspoke. She said she did not like to make mysteries, out of fear offrightening people; and she hoped there would be nothing to be reallyafraid of now: but if Mr Enderby thought he could contrive to meet hermaster out on the road, and get him to leave his horse somewhere, andcome walking home by Turnstile Lane, she thought it would be best, andsave some bad language, at least. Charles had brought in word thatpeople--angry people--were gathering at the other end of the street, andher master could quite disappoint them by coming home on foot the backway. --How many angry people were there!--and what sort of people?--Theywere mostly countrymen out of the places round--more of those than ofDeerbrook folks. There were a good many of them--so many as nearly toblock up the street at one part. If the ladies would step up into theboy's attic, they would see something of what was going on, from thelittle window there, without being seen. 

Philip snatched his hat, and said he would soon bring them news. Hehoped they would go up to the attic, and amuse themselves with the show:for a mere show it would end in being, he was confident. He observed, however, that it would be as well to keep Charles at home, in case, aswas possible, of a messenger being wanted. He himself would soon beback. 

Charles was called up into the drawing-room, and questioned. Neverbefore having been of so much importance, he was very grand in hisstatements, and made the most of all he had to say. Still, however, itwas a story which no telling could have made other than an unpleasantone. Some of the people who had come in from the country hadpitchforks. Two or three of the shopkeepers had put up their shutters. Many strangers were in the churchyard, peeping about the new graves: andothers had set scouts on the road, to give notice when master wascoming. Mrs Plumstead was very busy scolding the people all round; butit did not do any good, for they only laughed at her. 

"You may go, Charles; but do not set foot out of the house till you arebid, " said Hester, when she found the boy had told all he knew, andperhaps something more. Morris left the room with him, in order to keepher eye upon him. 

"Oh, Margaret, this is very terrible!" said Hester. 

"Most disagreeable. We must allow something for Charles's way oftelling the story. But yet--is there anything we can do, Hester?"

"Mr Grey will surely be here, presently. Do not you think so?"

"Either he or Mr Rowland, no doubt. "

"Dr Levitt is a magistrate: but this is Saturday, and he is so deep inhis sermon, he could not be made to understand and believe till it wouldbe too late. --Do you go up to the attic, Margaret, and I will keep thehall door. I shall hear his horse sooner than any one, and I shallstand ready to open to him in an instant. Hark now!"

It was only the boy with the post-bags, trotting slowly to MrsPlumstead's, amusing himself by the way with observations on the unusualanimation of Deerbrook. 

"It is too soon yet, by half an hour, " said Margaret. "He cannotpossibly be here for this half-hour, I think. Do not wear yourself outwith standing in the hall so long. I must just say one thing, love, Ifear all kinds of danger less for Edward than for almost any one else inthe world: he does always what is most simple and right; and I think hecould melt anybody's heart if he tried. "

"Thank you, " said Hester, gratefully. "I agree and trust with you: butwhat hearts have these people? or, how can you get at them, through suchheads? But yet he will triumph, I feel. "

When Margaret went up-stairs to the attic window, Hester moved a chairinto the hall, softly opened the window a little, to facilitate herhearing whatever passed outside, and took her seat by it, listeningintently. There was soon but too much to listen to. Shuffling feetmultiplied about the door; and some of the grumbling voices seemed tocome from men who had stationed themselves on the steps. Hester rose, and, with the utmost care to avoid noise, put up the chain of the housedoor. While she was doing this, Morris came from the kitchen, for thesame purpose. She feared there was an intention to surround the house:she wished her master would keep away, for a few hours at least; shecould not think where all the gentlemen of the place were, that they didnot come and see after her young ladies. Before the words were uttered, there was a loud rap at the door. Morris made her mistress keep back, while she found out who it was, before letting down the chain. Hesterknew it was not her husband's knock; and it turned out to be Mr Grey's. Margaret came flying down, and they all exclaimed how glad they were tosee him. 

"I wish I could do you any good, " said he; "but this is really a sadbusiness, my dears. "

"Have you heard anything, sir?"

"Nothing about your husband. Enderby bade me tell you that he is goneout to meet him, and to stir up Sir William Hunter, who may be said tobe the cause of all this, inasmuch as he never attempted to stop thediscontent when he might. But that unlucky vote, my dear, that was muchto be deplored. "

"No use casting that up now, surely, " observed Morris. 

"Yes, Morris, there is, " said her mistress; "it gives me an opportunityof saying that I glory in the vote; and I would have my husband give itagain to-day, if he had to pass through yonder crowd to go up to thepoll. "

"My dear, " remonstrated Mr Grey, "be prudent. Do not urge your husbandon into danger: he has quite enthusiasm enough without; and you see whatcomes of it. --But I am here to say that my wife hopes you and Margaretwill retire to our house, if you can get round without bringing any ofthese troublesome people with you. We think you might slip out from thesurgery, and along the lane, and through the Rowlands' garden door, andover the hedge which they tell me you managed to climb one day latelyfor pleasure. By this way, you might reach our house without any onebeing the wiser. "

"On no account whatever, " said Hester. "I shall not leave home, underany circumstances. "

"You are very kind, " said Margaret; "but we are expecting my brotherevery moment. "

"But he will follow you by the same road. "

Both wife and sister were sure he would do no such thing. They thoughtthe kindest thing Mr Grey could do would be to go out the back way, andsee that the constable was kept up to his duty. He promised to do so;and that he would speak to Dr Levitt, to have some of Grey and Rowlandsmen sworn in as special constables, if such a measure should appear tobe desirable. 

"I do not know how to believe all this now, " said Margaret; "it seems socauseless and ridiculous! In Birmingham we could never have givencredit to the story of such a riot about nothing. "

Morris was not sure of this. In large towns there were riots sometimesfor very small matters, or on account of entire mistakes. She hadalways heard that one of the worst things about living in a village is, that when the people once get a wrong idea into their heads, there is nogetting it out again; and that they will even be violent upon it againstall reason; but such things she knew to happen occasionally in towns. 

Another knock. It was Mr Rowland, and Hester's heart turned sick atthere being no news of her husband. Mr Rowland had every expectation, of course, that Mr Hope would be quite safe, and that this would turnout a disturbance of very slight consequence: but he would just askwhether it would not be advisable to close the window-shutters. Ifstones should find their way into the parlours, it might be disagreeableto the ladies. --There was no doubt of that: but would not closing theshutters be a hint to the people outside to throw stones?--Well, perhapsso. He only thought he would offer the suggestion, and see if he couldbe of any service to the ladies. 

"Morris, go up to the attic and watch; and Margaret, do you stay here. Yes, Mr Rowland, " said Hester, fixing her glorious eyes full on him;"you can be of service to us, if my husband outlives this day. Youought to pray that he may; for if not, it is your wife who has murderedhim. "

Mr Rowland turned as pale as ashes. 

"We know well that you have no share in all this injury: we believe thatyou respect my husband, and have friendly feelings towards us all. Iwill spare you what I might say--what Mrs Rowland should sink to theearth to hear, if she were standing where you stand. I look upon you asno enemy--"

"You do me only justice, " said Mr Rowland, leaning upon the chair whichHester had brought for herself. 

"I wish to do you justice; and therefore I warn you that if you do notprocure complete protection for my husband--not only for this day--butfor the future;--if you do not cause your wife to retract herslanders--"

"Stop, Mrs Hope! this is going too far, " said Mr Rowland, drawinghimself up, and putting on an air of offended dignity. 

"It is not going too far. You cannot, you dare not, pretend to beoffended with what I say, when you know that my noble husband has beeninjured in his character and his prospects, attacked in his domesticpeace, and now exposed to peril of his life, by the falsehoods your wifehas told. I tell you that we do not impute her crimes to you. If thisis justice, you will prove it by doing your full duty to my husband. Ifyou decline any part of this duty--if you countenance her slanders--ifyou shrink from my husband's side in whatever we may have to gothrough--if you do not either compel your wife to do us right, or do ityourself in opposition to her--you are her partner in guilt, as well asin life and lot. "

"Consider what a situation you place me in!--But what would you have medo?"

"I would have you see that every false charge she has brought isretracted--every vile insinuation recanted. You must make her sayeverywhere that my husband has not stolen dead bodies; that he is not aplotter against the peace and order of society; that he has not poisoneda child by mistake, or cut off a sound limb for the sake of practice andamusement. Your wife has said these things, and you know it; and youmust make her contradict them all. "

"Consider what a situation you place me in!" said Mr Rowland again. 

"Be generous, Hester!" said Margaret. 

"Do not trample on a wretched man!" cried Mr Rowland, covering his facewith his hands. 

"`Consider!' `Be generous!'" exclaimed Hester in a softened tone. "Imight well say, Consider what a situation my husband is placed in! andthat I must see justice done to him before I can be generous to others;but I have such a husband that I can afford to spare the wretched, andbe generous to the humbled. Go now and do _your_ duty by us: and thenext time you hear your wife say that we do not love and are not happy, tell her that if we forbear to crush her, it is because we are toostrong for her--too strong in heart, however weak in fortunes:--becausewe are strong in a peace which she cannot poison, and a love which shewill never understand. "

Even at a moment like this, and while feeling that she could not havesaid the things that Hester said, Margaret's eyes swam in tears of joy. Here was her sister, in a moment of that high excitement when nothingbut truth ventures upon utterance, acknowledging herself blessed inpeace which could not be poisoned, and love which the vile could notunderstand. The day, whatever might be its events, was worth enduringfor this. 

Mr Rowland walked once or twice up and down the hall, wiped his brows, and then, evidently unable to endure Hester's presence, said he wouldlet himself out, and there await Mr Hope's arrival, or anything elsethat might occur. 

Oh! would he ever come? It seemed to Hester like a week since she hadgiven him his umbrella, and seen him ride away. 

Hark! Surely this must be--it certainly was his horse this time. Yes--there was Morris calling from the stairs that her master was fightinghis way down the street! There was Charles giving notice that the crowdwas running round from the back to the front of the house! There wasthe noise among the people outside, the groaning, the cries!

"Now, ma'am!" said Morris, breathless with the haste she had made downstairs. Morris supposed her mistress would softly let down the chain, open the door just wide enough for Hope to slip in, and shut, bolt, andchain it again. This was what Hester had intended; but her mood waschanged. She bade the servants all step out of sight, and then threwthe door wide open, going forth herself upon the steps. The people hadclosed round Hope's horse; but Philip was pushing his in between the moband their object, and riding round and round him with a sort ofludicrous gravity, which lowered the tone of the whole affair toMargaret's mind, and gave her great relief. Mr Rowland was shakinghands with Hope with one hand, and holding the bridle of the uneasyhorse with the other. Hope himself was bespattered with mud from headto foot, and his umbrella was broken to pieces. He nodded cheerfully toHester when she threw open the door. When she held out her hand to himwith a smile as he ascended the steps, the noise of the crowd wassuddenly hushed. They understood rather more of what they saw than ofanything that could be said to them. They allowed Charles to come out, and lead the horse away round the corner to the stable. They stoodstock-still, gaping and staring, while Hope invited Mr Rowland in, andMr Rowland declined entering; while that gentleman shook hands with theladies, spoke with Mr Enderby, mounted Mr Enderby's horse, and rodeoff. They saw Philip turn slowly into the house with the family party, and the door closed, before they thought of giving another groan. 

"Well, love!" said Hester, looking anxiously at her husband. 

"You made good battle, " said Philip. 

"Yes, I had a pretty hard fight of it, from the toll-bar hither, " saidHope, stretching vigorously. "They wrenched my whip out of my hand--five hands to one; but then I had my umbrella. I broke it to pieceswith rapping their knuckles. "

"Which are as hard as their pates, " observed Philip. "What are we to donext?"

"If they do not disperse presently, I will go and speak to them; but Idare say they have had enough of the show for to-day: Mrs Plumsteadmust have satisfied them with oratory. That poor woman's face and voicewill haunt me when I have forgotten all the rest. One had almost ratherhave her against one, than that such screaming should be on one'sbehalf. Now, my love, how has the morning gone with you?"

"Very pleasantly, I would answer for it from her looks, " said Philip. And Hester's face was certainly full of the beauty of happiness. 

"Thank God, the morning is over! That is all I have to say about it, "replied she. 

"Surely those people outside are growing more noisy!" observed Margaret. 

"I must change my clothes, in case of its being necessary to speak tothem, " said Hope. "I look too like a victim at present. "

While he and Hester were out of the room, Philip told Margaret how herbrother had been treated at the almshouses. He had narrowly escapedbeing pulled from his horse and thrown into the pond. He had beenfollowed half-way to Deerbrook by a crowd, throwing stones andshrieking; and just when he had got beyond their reach, he had metPhilip, and learned that he had the same thing to go through, at theother extremity of his journey. Finding that both his doors weresurrounded, he had judged it best to make for the front, coming home asnearly as possible in his usual manner. He had kept his temperadmirably, joking with his detainers, while dealing his blows upon theirhands. 

"Where will all this end?" cried Margaret. 

"With some going to dinner, and others to supper, I imagine, " repliedPhilip, stepping to the window. "From what I see, that seems likely tobe the upshot; for here is Sir William Hunter talking to the people. Ihad rather he should do it than Hope; and, Margaret, I had rather set mymischievous sister to do it than either. This uproar is all of hermaking, I am afraid. "

"Hester has been telling Mr Rowland so, this morning. "

"I am glad of it. He must help me to work upon her fears, if there isnothing better left to operate upon. "

"You will not succeed, " said Margaret. "Your sister is as strong aheroine in one direction as mine is in another. "

"She shall yield, however. She may be thankful that she is not hereto-day. If she was, I would have her out upon the steps, and make herretract everything; and if she should not be able to speak, I wouldstand by her and say it for her. "

"Oh, Philip! what a horrible idea!"

"Not half so horrible as the mischief she has done. Why, Margaret, ifyou were one-tenth part as guilty as Priscilla is, I should require youto make reparation. "

"Indeed, I hope you would: or rather, that--"

"But do not let us conjure up such dreadful images, my Margaret. Younever wronged any one, and you never will. "

"Edward never did, I am sure, " said Margaret. 

"Not even by poisoning children, nor cutting off limbs for sport? Areyou quite sure, love? What is Sir William doing here, with only hisgroom? He and the people look in high good-humour with each other, withall this shaking of hands, and nodding and laughing. I cannot conceivewhat he can be saying to them, for there are not three faces among thewhole array that look as if they belonged to rational creatures. "

"Never mind, " said Margaret. "If what he says sends them away, I carefor nothing else about it. "

"Oh, but I do. One would like to be favoured with a specimen of thiskind of rural oratory. I ought to benefit by all the oratory that comesin my way, you know: so I shall just open the window an inch or two, nowhe is drawing hitherward, and take a lesson. "

It seemed as if Sir William Hunter desired that his powers of persuasionshould be expended on none but the immediate objects of them: forwhatever he said was spoken as he bent from his horse, and with the airof a mystery. Many a plump red face was thrust close up to his--many apair of round staring eyes was puckered up with mirth as he spoke: theteamster in his olive-coloured smock, the hedger in his shirt-sleeves, and the little bumpkins who had snatched a holiday from scaring thecrows, all seemed, by their delight, to be capable of entering into thebaronet's method of argumentation. All this stimulated Philip'scuriosity to learn what the speechifying tended to. He could catch onlya few words, and those were about "a new man, "--"teach him to takehimself off, "--"all bad things come to an end, "--"new state of things, soon. " Philip was afraid there was treachery here. Margaret had noother expectation from the man--the tyrannical politician, who bore agrudge against a neighbour for having used his constitutional libertyaccording to his conscience. 

Some spectacle now drew the attention of the crowd another way. It wasLady Hunter, in her chariot and greys, statelily pacing through thevillage. She had heard that there was some commotion in Deerbrook; and, as sights are rare in the country, she thought she would venture to cometo the village to shop, rather than wait for Sir William's account ofthe affair in the evening, over their wine and oranges, and before hedropped off into his nap. She rightly confided in the people, that theywould respect her chariot and greys, and allow her to pass amidst themin safety and honour. She had never seen a person mobbed. Here was agood opportunity. It was even possible that she might catch a glimpseof the ladies in their terrors. At all events, she should be a greatperson, and see and hear a great deal: so she would go. Orders weregiven that she should be driven quickly up to the milestone beyond thetoll-bar, and then very slowly through Deerbrook to Mrs Howell's. Herservants were prompt, for they, too, longed to see what was goingforward; and thus they arrived, finding a nice little mob ready-made totheir expectations, and no cause of regret but that they arrived toolate to see Mr Hope get home. There were no ladies in terror withinsight: but then there was the affecting spectacle of Sir William'spopularity. In full view of all the mob, Lady Hunter put a corner ofher embroidered handkerchief to each eye, on witnessing the affection ofhis neighbours to her husband, shown by the final shaking of hands whichwas now gone through. Sir William then rode slowly up to thecarriage-door, followed by his groom, who touched his hat. Orders weregiven to drive on; and then Lady Hunter's servants touched their hats. The carriage resumed its slow motion, and Sir William rode beside it, his hand on the door, and his countenance solemn as if he was on thebench, instead of on horseback. The great blessing of the arrangementwas that everybody followed. Lady Hunter having come to see the mob, the mob now, in return, went to see Lady Hunter: and while they werecherishing their mutual interest, the family in the corner-house wereleft in peace to prosecute their dinners. Philip threw up the windowwhich looked into the garden, and then ran down to bring Margaret someflowers to refresh her senses after the hurry of the morning. Margaretlet down the chain of the hall door; and Morris laid the cloth, as shehad sent Charles to sweep down the steps and pavement before the house, that all things might wear as much as possible their usual appearance. Hester ordered up a bottle of her husband's best ale, and the servantswent about with something of the air peculiar to a day of frolic. 

"Dear heart! Lady Hunter! Can it be your ladyship?" exclaimed MrsHowell, venturing to show her face at the door of her darkened shop, andto make free entrance for her most exalted customer. 

"Good heavens! your ladyship! Who would have thought of seeing yourladyship here on such a day?" cried Miss Miskin. 

"Where's Bob, Miss Miskin? Do, Miss Miskin, send Bob to take down theshutters:--that is, if your ladyship thinks that Sir William wouldrecommend it. If Sir William thinks it safe, --that is my criterion. "

"I hope we are all safe, now, Mrs Howell, " replied the lady. "SirWilliam's popularity is a most fortunate circumstance for us all, andfor the place at large. "

"Oh dear, your ladyship! what should we be, not to estimate Sir William?We have our faults, like other people: but really, if we did not knowhow to value Sir William--"

"Thank Heaven!" said Miss Miskin, "we have not fallen so low as that. Now your ladyship can see a little of our goings on--now the shuttersare down: but, dear heart! your ladyship would not have wondered at ourputting them up. I am sure I thought for my part, that that middleshutter never would have gone up. It stuck, your ladyship--"

"Oh!" cried Mrs Howell, putting her hands before her face, as if therecollection was even now too much for her, "the middle shutter stuck--Bob had got it awry, and jammed it between the other two, and there, nothing that Bob could do would move it! And there we heard the noiseat a distance--the cries, your ladyship--and the shutter would not goup! And Miss Miskin ran out, and so did I--"

"Did you really? Well, I must say I admire your courage, Mrs Howell. "

"Oh, your ladyship, in a moment of desperation, you know... If anybodyhad seen Miss Miskin's face, I'm sure, as she tugged at the shutter--itwas as red... Really scarlet!"

"And I'm sure so was yours, Mrs Howell, downright crimson. "

"And after all, " resumed Mrs Howell, "we should never have got theshutter up, if Mr Tucker had not had the politeness to come and helpus. But we are talking all this time, and perhaps your ladyship may bealmost fainting with the fright. Would not your ladyship step into myparlour, and have a little drop of something? Let me have the honour--aglass of mulled port wine, or a drop of cherry-bounce. Miss Miskin--youwill oblige us--the cherry-bounce, you know. "

Miss Miskin received the keys from the girdle with a smile of readiness;but Lady Hunter declined refreshment. She explained that she felt morecollected than she might otherwise have done, from her not having beentaken by surprise. She had been partly aware, before she left the Hall, of what she should have to encounter. 

"Dear heart! what courage!"

"Goodness! how brave!"

"I could not be satisfied to remain safe at the Hall, you know, when Idid not know what might be happening to Sir William; so I ordered thecarriage, and came. It was a very anxious ride, I assure you, MrsHowell. But I found, when I got here, that I need not have been underany alarm for Sir William. He has made himself so beloved, that Ibelieve we have nothing to fear for him under any circumstances. Butwhat can we think, Mrs Howell, of those who try to create such danger?"

"What, indeed, ma'am! Any one, I'm sure, who would so much as dream ofhurting a hair of Sir William's head... As I said to Miss Miskin, whenMr Tucker told us Sir William was come among them--`that's thecriterion, ' said I. "

"As it happens, Sir William is in no danger, I believe; but no thanks tothose who are at the bottom of this disturbance. It is no merit oftheirs that Sir William is so popular. "

"No, indeed, your ladyship. We may thank Heaven for that, not them. But what _is_ to be done, your ladyship? I declare it is not safe to goon in this way. It makes one think of being burnt in one's bed. " Andall the three shuddered. 

"Sir William will take the right measures, you need not doubt, MrsHowell. Sir William looks forward--Sir William is very cautious, though, from his intrepidity, some might doubt it. The safety ofDeerbrook may very well be left to Sir William. "

"No doubt, your ladyship, no doubt! We should be really afraid to go toour beds, if we had not Sir William to rely on, as Miss Miskin said tome only this morning. But, dear heart! what can Sir William, or anangel from heaven do, in some sorts of dangers? If one might ask, forone's confidential satisfaction, what does Sir William think of thisaffair of the church-door?"

Amidst shrugs and sighs, Miss Miskin drew quite near, to hear the fateof Deerbrook revealed by Lady Hunter. But Lady Hunter did not know thefacts about the church-door, on which the inquiry was based. This onlyshowed how secret some people could be in their designs. There was nosaying what Lady Hunter might think of it; it really seemed as ifDeerbrook, that had had such a good character hitherto, was going to beon a level with Popish places--a place of devastation and conflagration. Lady Hunter looked excessively grave when she heard this; and, ifpossible, graver than ever, when she was told that not only had alantern been found in the churchyard with a bit of candle left in thesocket, but that a piece of charred stick, full three inches long, hadbeen picked up close by the church-door. After hearing this, LadyHunter would not commit herself any further. She asked for somehair-pins, with a dignified and melancholy air. While she was selectingthe article, she let Mrs Howell talk on about the lantern and thestick--that no one wondered about the lantern, knowing what practiceswent on in the churchyard when quiet people were asleep; but that thecharred stick was too alarming: only that, to be sure, anybody might beaware that those who would go into churchyards for one bad purpose wouldbe ready enough for another; and that Heaven only knew how long thechurches of the land would be safe while Lowrys were sent to Parliament, and those that sent them there were all abroad. Lady Hunter sighedemphatically, whispered her desire that the hair-pins should be set downin her account, and went away, amidst deep and mournful curtseys fromthose whom she left behind. 

Under certain circumstances, the mind becomes so rapidly possessed of anidea, is enabled to assimilate it so completely and speedily, that thepossessor becomes unaware how very recently the notion was received, anddeals with it as an old-established thought. This must be Lady Hunter'sexcuse (for no other can be found) for speaking of the plot for burningDeerbrook church as one of the signs of the times which had alarmed SirWilliam and herself of late. She had so digested Mrs Howell's fact bythe time she had reached Mr Tucker's shop, that she thus representedthe case of the charred stick to Mr Tucker without any immediate stingof conscience for telling a lie. She felt rather uncomfortable when MrJones, the butcher, who had stepped in at Tucker's to discuss the eventof the morning, observed, with deference, but with much decision, thathe was sorry to hear Sir William was made uneasy by the circumstance ofthe charred stick having been found, as it seemed to him a very simplematter to account for. Several of the boys of the village--his own sonJohn for one--had lately taken to the old sport of whirling round alighted stick at the end of a string, to make a circle of fire in thedark. Sometimes it happened that a spark caught the string; and thenthe stick was apt to fly off, nobody knew where. It was an unsafesport, certainly; and as such he had forbidden it to his son John: butthere was no doubt in his mind (without defending the sport), that thestick in question had jerked itself over the churchyard wall, and hadnot been put there by anybody;--to say nothing of its having lain so farfrom the door (and in the grass, too), that it was difficult to see whatcould be expected to catch fire from it. Jones took up his hat from thecounter, saying, that as Sir William was close at hand, he would stepand tell him what he thought would ease his mind about this affair. This movement laid open to Lady Hunter's mind the enormity of her fib:and remembering that, as far as she knew, her husband had never heard ofthe charred stick, she vigorously interfered to keep Mr Jones where hewas, averring that Sir William had rather hear the explanation from herthan from any person actually resident in Deerbrook. He had hisreasons, and she must insist. Mr Jones bowed; her alarm ceased, andher compunction gradually died away. 

When Mr Tucker had received his orders about the fire-guard (whichoccasioned his whispering that there had never been so much need inDeerbrook of guards against fire as now), Lady Hunter's footman cameinto the shop to say that his master was in the carriage. Sir Williamhad sent his horse home, and would return in the chariot with his lady. She hastened away, to prevent any chat between Sir William and MrJones. But, once in the carriage, in all the glory of being surroundedand watched by a number of gaping clowns and shouting boys, she couldnot resolve to bury herself in the seclusion of the Hall, withoutenjoying the bustle a little longer. She therefore suddenly discoveredthat she wanted to order a morning cap at Miss Nares'; and the carriagedrew up in state before the milliner's door. Miss Flint, whose hair hadcome out of curl, from her having leaned out of an upper window to watchthe commotion, now flew to the glass to pull off her curl-papers; MissNares herself hastily drew out of drawers and cupboards the smart thingswhich had been huddled away under the alarm about the sacking ofDeerbrook; and then threw a silk handkerchief over the tray, on whichstood the elder wine and toast with which she and her assistant had beencomforting themselves after the panic of the morning. All the caps weretried on with mysterious melancholy, but with some haste. Sir Williammust not be kept long waiting: in times like these, a magistrate'smoments were valuable. Sir William was reading the newspaper, in orderto convey the impression that he considered the affair of this morning atrifling one; but--

"These are strange times, Miss Nares. "

"Very alarming, my lady. I am sure I don't know when we shall recoverfrom the fright. And no further back than six weeks, I had that personin, my lady, to attend Miss Flint in a sore throat. So little were weaware!"

"I am thankful enough it was not for a broken arm, " observed Miss Flint, in accents of devout gratitude. 

"Yes, indeed, my dear, " observed Miss Nares, "it would have ruined allyour prospects in life if he had done by you as he did by the RussellTaylors' nursemaid. Have you never heard that, my lady? Well! I amastonished! I find the story is in everybody's mouth. Mrs RussellTaylor's nursemaid was crossing the court, with the baby in her arms, when she tripped over the string of Master Hampden Taylor's kite. Well, my lady, she fell; and her first thought, you know, was to save thebaby; so she let all her weight go on the other arm--the right--and, asyou may suppose, broke it. It snapped below the elbow. The gentlemanin the corner-house was sent for immediately, to set it. Now they say(you, my lady, know all about it, of course, ) that there are two bonesin that part of one's arm, below the elbow. "

"There are so. Quite correct. There are two bones. "

"Well, my lady, all the story depends upon that. The gentleman inquestion did set the bones; but he set them across, you see, --as itmight be so. " And Miss Nares arranged four pieces of whalebone on thetable in the shape of a long, narrow letter X; there could not have beena better exemplification. "The consequence was, my lady, that the poorgirl's hand was found, when she had got well, to be turned completelyround: and, in fact, it is all but useless. "

"When her hands are in her lap, " observed Miss Flint, "the palm of theright lies uppermost. Ugh!"

"When she beckons the children with that hand, " observed Miss Nares, "they think she means them to go further off. A girl who has to earnher bread, my lady! It is in everybody's mouth, I assure you. "

"What has become of the girl?" asked Lady Hunter. 

"Oh, she was got rid of--sent away--to save the credit of the gentlemanin the corner-house. But these things will come out, my lady. You areaware that the Russell Taylors have for some time been employing MrFoster, from Blickley?"

"Ah, true! I had heard of that. "

With unrelaxed gravity, Lady Hunter returned to her equipage, carryingwith her Miss Nares's newest cap and story. 

As the carriage drew near the corner-house, the driver, as ifsympathising with his lady's thoughts, made his horses go their veryslowest. Lady Hunter raised herself, and leaned forward, that she mightsee what she could see in this dangerous abode. The spring eveningsunshine was streaming in at the garden window at the back of the house;so that the party in the room was perfectly visible, in the thoroughlight, to any one who could surmount the obstacle of the blind. LadyHunter saw four people sitting at dinner, and somebody was waiting onthem. She could scarcely have told what it was that surprised her; butshe exclaimed to Sir William--

"Good heavens! they are at dinner!"

Sir William called out angrily to the coachman to drive faster, andasked whether he meant to keep everybody out till midnight. 

The Hopes were far less moved by seeing the baronet and his lady drivingby, than the baronet and his lady were by seeing the Hopes dining. Theyhad not the slightest objection to the great folks from the Hallderiving all the excitement and amusement they could from an airingthrough the village; and they were happily ignorant of the mostatrocious stories about Hope which were now circulating from mouth tomouth, all round Deerbrook. 

It was not long, however, before they found that they had been indebtedto the great folks from the Hall for a certain degree of protection, partly from the equipage having drawn off the attention of some of theidlers, and partly from the people having been unwilling to indulge alltheir anger and impertinence in the presence of a magistrate. Scarcelyhalf an hour had elapsed after the sound of the carriage wheels had diedaway, before a face was seen surmounting the blind of the windowstowards the street. Presently another appeared, and another. Men belowwere hoisting up boys, to make grimaces at the family, and see what wasgoing on. The shutters were closed rather earlier than usual. Philipwent out to make a survey. He and Mr Grey soon returned, to advisethat the ladies should quit the house, and that a guard should enter it. The first proposition was refused; the second accepted. Mr Greycarried off all the money and small valuables. Hester and Margaretbestirred themselves to provide refreshments for Messrs. Grey andRowland's men, who were to be ready to act in their defence. Theyscarcely knew what to expect; but they resolved to remain where Edwardwas, and to fear nothing from which he did not shrink. 

There was much noise round the house--a multitude of feet and of voices. Messengers were sent off to the Hall and to Dr Levitt, who must now bedisturbed, whatever might become of his sermon. Philip brought in MrRowland's men, and declared he should not leave the premises again ifthe ladies would not be persuaded to go. He took up his station in thehall, whence he thought he could learn most of what it was that thepeople had intended to do, and be most ready to act as occasion mightrequire. No one could imagine what was designed, or whether there wasany design at all on foot. The only fact at present apparent was, thatthe crowd was every moment increasing. 

Hester was stooping over the cellaret in the room where they had dined, when a tremendous crash startled her, and a stone struck down the lightwhich stood beside her, leaving her in total darkness. Philip came toher in a moment. No one had thought of closing the shutters of the backwindows; and now the garden was full of people. The house was besiegedback and front; and, in ten minutes from the entrance of this firststone, not a pane of glass was left unbroken in any of the lowerwindows. Hope ran out, his spirit thoroughly roused by these insults;and he was the first to seize and detain one of the offenders; but thefeat was rather too dangerous to bear repetition. He was recognised, surrounded, and had some heavy blows inflicted upon him. He succeededin bringing off his man; but it was by the help of a sally of hisfriends from the house; and having locked up his prisoner in hisdressing-room, he found it best to await the arrival of a magistratebefore he went forth again. 

The surgery was the most open to attack; and this being the place wherethe people expected to find the greatest number of dead bodies, theirenergies were directed towards the professional part of the premises. The pupil took flight, and left the intruders to work their pleasure. They found no bodies, and were angry accordingly. When the crashing ofall the glass was over, the shelves and cases were torn down, and, withthe table and chairs, carried out into the street, and cast into a heap. Other wood was brought; and it was owing to the pertinacity of the mobin front of the house, in attacking the shutters, that the rioters metwith no opposition in the surgery. Hope, Enderby, and their assistants, had more on their hands than they could well manage, in beating off theassailants in front. If the shutters were destroyed, the wholefurniture of the house would go, and no protection would remain toanybody in it. The surgery must be left to take its chance, rather thanthis barrier between the women and the mob be thrown down. Whateveroffensive warfare was offered from the house was from the servants, fromthe upper window. The women poured down a quick succession of pails ofwater; and Charles returned, with good aim, such stones as had foundtheir way in. The gentlemen were little aware, for some time, that thecries of vexation or ridicule, which were uttered now and then, werecaused by the feats of their own coadjutors overhead: and it was inconsequence of seeing Hester and Margaret laughing in the midst of theirpanic that the fact became known to them. 

Soon after, a bright light was visible between the crevices of theshutters, and a prodigious shout arose outside. The bonfire waskindled. Hester and Margaret went to the upper windows to see it; andwhen the attacks upon the shutters seemed to have ceased, Enderby joinedthem. There were very few faces among the crowd that were known even toCharles, whose business it was, in his own opinion, to know everybody. Mr Tucker was evidently only looking on from a distance. MrsPlumstead had been on the spot, but was gone--terrified into quietnessby the fire, into which the rioters had threatened to throw her, if shedisturbed their proceedings. She had professed to despise the idea of aducking in the brook; but a scorching in the fire was not to be braved;so no more was heard of her this night. Three or four of thefrequenters of the public-house were on the spot; but though they lent ahand to throw fresh loads of fuel on the fire, they did not take theirpipes from their mouths, nor seem to be prime movers in the riot. Theyellow blaze lighted up a hundred faces, scowling with anger or grinningwith mirth, but they were all strange--strange as the incidents of theday. A little retired from the glare of the fire, was a figure, revealed only when the flame shot up from being freshly fed--Sir WilliamHunter on horseback with his immovable groom behind him. How long hehad been there, nobody in the house could tell; nor whether he hadattempted to do anything in behalf of peace and quiet. There he sat, asif looking on for his amusement, and forgetting that he had any businesswith the scene. 

It was no wonder that Dr Levitt was not yet visible. If he shouldarrive by dawn, that was all that could be expected. But where were MrGrey and Sydney? Where was Mr Rowland? Like some of Mr Hope's otherneighbours, who ought to have come to his aid on such an occasion, thesegentlemen were detained at home by the emotions of their families. Sydney Grey was locked up by his tender mother as securely as Mr Hope'sprisoner; and all the boy's efforts to break the door availed only tobruise him full as seriously as the mob would have done. His father wasdetained by the tremors of his wife, the palpitations of Sophia, and thetears and sobs of the twins, all of which began with the certainty ofthe first stone having been thrown, and were by no means abated by thesight of the reflection of the flames on the sky. Mr Grey found itreally impossible to leave his family, as he afterwards said. Heconsoled himself with the thought that he had done the best he could, bysending his men. These things were exactly what his partner said. He, too, had done the best he could, in sending his men. He, too, found itimpossible to leave his family. In the dusk of the evening, when thefirst stones had begun to fly, the carriage which was heard, in theintervals of the crashes, to roll by, contained Mrs Rowland and herchildren, and some one else. It may easily be imagined that it was madeimpossible to Mr Rowland to leave his family, to go to the assistanceof the people in the corner-house. 

A fresh shout soon announced some new device. A kind of processionappeared to be advancing up the street, and some notes of rude musicwere heard. A party was bringing an effigy of Mr Hope to burn on thepile. There was the odious thing--plain enough in the light of thefire--with the halter round its neck, a knife in the right hand, and aphial--a real phial out of Hope's own surgery, in the left!

"This is too bad to be borne, " cried Enderby; while Hope, who had comeup to see what others were seeing, laughed heartily at therepresentative of himself. "This is not to be endured. Morris, quick!Fetch me half a dozen candles!"

"Candles, sir?"

"Yes, candles. I will put this rabble to flight. I wish I had thoughtof it before. "

"Oh, Philip!" said Margaret, apprehensively. 

"Fear nothing, Margaret. I am going to do something most eminentlysafe, as you will see. "

He would not let any one go with him but Charles and Morris. It wassome minutes before any effect from his absence was perceived; but, atlength, just when the effigy had been sufficiently insulted, and wasabout to be cast into the flames, and Hester had begged her husband notto laugh at it any more, a roar of anguish and terror was heard from thecrowd, which began to disperse in all directions. The ladies venturedto lean out of the window, to see what was the cause of the uproar. They understood it in a moment. Mr Enderby had possessed himself ofthe skeleton which hung in the mahogany case in the waiting-room, hadlighted it up behind the eyes and the ribs, and was carrying it aloftbefore him, approaching round the corner, and thus confronting theeffigy. The spectre moved steadily on, while the people fled. It madestraight for Sir William Hunter, who now seemed for the first timedisposed to shift his place. He did so with as much slowness anddignity as were compatible with the urgency of the circumstances, edginghis horse further and further into the shade. When he found, however, that the spectre continued to light its own path towards him, there wassomething rather piteous in the tone of his appeal:--"I am Sir WilliamHunter! I am--I am Sir William Hunter!" The spectre disregarding eventhis information, there was nothing for the baronet to do but to gallopoff--his groom for once in advance of him. When they were out of sight, the spectre turned sharp round, and encountered Dr Levitt, who was nowarriving just when every one else was departing. He started, as mighthave been expected, spoke angrily to the "idle boy" whom he supposed tobe behind the case of bones, and laughed heartily when he learned whowas the perpetrator, and what the purpose of the joke. He enteredHope's house, to learn the particulars of the outrage, and order off theprisoner into confinement elsewhere, his ideas being too extensivelydiscomposed to admit of any more sermon-writing this night. Charles hadalready captured the effigy, and set it up in the hall: a few morepailsful of water extinguished the fire in the street; and in a quarterof an hour the neighbourhood seemed to be as quiet as usual. 

"Where are you to sleep after all this fatigue?" said Hope to his wifeand sister, when Dr Levitt and Philip were gone, and the men were attheir supper below. "I do not believe they have left you a room whichis not open to the night air. What a strange home to have put you in!Who would have thought it a year ago?"

Hester smiled, and said she was never less sleepy. Morris believed thatnot a pane of glass was broken in the attics, and her ladies could sleepthere, if they preferred remaining at home to stepping to Mr Grey's. They much preferred remaining where they were: and, on examination, itwas found that Margaret's room was also entire. Hope proposed to takepossession of Charles's attic, for once; and Charles enjoyed the noveltyof having a mattress laid down for him in a corner of the upper landing. Morris tempted the ladies and her master to refresh themselves withtea. She piled up the fire to a Christmas height, to compensate for thedraughts which blew in from the broken windows. Hope soon grewdiscontented with her plan. 

"This will never do, " said he, shivering. "You will all be ill: andnobody must be ill now, for I have no medicines left. "

Morris murmured a wish that the physic had been forced down the people'sthroats. 

"It is better where it is, Morris, " said her master; "and we willforgive these poor people; shall we not? They are lamentably ignorant, you see. "

Morris thought forgiveness was always pretty sure to come in time but itwas not very easy at the moment. She thought she could get over theirrobbing her master of any amount of property; but she could not excusetheir making him ridiculous before his lady's own eyes. 

"They cannot make him ridiculous, Morris, " said Hester, cheerfully. 

"People who are persecuted are considered great, you know, Morris, " saidMargaret. 

"Bravo, ladies!" cried Hope. "You keep up your own spirits, and mycomplacency, bravely. But seriously, Morris, " he continued, perceivingthat the vulgarity of the present affliction weighed down the goodwoman's heart; "is it not true that few of our trials--none of thosewhich are most truly trials--seem dignified at the time? If they did, patience would be easier than it is. The death of martyrs to theirfaith is grand to look back upon; but it did not appear so to the bestof the martyrs at the time. This little trial of ours looks provoking, and foolish, and mean, to us to-night; but whether it really is so, willdepend on how we bear it; and whatever it may bring after it, grand ormean, all we have to do is to be good-humoured with it, Morris. "

Morris curtsied low. 

"And now, to your rooms, " resumed Hope: "this place is growing toochilly for you, notwithstanding Morris's capital fire. "

"One thing more, " said Margaret. "I am a little uneasy about Maria. Has any one thought of her? She must be anxious about us. "

"I will go this moment, " said Hope. "Nay, my love, it is early yet; noone in Deerbrook is gone to rest yet, but the children. I can be backin ten minutes, and the street is empty. "

"Let him go, " said Margaret. "It will be a great kindness; and surelythere is no danger now. "

Hope was gone. He did not come back in ten minutes, nor in half anhour. Even Margaret heartily repented having urged him to leave home. During his absence she thus repented, but no longer when he returned. He brought news which made her hasten to dress herself for the open air, when she was quite ready to retire to rest. It was well that herbrother had gone. Maria had been thrown down by the crowd, which hadovertaken her as she was walking homewards, and she had broken her leg. The limb was set, the case was a simple and promising one; but she wasin pain, and Margaret must go and pass the night with her. How thankfulwere they all now, that some one had thought of Maria! She had been inextreme anxiety for them; and she would not certainly have sent for aidbefore the morning. It was indeed a blessing that some one had thoughtof Maria. 

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 

Mr Enderby was too angry with his sister to see her that night. Hewent straight to his room, at his mother's old house, and did notbreakfast with the Rowlands. He knocked at their door when breakfastwas finished, and sent to request Mrs Rowland's presence in thedrawing-room. All this had given the lady time to prepare her mood, andsome very clever and bold sayings but when the interview was over, shewas surprised to find how some of these sayings had gone out of hermind, and how others had remained there, for want of opportunity tospeak them; so that she had not made nearly so good a figure as she hadintended. 

There was all due politeness in Enderby's way of inducing his sister tosit down, and of asking after the health of herself and her children. 

"We are all wonderfully improved, thank you, brother. Indeed I havehopes that we shall all enjoy better health henceforward than we haveever known. Mr Walcot's care will be new life to us. "

"Whose care?"

"Mr Walcot's. We brought him with us last night; and he is to go atonce into my mother's house. He is a surgeon of the first degree ofeminence. I think myself extremely fortunate in having secured him. The chief reason, however, of my inviting him here was, that my poormother might be properly taken care of. Now I shall be at peace on heraccount, which I really never was before. Now that she will be in goodhands, I shall feel that I have done my duty. "

"And, pray, does Rowland know of your having brought this strangerhere?"

"Of course. Mr Walcot is our guest till his own house can be preparedfor him. As I tell you, he arrived with me, last night. "

"And now let me tell you, sister, that either Mr Walcot is not a man ofhonour, or you have misinformed him of the true state of affairs here: Isuspect the latter to be the case. It is of a piece with the whole ofyour conduct, towards Mr Hope--conduct unpardonable for itsuntruthfulness, and hateful for its malice. "

Not one of Mrs Rowland's prepared answers would suit in this place. Before she could think of anything to say, Enderby proceeded:--

"It is a dreadful thing for a brother to have to speak to a sister as Inow speak to you; but it is your own doing. Mr Hope must have justice, and you have no one to blame but yourself that justice must be done atyour expense. I give you fair notice that I shall discharge my dutyfully, in the painful circumstances in which you have contrived to placeall your family. "

"Do what you will, Philip. My first duty is to take care of the healthof my parent and my children; and if, by the same means, Deerbrook isprovided with a medical man worthy of its confidence, all Deerbrook willthank me. "

"Ignorant and stupid as Deerbrook is about many things, Priscilla, it isnot so wicked as to thank any one for waging a cowardly war against thegood, for disparaging the able and accomplished, and fabricating andcirculating injurious stories against people too magnanimous for theslanderer to understand. "

"I do not know what you mean, Philip. "

"I mean that you have done all this towards the Hopes. You do not knowthat he and his wife are not happy. You know that Hope is an able andmost humane man in his profession, and that he does not steal deadbodies. You know the falsehood of the whole set of vulgar stories thatyou have put into circulation against him. You know, also, that mymother has entire confidence in him, and that it will go near to breakher heart to have him dismissed for any one else. This is the meaningof what I say. As for what I mean to do--it is this. I shall speak toMr Walcot at once, before his intention to settle here is known. "

"You are too late, my dear sir. Every one in Deerbrook knows it as wellas if Dr Levitt was to give notice of it from the pulpit to-day. "

"So much the worse for you, Priscilla. I shall explain the whole ofHope's case to Mr Walcot, avoiding, if possible, all exposure ofyou--. "

"Oh, pray do not disturb yourself about that. Mr Walcot knows me verywell. I am not afraid. "

"Avoiding, if possible, all exposure of you, " resumed Enderby, "but notshrinking from the full statement of the facts, if that should provenecessary to Hope's justification. If this gentleman be honourable, hewill decline attending my mother, and go away more willingly than hecame. I shall bear testimony to my friend with equal freedom everywhereelse; and I will never rest till the wrongs you have done him arerepaired--as far as reparation is possible. "

"You take the tone of defiance, I see, Philip. I have not the slightestobjection. We defy each other, then. "

"I cannot but take that tone for a purpose which, I conceive, is thekindest which, under the circumstances, can be entertained towards you, sister. I do it in the hope that, before it is too late, you willyourself do the justice which I vow shall be done. I give youperemptory warning, leaving you opportunity to retrieve yourself, torepair the mischief you have done, and to alleviate the misery which Isee is coming upon you. "

"You are very good: but I know what I am about, and I shall proceed inmy own way. I mean to get rid of these Hopes; and, perhaps, you may besurprised to see how soon I succeed. "

"The Hopes shall remain as long as they wish to stay, if truth canprevail against falsehood. I am sorry for you, if you cannot endure thepresence of neighbours whose whole minds and conduct are noble andhumane, and known by you to be so. This desire to get rid of them is abad symptom, Priscilla--a symptom of a malady which neither Hope nor MrWalcot, nor any one but yourself, can cure. I would have you look toit. "

"Is your sermon ended? It is time I was getting ready to hear DrLevitt's. "

"What I have to say is not finished. I desire to know what you mean bytelling everybody that I am engaged to Miss Mary Bruce. "

"I said so, because it is true. "

The cool assurance with which she said this was too much for Enderby'sgravity. He burst out a-laughing. 

"If not precisely true when I said it, it was sure to be so soon; whichis just the same thing. I mean that it shall be true. I have set myheart upon your marrying, and upon your marrying Mary Bruce. I know shewould like it, and--"

"Stop there! Not another word about Miss Bruce! I will not have youtake liberties with her name to me; and this is not the first time Ihave told you so. It is not true that she would like it--no more truethan many other things that you have said: and if you were to repeat ittill night, it would make no sort of impression upon me. Miss Bruceknows little, and cares less, about me; and beware how you say to thecontrary!--And now for the plain fact. I am engaged elsewhere. "

"No; you are not. "

"Yes; I am. "

"You will marry no one but Mary Bruce at last, you will see, whateveryou may think now. "

"For Heaven's sake, Priscilla, if you have any of the regard you professto have for Miss Bruce, treat her name with some respect!--I am acceptedby Margaret Ibbotson!"

"I dare say you are? Margaret Ibbotson! So this is at the bottom ofall your energy about the Hopes!"

"I admired Hope before I ever saw Margaret, with sufficient energy toprompt me to anything I mean to do in his support. But Margaret hascertainly exalted my feelings towards him, as she has towards everythingmorally great and beautiful. "

"I hope you will all make yourselves happy with your greatness and yourbeauty: for these friends of yours seem likely to have little else leftto comfort themselves with. "

"They will be happy with their greatness and loveliness, sister; for itis Heaven's decree that they should. Why will you not let yourself behappy in witnessing it, Priscilla? Why will you not throw off therestraint of bad feelings, and do magnanimous justice to this family, and, having thus opened and freed your mind, glory in their goodness--the next best thing to being as good as they? You have power of mind todo this: the very force with which you persist in persecuting them showsthat you have power for better things. Believe me, they are full of thespirit of forgiveness. Do but try--"

"Thank you. I am glad you are aware of my power. If they forgive mefor anything, it shall be for my power. "

"That is not for you to determine, happily. To what extent they forgiveis between God and themselves. You lie under their forgiveness, whetheryou will or not. I own, Priscilla, I would fain bestow on Margaret asister whom she might respect rather than forgive. "

"Pray how many persons have you persuaded that Margaret Ibbotson is tobe my sister-in-law?"

"Very few; for your sake, scarcely any. We have been willing to allowyou your own time and methods for extricating yourself from thedifficulties you have made for yourself by your inconsiderate talk aboutMiss Bruce. I own I cannot conceive how you could originate and carryon such a device. You must now get out of the scrape in your own way. "

"I am glad you have told so few people of your entanglement. It makesit an easier matter to help you. I shall deny the engagementeverywhere. "

"That will hardly avail against my testimony. "

"It will, when you are gone. The Deerbrook people always attend to thelast speaker. Indeed, I think I have the majority with me now, as theevents of last night pretty plainly show. "

"Hope is not the first good man who has been slandered and sufferedviolence. Oh, Priscilla, I am unwilling to give you up! Let me hope, that the pride, the insane pride of this morning, is but the reaction ofyour internal suffering from witnessing the results of your influence inthe outrages of last night. Confide this to me now, and give yourselfsuch ease as you yet can. "

"Thank you: but you are quite mistaken. I was extremely glad to arrivewhen I did. It satisfied me as to the necessity of getting rid of thesepeople; and it proved to Mr Walcot, as I observed to him at the time, how much he was wanted here. Now, if you have nothing more to say tome, I must go. I shall deny your engagement everywhere. "

Philip fixed his eyes upon her with an earnestness from which, for onemoment, she shrank; but she instantly rallied, and returned him a starewhich lasted till she reached the door. 

"There is something almost sublime in audacity like this, " thought he. "But it cannot last. It comes from internal torture--a thing asnecessarily temporary as faith (the source of the other kind ofstrength) is durable. Not the slightest compunction has she for havingcaused the misery she knows of: and not a whit would she relent, if shecould become aware (which she never shall) of what she made Margaretsuffer. I fear my Margaret has still much to endure from her. I willwatch and struggle to ward off from her every evil word and thought. This is the only comfort under the misery of her being exposed to themalice of any one belonging to me. No; not the only comfort. She doesnot suffer from these things as she did. She says she has a newstrength; and, thank God! I believe it. Now for Mr Walcot! I mustcatch him as he comes out of church, and see what I can make of him. Ifhe is an honourable man, all may turn out well. If not--Rowland and Imust see what can be done next. "

CHAPTER THIRTY. 

CONDOLENCE. 

The family in the corner-house thought this the strangest Sunday morningthey had ever looked upon. Outside their premises, all was like a Maysabbath. The gardens sent up their fragrance into the warm, still air:the cottage windows were open, and early roses and late hyacinthsappeared within the casements. The swallows were skimming and dippingabout the meadows; and the swans steered their majestic course along theriver, rippling its otherwise unbroken surface. The men of the villagesat on the thresholds of their doors, smoking an early pipe! and theirtidy children, the boys with hair combed straight, and the girls withclean pinafores, came abroad; some to carry the Sunday dinner to thebaker's, and others to nurse the baby in the sunshine, or to snatch abit of play behind a neighbour's dwelling. The contrast within thecorner-house was strange. Morris and the boy had been up early togather the stones, and sweep up the fragments of glass from the floors, to put the effigy out of sight, and efface the marks of feet in the halland parlours. The supper had been cleared away in the kitchen, and thesmell of spirits and tobacco got rid of: but this was all that the mostzealous servants could do. The front shutters must remain closed, andthe garden windows empty of glass. The garden itself was a mournfulspectacle, --the pretty garden, which had been the pride and pleasure ofthe family all this spring; part of the wall was thrown down; the ivytrailed on the earth. Of the shrubs, some were pulled up, and otherscut off at the roots. The beds were trodden into clay, and the grass, so green and sunny yesterday, was now trampled black where it was nothidden with fragments of the wood-work of the surgery, and with therefuse of the broken glasses and spilled drugs. Hope had also risenearly. He had found his scared pupil returned, and wandering about theruins of his abode, --the surgery. They set to work together, to put outof sight whatever was least seemly of the scattered contents of theprofessional apartment; but, with all their pains, the garden lookedforlorn and disagreeable enough when Hester came down, shawled, to makebreakfast in the open air of the parlour, and her husband thought ittime to go and see how Maria had passed the night, and to bring Margarethome. 

Hester received from her husband and sister a favourable report ofMaria. She had slept, and Margaret had slept beside her. Maria carriedher philosophy into all the circumstances of her lot, and she had beenlong used to pain and interruption of her plans. These things, and thehurry of an accident in the street, might dismay one inexperienced insuffering, but not her. When not kept awake by actual pain, she slept;and when assured that her case was perfectly simple, and that there wasevery probability of her being as well as usual in a few weeks, all heranxieties were for the Hopes. No report of them could have satisfiedher so well as Mr Hope's early visit, --as his serene countenance andcheerful voice. She saw that he was not sad at heart; and warmly as shehonoured his temper, she could hardly understand this. No wonder forshe did not know what his sufferings had previously been from othercauses, nor how vivid was his delight at the spirit in which Hesterreceived their present misfortunes. Margaret saw at once that all waswell at home, and made no inquiries about her sister. 

"Here is a letter for you, with a magnificent seal, " said Hester, asthey entered. "And here is tea as hot, I believe, as if we were stillblessed with glass windows. "

The letter had just been left by Sir William Hunter's groom. It wasfrom the Baronet, and its contents informed Mr Hope that his attendancewould not be required at the almshouses in future, as their inmates wereplaced under the medical superintendence of Mr Walcot. 

"I am glad, " said Hester. "No more danger and insult from thatquarter!"

"Nor funds either, my dear. It is pleasant enough to have no insult anddanger to apprehend; but what will you say to having no funds?"

"We shall see when that time comes, love. Meantime, here is breakfast, and the sweet Sunday all before us?"

The pressure of her hand by her husband effaced all woes, present andfuture. 

"Who is Mr Walcot?" asked Margaret. 

"Somebody from Blickley, I suppose, " said Hester. 

"No, " replied Hope. "Mr Walcot is a surgeon, last from Cheltenham, whosettled in Deerbrook at seven o'clock yesterday evening, and who hasalready swept the greater part of the practice of the place, I suspect. He is, no doubt, the `better doctor, ' `the new man, ' of whom we haveheard so much of late. "

Hester changed colour, and Margaret too, while Hope related the arrivalof Mrs Rowland and her party, as he had heard it from his pupil earlythis morning. --What sort of man was Mr Walcot? Time must show. Hiscoming to settle in this manner, at such a conjuncture of circumstances, did not look very well, Hope said; but it should be remembered that hemust necessarily be extremely prejudiced against the family in thecorner-house, if his information about Deerbrook was derived from MrsRowland. He ought not to be judged till he had had time and opportunityto learn for himself what was the real state of affairs in the place. He must have fair play; and it was very possible that he might turn outa man who would give others fair play. 

At the next knock, Hester started, thereby showing that she was moved. Mr Jones had called to know how the family were; and, after satisfyinghimself on this point, had left a delicate sweetbread, with hisrespects, and wishes that Mrs Hope might relish it after her fright. This incident gave the little family more pleasure than Mr Walcot hadyet caused them pain. Here was sympathy, --the most acceptable offeringthey could receive. 

Next came a message of inquiry from Dr and Mrs Levitt, with anintimation that they would call, if not inconvenient to the family, after church. This was pleasant too. 

While it was being agreed that a nurse must be found immediately forMaria, and that the glazier at Blickley must have notice to send peopleto mend the windows as early as possible to-morrow morning, a letter wasbrought in, which looked longer, but less grand, than Sir WilliamHunter's. It was from Mr Rowland. 

 "(Private. )

 "My Dear Sir, _Sunday Morning, 7 o'clock_. 

 "During the greater part of an anxious night, my mind was full of the intention of calling on you this morning, for some conversation on a topic which must be discussed between us; but the more I dwell upon what must be said, the more I shrink from an interview which cannot but be extremely painful to each party; and I have at length come to the conclusion that, for both our sakes, it is best to write what I have to say. It is painful enough, God knows, to write it!

 "Your position here, my dear sir, must have been anything but pleasant for some time past. I regret that its uneasiness should have been augmented, as I fear it has, by the influence of any one connected with myself. My respect for you has been as undeviating as it is sincere; and I have not to reproach myself with having uttered a word concerning you or your family which I should be unwilling to repeat to yourselves: but I am aware that the same cannot be said, with regard to every one for whom I am in a manner answerable. In relation to this unpleasant fact I can only say, that I entreat you to accept the assurance of my deep regret and mortification. 

 "A new aspect of affairs has presented itself, --to me very suddenly, as I trust you will believe, on my word of honour. A gentleman of your profession, named Walcot, arrived last night, with a view to settling in Deerbrook. The first inducement held out to him was the medical charge of Mrs Enderby, and of the whole of my family: but, of course, it is not probable that his expectations of practice among your patients stop here; and the present unfortunate state of the public mind of Deerbrook regarding yourself, makes it too probable that his most sanguine expectations will be realised. I write this with extreme pain; but I owe it to you not to disguise the truth, however distasteful may be its nature. 

 "These being the circumstances of the case, it appears to me hopeless to press the departure of Mr Walcot. And if he went away to-day, I should fear that some one would arrive to-morrow to occupy his position. Yet, my dear sir, justice must be done to you. After protracted and anxious consideration, one mode of action has occurred to me, by which atonement may be made to you, for what has passed. Let me recommend it to your earnest and favourable consideration. 

 "Some other place of residence would, I should hope, yield you and your family the consideration and comfort of which you have here been most unjustly deprived. Elsewhere you might ensure the due reward of that professional ability and humanity which we have shown ourselves unworthy to appreciate. If you could reconcile yourself to removing, with your family, I believe that the peace of our society would be promoted, that unpleasant collisions of opinions and interests would be avoided, and that that reparation would be made to you which I fear would be impracticable here. All difficulty about the process of removal might and should be obviated. To speak frankly, I should, in that case, consider myself your debtor to such an amount as, by a comparison of your losses and my means, should appear to us both to be just. I believe I might venture to make myself answerable for so much as would settle you in some more favourable locality, and enable you to wait a moderate time for that appreciation of your professional merits which would be certain to ensue. 

 "I need not add that, in case of your acceding to my proposition, all idea of _obligation_ would be misplaced. I offer no more than I consider actually your due. The circumstance of the father of a large and rising family offering to become responsible to such an extent, indicates that my sense of your claim upon me is very strong. I should be glad to be relieved from it: and I therefore, once more, beseech your best attention to my proposal, --_the latter particulars of which have been confided to no person whatever_, --nor shall they be, under any circumstances, unless you desire it. 

 "I shall await your reply with anxiety--yet with patience, as I am aware that such a step as I propose cannot be decided on without some reflection. 

 "I rejoice to find that your family have not suffered materially from the outrages of last night. It was matter of sincere regret to me that the unexpected arrival of my family at the very time prevented my hastening to offer my best services to you and yours. The magistracy will, of course, repair all damages; and then I trust no evil consequences will survive. 

 "I beg my best compliments to Mrs Hope and Miss Ibbotson, and entreat you to believe me, my dear sir, "With the highest respect, "Your obedient servant, "H. Rowland. "

For one moment Hester looked up in her husband's face, as he read thisletter in a subdued voice--for one moment she hoped he would make hasteto live elsewhere--in some place where he would again be honoured as heonce was here, and where all might be bright and promising as ever: butthat moment's gaze at her husband changed her thoughts and wishes. Hercolour rose with the same feelings which drew a deep seriousness overhis countenance. 

"Mr Rowland means well, " said Margaret; "but surely this will neverdo. "

"I hardly know what you would consider meaning well, " replied Hope. "Rowland would buy himself out of an affair which he has not the courageto manage by nobler means. He would give hush-money for the concealmentof his wife's offences. He would bribe me from the assertion of my owncharacter, and would, for his private ends, stop the working out of thequestion between Deerbrook and me. This is, to my mind, the real aspectof his proposal, however persuaded he himself may be that he intendspeace to his neighbours, and justice to me. This letter, " he continued, waving it before him, "is worthy only of the fire, where I would put itthis moment, but that I suppose prudence requires that we should retainin our own hands all evidence whatever relating to the present state ofour affairs. "

"I do not exactly see what is to become of us, " said Hester, cheerfully. 

"Nor do I, love: but is not all the world in the same condition? Howmuch does the millionaire know of what is to intervene between to-dayand his death?"

"And the labouring classes, " observed Margaret--"that prodigiousmultitude of toiling, thinking, loving, trusting beings! How many ofthem see further than the week which is coming round? And who spendslife to more purpose than some of them? They toil, they think, theylove, they obey, they trust; and who will say that the most secure inworldly fortune are making a better start for eternity than they? Theysee duty around them and God above them; and what more need they see?"

"You are right, " said Hester. "What I said was cowardly. I wish I hadyour faith. "

"You have it, " said her husband. "There was faith in your voice, andnothing faithless in what you said. It is a simple truth, that wecannot see our way before us. We must be satisfied to discern the dutyof the day, and for the future to do what we ought always to bedoing--`to walk by faith and not by sight. ' Now, as to this presentduty, it seems to me very clear. It is my duty to offer moralresistance to oppression, and to make a stand for my reputation. Whenit pleases God that men should be overwhelmed by calumny, it is adreadful evil which must be borne as well as it may; but not without astruggle. We must not too hastily conclude that this is to be the issuein our case. We must stay and struggle for right and justice--strugglefor it, by living on with firm, patient, and gentle minds. This issurely what we ought to do, rather than go away for the sake of ease, leaving the prejudices of our neighbours in all their virulence, becausewe have not strength to combat them, and letting the right succumb tothe wrong, for want of faith and constancy to vindicate it. "

"Oh, we will stay!" cried Hester. "I will try to bear everything, andbe thankful to have to bear, for such reasons. It is all easy, love, when you lay open your views of our life--when you give us your insightinto the providence of it. I believe I should have looked at it in thisway before, if you had been suffering in any great cause--any causemanifestly great, because the welfare of many others was involved in it. I see now that the principle of endurance and the duty of steadfastnessare the same, though--. " And yet she paused, and bit her lip. 

"Though the occasion looks insignificant enough, " said her husband. "True. Some might laugh at our having to appeal to our faith because wehave been mobbed on pretences which make us blush to think what nonsensethey are, and because a rival has come to supplant me in my profession. But with all this we have nothing to do. The truth to us is, that weare living in the midst of malice and hatred, and that poverty stares usin the face. If these things are quite enough for our strength (and Iimagine we shall find they are so), we have no business to quarrel withour trial because it is not of a grander kind. Well! wife and sister, we stay. Is it not so? Then I will go and write to Mr Rowland. "

The sisters were silent for some moments after he had left them. Margaret was refreshing her flowers--the flowers which Philip hadbrought in from the garden the day before. How precious were they now, even above other flowers brought by the same hand--for not anotherblossom was left in the desolate garden! Margaret was resolvingsilently that she would keep these alive as long as she could, and thendry them in memory of the place they came from, in its wedding trim. Hester presently showed the direction her thoughts had taken, bysaying--

"I should think that it must be always possible for able and industriouspeople, in health, to obtain bread. "

"Almost always possible, provided they can cast pride behind them. "

"Ah! I suspect that pride is the real evil of poverty--of gentlefolks'poverty. I could not promise for my own part, to cast pride behind me:but then, you know, it has pleased God to give me something to be proudof, far different from rank and money. I could go to jail or theworkhouse with my husband without a blush. The agony of it would not befrom pride. "

"Happily, we are sure of bread, mere bread, " said Margaret, "for thepresent, and for what we call certainty. What you and I have is enoughfor bread. "

"What I have can hardly be called sufficient for even that, " saidHester: "and you--I must speak my thankfulness for that--you will soonbe out of the reach of such considerations. "

"Not soon: and I cannot separate my life from yours--I cannot fancy it. Do not let us fancy it just now. "

"Well, we will not. I am glad Susan has warning from me to go. It iswell that we began retrenching so soon. We must come to some fullexplanation with Morris, that we may see what can best be done for her. "

"She will never leave you while you will let her stay. "

"It may be necessary to dismiss Charles. But we will wait to talk thatover with my husband. He will tell us what we ought to do. Was that aknock at the door?"

"I rather think it was a feeble knock. "

It was Mrs Grey, accompanied by Sydney. Mrs Grey's countenance worean expression of solemn misery, with a little of the complacency ofexcitement under it. The occasion was too great for winks: mute griefwas the mood of the hour. Sydney was evidently full of awe. He seemedhardly to like to come into the parlour. Margaret had to go to thedoor, and laugh at him for his shyness. His mother's ideas were as muchderanged as his own, by the gaiety with which Hester received them, boasting of the thorough ventilation of the room, and asking whetherSophia did not think their bonfire surpassed the famous one at the lastelection but one. Sophia had not seen anything of the fire of lastnight. She had been so much agitated, that the whole family, Mr Greyand all, had been obliged to exert themselves to compose her spirits. Much as she had wished to come this morning, to make her inquiries inperson, she had been unable to summon courage to appear in the streets;and indeed her parents could not press it--she had been so extremelyagitated! She was now left in Alice's charge. 

Hester and Margaret hoped that when Sophia found there was nothing moreto fear, and that her cousins were perfectly well, she would be able tospare Alice for some hours, to wait upon Miss Young. Maria's hostesswas with her now, and Margaret would spend the night with her again, ifa nurse could not be procured before that time. Mrs Grey had notneglected Maria in her anxiety for her cousins. She was just going topropose that Alice should be the nurse to-night, and had left word atMiss Young's door that she herself would visit her for the hour and halfthat people were in church. Her time this morning was therefore short. She was rejoiced to see her young friends look so much like themselves--so differently from what she had dared to expect. And Mr Hope--it wasnot fair perhaps to ask where he was;--he had probably rather not haveit known where he might be found: (and here the countenance relaxed intoa winking frame). Not afraid to show himself abroad! Had been outtwice! and without any bad consequences! It would be a cordial toSophia to hear this, and a great relief to Mr Grey. But what courage!It was a fine lesson for Sydney. If Mr Hope was really only writing, and could spare a minute, it would be a comfort to see him. Hester wentfor him. He had just finished his letter. She read and approved it, and sat down to take a copy of it while her husband occupied her seatbeside Mrs Grey. 

The wife let fall a few tears--tears of gentle sorrow and proud love, not on her husband's letter (for not for the world would she have hadthat letter bear a trace of tears), but on the paper on which she wrote. The letter appeared to her very touching; but others might not thinkso: there was so much in it which she alone could see! It took her onlya few minutes to copy it; but the copying gave her strength for all theday. The letter was as follows:--

 "My Dear Sir--Your letter expresses, both in its matter and phrase, the personal regard which I have always believed you to entertain towards me and mine. I cannot agree with you, however, in thinking that the proceeding you propose involves real good to any of the parties concerned in it. The peace of society in Deerbrook is not likely to be permanently secured by such deference to ignorant prejudice as would be expressed by the act of my departure; nor would my wrongs be repaired by my merely leaving them behind me. I cannot take money from your hands as the price of your tranquillity, and as a commutation for my good name, and the just rewards of my professional labours. My wife and I will not remove from Deerbrook. We shall stay, and endeavour to discharge our duty, and to bear our wrongs, till our neighbours learn to understand us better than they do. 

 "You will permit to say, with the respect which I feel, that we sympathise fully in the distress of mind which you must be experiencing. If you should find comfort in doing us manful justice, we shall congratulate you yet more than ourselves: if not, we shall grieve for you only the more deeply. 

 "My wife joins me in what I have said, and in kindly regards. 

 "Yours sincerely, "Edward Hope. "

Edward had left his seal with Hester. She sealed the letter, rang forCharles, and charged him to deliver it into Mr Rowland's own hands, placed the copy in her bosom to show to Margaret, and returned to theparlour. Mrs Grey, who was alone with Hope, stopped short in what shewas saying. 

"Go on, " said Hope. "We have no secrets here, and no fears of beingfrightened--for one another any more than for ourselves. Mrs Grey wassaying, my dear, that Mr Walcot is very popular here already; and thateverybody is going to church to see him. "

Mrs Grey had half-a-dozen faults or oddities of Mr Walcot's to tell ofalready; but she was quietly checked in the middle of her list by MrHope, who observed that he was bound to exercise the same justicetowards Mr Walcot that he hoped to receive from him--to listen to noevil of him which could not be substantiated: and it was certainly tooearly yet for anything to be known about him by strangers, beyond whathe looked like. 

"To go no deeper than his looks, then, " continued Mrs Grey, "nobody canpretend to admire them. He is extremely short. Have you heard howshort he is?"

"Yes; that inspired me with some respect for him, to begin with. I haveheard so much of my being too tall, all my life, that I am apt to feel aprofound veneration for men who have made the furthest escape from thatevil. By the way, my dear, I should not wonder if Enderby is disposedin Walcot's favour by this, for he is even taller than I. "

"I am surprised that you can joke on such a subject, Mr Hope. I assureyou, you are not the only sufferers by this extraordinary circumstanceof Mr Walcot's arrival. It is very hard upon us, that we are to havehim for an opposite neighbour--in Mrs Enderby's house, you know. Sophia and I have been in the habit of observing that house, for the oldlady's sake, many times in a day. We scarcely ever looked out, but wesaw her cap over the blind, or some one or another was at the door, about one little affair or another. It has been a great blank since shewas removed--the shutters shut, and the bills up, and nobody going andcoming. But now we can never look that way. "

"I am afraid you will have to get Paxton to put up a weathercock for youon his barn, so that you may look in the opposite direction for thewind. "

"Nay, Edward, it is really an evil, " said Hester, "to have an unwelcomestranger settled in an opposite house, where an old friend has longlived. I can sympathise with Mrs Grey. "

"So can I, my dear. It is an evil: but I should, under anycircumstances, hold myself free to look out of my window in anydirection--that is all. Do, Mrs Grey, indulge yourself so far. "

"We cannot possibly notice him, you know. It must be distinctlyunderstood, that we can have nothing to say to an interloper like MrWalcot. Mr Grey is quite of my opinion. You will have our support inevery way, my dear sir; for it is perfectly plain to our minds, that allthis would not have happened but for your having married into ourconnection so decidedly. But this intruder has been thought, and talkedabout, by us more than he is worth. I want to hear all you can tell meabout the riot, Hester, love. Your husband has been giving me some ideaof it, but... Bless me! there is the first bell for church; and I oughtto have been at Miss Young's by this time. We must have the wholestory, some day soon; and, indeed, Sophia would quarrel with me forhearing it when she is not by. Where is Sydney?"

Sydney and Margaret were in the garden, consulting about itsrestoration. Sydney declared he would come and work at it every daytill it was cleared and planted. He would begin to-morrow with thecairn for the rock-plants. 

"I am glad the Levitts are to call after church, " observed Mrs Grey. "They always do what is proper, I must say; and not less towardsdissenters than their own people. I suppose Dr Levitt will consultwith you about the damages. "

"Sooner or later, I have no doubt. "

"Come, Sydney, we must be gone. You hear the bell. Sophia will bequite revived by what I shall tell her, my dears. No--do not come outto the door--I will not allow it, on my account. There is no knowingwhat I might have to answer for, if you let yourself be seen at the dooron my account. I am sorry you will not come in this evening. Are youquite determined? Well, perhaps Mr Grey will say you are right not toleave your premises in the evening, at present. No; you must not sayanything about _our_ coming just now. We have not courage, really, forthat. Now hold your tongue, Sydney. It is out of the question--yourbeing out of our sight after dark. Good morning, my love. "

As soon as Charles returned home, after having delivered the letter intoMr Rowland's own hands, Mr Hope gathered his family together, fortheir Sunday worship. The servants entered the room with countenancesfull of the melancholy which they concluded, notwithstanding allevidence to the contrary, that their master and mistress must beexperiencing: but, when service was over, they retired with the feelingthat the family-worship had never been more gladsome. 

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. 

KEEPING SUNDAY. 

Mr Enderby was in the churchyard when the congregation poured out fromthe porch. Group after group walked away, and he saw no signs of theparty he was waiting for. Mrs Rowland lingered in the aisle, with theintention of allowing all Deerbrook time to look at Mr Walcot. Whennone but the Levitts remained, the lady issued forth from the porch, leaning on Mr Walcot's arm, and followed by four of her children, whowere walking two and two, holding up their heads, and glancing round tosee how many people were observing the new gentleman they had broughtwith them from Cheltenham. Mr Enderby approached the family party, andsaid--

"Sister, will you introduce me to Mr Walcot?"

"With the greatest pleasure, my dear brother. Mr Walcot, my brother, Mr Enderby. Brother, my friend, Mr Walcot. "

Mr Walcot blushed with delight, looked as if he longed to shake handsif he dared, and said something of his joy at becoming acquainted withthe brother of so kind a friend as Mrs Rowland. 

"There is not much to be apprehended here, " thought Mr Enderby. "Howperfectly unlike what I had fancied! This dragon, which was to devourthe Hopes, seems a pretty harmless creature. Why he looks a mere boy, and with hair so light, one can't see it without spectacles. What willhe do with himself in my mother's good house? Fanny Grey's bird-cagewould suit him better;--and then he might hang in Rowland's hall, and bealways ready for use when the children are ill. I must have out what Imean to say to him, however; and, from his looks, I should fancy I maydo what I please with him. He will go away before dinner, if I ask him, I have little doubt. I wonder that, while she was about it, Priscilladid not find out somebody who had the outside of a professional man atleast. This youth looks as if he would not draw one's tooth for theworld, because it would hurt one so! How he admires the rooks and thegreen grass on the graves, because the children do!--Sister, " hecontinued aloud, "I am sorry to deprive you of your companion; but it isabsolutely necessary that Mr Walcot and I should have some conversationtogether immediately. The children will go home with you; and we willfollow presently. "

Mrs Rowland looked thunder and lightning at her brother; but Mr Walcotappeared so highly pleased, that she considered it safest to acquiescein the present arrangement, trusting to undo Philip's work in the courseof the afternoon. So she sailed away with the children. 

"This is no time for ceremony, " observed Enderby, as he led the way tothe walk under the trees. "I have used none with my sister, as youperceive; and I shall use none with you. "

"Thank you, sir. My dear parents have always taught me that there couldbe no occasion for ceremony where people feel kindly, and mean only whatis right. They will be pleased to hear that you do not think ceremonynecessary between us. "

"The circumstances are too urgent for it in the present case;--that iswhat I mean, " said Philip. "I am confident, Mr Walcot, from what yousay about feeling kindly and meaning rightly, that you cannot be awarewhat is the real state of affairs in Deerbrook, or you could not havebeen induced to think of settling here. "

"Oh, I assure you, sir, you are mistaken. Mrs Rowland herself was theperson who told me all about it; and I repeated all she said to myparents. They strongly advised my coming; and I am sure they wouldnever recommend me to do anything that was not right. "

"Then, if I tell you what I know to be the true state of the case here, will you represent it fully to your parents, and see what they will saythen?"

"Certainly. I can have no objection to that. They will be very sorry, however, if any difficulty should arise. I had a letter from them thisvery morning, in which they say that they consider me a fortunate youthto have fallen in with such a friend as Mrs Rowland, who promises shewill be a mother, or rather, I should say, a sister to me, and to havestepped at once into such practice as Mrs Rowland says I shallcertainly have here. They say what is very true, that it is a singularand happy chance to befall a youth who has only just finished hiseducation. "

"That is so true, that you ought not to be surprised if it should turnout that there is something wrong at the bottom of the affair. I amgoing to show you what this wrong is, that you may take warning in time, and not discover, when it is too late, that you have been injuring anhonourable man, who has been too hardly treated already. "

"I should be sorry to do that: but I cannot think what you can mean. "

"I dare say not. Pray have you been told of a Mr Hope who lives here?"

"Oh, yes; we saw the people breaking his windows as we drove past, yesterday evening. He must be a very improper, disagreeable man. Andit is very hard upon the ladies and gentlemen here to have no one toattend them but that sort of person. "

"That is one account of Mr Hope: now you must hear the other. " And MrEnderby gave a full statement of Hope's character, past services, andpresent position, in terms which he conceived to be level with thecapacity of the young man. He kept his sister out of the story, as faras it was possible, but did not soften the statement of her calumnies, though refraining from exhibiting their origin. "Now, " said he, at theend of his story, "have I not shown cause for consideration, as towhether you should settle here or not?"

"For consideration, certainly. But, you see, it is so difficult to knowwhat to think. Here is Mrs Rowland telling me one set of things aboutMr Hope, and you tell me something quite different. "

"Well, what do you propose to do?"

"I shall consult my parents, of course. "

"Had not you better set off by the coach to-morrow morning, and tellyour parents all about it before you commit yourself?"

"I do not see how I could do that very well, as I have engaged to goover and see these people in Sir William Hunter's almshouses, that I amto have the charge of. No; I think my best way will be this. I willwrite fully to my parents first. I will do that this afternoon. Then, considering that I have said I shall stay here, and that the house isgoing to be got ready for me, --and considering how hard it is upon theladies and gentlemen here to have nobody to attend them but a personthey do not like, --and considering, too, that I cannot tell for myselfwhat Mr Hope really is, while people differ so about him, I think I hadbetter wait here (just as I should have done if you had not told me allthis) till Mrs Rowland, and you, and Sir William Hunter, and everybody, have settled whether Mr Hope is really a good man or not: and then, youknow, I can go away, after all, if I please. "

Philip thought that Dr Levitt must have been preaching to his newparishioner to join the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness ofthe dove. Mr Walcot himself seemed quietly satisfied with his owndecision, for he adhered to it, repeating it in answer to every appealthat Philip could devise. 

"I think it right to warn you, " said Philip, "that if the prospect ofbeing my mother's medical attendant has been part of your inducement tosettle here, you have been misled in relying on it. My mother is muchattached to Mr Hope and his family; she prefers him to every othermedical attendant; and I shall take care that she has her own way inthis particular. "

"While I am in Mrs Rowland's house, I shall, of course, attend MrsRowland's family, " replied Mr Walcot. 

"Her children, if she pleases; but not necessarily her mother. "

"Yes; her mother too, as I dare say you will see. "

"You will allow Mrs Enderby to choose her own medical attendant, Ipresume?"

"Oh, yes: and I have no doubt she will choose me. Mrs Rowland saysso. "

"Here comes a gentleman with whom I want to speak, " said Philip, seeingMr Grey approaching from a distance. "He is as warm a friend andadmirer of Mr Hope as I am; and--"

"Mr Hope married into his family, --did not he?"

"Yes; but Mr Grey and Mr Hope were friends long before either of themwas acquainted with Mrs Hope. The friendship between the gentlemen wasmore likely to have caused the marriage than the marriage thefriendship. "

"Ah! that does happen sometimes, I know. "

"What I was going to say is this, Mr Walcot, that Mr Hope's friendshave determined to see justice done him; and that if, in the prosecutionof this design, you should imagine that you are remarkably coollytreated, --by myself, for instance, --you must remember that I fairlywarned you from the beginning that I shall give no countenance to anyone who comes knowingly to establish himself on the ruins of a traducedman's reputation. You will remember this, Mr Walcot. "

"Oh, certainly. I am sure I shall expect nothing from anybody; fornobody here knows me. It is only through Mrs Rowland's kindness that Ihave any prospect here at all. "

"I will just give you one more warning, as you seem a very young man. The Deerbrook people are apt to be extremely angry when they are angryat all. What would you think of it, if they should break your windows, as they broke Mr Hope's last night, when they find that you have beenthriving upon his practice, while they were under a mistake concerninghim which you were fully informed of?"

"I do not think I should mind it. I might get over it, you know, as MrHope would then have done. Or I might go away, after all, if I pleased. But you want to speak to that gentleman; so I will wish you goodmorning. "

"You will represent to your parents all I have said? Then, pray, do notomit the last, --about what dreadful people the Deerbrook people are whenthey are angry; and how likely it is that they may be very angry withyou some day. I advise you by all means to mention this. "

"Yes, certainly; thank you. I shall write this afternoon. "

"I wish Mrs Rowland joy of her fledgling, " said Enderby, as he joinedMr Grey. 

"I was just thinking, as you and he came up, that a few lessons from thedrill-sergeant at Blickley would do him no harm. Perhaps, however, yoursister will teach him to hold up his head better. I rather think he isa little scared with the rooks, is not he? What in the world is yoursister to do with him, now she has got him here?"

"I hope little Anna will lend him her cup and ball on rainy days. "

"Do you find him a simpleton?"

"I hardly know. One must see him more than once to be quite sure. Butenough of him for the present. I have just come from the corner-house;but I am not going to talk about the Hopes either: and yet I havesomething out of the common way to say to you, my good friend. "

"I am glad you call me by that name, " observed Mr Grey, kindly. "Inever could see, for the life of me, why men should look askance uponone another, because their relations, (no matter on which side, orperhaps on both), happen to be more or less in the wrong. "

"And there are other reasons why you and I should beware of beingaffected by the faults and weaknesses of our connections, Mr Grey, --andthat is what I have now to say. I mean, because we may become connectedourselves. How will you like me for a relation, I wonder. "

"It is so, then?"

"It is so: and it is by Margaret's desire that I inform you of it now, before the circumstance becomes generally known. If you think Mrs Greywill be gratified by early information, I believe I must beg that youwill go home and tell her directly. We are as fully aware as you canbe, of the absurdity of this way of talking: but circumstances compel usto--"

"I know, I understand. People here have been persuaded that you wereengaged to some other lady; and you will have no help in contradictingthis from your own family, who may not like your marrying into ourconnection so decidedly--as I have heard the ladies say about our friendHope. "

"Just so. "

"Well, my opinion is, that it is of little consequence what your friendsmay say now, when time is so sure to justify your choice. There is noneed for me to tell you that you are a happy man, Mr Enderby. There isnot a more amiable girl living than that cousin Margaret of mine. Icharge you to make her happy, Enderby. I do not mean that I have anydoubt of it: but I charge you to make her happy. "

Philip did not like to speak (any more than to do other things) withoutbeing pretty sure of doing it well. He was silent now because he couldnot well speak. He was anything but ashamed of his attachment toMargaret; but he could not open his lips upon it. 

"I trust there is the better chance of her being happy, " continued MrGrey, "that she is going to marry a man of somewhat less enthusiasm thanher sister has chosen, Mr Enderby. "

"Do not speak of that, Mr Grey. We might not agree. I can only saythat I am so fully sensible of my immeasurable inferiority to Hope, Iknow I am hardly worthy to appreciate him... I cannot give you an ideaof my sense of his superiority... And to hear him set below me... 

"Do not mistake me, my dear friend. No one can value Mr Hope more thanI do, as indeed I have every reason to do. Only you see the effects ofthat unfortunate vote of his. That is just what I mean, now. If youhad been in his place, I rather think you would have done what wasprudent--you would not have run into anything so useless as giving thatvote, when there was not another person in Deerbrook to vote the sameway. You would not, Enderby. "

"I trust I should, if I had had Margaret to keep me up to my duty. "

"Well, well; I may be wrong; but it vexes me to see anxiety and sorrowin my cousin Hester's beautiful face; and that is the truth of it. But, indeed, her husband is a fine fellow, and I respect him from the bottomof my soul; and it makes me extremely happy to hear that Margaret hasmet with one whom I can as cordially approve. You have my hearty goodwishes, I assure you. Now, when may I see my cousin, to wish her joy?I must go home now, and let my family know about it, you say?"

"If you please; for I must tell Margaret how kindly you have receivedwhat I had to communicate. She will be waiting anxiously. "

"Why, she could not doubt my good will, surely? How should I beotherwise than pleased? Nor have I any doubt of my wife's feeling. Youstand very high in her good graces, Enderby, I can assure you. I wasnot fully aware of this myself, till I saw how vexed she was at hearingthat you were engaged to that lady abroad. She never could make outwhat Margaret was feeling about that; but she used to say to me when wewere by ourselves, that if Margaret was not hurt and angry, she was. But I suppose the little gipsy was laughing at us and all Deerbrook allthe time; though she kept her gravity wonderfully. "

Philip was not disposed to throw any light on this part of the affair;and the gentlemen parted at the turnstile. After a few steps, Philipheard himself called. Mr Grey was hastening after him, to know whetherthis matter was to be spoken of, or to remain quiet, after Mrs Grey hadbeen informed. He had perfectly understood that all Deerbrook was soonto know it; but it was a different question whether his family were tobe authorised to tell it. Mr Enderby desired they would follow theirown inclinations entirely. Margaret's only wish was, that her kindrelations should be informed directly from herself before anybody elsebut her friend, Miss Young: and his own only desire was, that, onMargaret's account, every one should understand that his engagement wasto her, and not to any lady at Rome or elsewhere. Virtual provisionhaving thus been made for the enlightenment of all Deerbrook in thecourse of the day, the gentlemen once more went their respective ways. 

In her present mood of amiability, Mrs Rowland determined on giving theGreys the pleasure of a call from Mr Walcot. In the afternoon, whenFanny was saying her catechism to her mamma, and Mary was repeating ahymn to Sophia, Mrs Rowland's well-known knock was heard, and anyreligious feelings which might have been aroused in the minds of thelittle girls were put to flight by the sound. Sophia turned her feetoff the sofa, where she had been lying all day, that Mrs Rowland mightnot suspect that she had suffered from the mobbing of the Hopes. Thechildren were enjoined not to refer to it, and were recommended to avoidthe subject of Miss Young also, if possible. 

The amazement and wrath of the party at hearing Mr Walcot announced wasbeyond expression. Mrs Grey was sufficiently afraid of her neighbourto confine herself to negative rudeness. She did the most she dared innot looking at Mr Walcot, or asking him to sit down. He did not appearto miss her attentions, but seated himself beside her daughter, andoffered remarks on the difference between Deerbrook and Cheltenham. Sophia made no intelligible replies, and looked impenetrably reserved;he therefore tried another subject, enlarged upon Mrs Rowland's extremekindness to him, and said that his parents wrote that they consideredhim a fortunate youth in having met with a friend who would be a motheror sister to him, now that he was no longer under the parental wing. Sophia had intended to be quite distant and silent, but his long-windedpraises of all the Rowlands were too much for her. She observed that itwas generally considered that there was nobody in Deerbrook to comparewith the family in the corner-house--the Hopes and Miss Ibbotson. Fromthis moment, the _tete-a-tete_ became animated; the speakers alternatedrapidly and regularly; for every virtue in a Rowland there was a noblequality in a Hope; for every accomplishment in Matilda and Anna, therewas a grace in "our dear Mr Hope" or "our sweet Hester. " Fanny andMary listened with some amusement to what they heard on either side oftheir pair of low stools. As sure as they were desired particularly toavoid any subject with the Rowlands, they knew that their mother wouldpresently be in the midst of it. The prohibition showed that her mindwas full of it: and whatever her mind was full of was poured out uponMrs Rowland. The two ladies were presently deep in the riot, andalmost at high words about Miss Young. The girls looked at each other, and strove to keep the corners of their mouths in order. In the midstof the conflict of sentiment on these two subjects, Mrs Rowland's earcaught what Sophia was saying--that there was one person in the samehouse with Mr Walcot who properly estimated the Hopes--Mr Enderby, whowas engaged to Margaret Ibbotson. While Mr Walcot was carefullyexplaining that Mr Enderby was not in the same house, Mr Enderbyhaving a bed at his mother's house still, though that house was alreadypreparing for the reception of himself, its new tenant, Mrs Rowlandleaned forward with her most satirical air, and begged to assure MissGrey that she had been misinformed--that what she had just been sayingwas a mistake. 

Sophia looked at her mother in absolute terror, lest they should haveadopted a joke of her father's for earnest. But Mrs Grey was positive. Mrs Rowland laughed more and more provokingly: Mrs Grey grew more andmore angry; and at last sent the little girls to see whether theirfather was at home, that he might bear his testimony. He came; and inreply to his astonishment about what she could mean, Mrs Rowland saidthat she did not deny that there was some present entanglement; but thatshe warned Margaret's connections not to suppose that her brother wouldever be married to Miss Ibbotson. Mr Grey observed that time wouldshow, and inquired after Mrs Enderby. The report of her was veryflattering indeed. She was to be quite well now soon. Mr Walcot'sopinion of her case was precisely what Mrs Rowland had always held. Mrs Enderby's complaints were nervous--nervous altogether. Withretirement from common acquaintances, and the society of the dearchildren, and the attendance of a servant (most highly recommended) whowould not humour her fancies as Phoebe had done; and, above all, with amedical attendant under the same roof for the present, she was to bequite well immediately. Mr Walcot's countenance wore an expression ofperfect delight at the prospect, and Mr Grey's of the blackestdispleasure. 

When the visitors were gone, Mr Walcot being allowed to find his wayout as he could, the little girls heard them discussed in the way whichmight be expected, and were then desired to finish their catechism andhymn. Mamma and Sophia were still flushed and agitated with what theyhad been hearing and saying, when the low serious voices of Fanny andMary recited--the one an abjuration of all envy, malice, hatred, anduncharitableness; and the other--

 "Teach me to feel for others' woe, To hide the faults I see; The mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. "

"You have a warning, my dear, " said Mrs Grey to Fanny, "in the lady whowas here just now--a terrible warning against malice and all thosefaults. You see how unhappy she makes every one about her, by herhaving indulged her temper to such a degree. You see--"

"Mary, my darling, " said Mr Grey, "repeat that hymn to me again:--

 "`Teach me to feel for others' woe, To hide the faults I see. '

"Let us have that hymn over again, my dear child. "

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. 

GOING TO REST. 

Mr Walcot had arrived nearly at the end of his letter to his parents, when summoned to attend Mrs Rowland to call on the Greys. He wasafterwards glad that he had left room to put in that perhaps what MrEnderby had said about Deerbrook ought to be the less regarded, from itshaving come out that he was in an entanglement with the sister-in-law ofthis Mr Hope, when he had rather have been engaged to another person--being actually, indeed, attached to a lady now abroad. He representedthat Mrs Rowland evidently paid very little regard to her brother'sviews of Deerbrook affairs, now that his mind was in a state ofdistraction between his proper attachment and his new entanglement. SoMr Enderby's opinion ought not to go for more than it was worth. 

The letter was still not quite finished when he was called to MrsEnderby. She was very ill, and Mr Rowland and Phoebe were alarmed. Philip was at the corner-house. Mrs Rowland was gone to see MissYoung, to convince her that she must put herself into Mr Walcot's handsimmediately--to declare, indeed, that she should send her own medicalman to attend her dear children's governess. The argument occupied sometime, and Mrs Rowland's absence was protracted. Mrs Enderby had beenextremely terrified, the evening before, at the noises she had heard, and the light of the bonfire upon the sky. The children were permittedto carry to her all the extravagant reports that were afloat about MrHope being roasted in the fire, the ladies being in the hands of themob, and so forth; and though her son-in-law had seen her before shesettled for the night, and had assured her that everybody was safe, shecould not be tranquillised. She thought he was deceiving her for hergood, and that the children were probably nearest the truth. She wasunable to close her eyes, and in the middle of the night told Phoebethat she could not be satisfied--she should not have a moment's peace--till she had seen some one of the dear people from the corner-house, toknow from themselves that they were quite safe. Phoebe had found itdifficult to persuade her that it was now two o'clock in the morning, and that they were all, no doubt, sleeping in their beds. She passed awretched night; and the next day, after Philip had succeeded incomposing her, a strange gentleman was brought to her to prescribe forher. This revived her terrors. She said she would ask no morequestions, for all were in league to deceive her. Then she criedbecause, she had said so harsh a thing, and begged that Phoebe would notexpose it. Her weeping continued till Phoebe's heart was almost broken. The infallible drops failed; arrowroot was in vain; the children weresent away as soon as they came in, as it would hurt their spirits, theirmother thought, to see distress of this kind. In the afternoon quietwas prescribed by the authorities, and the old lady was left alone withPhoebe. To the weeping succeeded the spasms, so violent that littleGeorge was despatched with all speed to summon his uncle, and Mr Walcotwas called away from crossing the ends of his letter. No one but heproposed sending for Mrs Rowland; and his hint to that effect was nottaken. 

Philip arrived in a shorter time than could have been supposed possible. Mr Rowland then immediately disappeared. He had formed the heroicresolution of bringing Margaret into the house, on his ownresponsibility, for Mrs Enderby's relief and gratification and he wasgone to tell Margaret that he considered her now as Mrs Enderby'sdaughter, and was come to summon her to the sick bed. Philip presentlydiscovered that the presence of some one from the Hopes would be thebest cordial that could be administered; and he set forth on the sameerrand--to bring Margaret, that she might have his protection in case ofhis sister returning before her arrival. Mrs Rowland did return: andthe two gentlemen, having taken different roads to the corner-house (itbeing a matter of old dispute which was the shortest) missed each other. Margaret was gone with Mr Rowland before Philip arrived. 

"Here I will leave you, " said Mr Rowland to Margaret, on the steps ofhis own house. "You will find Philip and Phoebe upstairs, and MrWalcot. I must go in search of Mr Hope, and beg the favour of him totell me whether we are proceeding rightly with our patient. She is tooill for ceremony. "

Margaret wondered why, if this was the case, Mr Rowland did not bringEdward to the patient at once; but she had her wonder to herself, forher escort was gone. The servant did not more than half-open the door, and seemed unwilling to let Margaret enter; but she passed in, sayingthat she must see Phoebe for a moment. She soon found that she was tobe left standing on the mat; for no person appeared, though she thoughtshe heard whispers upstairs. Ned coming to peep from the study-door, she beckoned him to her, and asked to be shown to where Phoebe was. Thechild took her hand, and led her upstairs. At the top of the firstflight she met the lady of the house, who asked her, with an air ofastonishment, what she wanted there? Margaret replied that Mr Rowlandhad brought her to see Mrs Enderby. That was impossible, the ladyreplied. Mr Rowland knew that Mrs Enderby was too ill to receivevisitors. She herself would send for Miss Ibbotson whenever it shouldbe proper for Mrs Enderby to admit strangers. Margaret replied thatshe must see Phoebe--that she should not retire till she had spoken toher, or till Mr Rowland's return. Mrs Rowland sent Ned to desire theservant to open the door for Miss Ibbotson; and Margaret took her seaton a chair on the landing, saying that, relying on her title to beadmitted to Mrs Enderby, at the desire of her old friend herself, andof all the family but Mrs Rowland, she should wait till she couldobtain admittance. 

How rejoiced was she, at this moment, to hear the house door open, tohear the step she knew so well, to see Philip, and to have her arm drawnwithin his!

"Let us pass, " said he to his sister, who stopped the way. 

"Rest a moment, " said Margaret. "Recover your breath a little, or weshall flurry her. "

"She is flurried to death already, " said Philip, in his deepest tone ofemotion. "Priscilla, our mother is dying; it is my belief that she isdying. If you have any humanity, --if you have any regard for your ownfuture peace of mind, conduct yourself decently now. Govern your ownfamily as you will, when you have lost your mother; but hold off yourhand from her last hours. "

"Your own last hours are to come, " said Margaret. "As you would haveMatilda be to you then, be you to your mother now. "

"I must ascertain one thing, Philip, " said Mrs Rowland. "Does mymother know of what you call your engagement to Miss Ibbotson?"

"She does not; and the sole reason is, that I would not subject her towhat you might say and do. I wished, for her own sake, to keep thewhole affair out of her thoughts, when once I had removed the falseimpressions you had given her. But Margaret and I may see fit to tellher now. I may see fit to give her the comfort of a daughter who willbe to her what you ought to have been. "

He gently drew his sister aside, to make way for Margaret to pass. 

"In my own house!" exclaimed Mrs Rowland, in a tone of subdued rage. 

"We should have been in the house over the way, " replied her brother;"and we act as if we were there. Come, my Margaret, we are doingright. "

"We are, " replied Margaret; but yet she trembled. 

"I must go in first, and tell her that I have brought you, " said Philip. "And yet I do not like to leave you, even for a moment. "

"Oh, never mind! I am not to be shaken now. "

Mrs Rowland did not appear during the two long minutes that Margaretwas left by herself in the dressing-room. When Philip came for her, hesaid:

"You must not leave her again. You will stay, will not you? You shallbe protected: but you must stay. I shall tell her how we stand to eachother, --we will tell her, --carefully, for she cannot bear muchemotion. --You are tired, --you must be tired, " he continued, looking ather with anxiety: "but--"

"Do not speak of it. I did sleep last night, and there will be timeenough for sleep when duty is done, --the duty for which I have longedever since I knew what duty was. " And her eyes swam in tears. 

Phoebe's face was a dismal sight, --too dismal for the sickroom, for somany hours had she been in tears. She was dismissed to refresh herselfwith a turn in the garden. It was Philip's doing that she was at handat all. Mrs Rowland had ordained that she should go; but Philip hadsupported the girl in her resolution to bear anything, rather than leaveher mistress while it was essential to her mistress's comfort that sheshould stay. 

Mrs Enderby was in great pain; but yet not suffering too much to becomforted by finding that all were safe and well in the corner-house. She even smiled when the others laughed at the ridiculous stories withwhich the children had assaulted her imagination. She thought it wasvery wrong for people to fabricate such things, and tell them tochildren:--they might chance to put some extremely old ladies into aterrible fright. --She was soothed in the very midst of a spasm, byhearing that Margaret would stay with her as long as she liked, if itwould be of any comfort to her. In answer to her surprise and almostalarm at such a blessing, Philip said that Margaret wished it as apleasure, and asked it as a sort of right. Now, could she not guess anyreason why it was a sort of right of Margaret's to attend upon her likea daughter? Yes, --it was so indeed! Margaret was to be her daughter--some time or other, --when her big boy should have learned all hislessons, as little George would say. 

"I am thankful! Indeed I _am_ thankful, my dears, to hear this. But, my loves, that will be too late for me. I rejoice indeed; but it willbe too late for me. "

"Well, then, let me be your daughter now. "

The old lady clasped her arms about Margaret, and endured her nextparoxysm with her head upon her young friend's shoulder. 

"I have a daughter already, " said she, when she revived a little: "but Ihave room in my heart for another: and I always had you in my heart, mylove, from the first moment I saw you. "

"You hold all the world in your heart, I think. "

"Ah! my love, you flatter me. I mean I took to you particularly fromthe very hour I saw you. You have always been so kind and gentle withme!"

Margaret's heart swelled at the thought that any one could ever havebeen otherwise than kind and gentle to one so lowly and so loving. 

Nothing more could be done than was done for the sufferer. Hope sawher, at Mr Rowland's desire, and said this. He left directions withMargaret, and then declined staying where his presence could be of nouse, and caused much annoyance. Mrs Enderby was sinking rapidly. Theprobability was, that a few hours would end the struggle. Mrs Rowlandwas much alarmed and shocked. She went and came between thedrawing-room and her mother's chamber, but talked of the claims of herchildren at such a time, and persuaded herself that her duty lay chieflywith them. Others wanted no persuasion about the matter. They were tooglad to have her dispose herself where she would be out of her mother'sway. Mrs Enderby looked round now and then, and seemed as if on thepoint of asking for her, but that her courage failed. At last, abouteight in the evening, when Mrs Rowland had come in softly, and Phoebehad met her at the door, to say something very unceremonious, MrsEnderby's voice was heard. 

"Phoebe, I hope you are not preventing any person from coming in. Ishould wish to see my daughter. Priscilla, my dear, let me see you. Come to me, my dear. "

Mrs Rowland's face was very pale, and her brow told of a dreadfulheadache. There was a dark expression in her countenance, but thetraces of irritability were gone. She was subdued for the hour. 

"My dear daughter, " said Mrs Enderby, "I may not be able at anothertime to thank you as I should like for all the care you have taken ofme:--nor can I now do it as I could wish: but I thank you, my love. "

Mrs Rowland involuntarily cast a glance at her brother and Margaret, tosee how they took this: but their eyes were fixed on her mother. 

"And I can only say, " continued Mrs Enderby, "that I am aware that youmust have had many things to bear from me. I must have been much inyour way, and often--"

Margaret and Philip implored her to say nothing of this kind; they couldnot bear it from one who was all patience herself, and gave no cause forforbearance in others. Mrs Rowland did not speak--perhaps because shecould not. 

"Well, well; I will not dwell upon these things. You are all very kind. I only wanted to say that I was sensible of--of many things. Priscilla--"

"Mother!" said she, starting. 

"This dear young friend of ours, --she calls herself my daughter, blessher!--is to be your sister, my love. Philip has been telling me--. Letme see--. Give me the pleasure of seeing--"

Margaret could have opened her arms to any spectre from the palekingdoms at a moment like this, and under the imploring eye of MrsEnderby. She disengaged her hand from that of her old friend, and tookMrs Rowland's, offering to kiss her cheek. Mrs Rowland returned thekiss, with some little visible agitation. 

"Thank you, my dears!" said Mrs Enderby, in a strong voice ofsatisfaction. She had made a great effort. Her speech now failed her;but they thought she would have said something about the children. 

"The children--" said Mrs Rowland, rather eagerly. She turned, andwent slowly out of the room. The moment the door was shut, there was aheavy fall. She had fainted on the outside. 

Her mother heard it not. When Mrs Rowland was found to be reviving, the children were brought to their grandmamma's room. They quietlyvisited the bed, one by one, and with solemnity kissed the wastedcheek, --the first time they had ever kissed grandmamma without return. The baby made its remark upon this in its own way. As it had often donebefore, it patted the cheek rather roughly: several hands were instantlystretched out to stop its play; it set up a cry, and was hurried out ofthe room. 

By the middle of the night, Margaret was longing to be at home andalone. It was all over. She was ashamed to think of her own share ofthe loss while witnessing Philip's manly grief, or even while seeing howPhoebe lamented, and how Mr Rowland himself was broken-down; but notthe less for this was her heart repeating, till it was sick of itself, "I have lost another mother. "

She did not see Mrs Rowland again. 

In the earliest grey of the morning, Mr Rowland took Margaret home. Asthey stood on the steps, waiting to be let in, she observed that themorning star was yellow and bright in the sky. As soon as the sun hadrisen, the toll of the church bell conveyed to every ear in Deerbrookthe news that Mrs Enderby was dead. Perhaps there might have beencompunction in the breasts of some who had been abroad on Saturdaynight, on hearing the universal remark that it must have been rathersudden at last. 

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. 

MOVING ONWARD. 

The world rolls on, let what may be happening to the individuals whooccupy it. The sun rises and sets, seed-time and harvest come and go, generations arise and pass away, law and authority hold on their course, while hundreds of millions of human hearts have stirring within themstruggles and emotions eternally new, --an experience so diversified asthat no two days appear alike to any one, and to no two does any one dayappear the same. There is something so striking in this perpetualcontrast between the external uniformity and internal variety of theprocedure of existence, that it is no wonder that multitudes have formeda conception of Fate, --of a mighty unchanging power, blind to thedifferences of spirits, and deaf to the appeals of human delight andmisery; a huge insensible force, beneath which all that is spiritual issooner or later wounded, and is ever liable to be crushed. Thisconception of Fate is grand, is natural, and fully warranted to mindstoo lofty to be satisfied with the details of human life, but which havenot risen to the far higher conception of a Providence, to whom thisuniformity and variety are but means to a higher end, than theyapparently involve. There is infinite blessing in having reached thenobler conception; the feeling of helplessness is relieved; the cravingfor sympathy from the ruling power is satisfied; there is a hold forveneration; there is room for hope: there is, above all, the stimulusand support of an end perceived or anticipated; a purpose which steepsin sanctity all human experience. Yet even where this blessing is themost fully felt and recognised, the spirit cannot but be at timesoverwhelmed by the vast regularity of aggregate existence, --thrown backupon its faith for support, when it reflects how all things go on asthey did before it became conscious of existence, and how all would goon as now, if it were to die to-day. On it rolls, --not only the greatglobe itself, but the life which stirs and hums on its surface, enveloping it like an atmosphere;--on it rolls; and the vastest tumultthat may take place among its inhabitants can no more make itself seenand heard above the general stir and hum of life, than Chimborazo or theloftiest Himalaya can lift its peak into space above the atmosphere. On, on it rolls; and the strong arm of the united race could not turnfrom its course one planetary mote of the myriads that swim in space: noshriek of passion nor shrill song of joy, sent up from a group ofnations on a continent, could attain the ear of the eternal Silence, asshe sits throned among the stars. Death is less dreary than life inthis view--a view which at times, perhaps, presents itself to everymind, but which speedily vanishes before the faith of those who, withthe heart, believe that they are not the accidents of Fate, but thechildren of a Father. In the house of every wise parent may then beseen an epitome of life, --a sight whose consolation is needed at times, perhaps, by all. Which of the little children of a virtuous householdcan conceive of his entering into his parent's pursuits, or interferingwith them? How sacred are the study and the office, the apparatus of aknowledge and a power which he can only venerate! Which of these littleones dreams of disturbing the course of his parent's thought orachievement? Which of them conceives of the daily routine of thehousehold--its going forth and coming in, its rising and its rest--having been different before his birth, or that it would be altered byhis absence? It is even a matter of surprise to him when it now andthen occurs to him that there is anything set apart for him, --that hehas clothes and couch, and that his mother thinks and cares for him. Ifhe lags behind in a walk, or finds himself alone among the trees, hedoes not dream of being missed; but home rises up before him as he hasalways seen it--his father thoughtful, his mother occupied, and the restgay, with the one difference of his not being there. Thus he believes, and has no other trust than in his shrieks of terror, for being everremembered more. Yet, all the while, from day to day, from year toyear, without one moment's intermission, is the providence of his parentaround him, brooding over the workings of his infant spirit, chasteningits passions, nourishing its affections, --now troubling it with salutarypain, now animating it with even more wholesome delight. All the whileis the order of household affairs regulated for the comfort and profitof these lowly little ones, though they regard it reverently becausethey cannot comprehend it. They may not know of all this, --how theirguardian bends over their pillow nightly, and lets no word of theircareless talk drop unheeded, hails every brightening gleam of reason, and records every sob of infant grief; and every chirp of childishglee, --they may not know this, because they could not understand itaright, and each little heart would be inflated with pride, each littlemind would lose the grace and purity of its unconsciousness: but theguardianship is not the less real, constant, and tender, for its beingunrecognised by its objects. As the spirit expands, and perceives thatit is one of an innumerable family, it would be in danger of sinkinginto the despair of loneliness if it were not capable of:--

 "Belief In mercy carried infinite degrees Beyond the tenderness of human hearts, "

while the very circumstance of multitude obviates the danger of undueelation. But, though it is good to be lowly, it behoves every one to besensible of the guardianship, of which so many evidences are around allwho breathe. While the world and life roll on and on, the feeble reasonof the child of Providence may be at times overpowered with the vastnessof the system amidst which he lives; but his faith will smile upon hisfear, rebuke him for averting his eyes, and inspire him with thethought, "Nothing can crush me, for I am made for eternity. I will do, suffer and enjoy, as my Father wills and let the world and life rollon!"

Such is the faith which supports, which alone can support, the many who, having been whirled in the eddying stream of social affairs, arewithdrawn, by one cause or another, to abide, in some still littlecreek, the passage of the mighty tide. The broken-down statesman, whoknows himself to be spoken of as politically dead, and sees hissuccessors at work building on his foundations, without more than apassing thought on who had laboured before them, has need of this faith. The aged who find affairs proceeding at the will of the young andhardy, whatever the grey-haired may think and say, have need of thisfaith. So have the sick, when they find none but themselves disposed tolook on life in the light which comes from beyond the grave. So havethe persecuted, when, with or without cause, they see themselves pointedat in the streets; and the despised, who find themselves neglected, whichever way they turn. So have the prosperous, during those momentswhich must occur to all, when sympathy fails, and means to much desiredends are wanting, or when satiety makes the spirit roam abroad in searchof something better than it has found. This universal, eternal, filialrelation is the only universal and eternal refuge. It is the solace ofroyalty weeping in the inner chambers of its palaces, and of povertydrooping beside its cold hearth. It is the glad tidings preached to thepoor, and in which all must be poor in spirit to have part. If they bepoor in spirit, it matters little what is their external state, orwhether the world which rolls on beside or over them be the world of asolar system, or of a conquering empire, or of a small-souled village. 

It now and then seemed strange to Hope, his wife and sister--now andthen, and for a passing moment--that while their hearts were full ofmotion and their hands occupied with the vicissitudes of their lot, thelittle world around them, which was wont to busy itself so strenuouslywith their affairs, should work its yearly round as if it heeded themnot. As often as they detected themselves in this thought, they smiledat it; for might not each neighbour say the same of them as constitutinga part of the surrounding world? there a cottage where some engrossinginterest did not defy sympathy; where there was not some secret joy, some heart-sore, hidden from every eye; some important change, while alllooked as familiar as the thatch and paling, and the faces whichappeared within them? Yet there seemed something wonderful in theregularity with which affairs proceeded. The hawthorn hedges blossomed, and the corn was green in the furrows: the saw of the carpenter washeard from day to day, and the anvil of the blacksmith rang. Theletter-carrier blew his horn as the times came round; the childrenshouted in the road; and their parents bought and sold, planted anddelved, ate and slept, as they had ever done, and as if existence wereas mechanical as the clock which told the hours without fail from thegrey steeple. Amidst all this, how great were the changes in thecorner-house!

In the early spring, the hearts of the dwellers in that house had been, though far less dreary than in the winter, still heavy at times withcare. Hester thought that she should never again look upon the palmboughs of the willow, swelling with sap, and full of the hum of theearly bees, or upon the bright green sprouts of the gooseberry in thecottage gardens, or upon the earliest primrose of the season on itsmoist bank, without a vivid recollection of the anxieties of this firstspring season of her married life. The balmy month of May, rich in itstulips, and lilacs, and guelder roses, was sacred to Margaret, from thesorrow which it brought in the death of Mrs Enderby. She wanderedunder the hedgerows with Philip, during the short remainder of his stay, and alone when he was gone; and grew into better acquaintance with herown state of heart and mind, and into higher hope for the future of allwhom she loved most. When the mowers were in the field, and thechirping fledgelings had become birds of the air, and the days were atthe longest, her country rambles became more precious, for they musthenceforth be restricted;--they must be scarcer and shorter. In theplace of the leisure and solitude for books in her own room and formeditation in the field--leisure and solitude which had been to this daymore dreamed of than enjoyed, she must now betake herself to more activeduty. The maid Susan was discharged at Midsummer: and not only Susan. After ample consultation with Morris, it was decided that Charles mustgo too, his place being in part supplied by a boy of yet humblerpretensions out of the house, who should carry out the medicines fromthe surgery, and do the errands of the family. Morris spoke cheerfullyenough of these changes, smiled as if amused at the idea of her leavingher young ladies; and did not doubt but that, if Miss Margaret wouldlend her a helping hand sometimes, she should be able to preserve thecredit of the family. 

There was something more to be done than to lend this helping hand inthe lighter domestic offices. Their Midsummer remittance had beeneagerly looked for by the sisters, not only because it was exceedinglywanted for the current expenses of the household, but because it washigh time that preparations were begun for the great event of theautumn--the birth of Hester's little one. During this summer, Margaretwas up early, and was busy as Morris herself about the house tillbreakfast, and for some time after Hope had gone forth on his dailyround--now so small that he soon returned to his books and his pen inthe study. The morning hours passed pleasantly away, while Hester andMargaret sat at work by the window which looked into their garden, now, by Sydney's care, trimmed up into a state of promise once more. Hesterwas so much happier, so reasonable, so brave, amidst her sinkingfortunes, that Margaret could scarcely have been gayer than in plyingher needle by her side. Their cares lay chiefly out of doors now: thevillagers behaved rudely to Edward, and cherished Mr Walcot; MrsRowland took every opportunity of insulting Margaret, and throwingdiscredit on her engagement; and the Greys caused their cousins muchuneasiness by the spirit, in which they conducted their share of thegreat controversy of the place. These troubles awaited the corner-housefamily abroad; but their peace was perpetually on the increase at home. Morris and they were so completely in one interest, Edward was so easilypleased, and they were so free from jealous dependants, that they couldcarry their economy to any extent that suited their conscience andconvenience. One superfluity after another vanished from the table;every day something which had always been a want was discovered to be afancy; and with every new act of frugality, each fresh exertion ofindustry, their spirits rose with a sense of achievement, and thecomplacency proper to cheerful sacrifice. In the evenings of their busydays, the sisters went out with Edward into their garden, or into themeadows, or spent an hour in the Greys' pretty shrubbery. Maria oftensaw them thus, and thought how happy are they who can ramble abroad, andfind their cares dispersed by the breeze, or dissolved in the sunshineof the fields. The little Rowlands sometimes met them in the lanes: andthe younger ones would thrust upon them the wild flowers which MrWalcot had helped them to gather, while Mrs Rowland and Matilda woulddraw down their black crape veils, and walk on with scarcely a passingsalutation. Every such meeting with the lady, every civil bow from MrWalcot, every tale which Mrs Grey and Sophia had to tell against thenew surgeon, seemed to do Hester good, and make her happier. Thesethings were appeals to her magnanimity; and she could bear for Edward'ssake many a trial which she could not otherwise have endured. All thistold upon the intercourse at home; and Morris's heart was often cheered, as she pursued her labours in kitchen or chamber, with the sound of suchmerry laughter as had seldom been heard in the family, during theanxious winter that had gone by. It seemed as if nothing depressed heryoung ladies now. There was frequent intelligence of the going over ofanother patient to Mr Walcot; the summer was not a favourable one, andeverybody else was complaining of unseasonable weather, of the certaintyof storms in the autumn, of blight, and the prospect of scarcity; yet, though Mr Grey shook his head, and the parish clerk could never be seenbut with a doleful prophecy in his mouth, Morris's young master andmistresses were gay as she could desire. She was piously thankful forMargaret's engagement; for she concluded that it was by means of thisthat other hearts were working round into their true relation, and intoa peace which the world, with all its wealth and favours, can neithermake nor mar. 

In one of Margaret's hedgerow rambles with Philip, a few days after hismother's funeral, she had been strongly urged to leave Deerbrook and itstroubles behind her--to marry at once, and be free from the trials fromwhich he could not protect her, if she remained in the same place withMrs Rowland. But Margaret steadily refused. 

"You will be wretched, " said Philip; "you will be wretched--I know youwill--the moment I am gone. "

"I never was less likely to be wretched. Mrs Rowland cannot make meso, and other people will not. I have every expectation of a happysummer, which I mention for your sake; for I do not like to indulge inthat sort of anticipation without some such good reason as comfortingyou. "

"You cannot be happy here. Priscilla will never let you have an easyday, while she fancies she can separate us. When I think of thepertinacity with which she disowns you, the scorn with which she speaksabout you, even in my presence, I see that nothing will do but yourbeing mine at once. "

"That would not mend the matter. Our haste and imprudence would go tocountenance the scandal she spreads. Why cannot we rather live itdown?"

"Because your spirit will be broken in the mean time. Margaret, I mustbe your guardian. This is my first duty, and an absolute necessity. Ifyou will not go with me, I will not leave this place: and if my plan oflife is broken up, you will be answerable for it. It was your plan, andyou may demolish it if you choose. "

"I have a plan of life, too, " said Margaret. "It is to do the duty thatlies nearest at hand; and the duty that lies nearest at hand is, to keepyou up to yours. After this, there is one which lies almost as close, Icannot leave Hester and Edward till this crisis in their fortunes ispast. I am bound to them for the present. "

"What are their claims to mine?"

"Nothing, if they were fortunate, as I trust they yet may be;--nothing, if you had followed your plan of life up to the point when we may carryit out together. We are wrong, Philip, in even thinking of what yousay. You must go and study law, and you must go without me. Indeed, Icould not be happy to join you yet. Your good name would suffer fromwhat Mrs Rowland might then say. Your future prospects would sufferfrom the interruption of your preparation for your profession. I shouldfeel that I had injured you, and deserted my own duty. Indeed, Philip, I could not be happy. "

"And how happy do you imagine we shall be apart?"

Margaret gave him a look which said what words could not--what it was tobe assured of his love. What, it seemed to ask, could all the eviltongues in the world do to poison this joy?

"Besides, " said she, "I have the idea that I could not be spared; andthere is great pleasure in that vanity. Edward and Hester cannot dowithout me at present. "

"You may say so at any future time. "

"No: when the right time comes, they will not want me. Oh, Philip! youare grieved for them, and you long to see them prosperous. Do not temptme to desert them now. They want my help; they want the little money Ihave; they want my hands and head. Let this be your share of thepenalty Mrs Rowland imposes upon us all--to spare me to them whiletheir adversity lasts. "

"I would not be selfish, Margaret--I would not trespass upon your wishesand your duty, but the truth is, I sometimes fear that I may have someheavier penalty even than this to pay for Priscilla's temper. Ah! youwonder what can be heavier. Remember she has put misunderstandingbetween us before. "

"But she never can again. Ours was then merely a tacit understanding. Now, supposing me ever to hear what she may hint or say, do you imagineI should give the slightest heed to it? I would not believe her news ofa person I had never seen; and do you think she can make the slightestimpression on me with regard to you. "

"It seems unreasonable at this moment; but yet, I have a superstitiousdread of the power of spirits of evil. "

"Superstitious, indeed! I defy them all, now that we have onceunderstood each other. If she were able to do far more than she can--ifshe could load the winds with accusations against you--if she couldhaunt my dreams, and raise you up in visions mocking at me--I believeshe could not move me now. Before, I blamed myself--I thought I waslost in vanity and error: now that I have once had certainty, we aresafe. "

"You are right, I trust--I believe it. But there is a long hard battleto be fought yet. It fills me with shame to think how she treats you inevery relation you have. She is cruel to Maria Young. She hopes toreach you through her. Ah! you will hear nothing of it from Maria, Idare say; but she spoke infamously to her this morning, before MrsLevitt. Mrs Levitt happened to be sitting with Maria, when Priscillaand one or two of the children went in. Mrs Levitt spoke of us:Priscilla denied our engagement: Maria asserted it--very gently, butquite decidedly. Priscilla reminded her of her poverty and infirmities, spoke of the gratitude she owed to those from whom she derived hersubsistence, and reproached her with having purposes of her own toanswer, in making matches in the families of her employers. "

"And Maria?"

"Maria trembled excessively, the children say, weak and reduced by painas she is. One can hardly conceive of temper carrying any woman intosuch cruelty! Mrs Levitt rose, in great concern and displeasure, togo: but Maria begged her to sit down again, sent one of the children forme, and appealed to me to declare what share she had had in myengagement with you. I set her right with Mrs Levitt, who, I amconvinced, sees how the matter stands. But it was really a distressingscene. "

"And before the children, too!"

"That was the worst part of it. They stood looking from the furthestcorner of the room in utter dismay. It would have moved any one butPriscilla to see the torrent of tears Maria shed over them, when theycame timidly to wish her good morning, after Mrs Levitt was gone. Shesaid she could do nothing more for them: they had been taught to despiseher, and her relation to them was at an end. "

"It is; it must be, " exclaimed Margaret. "Is there no way of stopping acareer of vice like this? While Mrs Plumstead gets a parish boywhipped for picking up her hens' eggs from among the nettles, is Mariato have no redress for slander which takes away her peace and herbread?"

"She shall have redress. For the children's sake, as well as her own, her connection with them must go on. I do not exactly see how; but thething must be done. I dread speaking to poor Rowland about any of thesethings; I know it makes him so wretched: but the good and the innocentmust not be sacrificed. If these poor children must despise somebody, their contempt must be made to fall in the right place, even though itbe upon their mother. "

"Let us go and see Maria, " said Margaret, turning back. "If there is ajust and merciful way of proceeding in this case, she will point it out. I wish you had told me all this before. Here have we been ramblingover the grass and among the wild-flowers, where, at the best, Maria cannever go; and she lies weeping all alone, looking for me, I dare say, every moment! Let us make haste. "

Philip made all the haste that was compatible with gathering a handfulof wild hyacinth and meadow narcissus for poor Maria. He found himselffarther from success than ever, when he would have again urged Margaretto marry at once. A new duty seemed to have sprung up to keep her atDeerbrook. Maria wanted her. Her summer work lay clear before her. She must nurse and cheer Maria, she must ply her needle for Hester, andplay the housewife, spending many of her hours in the business ofliving; a business which is often supposed to transact itself, but, which in reality requires all the faculties which can be brought to it, and all the good moral habits which conscience can originate. The mostthat Philip could obtain was, permission to come when his duties wouldfairly allow it, and a promise that he should be summoned, if Margaretfound herself placed in any difficulty by Mrs Rowland. 

Maria was not now literally alone; nor did she depend on her hostess oron Margaret for nursing and companionship. It occurred to all thekindest of her friends, immediately after Mrs Enderby's death, thatPhoebe might be her attendant. Phoebe was not, just then, the mostcheerful of nurses, so truly did she mourn her good old mistress; butshe was glad of occupation, glad to be out of Mrs Rowland's way, gladto be useful: and she was an inestimable comfort to Maria. 

Nothing could be done about placing the children again under Maria'scare, when she had recovered. Mr Rowland was naturally unwilling tostir in the business, and saw that the best chance for his children wasto send them to school at a distance from Deerbrook: and Maria had beentoo grossly insulted in the presence of her pupils to choose to resumeher authority. The Greys took her up with double zeal, as the Rowlandslet her down. They assured her that her little income should not sufferfor her being able to devote all her time to Fanny and Mary. The money, indeed, was nothing to Mrs Grey, in comparison with the pleasure itprocured her. It put her upon equal terms with Mrs Rowland, at last. She did not know how it was, but it was very difficult to patronise MrHope. He always contrived to baffle her praise. But here was anunconnected person thrown upon her care: and if Mrs Rowland had a youngsurgeon to push, Mrs Grey had an incomparable governess, now all toherself. 

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. 

OLD AND YOUNG. 

One of the characteristics of this summer at Deerbrook was the rivalparties of pleasure with which the village was entertained. There hadbeen rival parties of pleasure the preceding year; but from what adifferent cause! Then, all were anxious to do honour to Hester andMargaret, or to show off in their eyes: now, the efforts made were, onthe one hand, to mortify, and on the other, to sustain them. TheRowlands had a carriage party to the woods one week, and the Greys acavalcade to the flower-show at Blickley the next. The Rowlands gave adinner to introduce Mr Walcot to more and more of their countryneighbours; and the Greys had a dance in the green walk for the youngpeople of the village. The Rowlands went to a strawberry gathering atSir William Hunter's; and the Greys, with all their faction, as MrsRowland called it, were invited to a syllabub under the cow, at the MissAndersons' breaking-up for the holidays. 

All pretence of a good understanding between the two families was now atan end. They ceased to invite each other, and scrambled for theirmutual acquaintances. The best of their mutual acquaintances saw noreason for taking part in the quarrel, and preserved a strictneutrality; and the worst enjoyed being scrambled for. The Levittsvisited both families, and entertained everybody in return, as ifnothing was happening. Sir William and Lady Hunter ate their annualdinner with each, and condescended to pay two or three extra visits toMrs Rowland, without making a point of a full moon. Every circumstancethat happened afforded occasion for comment, of course. Mrs Greythought it very improper in the Rowlands to indulge in all this gaietywhile they were in deep mourning. It was painful to her feelings, sheowned, to hear the children shouting with laughter, while they were allbombazine and crape from head to foot: she had hoped to see the memoryof her dear old friend treated with more respect. In vain did Mr Hopeplead Mrs Enderby's delight in the mirth of children, and that theirinnocent gaiety would cheer her in her grave, if it could reach herthere. In vain did Hester urge the danger and sin of training thelittle creatures to hypocrisy--a probable result, if they were to bekept solemn and unamused to the day when they might put off theirmourning. Mrs Grey felt herself only the more called upon by all thisto furnish the amount of sighs and tears which she believed to be due toMrs Enderby's memory. Margaret rather sided with her--it was so sweetto her to hear Philip's mother mourned. 

Mrs Grey's tears were, however, interspersed with smiles. On the dayof the Rowlands' great dinner-party, when all was to be so stately forthe Hunters, when the new dessert service was procured fromStaffordshire, the fish had not arrived from London. This was certainlya fact; the fish had come by the coach the next morning. And what wasstill more remarkable, it had not occurred to Mrs Rowland that such anaccident might happen--was very likely to happen; and, as if she hadbeen an inexperienced housekeeper, she had not any dish in reserve, incase of the non-arrival of the fish. It was said that Mrs Rowland hadsat down to table with a face perfectly crimson with anxiety andvexation. To such a temper as hers, what a vexation it must have been!There was a counterpart to this story for Mrs Rowland. She fanciedthat Mrs Grey's friends, the Andersons, must have looked rather foolishon occasion of their great syllabub party. She hoped the Miss Andersonstrained their pupils better than their cows: they had a sad obstreperouscow, she understood. Some of the young ladies had lured it up the lawnwith a potato, and got it to stand still to be milked; but, whensomebody began to sing (she had no doubt it was Miss Ibbotson who sang)the poor animal found the music was not to its taste, and, of course, itkicked away the china bowl, and pranced down the lawn again. There wasa dirge sung over the syllabub, no doubt. The poor Miss Andersons musthave been terribly annoyed. 

The good understanding of the gentlemen seemed all this time to beuninterrupted. They had much to put up with at home on this account;but their good-humour towards each other remained unbroken. MrRowland's anxious face, and his retirement within the enclosure of hisown business, told his neighbours something of what he had to go throughat home. Mrs Grey was vexed with her husband that he did not visitHope's misfortunes upon Mr Rowland, and call the husband to account forthe mischief the wife had caused; and Hester more than once expressedsome resentment against her relation for not espousing Edward's causemore warmly. Hope told her this was not reasonable. 

"Remember, " said he, as they sauntered in their garden, one evening, "that these gentlemen must be more weary than we are (which is saying agreat deal) of these perpetual squabbles; and they must earnestly desireto have peace in the counting-house. God forbid that their dominionsshould be invaded for our sake!"

"Not for our sake only, but for the sake of justice. "

"Everything depends on the sort of men you have to deal with, in suchcases as this. You must not expect too much. Here are two kind-heartedmen, bound to each other by mutual good will and mutual interest. Thereis no other resemblance between them, except that they are bothoverpowered--made rather cowardly by the circumstances of theirenvironment. Once departing from their plan of keeping the peace, theywould be plunged into quarrel. They view things so differently, fromthe differences of their minds, that their only safety is in avoidingaltogether all subjects of Deerbrook contention. If you expect theheroism of devoted friendship, or of an enthusiastic sense of justicefrom such men, you will not find it. We must take them as they are. "

"And humbly accept such countenance as they choose to bestow?"

"Take it or leave it, as you will. There is no use in quarrelling withthem for not being what they are not--that is all. Be generous withthem; and do not expect from them the conduct which they have a right toexpect from you. "

"I rather wonder, " observed Margaret, "that they have had the courage togo so far as they do, in bearing testimony in your favour. "

"They have been very handsome in their conduct on the whole; and itwould grieve me sincerely if they were to suffer further than they havealready done on my account. I am afraid Mr Rowland is wretched now, because I will accept no assistance from him. He told me, the otherday, that he should receive no rent for this house while Walcot occupiesthe other. He was beyond measure mortified when I positively declinedbeing under any such obligation to any landlord. If Mr Rowlandsteadily refuses to turn us out of our house, and goes on offeringfavours that I cannot accept, that is all we can expect from him. "

"It never occurred to me that he can turn us out, " said Hester, "that weare tenants at will. Oh! how sorry I should be to go!" she continued, as she surveyed the place. "I should grieve to quit our first home. "

"There is no danger I believe: Mr Rowland will be firm on that head. "

"And there is no danger, I should think, " said Margaret, "but that theGreys would find us something better the next day. Oh, I do not knowwhere or how; but it would be such a splendid opportunity for patronage, that they would work miracles rather than let it slip. How far this ivyhas trailed over the wall already! I should be sorry to leave thisgarden now that it promises to look like itself so soon again. Sydneydespises me for my admiration of it at present. He looks melancholyabout the blight. It is a pity certainly. Look at this rose-bush, howcurled and withered it is!"

"Sydney is doing like every one else in looking grave about the blight, "observed Hope. "So bad a season has not been known since I came toDeerbrook. I see care in the face of many an one who does not standanything like our chance of want. Here comes Sydney, with news of everyill-looking field for five miles round, I doubt not. "

"And Mr and Mrs Grey, and Sophia, " said Hester, quitting her husband'sarm, and hastening to meet her friends. 

The Greys pronounced it so pleasant an evening, that they had no wish tosit down within doors; they preferred walking in the garden. Theyseemed to come for two purposes--to offer an invitation, and to relatethat Mr Walcot was gone to dine at Sir William Hunter's to-day, andthat Sir William had sent the carriage for him. Mr Walcot had not beenready for full five minutes after the carriage had driven up to thedoor. This delay was no doubt intended to give all Deerbrook time toobserve the peculiar consideration, with which Mr Walcot was treated bySir William and Lady Hunter, who were by no means in the habit ofsending their carriage for their Deerbrook guests. 

"Did you ever hear of such a thing, " said Sophia, "as sending a carriagefor a young man? I have no doubt it is because he cannot ride. "

"There you are out, Sophy, " cried Sydney. "Mr Walcot rides as well asMr Hope, every bit. "

"I cannot think what has happened to Sydney, " observed his mother. "Hedoes nothing but stand up for Mr Walcot in the most unaccountable way!I hope you will forgive it, Mr Hope. Boys take strange fancies, youknow. You must forgive it, my dears, in consideration of the rest ofus. "

"Instead of forgiving it, " said Hope, "I shall take leave rather toadmire it. There is a fine chivalrous spirit shown in fighting MrWalcot's battles with our friends and relations. "

"There, now!" cried Sydney, triumphantly. "But I can't help it, yousee. Mr Walcot can ride, and he does ride well; and he is very civilto me, and asks me to go fishing with him; and I am sure he alwaysinquires very respectfully after the rest of them. I never said anymore than that in praise of him; and I can't say less, can I, when theyare all abusing him for whatever he does?"

"I think not. I believe we may spare him that much credit withoutgrudging. "

"But, Sydney, you know it is not pleasant to us to hear you speak inpraise of Mr Walcot under present circumstances; and you should have alittle consideration for us. "

"Well, mother, if you will not speak of him at all, no more will I. "And he glanced up into his mother's face, to see how the proposition wastaken. "That is fair, is not it?" he inquired of Mr Hope. 

"Excellent in theory, Sydney; but who likes to be tied down not to speakon any subject, especially one which is turning up every hour? Yourplan will not answer. "

"I will ask you because I said I would--and all the more because you arenot cross about Mr Walcot--"

"Hold your tongue, Sydney!" said the mother. 

"Do not be ridiculous, Sydney, " advised the sister. 

"Mr Hope will say whether it is ridiculous, Sophy. Now, Mr Hope, would not you, and cousin Hester, and Margaret, go down the water withus to the abbey, just the same if Mr Walcot was with us?"

"With any guest of your father's and mother's, Sydney. We have noquarrel with Mr Walcot. The truth is, we feel, after all we haveheard, that we know very little about him. We have not the slightestobjection to meet Mr Walcot. "

"Neither wish nor objection, " said Hester, calmly. "We are perfectlyindifferent about him. "

Sydney vehemently beckoned his father, who left the apricot he andMargaret were examining by the surgery wall, and came to see what he waswanted for. 

"You see, " said he to Hope, when the matter was explained, "I havenaturally been rather anxious to bring this about this meeting betweenyou and the young man. In a small place like this, it is painful tohave everybody quarrelling, and not to be able to get one's friendsabout one, for fear they should brawl in one's very drawing-room. MrRowland is of my mind there; and I know it would gratify him if I wereto take some notice of this young man. I really could hardly refuse, knowing how handsomely Mr Rowland always speaks of you and yours, andbelieving Mr Walcot to be a very respectable, harmless young man. If Ithought it would injure your interests in the least, I would see him atCape Horn before I would invite him, of course: you must be aware ofthat. And I should not think of asking you to meet Mrs Rowland; thatwould be going too far. But Mrs Grey wishes that your wife andMargaret should visit these ruins that we were always prevented fromgetting to last year: and Mr Walcot is anxious to see them too; and hehas been civil to Sydney; and, in short, I believe that Sydney halfpromised that he should go with us. "

"Say no more, " replied Hope. "You will have no difficulty with us. Ireally know nothing against Mr Walcot. He had a perfect right tosettle where he pleased. Whether the manner of doing it was handsome orotherwise, is of far more consequence to himself than to me, or to anyone else. "

"I wish we all viewed the matter as you do. If the ladies had yourtemper, we should have a heaven upon earth. But they take things up sowarmly, you see, when their feelings are interested for anybody; MrsRowland for one, and my wife for another. I hardly know what she willsay to the idea of our having Walcot with us. Let us go and see. "

"I have a word to say to you first. Do you know of any one who wants ahorse? I am going to dispose of mine. "

"Mr Walcot wants a horse, " said Sydney, delighted at the idea ofsolving a difficulty. 

Hope smiled, and told Mr Grey that he had rather sell his horse at adistance. Mr Walcot had already hired the boy Charles, whom Hope hadjust dismissed; and if he obtained the horse too, the old servant whoknew his way to every patient's door, all the country round--it reallywould look too like the unpopular man patronising his opponent. Besides, it would be needlessly publishing in Deerbrook that the horsewas given up. 

"What is the fault of your horse?" asked Mr Grey, rousing himself froman absent fit. 

"Merely that he eats, and therefore is expensive. I cannot afford nowto keep a horse, " he declared, in answer to Mr Grey's stare ofamazement. "I have so few patients now out of walking reach, that Ihave no right to keep a horse. I can always hire, you know, fromReeves. "

"Upon my soul, I am sorry to hear this--extremely sorry to hear it. Matters must have gone further than I had any idea of. My dear fellow, we must see how we can serve you. You must let me accommodate you--indeed you must--rather than give up your horse. "

"Do not speak of it. You are very kind; but we need no help, I doassure you. My mind is quite made up about the horse. It would only bean incumbrance now. And, to satisfy you, I will mention that I havedeclined repeated offers of accommodation--offers very strongly urged. All I need ask of you is, to help me to dispose of my horse, somewhereout of Deerbrook. "

"I will manage that for you, the next time I go to market; and--" In theemotion of the moment, Mr Grey was on the point of offering the use ofhis own horse when it should be at home: but he stopped short on theverge of his rash generosity. He was very particular about no oneriding his horse but himself and the man who groomed it: he rememberedhis friend Hope's rapid riding and `enthusiasm' and suspected that heshould sooner or later repent the offer: so he changed it into, "I willget your horse disposed of to the best advantage, you may depend uponit. But I am very sorry--very sorry, indeed. "

It is probable that nothing could have reconciled the ladies of MrGrey's family to the idea of admitting Mr Walcot into their party, butthe fact that they had of late cut rather a poor figure in contrast toMrs Rowland. That lady had the advantage of novelty in the person ofMr Walcot, and her `faction' was by far the larger of the two. TheGreys found fault with all its elements; but there was no denying itssuperiority of numbers. It was a great hardship to have Mr Walcotforced upon them; but they reflected that his presence might bring areinforcement--that some neighbours would perhaps come to meet him, whowould be otherwise engaged to the Rowlands, for the very day on whichthey were wanted; for Mrs Rowland had the art of pre-engaging just thepeople the Greys intended to have. Sophia observed that Mr Walcot'spresence would be less of a restraint in a boat, and at tea among theruins, than in the drawing-room: there was always something to be saidabout the banks and the woods; and there was singing; and in a boatpeople were not obliged to talk unless they liked. She should notwonder if he would rather relish a little neglect; he had been made muchof lately at such a ridiculous rate. 

"If we do our part, my love, " said Mrs Grey to Hester, in a mysteriouslow voice, "I think you should exert yourselves a little. Nothing canbe done without a little exertion in this world, you know. Sophia and Iwere agreeing that it is a long time since you had any of your friendsabout you. "

"Very few since your wedding company, " observed Sophia. 

"We remember you had all your acquaintance in the winter, my dear. Itwas very proper, I am sure, all you did then: but it is now the middleof July, you know; and our neighbours if Deerbrook always expect to beinvited twice a year. "

"I should be happy to see them, I assure you, " said Hester, "but ithappens to be not convenient. "

"Not convenient, my dear!"

"Just so. We shall always be glad to see you and yours; but we have nohospitality to spare for the common world just now. We have noservants, you know, but Morris; and we are spending as little as wecan. "

"Tea company costs so very little!" said Sophia. "At this time of theyear, when you need not light candles till people are going away, andwhen fruit is cheap and plentiful--"

"And we will take care of the cake, " interposed Mrs Grey. "Sophia willmake you some of her vicarage-cake, and a batch of almond biscuits; andAlice shall come and wait. We can manage it very easily. "

"You are extremely kind: but if our acquaintance are to eat your cake, it had better be at your house. It does not suit our presentcircumstances to entertain company. "

"But it costs so very little!" persisted Sophia. "Mr Russell Taylor'sfather used to give a general invitation to all his friends to come totea in the summer, because, as he said, they then cost him onlytwopence-halfpenny a-head. "

"I am afraid we are not such good managers as Mr Russell Taylor'sfather, " replied Hester, laughing. "And if we were, it is notconvenient to spend even twopence-halfpenny a-head upon our commonacquaintance at present. If we grow richer, we will get our friendsabout us, without counting the cost so closely as that. "

"That time will soon come, Sophia, my dear, " said her mother, winking atHester. "In every profession, you know, there are little ups and downs, and particularly in the medical. I dare say, if the truth were told, there is scarcely any professional man, without private fortune, who hasnot, at some time of his life, broken into his last guinea withoutknowing where he is to get another. But professional people generallykeep their difficulties to themselves, I fancy, Hester: they are notoften so frank as you. Mind that, Sophia. You will be discreet, Sophia. "

"We have no intention of proclaiming in the streets that we are poor, "said Hester. "But we owe it to you, dear Mrs Grey, to give our reasonsfor not doing all that we and you might wish. We are not dissatisfied:we want no help or pity: but we must live as we think right--that isall. "

"Indeed, my dear, I must say you do not look as if anything was amiss. You look charmingly, indeed. "

"Charmingly, indeed, " echoed Sophia. "And Mrs Levitt was saying, thatMargaret seems to have grown quite handsome, this summer. I fancy MrsRowland gets very few to agree with her as to Margaret being so veryplain. "

"No, indeed. Margaret's countenance is so intelligent and pleasant thatI always said, from the beginning, that nobody but Mrs Rowland couldcall her plain. I suppose we shall soon be losing her, Hester. "

"Oh, no; not soon. She has no thought of leaving us at present. Shewould not go in the spring, and sit beside Philip while he was learninghis lessons; and now, they will wait, I believe, till the lessons arefinished. "

"She would not! Well, that shows what love will do. That shows whather power over Mr Enderby is. We used to think--indeed, everybody usedto say it of Mr Enderby, that he always managed to do as he liked--hecarried all his points. Yet even he is obliged to yield. "

"Margaret has a way of carrying her points too, " said Hester: "the bestway in the world--by being always right. "

"Mind that, Sophia. But, my dear Hester, I am really anxious about you. I had no idea, I am sure--. I hope you get your natural rest. "

"Perfectly, I assure you. Mrs Howell might envy me, if she still`cannot sleep for matching of worsteds. ' The simple truth is, MrsGrey, we never were so happy in our lives. This may seem ratherperverse; but so it is. "

Mrs Grey sighed that Mrs Rowland could not be aware of this. Hesterthought it was no business of Mrs Rowland's; but Mrs Grey could notbut feel that it would be a great satisfaction that she should know thatthose whom she hated, slept. She heard Margaret and Sydney sayingsomething in the middle of the grass-plot about the Milky Way: lookingup, she was surprised to perceive how plain it was, and how many starswere twinkling in the sky. She was sure Hester must be dreadfully tiredwith sauntering about so long. They had been very inconsiderate, andmust go away directly. Sydney must call his father. 

"They are delightful young people, really, " observed Mrs Grey to herhusband, during their walk home. "One never knows how to get away. Lady Hunter little supposes what she loses in not cultivating them. Goon before us, Sophia. Make haste home with your sister, Sydney. But, my dear, they speak in a very poor way of their affairs. "

"Oh, Hester spoke to you, did she? Hope told me he must part with hishorse. So Hester spoke to you?"

"Yes: not at all in a melancholy way, however. She keeps up her spiritswonderfully, poor girl! We really must push them, Mr Grey. I seenothing but ruin before them, if we do not push them. "

"Ah! there is the difficulty: that is where that little enthusiasm ofHope's comes in. I have a great respect for him; but I own I shouldlike to see him a little more practical. "

"I really am pleased to hear you say so. It is just what I think; and Ialways fancied you did not agree with me. It really puts me almost outof patience to hear him speak of Mr Walcot--encouraging Sydney in hisnotions! It is unnatural: it looks a little like affectation--all thatsort of feeling about Mr Walcot. "

"I do not object to that, I confess. His thinking fairly of Walcot cando no harm, and may save mischief, and it looks honourable and well. Ido not regret that, I own. But I think he is clearly wrong in sellinghis horse in such a hurry. All Deerbrook will know it directly, and itwill not look well. I offered him such accommodation as would enablehim to keep it; but he is quite obstinate. Some enthusiastic notion ofhonour, I suppose--. But I told them that there is no profession orbusiness in the world that has not its ups and downs. "

"Exactly what I told Hester, when she declined having any parties atpresent--in the very crisis, in my opinion, when it is of greatconsequence that they should get their friends about them. Sophia wouldhave made the cake, and Alice would have waited at tea. But the factis, Mr Hope has put some of his spirit into his wife, and they musttake their own way, I suppose. "

"He gave me his reasons, however, " observed Mr Grey. "He regards thisas something more than one of the slack times common in his profession. He will not accept obligation, while he sees no clear prospect of beingable to discharge it. I could not prevail upon him. However, they musthave enough: they cannot be actually pinched. I never saw him in betterspirits. There can be no occasion for our doing anything more than justbeing on the look-out to serve them. "

"We must push them--that is all we can do. They cannot really bewanting anything, as you say, such fine spirits as they are in. Hesterlooks sweetly. The first game that we have to spare this season shallgo to them: and I shall bear them in mind when we gather our apples. "

"If you find we have any apples to gather, my dear. I doubt it. "

"Do you really? It will be unfortunate for our young friends, if pricesrise next winter, as you seem to expect. There goes ten o'clock, Ideclare; and there are the children looking out for us, as well theymay. But those are really delightful young people. There is no gettingaway from them. "

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. 

BOATING. 

Mr Walcot was delighted with the invitation to the water-party, but wasfully engaged for the next three weeks. Mr Grey decreed that he was tobe waited for. Then the lady moon had to be waited for another tendays; so that it was past the middle of August before Mrs Grey andSophia were called upon to endure Mr Walcot's society for six hours. The weather was somewhat dubious when the day arrived: but in so bad aseason as the present, it would never do to let a doubt put a stop to anexcursion which had been planned above a month. One of Mr Grey's menwas sent round among the ladies in the morning, to request to be thebearer of their cloaks, as it was thought they would be cold on thewater without all the wraps they had. Hester sent as many warm thingsas she thought Margaret could possibly wear. She was not going herself. She wished it much; but it was decided on all hands that it would beimprudent, as there was no calculating the amount of fatigue which eachmight have to incur. 

At three o'clock the party assembled on the wharf on Messrs. Grey andRowland's premises, everyone having dined at home. Mrs Rowland hadtried to persuade Mr Walcot that he ought not to be out of the way, after what Lady Hunter had said in a note about her terrible headache ofyesterday. It might be the beginning of a feverish attack; and it wouldbe unfortunate if he should be six miles down the river--not expectedhome till nine or ten at night, when a messenger should arrive from theHall. But Mr Walcot had seen few water-parties in the course of hislife, and he was resolved to go. 

Margaret and her brother repaired in gay spirits to the water-side. Inthe days of poverty, trifles become great events, and ease is luxury. Hope felt himself clear of the world to-day. He had received the moneyfrom the sale of his horse; and after paying for its corn, there wasfifteen pounds left to be put by for his rent. Hester had bidden adieuto the horse with a sort of glee, as she had never been able to overcomeher panic during her husband's long country rides; and Hope found thathe hung more and more upon Hester's smiles: they cheered him, fromwhatever cause they arose. Margaret was gay from discourse with Philip. She had just despatched a letter to him--a letter which hadacknowledged that it was, indeed, long since they had met--that it wasalmost time that he was coming to Deerbrook again. 

The party they joined looked less merry than themselves. The two boatswhich lay at the wharf were gay enough--the one with crimson cushions, and the other with blue. A servant-maid was to go in each, to take careof the provisions, and provide tea at the ruins; and Alice and hercompanion were alert and smiling. But Mrs Grey wore a countenance ofextraordinary anxiety; and the twitching of her face showed thatsomething had gone very seriously wrong. Sophia nearly turned her backupon Mr Walcot, who continued to address her with patient diligence. Maria was sitting on some deals, waiting to be called to enter the boat;and some of the people of the village were staring at her from a littledistance. Margaret immediately joined her. 

"What are those people looking at you for?"

"I cannot conceive. I fancied that while I was sitting I looked prettymuch like other people. "

"To be sure you do. I will ask Mr Grey. I am sure there is somemeaning in their gaze--so ridiculously compassionate. "

"Do not you know?" said Mr Grey. "Do not you know the story they havegot up about Miss Young's case. They say Mr Hope set her limb so badlythat he had to break it again twice. I have been asked several timeswhether he did not get me to help him: and they will not believe me whenI deny the whole. "

Maria laughed; and Margaret observed that they would presently see howmuch better Maria could walk now than she did before her last accident, such being the effect of the long and complete rest which had beenenforced upon her. 

"Nothing like seeing for themselves, " observed Mr Grey, surveying thecompany. "All come but Dr Levitt now, I think. It really goes to myheart not to take some of my partner's children. There they are, peeping at us, one head behind another, from that gate. There is roomfor two or three, from the Jameses failing us at the last. The littlethings might as well go; but I suppose there would be no use in sayinganything about it. I must have a word with my daughter before weembark. Sophia, my dear! Sophia!"

Sophia came, and Margaret overheard her father say to her, that everyperson present was his guest, and to be treated with the civility andattention due to him as such. Sophia looked rather sulky at hearingthis, and walked far away from Mr Walcot to devote herself to MissAnderson. 

By dint of sending a messenger to Dr Levitt's a quarter of an hourbefore the time, his presence was secured a quarter of an hour after it. He made his usual approach--looking bland and gentlemanly, and fearinghe was late. 

The party were ordered into the boats as if they had been going todinner. Mr Walcot was appointed to hand Margaret in; but he showed, amidst great simplicity, an entire determination to be Sophia'scompanion. Hope was approaching Maria's seat, to give her his arm, whensome bustle was heard at the gate where the little Rowlands wereclustered. 

"There is my partner! He will go with us, after all, " said Mr Grey. "Come, my dear sir, we have plenty of room. "

"So much the better for my brother-in-law. You have room for Enderby, have you? He will be delighted to join you, I have no doubt. Room forme too? I really think I must indulge myself. Yes; Enderby took usquite by surprise this morning: but that is his way, you know. "

Philip here, and without notice! Margaret thought she was dreaming thewords she heard. She felt much oppressed--as if there must be somethingwrong in so sudden and strange a proceeding. At the very moment ofsuspense, she caught Mrs Grey's eye fixed upon her with the saddestexpression she thought she had ever seen. 

Philip was come--it was no dream. He was presently in the midst of theparty, making his compliments--compliments paid to Margaret in a mannerscarcely different in the eyes of others from those which were shared byall: but to her, a world of wonder and of horror was revealed by theglance of the eye and the quiver of the lip, too slight to be detectedby any eye less intently fixed than hers. Margaret stood alone, as theothers were stepping into the boats; but Philip did not approach her. He interfered between Hope and Maria Young. Maria looked agitated anduncertain; but she thought she had no right to cause any delay ordifficulty; and she took his arm, though she felt herself unable toconceal her trembling. Hope saw that Margaret was scarcely able tosupport herself. 

"I cannot go, " she said, as he drew her arm within his. "Leave mebehind. They will not miss me. Nobody will miss me. "

The agonised tone of these last words brought back the colour which Hopehad lost in the tempest of emotions, in which anger was uppermost. Hewas no longer deadly pale when he said:

"Impossible. I cannot leave you. You must not stay behind. It is ofthe utmost consequence that you should go. Cannot you? Do try. I willplace you beside Mrs Grey. Cannot you make the effort?"

She did make the effort. With desperate steadiness she stepped into theboat where Mrs Grey was seated. She was conscious that Philip watchedto see what she would do, and then seated Maria and himself in the otherboat. Hope followed Margaret. If he had been in the same boat withEnderby, the temptation to throw him overboard would have been toostrong. 

Till they were past the weir and the lock, and all the erectionsbelonging to the village, and to the great firm which dignified it, theboats were rowed. Conversation went on. The grey church steeple waspronounced picturesque, as it rose above the trees; and the childrenlooked up at Dr Levitt, as if the credit of it by some means belongedto him, the rector. Sydney desired his younger sisters not to trailtheir hands through the water, as it retarded the passage of the boat. The precise distance of the ruins from Deerbrook ferry was argued, andDr Levitt gave some curious traditions about the old abbey they weregoing to see. Then towing took the place of rowing, and the partybecame very quiet. The boat cut steadily through the still waters, theslight ripple at the bows being the only sound which marked itsprogress. Dr Levitt pointed with his stick to the "verdurous wall"which sprang up from the brink of the river, every spray of the beech, every pyramid of the larch, every leaf of the oak, and the tall columnof the occasional poplar, reflected true as the natural magic of lightand waters could make them. Some then wished the sun would come out, without which it could scarcely be called seeing the woods. Otherstried to recognise the person who stood fishing under the great ash; andit took a minute or two to settle whether it was a man or a boy; and twominutes more to decide that it was nobody belonging to Deerbrook. Margaret almost wondered that Edward could talk on about these things ashe did--so much in his common tone and manner. But for his ease andsteadiness in small talk, she should suppose he was striving to have herleft unnoticed, to look down into the water as strenuously as shepleased. She little knew what a training he had had in wearing hisusual manner while his heart was wretched. 

"There, now!" cried Fanny, "we have passed the place--the place wherecousin Margaret fell in last winter. We wanted to have gone directlyover it. "

Margaret looked up, and caught Sydney's awe-struck glance. He had notyet recovered from that day. 

"If you had mentioned it sooner, " said Margaret, "I could have shown youthe very place. We did pass directly over it. "

"Oh, why did you not tell us? You should have told us. "

Dr Levitt smiled as he remarked that he thought Miss Ibbotson waslikely to be the last person to point out that spot to other people, aswell as to forget it herself. Margaret had indeed been far fromforgetting it. She had looked down into its depths, and had broughtthence something that had been useful to her--something on which she wasmeditating when Fanny spoke. She had been saved, and doubtless for apurpose. If it was only to suffer for her own part, and to find no restand peace but in devoting herself to others--this was a high purpose. Maria could live, and was thankful to live, without home, or family, orprospect. But it was not certain that this was all that was to be doneand enjoyed in life. Something dreadful had happened: but Philip lovedher: he still loved her--for nothing but agonised love could haveinspired the glance which yet thrilled through her. There was somemistake--some fearful mistake; and the want of confidence in her whichit revealed--the fault of temper in him--opened a long perspective ofmisery; but yet, he loved her, and all was not over. At times she feltcertain that Mrs Rowland was at the bottom of this new injury: but itwas inconceivable that Philip should be deluded by her, after hiswarnings, and his jealous fears lest his Margaret should give heed toany of his sister's misrepresentations. No light shone upon thequestion, from the cloudy sky above, or the clear waters beneath; butboth yielded comfort through that gentle law by which things eminentlyreal--Providence, the mercy of death, and the blessing of godlike life, are presented or prophesied to the spirit by the shadows amidst which welive. When Margaret spoke, there was a calmness in her voice, so likean echo of comfort in her heart, that it almost made Edward start. 

The party in the other boat were noisier, whether or not they werehappier, than those in whose wake they followed. Mr Walcot had begunto be inspired as soon as the oars had made their first splash, and wasnow reciting to Sophia some "Lines to the Setting Sun, " which he hadlearned when a little boy, and had never forgotten. He asked herwhether it was not a sweet idea--that of the declining sun being like agood man going to his rest, to rise again to-morrow morning. Sophia wasfond of poetry that was not too difficult; and she found littledisinclination in herself now to observe her father's directions aboutbeing civil to Mr Walcot. The gentleman perceived that he had won someadvantage; and he persevered. He next spoke of the amiable poet, Cowper, and was delighted to find that Miss Grey was acquainted withsome of his writings; that she had at one time been able to repeat hispiece on a Poplar Field, and those sweet lines beginning--

 "The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower. "

But she had never heard the passage about "the twanging horn o'er yonderbridge, " and "the wheeling the sofa round, " and "the cups that cheer butnot inebriate;" so Mr Walcot repeated them, not, as before, in a highkey, and with his face turned up towards the sky, but almost in awhisper, and inclining towards her ear. Sophia sighed, and thought itvery beautiful, and was sorry for people who were not fond of poetry. Apause of excited feeling followed, during which they found that thegentlemen were questioning a boatman, who was awaiting his turn to tow, about the swans in the river. 

"The swans have much increased in number this season, surely. Those areall of one family, I suppose--those about the island, " observed MrGrey. 

"Yes, sir; they can't abide neighbours. They won't suffer a nest withina mile. "

"They fight it out, if they approach too near, eh?" said Enderby. 

"Yes, sir; they leave one another for dead. I have lost some of thefinest swans under my charge in that way. "

"Do you not part them when they fight?" asked Walcot. 

"I would. I always part little boys whom I see fighting in the streets, and tell them they should not quarrel. "

"You would repent meddling with the swans, sir, if you tried. When Iknew no better, I meddled once, and I thought I should hardly get awayalive. One of the creatures flapped my arm so hard, that I thought morethan once it was broken. I would advise you, sir, never to go nearswans when they are angry. "

"You will find ample employment for your peace-making talents among theDeerbrook people, Mr Walcot, " said Philip. "They may break yourwindows, and perhaps your heart; but they will leave you your eyes andyour right arm. For my part, I do not know but I had rather do battlewith the swans. "

"Better not, sir, " said the boatman. "I would advise you never to gonear swans when they are angry. "

"Look!" said Sophia, anxiously. "Is not this one angry? Yes, it is: Iam sure it is! Did you ever see anything like its feathers? and it iscoming this way, it is just upon us! Oh, Mr Walcot!"

Sophia threw herself over to the other side of the boat, and Mr Walcotstarted up, looking very pale. 

"Sit down!" cried Mr Grey, in his loudest voice. Mr Walcot sat downas if shot; and Sophia crept back to her place, with an anxious glanceat the retreating bird. Of course, the two young people wereplentifully lectured about shifting their places in a boat withoutleave, and were asked the question, more easily put than answered, howthey should have felt if they had been the means of precipitating thewhole party into the water. Then there was a calling out from the otherboat to know what was the matter, and an explanation; so that Sophia andMr Walcot had to take refuge in mutual sympathy from universal censure. 

"The birds always quarrel with the boats--boats of this make, " explainedthe boatman; "because their enemies go out in skiffs to take them. Theylet a lighter pass without taking any notice, while they always scourthe water near a skiff; but I never heard of their flying at a pleasureparty in any sort of boat. "

"Where are the black swans that a sea-captain brought to Lady Hunter?"asked Philip. "I see nothing of them. "

"The male died; choked, sir, --with a crust of bread a stranger gave him. But for that, he would have been now in sight, I don't doubt; for heprospered very well till that day. "

"Of a crust of bread! What a death!" exclaimed Philip. "And theother?"

"She died, sir, by the visitation of God, " replied the boatman, solemnly. 

It was obviously so far from the man's intention that any one shouldlaugh, that nobody did laugh. Maria observed to her next neighbourthat, to a keeper of swans, his birds were more companionable, and quiteas important, as their human charge to coroners and jurymen. 

The boat got aground amongst the flags, at a point where the tow-ropehad to be carried over a foot-bridge at some little distance inland. One of the men, in attempting to leap the ditch, had fallen in, andemerged dripping with mud. Ben jumped ashore to take his turn at therope, and Enderby pushed the boat off again with an oar, with somelittle effort. Mr Walcot had squeezed Sophia's parasol so hard, duringthe crisis, as to break its ivory ring. The accident, mortifying as itwas to him, did not prevent his exclaiming in a fervour of gratitude, when the vibration of the boat was over, and they were once moreafloat--

"What an exceedingly clever man Mr Enderby is!"

"Extremely clever. I really think he can do everything. "

"Ah! he would not have managed to break the ring of your parasol, as Ihave been so awkward as to do. But I will see about getting it mendedto-morrow. If I were as clever as Mr Enderby now, I might be able tomend it myself. "

"You will not be able to get another ring in Deerbrook. But never mind. I beg you will not feel uncomfortable about it. I can fasten it with aloop of green ribbon and a button till the next time I go to Blickley. Pray do not feel uncomfortable. "

"How can I help it? You say there is no ring in Deerbrook. Not anysort of ring? My dear Miss Grey, if I cannot repair this sort ofring--"

Sophia was a good deal flurried. She begged he would think no more ofthe parasol; it was no manner of consequence. 

"Do not be too good to me, " whispered he. "I trust. I know my dutybetter than to take you at your word. From my earliest years, myparents have instilled into me the duty of making reparation for theinjuries we cause to others. "

Sophia gave him an affecting look of approbation, and asked with muchinterest where his parents lived, and how many brothers and sisters hehad; and assured him, at last, that she saw he belonged to a charmingfamily. 

"It does not become me to speak proudly of such near relations, " saidhe; "and one who has so lately left the parental roof is, perhaps, scarcely to be trusted to be impartial; but I will say for my familythat, though not perhaps so clever as Mrs Rowland and Mr Enderby--"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, do not name them together!"

Mr Walcot saw that he had broken the charm: he hastened to repair themischief which one unhappy name had caused. 

"It is natural, I know, that you should take the most interest in thatmember of the family who is to be your relation. You consider him inthat light, I believe?"

"Of course. He is to be our cousin. "

"The parties wish it to be kept a secret, I conclude, " said he, glancingat Enderby, and then stretching back as far as he thought safe, to lookat the other boat. 

"Oh dear, no! There is no secret about the matter. "

"I should not have supposed them to be engaged, by their manner to eachother. Perhaps it is off, " said he, quickly, fixing his eyes upon her. 

"Off! What an odd idea! Who ever thought of such a thing?"

"Such things have been heard of as engagements going off, you know. "

Both had raised their voices during the last few eager sentences. Sophia became aware that they had been overheard, by seeing the deepflush which overspread Miss Young's pale face. Philip looked at MrWalcot as if he would have knocked him down, if they had only been onland. The young man took off his hat, and ran his fingers through hiswhite hair, for the sake of something to do: replaced his hat, and shookhis head manfully, as if to settle his heart in his breast, as well ashis beaver on his crown. He glanced down the river, in hopes that theabbey was not yet too near. It was important to him that the wrath ofso extremely clever a man as Mr Enderby should have subsided before theparty went on shore. 

It would have been a strange thing to have known how many of thatcompany were dreading to reach the object of their excursion. A thrillpassed through many hearts when the ruins, with their overshadowing ivy, were at length discerned, seated in the meadow to which the boats seemedapproaching far too rapidly. In the bustle of landing, however, it waseasy for those who wished to avoid one another to do so. 

Most of the guests walked straight up to the abbey walls, to examine allthat was left of them. Mrs Grey and her maids went to the littlefarmhouse which was at one corner of the old building, and chieflyconstructed out of its ruins; and while the parties on whom the cares ofhospitality devolved were consulting with the farmer's wife aboutpreparations for tea, any stray guest might search for wood-plants inthe skirts of the copse on the hill behind, or talk with the childrenwho were jumping in and out of an old saw-pit in the wood, or ifcontemplative, might watch the minnows in the brook, which was hererunning parallel with the river. 

Mrs Grey obviously considered that Margaret was her peculiar charge. She spoke little to her; but when Philip was off somewhere, she took herarm, and seemed to insist on her company when she proceeded to hertreaty with the dame of the farm. Margaret stood for some timepatiently, while they discussed whether it should be tea in thefarmhouse parlour, which was too small--or tea in the meadow, whichmight be damp--or tea in the ruins, where there might be draughts, andthe water could not be supplied hot. Before this matter was settled, Margaret saw that her friend Maria was seated on a log beside the brook, and gazing wistfully at her. Margaret tried to disengage her arm fromMrs Grey; Mrs Grey objected. 

"Wait a moment, my dear. I will not detain you five minutes. You mustnot go anywhere without me, my dear child. "

Never before had Mrs Grey spoken to Margaret with tenderness like this. Margaret was resolved to know why now; but she would first speak toMaria. She said she would return presently: she wished to return: butshe must speak to Maria. 

"Margaret, what is all this?" said Maria, in a voice whose agitation shecould not control. "Have I been doing wrong? Am I now thinking what iswrong? I did not know whether to be angry with him or not. I wasafraid to speak to him, and afraid not to speak to him. How is it? tellme, Margaret. "

"I wish I could, " said Margaret, in a tone calmer than her friend's. "Iam in a miserable dream. I wrote to him this morning. "

"To London?"

"Yes, to London. He must have been in Deerbrook while I was writing it. I heard from him, as usual, three days ago; and since then, I havenever had a line or a word to prepare me for this. There is somedreadful mistake. "

"The mistake is not his, I fear, " said Maria, her eyes filling as shespoke. "The mistake is yours, Margaret, and mine, and everybody's whotook a selfish man of the world for a being with a heart and aconscience. "

"You are wrong, Maria. You go too far. You will find that you areunjust. He is as wretched as I am. There is some mistake which may beexplained: for he... He loves me, I am certain. But I wish I wasanywhere but here--it is so wretched!"

"I am afraid I have done wrong in speaking with him at all, " said Maria. "I longed for three words with you; for I did not know what I ought todo. We must learn something before we return. Your friends must actfor you. Where is Mr Hope?"

"I do not know. Everybody deserts me, I think. "

"I will not. It is little I can do; but stay by me: do not leave me. Iwill watch for you. "

Margaret fell into the common error of the wretched, when she said theselast words. Her brother was at work on her behalf. Hope had gonetowards the ruins with the rest of the party, to keep his eye onEnderby. Sophia hung on his arm, which she had taken that she mightrelieve herself of some thoughts which she could not so well speak toany one of the strangers of the party. 

"Oh, Mr Hope!" cried she, "how very much mistaken we have been in MrWalcot all this time! He is a most delightful young man--so refined!and so domestic!"

"Indeed! You will trust Sydney's judgment more readily another time. "

"Yes, indeed. But I could not help telling you. I know you will not beoffended; though some people, perhaps, would not venture to speak so toyou; but I know you will excuse it, and not be offended. "

"So far from being offended, I like what you now say far better than theway I have heard you sometimes speak of Mr Walcot. I have thoughtbefore that you did not allow him fair play. Now, in my turn, I mustask you not to be offended with me. "

"Oh, I never could be offended with you; you are always so good andamiable. Mamma seemed a little vexed when you encouraged Sydney topraise Mr Walcot: but she will be delighted at your opinion of him, when she finds how accomplished he is--and so refined!"

"You speak of my opinion. I have no opinion about Mr Walcot yet, because I do not know him. You must remember that, though all Deerbrookhas been busy about him since May, I have scarcely heard him say fivewords. I do not speak as having any opinion of him, one way or another. How dark this place looks to-day!--that aisle--how gloomy!"

"I think it is the weather. There is no sun; and the ivy tosses aboutstrangely. What do you think of the weather?"

"I think we shall have the least possible benefit of the moon. How likea solid wall those clouds look, low down in the sky!--Here comes MrWalcot. Suppose you let him take you after the rest of the party? Youwill not like the gloom of that aisle where I am going. "

Both Sophia and Mr Walcot much preferred each other's company to thedamp and shadow of the interior of the abbey. They walked off together, and gathered meadow flowers, and admired poetry and poets till all weresummoned, and they were compelled to join the groups who were convergingfrom copse, brook, poultry-yard, and cloister, towards the green beforethe farmhouse, where, after all, the long tea-table was spread. 

The reason of Hope's anxiety to consign Sophia to Mr Walcot's chargewas, that he saw Enderby pacing the aisle alone with rapid steps, hisface hung with gloom as deep as darkened the walls about him. 

"Enderby, are you mad?" cried Hope, hastening in to him. 

"I believe I am. As you are aware, no man has better cause. "

"I wait your explanation. Till I have it, your conduct is a perfectmystery. To Margaret, or to me for her, you must explain yourself, andthat immediately. In the mean time, I do not know how to address you--how to judge you. "

"Then Mrs Grey has not told you of our conversation of this morning?"

"No, " said Hope, his heart suddenly failing him. 

"The whole dreadful story has become known to me; and I am thankful thatit is revealed before it is too late. My sister is sometimes right, however she may be often wrong. She has done me a cruel kindness now. I know all, Hope;--how you loved Margaret;--how, when it was too late, you discovered that Margaret loved you;--how, when I burst in upon youand her, she was (Oh, why did I ever see her again?) she was learningfrom you the absurd resolution which Mrs Grey had been urging upon you, by working upon your false sense of honour--a sense of honour of which Iam to have none of the benefit, since, after marrying the one sister outof compassion and to please Mrs Grey, you turn the other over to me--innocent in soul and conscience, I know, but no longer with virginaffections--you give her to me for your mutual security andconsolation. "

"Enderby! you _are_ mad, " cried Hope, his strength being roused by thisextent of accusation from the depression caused by the mixture of truthin the dreadful words Philip had just spoken. "But mad, deluded, orwicked--however you may have been wrought into this state of mind, thereare two things which must be said on the instant, and regarded by you inall coming time. These charges, as they relate to myself, had better bespoken of at another opportunity, and when you are in a calmer state ofmind: but meanwhile I, as a husband, forbid you to speak lightly of mybeloved and honoured wife: and I also charge you, as you revere thepurity of Margaret's soul--of the innocent soul and conscience of whichyou speak--that you do not convey to her, by the remotest intimation, any conception of the horrible tale with which some wretch has beendeluding you. She never loved any one but you. If you pollute andagonise her imagination with these vile fancies of your sister's, (forfrom whom else can such inventions come?) remember that you peril thepeace of an innocent family; you poison the friendship of sisters whombereavement has bound to each other; and deprive Margaret of all thatlife contains for her. You will not impair my wife's faith in me, I amconfident; but you may turn Margaret's brain, if you say to her anythinglike what passed your lips just now. It seems but a short time, Enderby, since we committed Margaret's happiness to your care; and now Ihave to appeal on her behalf to your honour and conscience. "

"Mrs Grey, Mrs Grey, " Enderby repeated, fixing his eyes upon Hope'scountenance. 

"The quarrel between you and me shall be attended to in its turn, Enderby. I must first secure my wife and Margaret from any rashness onyour part. If you put distrust between them, and pollute their home bythe wildest of fancies, it would be better for you that these wallsshould fall upon us, and bury us both. "

"Oh, that they would!" cried Philip. "I am sick of living in the midstof treachery. Life is a waste to a man treated as I have been. "

"Answer me, Enderby--answer me this instant, " Hope cried, advancing toplace himself between Enderby and Margaret, whom he saw now entering theruin, and rapidly approaching them. 

"You are right, " said Enderby, aloud. "You may trust me. "

"Philip, what am I to think?" said Margaret, walking quite up to him, and looking intently in his face. "I hardly know whether we are living, and in our common world. " Hope shuddered to see the glance she castround the dreary place. Philip half turned away and did not speak. 

"Why will not you speak? What reason can there be for this silence?When you last left me, you feared your sister might make mischiefbetween us; and then I promised that if such a thing could happen asthat I should doubt you, I would tell you my doubt as soon as I wasaware of it myself; and now you are angry with me--you would strike medead this moment, if you dared--and you will not speak. "

"Go now, Margaret, " said Hope, gently. "He cannot speak to you now:take my word for it that he cannot. "

"I will not go. I will take nobody's word. What are you, Edward, between me and him? It is my right to know how I have offended him. Irequire no more than my right. I do not ask him to love me; nor need I, for he loves me still--I know it and feel it. "

"It is true, " said Enderby, mournfully gazing upon her agitatedcountenance, but retreating as he gazed. 

"I do not ask to be yours, any farther than I am now--now when ouraffections are true, and our word is broken. But I do insist upon youresteem, as far as I have ever possessed it. I have done nothing toforfeit it; and I demand your reasons for supposing that I have. "

"Not now, " said Philip, faintly, shrinking in the presence of the twoconcerning whom he entertained so painful a complexity of feelings. There stood Hope, firm as the pillar behind him. There stood Margaret, agitated, but unabashed as the angels that come in dreams. Was itpossible that these two had loved? Could they then stand before himthus? But Mrs Grey--what she admitted!--this, in confirmation withother evidence, could not be cast aside. Yet Philip dared not speak, fearing to injure beyond reparation. 

"Oh, Margaret, not now!" he faintly repeated. "My heart is almostbroken! Give me time. "

"You have given me none. Let that pass, however. But I cannot give youtime. I cannot hold out--who can hold out, under injurious secrecy--under mocking injustice--under torturing doubt from the one who ispledged to the extreme of confidence? Let us once understand oneanother, and we will never meet more, and I will endure whatever must beendured, and we shall have time--Oh, what a weary time!--to learn tosubmit. But not till you have given me the confidence you owe--the lastI shall ever ask from you--will I endure one moment's suspense. I willnot give you time. "

"Yes, Margaret, you will--you must, " said Hope. "It is hard, very hard;but Enderby is so far right. "

"God help me, for every one is against me!" cried Margaret, sinking downamong the long grass, and laying her throbbing head upon the cold stone. "He comes without notice to terrify me by his anger--me whom he lovesabove all the world; he leaves my heart to break with his unkindness inthe midst of all these indifferent people; he denies me the explanationI demand; and you--you of all others, tell me he is right! I will dowithout protection, since the two who owe it forsake me: but God is mywitness how you wrong me. "

"Enderby, why do not you go?" said Hope, sternly. Almost before thewords were spoken, Enderby had disappeared at the further end of theaisle. 

"Patience, Margaret! A little patience, my dear sister. All may bewell; all must be well for such as you; but I mean that I trust all maybe repaired. He has been wrought upon by some bad influence--"

"Then all is over. If, knowing me as he did--. But, Edward, do notspeak to me. Go: leave me! I cannot speak another word now--"

"I cannot leave you here. This is no place for you. Think of yoursister, Margaret. You will do nothing to alarm her. If she were to seeyou now--. "

Margaret raised herself; took her brother's arm, and went out into theair. No one was near. 

"Now leave me, brother. I must be alone. I will walk here, and thinkwhat I must do. But how can I know, when all is made such a mystery?Oh, brother, tell me what I ought to do!"

"Calm yourself now. Command yourself; for this day. You, innocent asyou are, may well do so. If I had such a conscience as yours--if I wereonly in your place, Margaret--if I had nothing to bear but wrongs, Iwould thank Heaven as Heaven was never yet thanked. "

"You, Edward!"

"If the universe heaped injuries upon me, they should not crush me. IfI had a self-respect like yours, I would lift my head to the stars. "

"You, Edward!"

"Margaret, wretched as you are, your misery is nothing to mine. Havepity upon me, and command yourself. For my sake and your sister's, lookand act like yourself, and hope peacefully, trust steadily, that allwill yet be right. "

"It cannot be that you have wronged me, brother. You sent him from me, I know; and that was unkind: but you could never really wrong any one. "

"I never meant it. I honour you, and would protect you--I will protectyou as a brother should. Only do not say again that you are forsaken. It would break our hearts to hear you say that again. "

"I will not. And I will try to be for to-day as if nothing hadhappened: but I promise no more than to endeavour--I am so bewildered!"

"Then I will leave you. I shall not be far off. No one shall come todisturb you. "

There is, perhaps, no mood of mind in which it is impossible for thesweet ministrations of nature to be accepted. Even now, as Margaretstood on the river-bank, the influences of the scene flowed in upon her. The operations of thought were quickened, and she was presentlyconvinced that the next time she saw Philip she should learn all--shemight even find him repentant for having been weak and credulous. Edward's self-reproach was the most inexplicable mystery of all. In hisbrotherly grief he had no doubt exaggerated some slight carelessness ofspeech, some deficiency of watchfulness and zeal. Hester must neverknow of these sorrowful things that Edward had said. There wassubstantial comfort in other of his words. It was true that she wasonly wronged. In her former season of wretchedness, it had been farworse: there was not only disappointment, but humiliation; loss, notonly of hope, but of self-respect. Now, she was innocent of any wrongtowards Philip and herself; and, in this consciousness, any lot must besupportable. While thus musing, she walked slowly along, sighing awaysome of her oppression. Her heart and head throbbed less. Her eye wascaught by the little fish that leaped out of the water after the eveningflies: she stood to watch them. The splash of a water-rat roused herear, and she turned to track him across the stream. Then she saw a fineyellow iris, growing among the flags on the very brink, and she musthave it for Maria. To reach it without a wetting required some skilland time. She tried this way--she tried that; but the flower was justout of reach. She went to the next alder-bush for a bough, whichanswered her purpose; and she had drawn the tuft of flags towards her, and laid hold of the iris, when Sydney shouted her name from a distance, and summoned her to tea. 

Maria was seated at the table, amidst the greater proportion of theparty, when Margaret arrived, escorted by Sydney, and followed at alittle distance by Mr Hope. Never had flower been more welcome toMaria than this iris, offered to her with a smile. Pale as the facewas, and heavy as were the eyes, there was a genuine smile. Maria hadkept a place for Margaret, which she took, though Mrs Grey kept gazingat her, and assured her that she must sit beside her. Mr Enderby wasnot to be seen. Frequent proclamation was made for him; but he did notappear; and it was settled that if he preferred wood-ranging to goodcheer, he must have his own way. 

Tea passed off well enough. Dr Levitt and Mr Hope went over thesubject of the abbey again, for the benefit of the rearward portion ofthe company, who had not heard it before. Mr Rowland and the farmerdiscussed the bad crops. Sophia spilled her tea, from Mr Walcot havingmade her laugh when she was carrying the cup to her lips; and Sydneycollected a portion of every good thing that was on the table for MrEnderby to enjoy on his return. 

Mr Enderby did not return till it was quite time to be gone. Mr Greyhad long been hurrying the servants in their business of packing upplates and spoons. He even offered help, and repeated his cautions tohis guests not to stray beyond call. The farmer shook his head as helooked up at the leaden-coloured sky, across which black masses ofcloud, like condensed smoke, were whirled, and prophesied a stormynight. There was no time to be lost. The boatmen came bustling out ofthe farm-kitchen, still munching; and they put the boats in trim withall speed, while the ladies stood on the bank quite ready to step in. Mrs Grey assorted the two parties, still claiming Margaret for her ownboat, but allowing Maria to enter instead of Sydney. Hope chose toremain with them; so Dr Levitt exchanged with Sophia. Mr Walcotthought there was a lion in his path either way--Mr Hope, hisprofessional rival, in one boat, and Mr Enderby, whom he fancied he hadoffended, in the other. He adhered to Sophia, as a sure ally. 

"Mr Enderby! Where can he be?" was the exclamation, when all wereseated, and the boatmen stood ready to start, with the tow-rope abouttheir shoulders; when the dame of the farm had made her parting curtsey, and had stepped a few paces backward, after her swimming obeisance. Thefarmer was running over the meadow towards the copse in search of themissing gentleman, and Sydney would have sprung out of the boat to joinin the chase, when his father laid a strong hand on him, and said thatone stray member of a party on a threatening evening was enough. Hecould not have people running after one another till the storm came on. Mr Rowland was full of concern, and would have had Sydney throw awaythe basketful of good things he had hoarded for his friend. If Enderbychose to absent himself for his own enjoyments, Mr Rowland said, hecould not expect to share other people's. Hope was standing up in thefirst boat, gazing anxiously round, and Margaret's eyes were fixed onhis face, when every body cried out at once, "Here he is! here hecomes!" and Enderby was seen leaping through a gap in the farthesthedge, and bounding over the meadow. He sprang into the boat with aforce which set it rocking, and made the ladies catch at whatever couldbe grasped. 

"Your hat!" exclaimed several voices. 

"Why, Mr Enderby, where is your hat?" cried Sydney, laughing. Enderbyclapped his hand on the top of his head, and declared he did not know. He had not missed his hat till this moment. 

Hope called from the first boat to the farmer, and asked him to look inthe aisle of the abbey for the gentleman's hat. It was brought thence;and Fanny and Mary laughed at Mr Hope for being such a good guesser asto fancy where Mr Enderby's hat might be, when Mr Enderby did not knowhimself. The moment the hat was tossed into the lap of its owner, MrGrey's voice was heard shouting to the men--

"Start off, and get us home as soon as you can. "

The men gave a glance at the sky, and set forth at a smart pace. MrGrey saw that the umbrellas lay at his hand, ready for distribution, andadvised each lady to draw her cloak about her, as the air felt to himdamp and chill. 

A general flatness being perceptible, some one proposed that somebodyelse should sing. All declined at first, however, except Maria, whosevoice was always most ready when it was most difficult to sing--when theparty was dull, or when no one else would begin. She wanted to preventMargaret's being applied to, and she sang, once and again, on theslightest hint. Sophia had no music-books, and could not sing withoutthe piano, as every one knew beforehand she would say. Mrs Greydropped a tear to the memory of Mrs Enderby, whose ballad was neverwanting on such occasions as these. Sydney concluded that it was thesame thought which made Mr Enderby bury his head in his hat between hisknees while Miss Young was singing. It could not surely be all fromshame at having kept the party waiting. 

It was with some uncertainty and awe that he whispered in his friend'sear--

"Don't you think you could sing your new song that cousin Margaret is sofond of? Do: we are all as flat as flounders, and everybody will beasleep presently if we don't do something. Can't you get over a thingor two, and sing for us?"

"I am sure I would if I only could. "

Enderby shook his head without raising it from his knees. 

Mr Walcot had no idea of refusing when he was asked. He could sing theCanadian Boat Song; but he was afraid they might have heard it before. 

"Never mind that. Let us have it, " said everybody. 

"But there should be two: it is a duet, properly, you know. "

Sophia believed she could sing that--just that--without the piano. Shewould try the first part, if he would take the second. Mr Grey thoughtto himself that his daughter seemed to have adopted his hint aboutcivility to his guests very dutifully. But Mr Walcot could sing onlythe first part, because he had a brother at home who always took thesecond. He could soon learn it, he had no doubt, but he did not know itat present: so he had the duet all to himself; uplifting a slender voicein a very odd key, which Fanny and Mary did not quite know what to makeof. They looked round into all the faces in their boat to see whetheranyone was going to laugh: but everybody was immoveable, except thatSophia whispered softly to Miss Young, that Mr Walcot was a mostdelightful young man, after all--so accomplished and so refined!

Mr Walcot's song ended with a quaver, from a large, cold, startlingdrop of rain falling on his nose, as he closed his eyes to draw out hislast note. He blushed at having started and flinched from a drop ofrain, and so spoiled his conclusion. Some of his hearers supposed hehad broken-down, till assured by others that he had finished. Theneverybody thanked him, and agreed that the rain was really coming on. 

There were now odd fleeces of white cloud between the lead colour andthe black. They were hurried about in the sky, evidently by countercurrents. The river was almost inky in its hue, and every large dropmade its own splash and circle. Up went the umbrellas in both boats;but almost before they were raised, some were turned inside out, and allwere dragged down again. The gust had come, and brought with it a peltof hail--large hailstones, which fell in at Fanny's collar behind, whileshe put down her head to save her face, and which almost took awayMary's breath, by coming sharp and fast against her cheeks. Thensomebody descried a gleam of lightning quivering in the grey roof of thesky; and next, every one saw the tremendous flash which blazed over thesurface of the water, all round about. How Mr Walcot would havequavered if he had been singing still. But a very different voice wasnow to be heard--the hoarse thunder rolling up, like advancingartillery; first growling, then roaring, and presently crashing andrattling overhead. The boatmen's thoughts were for the ladies, exposedas they were, without the possibility of putting up umbrellas. It feltalmost dark to those in the boats, as they cut rapidly--more and morerapidly--through the water which seethed about the bows. The men weretrotting, running. Presently it was darker still: the bent heads wereraised, and it appeared that the boats were brought to, under the widebranches of two oaks which overhung the water. The woods were reachedalready. 

"Shelter for the ladies, sir, " said the panting boatmen, touching theirhats, and then taking them off to wipe their brows. Mr Grey lookeddoubtful, stood up to survey, and then asked if there was no farm, nosort of house anywhere near. None nearer than you village where thespire was, and that was very little nearer than Deerbrook itself. Theladies who were disposed to say anything, observed that they were verywell as they were: the tree kept off a great deal of the hail, and thewind was not felt quite so much as on the open river. Should they sitstill, or step on shore? Sit still, by all means. Packed closely asthey were, they would be warmer and drier than standing on shore; andthey were now ready to start homewards as soon as the storm shouldabate. It did not appear that there was any abatement of the storm infive minutes, nor in a quarter of an hour. The young people looked upat the elder ones, as if asking what to expect. Several of the partyhappened to be glancing in the same direction with the boatmen, whenthey saw a shaft of lightning strike perpendicularly from the upperrange of cloud upon the village spire, and light it up. 

"Lord bless us!" exclaimed Mr Grey, as the spire sent its smoke up likea little volcano. 

Fanny burst out a-crying, but was called a silly child, and desired notto make a noise. Everyone was silent enough now; most hiding theirfaces, that they might not see what happened next. Half way between theriver and the smoking church, in the farther part of the oppositemeadow, was a fine spreading oak, under which, as might just be seen, aflock of sheep were huddled together for shelter. Another fiery dartshot down from the dark canopy, upon the crown of this oak. The treequivered and fell asunder, its fragments lying in a circle. There was arush forth of such of the sheep as escaped, and a rattle of thunderwhich would have overpowered any ordinary voices, but in the midst ofwhich a scream was heard from the first boat. It was a singular thingthat, in talking over this storm in after-days at home, no lady wouldown this scream. 

"I'm thinking, sir, " said Ben, as soon as he could make himself heard, "we are in a bad place here, as the storm seems thickening this way. Wehad best get from under the trees, for all the hail. "

"Do so, Ben; and make haste. "

When the first boat was brought a little out into the stream, in orderto clear it of the flags, Margaret became aware that Philip was gazingearnestly at her from the other boat. She alone of the ladies had satwith face upraised, watching the advance of the storm. She alone, perhaps, of all the company, had enjoyed it with pure relish. It hadanimated her mind, and restored her to herself. When she saw Philipleaning back on his elbow, almost over the edge of the boat, tocontemplate her, she returned his gaze with such an expression ofmournful wonder and composed sorrow, as moved him to draw his hat overhis eyes, and resolve to look no more. 

The storm abated, but did not cease. Rain succeeded to hail, lightningstill hovered in the air, and thunder continued to growl afar off. Butthe umbrellas could now be kept up, and the ladies escaped with a slightwetting. 

Before the party dispersed from the wharf Hope sought Philip, and had afew moments' conversation with him, the object of which was to agreeupon further discourse on the morrow. Hope and Margaret thenaccompanied Maria to her lodging, and walked thence silently home. 

Hester was on the watch for them--a little anxious lest they should havesuffered from the storm, and ready with some reflections on theliabilities of parties of pleasure; but yet blithe and beaming. Hercountenance fell when she saw her sister's pale face. 

"Margaret! how you look!" cried she. "Cold, wet, and weary: and ill, too, I am sure. "

"Cold, wet, and weary, " Margaret admitted. "Let me make haste to bed. And do you make tea for Edward, and send some up to me. Good-night! Icannot talk now. Edward will tell you. "

"Tell me what?" Hester asked her husband, when she found that Margarethad really rather have no attendance. 

"That Margaret is unhappy, love, from some misunderstanding withEnderby. Some busy devil--I have no doubt the same that has caused somuch mischief already--has come between him and Margaret. "

He then told the story of Philip's sudden appearance, and his conductthroughout the day, omitting all hint that any conversation with himselfhad taken place. He hoped, in conclusion, that all would be cleared up, and the mutual faith of the lovers restored. 

Hester thought this impossible. If Philip could be prejudiced againstMargaret by any man or woman on earth, or any devil in hell, there mustbe an instability in his character to which Margaret's happiness mustnot be committed. Hope was not sure of this. There were circumstancesof temptation, modes of delusion, under which the faith of a seraphmight sink. But worse still, Hester said, was his conduct of to-day, torturing Margaret's affection, wounding her pride, insulting hercruelly, in the presence of all those among whom she lived. Hope wasdisposed to suspend his judgment even upon this. Enderby was evidentlyhalf-frantic. His love was undiminished, it was clear. It was the soulof all the madness of to-day. Margaret had conducted herself nobly. Her innocence, her faith, must triumph at last. They might bring herlover to her side again, Hester had little doubt: but she did not seewhat could now render Philip worthy of Margaret. This had always beenher apprehension. How, after the passions of this day, could they everagain be as they had been? And tears, as gentle and sorrowful asMargaret had ever shed for her, now rained from Hester's eyes. 

"Be comforted, my Hester--my generous wife, be comforted. You live forus--you are our best blessing, my love, and we can never bear to see yousuffer for her. Be comforted, and wait. Trust that the retribution ofthis will fall where it ought; and that will never be upon our Margaret. Pray that the retribution may fall where it ought, and that itsbitterness may be intense as the joy which Margaret and you deserve. "

"I never knew you so revengeful, Edward, " said his wife, taking the handhe held before his eyes. "Shall I admonish you for once? Shall I giveyou a reproof for wishing woe to our enemies? Shall I remind you toforgive--fully, freely, as you hope to be forgiven?"

"Yes, love; anything for the hope of being forgiven. "

"Ah! how deep your sorrow for Margaret is! Grief always humbles us inour own eyes. Such humiliation is the test of sorrow. Bless you, love, that you grieve so for Margaret!"

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. 

THE NEXT DAY. 

The hours of a sleepless night were not too long for Hope to revolvewhat he must say and do on the morrow. He must meet Enderby; and theday would probably decide Margaret's fate. That this decision wouldimplicate his own happiness or misery was a subordinate thought. It wasnot till after he had viewed Margaret's case in every light, in whichapprehension could place it, that he dwelt upon what the suffering tohimself must be of seeing Margaret, day by day, living on, in meekpatience, amidst the destruction of hope and happiness which hisattachment had caused. When he did dwell upon it, his heart sank withinhim. All that had made him unhappy seemed of late to have passed away. For many months he had seen Margaret satisfied in her attachment toanother; he had seen Hester coming out nobly from the trial ofadversity, in which all her fine qualities had been exercised, and herweaknesses almost subdued. She had been not only the devoted wife, butpatient and generous towards her foes, full of faith and cheerfulness inher temper, and capable of any degree of self-denial in the conduct ofher daily life. She had been of late all that in the days of theirengagement--in the days when he had dealt falsely with his own mind--hehad trusted she would be. A friendship, whose tenderness was lifeenough for them both, had grown up in his soul, and he had been atpeace. It had been a subject of incessant thankfulness to him, that theevil of what he could now hardly consider as a false step had beenconfined to himself--that his struggles, his strivings, the dreadfulsolitary conflicts of a few months, had not been in vain; that he hadfulfilled the claims of both relations, and marred no one's peace. Now, he was plunged into the struggle again. The cause was at an end; butconsequences, of perhaps endless wretchedness, remained to be borne. His secret was known, and made the basis of untruths to which the wholehappiness of his household, so victoriously struggled for, so carefullycherished by him, and so lately secured, must be sacrificed. Again andagain he turned from the fearful visions of Margaret cast off, of theestrangement of the sisters, of the possible loss of some of their fairfame--from these harrowing thoughts he turned again and again toconsider what must be done. --The most certain thing was, that he mustnot by word, look, pause, or admission, countenance to Enderby himselfthe supposition that he had not preferred Hester at the time she becamehis wife. In the present state of their attachment, this was the merestjustice to her. Nothing that it was in Mrs Grey's power to reveal borea relation to any time later than his early, and, it might be assumed, superficial, intercourse with the sisters and, as far as he knew, no oneelse, unless it were Frank (by this time in possession of the facts), had ever conceived of the true state of the case. He must decline allquestion about his domestic relations, except as far as Margaret wasconcerned. Beyond this, he would allow of no inquisition, and wouldforbid all speculation. For Margaret's sake, no less than Hester's, this was necessary. If she should ever be Enderby's wife, it was of theutmost importance that Enderby should not, in his most secret soul, holdthis information, however strongly he might be convinced that Margaretwas in ignorance of it, and had never loved any but himself. There mustbe no admission to Enderby of that which had been truth, but which wouldbecome untruth by being first admitted now. There must be entiresilence upon the whole subject of himself. --As to Margaret, he did notsee what could be done, but to declare his true and perfect belief thatshe had never loved any but Enderby. But alas! what chance was there ofthis testimony being received; the very point of Enderby's accusationbeing, that they both looked, perhaps in self-delusion, at theconnection with him as their security from the consequences of Hope'sweakness in marrying Hester? It was all confused--all wretched--allnearly hopeless. Margaret would be sacrificed without knowing why--would have her heart wrung with the sense of injury in addition to herwoe. 

From reflections and anticipations, Hope rose early to the great duty ofthe day. He told Hester that he was going to meet Enderby in themeadows, to receive a full explanation of his conduct of the precedingday; and that it was probable that he should bring home whatever tidingsit might be Margaret's lot to hear. 

He found, during the long and anxious conversation in the meadow, thathe had need of all the courage, calmness, and discretion he couldcommand. It was a cruel trial to one whose wont it had been from hischildhood to converse in "simplicity and godly sincerity, "--it was acruel trial to hear evidence, upon evidence brought of what he knew tohave been fact, and to find connected with this, revolting falsehoods, against which he could only utter the indignation of his soul. When heafterwards reflected how artfully the facts and falsehoods wereconnected, he could no longer wonder at Enderby's convictions, nor atthe conduct which proceeded from them. There was in Enderby thismorning no undue anger, no contempt which could excite anger inanother;--no doubt cast by him upon Hope's honour, or Margaret's purityof mind, as the world esteems purity. However this might have beenbefore their meeting of yesterday, it was now clear that, thoughimmoveably convinced of their mutual attachment, he supposed it to havebeen entertained as innocently as it was formed;--that Hope had beenwrought upon by Mrs Grey, and by a consciousness of Hester's love; thathe had married from a false sense of honour, and then discovered hismistake;--that he had striven naturally, and with success, to persuadehimself that Margaret loved his friend, while Margaret had made the sameeffort, and would have married that friend for security and with thehope of rest in a home of her own, with one whom she might possibly loveand to whom she was bound by his love of herself. 

As for the evidence on which his belief was founded, there seemed to beno end to it. Hope could do little but listen to the detail. If he hadbeen sitting in judgment on the conduct of an imputed criminal, he wouldhave wrestled with the evidence obstinately and long; but what could hedo, when it was the lover of his sister-in-law who was declaring why hisconfidence in her was gone, and he must resume his plighted faith? Nonebut those who had done the mischief could repair it; and least of all, Hope himself. He could only make one single, solemn protestation of hisbelief that Margaret had loved none but Enderby, and deny the truth ofevery statement that was inconsistent with this. 

The exhibition of the evidence showed how penetrating, how sagacious, aswell as how industrious, malice can be. There seemed to be nocircumstance connected with the sisters and their relation to Mr Hope, that Mrs Rowland had not laid hold of. Mrs Grey's visit to Hopeduring his convalescence; his subsequent seclusion, and his depressionwhen he reappeared--all these were noted; and it was these which sentEnderby to Mrs Grey for an explanation, which she had not had courageor judgment to withhold--which, indeed, she had been hurried intogiving. She had admitted all that had passed between herself and MrHope--his consternation at finding that it was Hester who loved him, andwhom he must marry, and the force with which Mrs Grey had felt herselfobliged to urge that duty upon him. Enderby connected with this his ownobservations and feelings at the time; his last summer's conviction thatit was Margaret whom Hope loved; his rapturous surprise on hearing ofthe engagement being to Hester; and his wonder at the coldness withwhich his friend received his congratulations. He now thought that hemust have been doomed to blindness not to have discerned the truththrough all this. --Then there was his own intrusion during the interviewwhich Hope had with Margaret;--their countenances had haunted him eversince. Hope's was full of constraint and anxiety;--he was telling hisintentions:--Margaret's face was downcast, and her attitude motionless;she was hearing her doom. --Then, after Hope was married, all Deerbrookwas aware of his failure of spirits; and of Margaret's no less. It wasa matter of common remark, that there must be something amiss--that allwas not right at home. They had, then, doubtless discovered that theattachment was mutual; and they might well be wretched. --Those who oughtto know best had been convinced of this at an earlier stage of theintercourse. Mrs Rowland had met at Cheltenham a young officer, anintimate friend of Mr Hope's family, who would not be persuaded that itwas not to the younger sister that Mr Hope was married. He declaredthat he knew, from the highest authority, that Hope was attached toMargaret, and that the attachment was returned. It was not till MrsRowland had shown him the announcement of the marriage in an oldBlickley newspaper, which she happened to have used in packing hertrunk, that he would believe that it was the elder sister who was Hope'swife. --There was one person, however, who had known the whole, Enderbysaid; perhaps she was the only person who had been aware of it all: andthat was his mother. 

In answer to Hope's exclamations upon the absurdity of this, Enderbysaid, that a thousand circumstances rose up to confirm Mrs Rowland'sstatement that her mother had known all, and had learned it fromMargaret herself. Margaret had confided in her old friend as in amother; and nothing could be more natural--nothing probably morenecessary to an overburdened heart. This explained his mother's neverhaving shown his letters to Margaret--the person for whom, as she knew, they were chiefly written. This explained the words of concern aboutthe domestic troubles of the Hopes, which, now and then during her longconfinement, she had dropped in Phoebe's hearing, and even in herletters to her son. She had repeatedly regretted that Margaret wouldnot leave her sister's house, and return to Birmingham--saying thatincome and convenience were not to be thought of for a moment, incomparison with some other considerations. In fact she had--it wasweakness, perhaps, but one not to be too hardly judged under thecircumstances--she had revealed the whole to her daughter underinjunctions to secrecy, which had been strictly observed while shelived, and broken now only for a brother's sake, and after a longconflict between obligations apparently contradictory. When, from herdeathbed, she had welcomed Margaret as a daughter-in-law, it was in thegratitude which it was natural for a mother to feel, on finding theattachment of an only son at length appreciated and rewarded. When shehad implored Mrs Rowland to receive Margaret as a sister, and had seenthem embrace, her generous spirit had rejoiced in her young friend'sconquest of an unhappy passion; and she had meant to convey to Priscillaan admonition to bury in oblivion what had become known to her, and toforgive Margaret for having loved any one but Philip. Priscilla couldnot make a difficulty at such a time, and in such a presence; she hadsubmitted to the embrace, but her soul had recoiled from it; she hadactually fainted under the shock: and ever since, she had declared toher brother, with a pertinacity which he had been unable to understand--which, indeed, had looked like sheer audacity, that he would never marryMargaret Ibbotson. Philip was now convinced that he had done his sistermuch wrong. Her temper and conduct were in some instances indefensible;but since he had learned all this, and become aware how much of what hehad censured had been said and done out of affection for himself, he hadbeen disposed rather to blame her for the lateness of her explanations, than for any excess of zeal on his account, --zeal which he admitted hadcarried her a point or two beyond the truth in some of her aims. Thesestatements about the condition of Margaret's mind were borne out bycircumstances known to others. When Margaret had been rescued fromdrowning, Hope was heard to breathe, as he bent over her, "Oh God! myMargaret!" and it was observed that she rallied instantly on hearing theexclamation, and repaid him with a look worthy of his words. This hadbeen admitted to Enderby himself by the one who heard it, and who mightbe trusted to speak of it to no one else. Then, it was known that whenMargaret was in the habit of taking long walks alone, towards the end ofthe winter, she was met occasionally by her brother-in-law in hisrides--naturally enough. Their conversation had been overheard, once atleast, when they consulted about the peace of their home--how much of acertain set of circumstances they should communicate to Mrs Hope, andwhether or not Mr Enderby was engaged to a lady abroad. Without thesetestimonies, Enderby felt that he had only to recur to his ownexperience to be convinced that Margaret had never loved him, thoughstriving to persuade herself, as well as him, that she did. Thecalmness with which she had received his avowals that first evening lastwinter, struck him with admiration at the time: he now understood itbetter. He wondered he had felt so little till now the coldness of thetone of her correspondence. The first thing which awakened him to anadmission of it, was her refusal to marry him in the spring. Sheshrank, as she avowed, from leaving her present residence--she mighthave said, from quitting those she loved best. 

It was clear that in marrying she was to make a sacrifice to duty--tosecure innocence and safety for herself and those who were dearest toher; and that, when the time drew near, she recoiled from the effort. Enderby was thankful that all had become clear in time for her releaseand his own. 

The horror with which Hope listened to this was beyond what he hadprepared himself for--beyond all that he had yet endured. Enderbyseemed quite willing to hear him; but what could be said? Only thatwhich he had planned. His protest against the truth of certain of thestatements, and the justice of some of the constructions of facts, wasstrong. He declared that, in his perfect satisfaction with his domesticstate, his happiness with his beloved and honoured wife, he would admitof no question about his family affairs, as far as he and Hester wereconcerned. He denied at once and for ever, all that went to show thatMargaret had for a moment regarded him otherwise than as a friend and abrother; and declared that the bare mention to her of the idea which wasuppermost in Enderby's mind would be a cruelty and insult which couldnever be retrieved. He was not going to plead for her. Bitterly as shemust suffer, it was from a cause which lay too deep for cure--from awant of faith in her in one who ought to know her best, but from whomshe would be henceforth best separated, if what he had been saying washis deliberate belief and judgment. --Enderby declaring that it was so, and that it was his intention to release Margaret from her engagement, gently and carefully, without useless explanation and without reproach, there was nothing more to be said or done. Hope prophesied, in parting, that, of all the days of Enderby's life, this was perhaps that of whichhe would one day most heartily repent; and while he spoke, he felt thatthis same day was the one which he might himself find the most difficultto endure. He left Enderby still pacing the meadow, and walkedhomewards with a heart weighed down with grief--a grief which yet hewould fain have increased to any degree of intensity by takingMargaret's upon himself. 

Margaret was at the breakfast-table with her sister when he entered. Her eyes were swollen, but her manner was gentle and composed. Shelooked up at Edward, when he appeared, with an expression of timidexpectation in her face, which went to his soul. A few words passed--avery few, and then no more was said. 

"Yes; I have seen him. He is very wretched. He will not come, but weshall hear something, I have no doubt. A strange persuasion which Icannot remove, of a prior attachment--of a want of frankness andconfidence. He will explain himself presently. But his persuasion isirremoveable. "

Hester had much to say of him out of her throbbing heart; but she lookedat Margaret, and restrained herself. What must there be in _that_heart? To utter one word would be irreverent. The breakfast passed inan almost unbroken silence. 

It had not been long over when the expected letter came. Hope never sawit; but there was no need: he perfectly anticipated its contents, whileto her for whom they were written they were incomprehensible. 

 "I spare you and myself the misery of an interview. It must be agonising to you, and there would be dishonour as well as pain to me, in witnessing that agony. If, as I fully believe, you have been hitherto blind to the injustice of your connecting yourself with me, from a sense of duty and expediency, when you had not a first genuine love to give, I think you will see it now; and I pity your suffering in the discovery. There is only one point on which I wish or intend to hang any reproach. Why did you not, when I had become entitled to your confidence, lay your heart fully open to me? Did I not do so by you? Did I not reveal to you even the transient fancy which I entertained long ago, and which I showed my faith in you, her friend, by revealing? If you had only done the same--if you had only let me know, without a hint as to the object, that you had been attached, and that you believed I might succeed to your affections in time--if you had done this, I do not say that we should then have been what I so lately trusted we were to be, for my soul is jealous--has been made so by what I thought you--and will bear none but a first, and an entire, and an exclusive love: but in that case I should have cherished you in my inmost heart, as all that I have believed you to be, though not destined for me. 

 "But I do not blame you. You have done what you meant to be right; though, from too great regard to one set of considerations, you have mistaken the right, and have sacrificed me. I make allowance for your difficulty, and, for my own part, pardon you, and testify most sincerely and earnestly to the purity of your mind and intentions. Do not reject this parting testimony. I offer it because I would not have you think me harsh, or suppose that passion has made me unjust. I love you too deeply to do more than mourn. I have no heart to blame, except for your want of confidence. Of that I have a right to complain: but, for the rest, spare yourself the effort of self-justification. It is not needed. I do not accuse you. You were right in saying yesterday that I love you still. I shall ever love you, be our separate lives what they may. God bless you!

 "PE. "

"Will you not wait, my dearest Margaret?" said Hester, when, within halfan hour of the arrival of Enderby's letter, she met her sister on thestairs, with the reply in her hand, sealed, and ready to be sent. "Whysuch haste? The events of your life may hang on this day, on this oneletter. Can it be right to be so rapid in what you think and do?"

"The event of my life is decided, " she replied, "unless--No--the eventof my life _is_ decided. I have nothing more to wait for. I havewritten what I think, and it must go. "

It was as follows:--

 "I have nothing to say in reply to your letter, for I cannot understand it. Yet I wonder less at your letter than at your having written it instead of coming to me, to say all that is in your mind. At some moments I still think that you will--I feel that you are on your way hither, and I fancy that this dreadful dream of your displeasure will pass away. It is the first time in my life that any one has been seriously and lastingly displeased with me; and, though I feel that I have not deserved it, I am very wretched that you, of all others, should blame me, and cease to trust me. There ought to be some comfort in the thought that your anger is without cause: but I cannot find such comfort; for I feel that though I could endure your loss by long absence or death, I cannot live in the spirit in which I should wish to live, without your esteem. 

 "It is useless, alas! to entreat of you to come and explain yourself, or in some other way to put me in possession of the cause of your anger. If you could resist the claims I had upon you for confidence before I knew what was going to befall me--if you could resist the demand I made yesterday, I fear there is little use in imploring you to do me justice. If I thought there was any chance, I would submit to entreat, though I would not have you, any more than myself, forget that I have a right to demand. But indeed I would yield everything that I dare forego, to have you awakened from this strange delusion which makes us both wretched. It is no time for pride now. I care not how fully you know what I feel. I only wish that you could see into my soul as into your own; for then you would not misjudge me as you do. I care not what any one may think of my throwing myself upon the love which I am certain you feel for me, if I can only persuade you to tell me what you mean, and to hear what I shall then have to say. What can I now say? I will not reproach you, for I know you must be even, if possible, more miserable than I: but yet, how can I help feeling that you have been unjust and harsh with me? Yes; though the tone of your letter seems to be gentle, and you clearly mean it to be so, I feel that you have been very harsh to me. Nothing that you can do shall ever make me so cruel to you. You may rest satisfied that, if we should not meet again, I will never be unjust to you. To every one about me it will appear that you are fickle and dishonourable--that you have acted towards me as it is in the nature of some men to act towards the women whose affections they possess; in the nature of some men, but not in yours. I know you to be incapable of anything worse than error and mistrust (and, till yesterday, I could not have believed you capable of this much wrong): and you may trust me to impute to you nothing worse than this. Suffering as I now am, as we both are, under this error and mistrust, may I not implore you, for your own sake (for mine it is too late), to nourish the weak part of yourself, to question your own unworthy doubts, and to study the best parts of the minds you meet, till you grow assured (as a religious man ought to be) that there can be no self-interest, and much less falsehood, mixed up with any real affection--with any such affection as has existed between us two?

 "I must not write more; for I do not know, I cannot conjecture, how you may receive what I have written, thinking of me as you now do. It seems strange to remember that at this time yesterday, in this very chair, I was writing to you. Oh how differently! Is it possible that it was only yesterday--such a world of misery as we have lived through since? But I can write no more. It may be that you will despise me in every line as you read: after what has happened, I cannot tell. Notwithstanding all I have said about trusting, I feel at this moment as if I could never depend on anything in this world again. If you should come within this hour and explain all, how could I be sure that the same thing might not happen again? But do not let this weigh a moment with you, if indeed you think of coming. If I do not see you to-day, I shall never see you. I will then bear in mind, as you desire, and as I cannot help, that you love me still; but how little comfort is there in such love, when trust is gone! God comfort us both!

 "Margaret Ibbotson. "

Mrs Rowland was crossing the hall at the moment that her maid Betsyopened the door to Mr Hope's errand-boy, and took in this letter. 

"Where are you carrying that letter?" said she, as Betsy passed her. 

"To the study, ma'am, against Mr Enderby comes in. It is for MrEnderby, ma'am. "

"Very well. "

The letter was placed on the study mantelpiece; the place of deposit forletters for absent members of the family. Mrs Rowland meantime resumedher seat in the drawing-room, where the nursemaid was amusing the baby. Mamma took the baby, and sent the maid away. She had a strong beliefthat her brother might be found somewhere in the shrubbery, though somefeeling had prevented her telling the servant so when the letter wastaken in. She went, with the baby in her arms, into the study, to seewhether Philip was visible in any part of the garden that could be seenthence. But she stopped short of the window. The handwriting on theaddress of the letter troubled her sight. More than half-persuaded, asshe was, of the truth of much that she had told her brother, strenuouslyas she had nourished the few facts she was in possession of, till shehad made them yield a double crop of inferences, she was yet consciousof large exaggerations of what she knew, and of huge additions to whatshe believed to be probabilities, and had delivered as facts. There wasin that handwriting a prophecy of detection: and, like other cowards, she began to tamper with her reason and conscience. 

"There is great mischief in letters at such times, " she thought. "Theyare so difficult to answer! and it is so possible to produce any effectthat may be wished by them! As my husband was reading the otherday--`It is so easy to be virtuous, to be perfect, upon paper!' Nothingthat the girl can say ought to alter the state of the case: it can onlyharass Philip's feelings, and perhaps cause all the work to be gone overagain. His letter was meant to be final, I am confident, from hisintending to go away this evening. There should have been no answer. This letter is a pure impertinence, and ought to be treated as such. Itis a sort of duty to use it as it deserves. Many parents (at least Iknow old Mr Boyle did) burn letters which they know to contain offersto daughters whom they do not wish to part with. Mr Boyle had noscruple; and I am sure this is a stronger case. Better end the wholeaffair at once; and then Philip will be free to form a betterconnection. He will thank me one day for having broken off this. "

She carried the letter into the drawing-room, slowly contemplating it asshe went. She thought, for one fleeting instant, of reading it. Shewas not withheld by honour, but by fear. She shrank from encounteringits contents. She glanced over the mantelpiece, and saw that thelucifer-matches were at hand. To make the letter burn quickly, it wasnecessary to unfold it. She put the child down upon the rug--afavourite play-place, for the sake of the gay pink and green shavingswhich, at this time of the year, curtained the grate. While babycrawled, and gazed quietly and contentedly there, Mrs Rowland broke theseal of Margaret's letter, turning her eyes from the writing, laid theblistered sheet in the hearth, and set fire to it. The child set up aloud crow of delight at the flame. At that moment, even this simple andfamiliar sound startled its mother out of all power of self-control. She snatched up the child with a vehemence which frightened it into ashrill cry. She feared the nursemaid would come before all the sparkswere out; and she tried to quiet the baby by dancing it before themirror over the mantelpiece. She met her own face there, white asashes; and the child saw nothing that could amuse it, while its eyeswere blinded with tears. She opened the window to let it hearken to thechurch clock; and the device was effectual. Baby composed its face toserious listening, before the long succession of strokes was finished, and allowed the tears to be wiped from its cheeks. 

One thing more remained to be done. Mrs Rowland heard a step in thehall, and looked out: it was Betsy's. 

"I thought it was you. Pray desire cook to send up a cup of broth forMiss Rowland's lunch; and be sure and let Miss Rowland know, the momentit is ready. Mr Enderby is in the shrubbery, I think. "

"Yes, ma'am; seeing he was there, I was coming to ask about the letter, ma'am, to carry it to him. "

"Oh, that letter--I sent it to him. He has got it. Tell cook directlyabout the broth. "

At lunch-time, one of the children was desired to summon Uncle Philip. Mrs Rowland took care to meet him at the garden door. She saw him casta wistful eye towards the study mantelpiece, as he passed the open door. His sister observed that she believed it was past post time for thishalf-week. He sighed deeply; and she felt that no sigh of his had everso gone to her heart before. 

"Why, mamma! do look!" cried George, as well as a mouthful of breadwould allow. "Look at the chimney! Where are all the shavings gone?There is the knot at the top that they were tied together with, but nota bit of shaving left. Have they blown up the chimney?"

"What will poor baby say?" exclaimed Matilda. "All the pretty pink andgreen gone!"

"There is some tinder blowing about, " observed George. "I do believethey have been burnt. "

"Shut the window, George, will you? There is no bearing this draught. There is no bearing Betsy's waste either. She has burned those shavingssomehow in cleaning the grate. Her carelessness is past endurance. "

"Make her buy some new shavings, mamma, for baby's sake. "

"Do be quiet, and get your lunch. Hand your uncle the dish ofcurrants. "

Philip languidly picked a few bunches. He had noticed nothing that hadpassed, as his sister was glad to observe. Besides being too muchaccustomed, to hear complaints of the servants to give any heed to them, he was now engrossed with his own wretched thoughts. Every five minutesthat passed without bringing a reply from Margaret, went to confirm hismost painful impressions. 

Margaret meantime was sitting alone in her chamber, enduring the longmorning as she best might. Now plying her needle as if life depended onher industry, and now throwing up her employment in disgust, shelistened for the one sound she needed to hear, till her soul was sick ofevery other. "I must live wholly within myself now, " she thought, "asfar as he is concerned. I can never speak of him, or allow Hester andMaria to speak of him to me; for they will blame him. Every one willblame him: Maria did yesterday. No one will do him justice. I cannotask Mrs Grey, as I intended, anything of what she may have seen andheard about all this. I have had my joy to myself: I have carried aboutmy solitary glory and bliss in his being mine; and now I must live aloneupon my grief for him; for no one person in the world will pity andjustify him but myself. He has done me no wrong that he could help. His staying away to-day is to save me pain, as he thinks. I wish I hadnot said in my letter that he has been harsh to me. Perhaps he wouldhave been here by this time if I had not said that. How afraid he was, that day in the spring when he urged me so to marry at once--(Oh! if Ihad, all this would have been saved! and yet I thought, and I stillthink, I was right. ) But how afraid he was of our parting, lest evilshould come between us! I promised him it should not, for my own part:but who could have thought that the mistrust would be on his side? Hehad a superstitious feeling, he said, that something would happen--thatwe should be parted: and I would not hear of it. How presumptuous Iwas! How did I dare to make so light of what has come so dreadfullytrue?--Oh! why are we so made that we cannot see into one another'shearts? If we are made to depend on one another so absolutely as weare, so that we hold one another's peace to cherish or to crush, why isit such a blind dependence? Why are we left so helpless? Why, with somany powers as are given us, have we not that one other, worth all therest, of mutual insight? If God would bestow this power for this oneday, I would give up all else for it for ever after. Philip would trustme again then, and I should understand him; and I could rest afterwards, happen what might--though then nothing would happen but what was good. But now, shut in, each into ourselves, with anger and sorrow all aboutus, from some mistake which a moment's insight might remove--it is thedreariest, the most tormenting state! What are all the locks, and bars, and fetters in the world to it? So near each other too! When one look, one tone, might perhaps lead to the clearing up of it all! There is nooccasion to bear this, however. So near as we are, nothing shouldprevent our meeting--nothing shall prevent it. "

She started up, and hastily put on her bonnet and gloves: but when herhand was on the lock of her door, her heart misgave her. "If it shouldfail!" she thought. "If he should neither look at me nor speak to me--if he should leave me as he did yesterday! I should never get over theshame. I dare not store up such a wretched remembrance, to make memiserable as often as I think of it, for as long as I live. If he willnot come after reading my letter, neither would he hear me if I went tohim. Oh! he is very unjust! After all his feats of my being influencedagainst him, he might have distrusted himself. After making me promiseto write, on the first doubt that any one might try to put into my mind, he might have remembered to do the same by me, instead of coming down inthis way, not to explain, but to overwhelm me with his displeasure, without giving me a moment's time to justify myself. Edward seemsstrangely unkind too, " she sighed, as she slowly untied her bonnet andput it away, as if to avoid tempting herself with the sight of it again. "I never knew Edward unjust or unkind before; but I heard him askPhilip why he staid to hear me in the abbey yesterday; and though he hasbeen with Philip this morning, he does not seem to have made theslightest attempt to bring us together. When such as Edward and Philipdo so wrong, one does not know where to trust, or what to hope. Thereis nothing to trust, but God and the right. I will live for these, andno one shall henceforth hear me complain, or see me droop, or knowanything of what lies deepest in my heart. This must be possible; ithas been done. Many nuns in their convents have carried it through: andmissionaries in heathen countries, and all the wisest who have beenbefore their age; and some say--Maria would say--almost every person whohas loved as I have: but I do not believe this: I do not believe thatmany--that any can have felt as I do now. It is not natural and rightthat any should live as I mean to do. We are made for confidence, notfor such solitude and concealment. But it may be done whencircumstances press as they do upon me; and, if God gives me strength, Iwill do it. I will live for Him and his; and my heart, let it suffer asit may, shall never complain to human ear. It shall be as silent as thegrave. "

The resolution held for some hours. Margaret was quiet and composedthrough dinner, though her expectation, instead of dying out, grew moreintense with every hour. After dinner, Hope urged his wife to walk withhim. It had been a fine day, and she had not been out. There was stillanother hour before dark. Would not Margaret go too? No; Margaretcould not leave home. 

When Hester came down, equipped for her walk, she sat beside her sisteron the sofa for a minute or two, while waiting for Edward. 

"Margaret, " said she, "will you let me say one word to you?"

"Anything, Hester, if you will not be hard upon any one whom you cannotfully understand. "

"I would not for the world be hard, love. But there was once a time, above a year ago, when you warned me, kindly warned me, though I did notreceive it kindly, against pride as a support. You said it could notsupport me; and you said truly. May I say the same to you now?"

"Thank you. It is kind of you. I will consider; but I do not thinkthat I have any pride in me to-day. I feel humbled enough. "

"It is not for you to feel humbled, love. Reverence yourself; for youmay. Nothing has happened to impair your self-respect. Admit freely toyour own mind, and to us, that you have been cruelly injured, and thatyou suffer as you must and ought. Admit this freely, and then rely onyourself and us. "

Margaret shook her head. She did not say it, but she felt that shecould not rely on Edward, while he seemed to stand between her andPhilip. He came in at the moment, and she averted her eyes from him. He felt her displeasure in his heart's core. 

When they returned, sooner than she had expected, from their walk, theyhad bad news for her, which they had agreed it was most merciful not todelay. They had seen Enderby in Mr Rowland's gig on the Blickley road. He had his carpet-bag with him; and Mr Rowland's man was undoubtedlydriving him to Blickley, to meet the night coach for London. 

"It is better to save you all further useless expectation, " observedEdward. "We keep nothing from you. "

"You keep nothing from me!" said Margaret, now fixing her eyes upon him. "Then what is your reason for not having brought us together, if indeedyou have not kept us apart? Do you suppose I did not hear you send himfrom me yesterday? And how do I know that you have not kept him awayto-day?"

"My dear Margaret!" exclaimed Hester: but a look from her husband, andthe recollection of Margaret's misery, silenced her. For the first timeHester forgave on the instant the act of blaming her husband. 

"Whatever I have done, whether it appears clear to you or not, " repliedHope, "it is from the most tender respect for your feelings. I shallalways respect them most tenderly; and not the less for their being hurtwith me. "

"I have no doubt of your meaning all that is kind, Edward: but surelywhen two people misunderstand each other, it is best that they shouldmeet. If you have acted from a regard to what you consider my dignity, I could wish that you had left the charge of it to myself. "

"You are right: quite right. "

"Then why--. Oh! Edward, if you repent what you have done, it may notyet be too late!"

"I do not repent. I have done you no wrong to-day, Margaret. I grievefor you, but I could not have helped you. "

"Let us never speak on this subject again, " said Margaret, stung by theconsciousness of having so soon broken the resolution of the morning, that her suffering heart should be as silent as the grave. "It is notfrom pride, Hester, that I say so; but let us never again speak of allthis. "

"Let us know but one thing, Margaret, " said Edward;--"that yours is thegenerous silence of forgiveness. I do not mean with regard to him--forI fear you will forgive him sooner than we can do. I do not mean himparticularly, nor those who have poisoned his ear; but all. Only tellus that your silence is the oblivion of mercy, so mourning for theerring that, for its own sake, it remembers their transgressions nomore. "

Margaret looked up at them both. Though her eyes swam in tears, therewas a smile upon her lips as she held out her hand to her brother, andyielded herself to Hester's kiss. 

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. 

THE CONQUEROR. 

Mrs Rowland did not find herself much the happier for being borne outby the whole world in her assertions, that Philip and Margaret were notengaged. She knew that, with regard to this, she now stood justified inthe eyes of all Deerbrook, that almost everyone there now believed thatit had been an entanglement from which she had released her brother. From selfish fear, from dread of the consequences of going so far as tobe again sent by her husband to Cheltenham, or by the Levitts toCoventry; from foresight of the results which would ensue from herprovoking an inquiry into the domestic concerns of the Hopes--an inquirywhich might end in the reconciliation of Philip and Margaret, and insome unpleasant discoveries about herself--she was very guardedrespecting the grand accusation by which she had wrought on her brother. No hint of it got abroad in Deerbrook: nothing was added to the ancientgossip about the Hopes not being very happy together. Mrs Rowland knewthat affairs stood in this satisfactory state. She knew that Margaretwas exposed to as much observation and inquiry as a country villageaffords, respecting her disappointed attachment--that the Greys werevery angry, and praised Margaret to every person they met--that MrWalcot eulogised Mrs Rowland's discernment to all Mrs Rowland'sparty--that Mrs Howell and Miss Miskin lifted up their eyes inthankfulness at Mr Enderby's escape from such a connection--that MrHope was reported to be rather flat in spirits--and that Margaret wascertainly looking thin: she knew of all this success, and yet she wasnot happier than six months ago. The drawback on such successes is, that they are never complete. There is always some Mordecai sitting atthe gate to mar the enjoyment. Mrs Rowland was aware of Mrs Jameshaving dropped that she and her husband had nothing to do with anybody'sfamily quarrels; that there was always a great deal to be said on bothsides in such cases; and that they had never seen anything but what wasamiable and pleasant in Miss Ibbotson and her connections. She knewthat Dr Levitt called on the Hopes full as often as at any house inDeerbrook; and that Mrs Levitt had offered to take some of Margaret'splants into her greenhouse, to be nursed through the winter. She wasalways hearing that Miss Young and Margaret were much together, and thatthey were happy in each other's society; and she alternately fanciedthem talking about her, exposing to each other the injuries she hadwrought to both, and enjoying an oblivion of their cares in her despite. She could never see Maria taking an airing in the Greys' shrubbery, leaning on Margaret's arm, or Margaret turning in at the farrier's gate, without feeling her colour rise. She knew that Mr Jones was apt toaccommodate Miss Ibbotson with a choice of meat, in preference to hisother customers; and that Mrs Jones had spoken indignantly to aneighbour about fine gentlemen from London that think little of breakingone young heart after another, to please their own vanity, and nevercome back to look upon the eyes that they have made dim, and the cheeksthat grow pale for them. 

All these things Mrs Rowland knew; and they ate into her heart. Inthese days of her triumph she moved about in fear; and no hour passedwithout troubling her victory. She felt that she could not rest tillthe corner-house family was got rid of. They did not seem disposed tomove of their own accord. She incessantly expressed her scorn of thewant of spirit of a professional man who would live on in a place wherehe had lost his practice, and where a rival was daily rising upon hisruins: but the Hopes staid on still. Week after week they were to bemet in the lanes and meadows--now gleaning in the wake of theharvest-wain, with Fanny and Mary, for the benefit of widow Rye; nowblackberry gathering in the fields; now nutting in the hedgerows. Thequarterly term came round, and no notice that he might look out foranother tenant reached Mr Rowland. If they would not go of their ownaccord, they must be dislodged; for she felt, though she did not fullyadmit the truth to herself; that she could not much longer endure theirpresence. She looked out for an opportunity of opening the subjectadvantageously with Mr Rowland. 

The wine and walnuts were on the table, and the gentleman and lady wereamusing themselves with letting Anna and Ned try to crack walnuts (thethree elder children being by this time at school at Blickley), whenMrs Rowland began her attack. 

"My dear, " said she, "is the corner-house in perfectly good repair atpresent?"

"I believe so. It was thoroughly set to rights when Mr Hope went intoit, and again after the riot; and I have heard no complaint since. "

"Ah! after the riot; that is what I wanted to know. The surgery is wellfitted up, is it?"

"No doubt. The magistrates took care that everything should be donehandsomely. Mr Hope was fully satisfied. "

"He was: then there seems no doubt that Mr Walcot had better remove tothe corner-house when the Hopes go away. It is made to be a surgeon'sresidence: and I own I do not like to see those blinds of Mr Walcot's, with that staring word `Surgery, ' upon them, in the windows of my poormother's breakfast-room. "

"Nor I: but the Hopes are not going to remove. "

"I believe they will be leaving Deerbrook before long. "

"I believe not. "

"My dear Mr Rowland, I have reason for what I say. "

"So have I. Take care of that little thumb of yours, my darling, or youwill be cracking it instead of the walnut. "

"What is your reason for thinking that the Hopes will not leaveDeerbrook, Mr Rowland?"

"Mr Hope told me so himself. "

"Ah! that is nothing. You will be about the last person he will informof his plans. Mr Walcot's nearest friends will be the last to know, ofcourse. "

"Pray, do not make me out one of Mr Walcot's nearest friends, my dear. I have a very slight acquaintance with the young gentleman, and do notintend to have more. "

"You say so now to annoy me, my love: but you may change your mind. Ifyou should see Mr Walcot your son-in-law at some future day, you willnot go on to call him a slight acquaintance, I suppose?"

"My son-in-law! Have you been asking him to marry Matilda?"

"I wait, Mr Rowland, till he asks it himself; which I foresee he willdo as soon as our dear girl is old enough to warrant his introducing thesubject. Her accomplishments are not lost upon him. He has theprophetic eye which sees what a wonderful creature she must become. Andif we are permitted to witness such an attachment as theirs will be, andour dear girl settled beside us here, we shall have nothing left towish. "

"To speak of something more nearly at hand, I beg, my dear, that youwill hold out no expectation of the corner-house to Mr Walcot, as it isnot likely to be vacated. "

"Has the rent been regularly paid, so far?"

"To be sure it has. "

"By Mr Grey's help, I have no doubt. My dear, I know what I am saying. The Hopes are as poor as the rats in your granary; and it is not to besupposed that Mr Grey will long go on paying their rent for them, justfor the frolic of sustaining Mr Hope against Mr Walcot. It is payingtoo dear for the fancy. The Hopes are wretchedly pinched for money. They have dropped their subscription to the book club. "

"I am very sorry to hear it. I would give half I am worth that it wereotherwise. "

"Give it them at once, then, and it will be otherwise. "

"I would, gladly; but they will not take it. "

"I advise you to try, however; it would make such a pretty romanticstory!--Well, Mr Grey is extremely mortified at their withdrawing fromthe book club. He remonstrated very strongly indeed. "

"That does not agree very well with his paying their rent for them. "

"Perfectly well. He thinks that if he undertakes the large thing, forthe sake of their credit, they might have managed the small. This ishis way of viewing the matter, no doubt. He sees how their credit willsuffer by their giving up the book club. He sees how everybody willremark upon it. "

"So do they, I have no doubt. "

"And the matter will not be mended by Sophia Grey's nonsense. Whatabsurd things that girl does! I wonder her mother allows it, --onlythat, to be sure, she is not much wiser herself. Sophia has told someof her acquaintance, and all Deerbrook will hear it before long, thather cousins have withdrawn from the book club on account of Hester'ssituation; that they are to be so busy with the baby that is coming, that they will have no time to read. "

"As long as the Hopes are above false pretences, they need not care forsuch as are made for them. There! show mamma what a nice plump walnutyou have cracked for her. "

"Nicely done, my pet. But, Mr Rowland, the Hopes cannot hold out. They cannot possibly stay here. You will not get their rent atChristmas, depend upon it. "

"I shall not press them for it, I assure you. "

"Then you will be unjust to your family. You owe it to your children, to say nothing of myself, to look after your property. "

"I owe it to them not to show myself a harsh landlord to excellenttenants. But we need not trouble ourselves about what will happen atChristmas. It may be that the rent will make its appearance on themorning of quarter-day. "

"Then, if not, you will give them notice that the house is let from thenext quarter, will you not?"

"By no means, my dear. "

"If you do not like to undertake the office yourself, perhaps you willlet me do it. I have a good deal of courage about doing disagreeablethings, on occasion. "

"You have, my dear; but I do not wish that this should be done. I mean, I desire that it be not done. The Hopes shall live in that house ofmine as long as they please. And if, " continued Mr Rowland, not likingthe expression of his lady's eye, --"if any one disturbs them in theirpresent abode--the consequence will be that I shall be compelled toinvite them here. I shall establish them in this very house, soonerthan that they shall be obliged to leave Deerbrook against their will;and then, my dear, you will have to be off to Cheltenham again. "

"What nonsense you talk, Mr Rowland! Who should disturb them, if youwon't be open to reason, so as to do it yourself? I thought you knewenough of what it is to be ridden by poor tenants, to wish to avoid theplague, if warned in time. But some people can never take warning. "

"Let us see that you can, my love. You will remember what I have saidabout the Hopes being disturbed, I have no doubt. And now we have donewith that, I want to tell you--"

"Presently, when we have really done with this subject, my dear. I haveother reasons--"

"Which you will spare me the hearing. My dear Priscilla, there are noreasons on earth which can justify me in turning this family out oftheir house, or you in asking me to do it. Let us hear no more aboutit. "

"But you must hear. I will be heard on a subject in which I have suchan interest, Mr Rowland. "

"Ring the bell, my little fellow. Pull hard. That's it--Candles in theoffice immediately. "

And Mr Rowland tossed off the last half of his glass of port, kissedthe little ones, and was gone. The lady remained to compassionateherself; which she did very deeply, that she could find no means ofridding herself of the great plague of her life. These people werealways in her way, and no one would help her to dislodge them. Her ownhusband was against her--quite unmanageable and perverse. 

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. 

THE VICTIMS. 

If Mrs Rowland was dissatisfied with her success, while seeing thatsome resources of comfort remained to the Hopes and Margaret, a view ofthe interior of the corner-house would probably have affected herdeeply, and set her moralising on the incompleteness of all humantriumphs. There was peace there which even she could not invade--couldonly, if she had known it, envy. Her power was now exhausted, and herwork was unfinished. For many weeks, she had made Margaret as miserableas she had intended to make her. Margaret had suffered from anexasperating sense of injury; but that was only for a few hours. Herswas not a nature which could retain personal resentment for any lengthof time. She needed the relief of compassionate and forgiving feelings;and she cast herself into them for solace, as the traveller, emergingfrom the glaring desert, throws himself down beside the gushing springin the shade. From the moment that she did this, it became her chieftrouble that Philip was blamed by others. Her friends said as little asthey could in reference to him, out of regard for her feelings; but shecould not help seeing that Maria's indignation was strong, and thatHester considered that her sister had had a happy escape from a mancapable of treating her as Philip had done. If it had been possible toundertake his defence, Margaret would have done so. As there were nomeans of working upon others to forgive her wrongs, she made it herconsolation to forgive them doubly herself; to cheer up under them; tolive for the aim of being more worthy of Philip's love, the less hebelieved her to be so. Her lot was far easier now than it had been inthe winter. She had been his; and she believed that she still occupiedhis whole soul. She was not now the solitary, self-despising being shehad felt herself before. Though cut off from intercourse with him as ifthe grave lay between them, she knew that sympathy with her heart andmind existed. She experienced the struggles, the moaning efforts, ofaffections doomed to solitude and silence; the shrinking from a wholelong life of self-reliance, of exclusion from domestic life; theoccasional horror of contemplating the waste and withering of some ofthe noblest parts of the immortal nature, --a waste and withering whichare the almost certain consequence of violence done to its instincts andits laws. From these pains and terrors she suffered; and from some ofsmaller account, --from the petty insults, or speculations of the morecoarse-minded of her neighbours, and the being too suddenly reminded bypassing circumstances of the change which had come over her expectationsand prospects; but her love, her forgiveness, her conviction of beingbeloved, bore her through all these, and saved her from that fever ofthe heart, in the paroxysms of which she had, in her former and severertrial, longed for death, even for non-existence. 

She could enjoy but little of what had been her favourite solace at thattime. She had but few opportunities now for long solitary walks. Shesaw the autumn fading away, melting in rain and cold fog, without itshaving been made use of. It had been as unfavourable a season as thesummer, --dreary, unproductive, disappointing in every way; but there hadbeen days in the latter autumn when the sun had shown his dim face, whenthe dank hedges had looked fresh, and the fallen leaves in thewood-paths had rustled under the tread of the squirrel; and Margaretwould on such days have liked to spend the whole morning in rambles byherself. But there were reasons why she should not. Almost before thechilliness of the coming season began to be felt, hardship wascomplained of throughout the country. The prices of provisions wereinordinately high; and the evil consequences which, in the ruraldistricts, follow upon a scarcity, began to make themselves felt. Thepoachers were daring beyond belief; and deep was the enmity between thelarge proprietors and the labourers around them. The oldest men andwomen, and children scarcely able to walk, were found trespassing day byday in all plantations, with bags, aprons, or pinafores, full offir-cones, and wood snapped off from the trees, or plucked out of thehedges. There was no end to repairing the fences. There wereunpleasant rumours, too, of its being no longer safe to walk singly inthe more retired places. No such thing as highway robbery had everbefore been heard of at Deerbrook, within the memory of the oldestinhabitant; the oldest of the inhabitants being Jim Bird, the man of ahundred years. But there was reason now for the caution. Mr Jones'smeat-cart had been stopped on the high-road, by two men who came out ofthe hedge, and helped themselves to what the cart contained. Anill-looking fellow had crossed the path of Mrs James and her youngsister in the Verdon woods, evidently with the intention of stopping theladies; but luckily the jingling of a timber-wain was heard below, andthe man had retreated. Mr Grey had desired that the ladies of hisfamily would not go further without his escort than a mile out and backagain on the high-road. They were not to attempt the lanes. The MissAndersons no longer came into Deerbrook in their pony-chaise; and MrsHowell reported to all her customers that Lady Hunter never walked inher own grounds without a footman behind her, two dogs before her, andthe game-keeper within hearing of a scream. Mr Walcot was advised toleave his watch and purse at home when he set forth to visit his countrypatients; and it did not comfort him much to perceive that hisneighbours were always vigilant to note the hour and minute of hissetting forth, and to learn the precise time when he might be looked forat home again. It was observed, that he was generally back half-an-hoursooner than he was expected, with a very red face, and his horse all ina foam. 

In addition to these grounds of objection to solitary walks, Margarethad strong domestic reasons for denying herself the rambles shedelighted in. As the months rolled on, poverty pressed closer andcloser. When the rent was secured, and some of the comforts providedwhich Hester must have in her confinement, so little was left that itbecame necessary to limit the weekly expenses of the family to a sumsmall enough to require the nicest management, and the most strenuousdomestic industry, to make it suffice. Hope would not pledge his creditwhile he saw so little prospect of redeeming it. His family were of onemind as to purchasing nothing which they were not certainly able to payfor. This being his principle, he made every effort to increase hisfunds. A guinea or two dropped in now and then, in return forcontributions to medical periodicals. Money was due to him from some ofhis patients. To these he sent in his bills again, and even madepersonal application. From several he obtained promises; from two orthree the amount of whose debt was very small, he got his money, disgraced by smiles of wonder and contempt. From the greater number hereceived nothing but excuses on account of the pressure of the times. The small sums he did recover were of a value which none of the threehad ever imagined that money could be to them. Every little extracomfort thus obtained, --the dinner of meat once oftener in the week, thefire in the evening, the new gloves for Hope, when the old ones could nolonger, by any mending, be made to look fit for him, --what a luxury itwas! And all the more for being secretly enjoyed. No one out of thehouse had a suspicion how far their poverty had gone. Mr Grey hadreally been vexed at them for withdrawing from the book club; hadattributed this instance of economy to the "enthusiasm" which was, inhis eyes, the fault of the family; and never dreamed of their not diningon meat, vegetables, and pudding, with their glass of wine, every day. The Greys little knew what a blessing they were conferring on theircousins, when they insisted on having them for a long day once morebefore Hester's confinement, and set them down to steaming soup, and aplentiful joint, and accompaniments without stint. The guests laughed, when they were at home again, over the new sort of pleasure they hadfelt, the delight at the sight of a good dinner, to which nothing waswanting but that Morris should have had her share. Morris, for herpart, had been very happy at home. She had put aside for her mistress'sluncheon next day, the broth which she had been told was for her, andhad feasted on potatoes and water, and the idea of the good dinner heryoung ladies were to enjoy. While their affairs were in this state, itwas a great luxury in the family to have any unusual comfort whichbetokened that Hope had been successful in some of his errands, --hadreceived a fee, or recovered the amount of a bill. One day, Morrisbrought in a goose and giblets, which had been bought and paid for byMr Hope, the messenger said. Another morning, came a sack of apples, from the orchard of a country patient who was willing to pay in kind. At another time Edward emptied his pockets of knitted worsted stockingsand mittens, the handiwork of a farmer's dame, who was flattered by histaking the produce of her evening industry instead of money, which shecould not well spare at the present season. There was more mirth, morereal gladness in the house, on the arrival of windfalls like these, thanif Hope had daily exhibited a purse full of gold. There was no sting intheir poverty; no adventitious misery belonging to it. They sufferedits genuine force, and that was all. 

What is Poverty? Not destitution, but poverty? It has many shapes, --aspects almost as various as the minds and circumstances of those whomit visits. It is famine to the savage in the wilds; it is hardship tothe labourer in the cottage; it is disgrace to the proud; and to themiser despair. It is a spectre which "with dread of change perplexes"him who lives at ease. Such are its aspects: but what is it? It is adeficiency of the comforts of life, --a deficiency present and to come. It involves many other things; but this is what it is. Is it then worthall the apprehension and grief it occasions? Is it an adequate causefor the gloom of the merchant, the discontent of the artisan, theforeboding sighs of the mother, the ghastly dreams which haunt theavaricious, the conscious debasement of the subservient, the humiliationof the proud? These are severe sufferings; are they authorised by thenature of poverty? Certainly not, if poverty induced no adventitiousevils, involved nothing but a deficiency of the comforts of life, leaving life itself unimpaired. "The life is more than food, and thebody than raiment;" and the untimely extinction of the life itself wouldnot be worth the pangs which apprehended poverty excites. But povertyinvolves woes which, in their sum, are far greater than itself. To amultitude it is the loss of a pursuit which they have yet to learn willbe certainly supplied. For such, alleviation or compensation is instore, in the rising up of objects new, and the creation of fresh hopes. The impoverished merchant, who may no longer look out for his argosies, may yet be in glee when he finds it "a rare dropping morning for theearly colewort. " To another multitude, poverty involves loss of rank, --a letting down among strangers whose manners are ungenial, and theirthoughts unfamiliar. For these there may be solace in retirement, orthe evil may fall short of its threats. The reduced gentlewoman maylive in patient solitude, or may grow into sympathy with her neighbours, by raising some of them up to herself, and by warming her heart at thegreat central fire of Humanity, which burns on under the crust ofmanners as rough as the storms of the tropics, or as frigid as polarsnows. The avaricious are out of the pale of peace already, and at allevents. Poverty is most seriously an evil to sons and daughters, whosee their parents stripped of comfort, at an age when comfort is almostone with life itself: and to parents who watch the narrowing of thecapacities of their children by the pressure of poverty, --the impairingof their promise, the blotting out of their prospects. To such mourningchildren there is little comfort, but in contemplating the easier lifewhich lies behind, and (it may be hoped) the happier one which stretchesbefore their parents, on the other side the postern of life. If thereis sunshine on the two grand reaches of their path, the shadow whichlies in the midst is necessarily but a temporary gloom. To grievingparents it should be a consoling truth, that as the life is more thanfood, so is the soul more than instruction and opportunity, and suchaccomplishments as man can administer: that as the fowls are fed and thelilies clothed by Him whose hand made the air musical with the one, anddressed the fields with the other, so is the human spirit nourished andadorned by airs from heaven, which blow over the whole earth, and lightfrom the skies, which no hand is permitted to intercept. Parents knownot but that Providence may be substituting the noblest education forthe misteaching of intermediate guardians. It may possibly be so; butif not, still there is appointed to every human being much training, many privileges, which capricious fortune can neither give nor takeaway. The father may sigh to see his boy condemned to the toil of theloom, or the gossip and drudgery of the shop, when he would fain havebeheld him the ornament of a university; but he knows not whether a moresimple integrity, a loftier disinterestedness, may not come out of thehumbler discipline than the higher privilege. The mother's eyes mayswim as she hears her little daughter sing her baby brother to sleep onthe cottage threshold, --her eyes may swim at the thought how those wildand moving tones might have been exalted by art. Such art would havebeen in itself a good; but would this child then have been, as now, about her Father's business, which, in ministering to one of his littleones, she is as surely as the archangel who suspends new systems ofworlds in the furthest void? Her occupation is now earnest and holy;and what need the true mother wish for more?

What is poverty to those who are not thus set in families? What is itto the solitary, or to the husband and wife who have faith in eachother's strength? If they have the higher faith which usuallyoriginates mutual trust, mere poverty is scarcely worth a passing fear. If they have plucked out the stings of pride and selfishness, andpurified their vision by faith, what is there to dread? What is theircase? They have life, without certainty how it is to be nourished. They do without certainty, like "the young ravens which cry, " and workfor and enjoy the subsistence of the day, leaving the morrow to takecare of what concerns it. If living in the dreariest abodes of a town, the light from within shines in the dark place, and, dispelling themists of worldly care, guides to the blessing of tending the sick, andsharing the food of to-day with the orphan, and him who has no help butin them. If the philosopher goes into such retreats with his lantern, there may he best find the generous and the brave. If, instead of thealleys of a city, they live under the open sky, they are yet lighterunder their poverty. There, however blank the future may lie beforethem, they have to-day the living reality of lawns and woods, and flocksin "the green pasture and beside the still waters, " which silentlyremind them of the Shepherd, under whom they shall not want any realgood thing. The quiet of the shady lane is theirs, and the beauty ofthe blossoming thorn above the pool. Delight steals through them withthe scent of the violet, or the new mown hay. If they have hushed thevoices of complaint and fear within them, there is the music of themerry lark for them, or of the leaping waterfall, or of a wholeorchestra of harps, when the breeze sweeps through a grove of pines. While it is not for fortune to "rob them of free nature's grace, " andwhile she leaves them life and strength of limb and soul, the certaintyof a future, though they cannot see what, and the assurance ofprogression, though they cannot see how, --is poverty worth, forthemselves, more than a passing doubt? Can it ever be worth the tormentof fear, the bondage of subservience?--the compromise of free thought, --the sacrifice of free speech, --the bending of the erect head, theveiling of the open brow, the repression of the salient soul? If;instead of this, poverty should act as the liberator of the spirit, awakening it to trust in God and sympathy for man, and placing it aloft, fresh and free, like morning on the hill-top, to survey the expanse oflife, and recognise its realities from beneath its mists, it should begreeted with that holy joy before which all sorrow and sighing fleeaway. 

Their poverty, which had never afflicted them very grievously, wasalmost lost sight of by the corner-house family, when Hester's infantwas born. They were all happy and satisfied then, though there werepeople in Deerbrook who found fault with their arrangements, and wereextremely scandalised when it was found that no nurse had arrived fromBlickley, and that Morris took the charge of her mistress upon herself. The Greys pronounced by their own fireside that it was a strange fancy--carrying an affection for an old servant to a rather romantic extreme--that it was a fresh instance of the "enthusiasm" which adversity had notyet moderated in their cousins, as might have been wished. Out-of-doors, however, Sophia vaunted the attachment of Morris to heryoung mistress--an attachment so strong, as that she would have beenreally hurt if any one else had been allowed to sit up with Hester; andindeed no one could have filled her place half so much to thesatisfaction of the family--Morris had had so much experience, and wasas fond of her charge as a mother could be. No one knew what a treasureher cousins had in Morris. All of which was true in its separateparticulars, though altogether it did not constitute the reason whyHester had no nurse from Buckley. 

They were happy and satisfied. Yes, even Margaret. This infant openedup a spring of consolation in her heart, which she could not havebelieved existed there. On this child she could pour out some of herrepressed affections, and on him did she rest her baffled hopes. Hebeguiled her into the future, from which she had hitherto recoiled. That helpless, unconscious little creature, cradled on her arm, andknowing nothing of its resting-place, was more powerful than sister, brother, or friend--than self-interest, philosophy, or religion, inluring her imagination onward into future years of honour and peace. Holy and sweet was the calm of her mind, as, forgetting herself and hergriefs, she watched the first efforts of this infant to acquaint himselfwith his own powers, and with the world about him; when she smiled atthe ungainly stretching of the little limbs, and the unpractisedmovement of his eyes seeking the light. Holy and sweet were the tearswhich swelled into her eyes when she saw him at his mother's breast, andcould not but gaze at the fresh and divine beauty now mantling on thatmother's face, amidst the joy of this new relation. It was a deliciousmoment when Hope came in, the first day that Hester sat by the fireside, when he stopped short for a brief instant, as if arrested by the beautyof what he saw; and then glanced towards Margaret for sympathy. It wasa delicious moment to her--the moment of that full, free, unembarrassedglance, which she had scarcely met since the first days of theiracquaintance. 

It was a pleasure to them all to see Hester well provided with luxuries. Maria, knowing that her surgeon would not accept money from her, tookthis opportunity of sending in wine. Oh, the pleasure of finding theneglected corkscrew, and making Morris take a glass with them! TheGreys brought game, and Hester's little table was well served every day. With what zeal did Margaret apply herself, under Morris's teaching, tocook Hester's choice little dinners! Yes, to cook them. Margaret waslearning all Morris's arts from her; for, of two troubles which somewhatdisturbed this season of comfort, one was that it appeared too certainthat Morris must go, as Susan and Charles had gone before her. No onehad expressly declared this: it was left undiscussed, apparently bycommon consent, till it should be ascertained that baby was healthy andHester getting strong; but the thought was in the minds of them all, andtheir plans involved preparation for this. 

The other trouble was, that with peace and comfort, some slight, veryslight symptoms recurred of Hester's propensity to self-torment. Itcould not be otherwise. The wonder was, that for weeks and months shehad been relieved from her old enemy to the extent she had been. Thereverence with which her husband and sister regarded the temper, inwhich she had borne unbounded provocation, and most unmerited adversity, sometimes beguiled them into a hope that her troubles from within wereover for ever; but a little reflection, and some slight experience, taught them that this was unreasonable. They remembered that theinfirmity of a lifetime was not to be wholly cured in half-a-year; andthat they must expect some recurrence of her old malady at times whenthere was no immediate appeal to her magnanimity, and no present causefor anxiety for those in whom she forgot herself. 

The first time that Hester was in the drawing-room for the whole day, Morris was laying the cloth for dinner, and Margaret was walking up anddown the room with the baby on her arm, when Hope came in. Hesterforgot everybody and everything else when her husband appeared--a factwhich Morris's benevolence was never weary of noting and commenting uponto herself. She often wondered if ever lady loved her husband as heryoung mistress did; and she smiled to herself to see the welcome thatbeamed upon Hester's whole face when Hope came to take his seat besideher on the sofa. This was in her mind to-day, when her master presentlysaid:

"Where is my boy? I have not seen him for hours. Why do you put himout of his father's way? Oh, Margaret has him! Come, Margaret, yieldhim up. You can have him all the hours that I am away. You do notgrudge him to me, do you?"

"My master won't have to complain, as many gentlemen do, " said Morris, "or as many gentlemen feel, if they don't complain, that he is neglectedfor the sake of his baby. "

"If you enjoy your dinner to-day, love, " said Hester, "you must not giveme the credit of it. You and I are to sit down to our pheasanttogether, they tell me. Margaret and Morris will have it that they haveboth dined. "

"There is little in getting a comfortable dinner ready, " said Morris, "whether it is the lady herself, or another, that looks to a trifle likethat. It is the seeing his wife so full of care and thought about herbaby as to have none to spare for him, that frets many an one who doesnot like to say anything about it. Fathers cannot be so taken with avery young baby as the mothers are, and it is mortifying to feelthemselves neglected for a newcomer. I have often seen that, my dears;but I shall never see it here, I find. "

"I do not know how you should, Morris, " said Hester, in something of theold tone, which made her sister's heart throb almost before it reachedher ear. "Margaret will save me from any such danger. Margaret takescare that nobody shall be engrossed with the baby but herself. She hasnot a thought to spare for any of us while she has baby in her arms. The little fellow has cut us all out. "

Margaret quickly transferred the infant to her brother's arm, and leftthe room. She thought it best; for her heart was very full, and shecould not speak. She restrained her tears, and went into the kitchen tobusy herself about the dinner she had cooked. 

"'Tis a fine pheasant, indeed, Miss Margaret, my dear, and beautifullyroasted, I am sure: and I hope you will go up and see them enjoy it. Iam so sorry, my dear, for what I said just now. I merely spoke whatcame up in my mind when I felt pleased, and never thought of itsbringing on any remark. Nor was anything intended, I am sure, thatshould make you look so sad: so do you go up, and take the baby again, when they sit down to dinner, as if nothing had been said. Do, my dear, if I may venture to say so. I will follow you with the dinner in aminute. "

"I wonder how it is, my love, " said Hope, in a voice which spoke all thetenderness of his heart; "I wonder how it is that you can endure wrongso nobly, and that you cannot bear the natural course of events. Tellme how it is, Hester, that you have sustained magnanimously all theinjuries and misfortunes of many months, and that you now quarrel withMargaret's affection for our child. "

"Ah why, indeed, Edward?" she replied, humbly. "Why, but that I amunworthy that such an one as Margaret should love me and my child. "

"Enough, enough. I only want to show you how I regard the case aboutthis new love of Margaret's. Do you not see how much happier she hasbeen since this little fellow was born?"

"Oh, yes. "

"One may now fancy that she may be gay again. Let us remember what anoppressed heart she had, and what it must be to her to have a newobject, so innocent and unconscious as this child, to lavish heraffection upon. Do not let us grudge her the consolation, or poison thepleasure of this fresh interest. "

"I am afraid it is done, " cried Hester, in great distress. "I waswicked--I was more cruel than any of our enemies, when I said what Idid. I may well bear with them; for, God knows, I am at times no betterthan they. I have robbed my Margaret of her only comfort--spoiled heronly pleasure. "

"No, no. Here she comes. Look at her. "

Margaret's face was indeed serene, and she made as light of the matteras she could, when Hester implored that she would pardon her hasty andcruel words, and that she would show her forgiveness by continuing tocherish the child. He must not begin to suffer already for his mother'sfaults, Hester said. There could be no doubt of Margaret's forgiveness, nor of her forgetfulness of what had been said, as far as forgetfulnesswas possible. But the worst of such sayings is, that they carry in themthat which prevents their being ever quite forgotten. Hester hadeffectually established a constraint in her sister's intercourse withthe baby, and imposed upon Margaret the incessant care of scrupulouslyadjusting the claims of the mother and the child. The evils arisingfrom faulty temper may be borne, may be concealed, but can never befully repaired. Happy they whose part it is to endure and to conceal, rather than to inflict, and to strive uselessly to repair!

Margaret's part was the easiest of the three, as they sat at the table--she with the baby in her arms, and all agreeing that the time was comefor an explanation with Morris--for depending on themselves for almostall the work of the house. 

"Come, Morris, " said Hester, when the cloth was removed; "you must spareus half-an-hour. We want to consult with you. Come and sit down. "

Morris came, with a foreboding heart. 

"It will be no news to you, " said Hope, "that we are very poor. Youknow nearly as much of our affairs as we do ourselves, as it is rightthat you should. We have not wished to make any further change in ourdomestic plans till this little fellow was born. But now that he isbeginning to make his way in the world, and that his mother is well andstrong, we feel that we must consider of some further effort to spendstill less than we do now. "

"There are two ways in which this may be done, we think, Morris, " saidHester. "We may either keep the comfort of having you with us, andpinch ourselves more as to dress and the table--"

"Oh! ma'am, I hope you will not carry that any further. "

"Well, if we do not carry that any further, the only thing to be done, Ifear, is to part with you. "

"Is there no other way, I wonder, " said Morris, as if thinking aloud. "If it must be one of these ways, it certainly seems to me to be betterfor ladies to work hard with good food, than to have a servant, andstint themselves in health and strength. But who would have thought ofmy young ladies coming to this?"

"It is a situation in which hundreds and thousands are placed, Morris;and why not we, as well as they?"

"May be so, ma'am: but it grieves one, too. "

"Do not grieve. I believe we all think that this parting with you isthe first real grief that our change of fortune has caused us. Somehowor other, we have been exceedingly comfortable in our poverty. If thathad been all, we should have had a very happy year of it. "

"One would desire to say nothing against what is God's will, ma'am; butone may be allowed, perhaps, to hope that better times will come. "

"I do hope it, and believe it, " said her master. 

"And if better times come, Morris, you will return to us. Will younot?"

"My dear, you know nothing would make me leave you now (as you say I ama comfort to you) if I had any right to say I would stay. I could liveupon as little as anybody, and could do almost without any wages. Butthere is my poor sister, you know, ladies. She depends upon me foreverything, now that she cannot work herself: and I must earn money forher. "

"We are quite aware of that, " said Margaret. "It is for your sake andhers, quite as much as for our own, that we think we must part. "

"We wish to know what you would like to do, " said Hester. "Shall we tryto find a situation for you near us, or would you be happier to go downamong your old friends?"

"I had better go where I am sure of employment, ma'am. Better go downto Birmingham at once. I should never have left it but for my youngladies' sakes. But I should be right glad, my dears, to leave it againfor you, if you can at any time write to say you wish for me back. There is another way I have thought of sometimes; but, of course, youcannot have overlooked anything that could occur to me. If you wouldall go to Birmingham, you have so many friends there, and my masterwould be valued as he ought to be; which there is no sign of his beingin this place. I do not like this place, my dears. It is not goodenough for you. "

"We think any place good enough for us where there are men and womenliving, " said Hope, kindly but gravely. "Others have thought as you do, Morris, and have offered us temptations to go away; but we do not thinkit right. If we go, we shall leave behind us a bad character, which wedo not deserve. If we stay, I have very little doubt of recovering myprofessional character, and winning over our neighbours to think betterof us, and be kind to us again. We mean to try for it, if I should haveto hire myself out as a porter in Mr Grey's yards. "

"Pray, don't say that, sir. But, indeed, I believe you are so far rightas that the good always conquers at last. "

"Just so, Morris: that is what we trust. And for the sake of thislittle fellow, if for nothing else, we must stand by our good name. Whoknows but that I may leave him a fine flourishing practice in this veryplace, when I retire or die?--always supposing he means to follow hisfather's profession. "

"Sir, that is looking forward very far. "

"So it is, Morris. But however people may disapprove of looking forwardtoo far, it is difficult to help it when they become parents. Yourmistress could tell you, if she would own the truth, that she sees herson's manly beauty already under that little wry mouth, and that oddbutton of a nose. Why may not I just as well fancy him a youngsurgeon?"

"Morris would say, as she once said to me, " observed Margaret, "`Remember death, my dear; remember death. '"

"We will remember it, " said Morris, "but we must remember at the sametime God's mercy in giving life. He who gave life can preserve it: andthis shall be my trust for you all, my dears, when I am far away fromyou. There is a knock! I must go. Oh! Miss Margaret, who will therebe to go to the door when I am gone, but you?"

Mr Jones had knocked at the door, and left a letter. These were itscontents:--

 "Sir, --I hope you will excuse the liberty I take in applying to you for my own satisfaction. My wife and I have perceived with much concern that we have lost much of your custom of late. We mind little the mere falling off of custom in any quarter, in comparison with failing to give satisfaction. We have always tried, I am sure, to give satisfaction in our dealings with your family, sir; and if there has been any offence, I can assure you it is unintentional, and shall feel obliged by knowing what it is. We cannot conceive, sir, where you get your meat, if not from us; and if you have the trouble of buying it from a distance, I can only say we should be happy to save you the trouble, if we knew how to serve you to your liking; for, sir, we have a great respect for you and yours. 

 "Your obedient servants, "John Jones, "Mary Jones. "

"The kind soul!" cried Hester. "What must we say to them?"

"We must set their minds at ease about our good-will to them. How thatlittle fellow stares about him, like a child of double his age! I dobelieve I could make him look wise at my watch already. Yes, we mustset the Joneses at ease, at all events. "

"But how? We must not tell them that we cannot afford to buy of them aswe did. "

"No; that would be begging. We must trust to their delicacy not topress too closely for a reason, when once assured that we respect themas highly as they possibly can us. "

"You may trust them, " said Margaret, "I am convinced. They will look inyour face, and be satisfied without further question; and my advice, therefore, is, that you do not write, but go. "

"I will; and now. They shall not suffer a moment's pain that I can savethem. Good-night, my boy! What! you have not learned to kiss yet. Well, among us all, you will soon know how, if teaching will do it. What a spirit he has! I fancy he will turn out like Frank. "

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. 

THE LONG NIGHTS. 

Almost as soon as Hope had left the house, Sydney Grey arrived, lookingfull of importance. He took care to shut the door before he would tellhis errand. His mother had been obliged to trust him for want ofanother messenger; and he delivered his message with a little of theparade of mystery he had derived from her. Mr Grey's family had becomeuneasy about his returning from the markets in the evening, sincerobberies had become so frequent as they now were, and the days soshort; and had at length persuaded him to sleep at the more distantmarket-towns he had to visit, and return the next morning. FromBlickley he could get home before the evening closed in; but on two daysin the week he was to remain out all night. When he had agreed to this, his family had applauded him and felt satisfied: but as the evening drewon, on occasion of this his first absence, Mrs Grey and Sophia hadgrown nervous on their own account. They recalled story after story, which they had lately heard, of robberies at several solitary houses inthe country round; and, though their house was not solitary, they couldnot reconcile themselves to going to rest without the comfort of knowingthat there was, as usual, a strong man on their premises. If they hadbeen aware how many strong men there were sometimes on their premises atnight, they would not have been satisfied with having one within theirwalls. Not having been informed, however, how cleverly their dogs weresilenced, how much poached game was divided under the shelter of theirstacks of deals, and what dextrous abstractions were at such times madefrom the store of corn in their granaries, and coal in their lighters, they proposed nothing further than to beg the favour of Mr Hope that hewould take a bed in their house for this one night. They dared notengage any of the men from the yards to defend them; they had not MrGrey's leave, and he might not be pleased if they showed any fear totheir own servants: but it would be the greatest comfort if Mr Hopewould come, as if to supper, and stay the night. The spare room wasready; and Mrs Grey hoped he would not object to leaving his familyjust for once. Mr Grey intended to do the same thing twice a week, till the days should lengthen, and the roads become safer. 

Though Sydney made the most of his message, he declared himself notthoroughly pleased with it. 

"They might have trusted me to take care of them, " said he. "If theyhad just let me have my father's pistols--. "

"Come, come, Sydney, do not talk of pistols, " said Hester, who did notrelish any part of the affair. 

"He would not talk of them if he thought they were likely to be wanted, "observed Margaret. 

"Likely! when were they ever more likely to be wanted, I should like toknow! Did you hear what happened at the Russell Taylors' last night?"

"No; and we do not wish to hear. Do not tell us any horrible stories, unless you mean my husband to stay at home to-night. "

"Oh, you must just hear this, because it ended well; that is, nobody waskilled. Mr Walcot told Sophia all about it this morning; and it waspartly that which made her so anxious to have some one sleep in thehouse to-night. "

"Well, then, do not tell us, or you will make us anxious for the samething. "

"What would your mother say if you were to carry home word that Mr Hopecould not come--that his family dare not part with him?"

"Oh, then she must let me have my father's pistols, and watch for thefellows. If they came about our windows as they did about the RussellTaylors', how I would let fly among them! They came rapping at theshutters, at two this morning; and when Mr Taylor looked out from hisbedroom above, they said they would not trouble themselves to get in, ifhe would throw out his money!"

"And did he?"

"Yes. They raised a hat upon a pole, and he put in four or fivepounds--all he had in the house, he told them. So they went away; butnone of the family thought of going to bed again. "

"I dare say not. And what sort of thieves are these supposed to be?They set about their business very oddly. "

"Not like London thieves, " said Sydney, consequentially, as if he knewall about London thieves. "They are the distressed country people, nodoubt--such as would no more think of standing a second shot from mypistol, than of keeping the straits of Thermopylae. Look here, " hecontinued, showing the end of a pistol, which peeped from a pocketinside his coat; "here's a thing that will put such gentry into a finetaking. "

"Pray, is that pistol loaded?" inquired Hester, pressing her infant toher. 

"To be sure. What is the use of a pistol if it is not loaded? It mightas well be in the shop as in my pocket, then. Look at her, cousinMargaret! If she is not in as great a fright as the cowardly thieves!Why, cousin Hester, don't you see, if this pistol went off, it would notshoot you or the baby. It would go straight through me. "

"That is a great comfort. But I had rather you would go away, you andyour pistol. Pray, does your mother know that you carry one?"

"No. Mind you don't tell her. I trust you not to tell her. Remember, I would not have told you if I had not felt sure of you. "

"You had better not have felt sure of us. However, we will not tellyour mother; but my husband will tell Mr Grey to-morrow, when he comeshome. If he chooses that you should carry loaded pistols about, therewill be no harm done. "

"I have a great mind to say I will shoot you if you tell, " cried Sydney, presenting the pistol with a grand air. But he saw that he made hiscousins really uneasy, and he laid it down on the table, offering toleave it with them for the night, if they thought it would make themfeel any safer. There were plenty more at home. 

"Thank you, " said Margaret, "but I believe we are more afraid of loadedpistols than of thieves. The sooner you take it away the better. Youcan go now, presently, for here comes my brother. "

Sydney quickly pocketed his pistol. Hope agreed to go, and promised tobe at Mr Grey's to supper by nine o'clock. 

Margaret was incessantly thinking of Maria in these long evenings, whenalarms of one kind or another were all abroad. She now thought shewould go with Sydney, and spend an hour or two with Maria, returning bythe time her brother would be going to the Greys'. Maria's landlordwould see her home, no doubt. 

She found her friend busy with book and needle, and as well in health asusual, but obviously somewhat moved by the dismal stories which hadtravelled from mouth to mouth through Deerbrook during the day. Itseemed hardly right that any person in delicate health should be lonelyat such a time; and it occurred to Margaret that her friend might liketo go home with her, and occupy the bed which was this night to spare. Maria thankfully accepted the offer, and let Margaret put up her littlebundle for her. The farrier escorted them to the steps of thecorner-house, and then left them. 

The door was half-open, as Morris was talking with some one on the matin the hall. An extremely tall woman, with a crying baby in her arms, made way for the ladies, not by going out of the house, but by steppingfurther into the hall. 

"Morris, had you not better shut the door?" said Margaret; "the windblows in so, it is enough to chill the whole house. "

But Morris held the door open, rather wider than before. 

"So the gentleman is not at home, " said the tall woman, gruffly. "If Icome again in an hour with my poor baby, will he be at home then?"

"Is my brother gone, Morris?"

"Yes, Miss, three minutes ago. "

"Then he will not be back in an hour. We do not expect him--. "

"This good woman had better go to Mr Walcot, ma'am, as I have beentelling her. There's no doubt he is at home. "

"I could wait here till the gentleman comes home, " said the tall woman;"and so get the first advice for my poor baby. 'Tis very ill, ma'am. "

"Better go to Mr Walcot, " persisted Morris. 

"Or to my brother at Mr Grey's, " said Margaret, unwilling to lose thechance of a new patient for Edward, and thinking his advice better, forthe child's sake, than Mr Walcot's. 

"It is far the readiest way to go to Mr Walcot's, " declared Maria, whose arm Margaret felt to tremble within her own. 

"I believe you are right, " said Margaret. "You had better not waste anymore time here, good woman. It may make all the difference to yourchild. "

"If you would let me wait till the gentleman comes home, " said the tallwoman. 

"Impossible. It is too late to-night for patients to wait. This lady'slandlord, without there, will show you the way to Mr Walcot's. Callhim, Morris. "

Morris went out upon the steps, but the tall woman passed her, and wasgone. Morris stepped in briskly, and put up the chain. 

"You were very ready to send a new patient to Mr Walcot, Morris, " saidMargaret, smiling. 

"I had a fancy that it was a sort of patient that my master would not bethe better for, " replied Morris. "I did not like the looks of theperson. "

"Nor I, " said Maria. 

The drawing-room door was heard to open, and Morris put her finger onher lips. Hester had been alone nearly ten minutes; she was growingnervous, and wanted to know what all this talking in the hall was about. She was told that Mr Hope had been inquired for, about a sick baby;and the rest of the discourse went to the account of Maria's unexpectedarrival. Hester welcomed Maria kindly, ordered up the cold pheasant andthe wine, and then, leaving the friends to enjoy themselves over thefire, retired to rest. Morris was desired to go too, as she still sleptin her mistress's room, and ought to keep early hours, since, inaddition to her labours of the day, she was at the baby's call in thenight. Margaret would see her friend to her room. Morris must notremain up on their account. 

"How comfortable this is!" cried Maria, in a gleeful tone, as she lookedround upon the crackling fire, the tray, the wine, and her companion. "How unlooked for, to pass a whole evening and night without beingafraid of anything!"

"What an admission from you!--that you are afraid of something everynight. "

"That is just the plain truth. When I used to read about the horrors ofliving in a solitary house in the country, I little thought how much ofthe same terror I should feel from living solitary in a house in avillage. You wonder what could happen to me, I dare say; and perhaps itwould not be very easy to suppose any peril which would standexamination. "

"I was going to say that you and we are particularly safe, from being sopoor that there is no inducement to rob us. We and you have neithermoney nor jewels, nor plate, that can tempt thieves!--for our few forksand spoons are hardly worth breaking into a house for. "

"People who want bread, however, may think it worth while to break infor that: and while our thieves are this sort of people, and not theLondon gentry whom Sydney is so fond of talking of, it may be enoughthat gentlemen and ladies live in houses to make the starving supposethat they shall find something valuable there. "

"They would soon learn better if they came here. I doubt whether, whenyou and I have done our supper, they would find anything to eat. Buthow do you show your terrors, I should like to know? Do you scream?"

"I never screamed in my life, as far as I remember. Screaming appearsto me the most unnatural of human sounds. I never felt the slightestinclination to express myself in that manner. "

"Nor I: but I never said so, because I thought no one would believe me. "

"No: the true mood for these doleful winter nights is, to sit trying toread, but never able to fix your attention for five minutes, for someodd noise or another. And yet it is almost worse to hear nothing but acinder falling on the hearth now and then, startling you like apistol-shot. Then it seems as if somebody was opening the shutteroutside, and then tapping at the window. I have got so into the habitof looking at the window at night, expecting to see a face squeezed flatagainst the pane, that I have yielded up my credit to myself, andactually have the blinds drawn down when the outside shutters areclosed. "

"How glad I am to find you are no braver than the rest of us!"

"No; do not be glad. It is very painful, night after night. Every stepclinks or craunches in the farrier's yard, you know. This ought to be acomfort: but sometimes I cannot clearly tell where the sound comes from. More than once lately I have fancied it was behind me, and have turnedround in a greater hurry than you would think I could use. My rooms area good way from the rest of the house; you remember the length of thepassage between. I do not like disturbing the family in the evenings;but I have been selfish enough to ring, once or twice this week, withoutany sufficient reason, just for the sake of a sight of my landlady. "

"A very sufficient reason. But I had no idea of all this from you. "

"You have heard me say some fine things about the value of time to me--about the blessings of my long evenings. For all that (true as it is), I have got into the way of going to bed soon after ten, just because Iknow every one else in the house is in bed, and I do not like to be theonly person up. "

"That is the reason why you are looking so well, notwithstanding allthese terrors. But, Maria, what has become of your bravery?"

"It is just where it was. I am no more afraid than I used to be ofevils which may be met with a mature mind: and just as much afraid asever of those which terrified my childhood. "

"Our baby shall never be afraid of anything, " asserted Margaret. "ButMaria, something must be done for your relief. "

"That is just what I hoped and expected you would say, and the reasonwhy I exposed myself to you. "

"Why do not the Greys offer you a room there for the winter? That seemsthe simplest and most obvious plan. "

"It is not convenient. "

"How should that be?"

"The bed would have to be uncovered, you know; and the mahoganywash-stand might be splashed. "

"They can get a room ready for a guest, to relieve their own fears, butnot yours. Can nothing be done about it?"

"Not unless the Rowlands should take in Mr Walcot, because he is afraidto live alone: in such case, the Greys would take me in for the samereason. But that will not be so, Margaret, I will ask you plainly, andyou will answer as plainly--could you, without too much pain, trouble, and inconvenience, spend an evening or two a week with me, just tillthis panic is passed? If you could put it in my power to be alwayslooking forward to an evening of relief, it would break the sense ofsolitude, and make all the difference to me. I see the selfishness ofthis; but I really think it is better to own my weakness than tostruggle uselessly against it any longer. "

"I could do that--should like of all things to do it till Morris goes:but that will be so soon--. "

"Morris! where is she going?"

Margaret related this piece of domestic news, too private to be told toany one else till the last moment. Maria forgot her own troubles, ordespised them as she listened, so grieved was she for her friends, including Morris. Margaret was not very sorry on Morris's own account. Morris wanted rest--an easier place. She had had too much upon her forsome time past. 

"What then will you have, when she is gone?"

"If I have work enough to drive all thought out of my head, I shall bethankful. Meantime, I will bestow my best wit upon your case. "

"I am ashamed of my case already. While sitting in all this comforthere, I can hardly believe in my own tremors, of no earlier date thanlast night. Come, let us draw to the fire. I hope we shall not endwith sitting up all night; but I feel as if I should like it very much. "

Margaret stirred up a blaze, and put out the candles. No economy wasnow beneath her care. As she took her seat beside her friend, she said:

"Maria, did you ever know any place so dull and dismal as Deerbrook isnow? Is it not enough to make any heart as heavy as the fortunes of theplace?"

"Even the little that I see of it, in going to and from the Greys, lookssad enough. You see the outskirts, which I suppose are worse still. "

"The very air feels too heavy to breathe. The cottages, and even thebetter houses, appear to my eyes damp and weather-stained on theoutside, and silent within. The children sit shivering on thethresholds--do not they?--instead of shouting at their play as they did. Every one looks discontented, and complains--the poor of want of bread, and every one else of hard times, and all manner of woes, that one neverhears of in prosperous seasons. Mr James says the actions for trespassare beyond all example; Mr Tucker declares his dog, that died the otherday, was poisoned; and I never pass the Green but the women are evenquarrelling for precedence at the pump. "

"I have witnessed some of this, but not all: and neither, I suspect, have you, Margaret, though you think you have. We see the affairs ofthe world in shadow, you know, when our own hearts are sad. "

"My heart is not so sad as you think. You do not believe me: but thatis because you do not believe what I am sure of--that he is not to blamefor anything that has happened--that, at least, he has only beenmistaken, --that there his been no fickleness, no selfishness, in him. Icould not speak of this, even to you, Maria, if it were not a duty tohim. You must not be left to suppose from my silence that he is toblame, as you think he is. I suffer from no sense of injury from him. I got over that, long ago. "

Maria would not say, as she thought, "You had to get over it, then?"

"It makes me very unhappy to think how he is suffering, --how much morehe has to bear than I; so much more than the separation and the blank. He cannot trust me as I trusted him; and that is, indeed, to be withoutconsolation. "

"Do men ever trust as women do?"

"Yes, Edward does. If he were to go to India for twenty years, he wouldknow, as certainly as I should, that Hester would be widowed in everythought till his return. And the time will come when Philip will knowthis as certainly of me. It is but a little while yet that I havewaited, Maria; but it does sometimes seem a weary waiting. "

Maria took her friend's hand, in token of the sympathy she could notspeak, --so much of hopelessness was there mingled with it. 

"I know you and others think that this waiting is to go on for ever. "

"No, love; not so. "

"Or that a certainty which is even worse will come some day. But itwill be otherwise. His love can no more be quenched or alienated by theslanders of a wicked woman, than the sun can be put out by an eclipse, or sent to enlighten another world, leaving us mourning. "

"You judge by your own soul, Margaret; and that should be a faithfulguide. You judge him by your own soul, --and how much by this?" sheadded, with a smile, fixing her eyes on the turquoise ring, which wasPhilip's gift, and which, safely guarded, was on a finger of the handshe held. 

Margaret blushed. She could not have denied, if closely pressed, thatsome little tinge of the Eastern superstition had entered into thissacred ring, and lay there, like the fire in the opal. She could nothave denied, that, when she drew it on every morning, she noted withsatisfaction that its blue was as clear and bright as ever. 

"How is it that this ring is still here?" asked Maria. "Is it possiblethat he retains gifts of yours? Yet, I think, if he did not, this ringwould not be on your finger. "

"He does keep whatever I gave him. Thank God! he keeps them. This isone of my greatest comforts: it is the only way I have left of speakingto him. But if it were not so, this ring would still be where it is. Iwould not give it up. I am not altered. I am not angry with him. Hislove is as precious to me as it ever was, and I will not give up thetokens of it. Why, Maria, you surely cannot suppose that these thingshave any other value or use but as given by him! You cannot supposethat I dread the imputation of keeping them for their own sakes!"

"No: but--"

"But what?"

"Is any proof of his former regard of value now? That is the question. It has only very lately become a question with me. I have only latelylearned to think him in fault. I excused him before... I excused himas long as I could. "

"You will unlearn your present opinion of him. Yes; everything that wasever valuable from him is more precious than ever now, --now that he isunder a spell, and cannot speak his soul. If it were, as you think, ifhe loved me no longer, they would be still more precious, as a relic ofthe dead. But it is not so. "

"If faith can remove mountains, we may have to rejoice for you still, Margaret; for there can be no mass of calumnies between you and himwhich you have not faith enough to overthrow. "

"Thank you for that. It is the best word of comfort that has come to mefrom without for many a day. Now there is one thing more in which youcan perhaps help me. I have heard nothing about him for so long! Yousee Mr Rowland sometimes (I know he feels a great friendship for you);and you meet the younger children. Do you hear nothing whatever about_him_?"

"Nothing: nor do they. Mr Rowland told me, a fortnight ago, that MrsRowland and he are seriously uneasy at obtaining no answers to theirrepeated letters to Mr Enderby. Mrs Rowland is more disturbed, Ibelieve, than she chooses to show. She must feel herself responsible. She has tried various means of accounting for his silence, all theautumn. Now she gives that up, and is silent in her turn. If it werenot for the impossibility of leaving home at such a time as this, MrRowland would go to London to satisfy himself. Margaret, I believe youare the only person who has smiled at this. "

"Perhaps I am the only one who understands him. I had rather know ofthis silence than of all the letters he could have written to MrsRowland. If he had been ill, they would certainly have heard. "

"Yes; they say so. "

"Then that is enough. Let us say no more now. "

"You have said that which has cheered me for you, Margaret, though, aswe poor irreligious human beings often say to each other, `I wish I hadyour faith. ' You have given me more than I had, however. But are we tosay no more about anything? Must we leave this comfortable fire, and goto sleep?"

"Not unless you wish it. I have more to ask, if you are not tired. "

"Come, ask me. "

"Cannot you tell me of some way in which a woman may earn money?"

"A woman? What rate of woman? Do you mean yourself? That question iseasily answered. A woman from the uneducated classes can get asubsistence by washing and cooking, by milking cows and going toservice, and, in some parts of the kingdom, by working in a cotton mill, or burnishing plate, as you have no doubt seen for yourself atBirmingham. But, for an educated woman, a woman with the powers whichGod gave her, religiously improved, with a reason which lays life openbefore her, an understanding which surveys science as its appropriatetask, and a conscience which would make every species of responsibilitysafe, --for such a woman there is in all England no chance of subsistencebut by teaching--that almost ineffectual teaching, which can nevercountervail the education of circumstances, and for which not one in athousand is fit--or by being a superior Miss Nares--the feminine genderof the tailor and the hatter. "

"The tutor, the tailor, and the hatter. Is this all?"

"All; except that there are departments of art and literature from whichit is impossible to shut women out. These are not, however, to beregarded as resources for bread. Besides the number who succeed in artand literature being necessarily extremely small, it seems prettycertain that no great achievements, in the domains of art andimagination, can be looked for from either men or women who labour thereto supply their lower wants, or for any other reason than the pure loveof their work. While they toil in any one of the arts of expression, ifthey are not engrossed by some loftier meaning, the highest which theywill end with expressing will be, the need of bread. "

"True--quite true. I must not think of any of those higher departmentsof labour, because, even if I were qualified, what I want is notemployment, but money. I am anxious to earn some money, Maria. We arevery poor. Edward is trying, one way and another, to earn money to liveupon, till his practice comes back to him, as he is for ever trusting itwill. I wish to earn something too, if it be ever so little. Can youtell me of no way?"

"I believe I should not if I could. Why? Because I think you havequite enough to do already, and will soon have too much. Just consider. When Morris goes, what hour of the day will you have to spare? Let ussee;--do you mean to sweep the rooms with your own hands?"

"Yes, " said Margaret, smiling. 

"And to scour them too?"

"No; not quite that. We shall hire a neighbour to come two or threetimes a week to do the rougher parts of the work. But I mean to lightthe fire in the morning (and we shall have but one), and get breakfastready; and Hester will help me to make the beds. That is nearly all Ishall let her do besides the sewing; for baby will give her employmentenough. "

"Indeed, I think so; and that will leave you too much. Do not think, dear, of earning money. You are doing all you ought in saving it. "

"I must think about it, because earning is so much nobler and moreeffectual than saving. I cannot help seeing that it would be far betterto earn the amount of Morris's maintenance, than to save it by doing herwork badly myself. Not that I shrink from the labour: I am ratherenjoying the prospect of it, as I told you. Hark! what footstep isthat?"

"I heard it a minute or two ago, " whispered Maria, "but I did not liketo mention it. "

They listened in the deepest silence for a while. At first they werenot sure whether they heard anything above the beating of their ownhearts; but they were soon certain that there were feet moving outsidethe room door. 

"The church clock has but lately gone twelve, " said Maria, in the fainthope that it might be some one of the household yet stirring. 

Margaret shook her head. She rose softly from her seat, and took acandle from the table to light it, saying she would go and see. Herhand trembled a little as she held the match, and the candle would notimmediately light. Meantime, the door opened without noise, and someone walked in and quite up to the gazing ladies. It was the tall woman. Maria made an effort to reach the bell, but the tall woman seized herarm, and made her sit down. A capricious jet of flame from a coal inthe fire at this moment lighted up the face of the stranger for amoment, and enabled Maria to "spy a creat peard under the muffler. "

"What do you want at this time?" said Margaret. 

"I want money, and what else I can get, " said the intruder, in the nolonger disguised voice of a man. "I have been into your larder, but youseem to have nothing there. "

"That is true, " said Margaret, firmly; "nor have we any money. We arevery poor. You could not have come to a worse place, if you are inwant. "

"Here is something, however, " said the man, turning to the tray. "Withyour leave, I'll see what you have left us to eat. "

He thrust one of the candles between the bars of the grate to light it, telling the ladies they had better start no difficulty, lest they shouldhave reason to repent it. There were others with him in the house, whowould show themselves in an instant, if any noise were made. 

"Then do you make none--I beg it as a favour, " said Margaret. "There isa lady asleep up-stairs, with a very young infant. If you respect herlife you will be quiet. "

The man did not answer, but he was quiet. He cut slices from the loaf, and carried them to the door, and they were taken by somebody outside. He quickly devoured the remains of the pheasant, tearing the meat fromthe bones with his teeth. He drank from the decanter of wine, and thencarried it where he had taken the bread. Two men put their heads in atthe door, nodded to the ladies before they drank, and again withdrew. The girls cast a look at each other--a glance of agreement thatresistance was not to be thought of: yet each was conscious of a feelingof rather pleasant surprise that she was not more alarmed. 

"Now for it!" said the man, striding oddly about in his petticoats, andevidently out of patience with them. "Now for your money!" As hespoke, he put the spoons from the tray into the bosom of his gown, proceeding to murmur at his deficiency of pockets. 

Margaret held out her purse to him. It contained one single shilling. 

"You don't mean this is all you are going to give me?"

"It is all I have: and I believe there is not another shilling in thehouse. I told you we have no money. "

"And you?" said he, turning to Maria. 

"I have not my purse about me; and if I had there is nothing in it worthyour taking. I assure you I have not got my purse. I am only a visitorhere for this one night--and an odd night it is to have chosen, as itturns out. "

"Give me your watches. "

"I have no watch. I have not had a watch these five years, " said Maria. 

"I have no watch, " said Margaret. "I sold mine a month ago. I told youwe were very poor. "

The man muttered something about the plague of gentlefolks being sopoor, and about wondering that gentlefolks were not ashamed of being sopoor. "You have got something, however, " he continued, fixing his eyeon the ring on Margaret's finger. "Give me that ring. Give it me, orelse I'll take it. "

Margaret's heart sank with a self-reproach worse than her grief, whenshe remembered how easily she might have saved this ring--how easily shemight have thrust it under the fender, or dropped it into her shoe, intoher hair, anywhere, while the intruder was gone to the room door to hiscompanions. She felt that she could never forgive herself for thisneglect of the most precious thing she had in the world--of that whichmost belonged to Philip. 

"She cannot part with that ring, " said Maria. "Look! you may see shehad rather part with any money she is ever likely to have than with thatring. "

She pointed to Margaret, who was sitting with her hands clasped as ifthey were never to be disjoined, and with a face of the deepestdistress. 

"I can't help that, " said the man. "I must have what I can get. "

He seized her hands, and, with one gripe of his, made hers fly open. Margaret could no longer endure to expose any of her feelings to thenotice of a stranger of this character. "Be patient a moment, " saidshe; and she drew off the ring after its guard, made of Hester's hair, and put them into the large hand which was held out to receive them;feeling, at the moment, as if her heart was breaking. The man threw thehair ring back into her lap, and tied the turquoise in the corner of theshawl he wore. 

"The lady up-stairs has got a watch, I suppose. "

"Yes, she has: let me go and fetch it. Do let me go. I am afraid ofnothing so much as her being terrified. If you have any humanity, letme go. Indeed I will bring the watch. "

"Well, there is no man in the house, I know, for you to call. You maygo, Miss: but I must step behind you to the room door; no further--sheshan't see me, nor know any one is there, unless you tell her. Thisyoung lady will sit as still as a mouse till we come back. "

"Never mind me, " said Maria, to her friend. While they were gone, shesat as she was desired, as still as a mouse, enforced thereto by thecertainty that a man stood in the shadow by the door, with his eye uponher the whole time. 

Margaret lighted a chamber candle, in order, as she said, to look asusual if her sister should see her. The robber did tread very softly onthe stairs, and stop outside the chamber-door. Morris was sitting up inher truckle-bed, evidently listening, and was on the point of startingout of it on seeing that Margaret's face was pale, when Margaret put herfinger on her lips, and motioned to her to lie down. Hester was asleep, with her sleeping infant on her arm. Margaret set down the light, andleaned over her, to take the watch from its hook at the head of the bed. 

"Are you still up?" said Hester, drowsily, and just opening her eyes. "What do you want? It must be very late. "

"Nearly half-past twelve, by your watch. I am sorry I disturbed you. Good-night. "

As she withdrew with the watch in her hand, she whispered to Morris:

"Lie still. Don't be uneasy. I will come again presently. " So, in afew minutes, as seemed to intently listening ears, the house was clearof the intruders. Within a quarter of an hour Margaret had beckonedMorris out of Hester's room, and had explained the case to her. Theywent round the house, and found that all the little plate they had wasgone, and the cheese from the pantry. Morris's cloth cloak was lefthanging on its pin, and even Edward's old hat. From thesecircumstances, and from the dialect of the only speaker, Margaretthought the thieves must be country people from the neighbourhood, whocould not wear the old clothes of the gentry without danger ofdetection. They had come in from the surgery, whose outer door wassufficiently distant from the inhabited rooms of the house to be forcedwithout the noise being heard. Morris and Margaret barricaded this dooras well as they could, with such chests and benches as they were able tomove without making themselves heard up-stairs: and then Morris, atMargaret's earnest desire, stole back to bed. Anything rather thanalarm Hester. 

While they were below, Maria had put on more coals, and restored someorder and comfort to the table and the fireside. She concluded thatsleep was out of the question for this night. For some moments afterMargaret came and sat down by her, neither of them spoke. At lengthMargaret said, half laughing:

"That you should have come here for rest this night, of all nights inthe year!"

"I am glad it happened so. Yes; indeed, I am. I know it must have beena comfort to you to have some one with you, though only poor lame me. And I am glad on my own account too, I assure you. Such a visitation isnot half so dreadful as I had fancied--not worth half the fear I havespent upon it all my life. I am sure you felt as I did while he washere; you felt quite yourself, did not you? If it had not been for thewoman's clothes, it would really have been scarcely terrifying at all. There is something much more human about a housebreaker than I hadfancied. But yet it was very inhuman of him to take your ring. "

Margaret wept more bitterly than any one had seen her weep since herunhappy days began, and her friend could not comfort her. It was a casein which there was no comfort to be given, unless in the very faint andunreasonable hope that the ring might be offered for sale to somejeweller in some market town in the county; a hope sadly faint andunreasonable; since country people who would take plate and ornamentsmust, in all probability, be in communication with London rogues, whowould turn the property into money in the great city. Still, there wasa possibility of recovering the lost treasure; and on this possibilityMaria dwelt perseveringly. 

"But, Margaret, " she went on to ask, "what is this about your watch?Have you indeed sold it?"

"Yes. Morris managed that for me while Hester was confined. I am gladnow that I parted with it as I did. It has paid some bills which I knowmade Edward anxious; and that is far better than its being in ahousebreaker's hands. "

"Yes, indeed: but I am sorry you all have such a struggle to live. Nota shilling in the house but the one you gave up!"

"So much for Edward's being out. It happened very well; for he couldnot have helped us, if he had been here. You saw there were three ofthem. What I meant was, that Edward has about him the little money thatis to last us till Christmas. The rent is safe enough. It is in MrGrey's strong box or the bank at Blickley. The rent is too important amatter to be put to any hazard, considering that Mr Rowland is ourlandlord. It is all ready and safe. "

"That is well. Now, Margaret, could you swear to this visitor of ours?"

"No, " said Margaret, softly, looking round, as if to convince herselfthat he was not there still. "No: his bonnet was so large, and he keptthe shadow of it so carefully upon his face, that I should not know himagain--at least, not in any other dress; and we shall never see himagain in this. It is very disagreeable, " she continued, shudderingslightly, "to think that we may pass him any day or every day, and thathe may say to himself as we go by, `There go the ladies that sat withtheir feet on the fender so comfortably when I went in, without leave!'"

"Poor wretch! he will rather say, `There goes the young lady that I madeso unhappy about her ring. I wish I had choked with the wine I drank, before I took that ring!' The first man you meet that cannot look youin the face is the thief, depend upon it, Margaret. "

"I must not depend upon that. But, Maria, could you swear to him?"

"I am not quite sure at this moment, but I believe I could. The lightfrom the fire shone brightly upon his black chin, and a bit of lank hairthat came from under his mob cap. I could swear to the shawl. "

"So could I: but that will be burned to-morrow morning. Now, Maria, dogo to bed. "

"Well, if you had rather--. Cannot we be together? Must I be treatedas a guest, and have a room to myself?"

"Not if you think we can make room in mine. We shall be mostcomfortable there, shall not we--near to Morris and Hester?"

Rather than separate, they both betook themselves to the bed inMargaret's room. Maria lay still, as if asleep, but wide awake andlistening. Margaret mourned her turquoise with silent tears all therest of the night. 

CHAPTER FORTY. 

LIGHTSOME DAYS. 

Before he returned home in the morning, Hope went to Dr Levitt's, toreport of what he had seen and heard on Mr Grey's premises in thecourse of the night. He was persuaded that several persons had beenabout the yards; and he had seen a light appearing and disappearingamong the shrubs which grew thick in the rear of the house. Sydney andhe had examined the premises this morning, in company with Mr Grey'sclerk; and they had found the flower-beds trampled, and drops of tallowfrom a candle which had probably been taken out of a lantern, and ashesfrom tobacco-pipes, scattered under the lee of a pile of logs. Nothingwas missed from the yards: it was probable that they were the resort ofpersons who had been plundering elsewhere: but the danger from fire wasso great, and the unpleasantness of having such night neighbours soextreme, that the gentlemen agreed that no time must be lost inproviding a watch, which would keep the premises clear of intruders. The dog, which had by some means been cajoled out of his duty, must bereplaced by a more faithful one; and Dr Levitt was disposed toestablish a patrol in the village. 

The astonishment of both was great when Margaret appeared, early as itwas, with her story. It was the faint hope of recovering her ring whichbrought her thus early to the magistrate's. Her brother was satisfiedto stay and listen, when he found that Hester knew as yet nothing of thematter. It was a clear case that the Greys must find some otherguardian for the nights that Mr Grey spent from home; and Dr Levittsaid that no man was justified in leaving his family unprotected for asingle night in such times as these. He spoke with the deepest concernof the state of the neighbourhood this winter, and of his own inabilityto preserve security, by his influence either as clergyman ormagistrate. The fact was, he said, that neither law nor gospel coulddeter men from crime, when pressed by want, and hardened against allother claims by those of their starving families. Such times had neverbeen known within his remembrance; and the guardians of the public peaceand safety were almost as much at their wits' end as the sickly andsavage population they had to control. He must to-day consult with asmany of his brother magistrates as he could reach, as to what could bedone for the general security and relief. 

As Hope and Margaret returned home to breakfast, they agreed that theirlittle household was more free to discharge the duties of such a timethan most of their neighbours of their own rank could possibly be. Theyhad now little or nothing of which they could be robbed. It wasdifficult to conceive how they could be further injured. They mightnow, wholly free from fear and self-regards, devote themselves toforgive and serve their neighbours. Such emancipation from care as isthe blessing of poverty, even more than of wealth, was theirs; and, as agreat blessing in the midst of very tolerable evil, they felt it. Margaret laughed, as she asked Edward if he could spare a few pence tobuy horn spoons in the village, as all the silver ones were gone. 

Hester was not at all too much alarmed or disturbed, when she missed herwatch, and heard what had happened. She was chiefly vexed that she hadslept through it all. It seemed so ridiculous that the master of thehouse should be safe at a distance, and the mistress comfortably asleep, during such an event, leaving it to sister, maid, and guest, to bear allthe terror of it!

Dr Levitt's absence of mind did not interfere with the activity of hisheart, or with his penetration in cases where the hearts of others wereconcerned. He perceived that the lost turquoise was, from some cause, inestimable to Margaret, and he spared no pains to recover it: but weekspassed on without any tidings of it. Margaret told herself that shemust give up this, as she had given up so much else, with as muchcheerfulness as she could; but she missed her ring every hour of theday. 

Christmas came; and the expected contest took, place about the rent ofthe corner-house. Mr Rowland showed his lady the bank-notes on themorning of quarter-day, and then immediately and secretly sent themback. Mrs Rowland had never been so sorry to see bank-notes; yet shewould have been so angry at their being returned, that her husbandconcealed the fact from her. Within an hour the money was in MrRowland's hands again, with a request that he would desist from pressingfavours upon those who could not but consider them as pecuniaryobligation, and not as justice. Mr Rowland sighed, turned the key ofhis desk upon the money, and set forth to the corner-house, to seewhether no repairs were wanted--whether there was nothing that he coulddo as landlord to promote the comfort and security of his excellenttenants. 

Christmas came; and Morris found she could not leave her young ladieswhile the days were so very short. She would receive no wages afterChristmas, and she would take care that she cost them next to nothing;but she could not be easy to go till brighter days--days externallybrighter, at least--were at hand, nor till the baby was a little lesstender, and had shown beyond dispute that he was likely to be a stoutlittle fellow. She could not think of Miss Margaret getting up quite inthe dark, to light the fire; it was a dismal time to begin such a newsort of work. Margaret privately explained to her that these littlecircumstances brought no discouragement to persons who undertake suchlabour with sufficient motive; and Morris admitted this. She saw thedifference between the case of a poor girl first going to service, whotrembles half the night at the idea of her mistress's displeasure if sheshould not happen to wake in time; such poor girl undertaking servicefor a maintenance, and by no means from love in either party towards theother--Morris saw the difference between the morning waking to such aservice and Margaret's being called from her bed by love of those whomshe was going to serve through the day, and by an exhilarating sense ofhonour and duty. Morris saw that, while to the solitary dependant everyaccessory of cheerfulness is necessary to make her willingly leave herrest--the early sunshine through her window, and the morning songs ofbirds--it mattered little to Margaret under what circumstances she wentabout her business--whether in darkness or in light, in keen frost orgenial warmth. She had the strength of will, in whose glow all thedisgust, all the meanness, all the hardship of the most sordidoccupations is consumed, leaving unimpaired the dignity and delight oftoil. Morris saw and fully admitted all this; and yet she stayed ontill the end of January. 

By that time her friends were not satisfied to have her remain anylonger. It was necessary that she should earn money; and she had anopportunity now of earning what she needed at Birmingham. The time wascome when Morris must go. 

The family had their sorrow all to themselves that dismal evening; fornot a soul in Deerbrook, except Maria, knew that Morris was going atall. Maria had known all along; and it had been settled that Mariashould occupy Morris's room, after it was vacated, as often as she feltnervous and lonely in her lodging. But she was not aware of the preciseday when the separation of these old and dear friends was to take place. So they mourned Morris as privately as she had long grieved over theiradversity. 

Mr Hope meant to drive Morris to Buckley himself, and to see her intothe coach for Birmingham; and he had borrowed Mr Grey's gig for thepurpose. He had been urged by Mr Grey not to think of returning thatnight, had desired his wife and sister not to expect him, and hadengaged a neighbour to sleep in the house. The sisters might well lookforward to a sad evening; and their hearts were heavy when the gig cameto the door, when they were fortifying Morris with a parting glass ofwine, and wrapping her up with warm things which were to come back withher master, and expressing their heart-sorrow by the tenderness withwhich they melted the very soul of poor Morris. She could not speak;she could resist nothing. She took all they offered her to comfortherself with, from having neither heart nor voice to refuse. Morrisnever gave way to tears; but she was as solemn as if she were going toexecution. The baby alone was insensible to her gravity; he laughed inher face when she took him into her arms for the last time;--aseasonable laugh it was, for it relieved his mother of some slightsuperstitious dread which was stealing upon her, as she witnessed thesolemnity of Morris's farewell to him. They all spoke of her return tothem; but no one felt that there was any comfort in so vague a hope, amidst the sadness of the present certainty. 

As Hester and Margaret stood out on the steps to watch the gig till thelast moment, a few flakes of snow were driven against their faces. Theyfeared Morris would have a dreary journey; and this was not thepleasantest thought to carry with them into the house. 

While Hester nursed her infant by the fire, Margaret went round thehouse, to see what there was for her to do to-night. It moved her tofind how thoughtfully everything was done. Busy as Morris had been witha thousand little affairs and preparations, every part of the house wasleft in the completest order. The very blinds of the chambers weredrawn down, and a fire was laid in every grate, in case of its beingwanted. The tea-tray was set in the pantry, and not a plate left fromdinner unwashed. Margaret felt and said how badly she should supply theplace of Morris's hands, to say nothing of their loss of her head andheart. She sighed her thankfulness to her old friend, that she wasalready at liberty to sit down beside her sister, with actually nothingon her hands to be done before tea-time. 

It was always a holiday to Margaret when she could sit by at leisure, asthe morning and evening dressing and undressing of the baby went on. Hester would never entrust the business to her or to any one: but it wasthe next best thing to watch the pranks of the little fellow, and theplay between him and his mother; and then to see the fun subside intodrowsiness, and be lost in that exquisite spectacle, the quiet sleep ofan infant. When he was this evening laid in his basket, and all wasunusually still, from there being no one but themselves in the house, and the snow having by this time fallen thickly outside, Margaret saidto her sister--"If I remember rightly, it is just a twelvemonth sinceyou warned me how wretched marriage was. Just a year, is it not?"

"Is it possible?" said Hester, withdrawing her eyes from her infant. 

"I wish I could have foreseen then how soon I might remind you of this. "

"Is it possible that I said so?--and of all marriage?"

"Of all love, and all marriage. I remember it distinctly. "

"You have but too much reason to remember it, love. But how thankless, how wicked of me ever to say so. "

"We all, perhaps, say some wretched things which dwell on other people'sminds, long after we have forgotten them ourselves. It is one of theacts we shall waken up to as sins--perhaps every one of us--whenever webecome qualified to review our lives dispassionately;--as sins, nodoubt, for the pain does not die with the utterance; and to give painneedlessly, and to give lasting pain, is surely a sin. We are none ofus guiltless; but I am glad you said this particular thing--dreadful asit was to hear it. It has caused me a great deal of thought within theyear; and it now makes us both aware how much happier we are than wewere then. "

"We!"

"Yes; all of us. I rather shrink from measuring states of fortune andof mind, as they are at one time against those of another; but it isimpossible to recall that warning of yours, and be unaware howdifferently we have cause to think and speak now. I felt at the timethat it was too late for us to complain of love and of marriage. Thedie was then cast for us all. It is much better to feel now that thosecomplaints were the expression of passing pain, long since over. "

"I rejoice to hear you say this for yourself, Margaret; though I own Ishould scarcely have expected it. And yet no one is more aware than Ithat it is a blessing to love--a blessing still, whatever may be the woethat must come with the love. It is a blessing to live for another, tofeel far more deeply than the most selfish being on earth ever felt forhimself. I know that it is better to have felt this disinterestedattachment to another, even in the midst of storms of passion hidden inthe heart, and of pangs from disappointment, than to live on in the verybest peace of those who have never loved. Yet, knowing this, I havebeen cowardly for you, Margaret, and at one time sank under my owntroubles. Any one who loved as I did should have been braver. I shouldhave been more willing, both for you and for myself, to meet thesuffering which belongs to the exercise of all the highest and best partof our nature: but I was unworthy then of the benignant disciplineappointed to me: and at the moment, I doubt not I should have preferred, if the choice had been offered to me, the safety and quiet of apassionless existence to the glorious exercise which has been graciouslyappointed me against my will. I do try now, Margaret, to be thankfulthat you have had some of this exercise and discipline; but I have notfaith enough. My thanks are all up in grief before I have done--griefthat you have the struggle and the sorrow, without the support and thefull return which have been granted to me. "

"You need not grieve much for me. I have not only had the full returnyou speak of, but I have it still. It cannot be spoken, or written, oreven indulged; but I know it exists; and therefore am I happier than Iwas last year. How foolish it is, " she continued, as if thinking aloud, "how perfectly childish to set our hearts on what we call happiness, --onany arrangement of circumstances, either in our minds or our fortunes--so little as we know! How you and I should have dreaded this night andto-morrow, if they could have been foreshown to us a while ago! How weshould have shrunk from sitting down under the cloud of sorrow whichappears to have settled upon this house! And now this evening hascome--"

"The evening of Morris's going away, and everything else so dreary! Noservant, no money, no prospect! Careful economy at home, ill-willabroad; the times bad, the future all blank--we two sitting here alone, with the snow falling without!"

"And our hearts aching with parting with Morris (we must come back tothat principal grief). How dismal all this would have looked, if wecould have seen it in a fairy-glass at Birmingham long ago!--and yet Iwould not change this very evening for any we ever spent in Birmingham, when we were exceedingly proud of being very happy. "

"Nor I. This is life: and to live--to live with the whole soul, andmind, and strength, is enough. It is not often that I have strength tofeel this, and courage to say it; but to-night I have both. "

"And in time we may be strong enough to pray that this child may trulyand wholly live--may live in every capacity of his being, whateversuffering may be the condition of such life: but it requires somecourage to pray so for him, he looks so unfit for anything but ease atpresent!"

"For anything but feeding and sleeping, and laughing in our faces. Didyou ever see an infant sleep so softly? Are not those wheels passing?Yes; surely I heard wheels rolling over the snow. "

She was right. In five minutes more, Margaret had to open the door toher brother. 

Hope had arrived at Blickley only just in time to drive Morris up to thedoor of the Birmingham coach, and put her in as the guard was blowinghis horn. Mr Grey's horse had gone badly, and they had been full latein setting off. He had not liked the prospect of staying where he wastill morning, and had resolved to bid defiance to footpads, and return:so he stepped into the coffee-room, and read the papers while the horsewas feeding, and came home as quickly after as he could. As he wassafe, all the three were glad he had done so; and the more that, foronce, Edward seemed sad. They made a bright fire, and gave him tea; buttheir household offices did not seem to cheer him as usual. Hesterasked, at length, whether he had heard any bad news. 

"Only public news. The papers are full of everything that is dismal. The epidemic is spreading frightfully. It is a most serious affair. The people you meet in the streets at Blickley look as if they had theplague raging in the town. They say the funerals have never ceasedpassing through the streets, all this week; and really the churchyard Isaw seemed full of new graves. I believe the case is little better inany town in the kingdom. "

"And in the villages?"

"The villages follow, of course, with differences according to theircircumstances. None will be worse than this place, when once the feverappears among us. I would not say so anywhere but by our own fireside, because everything should be done to encourage the people instead offrightening them; but indeed it is difficult to imagine a place betterprepared for destruction than our pretty village is just now, from theextreme poverty of most of the people, and their ignorance, whichrenders them unfit to take any rational care of themselves. "

"You say, `whenever the fever comes. ' Do you think it must certainlycome?"

"Yes: and I have had some suspicions, within a day or two, that it ishere already. I must see Walcot to-morrow; and learn what he hasdiscovered in his practice. "

"Mr Walcot! Will not Dr Levitt do as well?"

"I must see Dr Levitt too, to consult about some means of cleansing anddrying the worst of the houses in the village. But it is quitenecessary that I should have some conversation with Walcot about themethods of treatment of this dreadful disease. If he is not glad of anopportunity of consulting with a brother in the profession, he ought tobe--and I have no doubt he will be; for he will very soon have as muchupon him as any head and hands in the world could manage. "

"Cannot you let him come to you for advice and assistance when he wantsit?"

"I must not wait for that. He is young, and, as we all imagine, notover wise: and a dozen of our poor neighbours might die before he becameaware of as much as I know to-night about this epidemic. No, love; mydignity must give way to the safety of our neighbours. Depend upon it, Walcot will be glad enough to hear what I have to say--if not to-morrow, by next week at furthest. "

"So soon? What makes you say next week?"

"I judge partly from the rate of progress of the fever elsewhere, andpartly from the present state of health in Deerbrook. There are otherreasons too. I have seen some birds of ill omen on the wing hitherwardthis evening. "

"What can you mean?"

"I mean fortune-tellers. Are you not aware that in seasons of plague--of the epidemics of our times, as well as the plagues of former days--conjurors, and fortune-tellers, and quacks appear, as a sort of heraldsof the disease? They are not really so, for the disease in factprecedes them; but they show themselves so immediately on its arrival, and usually before its presence is acknowledged, that they have oftenbeen thought to bring it. They have early information of its existencein any place; and they come to take advantage of the first panic of theinhabitants, where there are enough who are ignorant to make thespeculation a good one. I saw two parties of these people troopinghither; and we shall have heard something of their prophecies, and of afever case or two, before this time to-morrow, I have little doubt. "

"It is this prospect which has made you sad, " said Hester. 

"No, my dear--not that alone. But do not let us talk about being sad. What does it matter?"

"Yes; do let us talk about it, " said Margaret, "if, as I suspect, youare sad for us. It is about Morris's going away, is it not?"

"About many things. It is impossible to be at all times unaffected bysuch changes as have come upon us; I cannot always forget what myprofession once was to me, for honour, for occupation, and for income. I confidently reckoned on bringing you both to a home full of comfort. Never were women so cherished as I meant that you should be. And now ithas ended in your little incomes being almost our only resource, and inyour being deprived of your old friend Morris, some years before hertime. I can hardly endure to think of to-morrow. "

"And do you really call this the end?" asked Margaret. "Do you considerour destiny fixed for evermore?"

"As far as you and I are concerned, love, " said Hester to him, "I couldalmost wish that this were the end. I feel as if almost any changewould be for the worse; I mean supposing you not to look as you do now, but as you have always been till now. Oh, Edward, I am so happy!"

Her husband could not speak for astonishment and delight. "You rememberthat evening in Verdon woods, Edward--the evening before we weremarried?"

"Remember it!"

"Well. How infinitely happier are we now than then! Oh! that fear--that mistrust of myself! You reproved me for my fear and mistrust then;and I must beg leave to remind you of what you then said. It is notoften that I can have the honour of preaching to you, my dear husband, as it is rather difficult to find an occasion; but now I have caught youtripping. What is there for you to be uneasy about now, that can at allbe compared with what I troubled myself about then?--Since that time Ihave caused you much misery, I know--misery which I partly foresaw Ishould cause you: but that is over, I trust. It is over at least forthe time that we are poor and persecuted. I dare not and do not wishfor anything otherwise than as we have it flow. Persecution seems tohave made us wiser, and poverty happier; and how, if only Margaret werealtogether as we would see her, how could we be better than we are?"

"You are right, my dear wife. " These few tender words, and herhusband's brightened looks, sufficed--Hester had no cares. She forgoteven the fever, in seeing Edward look as gay as usual again, and infeeling that she was everything to that feeling, that conviction, forwhich she had sighed in vain, for long after her marriage. She had thenfancied that his profession, his family, his own thoughts, were asimportant to him as herself. She now knew that she was supreme; andthis was supreme satisfaction. 

When Margaret sprang up to her new labours in the chill dusk of the nextmorning, she flattered herself that she was the first awake; but it wasnot so. When she went down, she found her brother busy shovelling thesnow away, and making a clear path from the kitchen door to thecoal-house. He declared it delightfully warm work, by the time he hadbrought in coals enough for the day, and wanted more employment of thesame sort. He went round to the front of the house, and cleared thesteps and pavement there; caring nothing for the fact, that two or threeneighbours gazed from their doors, and that some children stood blowingupon their fingers, and stamping with their feet, enduring the cold, forthe sake of seeing the gentleman clearing his own steps. 

"What would the Greys say?" asked Margaret, laughing; as, duster inhand, she looked from the open window, and spoke to her brother outside. 

"I am sure they ought to say I have done my work well. "

"That is just what Hester is observing within here. You are almostready for breakfast, are you not? She is setting the table. "

"Quite ready. What warm work this is! Really I do not believe there issuch a bit of pavement in all Deerbrook as this of ours. "

"Come--come in to breakfast. You have admired your work quite enoughfor this morning. "

The three who sat down to breakfast were as reasonable and philosophicalas most people; but even they were taken by surprise with the sweetnessof comforts provided by their own immediate toil. There was somethingin the novelty, perhaps; but Hope threw on the fire with remarkableenergy the coals he had himself brought in from the coal-house, and atewith great relish the toast toasted by his wife's own hands. Margaret, too, looked round the room more than once, with a new sort of pride inthere being not a particle of dust on table, chair, or book. It wasscarcely possible to persuade Edward that there was nothing more for himto do about the house till the next morning; that the errand-boy wouldcome in an hour, and clean the shoes; and that the only assistance themaster of the house could render, would be to take charge of the babyfor a quarter of an hour, while Hester helped her sister to make thebeds. 

After breakfast, when Hester was dressing her infant, and Margaretwashing up the tea-cups and saucers, the postman's knock was heard. Margaret went to the door, and paid for the letter from the "emergencypurse, " as they called the little sum of money they had put aside forunforeseen expenses. The letter was for Edward, and so brief that itmust be on business. 

It was on business. It was from the lawyer of Mr Hope's agedgrandfather; and it told that the old gentleman had at last sunk rathersuddenly under his many infirmities. Mr Hope was invited to go--not tothe funeral, for it must be over before he could arrive, but to see thewill, in which he had a large beneficial interest, the property beingdivided between himself and his brother, subject to legacies of onehundred pounds to each of his sisters, and a few smaller bequests to theservants. 

"This is as you always feared, " said Hester to her husband, observingthe expression of concern in his face, on reading the letter. 

"Indeed, I always feared it would be so, " he replied. "I did what Icould to prevent this act of posthumous injustice; and I am grieved thatI failed; for nothing can repair it. My sisters will have their money--the same in amount, but how different in value! They will receive it asa gift from their brothers, instead of as their due from theirgrandfather. I am very sorry his last act was of this character. "

"Will you go? Must you go?"

"No, I shall not go--at least, not at present. The funeral would beover, you see, before I could get there; and I doubt not the rest of thebusiness may be managed quietly and easily by letter. I have noinclination to travel just now, and no money to do it with, and strongreasons of another kind for staying at home. No, I shall not go. "

"I am very glad. Now, the first duty is to write to Emily and Anne, Isuppose: and to Frank?"

"Not to Frank just yet. He knows what I meant to do, in case of mygrandfather recurring to this disposition of his property; and, furtherthan this, I must not influence Frank. He must be left entirely free todo as he thinks proper, and I shall not communicate with him till he hashad ample time to decide on his course. I shall write to Emily and Anneto-day. "

"I am sorry for them. "

"So am I. What a pity it is, when the aged, whom one would wish tohonour after they are gone to their graves, impair one's respect, by anunjust arrangement of their affairs! How easily might my grandfatherhave satisfied us all, and secured our due reverence at the last, bymerely being just! Now, after admitting what was just, he has gone backinto his prejudices, and placed us all in a painful position, from whichit will be difficult to every one of us to regard his memory as weshould wish. "

"He little thought you would look upon his rich legacy in this way, "said Margaret, smiling. 

"I gave him warning that I should. It was impossible to refuse it moreperemptorily than I did. "

"That must be your satisfaction now, love. You have done everythingthat was right; so we will not discompose ourselves because another hasdone a wrong which you can partly repair. "

"My dear wife, what comfort you give! What a blessing it is, that youthink, and feel, and will act, with me--making my duty easy instead ofdifficult!"

"I was going to ask, " observed Margaret, "whether you have nomisgiving--no doubt whatever that you are right in refusing all thismoney. "

"Not the slightest doubt, Margaret. The case is not in any degreealtered by my change of fortune. The facts remain, that my sisters havereceived nothing yet from the property, while I have had my professionaleducation out of it. That my profession does not at present supply uswith bread does not affect the question at all: nor can you think thatit does, I am sure. But Hester, my love, what think you of our prospectof a hundred pounds?"

"A hundred pounds!"

"Yes; that is the sum set down for me when the honest will was made; andthat sum I shall of course retain. "

"Oh, delightful! What a quantity of comfort we may get out of a hundredpounds! How rich we shall be!"

"She is thinking already, " said Margaret, "what sort of a pretty cloakbaby is to have for the summer. "

"And Margaret must have something out of it, must not she, love?" askedHester. 

"We will all enjoy it, with many thanks to my poor grandfather. Surelythis hundred pounds will set us on through the year. "

"That will be very pleasant, really, " observed Margaret. "To be sure ofbread for all the rest of the year! Oh, the value of a hundred poundsto some people!"

"What a pity that Morris did not stay this one other day!" exclaimedHester. "And yet, perhaps, not so. It might have perplexed her mindabout leaving us, and induced her to give up her new place; and there isnothing in a chance hundred pounds to justify that. It is better as itis. "

"All things are very well as they are, " said Hope, "as long as we thinkso. Now, I am going to call on Walcot. Good-bye. "

"Stop, stop one moment! Stay, and see what I have found!" cried hiswife, in a tone of glee. "Look! Feel! Tell me--is not this our boy'sfirst tooth?"

"It is--it certainly is. I give you joy, my little fellow!"

"Worth all the hundreds of pounds in the world, " observed Margaret, coming in her turn to see and feel the little pearly edge, whose valueits owner was far from appreciating, while worried with the inquisitionwhich was made into the mysteries of his mouth. "Now it _is_ a pitythat Morris is not here!" all exclaimed. 

"We must write to her. Perhaps we might have found it yesterday, if wehad had any idea it would come so soon. "

No: Hester was quite positive there was no tooth to be seen or felt lastnight. 

"Well, we must write to Morris. "

"You must leave me a corner, " said Hope. "We must all try our skill indescribing a first tooth. I will consider my part as I walk. Bite myfinger once more before I go, my boy. "

The sisters busied themselves in putting the parlour in order, for thereception of any visitors who might chance to call, though the streetswere so deep in snow as to render the chance a remote one. Margaretbelieved that, when the time should come, she might set the potatoesover the parlour fire to boil, and thus, without detection, save thelighting another fire. But before she had taken off her apron, whileshe was in the act of sweeping up the hearth, there was a loud knock, which she recognised as proceeding from the hand of a Grey. The familyresemblance extended to their knocks at the door. 

As if no snow had fallen, Mrs Grey and Sophia entered. 

"You are surprised to see us, my dears, I have no doubt. But I couldnot be satisfied without knowing what Mr Hope thinks of this epidemic, this terrible fever, which every one is speaking about so frightfully. "

"Why, what can he think?"

"I mean, my dear, does he suppose that it will come here? Are we likelyto have it?"

"He tells us, what I suppose you hear from Mr Grey, that the feverseems to be spreading everywhere, and is just now very destructive atBuckley. Does not Mr Grey tell you so?"

"No, indeed; there is no learning anything from Mr Grey that he doesnot like to tell. Sophia, I think we must take in a newspaper again, that we may stand a chance of knowing something. "

Sophia agreed. 

"Sophia and I found that we really had no time to read the newspaper. There it lay, and nobody touched it; for Mr Grey reads the news in theoffice always. I told Mr Grey it was just paying so much a-week for nogood to anybody, and I begged he would countermand the paper. But wemust take it in again, really, to know how this fever goes on. Does MrHope think, my dears, as many people are saying here this morning, thatit is a sort of plague?"

"Oh, mamma, " exclaimed Sophia, "how can you say anything so dreadful?"

"I have not heard my husband speak of it so, " said Hester. "He thinksit a very serious affair, happening as it does in the midst of ascarcity, when the poor are already depressed and sickly. "

"Ah! that is always the way, Mr Grey tells me. After a scarcity comesthe fever, he says. The poor are much to be pitied indeed. But whatshould those do who are not poor, have you heard Mr Hope say?"

"He thinks they should help their poor neighbours to the very utmost. "

"Oh, yes; of course: but what I mean is, what precautions would beadvise?"

"We will ask him. I have not heard him speak particularly of this onthe present occasion. "

"Then he has not established any regulations in his own family?"

"No. But I know his opinion on such cases in general to be, that thesafest way is to go on as usual, taking rational care of health, andavoiding all unnecessary terror. This common way of living, and aparticularly diligent care of those who want the good offices of therich, are what he would recommend, I believe, at this time: but when hecomes in, we will ask him. You had better stay till he returns. He maybring some news. Meantime, I am sorry my baby is asleep. I should liketo show you his first tooth. "

"His first tooth? Indeed! He is a forward little fellow. But, Hester, do you happen to have heard your husband say what sort of fumigation hewould recommend in case of such a fever as this showing itself in thehouse?"

"Indeed I have not heard him speak of fumigations at all. Have you, Margaret?"

"I should just like to know; for Mrs Jones told me of a very good one;and Mrs Howell thinks ill of it. Mrs Jones recommended me to poursome sulphuric acid upon salt--common salt--in a saucer; but Mrs Howellsays there is nothing half so good as hot vinegar. "

"Somebody has come and put up a stall, " said Sophia, "where he sellsfumigating powders, and some pills, which he says are an infallibleremedy against the fever. "

"Preventive, my dear. "

"Well, mamma, 'tis just the same thing. Does Mr Hope know anything ofthe people who have set up that stall?"

Hester thought she might venture to answer that question without waitingfor her husband's return. She laughed as she said, that medical menavoided acquaintance with quacks. 

"Does Mr Hope think that medical men are in any particular danger?"asked Sophia, bashfully, but with great anxiety. "I think they must be, going among so many people who are ill. If there is a whole family inthe fever in a cottage at Crossly End, as Mrs Howell says there is, howvery dangerous it must be to attend them!"

Sophia was checked by a wink from her mother, and then first rememberedthat she was speaking to a surgeon's wife. She tried to explain awaywhat she had said; but there was no need. Hester calmly remarked thatit was the duty of many to expose themselves at such times in an equaldegree with the medical men; and that she believed that few were moresecure than those who did so without selfish thoughts and ignorantpanic. Sophia believed that every one did not think so. Some of MrWalcot's friends had been remonstrating with him about going so muchamong the poor sick people, just at this time; and Mr Walcot had beenconsulting her as to whether his duty to his parents did not requirethat he should have some regard to his own safety. He had not knownwhat to do about going to a house in Turnstile-lane, where some peoplewere ill. 

A dead silence followed this explanation. Mrs Grey broke it by askingMargaret if she might speak plainly to her--the common preface to alecture. As usual, Margaret replied, "Oh! certainly. "

"I would only just hint, my dear, that it would be as well if you didnot open the door yourself. You cannot think how strangely it looks:and some very unpleasant remarks might be made upon it. It is of noconsequence such a thing happening when Sophia and I come to your door. I would not have you think we regard it for ourselves in the least--thenot being properly shown in by a servant. "

"Oh! not in the least, " protested Sophia. 

"But you know it might have been the Levitts. I suppose it would havebeen just the same if the Levitts had called?"

"It certainly would. "

"It might have been the Levitts certainly, " observed Hester: "but I mustjust explain that it was to oblige me that Margaret went to the door. "

"Then, my dear, I hope you will point out some other way in whichMargaret may oblige you; for really you have no idea how oddly it looksfor young ladies to answer knocks at the door. It is not properself-respect, proper regard to appearance. And was it to oblige youthat Margaret carried a basket all through Deerbrook on Wednesday, withthe small end of a carrot peeping out from under the lid? Fie, mydears! I must say fie! It grieves me to find fault with you: butreally this is folly. It is really neglecting appearances too far. "

Mr Hope did not return in time to see Mrs Grey. When she could waitno longer, Hester promised to send her husband to solve Mrs Grey'sdifficulties. 

"What would she have said, " exclaimed Hester, "if she had seen myhusband's doings of this morning?"

"Ah! what indeed?"

"Actually shovelling snow from his own steps!"

"Oh, I thought you meant giving away a competence. Which act would shehave thought the least self-respectful?"

"She would have had a great deal to say on his duty to his family inboth cases. But it is all out of kindness that she grieves so much overhis `enthusiasm, ' and lectures us for our disregard of appearances. Ifshe loved us less, we should hear less of her concern, and it would betold to others behind our backs. So we will not mind it. You do notmind it, Margaret?"

"I rather enjoy it. "

"That is right. Now I wish my husband would come in. He has been gonevery long; and I want to hear the whole truth about this fever. "

CHAPTER FORTY ONE. 

DEERBROOK IN SHADOW. 

It was some hours before Hope appeared at home again; and when he did, he was very grave. Mr Walcot had been truly glad to see him, and, itwas plain, would have applied to him for aid and co-operation some daysbefore, if Mrs Rowland had not interfered, to prevent any consultationof the kind. The state of health of Deerbrook was bad, --much worse thanHope had had any suspicion of. Whole families were prostrated by thefever in the labourers' cottages, and it was creeping into the bettersort of houses. Mr Walcot had requested Hope to visit some of hispatients with him: and what he had seen had convinced him that thedisease was of a most formidable character, and that a great mortalitymust be expected in Deerbrook. Walcot appeared to be doing his dutywith more energy than might have been expected: and it seemed as ifwhatever talent he had, was exercised in his profession. Hope's opinionof him was raised by what he had seen this morning. Walcot hadcomplained that his skill and knowledge could have no fair play among aset of people so ignorant as the families of his Deerbrook patients. They put more faith in charms than in medicines or care; and wererunning out in the cold and damp to have their fortunes told by night, or in the grey of the morning. If a fortune-teller promised long life, all the warnings of the doctor went for nothing. Then, again, thepeople mistook the oppression which was one of the first symptoms of thefever, for debility; and before the doctor was sent for, or in defianceof his directions, the patient was plied with strong drinks, and hiscase rendered desperate from the beginning. Mr Walcot had complainedthat the odds were really too much against him, and that he believedhimself likely to lose almost every fever patient he had. It may beimagined how welcome to him were Mr Hope's countenance, suggestions, and influence, --such as the prejudices of the people had left it. 

Dr Levitt's influence was of little more avail than Mr Hope's. Fromthis day, he was as busily engaged among the sick as the medicalgentlemen themselves; laying aside his books, and spending all his timeamong his parishioners; not neglecting the rich, but especially devotinghimself to the poor. He co-operated with Hope in every way; raisingmoney to cleanse, air, and dry the most cheerless of the cottages, andto supply the indigent sick with warmth and food. But all appeared tobe of little avail. The disease stole on through the village, as if ithad been left to work its own way; from day to day tidings came abroadof another and another who was down in the fever, --the Tuckers'maidservant, Mr Hill's shop-boy, poor Mrs Paxton, always sure to beill when anybody else was, and all John Ringworth's five children. In afortnight, the church bell began to give token how fatal the sicknesswas becoming. It tolled till those who lived very near the church wereweary of hearing it. 

On the afternoon of a day when its sound had scarcely ceased sincesunrise, Dr Levitt and Hope met at the door of the corner-house. 

"You are the man I wanted to meet, " said Dr Levitt. "I have beeninquiring for you, but your household could give me no account of you. Could you just step home with me? Or come to me in the evening, willyou? But stay! There is no time like the present, after all; so, ifyou will allow me, I will walk in with you now; and, if you are going todinner, I will make one. I have nobody to sit down with me at home atpresent, you know, --or perhaps you do not know. "

"Indeed I was not aware of the absence of your family, " said Hope, leading the way into the parlour, where Margaret at the moment waslaying the cloth. 

"You must have wondered that you had seen nothing of my wife all thisweek, if you did not know where she was. I thought it best, all thingsconsidered, to send them every one away. I hope we have done right. Ifind I am more free for the discharge of my own duty, now that I amunchecked by their fears for me, and untroubled by my own anxiety forthem. I have sent them all abroad, and shall go for them when thisepidemic has run its course; and not till then. I little thought whatsatisfaction I could feel in walking about my own house, to see howdeserted it looks. I never hear that bell but I rejoice that all thatbelong to me are so far off. "

"I wanted to ask you about that bell, " said Hope. "My question may seemto you to savour strongly of dissent; but I must inquire whether it isabsolutely necessary for bad news to be announced to all Deerbrook everyday, and almost all day long. However far we may be from objecting tohear it in ordinary times, should not our first consideration now be forthe living? Is not the case altered by the number of deaths that takesplace at a season like this?"

"I am quite of your opinion, Mr Hope; and I have talked with Owen, andmany others, about that matter, within this week. I have proposed todispense, for the present, with a custom which I own myself to beattached to in ordinary times, but which I now see may be pernicious. But it cannot be done. We must yield the point. "

"I will not engage to cure any sick, or to keep any well, who livewithin sound of that bell. "

"I am not surprised to hear you say so. But this practice has so becomea part of people's religion, that it seems as if worse effects wouldfollow from discontinuing it than from pursuing the usual course. Owensays there is scarcely a person in Deerbrook who would not talk of aheathen death and burial if the bell were silenced; and, if once thepeople's repose in their religion is shaken, I really know not what willbecome of them. "

"I agree with you there. Their religious feelings must be leftuntouched, or all is over; but I am sorry that this particularobservance is implicated with them so completely as you say. It will bewell if it does not soon become an impossibility to toll the bell forall who die. "

"It would be well, too, " said Dr Levitt, "if this were the onlysuperstition the people entertained. They are more terrified with someothers than with this bell. I am afraid they are more depressed bytheir superstitions than sustained by their religion. Have youobserved, Hope, how many of them stand looking at the sky every night?"

"Yes; and we hear, wherever we go, of fiery swords, and dreadful angels, seen in the clouds; and the old prophecies have all come up again--atleast, all of them that are dismal. As for the death-watches, they areout of number; and there is never a fire lighted but a coffin fliesout. "

"And this story of a ghost of a coffin, with four ghosts to bear it, that goes up and down in the village all night long, " said Hester, "Ireally do not wonder that it shakes the nerves of the sick to hear ofit. They say that no one can stop those bearers, or get any answer fromthem: but on they glide, let what will be in their way. "

"Come, tell me, " said Dr Levitt, "have not you yourself looked out forthat sight?"

Hester acknowledged that she had seen a real substantial coffin, carriedby human bearers, pass down the middle of the street, at an hour pastmidnight; the removal of a body from a house where it had died, shesupposed, to another whence it was to be buried. This coffin and theghostly one she took to be one and the same. 

Dr Levitt mentioned instances of superstition, which could scarcelyhave been believed by him, if related by another. 

"Do you know the Platts?" he inquired of Hope. "Have you seen the poorwoman that lies ill there with her child?"

"Yes: what a state of destitution they are in!"

"At the very time that that woman and her child are lying on shavings, begged from the carpenter's yard, her mother finds means to fee thefortune-teller in the lane for reading a dream. The fortune-tellerdooms the child, and speaks doubtfully of the mother. "

"I could not conceive the reason why no one of the family would doanything for the boy. I used what authority I could, while I was there;but I fear he has been left to his fate since. The neighbours will notenter the house. "

"What neighbours?" said Margaret. "You have never so much as asked me. "

"You are our main stay at home, Margaret. I could ask no more of youthan you do here. "

Margaret was now putting the dinner on the table. It consisted of abowl of potatoes, salt, the loaf and butter, and a pitcher of water. Dr Levitt said grace, and they sat down, without one word of apologyfrom host or hostess. Though Dr Levitt had not been prepared for anevidence like this of the state of affairs in the family, he had knownenough of their adversity to understand the case now at a glance. Noone ate more heartily than he; and the conversation went on as if asumptuous feast had been spread before the party. 

"I own myself disappointed, " said Hope, "in finding among our neighboursso little disposition to help each other. I hardly understand it, trusting as I have ever done in the generosity of the poor, and havingalways before seen my faith justified. The apathy of some, and theselfish terrors of others, are worse to witness than the diseaseitself. "

"How can you wonder, " said Dr Levitt, "when they have such an examplebefore their eyes in certain of their neighbours, to whom they areaccustomed to look up? Sir William Hunter and his lady are enough toparalyse the morals of the whole parish at a time like this. Do not youknow the plan they go upon? They keep their outer gates locked, lestany one from the village should set foot within their grounds; everyarticle left at the lodge for the use of the family is fumigated beforeit is admitted into the house: and it is generally understood thatneither the gentleman nor the lady will leave the estate, in anyemergency whatever, till the disease has entirely passed away. Our poorare not to have the solace of their presence even in church, during thistime of peril, when the face of the prosperous is like light in a darkplace. Sir William makes it no secret that they would have left homealtogether, if they could have hoped to be safer anywhere else--if theycould have gone anywhere without danger of meeting the fever. "

"If the fact had not been, " said Hester, "as Mrs Howell states it, thatthe epidemic prevails partially everywhere. "

"There is a case where Lady Hunter's example immediately operates, "observed Dr Levitt. "If Lady Hunter had not forgotten herself in herduty, Mrs Howell would have given the benefit of her good offices tosome whom she might have served; for she is really a kind-hearted woman:but she is struck with a panic because Lady Hunter is, and one cannotget a word with her or Miss Miskin. "

"I saw that her shutters were nearly closed, " observed Margaret. "Isupposed she had lost some relation. "

"No: she is only trying to shut out the fever. She and Miss Miskin areafraid of the milkman, and each tries to put upon the other the peril ofserving a customer. This panic will destroy us if it spreads. "

The sisters looked at each other, and in one glance exchanged agreementthat the time was fully come for them to act abroad, let what wouldbecome of their home comforts. 

"I ought to add, however, " said Dr Levitt, "that Sir William Hunter hassupplied my poor's purse with money very liberally. I spend his moneyas freely as my own at a time like this; but I tell him that one hour ofhis presence among us would do more good than all the gold he can send. His answer comes in the shape of a handsome draft on his banker, smelling strongly of aromatic vinegar. They fumigate even theirblotting-paper, it seems to me. I did hope my last letter would havebrought him to call. "

"Our friends are very ready with their money, " said Hope. "I shouldhave begged of you before this, but that Mr Grey has been liberal inthat way. He concludes it to be impossible that he should look himselfinto the wants of the village; but he permits me to use his purse prettyfreely. Is there anything that you can suggest that can be done by me, Dr Levitt? Is there any case unknown to me where I can be of service?"

"Or I?" said Margaret. "My brother and sister will spare me, and put upwith some hardship at home, I know, if you can point out any place whereI can be more useful. "

"To be sure I can. Much as I like to come to your house, to witness andfeel the thorough comfort which I always find in it, I own I shall carelittle to see everything at sixes and sevens here for a few weeks, ifyou will give me your time and talents for such services as we gentlemencannot perform, and as we cannot at present hire persons to undertake. You see I take you at your word, my dear young lady. If you had notoffered, I should not have asked you: as you have, I snatch at the goodyou hold out. I mean to preach a very plain sermon next Sunday on theduties of neighbours in a season of distress like this: and I shall doit with the better hope, if I have, meanwhile, a fellow-labourer of yoursex, no less valuable in her way than my friend Hope in his. "

"I shall come and hear your sermon, " said Hester, "if Margaret will takecharge of my boy for the hour. I want to see clearly what is my duty ata time when claims conflict as they do now. "

There was at present no time for the conscientious and charitable tolose in daylight loiterings over the table, or chat by the fireside. Ina few minutes the table was cleared, and Margaret ready to proceed withDr Levitt to the Platts' Cottage. 

As soon as Margaret saw what was the real state of affairs in thecottage, she sent away Dr Levitt, who could be of no use till somedegree of decency was instituted in the miserable abode. What to setabout first was Margaret's difficulty. There was no one to help her butMrs Platt's mother, who was sitting down to wait the result of thefortune-teller's predictions. Her daughter lay moaning on a bedsteadspread with shavings only, and she had no covering whatever but ablanket worn into a large hole in the middle. The poor woman's longhair, unconfined by any cap, strayed about her bare and emaciatedshoulders, and her shrunken bands picked at the blanket incessantly, everything appearing to her diseased vision covered with black spots. Never before had so squalid an object met Margaret's eyes. The husbandsat by the empty grate, stooping and shrinking, and looking at the floorwith an idiotic expression of countenance, as appeared through thehandkerchief which was tied over his head. He was just sinking into thefever. His boy lay on a heap of rags in the corner, his head also tiedup, but the handkerchief stiff with the black blood which was stilloozing from his nose, ears, and mouth. It was inconceivable to Margaretthat her brother, with Mr Grey's money in his pocket, could have leftthe family in this state. He had not. There were cinders in the hearthwhich showed that there had been a fire; and the old woman acknowledgedthat a pair of sheets and a rug had been pawned to the fortune-teller inthe lane since the morning. There had been food; but nobody had anyappetite but herself, and she had eaten it up. The fortune-teller hadcharmed the pail of fresh water that stood under the bed, and hadpromised a new spell in the morning. 

In a case of such extremity, Margaret had no fears. She set forth alonefor the fortune-teller's, not far off, and redeemed the sheets andblanket, which were quite clean. As she went, she was sorry she haddismissed Dr Levitt so soon. As a magistrate, he could haveimmediately compelled the restoration of the bedding. The use of hisname, however, answered the purpose, and the conjurer even offered tocarry the articles for her to Platt's house. She so earnestly desiredto keep him and her charge apart, that she preferred loading herselfwith the package. Then the shavings were found to be in such a statethat every shred of them must be removed before the sick man could beallowed to lie down. No time was to be lost. In the face of the oldwoman's protestations that her daughter should not stir, Margaret spreadthe bedding on the floor, wrapped the sick woman in a sheet, and laidher upon it, finding the poor creature so light from emaciation that shewas as easy to lift as a child. The only thing that the old woman wouldconsent to do, was to go with a pencil note to Mr Grey, and bring backthe clean dry straw which would be given her in his yard. She went, inhopes of receiving something else with the straw; and while she wasgone, Margaret was quite alone with the sick family. 

Struggling to surmount her disgust at the task, she resolved to employthe interval in removing the shavings. The pail containing the charmedwater was the only thing in the cottage which would hold them; and shemade bold to empty it in the ditch close at hand. Platt was capable ofwatching all she did; and he made a frightful gesture of rage at her asshe re-entered. She saw in the shadow of the handkerchief his quiveringlips move in the act of speaking, and her ear caught the words of anoath. Her situation now was far from pleasant; but it was still arelief that no one was by to witness what she saw and was doing. Sheconveyed pailful after pailful of the noisome shavings to the dunghillat the back of the cottage, wondering the while that the inhabitants ofthe dwelling were not all dead of the fever long ago. She almost gaveover her task when a huge toad crawled upon her foot from itsresting-place among the shavings. She shrunk from it, and was glad tosee it make for the door of its own accord. Platt again growled, andclenched his fist at her. He probably thought that she had again brokena charm for which he had paid money. She spoke kindly and cheerfully, again and again; but he was either deaf or too ill to understand. Torelieve the sense of dreariness, she went to work again. She thoroughlycleansed the pail, and filled it afresh from the brook, lookinganxiously down the lane for the approach of some human creature, andthen applied herself to rubbing the bedstead as dry and clean as shecould, with an apron of the old woman's. 

In due time her messenger returned; and with her Ben, carrying a trussof straw. His face was the face of a friend. 

"We must have some warm water, Ben, to clean these poor creatures; andthere seems to be nothing to make a fire with. "

"And it would take a long time, Miss, to get the coals, and heat thewater; and the poor soul lying there all the time. Could not I bringyou a pail of hot water from the `Bonnet-so-Blue' quicker than that?"

"Do; and soap and towels from home. "

Ben was gone with the pail. During the whole time of spreading thestraw on the bedstead, the old woman remonstrated against anything beingdone to her daughter, beyond laying her where she was before, and givingher a little warm spirits; but when she discovered that the charmedwater had been thrown out into the ditch, all to her seemed over. Herlast hope was gone; and she sat down in sulky silence, eyeing Margaret'sproceedings without any offer to help. 

When the warm water arrived, and the sick woman seemed to like thesponging and drying of her fevered limbs, the mother began to relent, and at last approached to give her assistance, holding her poor daughterin her arms while Margaret spread the blanket and sheet on the straw, and then lifting the patient into the now clean bed. She was stillunwilling to waste any time and trouble on the child in the corner; butMargaret was peremptory. She saw that he was dying; but not the lessfor this must he be made as comfortable as circumstances would permit. In half an hour he, too, was laid on his bed of clean straw; and thefilthy rags with which he had been surrounded were deposited out ofdoors till some one who would wash them could come for them. By apromise of fire and food, Margaret bribed the old woman to let thingsremain as they were while she went for her brother, whose skill and careshe hoped might now have some chance of saving his patients. Sherecommended that Platt himself should not attempt to sit up any longer, and engaged to return in half an hour. 

She paused on the threshold a minute, to see how far Platt was able towalk; so great seemed to be the difficulty with which he raised himselffrom his chair, with the old woman's assistance. Once he stumbled, andwould have fallen, if Margaret had not sprung to his side. Onrecovering himself; he wrenched his arm from her, and pushed herbackwards with more force than she had supposed he possessed. There wasa half-smile on the old woman's face as he did this, which made Margaretshudder; but she was more troubled by a look from the man, which shecaught from beneath the handkerchief that bound his head; a look whichshe could not but fancy she had met before with the same feeling ofuneasiness. 

When she had seen him safely seated on the bedside, she hastened awayfor her brother. They lost no more time in returning than just to stepto Widow Rye's, to ask whether she would sit up with this miserablefamily this night. The widow would have done anything else in the worldfor Mr Hope; and she did not positively refuse to do this; but the fearof her neighbours had so infected her, and her terror of a sick-room wasso extreme, that it was evident her presence there would do more harmthan good. She was glad to compound for a less hazardous service, andagreed to wash for the sick with all diligence, if she was not requiredto enter the houses, but might fetch the linen from tubs of water placedoutside the doors. After setting on plenty of water to heat, she nowfollowed Hope and Margaret to the cottage in the lane. 

It was nearly dark, and they walked rapidly, Margaret describing as theywent what she had done, and what she thought remained to be done, togive Mrs Platt a chance of recovery. 

"What now? Why do you start so?" cried Hope, as she stopped short inthe middle of a sentence. 

Margaret even stood still for one moment. Hope looked the way she waslooking, and saw, in the little twilight that remained, the figure ofsome one who had been walking on the opposite side of the road, butwhose walk was now quickened to a run. 

"It is--it is he, " said Hope, as Philip disappeared in the darkness. Answering to what he knew must be in Margaret's thoughts, he continued--

"He knows the state the village is in--the danger that we are all in, and he cannot stay away. "

"`We!' `All?'"

"When I say `we, ' I mean you particularly. "

"If you think so--" murmured Margaret, and stopped for breath. 

"I think so; but it does not follow that there is any change. He hasalways loved you. Margaret, do not deceive yourself. Do not afflictyourself with expectations--"

"Do not speak to me, brother. I cannot bear a word from you about him. "

Hope sighed deeply, but he could not remonstrate. He knew that Margarethad only too much reason for saying this. They walked on in entiresilence to the lane. 

A fire was now kindled, and a light dimly burned in Platt's cottage. AsMargaret stood by the bedside, watching her brother's examination of hispatient, and anxious to understand rightly the directions he was giving, the poor woman half raised her head from her pillow, and fixed her dulleyes on Margaret's face, saying, as if thinking aloud:

"The lady has heard some good news, sure. She looks cheerful-like. "

The mother herself turned round to stare, and, for the first time, dropped a curtsey. 

"I hope we shall see you look cheerful too, one day soon, if we nurseyou well, " said Margaret. 

"Then, Miss, don't let them move me, to take the blankets away again. "

"You shall not be moved unless you wish it. I am going to stay with youto-night. "

Her brother did not oppose this, for he did not know of the unpleasantglances and mutterings, with which Platt rewarded all Margaret's goodoffices. Hope believed he should himself be out all night among hispatients. He would come early in the morning, and now fairly warnedMargaret that it was very possible that the child might die in thecourse of the night. She was not deterred by this, nor by her dread ofthe sick man. She had gained a new strength of soul, and this night shefeared nothing. During the long hours there was much to do--threesufferers at once requiring her cares; and amidst all that she did, shewas sustained by the thought that she had seen Philip, and that he wasnear. The abyss of nothingness was passed, and she now trod the groundof certainty of his existence, and of his remembrance. When her brotherentered, letting in the first grey of the morning as he opened thecottage door, he found her almost untired, almost gay. Platt was worse, his wife much the same, and the child still living. The old woman'sheart was so far touched with the unwonted comfort of the past night, and with her having been allowed, and even encouraged, to take her rest, that she now offered her bundle of clothes for the lady to lie downupon; and when that favour was declined, readily promised not to partwith any article to the fortune-teller, till she should see some of MrHope's family again. 

Hope thought Mrs Platt might possibly get through: and this was allthat was said on the way home. Margaret lay down to rest, to sweetsleep, for a couple of hours: and when she appeared below, her brotherand sister had half done breakfast, and Mr Grey and his twin daughterswere with them. 

Mr Grey came to say that he and all his family were to leave Deerbrookin two hours. Where they should settle for the present, they had notyet made up their minds. The first object was to get away, the epidemicbeing now really too frightful to be encountered any longer. Theyshould proceed immediately to Brighton, and there determine whether togo to the Continent, or seek some healthy place nearer home, to stay in, till Deerbrook should again be habitable. They were extremely anxiousto carry Hester, Margaret, and the baby, with them. They knew Mr Hopecould not desert his posts: but they thought he would feel as Dr Levittdid, far happier to know that his family were out of danger, than tohave them with him. Hester had firmly refused to go, from the firstmention of the plan; and now Margaret was equally decided in expressingher determination to stay. Mr Grey urged the extreme danger: Fanny andMary hung about her, and implored her to go, and to carry the baby withher. They should so like to have the baby with them for a great manyweeks! and they would take care of him, and play with him all day long. Their father once more interposed for the child's sake. Hester might goto Brighton, there wean her infant, and return to her husband; so thatthe little helpless creature might at least be safe. Mr Grey would notconceal that he considered this a positive duty--that the parents wouldhave much to answer for, if anything should happen to the boy at home. The parents' hearts swelled. They looked at each other, and felt thatthis was not a moment in which to perplex themselves with calculationsof incalculable things--with comparisons of the dangers which threatenedtheir infant abroad and at home. This was a decision for their heartsto make. Their hearts decided that their child's right place was in hisparents' arms; and that their best hope now, as at all other times, wasto live and die together. 

Hester had heard from her husband of the apparition of the precedingevening, and she therefore knew that there was less of `enthusiasm, ' asMr Grey called what some others would have named virtue, in Margaret'sdetermination to stay, than might appear. If Philip was here, how vainmust be all attempts to remove her! Mr Grey might as well set aboutpersuading the old church tower to go with him: and so he found. 

"Oh, cousin Margaret, " said Mary, in a whisper, with a face of muchsorrow, "mamma will not ask Miss Young to go with us! If she should beill while we are gone! If she should die!"

"Nonsense, Mary, " cried Fanny, partly overhearing, and partly guessingwhat her sister had said; "you know mamma says it is not convenient: andMiss Young is not like my cousins, as mamma says, a member of a family, with people depending upon her. It is quite a different case, Mary, asyou must know very well. Only think, cousin Margaret! what an odd thingit will be, to be so many weeks without saying any lessons! How weshall enjoy ourselves!"

"But if Miss Young should be ill, and die!" persisted Mary. 

"Pooh! why should she be ill and die, more than Dr Levitt, and Ben, andour cook, and my cousins, and all that are going to stay behind?Margaret, I do wish cousin Hester would let us carry the baby with us. We shall have no lessons to do, you know; and we could play with him allday long. "

"Yes, I wish he might go, " said Mary. "But, Margaret, do you not think, if you spoke a word to papa and mamma, they would let me stay with MissYoung? I know she would make room for me; for she did for Phoebe, whenPhoebe nursed her; and I should like to stay and help her, and read toher, even if she should not be ill. I think papa and mamma might let mestay, if you asked them. "

"I do not think they would, Mary: and I had rather not ask them. But Ipromise you that we will all take the best care we can of Maria. Wewill try to help and amuse her as well as you could wish. "

"Come, Mary, we must go!" cried Fanny. "There is papa giving Mr Hopesome money for the poor; people always go away quick after giving money. Good bye, cousin Margaret. We shall bring you some shells, orsomething, I dare say, when we come back. Now let me kiss the baby oncemore. I can't think why you won't let him go with us: we should like soto have him!"

"So do we, " said Hester, laughing. 

As the door closed behind the Greys, the three looked in each other'sfaces. That glance assured each other that they had done right. Inthat glance was a mutual promise of cheerful fidelity through whatevermight be impending. There was no sadness in the tone of theirconversation; and when, within two hours, the Greys went by, drivenslowly, because there was a funeral train on each side of the way, therewas full as much happiness in the faces that smiled a farewell from thewindows, as in the gestures of the young people, who started up in thecarriage to kiss their hands, and who were being borne away from theabode of danger and death, to spend several weeks without doing anylessons. Often, during this day, was the voice of mirth even heard inthis dwelling. It was not like the mirth of the well-known company ofprisoners in the first French revolution--men who knew that they shouldleave their prison only to lose their heads, and who, once mutuallyacknowledging this, agreed vainly and pusillanimously to banish fromthat hour all sad, all grave thoughts, and laugh till they died. It wasnot this mirth of despair; nor yet that of carelessness; nor yet that ofdefiance. Nor were theirs the spirits of the patriot in the hour ofstruggle, nor of the hero in the crisis of danger. In a peril liketheirs, there is nothing imposing to the imagination, or flattering tothe pride, or immediately appealing to the energies of the soul. Therewere no resources for them in emotions of valour or patriotism. Theirswas the gaiety of simple faith and innocence. They had acted from pureinclination, from affection, unconscious of pride, of difficulty, ofmerit; and they were satisfied, and gay as the innocent ought to be, enjoying what there was to enjoy, and questioning and fearing nothingbeyond. 

From a distant point of time or place, such a state of spirits in themidst of a pestilence may appear unnatural and wrong; but experienceproves that it is neither. Whatever observers may think, it is naturaland it is right that minds strong enough to be settled, either in a goodor evil frame, should preserve their usual character amidst any changesof circumstance. To those involved in new events, they appear lessstrange than in prospect or in review. Habitual thoughts are present, familiarising wonderful incidents; and the fears of the selfish, therepose of the religious, the speculations of the thoughtful, and thegaiety of the innocent, pervade the life of each, let what will behappening. 

Yet to the prevailing mood the circumstances of the time will interposean occasional check. This very evening, when Margaret was absent at thecottage in the lane, and Hope, wearied with his toils among the sick allthe night, and all this day, was apparently sleeping for an hour on thesofa, Hester's heart grew heavy, as she lulled her infant to rest by thefire. As she thought on what was passing in the houses of herneighbours, death seemed to close around the little being she held inher arms. As she gazed in his face, watching the slumber stealing on, she murmured over him--

"Oh, my child, my child! if I should lose you, what _should_ I do?"

"Hester! my love!" said her husband, in a tone of tender remonstrance, "what _do_ you mean?"

"I did not think you would hear me, love; but I thank you. What did Imean? Not exactly what I said; for God knows, I would strive to partwillingly with whatever he might see fit to take away. But, oh, Edward!what a struggle it would be! and how near it comes to us! How manymothers are now parting from their children!"

"God's will be done!" cried Hope, starting up, and standing over hisbabe. 

"Are you sure, Edward may we feel quite certain that we have donerightly by our boy in keeping him here?"

"I am satisfied, my love. "

"Then I am prepared. How still he is now! How like death it looks!"

"What, that warm, breathing sleep! No more like death than his laugh islike sin. "

And Hope looked about him for pencil and paper, and hastily sketched hisboy in all the beauty of repose, before he went forth again among thesick and wretched. It was very like; and Hester placed it before her asshe plied her needle, all that long solitary evening. 

CHAPTER FORTY TWO. 

CHURCH-GOING. 

Hester went to church the next Sunday, as she wished, to hear DrLevitt's promised plain sermon on the duties of the times. Margaretgladly staid at home with the baby, thankful for the relief from thesight of sickness, and for the quiet of solitude while the infant slept. Edward was busy among those who wanted his good offices, as he now was, almost without intermission. Hester had to go alone. 

Everything abroad looked very strange--quite unlike the common Sundayaspect of the place. The streets were empty, except that a party ofmourners were returning from a funeral. Either people were already allin church, or nobody was going. She quickened her pace in the fear thatshe might be late, though the bell seemed to assure her that she wasnot. Widow Rye's little garden-plot was all covered with linen put outto dry, and Mrs Rye might be seen through the window, at the wash-tub. The want of fresh linen was so pressing, that the sick must not be keptwaiting, though it was Sunday. Miss Nares and Miss Flint were incurl-papers, plying their needles. They had been up all night, and werenow putting the last stitches to a suit of family mourning, which was toenable the bereaved to attend afternoon church. Miss Nares looked quitehaggard, as she well might, having scarcely left her seat for the lastfortnight, except to take orders for mourning, and to snatch a scantyportion of rest. She had endeavoured to procure an additionalwork-woman or two from among her neighbours, and then from Blickley: buther neighbours were busy with their domestic troubles, and the Blickleypeople wanted more mourning than the hands there could supply; so MissNares and Miss Flint had been compelled to work night and day, till theyboth looked as if they had had the sickness, and were justified insaying that no money could pay them for what they were undergoing. Theybegan earnestly to wish what they had till now deprecated--that DrLevitt might succeed in inducing some of his flock to forego thepractice of wearing mourning. But of this there was little prospect:the people were as determined upon wearing black, as upon having thebell tolled for the dead; and Miss Nares's heart sank at the prospectbefore her, if the epidemic should continue, and she should be able toget no help. 

Almost every second house in the place was shut up. The blank windowsof the cottages, where plants or smiling faces were usually to be seenon a Sunday morning, looked dreary. The inhabitants of many of thebetter dwellings were absent. There were no voices of children aboutthe little courts; no groups of boys under the churchyard wall. Ofthose who had frequented this spot, several were under the sod; somewere laid low in fever within the houses; and others were with theirparents, forming a larger congregation round the fortune-tellers' tentsin the lanes, than Dr Levitt could assemble in the church. 

Hester heard the strokes of the hammer and the saw as she passed theclosed shop of the carpenter, who was also the undertaker. She knewthat people were making coffins by candlelight within. Happening tolook round after she had passed, she saw a woman come out, wan incountenance, and carrying under her cloak something which a puff of windshowed to be an infant's coffin--a sight from which every young motheraverts her eyes. As Hester approached a cottage whose thatch had notbeen weeded for long, she was startled by a howl and whine from within;and a dog, emaciated to the last degree, sprang upon the sill of an openwindow. A neighbour who perceived her shrink back, and hesitate topass, assured her that she need not be afraid of the dog. The pooranimal would not leave the place, whose inmates were all dead of thefever. The window was left open for the dog's escape; but he never cameout, though he looked famished. Some persons had thrown in food atfirst; but now no one had time or thought to spare for dogs. 

Mr Walcot issued from a house near the church as Hester passed, and hestopped her. He was roused or frightened out of his usual simplicity ofmanner, and observed, with an air of deep anxiety, that he trusted MrHope had better success with his patients than he could boast of. Thedisease was most terrific: and the saving of a life was a chance nowseemingly too rare to be reckoned on. It really required more strengththan most men had to stand by their duty at such a time, when they coulddo little more than see their patients die. Hester thought him so muchmoved, that he was at this moment hardly fit for business. She said:

"We all have need of all our strength. I do not know whether worshipgives it to you as it does to me. Will it not be an hour, or even halfan hour, well spent, if you go with me there?" pointing to the church. "You will say you are wanted elsewhere; but will you not be stronger andcalmer for the comfort you may find there?"

"I should like it... I have always been in the habit of going tochurch... It would do me good, I know. But, Mrs Hope, how is this? Ithought you had been a dissenter. I always said so. I have been verywrong--very ill-natured. "

"I am a dissenter, " said Hester, smiling, "but you are not; andtherefore I may urge you to go to church. As for the rest of themystery, I will explain it when we have more time. Meanwhile, I hopeyou do not suppose that dissenters do not worship and need and loveworship as other people do!"

Mr Walcot replied by timidly offering his arm, which Hester accepted, and they entered the church together. 

The Rowlands were already in their pew. There was a general commotionamong the children when they saw Mrs Hope and Mr Walcot walking up theaisle arm-in-arm. Matilda called her mother's attention to theremarkable fact, and the little heads all whispered together. Thechurch looked really almost empty. There were no Hunters, with theirtrain of servants: there were no Levitts. The Miss Andersons had notentered Deerbrook for weeks; and Maria Young sat alone in the largedouble pew commonly occupied by her scholars. There was a sprinkling ofpoor; but Hester observed that every one in the church was in mourningbut Maria and herself. It looked sadly chill and dreary. The sightsand sounds she had met, and the aspect of the place she was in, disposedher to welcome every thought of comfort that the voice of the preachercould convey. 

There were others to whom consolation appeared even more necessary thanto herself. Philip Enderby had certainly seen her, and was distressedat it. He could not have expected to meet her here; and hisdiscomposure was obvious. He looked thin, and grave, --not to saysubdued. Hester was surprised to find how she relented towards him, themoment she saw he was not gay and careless, and how her feelings grewsofter and softer under the religious emotions of the hour. She was sonear forgiving him, that she was very glad Margaret was not by her side. If she could forgive, how would it be with Margaret?

The next most melancholy person present, perhaps, was Mr Walcot. Heknew that the whole family of the Rowlands remained in Deerbrook fromMrs Rowland's ostentation of confidence in his skill. He knew that MrRowland would have removed his family when the Greys departed, but thatthe lady had refused to go; and he felt how groundless was herconfidence: not that he had pretended to more professional merit than hehad believed himself to possess; but that, amidst this disease, he waslike a willow-twig in the stream. He became so impressed with hisresponsibilities now, in the presence of the small and sad-facedcongregation, that he could not refrain from whispering to Hester, thathe could never be thankful enough that Mr Hope had not left Deerbrooklong ago, and that he hoped they should be friends henceforth, --that MrHope would take his proper place again, and forgive and forget all thathad passed. He thought he might trust Mr Hope not to desert him andDeerbrook now. Hester smiled gently, but made no reply, and did notappear to notice the proffered hand. It was no time or place to ratifya compact for her husband in his absence. All this time, Mr Walcot'scountenance and manner were sufficiently subdued: but his agitationincreased when the solemn voice of Dr Levitt uttered the prayer--

"Have pity upon us, miserable sinners, who now are visited with greatsickness and mortality. "

Here the voice of weeping became so audible from the lower part of thechurch, that the preacher stopped for a moment, to give other people, and possibly himself, time to recover composure. He then went on--

"That, like as Thou didst then accept of an atonement, and didst commandthe destroying angel to cease from punishing, so it may now please theeto withdraw from us this plague and grievous sickness; through JesusChrist, our Lord. "

Every voice in the church uttered `Amen, ' except Mr Walcot's. He wasstruggling with his sobs. Unexpected and excessive as were the tokensof his grief, Hester could not but respect it. It was so much betterthan gross selfishness and carelessness, that she could pity and almosthonour it. She felt that Mr Walcot was as far superior to the quackswho were making a market of the credulity of the suffering people, asher husband, with his professional decision, his manly composure, andhis forgetfulness of the injuries of his foes in their hour ofsuffering, was above Mr Walcot. The poor young man drank in, as ifthey were direct from Heaven, the suggestions contained in thepreacher's plain sermon on the duties of the time. Plain it wasindeed, --familiarly practical to an unexampled degree; so that most ofhis hearers quitted the church with a far clearer notion of theirbusiness as nurses and neighbours than they had ever before had. Theeffect was visible as they left their seats, in the brightening of theircountenances, and the increased activity of their step as they walked. 

"There, go, " said Hester, kindly, to her companion. "Many must bewanting you: but you have lost no time by coming here. "

"No, indeed. But Mr Hope--"

"Rely upon him. He will do his duty. Go and do yours. "

"God bless you!" cried Walcot, squeezing her hand affectionately. 

Mrs Rowland saw this, as she always saw everything. She beckoned toMr Walcot, with her most engaging smile, and whispered him with an airof the most intimate confidence, till she saw that her presence waswanted elsewhere, when she let him go. 

Mr Rowland, followed by Philip, slipped out of his pew as Hesterpassed, and walked down the aisle with her. He was glad to see herthere; he hoped it was a proof that all her household were well in thissickly time. Philip bent forward to hear the answer. Mr Rowland wenton to say how still and dull the village was. The shutters up, or theblinds down, at all the Greys' windows, looked quite sad; and he neversaw any of his friends from the corner-house in the shrubbery now. Theyhad too many painful duties, he feared, to allow of their permittingthemselves such pleasures: but his friends must take care not tooverstrain their powers. They and he must be very thankful that theirrespective households were thus far unvisited by the disease; and theyshould all, in his opinion, favour their health by the indulgence of alittle rational cheerfulness. Hester smiled, aware that never had theirhousehold been more cheerful than now. 

Whether it was that Hester's smile was irresistible, or that otherinfluences were combined with it, it had an extraordinary effect uponPhilip. He started forward in front of her, and offered his hand, saying, so as to be heard by her alone--

"Will you not?--I have no quarrel with you. "

"And can you suppose, " she replied, in a tone more of compassion than ofanger, "that I have none with you?--How strangely you must forget!" sheadded, as he precipitately withdrew his offered hand, and turned fromher. 

"Forget! I forget!" he murmured, turning his face of woe towards herfor one instant. "How little you know me!"

"How little we all know each other!" said Hester, for the momentcareless what construction might be put upon her words. 

"Even in this place, " said Dr Levitt, who had now joined them, and hadheard the last words: "even in this place, where all hearts should beopen, and all resentments forgotten. Are there any here who refuse toshake hands--at such a time as this?"

"It is not for myself, " said Hester, distressed: "but how can I?"

"It is true; she cannot. Do not blame her, Dr Levitt, " said Philip;and he was gone. 

It was this meeting which had cut short Mrs Rowland's whispers with MrWalcot, and brought her down the aisle in all her stateliness, with hertrain of children behind her. 

When Hester went home, she thought it right to tell Margaret exactlywhat had happened. 

"I knew it?" was all that Margaret said; but her heightened colourduring the day told what unspeakable things were in her heart. 

Hester was occupied with speculations as to what might have been theevent if Margaret had been to church instead of herself. Her husbandwould only shake his head, and look hopeless: but she still thought allmight have come right, under the influences of the hour. Whether itwere to be wished that Philip and Margaret should understand each otheragain, was another question. Yesterday Hester would have earnestlydesired that Margaret should never see Enderby again. To-day she didnot know what to wish. She and Margaret came silently to the sameconclusion; "there is nothing for it but waiting. " If he had heardthis, Hope would have shaken his head again. 

CHAPTER FORTY THREE. 

WORKING ROUND. 

Several days passed, and there was no direct news of Enderby. Marianever spoke of him, though many little intervals in Margaret's busy lifeoccurred when the friends were together, and Maria ought have takenoccasion to say anything she wished. It was clear that she chose toavoid the subject. Her talk was almost entirely about the sick, forwhom she laboured as strenuously as her strength would permit. Shecould not go about among them, nor sit up with the sufferers: but shecooked good things over her fire for them, all day long; and she took toher home many children who were too young to be useful, and old enoughto be troublesome in a sick house. Between her cooking, teaching, andplaying with the children, she was as fully occupied as her friends inthe corner-house, and perhaps might not really know anything about MrEnderby. 

Each one of the family had caught glimpses of him at one time oranother. There was reason to think that he was active among MrWalcot's poor patients; and Hope had encountered him more than once inthe course of his rounds, when a few words on the business of the momentwere exchanged, and nothing more happened. Margaret saw him twice: onceon horseback, when he turned suddenly down a lane to avoid her; and atthe Rowlands' dining-room window, with Ned in his arms. She never nowpassed that house when she could help it: but this once it wasnecessary; and she was glad that Philip had certainly not seen her. Hisback was half-turned to the window at the moment, as if some one withinwas speaking to him. Each time, his image was so stamped in upon hermind, that, amidst all the trials of such near neighbourhood withoutintercourse, his presence in Deerbrook was, on the whole, certainly aluxury. She had gained something to compensate for all herrestlessness, in the three glimpses of him with which she had now beenfavoured. A thought sometimes occurred to her, of which she was soashamed that she made every endeavour to banish it. She asked herselfnow and then, whether, if she had been able to sit at home, or take heraccustomed walks, she should not have beheld Philip oftener:--whethershe was not sadly out of the way of seeing him at the cottage in thelane, and the other sordid places where her presence was necessary. Notfor this occasional question did she stay away one moment longer thanshe would otherwise have done from the cottage in the lane; but whileshe was there, it was apt to recur. 

There she sat one afternoon, somewhat weary, but not dreaming of goinghome. There lay the three sick creatures still. The woman was likelyto recover; the boy lingered, and seemed waiting for his father to gowith him. Platt had sunk very rapidly, and this day had made a greatchange. Margaret had taken the moaning and restless child on her lap, for the ease of change of posture: and she was now shading from his eyeswith her shawl, the last level rays of the sun which shone in upon herfrom the window. She was unwilling to change her seat, for it seemed asif the slightest movement would quench the lingering life of the child:and there was no one to draw the window-curtain, the old woman havinggone to buy food in the village. Mrs Platt slept almost all the dayand night through, and she was asleep now: so Margaret sat quite still, holding up her shawl before the pallid face which looked already dead. Nothing broke the silence but the twitter of the young birds in thethatch, and the mutterings of the sick man, whom Margaret imagined to besomewhat disturbed by the unusual light that was in the room. It hadnot been the custom of the sun to shine into any houses of late; and theplace full of yellow light, did not look like itself. She knew that ina few minutes the sun would have set; and she hoped that then poor Plattwould be still. Meantime she appeared to take no notice, but sat withher eyes fixed on the boy's face, marking that each sigh was fainterthan the last. At length a louder sound than she had yet heard from thesick man, made her look towards him; and the instant throb of her heartseemed to be felt by the child, for he moved his head slightly. Plattwas trying to support himself upon his elbow, while in the other shakinghand, he held towards her her turquoise ring. She remembered hercharge, and did not spring to seize it; but there was something in hercountenance that strongly excited the sick man. He struggled to risefrom his bed, and his face was fierce. Margaret spoke gently--as calmlyas she could--told him she would come presently--that there was nohurry, and urged him to lie down till she could put the child off herlap; but her voice failed her, in spite of herself; for now, at last, she recognised in Platt the tall woman. This was the look which hadperplexed her more than once. 

"Patience! a little further patience!" she said to herself, as she sawthe ring still trembling in the sick man's hand, and felt one more sighfrom the little fellow on her lap. No more patience was needed. Thiswas the boy's last breath. His head fell back, and the sunlight, whichstreamed in upon his half-closed eyes, could now disturb them no more. Margaret gently closed them and laid the body on its little bed in thecorner, straightening and covering the limbs before she turned away. 

She then gently approached the bed, and took her ring into a hand whichtrembled little less than the sick man's own. She spoke calmly, however. She strove earnestly to learn something of the facts: shetried to understand the mutterings amidst which only a word here andthere sounded like speech. She thought, from the earnestness with whichPlatt seized and pressed her hand, that he was seeking pardon from her;and she spoke as if it were so. It grew very distressing--theearnestness of the man, and the uncertainty whether his mind waswandering or not. She wished the old woman would come back. She wentto the door to look for her. The old woman was coming down the lane. Margaret put on her ring, and drew on her gloves, and determined to saynothing about it at present. 

"Mr Platt has been talking almost ever since you went, " said Margaret;"and I can make out nothing that he says. Do try if you can understandhim. I am sure there is something he wishes me to hear. There is notime to lose, I am afraid. Do try. "

The woman coaxed him to lie down, and then turning round, said shethought he wanted to know what o'clock it was. 

"Is that all? Tell him that the sun is now setting. But if you have awatch, that will show more exactly. Are you sure you have no watch inthe house?"

The old woman looked suspiciously at her, and asked her what made hersuppose that poor folks had watches, when some gentlefolks had none?Margaret inquired whether a watch was not a possession handed down fromfather to son, and sometimes found in the poorest cottages. Shebelieved she had seen such at Deerbrook. The old woman replied bysaying, she believed Margaret might have understood some few thingsamong the many the poor sick creature had been saying. Not one, Margaret declared; but it was so plain that she was not believed, thatshe had little doubt of Hester's watch having been harboured in thisvery house, if it was not there still. 

The poor boy, who had had little care from his natural guardians whilealive from the hour of his being doomed by the fortune-teller, was nowloudly mourned as dead. Yet the mourning was strangely mixed withexultation at the fortune-teller having been right in the end. Themother, suddenly awakened, groaned and screamed, so that it was fearfulto hear her. All efforts to restore quiet were in vain. Margaret wasmoved, shocked, terrified. She could not keep her own calmness in sucha scene of confusion: but, while her cheeks were covered with tears, while her voice trembled as she implored silence, she never took off herglove. In the midst of the tumult, Platt sank back and died. Therenewed cries had the effect of bringing some neighbours from the end ofthe lane. While they were there, Margaret could be of no further use. She promised to send coffins immediately--that stage of pestilence beingnow reached when coffins were the first consideration--and then slippedout from the door into the darkness, and ran till she had turned thecorner of the long lane. She usually considered herself safe abroad, even in times like these, as she carried no property of value about withher: but now that she was wearing her precious ring again, she felt toorich to be walking alone in the dark. 

She did not slacken her pace till she approached lights and people; andthen she was glad to stop for breath. She could not resist going firstto Maria, to show her the recovered treasure; and this caused her todirect her steps through the churchyard. It was there that she came inview of lights and people; and under the limes it was that she stoppedfor breath. The churchyard was now the most frequented spot in thevillage. The path by the turnstile was indeed grown over with grass:but the great gate was almost always open, and the ground near it wastrodden bare by the feet of many mourners. Funeral trains--trains whichdaily grew shorter, till each coffin was now followed only by two or bythree--were passing in from early morning, at intervals, till sunset, and now might be often seen by torchlight far into the night. Thevillager passing the churchyard wall might hear, in the night air, thedeep voice of the clergyman announcing the farewell to some brother orsister, committing "ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. " There was nodisturbance now from boys leaping over the graves, or from littlechildren, eager to renew their noisy play. Such of the young villagersas remained above ground appeared to be silenced and subdued by theprivation, the dreariness, the neglect, of these awful days: they lookedon from afar, or avoided the spot. Instead of such, the observer of thetwo funerals which were now in the churchyard, was a person quite at theother extremity of life. Margaret saw the man of a hundred years, JemBird, the pride of the village in his way, seated on the bench under thespreading tree, which was youthful in comparison with himself. He waslistlessly watching the black figures which moved about in the light ofa solitary torch, by an open grave, while waiting for the clergyman whowas engaged with the group beyond. 

"You are late abroad, Mr Bird, " said Margaret. "I should not havelooked for you here so far on in the evening. "

"What's your will?" said the old man. 

"Grandfather won't go home ever, till they have done here, " said agreat-grandchild of the old man, running up from his amusement ofhooting to the owls in the church tower. "They'll soon have done withthese two, and then grandfather and I shall go home. Won't we, granny?"

"Does it not make you sad to see so many funerals?" said Margaret, sitting down on the bench beside him. 

"Ay. "

"Had you not better stay at home than see so many that you knew laid inthe ground?"

"Does he understand?" she asked aside of the boy. "Does he never answerbut in this way?"

"Oh! he talks fast enough sometimes. It is just as you happen to takehim. "

Margaret was curious to know what were the meditations among the tombsof one so aged as this man: so she spoke again. 

"I have heard that you knew this place before anybody lived in it: andnow you seem likely to see it empty again. "

"It was a wild place enough in my young time, " said Jem, speaking nowvery fluently. "There was nothing of it but the church; and that wasnever used, because it had had its roof pulled off in the wars. Therewas only a footpath to it through the fields then, and few people wentnigh it--except a few gentry that came a-pleasuring here, into thewoods. The owls and I knew it as well then as we do to-day, and nobodyelse that is now living. The owls and I. "

And the old man laughed the chuckling laugh which was all he hadstrength for. 

"The woods!" said Margaret. "Did the Verdon woods spread as far as thischurch in those days? And were they not private property then?"

"It was all forest hereabouts, except a clear space round the churchtower. It might be thin sprinkled, but it was called forest. The placewhere I was born had thorns all about it; and when I could scarce walkalone, I used to scramble among the blossoms that made the ground whiteall under those thorns. The birds that lived by the haws in winter wereprodigious. That cottage stood, as near as I can tell, where Grey andRowland's great granary is now. There used to be much swine in thewoods then; and many's the time they have thrown me down when I was ayoung thing getting acorns. That was about the time of my hearing thefirst music I ever heard--unless you call the singing of the birds music(we had plenty of that), and the bells on the breeze from a distance, when the wind was south. The first music (so to call it) that I heardwas from a blind fiddler that came to us. What brought him, I don'tknow--whether he lost his way, or what; but he lost his way after heleft us. His dog seems to have been in fault: but he got into a pool inthe middle of the wood, and there he lay drowned, with one foot up onthe bank, when I went to see what the harking of the dog could be about. He clutched his fiddle in drowning; and I remember I tried to get themusic out of it as it lay wet and broken on the bank, while father wassaying the poor soul must have been under the water now two days. So Ihave reason to remember the first music I heard. "

"You have got him talking now, " said the grandchild, running off; andpresently the owls were heard hooting again. 

"Whereabouts was this pool?" asked Margaret. 

"It is a deep part of the brook, that in hot summers is left a pond. Itis there that the chief of the sliding goes on in winter now, in themeadow. It is meadow now; but then the deer used to come down throughthe wood to drink at the brook there. That is how the village got itsname. "

"So you remember the time when the deer came down to drink at the brook!How many things have happened since then! You have heard a great dealof music since those days. "

"Ay, there has been a good deal of fiddling at our weddings since that. And we have had recruiting parties through in war times. "

"And many a mother singing to her baby; and the psalm in the church forso many years! Yes, the place has been full of music for long; but itseems likely to be silent enough now. "

"I began to think I should be left the last, as I was the first, " saidthe old man: "but they say the sickness is abating now, and that severalare beginning to recover. Pray God it may be so! First, after the woodwas somewhat cleared, there was a labourer's cottage or two--nowstanding empty, and the folk that lived in them lying yonder. Thenthere was the farmhouse; and then a carpenter came, and a wheeler. Thenthere was a shop wanted; and the church was roofed in and used: and somegentry came and sat down by the river side; and the place grew to whatit is. They say now, it is not near its end yet: but it is strange tome to see the churchyard the fullest place near, so that I have to comehere for company. "

And the old man chuckled again. As she rose to go, Margaret askedwhether he knew the Platts, who lived in the cottage in the lane. 

"I know him to see to. Is he down?"

"He is dead and his child: but his wife is recovering. "

"Ay, there's many recovering now, they say. "

"Indeed! who?"

"Why, a many. But the fever has got into Rowland's house, they say. "Margaret's heart turned sick at hearing these words, and she hastilypursued her way. It was not Philip, however, who was seized. He was inthe churchyard at this moment. She saw him walking quickly along theturnstile path, slackening his pace only for a moment, as he passed thefuneral group. The light from the torch shone full upon his face--theface settled and composed, as she knew it would not be if he were awarewho was within a few paces of him. She felt the strongest impulse toshow him her ring--the strongest desire for his sympathy in itsrecovery: but an instant showed her the absurdity of the thought, andshe hung down her blushing head in the darkness. 

From Maria she had sympathy, such as it was--sympathy without any faithin Philip. She had from her also good news of the state of the village. There were recoveries talked of; and there would be more, now thatthose who were seized would no longer consider death inevitable. MrsHowell was ill; and poor Miss Nares was down with the fever, which noone could wonder at: but Mr Jones and his son John were both out ofdanger, and the little Tuckers were likely to do well. Mr James wasalready talking of sending for his wife and sister-in-law home again, asthe worst days of the disease seemed to be past, and so many familieshad not been attacked at all. It was too true that Matilda Rowland wasunwell to-day; but Mr Walcot hoped it was only a slight feverishattack, which would be thought nothing of under any othercircumstances. --On the whole, Maria thought the neighbours she had seento-day in better spirits than at any time since the fever made itsappearance. 

Margaret found more good news at home. In the first place, the door wasopened to her by Morris. Hester stood behind to witness the meeting. She had her bonnet on: she was going with her husband to see MrsHowell, and make some provision for her comfort: but she had waited alittle while, in hopes that Margaret would return, and be dulyastonished to see Morris. 

"You must make tea for each other, and be comfortable while we areaway, " said Hester. "We will go now directly, that we may be back asearly as we can. "

"I have several things to tell you, " said Margaret, "when you return:and one now, brother, which must not be delayed. Platt and his childare dead, and coffins must be sent. The sooner the better, or we shalllose the poor woman too. "

Hope promised to speak to the undertaker as he went by. 

"We have become very familiar with death, Morris, since you went away, "said Margaret, as she obliged her old friend to sit down by the fire, and prepared to make tea for both. 

"That is why you see me here, Miss Margaret. Every piece of news Icould get of this place was worse than the last; and I could perceivefrom your last letter, that you had sickness all about you; and I couldnot persuade myself but that it was my duty to come and be useful, andto take care of you, my dear, if I may say so. "

"And now you are here, I trust you may stay--I trust we may be justifiedin keeping you. We have meat every day now, Morris, --at least when wehave time to cook it. Since my brother has been attending so many ofMr Jones's family, we have had meat almost every day. "

"Indeed, my dear, I don't know how you could keep up without it, so busyas I find you are among the sick;--busy night and day, my mistress tellsme, till the people have got to call you `the good lady. ' You do notlook as if you had lost much of your natural rest: but I know how themind keeps the body up. Yours is an earnest mind, Margaret, that willalways keep you up: but, my dear, I do hope it has been an easy mindtoo. You will excuse my saying so. "

Margaret more than excused it, but she could not immediately answer. The tears trembled in her eyes, and her lip quivered when she would havespoken. Morris stroked her hair, and kissed her forehead, as if she hadbeen still a child, and whispered that all things ended well in God'sown time. 

"Oh, yes! I know, " said Margaret. "Has Hester told you how prosperouswe are growing? I do not mean only about money. We are likely to haveenough of that too, for my brother's old patients have almost all sentfor him again: but we care the less about that from having discoveredthat we were as happy with little money as with much. But it is asatisfaction and pleasure to find my brother regarded more and more ashe ought to be: and yet greater to see how nobly he deserves the bestthat can be thought of him. "

"He forgives his enemies, no doubt, heaping coals of fire on theirheads. "

"You will witness it Morris. You will see him among them, and it willmake your heart glow. Poor creatures! I have heard some of them own tohim, from their sick beds, with dread and tears, that they broke hiswindows, and slandered his name. Then you should see him smile when hetells them that is all over now, and that they will not mistake him somuch again. "

"No, never. He has shown himself now what he is. "

"He sat up two nights with one poor boy who is now likely to getthrough; and in the middle of the second night, the boy's father got upfrom his sick bed in the next room, and came to my brother, to say thathe felt that ill luck would be upon them all, if he did not confess thathe put that very boy behind the hedge, with stones in his hand, to throwat Edward, the day he was mobbed at the almshouses. He was deluded bythe neighbours, he said, into thinking that my brother meant ill by thepoor. "

"They have learned to the contrary now, my dear. And what does SirWilliam Hunter say of my master, now-a-days? Do you know?"

"There is very little heard of Sir William and Lady Hunter at present--shut up at home as they are. But Dr Levitt, who loves to make peace, you know, and tell what is pleasant, declares that Sir William Hunterhas certainly said that, after all, it does not so much signify whichway a man votes at an election, if he shows a kind heart to hisneighbours in troublesome times. "

"Sir William Hunter has learned his lesson then, it seems, from thisaffliction. I suppose he sees that one who does his duty as my masterdoes at a season like this, is just the one to vote according to hisconscience at an election. But, my dear, what sort of a heart havethese Hunters got, that they shut themselves up as you say?"

"They give their money freely: and that is all that we can expect fromthem. If they have always been brought up and accustomed to fearsickness, and danger, and death, we cannot expect that they should losetheir fear at a time like this. We must be thankful for what they give;and their money has been of great service, though there is no doubt thattheir example would have been of more. "

"One would like to look into their minds, and see how they regard mymaster there. "

"They regard him, no doubt, so far rightly as to consider him quite adifferent sort of person from themselves, and no rule for them. So farthey are right. They do not comprehend his satisfactions and ease ofmind; and it is very likely that they have pleasures of their own whichwe do not understand. "

"And they are quite welcome, I am sure, my dear, as long as they do notmeddle with my master's name. That is, as he says, all over now. Afterthis, however, the people in Deerbrook will be more ready to trust in mymaster's skill and kindness than in Sir William Hunter's grandeur andmoney, which can do little to save them in time of need. "

Margaret explained how ignorantly the poor in the neighbourhood hadrelied on the fortune-tellers, who had only duped them; how that whichwould have been religion in them if they had been early taught, andwhich would have enabled them to rely on the only power which really cansave, had been degraded by ignorance into a foolish and pernicioussuperstition. Morris hoped that this also was over now. She had metsome of these conjurors on the Blickley road; and seen others breakingup their establishment in the lanes, and turning their backs uponDeerbrook. Whether they were scared away by the mortality of the place, or had found the tide of fortune-telling beginning to turn, matterednothing as long as they were gone. 

The tea-table was cleared, and Morris and Margaret were admiring thebaby as he slept, when Hester and her husband returned. Mrs Howell wasvery unwell, and likely to be worse. All attempts to bring Miss Miskinto reason, and induce her to enter her friend's room, were in vain. Shebestowed abundance of tears, tremors, and foreboding on Mrs Howell'sstate and prospects, but shut herself up in a fumigated apartment, whereshe promised to pray for a good result, and to await it. The maid was ahearty lass, who would sit up willingly, under Hester's promise that sheshould be relieved in the morning. The girl's fear was of not beingable to satisfy her mistress, whom it was not so easy to nurse as itmight have been, from her insisting on having everything arrangedprecisely as it was in her poor dear Howell's last illness. As MissMiskin had refused to enter the chamber, Hester had been obliged tosearch a chest of drawers for Mr Howell's last dressing-gown, whichMiss Miskin had promised should be mended and aired, and ready for wearby the morning. 

"Margaret!" cried Hester, as her sister was lighting her candle. Theexclamation made Edward turn round, and brought back Morris into theparlour after saying `Good-night. ' "Margaret! your ring?"

There was as much joy as shame in Margaret's crimson blush. She let hersister examine the turquoise, and said:

"Yes, this is the boon of to-day. "

"Edward's hundred pounds has come, " said Hester: "but that is nothing tothis. "

Margaret's eyes thanked her. She just explained that poor Platt hadbeen the thief, and had restored it to her before he died, and that shecould get no explanation, no tidings of Hester's watch; and she wasgone. 

"Dr Levitt's early stir about this ring prevented its being disposedof, I have no doubt, " said Edward. "If so, it is yet possible that wemay recover your watch. I will speak to Dr Levitt in the morning. "

"Dear Margaret!" said Hester. "She is now drinking in the hue of thatturquoise, and blessing it for being unchanged. She regards thisrecovery of it as a good omen, I see; and far be it from us to mock atsuch a superstition!"

As usual, when she was upon this subject, Hester looked up into herhusband's face: and as usual, when she spoke on this subject, he made noreply. 

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. 

LATE RELIGION. 

A few days after Morris's return, she told Margaret that the tidings inthe village of Miss Rowland's illness were not good. Mrs Rowland wasquite as sure as ever that, if anybody could cure Matilda, it was MrWalcot; but Mr Walcot himself looked anxious; and a bed had been put upfor him in the room next to the sick child. Margaret wondered why MrRowland did not send to Blickley for further advice: but Morris thoughtthat Mrs Rowland would not give up her perfect faith in Mr Walcot, ifall her children should die before her face. 

When Morris had left the room, Margaret was absorbed in speculations, asshe played with her sister's infant--speculations on the little life ofchildren, and on their death. Her memory followed Matilda through everycircumstance in which she had seen her. The poor little girl's veryattitude, voice, and words--words full, alas! of folly and vanity--roseagain upon her eye and ear, in immediate contrast with the image ofdeath, and the solemnity of the life to come. In the midst of thesethoughts came tears of shame and self-reproach; for another thought (howlow! how selfish!) thrust itself in among them--that she was secure forthe present from Philip's departure--that he would not leave Deerbrookwhile Matilda was in a critical state. As these tears rolled down hercheeks, the baby looked full in her face, and caught the infection ofgrief. 

He hung his little lip, and looked so woe-begone, that Margaret dashedaway the signs of her sorrow, and spoke gaily to him; and, as the sunshone in at the moment upon the lustres on the mantelpiece, she set theglass-drops in motion, and let the baby try to catch the bright coloursthat danced upon the walls and ceiling. At this moment, Hester burst inwith a countenance of dismay. 

"Margaret, my husband has a headache!"

A headache was no trifle in these days. 

"Anything more than a headache?" asked Margaret. "No other feeling ofillness? There is nothing to wonder at in a mere headache. It is verysurprising that he has not had it before, with all his toil and want ofsleep. "

"He declares it is a trifle, " said Hester: "but I see he can hardly holdup. What shall I do?"

"Make him lie down and rest, and let me go to Mrs Howell instead ofyou. She will be a little disappointed; but that cannot be helped. Shemust put up with my services to-day. Now, do not frighten yourself, asif no one ever had a headache without having a fever. "

"I shall desire Morris to let no one in; and to bring no messages to hermaster while his headache lasts. "

"Very right. I will tell her as I go for my bonnet. One more kissbefore I go, baby. Do not wait tea for me, Hester. I cannot say when Ishall be back. "

Margaret had been gone to Mrs Howell's about an hour and a half, whenthere was a loud and hasty knock at the door of the corner-house. Itroused Hope from a doze into which he had just fallen, and provokedHester accordingly. There was a parley between Morris and somebody inthe hall; and presently a voice was heard calling loudly upon Mr Hope. Hester could not prevent her husband from springing from the bed, andgoing out upon the stairs. Mr Rowland was already half-way up, lookingalmost beside himself with grief. 

"You must excuse me, Mr Hope--you must not judge me hardly;--if you areill, I am sorry... Sir; but sir, my child is dying. We fear she isdying, sir; and you must come, and see if anything can save her. Ishall never forgive myself for going on as we have been doing. She hasbeen sacrificed--fairly sacrificed, I fear. "

"Nay, Mr Rowland, I must comfort you there, " said Hope, as they walkedrapidly along the street. "I have had occasion to see a great deal ofMr Walcot and his professional conduct, in the course of the last fewweeks; and I am certain that he has a very competent knowledge of hisbusiness. I assure you he shows more talent, more power altogether, inhis professional than his unprofessional conduct; and in this particulardisease he has now had much experience. "

"God bless you for saying so, my dear sir! It is like you--alwaysgenerous, always just and kind! You must forgive us, Mr Hope. At atime like this, you must overlook all causes of offence. They are verygreat, I know; but you will not visit them upon us now. "

"We have only to do with the present now, " said Hope. "Not a word aboutthe past, I entreat you. "

Mrs Rowland, to-day reckless of everything but her child, was standingout on the steps, watching, as for the last hope for her Matilda. 

"She is much worse, Mr Hope; suddenly and alarmingly worse. This way:follow me. "

Hope would speak with Mr Walcot first. As he entered the study, toawait Mr Walcot, Philip passed out. They did not speak. 

"Oh, Philip! speak to Mr Hope!" cried Mrs Rowland. "For God's sake donot do anything to offend him now!"

"I will do everything in my power, madam, to save your child, " saidHope. "Do not fear that the conduct of her relations will be allowed toinjure her. "

"My love, " said Mr Rowland, "Mr Hope came from a sick bed to help us. Do not distrust him. Indeed he deserves better from us. "

"Pray forgive me, " said the miserable mother. "I do not well know whatI am saying. But I will atone for all if you save my child. "

"Priscilla!" cried her brother, from the doorway, against which he wasleaning. His tone of wonder was lost as Walcot entered, and the studywas left for the conference of the medical men. 

As the gentlemen went upstairs to Matilda's room, they saw one childhere, and another there, peeping about, in silence and dismay. As Hopeput his hand on the head of one in passing, Mr Rowland said:

"There is a carriage coming for them presently, to take them away. Annaand George are now with Miss Young, and she will take them all away. She is very good: but I knew we might depend upon her--upon her heart, and her forgiveness. Ah! you hear the poor child's voice. That showsyou the way. "

Matilda was wandering, and, for the moment, talking very loud. Something about grandmamma seeing her dance, and "When I am married, "struck the ear as Hope entered her chamber, and entirely overset themother. Matilda was soon in a stupor again. 

It was impossible to hold out much prospect of her recovery. It waspainful to every one to hear how Mrs Rowland attempted to bribe MrHope, by promises of doing him justice, to exert himself to the utmostin Matilda's behalf. He turned away from her, again and again, with adisgust which his compassion could scarcely restrain. Philip was so farroused by the few words which had been let drop below-stairs, as tochoose to hear what passed now, in the antechamber to the patient'sroom. It was he who decidedly interposed at last. He sent hisbrother-in-law to Matilda's bedside, dismissed Mr Walcot from the room, and then said--

"A very few minutes will suffice, I believe, sister, to relieve yourmind: and they will be well spent. Tell us what you mean by what youhave been saying so often within this quarter of an hour. As you hopein Heaven--as you dare to ask God to spare your child, tell us theextent to which you feel that you have injured Mr Hope. "

Hope sank down into the window-seat by which he had been standing. Hethought the whole story of his love was now coming out. He waited forthe first words as for a thunderclap. The first words were--

"Oh, Philip! I am the most wretched woman living! I never saw it sostrongly before; I believe I did it with an idea of good to you; but Iburned a letter of Margaret's to you. "

"What letter? When?"

"The day you left us last--the day you were in the shrubbery all themorning--the day the children found the shavings burnt. "

"What was in the letter? Did you read it?"

"No; I dared not. "

"What made you burn it?"

"I was afraid you would go to her, and that your engagement would comeon again. "

"Then what you told me--what made me break it off--could not have beentrue. "

"No, it was not--not all true. "

"What was true, and what was not?"

Mrs Rowland did not answer, but looked timidly at Mr Hope. Now wasthe moment for him to speak. 

"It was true, " said he, "that, at the very beginning of my acquaintancewith Hester and Margaret, I preferred Margaret--and that my familydiscerned that I did--as true as that Hester has long been the belovedof my heart--beloved as--but I cannot speak of my wife, of my home, inthe hearing of one who has endeavoured to profane both. All I need sayis that neither Hester nor Margaret ever knew where my first transientfancy lighted, while they both know--know as they know their ownhearts--where it has fixed. It is not true that Margaret ever loved anyone but you, Enderby; and Mrs Rowland cannot truly say that she everdid. "

"What was it then that Margaret confided to my mother?" asked Enderby, turning to his sister. 

"I cannot tell what possessed me at the time to say so, but that Ithought I was doing the best for your happiness--but--but, Philip, Ireally believe now, that Margaret never did love any one but you. Iknow nothing to the contrary. "

"But my mother?"

"She knew very little of any troubles in Mr Hope's family; and--andwhat she did hear was all from me. "

"Do you mean that all you told me of Margaret's confidences to my motherwas false?"

There was no answer; but Mrs Rowland's pale cheeks grew paler. 

"Oh God! what can Margaret have thought of me all this time?" criedPhilip. 

"I can tell you what she has thought, I believe, " said Hope. "Herbrother and sister have read her innocent mind, as you yourself mighthave done, if your faith in her had been what she deserved. She hasbelieved that you loved her, and that you love her still. She hasbelieved that some one--that Mrs Rowland traduced her to you: and inher generosity, she blames you for nothing but that you would not seeand hear her--that you went away on the receipt of her letter--of thatletter which it now appears you never saw. "

"Where is she?" cried Enderby, striding to the door. 

"She is not at home. You cannot find her at this moment: and if youcould, you must hear me first. You remember the caution I gave you whenwe last conversed--in the abbey, and again in the meadows. "

"I do; and I will observe it now. "

"You remember that she is unaware--"

"That you ever--that that interview with Mrs Grey ever took place? Sheshall never learn it from me. It is one of those facts which haveceased to exist--which is absolutely dead, and should be buried inoblivion. You hear, Priscilla?"

She bowed her head. 

"You believe that--. "

"Say no more, brother. Do not humble me further. I will make whatreparation I can--indeed I will--and then perhaps God will spare mychild. "

Hope's passing reflection was, "How alike is the superstition of theignorant and of the wicked! My poor neighbours stealing to theconjuror's tent in the lane, and this wretched lady, hope alike to bribeHeaven in their extremity--they by gifts and rites, she by remorse andreparation. --How different from the faith which say; `Not as I will, butas thou wilt!'"

"Where _is_ Margaret? Will you tell me?" asked Enderby, impatiently. "But before I see her, I ought to ask forgiveness from you, Hope. Youfind how cruelly I have been deceived--by what incredible falsehood--. But, " glancing at his pale sister, "we will speak no more of that. If, in the midst of all this error and wretchedness, I have hurt yourfeelings more than my false persuasions rendered necessary... I hopeyou will forgive me. "

"And me! Will you forgive me?" asked Mrs Rowland, faintly. 

"There is nothing to pardon in you, " said Hope to Philip. "Your beliefin what your own sister told you in so much detail can scarcely becalled a weakness; and you did and said nothing to me that was notwarranted by what you believed. --And I forgive you, madam. I will dowhat I can to relieve your present affliction; and, as long as youattempt no further injustice towards my family, no words shall be spokenby any of us, to remind you of what is past. "

"You are very good, Mr Hope. "

"I tell you plainly, " he resumed, "that you cannot injure us beyond acertain point. You cannot make it goodness in us to forget what ispast. It is of far less consequence to us what you and others think ofus than what we think of our neighbours. Our chief sorrow has been thespectacle of yourself in your dealings with us. We shall be thankful tobe reminded of it no more. And now enough of this. "

"Where _is_ Margaret?" again asked Enderby, as if in despair of ananswer. 

"She is nursing Mrs Howell. As soon as I have seen this poor childagain, I will go home, and take care that Margaret is prepared to seeyou. Remember how great the surprise, the mystery, must be to her. "

"If the surprise were all--" said Philip. --"But will she hear me? Willshe forgive me? Will she trust me?"

"Was there ever a woman who really loved who would not hear, would notforgive, would not trust?" said Hope, smiling. "I must not answer forMargaret; but I think I may answer for woman in the abstract. "

"I will follow you in an hour, Hope. "

"Do so. Now, madam. "

And Hope followed Mrs Rowland again to the bedside of her dying child. 

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. 

REST OF THE PLACABLE. 

Margaret was not at Mrs Howell's at the moment that her brotherbelieved and said she was. She had been there just in time to witnessthe poor woman's departure; and she was soon home again and relating thecircumstances to Hester, by the fireside. Even the news that Edward wasnow in the same house with Philip, could not efface from her mind whatshe had seen; nor could Hester help listening, though full of anxietyabout her husband. 

"Miss Miskin was prevailed upon to leave her room at the last, Isuppose?"

"Scarcely. Poor Nanny was supporting her mistress's head when I wentin; and she said, with tears, that there was no depending on any one butus. They both looked glad enough to see me: but then, nothing wouldsatisfy Mrs Howell but that I should warm myself, and be seated. "

"To the last! and she offered you some cherry-bounce, I suppose. "

"Yes; just as usual. Then she told me that it would be as well tomention now, in case she should grow worse, and be in any danger, thatshe should be gratified if you and I would select each a rug or screenpattern from her stock, and worsteds to work it with: and she gave abroad hint that there was one with a mausoleum and two weeping willows, which she hoped one of us would choose; and that perhaps her name mightfill up the space on the tomb. Poor Nanny began to cry; and thisaffected Mrs Howell; and she begged earnestly to see Miss Miskin. "

"And then she came, I suppose. "

"Not she! She would not come till her friend sent a message threateningto haunt her if she did not. "

"Did you carry the message?"

"No; but Nanny did; and, I thought, with hearty good will; Miss Miskincame trembling, but too much frightened to cry. She would not approachnearer than the doorway, and there fell down on her knees, and soremained the whole time she was receiving directions about the shop andthe stock, --`in case, ' as the poor soul again said, `of my gettingworse, so as to be in any danger. ' And yet Dr Levitt thought he hadtold her, plainly enough, what he thought of her state this morning. "

"And was she aware at last? or did she go off unconsciously?"

"I think she was aware; I think so from her last words--`Oh, my poordear Howell!' I sat behind the curtain while she was speaking to MissMiskin--sometimes so faintly that Nanny had to repeat her words, to makethem heard as far as the door. "

"That selfish wretch--Miss Miskin!"

"It was very moving, I assure you, to hear not one word of reproach, --oreven notice of Miss Miskin's desertion in this illness. What was saidwas common-place enough; but every word was kind. I have it all. Itook it down with my pencil, behind the curtain; for I was sure MissMiskin would never remember it. Mrs Howell went on till she came todirections about the bullfinch that her poor dear Howell used to laughto see perched upon her nightcap of a morning; and then she grewunintelligible. I thought she was only fainting; but while we weretrying to revive her, Nanny said she was going. Miss Miskin drew backinto the passage, shut the door, and made her escape. Her friend lookedthat way once more, and said that we had all been very good to her. Shementioned her husband, as I told you, and then died very quietly. "

"Miss Miskin knows, of course?"

"I told her, and did not pretend to feel much sympathy in herlamentations. I told her she had lost a friend who would have watchedover her, I believed, till her last breath, if she had been the oneattacked by the fever. "

"What did she say?"

"She exclaimed a great deal about how good we all were, and wonderedwhat Deerbrook would have done without us; and said she was sure I wastoo kind to think of leaving her in the house with the corpse, with onlyNanny. When I declined passing the night there, she comforted herselfwith thinking aloud that her friend would not haunt her--certainly wouldnot haunt her--as she _had_ gone to her room at last. Her finalquestion was, how soon I thought it likely that she should feel thefever coming on, in case of her having caught it, after all, by goinginto the room. "

"What an end to a sentimental friendship of so many years!"

"I rather expect to hear in the morning that she has taken refuge insome neighbour's house, and left Nanny alone with the corpse to-night. "

"My husband's knock!" cried Hester, starting up. "How is your headache, love?" asked she anxiously, as she met him at the room door. 

"Gone, quite gone, " he replied. "I must step down into the surgery fora minute, about this poor little girl's medicine; and then I have agreat deal to tell you. "

The sisters sat in perfect silence till his return. 

"Matilda?" said Margaret, looking up at her brother. 

"She is very ill;--not likely to be better. "

"And poor Mrs Howell is gone, " said Hester. "What a sweep it is! Didyou hear, love? Mrs Howell is dead. "

"I hear. It is a terrible destruction that we have witnessed. But Itrust it is nearly over. I know of only one or two cases of danger now, besides this little girl's. Poor Matilda! But we have little thoughtto spare, even for her, to-night. If I did not know that Margaret isready for whatever may betide, " he continued, fixing his benevolent gazeupon her, "and if, moreover, I were not afraid that some one would becoming to tell my news if I do not get it out at once, I should hesitateabout saying what I have to say. "

"Philip has been explaining--He is coming, " said Margaret, with suchcalmness as she could command. 

"Enderby is coming; and some one else, whose explanations are more tothe purpose, has been explaining. Mrs Rowland, alarmed and shaken byher misery, has been acknowledging the whole series of falsehoods bywhich she persuaded, convinced her brother that you did not love him--that you were, in fact, attached elsewhere. I see how angry you are, Hester. I see you asking in your own mind how Enderby could be thusdeluded--how he could trust his sister rather than Margaret--how I canspeak of him as deserving to have her after all this. Your questionsare reasonable enough, love, and yet they cannot be answered. Yourdoubts of Enderby are reasonable enough; and yet I declare to you thathe is in my eyes almost, if not quite, blameless. "

"Thank you, brother!" said Margaret, looking up with swimming eyes. 

"There is one great point to be settled, " resumed Hope: "and that is, whether you will both be content to bury in silence the subject of thisquarrel, from this hour, relying upon my testimony and Mrs Rowland's. "

"Oh, Edward, do not put your name and hers together!"

"For Enderby's justification, and for Margaret's sake, my name shall bejoined with the arch-fiend's, if necessary, my love. You must, as I wassaying, rely upon the testimony of those who know the whole, thatEnderby's conduct throughout has been, if not the very wisest and best, perfectly natural, and consistent with the love for Margaret which hehas cherished to this hour. "

"I knew it, " murmured Margaret. 

"He will himself disclose as much as he thinks proper, when he comes:but he comes full of fear and doubt about his reception. "

Margaret hung her head, feeling that it was well she was reminded whatreason there was for his coming with doubt and trembling in his heart. 

"As he comes full of fear and doubt, " resumed Hope, "I must tell youfirst that he never received your last letter, Margaret. He thought youwould not answer his. He thought you took him at his word about notattempting explanation. "

"What an unhappy accident!" cried Hester. "Who carried that letter?How did it happen?"

"It was no accident, my dear. Mrs Rowland burned that letter. "

Margaret covered her face with her hands; then, suddenly looking up, shecried:

"Did she read it?"

"No. She says she dared not. Why, Margaret, you seem sorry that shedid not! You think it would have cleared you. I have no doubt shethought so too; and that that was the reason why she averted her eyesfrom it. Yes, it was a cruel injury, Margaret. Can you forgive it, doyou think?"

"Not to-night, " said Hester. "Do not ask it of her to-night. "

"I believe I may ask it at this very moment. The happy can forgive. Isit not so, Margaret?"

"For myself I could and I do, brother. I would go now and nurse herchild, and comfort her. But--"

"But you cannot forgive the wretchedness she has caused to Philip. Well, if you each forgive her for your own part, there is a chance thatshe may yet lift up her humbled head. "

"What possessed her to hate us so?" said Hester. 

"Her hatred to us is the result of long habits of ill-will, of selfishpride, and of low pertinacity about small objects. That is the way inwhich I account for it all. She disliked you first for your connectionwith the Greys; and then she disliked me for my connection with you. She nourished up all her personal feelings into an opposition to us andour doings; and when she had done this, and found her own only brothergoing over to the enemy, as she regarded it, her dislike grew into apassion of hatred. Under the influence of this passion, she has beenled on to say and to do more and more that would suit her purposes, tillshe has found herself sunk in an abyss of guilt. I really believe shewas not fully aware of her situation, till her misery of to-day revealedit to her. "

"Poor thing!" said Margaret. "Is there nothing we can do to help her?"

"We will ask Enderby. I take hers to be no uncommon case. The dislikesof low and selfish minds generally bear very much the character of hers, though they may not be pampered by circumstances into such a luxurianceas in this case. In a city, Mrs Rowland might have been an ordinaryspiteful fine lady. In such a place as Deerbrook, and with a family ofrivals' cousins incessantly before her eyes, to exercise her passionsupon, she has ended in being--"

"What she is, " said Margaret, as Hope stopped for a word. 

"Margaret is less surprised than you expected, is she not?" said Hester. "You did not suppose that she would sit and listen as she does to youranalysis of Mrs Rowland. But if the truth were known, she carries aprophecy about her on her finger. I have no doubt she has beenexpecting this very news ever since she recovered her ring. Yes or no, Margaret?"

"I should rather say she has carried a prophecy in her heart all theselong months, " said Hope, "of which that on her finger is only thesymbol. "

"However it may be, " said Hester, "it has prepared a reception for MrEnderby. There is no resisting a prophecy. What is written iswritten. "

"I must hear him, you know, " said Margaret, gently. 

"You must; and you must hear him favourably, " said her brother. 

"I had forgotten, " said Hester, ringing the bell. "Morris, a good firein the breakfast-room, immediately. "

Within the hour, Philip and Margaret were by that fireside, finallywedded in heart and soul. It was astonishing how little explanation wasneeded when Margaret had once been told, in addition to the fact of herletter having been destroyed, that she was declared to have made MrsEnderby the depository of her confidence about a prior attachment. There was, however, as much to relate as there was little to explain. How Enderby's heart burned within him, when, in sporting with the ideaof a prior attachment, it came out what Margaret had felt at the momentof his intrusion upon the conference with Hope, of which he had since, as at the time, been so jealous! the amusement on her own part, and thejoy on Hester's, which she was trying to conceal by her downcast looks!How his soul melted within him when she owned her momentary regret atbeing saved from under the ice, and the consolation and stimulus she hadderived from her brother's expression of affection for her on the spot!How clear, how true a refutation were these revealings of theimputations that had been cast upon her! and how strangely had the factsbeen distorted by a prejudiced imagination! How sweet in the tellingwas the story of the ring, so sad in the experience! and the recountingsof the times that they had seen each other of late. Philip had caughtmore glimpses than she. He came down--he dared not say to watch overher in this time of sickness--but because he could not stay away when heheard of the condition of Deerbrook. But for this sickness would theyhave met--should they ever have understood each other again? This was aspeculation on which they could not dwell--it led them too near theverge of the grave which was yawning for Matilda. Mrs Rowland wouldhave been relieved, but the relief would have been not unmixed withhumiliation, if she could have known how easily she was let off in thislong conference. Not only can the happy easily forgive, but they areexceedingly apt to forget the causes and the history of their woes; andthe wretched lady who, in the midst of her grief and terror for herchild, trembled at home at the image of the lovers she had injured, was, to those lovers in their happiness, much as if she had never existed. 

"Mrs Howell!" said Margaret, hearing her sister mention their departedneighbour, after Philip was gone. "Is it possible that it was this veryafternoon that I saw that poor woman die?"

"Even so, dear. How many days, or months, or years, have you livedsince? A whole age of bliss, Margaret!"

Margaret's blush said "Yes. "

CHAPTER FORTY SIX. 

DEERBROOK IN SUNSHINE. 

On the first news of the fever being gone, the Greys returned toDeerbrook, and Dr Levitt's family soon followed. The place wore astrange appearance to those who had been absent for some time. Largepatches of grass overspread the main street, and cows might havepastured on the thatch of some of the cottages, while the once greenchurchyard looked brown and bare from the number of new graves crowdedin among the old ones. In many a court were the spring-flowers runningwild over the weedy borders, for want of hands to tend them; and thebirds built in many a chimney from which the blue smoke had been wont torise in the morning air. Sophia and her sisters noted these things asthey walked through the place on the morning after their arrival, whiletheir father was engaged in inspecting the parish register, to learn howmany of his neighbours were gone, and their mother was paying her visitof condolence to Mrs Rowland. 

Fanny and Mary were much impressed this day with Matilda's death. Theyhad first wondered, and then wept, when they heard of it at a distance:and now, when once more on the spot where they had seen her daily, andhad hourly criticised her looks, her sayings, and doings, they wereunder a strong sense of the meanness and frivolity of their talk, andthe unkindness of their feelings about one whose faults could hardly becalled her own, and who might now, they supposed, be living and movingin scenes and amidst circumstances whose solemnity and importance put toshame the petty intercourse they had carried on with her here. Bothresolved in their hearts that if Anna Rowland should praise her owndancing, and flatten her back before she spoke, and talk often of thetime when she should be married, they would let it all pass, and nottell mamma or Sophia, or exchange satirical looks with each other. Theyremembered now that Matilda had done good and kind things, which hadbeen disregarded at the time when they were bent on ridiculing her. Itwas just hereabouts that she took off her worsted gloves, one bitter dayin the winter, and put them on the hands of her little brother who wascrying with cold; and it was by yonder corner that she directed astranger gentleman into the right road so prettily that he looked afterher as she walked away, and said she would be the pride of the placesome day. Alas! there she lay--in the vault under the church; and shewould be no one's pride in this world, except in her poor mother'sheart. 

"There is somebody not in mourning, " cried Fanny; "the very first, besides my cousins, that we have seen to-day. Oh, it is Mrs James!Shall we not speak to her?"

Mrs James seemed warmed out of her usual indifference. She shook handsalmost affectionately with Sophia. The meeting of acquaintances whofind themselves alive after a pestilence is unlike any other kind ofmeeting: it animates the most indifferent, and almost makes friends ofenemies. While Mrs James and Sophia were making mutual inquiries, Marycalled Fanny's attention to what was to be seen opposite. There was aglittering row of large, freshly-gilt letters--"Miskin, late Howell, Haberdasher, etcetera. " Miss Miskin, in the deepest mourning, with acountenance trained to melancholy, was peeping through the ribbons andhandkerchiefs which veiled her window, to see whether the Miss Greyswere on their way to her or not. Sophia would not have been able toresist going in, but that, on parting from Mrs James, she saw the trueobject of her morning walk approaching in the person of Mr Walcot. Herintention had been to meet him in his rounds; and here he was. 

If Mrs James had been almost affectionate, what was Mr Walcot? He hadreally gone through a great deal of anxiety and suffering lately, andhis heart was very soft and tender just now. He turned about, andwalked with Sophia--walked a mile out into the country by her side, andneither seemed to have any thought of turning back, till Fanny remindedher sister how long mamma would have been kept waiting for her to go andcall on the Levitts. The conversation had been in an under voice, allthe way out and back; but, when the parting was to take place, when MrWalcot was to leave them in the outskirts of the village, the littlegirls heard a few words, which threw some light on what had beenpassing. They caught from Sophia, "I must consult my parents;" and asthey hurried homewards with her, they ventured to cast up a glance ofdroll meaning into her face, which made her try to help smiling, and tospeak sharply; and then they knew that they had guessed the truth. 

Mr Grey made his call upon his cousins that evening. He requested someprivate conversation with Hope. His objects were, to learn Hope'sopinion of Mr Walcot, as he had seen him of late under very tryingcircumstances; and, if this opinion should be sufficiently favourable towarrant the proposition, to open the subject of a partnership--apartnership in which, as was fair, Mr Walcot should have a small shareat present of the income, and a large proportion of the labour--whichwas all that the young man, under the effect of his recent terrors, andof his veneration for Mr Hope, wished or desired. He had declared thatif he could obtain his beloved Sophia, and be permitted to rely on MrHope as his partner and friend, he should be the happiest man alive; andhe was confident that his parents would consider him a most fortunateyouth, to be received, at his outset into life, into such a family asMr Grey's, and under the professional guidance of such a practitionerand such a man as Mr Hope. 

There seemed to be every probability of his becoming the happiest manalive for the Greys were clearly well disposed towards him, and Mr Hopehad nothing to say of him which could hurt their feelings. He repeatedwhat he had declared to Mr Rowland--that Mr Walcot's energies seemedto be concentrated in the practice of his profession, and that hisprofessional knowledge appeared to be sufficient. There was no doubt ofhis kindness of heart; and, though it could not be expected of him thathe would ever make a striking figure in the world, yet he might sustaina fair portion of respectability and usefulness in a country station. As to the partnership, no difficulty arose. Mr Grey frankly explainedthat present income was far less of an object than to have his daughtersettled beside her parents, and his son-in-law usefully and honourablyoccupied. Sophia would have enough money to make Walcot's income anaffair of inferior consideration. If he should deserve an increase byand by, it would be all very well. If not, the young people must get onwithout. Anything was better than sending the young man away toestablish himself in a new place, with no happier prospects to Sophia'sfamily than that of parting with her to a distance at last. 

It did not require many days to complete the arrangements. Hester wasat first a little vexed, but on the whole much more amused, at the ideaof her husband having Mr Walcot for a partner: and she soon saw theadvantage of his being spared many a long country ride, and many a visitat inconvenient seasons, by his junior being at hand. She made nosubstantial objection, and invited Mr Walcot to the house with all duecordiality. The young man's gratitude and devotion knew no bounds; andthe only trouble Hope felt in the business was the awkwardness ofchecking his expressions of thankfulness. 

When the announcement of the double arrangement was to be made, MrsGrey could not resist going herself to Mrs Rowland; and Sophia wassorry that she could not be present too, to see how the lady wouldreceive the news of a third gentleman marrying into the Greys'connection so decidedly. But Mr Grey took care to enlighten hispartner on the matter some hours before; so that Mrs Rowland wasprepared. She persuaded herself that she was very apathetic--that shehad no feelings left for the affairs of life--that her interests wereall buried in the tomb of her own Matilda. Mrs Grey had thereforenothing in particular to tell Sophia when she returned from paying thevisit. 

In exchange for the news, Sir William and Lady Hunter sent back theircongratulations, and a very gracious and extensive invitation to dinner. Finding that Mrs Rowland's brother was really, with the approbation ofhis family, going to marry Mrs Hope's sister, and that Mrs Rowland's_protege_ was entering into partnership with Mr Hope himself, theythought it the right time to give their sanction to the reconciliationswhich were taking place, by being civil to all the parties round. SoLady Hunter came in state to Deerbrook, one fine day, made all dueapologies, and invited to dinner the whole connection. Mrs Rowlandcould not go, of course; and Margaret declined: but all the rest went. Margaret was on the eve of her marriage, and she preferred one more daywith Maria, to a visit of ceremony. She begged Philip to go, as hissister could not; and he obeyed with a good grace, grudging the loss ofa sweet spring evening over Sir William Hunter's dinner-table the less, that he knew Margaret and Maria were making the best use of it together. 

Once more the friends sat in the summer-house, by the window, whencethey loved to look abroad upon meadow, wood, and stream. Here they hadstudied together, and cherished each other: here they had eagerlyimparted a multitude of thoughts, and carefully concealed a few. Herethey were now conversing together for the last time before theirapproaching separation. Maria sighed often, as she well might: and whenMargaret looked abroad upon the bean-setters in the distant field, andlistened to the bleat of the lambs which came up from the pastures, andwas aware of the scent of the hyacinths occasionally wafted in from poorMatilda's neighbouring flower-plot, she sighed too. 

"You must take some of our hyacinths with you to London, and see whetherthey will not blossom there, " said Maria, answering to her friend'sthought. 

"I hardly know whether there would be most pain or pleasure in seeingplants sprout, and then wither, in the little balcony of a backdrawing-room, which overlooks gables or stables, instead of thesedelicious green meadows. "

"How fond you were, two years ago, of imagining the bliss of livingalways in sight of this very landscape! Yet it has yielded already tothe back drawing-room, with a prospect of stables and gables. "

"We shall come and look upon your woods sometimes, you know. I am notbidding good-bye to this place, or to you. God forbid!"

"Now tell me, Margaret, " said Maria, after a pause, "tell me when youare to be married. "

"That is what I was just about to do. We go on Tuesday. "

"Indeed! in three days! But why should it not be so? It is a wearytime since you promised first. "

"A year ago, there were reasons, as Philip admits now, why I could notleave Hester and Edward. There are no such reasons now. They areprosperous: their days of struggle, when they wanted me--my head, myhands, my little income--are past. Edward's practice has come back tohim, with increase for Mr Walcot. There is nothing more to fear forthem. "

"You have done your duty by them: now--"

"_My_ duty! What has it been to theirs? Oh, Maria! what a spectaclehas that been! When I think how they have `overcome evil with good, 'how they have endured, how forgiven, how toiled and watched on theirenemies' behalf, till they have ruled all the minds, and touched all thehearts, of friends and foes for miles round, I think theirs the mostgracious piece of tribulation that ever befell. At home, --Oh, even youdo not know what a home it is!"

Nor was Margaret herself aware what that home was now. She saw howEdward had there, too, `overcome evil with good' how he had permanentlyestablished Hester in her highest moods of mind, strengthened her toovercome the one unhappy tendency from which she had suffered throughthe whole of her life, and dispersed all storms from the dwellingwherein his child was to grow up: but she did not know half the extentof his victory, or the delight of its rewards. She knew nothing of thesecret shudder with which he looked back upon the entanglement, theperil, the suffering he had gone through; or of the deep peace which hadsettled down upon his soul, now that the struggle was well past. Shelittle imagined how, when all the world regarded him as an old marriedman, his was now, in truth, the soul of the lover: how, from having atone time pitied, feared, recoiled from her with whom he had connectedhimself for life, he had risen, by dint of a religious discharge of dutytowards her, from self-reproach and mere compassion, to patience, tohope, to interest, to admiration, to love--love at last worthy of hers--love which satisfied even Hester's imperious affections, and set evenher over-busy mind and heart at rest. Little did Margaret imagine allthis. There was but one, beside Edward himself, who knew it; and thatone was Morris, who daily thanked God that strength had been givenaccording to the need. 

"There is but one person in the world, Maria, " said her friend, "onwhose account I cannot help being anxious. I was faithless about Hesteras long as it was possible to have an uneasy thought for her; and now Iam afraid I shall sin in the same way about you. "

"And why should you, Margaret? If I were without object, without hope, without experience, without the power of self-rule which such experiencegives, you might well fear for me. But why now? It is not reasonabletowards the Providence under which we live; it is not just to me. "

"That is very true. But though it is not too much for your faith, thatyou are infirm and suffering in body, poor, solitary, living by toil, without love, without prospect--though all this may not be too much foryour faith, Maria, I own it is at times for mine. "

"Of all these evils, there is but one which is very hard to bear. I_am_ solitary; and the suffering from the sense of this is great. Butwhat has been borne may be borne; and this evil is precisely that whichhas been the peculiar trial of the greatest and best of their race--orof those who have been recognised as such. You will not suppose that Itry to flatter my pride with this thought; or that the most insane pridecould be a support under this kind of suffering. I mean only that therecan be nothing morally fatal in a trial which many of the wisest andbest have sustained. "

"But it is painful--very painful. "

"For the mere pain, let it pass; and for the other _desagremens_ of mylot, let us not dare to speak evil of them, lest we should be slanderingmy best friends. If infirmity, toil, poverty, and the foibles of peopleabout us, all go to fortify us in self-reliance, God forbid that weshould quarrel with them!"

"But are you sure, quite sure, that you can stand the discipline? thatyour nerves, as well as your soul, can endure?"

"Far from sure: but my peril is less than it was; and I have, therefore, every hope of victory at last. In my wilderness, some tempter oranother comes, at times when my heart is hungry, and my faith isfainting, and shows me such a lot as yours--all the sunny kingdoms oflove and hope given into your hand--and then the desert of my lot looksdreary enough for the moment; but then arises the very reasonablequestion, why we should demand that one lot should, in this exceedinglysmall section of our immortality, be as happy as another: why we cannoteach husband our own life and means without wanting to be all equal. Let us bless Heaven for your lot, by all means; but why, in the name ofProvidence, should mine be like it? Nay, Margaret, why these tears?For their sake I will tell you--and then we shall have talked quiteenough about me--that you are no fair judge of my lot. You see meoften, generally, in the midst of annoyance, and you do not (because noone can) look with the eye of my mind upon the future. If you could, for one day and night, feel with my feelings, and see through myeyes--. "

"Oh, that I could! I should be the holier for ever after?"

"Nay, nay! but if you could do this, you would know, from henceforth, that there are glimpses of heaven for me in solitude, as for you inlove; and that it is almost as good to look forward without fear ofchance or change, as with such a flutter of hope as is stirring in younow. So much for the solitaries of the earth, and because Providenceshould be justified of his children. Now, when is this family meetingto take place in the corner-house?"

"Frank hopes to land in August; and Anne, Mrs Gilchrist, will meet himas soon as she can hear, in her by-corner of the world, of his arrival. The other sister is still abroad, and cannot come. I hope Anne may be afriend to you--an intimate. Judging by her brothers, and her ownletters, I think she must be worthy. "

"Thank you; but you are, and ever will be, my intimate. There can be noother. We shall be often seeing you here. "

"Sometimes; and we shall have you with us. "

"No: I cannot come to London. I shall never leave this place again, Ibelieve; but you will be often coming to it. When that crowd of newgraves in the churchyard shall be waving with grass, and those old woodslooking more ancient still, and the grown people of Deerbrook tellingtheir little ones all about the pestilence that swept the place at theend of the great scarcity, when _they_ were children, you and yours, andperhaps I, may sit, a knot of grey-headed friends, and hear over againabout those good old days of ours, as we shall then call them. "

"And tell how there was an aged man, who told us of his seeing the deercome down through the forest to drink at the brook. I should like tobehold those future days. "

"And to remember whose face you saw in the torchlight, at the time andplace of your hearing the old man's tale. Whose horse do I hearstopping at the stable?"

"It is Philip's. He has galloped home before the rest, " said Margaret, drawing back from the window with the smile still upon her face. "Now, Maria, before any one comes, tell me--would you like to be with me onTuesday morning or not? Do as you like. "

"I will come, to be sure, " said Maria, smiling. "And now, while thereis any twilight left, go and give Mr Enderby the walk in the shrubberythat he galloped home for. "

Margaret kept Philip waiting while she lighted her friend's lamp; andits gleam shone from the window of the summer-house for long, while, talking of Maria, the lovers paced the shrubbery, and let the twilightgo.