"Mr. Vivian," continued she, "may I hope that now, when you must be convinced of the inefficacy of any attempt either to win or to control my affections, you will have the generosity to spare me all unnecessary contest with my father? It must render him more averse from the only union that can make his daughter happy; and it may ruin the fortunes of—the first, in my opinion, of human beings. I will request another favour from you—and let my willingness to be obliged by you convince you that I appreciate your character—I request that you will not only keep secret all that I have said to you; but that, if accident, or your own penetration, should hereafter discover to you the object of my affection, you will refrain from making any use of that discovery to my disadvantage. You see how entirely I have thrown myself on your honour and generosity."

Vivian assured her that the appeal was powerful with him; and that, by mastering his own passions, and sacrificing his feelings to hers, he would endeavour to show his strong desire to secure, at all events, her happiness.

"You are truly generous, Mr. Vivian, to listen to me with indulgence, to wish for my happiness, whilst I have been wounding your feelings. But, without any impeachment of your sincerity, or yet of your sensibility, let me say, that yours will be only a transient disappointment. Your acquaintance with me is but of yesterday, and the slight impression made on your mind will soon be effaced; but upon my mind there has been time to grave a deep, a first charactery of love, that never, whilst memory holds her seat, can be erased.—I believe," said Julia, checking herself, whilst a sudden blush overspread her countenance—"I am afraid that I have said too much, too much for a woman. The fault of my character, I know, I have been told, is the want of what is called RESERVE."

Blushing still more deeply as she pronounced these last words, the colour darting up to her temples, spreading over her neck, and making its way to the very tips of her fingers, "Now I have done worse," cried she, covering her face with her hands. But the next moment, resuming, or trying to resume her self-possession, she said, "It is time that I should retire, now that I have revealed my whole heart to you. It has, perhaps, been imprudently opened; but for that, your generosity, sir, is to blame. Had you shown more selfishness, I should assuredly have exerted more prudence, and have treated you with less confidence."

Lady Julia quitted him, and Vivian remained in a species of amaze, from which he could not immediately recover. Her frankness, her magnanimity, her enthusiastic sensibility, her eloquent beauty, had altogether exalted, to the highest ecstasy, his love and admiration. Then he walked about, beating his breast in despair at the thought of her affections being irrecoverably engaged,—next quarrelled with the boldness of the confession, the assertion of her love—then decided, that, with all her shining qualities and noble dispositions, she was not exactly the woman a man should desire for a wife: there was something too rash, too romantic about her; there was in her character, as she herself had said, and as Russell had remarked, too little reserve. Something like jealousy and distrust of his friend arose in Vivian's mind: "What!" said he to himself, "and is Russell my rival? and has he been all this time in secret my rival? Is it possible that Russell has been practising upon the affections of this innocent young creature—confided to him too? All this time, whilst he has been cautioning me against her charms, beseeching me not to propose for her precipitately, is it possible that he wanted only to get, to keep the start of me?—No—impossible! utterly impossible! If all the circumstances, all the evidence upon earth conspired, I would not believe it."

Resolved not to do injustice, even in his inmost soul, to his friend, our hero repelled all suspicion of Russell, by reflecting on his long and tried integrity, and on the warmth and fidelity of his friendship. In this temper he was crossing the castle-yard to go to Russell's apartment, when he was met and stopped by one of the domesticated friends of the family, Mr. Mainwaring, the young lawyer: he was in the confidence of Lord Glistonbury, and, proud to show it, he let Mr. Vivian know that he was apprised of the proposal that had been made, and congratulated him, and all the parties concerned, on the prospect of such an agreeable connexion. Vivian was quite unprepared to speak to any one, much less to a lawyer, upon this subject; he had not even thought of the means of obeying Lady Julia, by withdrawing his suit; therefore, with a mixture of vexation and embarrassment in his manner, he answered in commonplace phrases, meant to convey no precise meaning, and endeavoured to disengage himself from his companion; but the lawyer, who had fastened upon him, linking his arm in Vivian's, continued to walk him up and down under the great gateway, saying that he had a word or two of importance for his private ear. This man had taken much pains to insinuate himself into Vivian's favour, by the most obsequious and officious attentions: though his flattery had at first been disgusting, yet, by persevering in his show of civility, he had at length inclined Vivian to think that he was too harsh in his first judgment, and to believe that, "after all, Mainwaring was a good friendly fellow, though his manner was against him."

Mr. Mainwaring, with many professions of regard for Vivian, and with sundry premisings that he hazarded himself by the communication, took the liberty of hinting, that he guessed, from Mr. Vivian's manner this morning, that obstacles had arisen on the part of a young lady who should be nameless; and he should make bold to add that, in his private opinion, the said obstacles would never be removed whilst a certain person remained in the castle, and whilst the young lady alluded to was allowed to spend so much of her time studying with her brother when well, or nursing him when sick. Mr. Mainwaring declared that he was perfectly astonished at Lord Glistonbury's blindness or imprudence in keeping this person in the house, after the hints his lordship had received, and after all the proofs that must or may have fallen within his cognizance, of the arts of seduction that had been employed. Here Vivian interrupted Mr. Mainwaring, to beg that he would not keep him longer in suspense by inuendoes, but that he would name distinctly the object of his suspicions. This, however, Mr. Mainwaring begged to be excused from doing: he would only shake his head and smile, and leave people to their own sagacity and penetration. Vivian warmly answered, that, if Mr. Mainwaring meant Mr. Russell, he was well assured that Mr. Mainwaring was utterly mistaken in attributing to him any but the most honourable conduct.

Mr. Mainwaring smiled, and shook his head—smiled again, and sighed, and hoped Mr. Vivian was right, and observed that time would show; and that, at all events, he trusted Mr. Vivian would keep profoundly secret the hint which his friendship had, indiscreetly perhaps, hazarded.

Scarcely had Mr. Mainwaring retired, when Captain Pickering met and seized upon Vivian, led to the same subject, and gave similar hints, that Russell was the happy rival who had secretly made himself master of Lady Julia's heart. Vivian, though much astonished, finding that these gentlemen agreed in their discoveries or their suspicions, still defended his friend Russell, and strongly protested that he would be responsible for his honour with his life, if it were necessary. The captain shrugged his shoulders, said it was none of his business, that, as Mr. Vivian took it up so warmly, he should let it drop; for it was by no means his intention to get into a quarrel with Mr. Vivian, for whom he had a particular regard. This said, with all the frankness of a soldier, Captain Pickering withdrew, adding, as the clergyman passed at this instant, "There's a man who could tell you more than any of us, if he would, but snug's the word with Wicksted."

Vivian, in great anxiety and much curiosity, appealed to Mr. Wicksted: he protested that he knew nothing, suspected nothing, at least could venture to say nothing; for these were very delicate family matters, and every gentleman should, on these occasions, make it a principle to see with his own eyes. Gradually, however, Mr. Wicksted let out his opinion, and implied infinitely more than Captain Pickering or Mr. Mainwaring had asserted. Vivian still maintained, in the warmest terms, that it was impossible his friend Russell should be to blame. Mr. Wicksted simply pronounced the word friend with a peculiar emphasis, and, with an incredulous smile, left him to his reflections. Those reflections were painful; for, though he defended Russell from the attacks of others, yet he had not sufficient firmness of mind completely to resist the suggestions of suspicion and jealousy, particularly when they had been corroborated by so many concurring testimonies. He had no longer the courage to go immediately to Russell, to tell him of his proposal for Lady Julia, or to speak to him of any of his secret feelings; but, turning away from the staircase that led to his friend's apartment, he determined to observe Russell with his own eyes, before he should decide upon the truth or falsehood of the accusations which had been brought against him. Alas! Vivian was no longer in a condition to observe with his own eyes; his imagination was so perturbed, that he could neither see nor hear any thing as it really was. When he next saw Russell and Lady Julia together, he wondered at his blindness in not having sooner perceived their mutual attachment: notwithstanding that Lady Julia had now the strongest motives to suppress every indication of her passion, symptoms of it broke out continually, the more violent, perhaps, from her endeavours to conceal them. He knew that she was passionately in love with Russell; and that Russell should not have perceived what every other man, even every indifferent spectator, had discovered, appeared incredible. Russell's calm manner and entire self-possession sometimes provoked Vivian, and sometimes quelled his suspicions; sometimes he looked upon this calmness as the extreme of art, sometimes as a proof of innocence, which could not be counterfeit. At one moment he was so much struck with Russell's friendly countenance, that, quite ashamed of his suspicions, he was upon the point of speaking openly to him; but, unfortunately, these intentions were frustrated by some slight obstacle. At length Miss Strictland, who had lately been very courteous to Mr. Vivian, took an opportunity of drawing him into one of the recessed windows; where, with infinite difficulty in bringing herself to speak on such a subject, after inconceivable bridlings of the head, and contortions of every muscle of her neck, she insinuated to him her fears, that my Lord Glistonbury's confidence had been very ill placed in Lord Lidhurst's tutor: she was aware that Mr. Russell had the honour of Mr. Vivian's friendship, but nothing could prevent her from speaking, where she felt it to be so much her duty; and that, as from the unfortunate circumstances in the family she had no longer any influence over Lady Julia Lidhurst, nor any chance of being listened to on such a subject with patience by Lord Glistonbury, she thought the best course she could take was to apply to Mr. Russell's friend, who might possibly, by his interference, prevent the utter disgrace and ruin of one branch of a noble family.

Miss Strictland, in all she said, hinted not at Vivian's attachment to Lady Julia, and gave him no reason to believe that she was apprised of his having proposed for her ladyship: she spoke with much moderation and candour; attributed all Lady Julia's errors to the imprudence of her new governess, Miss Bateman. Miss Strictland now showed a desire not to make, but to prevent mischief; even the circumlocutions and stiffness of her habitual prudery did not, on this occasion, seem unseasonable; therefore what she suggested made a great impression on Vivian. He still, however, defended Russell, and assured Miss Strictland that, from the long experience he had himself had of his friend's honour, he was convinced that no temptation could shake his integrity. Miss Strictland had formed her opinion on this point, she said, and it would be in vain to argue against it. Every new assertion; the belief of each new person who spoke to him on the subject; the combination, the coincidence of all their opinions, wrought his mind to such a height of jealousy, that he was now absolutely incapable of using his reason. He went in search of Russell, but in no fit mood to speak to him as he ought. He looked for him in his own, in Lord Lidhurst's apartment, in every sitting-room in the castle; but Mr. Russell was not to be found: at last Lady Sarah's maid, who heard him inquiring for Mr. Russell from the servants, told him, "she fancied that if he took the trouble to go to the west walk, he might find Mr. Russell, as that was a favourite walk of his." Vivian hurried thither, with a secret expectation of finding Lady Julia with him—there they both were in earnest conversation: as he approached, the trees concealed him from view; and Vivian heard his own name repeated. "Stop!" cried he, advancing: "let me not overhear your secrets—I am not a traitor to my friends!"

As he spoke, his eyes fixed with an expression of concentrated rage upon Russell. Terrified by Vivian's sudden appearance and strange address, and still more by the fierce look he cast on Russell, Lady Julia started and uttered a faint scream. With astonishment, but without losing his self-command, Russell advanced towards Vivian, saying, "You are out of your senses, my dear friend!—I will not listen to you in your present humour. Take a turn or two with me to cool yourself. The anger of a friend should always be allowed three minutes' grace, at least," added Russell, smiling, and endeavouring to draw Vivian away: but Vivian stood immoveable; Russell's calmness, instead of bringing him to his senses, only increased his anger; to his distempered imagination this coolness seemed perfidious dissimulation.

"You cannot deceive me longer, Mr. Russell, by all your art!" cried he. "Though I am the last to open my eyes, I have opened them. Why did you pretend to be my counsellor and friend, when you were my rival?—when you knew that you were my successful rival?——Yes, start and affect astonishment! Yes—look, if you can, with innocent surprise upon that lady!—Say that you have not betrayed her father's confidence!—say, that you have not practised upon her unguarded heart!—say, that you do not know that she loves you to distraction!"

"Oh! Mr. Vivian, what have you done?" cried Lady Julia: she could say no more, but fell senseless on the ground. Vivian's anger was at once sobered by this sight.

"What have I done!" repeated he, as they raised her from the ground. "Wretch! dishonourable villain that I am! I have betrayed her secret—But I thought every body knew it!——Is it possible that you did not know it, Russell?"

Russell made no reply, but ran to the river which was near them for some water—Vivian was incapable of affording any assistance, or even of forming a distinct idea. As soon as Lady Julia returned to her senses, Russell withdrew; Vivian threw himself on his knees before her, and said something about the violence of his passion—his sorrow—and her forgiveness. "Mr. Vivian," said Lady Julia, turning to him with a mixture of despair and dignity in her manner, "do not kneel to me; do not make use of any commonplace phrases—I cannot, at this moment, forgive you—you have done me an irreparable injury. I confided a secret to you—a secret known to no human being but my father and yourself—you have revealed it, and to whom?—Sooner would I have had it proclaimed to the whole world than to ——; for what is the opinion of the whole world to me, compared to his?—Sir, you have done me, indeed, an irremediable injury!—I trusted to your honour—your discretion—and you have betrayed, sacrificed me."

"Vile suspicions!" cried Vivian, striking his forehead: "how could I listen to them for a moment!"

"Suspicions of Mr. Russell!" cried Julia, with a look of high indignation—"Suspicions of your noble-minded friend!—What wickedness, or what weakness!"

"Weakness!—miserable weakness!—the sudden effect of jealousy; and could you know, Lady Julia, by what means, by what arts, my mind was worked up to this insanity!"

"I cannot listen to this now, Mr. Vivian," interrupted Lady Julia: "my thoughts cannot fix upon such things—I cannot go back to the past—what is done cannot be undone—what has been said cannot be unsaid.—You cannot recall your words—they were heard—they were understood. I beg you to leave me, sir, that I may have leisure to think—if possible, to consider what yet remains for me to do. I have no friend—none, none willing or capable of advising me! I begged of you to leave me, sir."

Vivian could not, at this moment, decide whether he ought or ought not to tell Lady Julia that her secret was known, or at least suspected, by many individuals of the family.

"There's a servant on the terrace who seems to be looking for us," said Vivian; "I had something of consequence to say—but this man—"

"My lady, Miss Bateman desired me to let you know, my lady, that there is the Lady Playdels, and the colonel, and Sir James, in the drawing-room, just come;—and she begs, my lady, you will be pleased to come to them; for Miss Bateman's waiting for you, my lady, to repeat the verses, she bid me say, my lady."

"Go to them, Mr. Vivian; I cannot go."

"My lady," persisted the footman, "my lord himself begged you to come; and he and all the gentlemen have been looking for you every where."

"Return to my father, then, and say that I am coming immediately."

"Forced into company!" thought Lady Julia, as she walked slowly towards the house; "compelled to appear calm and gay, when my heart is—what a life of dissimulation! How unworthy of me, formed, as I was once pronounced to be, for every thing that is good and great!—But I am no longer mistress of myself—no soul left but for one object. Why did I not better guard my heart?—No!—rather, why can I not follow its dictates, and at once avow and justify its choice?"

Vivian interrupted Lady Julia's reverie by pointing out to her, as they passed along the terrace, a group of heads, in one of the back windows of the castle, that seemed to be watching them very earnestly. Miss Strictland's face was foremost; half her body was out of the window; and as she drew back, they heard her say—"It is not he!—It is not he!"—As they passed another front of the castle, another party seemed to be upon the watch at a staircase window;—the lawyer, the captain, the clergyman's heads appeared for a moment, and vanished.

"They seem all to be upon the watch for us," said Vivian.

"Meanness!" cried Lady Julia. "To watch or to be watched, I know not which is most degrading; but I cannot think they are watching us."

"My dear Lady Julia!—yet let me call you dear this once—my hopes are gone!—even for your forgiveness I have no right to hope—but let me do you one piece of service—let me put your open temper on its guard. You flatter yourself that the secret you confided to me is not known to any body living but to your father—I have reason to believe that it is suspected, if not positively known, by several other persons in this castle."

"Impossible!"

"I am certain, too certain, of what I say."

Lady Julia made a sudden stop; and, after a pause, exclaimed—

"Then farewell hope! and, with hope, farewell fear!"

"My lady, my lord sent me again, for my lord's very impatient for you, my lady," said the same footman, returning. Lord Glistonbury met them in the hall.—"Why, Julia! where have you been all this time?" he began, in an imperious tone; but seeing Mr. Vivian, his brow grew smooth and his voice good-humoured instantly.—"Ha!—So! so!—Hey! well!—All right! all right!—Good girl! good girl!—Time for every thing—Hey! Mr. Vivian?—'Que la solitude est charmante!' as Voltaire says—Beg pardon for sending for you; but interruption, you know, prevents tetes-a-tetes on the stage from growing tiresome; and the stage, they say, holds the mirror up to nature. But there's no nature now left to hold the mirror up to, except in a few odd instances, as in my Julia here!—Where so fast, my blushing darling?"

"I thought you wished, sir, that I should go to Lady Playdel and Sir James."

"Ay, ay, I sent for you to repeat those charming verses for them that I could not clearly remember.—Go up! go up!—We'll follow you!—We have a word or two to say about something—that's nothing to you."

Lord Glistonbury kept Vivian for a full hour in a state of considerable embarrassment, talking to him of Lady Julia, implying that she was favourably disposed towards him, but that she had a little pride, that might make her affect the contrary at first. Then came a disquisition on pride, with quotations and commonplaces;—then an eulogium, by his lordship, on his lordship's own knowledge of the human heart, and more especially of that "moving toyshop," the female heart; then anecdotes illustrative, comprising the gallantries of thirty years in various ranks of life, with suitable bon-mots and embellishments;—then a little French sentiment, by way of moral, with some philosophical axioms, to show that, though he had led such a gay life, he had been a deep thinker, and that, though nobody could have thought that he had had time for reading, his genius had supplied him, he could not himself really tell how, with what other people with the study of years could not master:—all which Vivian was compelled to hear, whilst he was the whole time impatient to get away, that he might search for Mr. Russell, with whom he was anxious to have an explanation. But, at last, when Lord Glistonbury set him free, he was not nearer to his object. Mr. Russell, he found upon inquiry, had not returned to the castle, nor did he return to dinner; he sent word that he was engaged to dine with a party of gentlemen at a literary club, in a country town nine miles distant. Vivian spent the greatest part of the evening in Lord Lidhurst's apartment, expecting Russell's return; but it grew so late, that Lord Lidhurst, who was still indisposed, went to bed; and when Vivian quitted his lordship, he met Russell's servant in the gallery, who said his master had been come in an hour ago: "but, sir," added the man, "my master won't let you see him, I am sure; for he would not let me in, and he said, that, if you asked for him, I was to answer, that he could not see you to-night."—Vivian knocked in vain at Russell's door; he could not gain admission; so he went reluctantly to bed, determined to rise very early, that he might see his friend as soon as possible, obtain his forgiveness for the past, and ask his advice for the future.



CHAPTER X.

Suspense, curiosity, love, jealousy, remorse, any one of which is enough to keep a person awake all night, by turns agitated poor Vivian so violently, that for several hours he could not close his eyes; but at last, when quite exhausted, he fell into a profound sleep. The first image that came before his mind, when he awoke in the morning, was that of Lady Julia; his next recollection was of Russell.

"Is Mr. Russell up yet?" said Vivian to his servant, who was bringing in his boots.

"Up, sir! Oh, yes, hours ago!—He was off at daybreak!"

"Off!" cried Vivian, starting up in his bed; "off!—Where is he gone?"

"I can't say, sir. Yes, indeed, sir, I heard Mr. Russell's man say, that his master was going post to the north, to some old uncle that was taken ill, which he heard about at dinner from some of those gentlemen where he dined yesterday; but I can't say positively. But here's a letter he left for you with me."

"A letter!—Give it me!—Why didn't you give it me sooner?"

"Why really, sir, you lay so sound, I didn't care to waken you; and I was up so late myself, too, last night."

"Leave me now; I'll ring when I want you."

"TO C. VIVIAN, ESQ.

"I would not see you, after what passed yesterday, because I feared that I should not speak to you with temper. Lest you should misinterpret any thing I have formerly said, I must now solemnly assure you, that I never had the slightest suspicion of the secret you revealed to me till the moment when it was betrayed by your indiscretion. Still I can scarcely credit what appears to me so improbable; but, even under this uncertainty, I think it my duty to leave this family. Had the slightest idea of what you suggested ever crossed my imagination, I should then have acted as I do now. I say this, not to justify myself, but to convince you, that what I formerly hinted about reserve of manners and prudence was merely a general reflection.

"For my own part, I seem to act HEROICALLY; but I must disclaim that applause to which I am not entitled. All powerful as the temptation must appear to you, dangerous as it must have been, in other circumstances, to me, I cannot claim any merit for resisting its influence. My safety I owe neither to my own prudence or fortitude. I must now, Vivian, impart to you a secret which you are at liberty to confide where and when you think necessary—my heart is, and has long been, engaged. Whilst you were attached to Miss Sidney, I endeavoured to subdue my love for her; and every symptom of it was, I hope and believe, suppressed. This declaration cannot now give you any pain; except so far as it may, perhaps, excite in your mind some remorse for having unwarrantably, unworthily, and weakly, suffered yourself to feel suspicions of a true friend. Well as I know the infirmity of your character, and willing as I have always been to make allowance for a fault which I thought time and experience would correct, I was not prepared for this last stroke; I never thought your weakness of mind would have shown itself in suspicion of your best, your long-tried friend.—But I am at last convinced that your mind is not strong enough for confidence and friendship. I pity, but I see that I can no longer serve; and I feel that I can no longer esteem you. Farewell! Vivian. May you find a friend, who will supply to you the place of H. RUSSELL."

Vivian knew Russell's character too well to flatter himself that the latter part of this letter was written in anger that would quickly subside; from the tone of the letter he felt that Russell was deeply offended. In the whole course of his life he had depended on Russell's friendship as a solid blessing, of which he could never be deprived by any change of circumstances—by any possible chance in human affairs; and now to have lost such a friend by his own folly, by his own weakness, was a misfortune of which he could hardly believe the reality. At the same moment, too, he learned how nobly Russell had behaved towards him, in the most trying situation in which the human heart can be placed. Russell's love for Selina Sidney, Vivian had never till this instant suspected. "What force, what command of mind!—What magnanimity!—What a generous friend he has ever been to me!—and I—"

Poor Vivian, always sinning and always penitent, was so much absorbed by sorrow for the loss of Russell's friendship, that he could not for some time think even of the interests of his love, or consider the advantage which he might derive from the absence of his rival, and from that rival's explicit declaration, that his affections were irrevocably engaged. By degrees these ideas rose clearly to Vivian's view; his hopes revived. Lady Julia would see the absolute impossibility of Russell's returning, or of his accepting her affection; her good sense, her pride, would in time subdue this hopeless passion; and Vivian was generous enough, or sufficiently in love, to feel that the value of her heart would not be diminished, but rather increased in his opinion, by the sensibility she had shown to the talents and virtues of his friend. His friend, Vivian ventured now to call him; for with the hopes of love, the hopes of friendship rose.

"All may yet be well!" said he to himself. "Russell will forgive me when he hears how I was worked upon by those parasites and prudish busybodies, who infused their vile suspicions into my mind. Weak as it is, I never will allow that it is incapable of confidence or of friendship!—No! Russell will retract that harsh sentence. When he is happy, as I am sure I ardently hope he will be, in Selina's love, he will restore me to his favour. Without his friendship, I could not be satisfied with myself, or happy in the full accomplishment of all my other fondest hopes."

By the time that hope had thus revived and renovated our hero's soul; by the time that his views of things had totally changed, and that the colour of his future destiny had turned from black to white—from all gloom to all sunshine; the minute-hand of the clock had moved with unfeeling regularity, or, in plain unmeasured prose, it was now eleven o'clock, and three times Vivian had been warned that breakfast was ready. When he entered the room, the first thing he heard, as usual, was Miss Bateman's voice, who was declaiming upon some sentimental point, in all "the high sublime of deep absurd." Vivian, little interested in this display, and joining neither in the open flattery nor in the secret ridicule with which the gentlemen wits and amateurs listened to the Rosamunda, looked round for Lady Julia. "She breakfasts in her own room this morning," whispered Lord Glistonbury, before Vivian had even pronounced her ladyship's name.

"So!" said Mr. Pickering, "we have lost Mr. Russell this morning!"

"Yes," said Lord Glistonbury, "he was forced to hurry away to the north, I find, to an old sick uncle."

"Lord Lidhurst, I'm afraid, will break his heart for want of him," cried the lawyer, in a tone that might either pass for earnest or irony, according to the fancy of the interpreter.

"Lord Lidhurst, did you say?"—cried the captain: "are you sure you meant Lord Lidhurst? I don't apprehend that a young nobleman ever broke his heart after his tutor. But I was going to remark——"

What farther the captain was going to remark can never be known to the world; for Lord Glistonbury so startled him by the loud and rather angry tone in which he called for the cream, which stood with the captain, that all his few ideas were put to flight. Mr. Pickering, who noticed Lord Glistonbury's displeasure, now resumed the conversation about Mr. Russell in a new tone; and the lawyer and he joined in a eulogy upon that gentleman. Lord Glistonbury said not a word, but looked embarrassed. Miss Strictland cleared her throat several times, and looked infinitely more rigid and mysterious than usual. Lady Glistonbury and Lady Sarah, ditto—ditto. Almost every body, except such visitors as were strangers at the castle, perceived that there was something extraordinary going on in the family; and the gloom and constraint spread so, that, towards the close of breakfast, nothing was uttered, by prudent people, but awkward sentences about the weather—the wind—and the likelihood of there being a mail from the continent. Still through all this, regardless and unknowing of it all, the Rosamunda talked on, happily abstracted, egotistically secured from the pains of sympathy or of curiosity by the all-sufficient power of vanity. Even her patron, Lord Glistonbury, was at last provoked and disgusted. He was heard, under his breath, to pronounce a contemptuous Pshaw! and, as he rose from the breakfast table he whispered to Vivian, "There's a woman, now, who thinks of nothing living but herself!—All talkee talkee!—I begin to be weary of her.——Gentlemen," continued his lordship, "I've letters to write this morning.——You'll ride—you'll walk—you're for the billiard-room, I suppose.——Mr. Vivian, I shall find you in my study, I hope, an hour hence; but first I have a little business to settle." With evident embarrassment Lord Glistonbury retired. Lady Glistonbury, Lady Sarah, and Miss Strictland, each sighed; then, with looks of intelligence, rose and retired. The company separated soon afterwards; and went to ride, to walk, or to the billiard-room, and Vivian to the study, to wait there for Lord Glistonbury, and to meditate upon what might be the nature of his lordship's business. As Vivian crossed the gallery, the door of Lady Glistonbury's dressing-room opened, and was shut again instantaneously by Miss Strictland; but not before he saw Lady Julia kneeling at her father's feet, whilst Lady Glistonbury and Lady Sarah were standing like statues, on each side of his lordship. Vivian waited a full hour afterwards in tedious suspense in the study. At last he heard doors open and footsteps, and he judged that the family council had broken up; he laid down a book, of which he had read the same page over six times, without any one of the words it contained having conveyed a single idea to his mind. Lord Glistonbury came in, with papers and parchments in his hands.

"Mr. Vivian, I am afraid you have been waiting for me—have a thousand pardons to ask—I really could not come any sooner—I wished to speak to you—Won't you sit down?—We had better sit down quietly—there's no sort of hurry."

His lordship, however, seemed to be in great agitation-of spirits; and Vivian was convinced that his mind must be interested in an extraordinary manner, because he did not, as was his usual practice, digress to fifty impertinent episodes before he came to the point. He only blew his nose sundry times; and then at once said, "I wish to speak to you, Mr. Vivian, about the proposal you did me the honour to make for my daughter Julia. Difficulties have occurred on our side— very extraordinary difficulties—Julia, I understand, has hinted to you, sir, the nature of those difficulties.—Oh, Mr. Vivian," said Lord Glistonbury, suddenly quitting the constrained voice in which he spoke, and giving way to his natural feelings, "you are a man of honour and feeling, and a father may trust you!——Here's my girl—a charming girl she is; but knowing nothing of the world—self-willed, romantic, open-hearted, imprudent beyond conception; do not listen to any of the foolish things she says to you. You are a man of sense, you love her, and you are every way suited to her; it is the first wish of my heart—I tell you frankly—to see her your wife: then do not let her childish folly persuade you that her affections are engaged—don't listen to any such stuff. We all know what the first loves of a girl of sixteen must be—But it's our fault—my fault, my fault, since they will have it so. I care not whose fault it is; but we have had very improper people about her—very!—very!—But all may be well yet, if you, sir, will be steady, and save her—save her from herself. I would farther suggest——"

Lord Glistonbury was going on, probably, to have weakened by amplification the effect of what he had said, when Lady Julia entered the room; and, advancing with dignified determination of manner, said, "I have your commands, father, that I should see Mr. Vivian again:—I obey."

"That is right—that is my darling Julia; I always knew she would justify my high opinion of her." Lord Glistonbury attempted to draw her towards him fondly; but, with an unaltered manner, that seemed as if she suppressed strong emotion, she answered, "I do not deserve your caresses, father; do not oppress me with praise that I cannot merit: I wish to speak to Mr. Vivian without control and without witness."

Lord Glistonbury rose; and growing red and almost inarticulate with anger, exclaimed, "Remember, Julia! remember, Lady Julia Lidhurst! that if you say what you said you would say, and what I said you should not say—I—Lord Glistonbury, your father—I, as well as all the rest of your family, utterly disclaim and cast you off for ever!—You'll be a thing without fortune—without friends—without a name—without a being in the world—Lady Julia Lidhurst!"

"I am well aware of that," replied Lady Julia, growing quite pale, yet without changing the determination of her countenance, or abating any thing from the dignity of her manner: "I am well aware, that on what I am about to do depends my having, or my ceasing from this moment to have, fortune, friends, and a father."

Lord Glistonbury stood still for a moment—fixed his eyes upon her as if he would have read her soul; but, without seeking to elude his inquiry, her countenance seemed to offer itself to his penetration.

"By Heaven, there is no understanding this girl!" cried his lordship. "Mr. Vivian, I trust her to your honour—to your knowledge of the world—to your good sense;—in short, sir, to your love and constancy."

"And I, sir," said Lady Julia, turning to Vivian, after her father had left the room, and looking at Vivian so as to stop him short as he approached, and to disconcert him in the commencement of a passionate speech; "and I, too, sir, trust to your honour, whilst I deprecate your love. Imprudent as I was in the first confidence I reposed in you, and much as I have suffered by your rashness, I now stand determined to reveal to you another yet more important, yet more humiliating secret—You owe me no gratitude, sir!—I am compelled, by the circumstances in which I am placed, either to deceive or to trust you. I must either become your wife, and deceive you most treacherously; or I must trust you entirely, and tell you why it would be shameful that I should become your wife—shameful to me and to you."

"To me!—Impossible!" cried Vivian, bursting into some passionate expressions of love and admiration.

"Listen to me, sir; and do not make any of those rash professions, of which you will soon repent. You think you are speaking to the same Lady Julia you saw yesterday—No!—you are speaking to a very different person—a few hours have made a terrible change. You see before you, sir, one who has been, till this day, the darling and pride of her father; who has lived in the lap of luxury; who has been flattered, admired, by almost all who approached her; who had fortune, and rank, and fair prospects in life, and youth, and spirits, and all the pride of prosperity; who had, I believe, good dispositions, perhaps some talents, and, I may say, a generous heart; who might have been,—but that is all over—no matter what she might have been—she is

'A tale for ev'ry prating she.'

Fallen!—fallen! fallen under the feet of those who worshipped her!—fallen below the contempt of the contemptible!—Worse! worse! fallen in her own opinion—never to rise again."

Lady Julia's voice failed, and she was forced to pause. She sunk upon a seat, and hid her face—for some moments she neither saw nor heard; but at last, raising her head, she perceived Vivian.

"You are in amazement, sir! and I see you pity me; but let me beg of you to restrain your feelings—my own are as much as I can bear. O that I could recall a few hours of my existence! But I have not yet been able to tell you what has passed. My father, my friends, wish to conceal it from you: but, whatever I have done, however low I have sunk, I will not deceive, nor be an accomplice in deceit. From my own lips you shall hear all. This morning at daybreak, not being able to sleep, and having some suspicion that Mr. Russell would leave the castle, I rose, and whilst I was dressing, I heard the trampling of horses in the court. I looked out of my window, and saw Mr. Russell's man saddling his master's horse. I heard Mr. Russell, a moment afterwards, order the servant to take the horses to the great gate on the north road, and wait for him there, as he intended to walk through the park. I thought these were the last words I should ever hear him speak.—Love took possession of me—I stole softly down the little staircase that leads from my turret to one of the back doors, and got out of the castle, as I thought, unobserved: I hurried on, and waited in the great oak wood, through which I knew Mr. Russell would pass. When I saw him coming nearer and nearer to me, I would have given the world to have been in my own room again—I hid myself among the trees—yet, when he walked on in reverie without noticing me, taking me probably for one of the servants, I could not bear to think that this was the last moment I should ever see him, and I exclaimed—I know not what; but I know that at the sound of my voice Mr. Russell started, and never can I forget the look—Spare me the rest! —No!—I will not spare myself—I offered my heart, my hand,—and they were rejected!—In my madness I told him I regarded neither wealth, nor rank, nor friends, nor—That I would rather live with him in obscurity than be the greatest princess upon earth—I said this and more—and I was rejected—And even at this moment, instead of the vindictive passions which are said to fill the soul of a woman scorned, I feel admiration for your noble friend: I have not done him justice; I cannot repeat his words, or describe his manner. He persuaded, by his eloquence compelled, me to return to this castle. He took from me all hope; he destroyed by one word all my illusions—he told me that he loves another. He has left me to despair, to disgrace; and yet I love, esteem, and admire him, above all human beings! Admire one who despises me!—Is it possible? I know not, but it is so—I have more to tell you, sir!—As I returned to the castle, I was watched by Miss Strictland. How she knew all that had passed, I cannot divine; perhaps it was by means of some spy who followed me, and whom I did not perceive: for I neither saw nor heard any thing but my passion. Miss Strictland communicated her discovery immediately to my father. I have been these last two hours before a family tribunal. My mother, with a coldness a thousand times worse than my poor father's rage, says, that I have only accomplished her prophecies; that she always knew and told my father that I should be a disgrace to my family. But no reproaches are equal to my own; I stand self-condemned. I feel like one awakened from a dream. A few words!—a single look from Mr. Russell!—how they have altered all my views, all my thoughts! Two hours' reflection—Two hours, did I say?—whole years—a whole existence—have passed to me in the last two hours: I am a different creature. But it is too late—too late!—Self-esteem is gone!—happiness is over for me in this world."

"Happiness over for you!" exclaimed Vivian in a tone expressive of the deep interest he felt for her; "Self-esteem gone!—No! Lady Julia; do not blame yourself so severely for what has passed! Blame the circumstances in which you have been placed; above all, blame me—blame my folly—my madness; your secret never would have been known, if I had not—"

"I thank you," interrupted Lady Julia, rising from her seat; "but no consolation can be of any avail. It neither consoles nor justifies me that others have been to blame."

"Permit me, at least," pursued Vivian. "to speak of my own sentiments for one moment. Permit me to say, Lady Julia, that the confidence with which you have just honoured me, instead of diminishing my attachment, has so raised my admiration for your candour and magnanimity, that no obstacles shall vanquish my constancy. I will wait respectfully, and, if I can, patiently, till time shall have effaced from your mind these painful impressions; I shall neither ask nor accept of the interference or influence of your father, nor of any of your friends; I shall rely solely on the operation of your own excellent understanding, and shall hope for my reward from your noble heart."

"You do not think it possible," said Lady Julia, looking at Vivian with dignified determination, "you do not think it possible, after all that has passed, after all that I have told you, that I could so far degrade myself or you, as to entertain any thoughts of becoming your wife? Farewell! Mr. Vivian.——You will not see me again. I shall obtain permission to retire, and live with a relation in a distant part of the country; where I shall no more be seen or heard of. My fortune will, I hope, be of use to my sister.——My poor father!—I pity him; he loves me: he loses his daughter for ever; worse than loses her! My mother, too—I pity her! for, though she does not love me, she will suffer for me; she will suffer more than my father, by the disgrace that would be brought upon my family, if ever the secret should be publicly known. My brother!—Oh, my beloved brother! he knows nothing yet of all this!—But why do I grieve you with my agony of mind? Forget that Lady Julia Lidhurst ever existed!—I wish you that happiness which I can never enjoy—I wish you may deserve and win a heart capable of feeling real love!—Adieu!"



CHAPTER XI.

Convinced that all farther pursuit of Lady Julia Lidhurst would be vain, that it could tend only to increase her difficulties and his mortification, Vivian saw that the best thing he could possibly do was to leave Glistonbury. Thus he should relieve the whole family from the embarrassment of his presence; and, by immediate change of scene and of occupation, he had the best chance of recovering from his own disappointment. If Lady Julia was to quit the castle, he could have no inducement to stay; if her ladyship remained, his continuing in her society would be still more dangerous to his happiness. Besides, he felt offended with Lord Glistonbury, who evidently had wished to conceal from him the truth; and, without considering what was just or honourable, had endeavoured to secure, at all events, an establishment for his daughter, and a connexion for his family. To the weight of these reasons must be added a desire to see Mr. Russell, and to effect a reconciliation with him. The accumulated force of all these motives had power to overcome Vivian's habitual indecision: his servant was surprised by an order to have every thing ready for his journey to town immediately. Whilst his man prepared to obey, or at least to meditate upon the cause of this unusually decided order, our hero went in quest of Lord Glistonbury, to pay his compliments to his lordship previous to his departure. His lordship was in his daughter Julia's dressing-room, and could not be seen; but presently he came to Vivian in great hurry and distress of mind.

"A sad stroke upon us, Mr. Vivian!—a sad stroke upon us all—but most upon me; for she was the child of my expectations—I hear she has told you every thing—you, also, have been very ill-used—Never was astonishment equal to mine when I heard Miss Strictland's story. I need not caution you, Mr. Vivian, as to secrecy; you are a man of honour, and you see the peace of our whole family is at stake. The girl is going to a relation of ours in Devonshire.—Sha'n't stay here—sha'n't stay here—Disgrace to my family—She who was my pride—and, after all, says she will never marry.—Very well!—very well!—I shall never see her again, that I am determined upon.—I told her, that if she did not behave with common sense and propriety, in her last interview with you, I would give her up—and so I will, and so I do.—The whole is Lady Glistonbury's fault—she never managed her rightly when she was a child. Oh! I should put you on your guard in one particular—Miss Bateman knows nothing of what has happened—I wish Miss Strictland knew as little—I hate her. What business had she to play the spy upon my daughter? She does well to be a prude, for she is as ugly as sin. But we are in her power. She is to go to-morrow with Julia to Devonshire. It will make a quarrel between me and Miss Bateman—no matter for that; for now, the sooner we get rid of that Rosamunda, too, the better—she talks me dead, and will let no one talk but herself. And, between you and me, all this could not have happened, if she had looked after her charge properly.—Not but what I think Miss Strictland was still less fit to guide a girl of Julia's genius and disposition. All was done wrong at first, and I always said so to Lady Glistonbury. But, if the secret can be kept—and that depends on you, my dear friend—after six months' or a twelve-month's rustication with our poor parson in the country, you will see how tamed and docile the girl will come back to us. This is my scheme; but nobody shall know my whole mind but you—I shall tell her I will never see her again; and that will pacify Lady Glistonbury, and frighten Julia into submission. She says she'll never marry.—Stuff! Stuff!—You don't believe her!—What man who has seen any thing of the world ever believes such stuff?"

Vivian's servant came into the room to ask his master some question about horses.

"Going!—where? Going!—when? Going!—how?" cried Lord Glistonbury, as soon as the servant withdrew. "Surely, you are not going to leave us, Mr. Vivian?"

Vivian explained his reasons—Lord Glistonbury would not allow them any weight, entreated and insisted that he should stay at least a few days longer; for his going "just at this moment would seem quite like a break up in the family, and would be the most unfriendly and cruel thing imaginable." Why Lord Glistonbury so earnestly pressed his stay, perhaps even his lordship himself did not exactly know; for, with all the air of being a person of infinite address and depth of design, his lordship was in reality childishly inconsistent; what the French call inconsequent. On any subject, great or small, where he once took it into his head, or, as he called it, made it a point, that a thing should be so or so, he was as peremptory, or, where he could not be peremptory, as anxious, as if it were a matter of life and death. In his views there was no perspective, no keeping—all objects appeared of equal magnitude; and even now, when it might be conceived that his whole mind was intent upon a great family misfortune, he, in the course of a few minutes, became as eager about a mere trifle as if he had nothing else in the world to think of. From the earnestness with which Lord Glistonbury urged him to stay a few days, at least one day longer, Vivian was induced to believe that it must be a matter of real consequence to his lordship—"And, in his present state of distress, I cannot refuse such a request," thought Vivian. He yielded, therefore, to these solicitations, and consented to stay a few days longer; though he knew the prolonging his visit would be, in every respect, disagreeable.

At dinner Lord Glistonbury announced to the company that the physician had advised change of air immediately for Lord Lidhurst; and that, in consequence, his son would set out early the next morning for Devonshire—that his daughter Julia wished to go with her brother, and that Miss Strictland would accompany them. Lord Glistonbury apologized for his daughter's absence, "preparations for her journey so suddenly decided upon," &c. Lady Glistonbury and Lady Sarah looked terribly grim whilst all this was saying; but the gravity and stiffness of their demeanour did not appear any thing extraordinary to the greater part of the company, who had no idea of what was going forward. The lawyer, the captain, and the chaplain, however, interchanged significant looks; and many times, during the course of the evening, they made attempts to draw out Vivian's thoughts, but they found him impenetrable. There was an underplot of a quarrel between Miss Strictland and Miss Bateman, to which Vivian paid little attention; nor was he affected, in the slightest degree, by the Rosamunda's declaration to Lord Glistonbury, that she must leave his family, since she found that Miss Strictland had a larger share than herself of his lordship's confidence, and was, for what reason she could not divine, to have the honour of accompanying Lady Julia into Devonshire. Vivian perceived these quarrels, and heard the frivolous conversation of the company at Glistonbury Castle without interest, and with a sort of astonishment at the small motives by which others were agitated, whilst his whole soul was engrossed by love and pity for Lady Julia. In vain he hoped for another opportunity of seeing and speaking to her. She never appeared. The next morning he rose at daybreak that he might have the chance of seeing her: he begged Miss Strictland to entreat her ladyship would allow him to say a few words before she set out; but Miss Strictland replied, that she was assured the request would be vain; and he thought he perceived that Miss Strictland, though she affected to lament Lady Julia's blindness to her own interests and contumacy, in opposing her father's wishes, was, in reality, glad that she persisted in her own determination. Lord Lidhurst, on account of the weak state of his health, was kept in ignorance of every thing that could agitate him; and, when Vivian took leave of him, the poor young man left many messages of kindness and gratitude for Mr. Russell.

"I am sorry that he was obliged to leave me; for, ill or well, there is no human being, I will not except any one but my sister Julia, whom I should so much wish to have with me. Tell him so; and tell him—be sure you remember my very words, for perhaps I shall never see him again—tell him, that, living or dying, I shall feel grateful to him. He has given me tastes and principles very different from those I had when he came into this house. Even in sickness, I feel almost every hour the advantage of my present love for literature. If I should live and recover, I hope I shall do him some credit; and I trust my family will join in my gratitude. Julia, my dear sister! why do you weep so bitterly?—If I had seen you come into the room, I would not have spoken of my health."

Lord Glistonbury came up to tell them that Miss Strictland was ready. "Mr. Vivian," cried his lordship, "will you hand Julia into the carriage?—Julia, Mr. Vivian is offering you his services."

Vivian, as he attended Lady Julia, had so much respect for her feelings, that, though he had been waiting with extreme impatience for an opportunity to say a few words, yet now he would not speak, but handed her along the gallery, down the staircase, and across the great hall, in profound silence. She seemed sensible of this forbearance; and, turning to him at a moment when they could not be overheard, said, "It was not from unkindness, Mr. Vivian, I refused to see you again, but to convince you that my mind is determined—if you have any thing to say, I am ready to hear it."

"Is there nothing to be hoped from time?" said Vivian. "Your father, I know, has hopes that——All I ask is, that you will not make any rash resolutions."

"I make none; but I tell you, for your own sake, not to cherish any vain hope. My father does not know my mind sufficiently, therefore he may deceive you; but I will not.——I thought, after the manner in which I spoke to you yesterday, you would have had too much strength of mind to have rendered this repetition of my sentiments necessary.——Attach yourself elsewhere as soon as you can.—I sincerely wish your happiness. Miss Strictland is waiting.—Farewell!"

She hurried forward to the carriage; and, when she was gone, Vivian repented that he had seen her again, as it had only given them both additional and fruitless pain.

What passed during some succeeding days at Glistonbury Castle he scarcely knew; no trace remained in his mind of anything but the confused noise of people, who had been talking, laughing, and diverting themselves in a manner that seemed to him incomprehensible. He exerted himself, however, so far as to write to Russell, to implore his forgiveness, and to solicit a return of his friendship, which, in his present state of unhappiness, was more necessary to him than ever. When he had finished and despatched this letter, he sunk again into a sort of reckless state, without hope or determination, as to his future life. He could not decide whether he should go to his mother immediately on leaving Glistonbury, or to Mr. Russell, or (which he knew was the best course he could pursue) attend his duty in parliament, and, by plunging at once into public business, change the course of his thoughts, and force his mind to resume its energy. After altering his determination twenty times, after giving at least a dozen contradictory orders about his journey, his servant at last had his ultimatum, for London—the carriage to be at the door at ten o'clock the next morning. Every thing was ready at the appointed hour. Breakfast over, Vivian waited only to pay his compliments to Lady Glistonbury, who had breakfasted in her own apartment. Lady Sarah, with a manner as formal as usual, rose from the breakfast-table, and said she would let her mother know that Mr. Vivian was going. Vivian waited half an hour—an hour—two hours. Lady Glistonbury did not appear, nor did Lady Sarah return. The company had dispersed after the first half-hour. Lord Glistonbury began to believe that the ladies did not mean to make their appearance. At length a message came from Lady Glistonbury.—"Lady Glistonbury's compliments to Mr. Vivian—her ladyship was concerned that it was out of her power to have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Vivian, as she was too much indisposed to leave her room.—She and Lady Sarah wished him a very good journey."

Vivian went up to his room for his gloves, which he missed at the moment when he was going. Whilst he was opening the empty drawers one after another, in search of his gloves, and, at the same time, calling his servant to find them, he heard a loud scream from an adjoining apartment. He listened again—all was silent; and he supposed that what he had heard was not a scream: but, at that moment, Lady Sarah's maid flung open his door, and, running in with out-stretched arms, threw herself at Vivian's feet. Her sobs and tears prevented his understanding one syllable she said. At last she articulated intelligibly, "Oh, sir!—don't be so cruel to go—my lady!—my poor lady! If you go, it will kill Lady Sarah!"

"Kill Lady Sarah?—Why I saw her in perfect health this morning at breakfast!"

"Dear, dear sir! you know nothing of the matter!" said the maid, rising, and shutting the door: "you don't know what a way she has been in ever since the talk of your going—fits upon fits every night, and my lady, her mother, and I up holding her—and none in the house knowing it but ourselves. Very well at breakfast! Lord help us! sir. How little you know of what she has suffered! Lord have mercy upon me! I would not be a lady to be so much in love, and left so, for any thing in the whole world. And my Lady Sarah keeps every thing so to herself;—if it was not for these fits they would never have knowed she cared no more for you than a stone."

"And, probably you are quite mistaken," said Vivian; "and that I have nothing to do with the young lady's illness. If she has fits, I am very sorry for it; but I can't possibly——Certainly, you are quite mistaken!"

"Lord, sir!—mistaken! As if I could be mistaken, when I know my lady as well as I know myself! Why, sir, I know from the time of the election, when you was given to her by all the country—and to be sure when we all thought it would be a match directly—and the Lord knows what put it off!—I say, from that time, her heart was set upon you. Though she never said a word to me, or any one, I knew how it was, through all her coldness—And to be sure, when you was in Lon'on so much with us, all the town said, as all the country did afore, that to be sure it was to be a match—But then that sad affair, with that artfullest of women, that took you off from all that was good, and away, the Lord knows where, to foreign parts!—Well! to be sure, I never shall forget the day you come back again to us!—and the night of the ball!—and you dancing with my lady, and all so happy; then, to be sure, all were sarten it was to be immediately——And now to go and break my poor lady's heart at the last—Oh, sir, sir! if you could but see her, it would touch a heart of marble!"

Vivian's astonishment and dismay were so great, that he suffered the girl, who was an unpractised creature, to go on speaking without interruption: the warmth of affection with which she spoke of her lady, also, surprised him: for, till this instant, he had no idea that any one could love Lady Sarah Lidhurst; and the accounts she gave of the lady's sufferings not only touched his compassion, but worked upon his vanity. "This cold, proud young lady that never loved none before, to think," as her maid said, "that she should come to such a pass, as to be in fits about him. And it was her belief that Lady Sarah never would recover it, if he went away out of the castle this day."

The ringing of a bell had repeatedly been heard, whilst Lady Sarah's maid was speaking; it now rang violently, and her name was called vehemently from the adjoining apartment. "I must go, I must go!—Oh, sir! one day, for mercy's sake! stay one day longer!"

Vivian, though he had been moved by this girl's representations, was determined to effect his retreat whilst it was yet in his power; therefore he ran down stairs, and had gained the hall, where he was shaking hands with Lord Glistonbury, when my Lady Glistonbury's own woman came in a great hurry to say, that her lady, finding herself a little better now, and able to see Mr. Vivian, begged he would be so good as to walk up to her dressing-room.

Vivian, with a heavy heart and slow steps, obeyed; there was no refusing, no evading such a request. He summoned all his resolution, at the same time saying to himself, as he followed his conductor along the gallery, "It is impossible that I can ever be drawn in to marry Lady Sarah.—This is a concerted plan, and I shall not be so weak as to be the dupe of so gross an artifice."

Lady Glistonbury's maid showed him into her lady's dressing-room and retired. Lady Glistonbury was seated, and, without speaking, pointed to a chair which was set opposite to her. "So! a preparation for a scene," thought Vivian. He bowed, but, still keeping his hat in his hand, did not sit down:—he was extremely happy to hear, that her ladyship found herself something better—much honoured by her permitting him to pay his respects, and to offer his grateful acknowledgments to her ladyship before his departure from Glistonbury.

Her ladyship, still without speaking, pointed to the chair. Vivian sat down, and looked as if he had "screwed his courage to the sticking place." Lady Glistonbury had sometimes a little nervous trembling of her head, which was the only symptom of internal agitation that was ever observable in her; it was now increased to a degree which Vivian had never before seen.

"Are you in haste, sir, to be gone?" said Lady Glistonbury.

"Not if her ladyship had any commands for him; but otherwise, he had intended, if possible, to reach town that night."

"I shall not delay you many minutes, Mr. Vivian," said her ladyship. "You need not be under apprehension that Lady Glistonbury should seek to detain you longer than your own inclinations induce you to stay; it is, therefore, unnecessary to insult her with any appearance of haste or impatience."

Vivian instantly laid down his hat, and protested that he was not in the slightest degree impatient: he should be very ungrateful, as well as very ill-bred, if, after the most hospitable manner in which he had been received and entertained at Glistonbury Castle, he could be in haste to quit it. He was entirely at her ladyship's orders.

Lady Glistonbury bowed formally—was again silent—the trembling of her head very great—the rest of her form motionless.

"I have sent for you, Mr. Vivian," said she, "that I might, before you leave this castle, set you right on a subject which much concerns me. From the representations of a foolish country girl, a maid-servant of my daughter, Lady Sarah Lidhurst, which I have just discovered she has made to you, I had reason to fear that you might leave Glistonbury with very false notions——"

A cry was heard at this moment from the inner apartment, which made Vivian start; but Lady Glistonbury, without noticing it, went on speaking.

"With notions very injurious to my daughter Sarah; who, if I know any thing of her, would rather, if it were so ordained, go out of this world, than condescend to any thing unbecoming her sex, her education, and her family."

Vivian, struck with respect and compassion for the mother, who spoke to him in this manner, was now convinced that there had been no concerted plan to work upon his mind, that the maid had spoken without the knowledge of her lady; and the more proudly solicitous Lady Glistonbury showed herself to remove what she called the false impression from his mind, the more he was persuaded that the girl had spoken the truth. He was much embarrassed between his good-nature and his dread of becoming a sacrifice to his humanity.

He replied in general terms to Lady Glistonbury, that he had the highest respect for Lady Sarah Lidhurst, and that no opinion injurious to her could be entertained by him.

"Respect she must command from all," said Lady Glistonbury; "that it is out of any man's power to refuse her: as to the rest, she leaves you, and I leave you, sir, to your own conscience."

Lady Glistonbury rose, and so did Vivian. He hoped that neither her ladyship nor Lady Sarah had any cause——He hesitated; the words, to reproach, to complain, to be displeased, all came to his lips; but each seemed improper; and, none other being at hand to convey his meaning, he could not finish his sentence: so he began another upon a new construction, with "I should be much concerned if, in addition to all my other causes of regret in leaving Glistonbury Castle, I felt that I had incurred Lady Glistonbury's or Lady Sarah's displea—disapprobation."

"As to that, sir," said Lady Glistonbury, "I cannot but have my own opinion of your conduct; and you can scarcely expect, I apprehend, that a mother, such as I am, should not feel some disapprobation of conduct, which has——Sir, I beg I may not detain you—I have the honour to wish you a good journey and much happiness."

An attendant came from an inner apartment with a message! from Lady Sarah, who was worse, and wished to see her mother—"Immediately!—tell her, immediately!"

The servant returned with the answer. Vivian was retiring, but he came back, for he saw at that moment a convulsive motion contract Lady Glistonbury's face: she made an effort to walk; but if Vivian had not supported her instantly, she must have fallen. She endeavoured to disengage herself from his assistance, and again attempted to walk.

"For God's sake, lean upon me, madam!" said Vivian, much alarmed. With his assistance, she reached the door of the inner room: summoning all the returning powers of life, she then withdrew her arm from his, and pointing back to the door at which Vivian entered, she said, "That is your way, sir."

"Pardon me—I cannot go—I cannot leave you at this moment," said Vivian.

"This is my daughter's apartment, sir," said Lady Glistonbury, stopping, and standing still and fixed. Some of the attendants within, hearing her ladyship's voice, opened the door; Lady Glistonbury made an effort to prevent it, but in vain: the chamber was darkened, but as the door opened, the wind from an open window blew back the curtain, and some light fell upon a canopy bed, where Lady Sarah lay motionless, her eyes closed, and pale as death; one attendant chafing her temples, another rubbing her feet: she looked up just after the door opened, and, raising her head, she saw Vivian—a gleam of joy illumined her countenance, and coloured her cheek.

"Sir," repeated Lady Glistonbury, "this is my daughter's——"

She could articulate no more. She fell across the threshold, struck with palsy. Her daughter sprang from the bed, and, with Vivian's assistance, raised and carried Lady Glistonbury to an arm-chair near the open window, drew back the curtain, begged Vivian to go to her father, and instantly to despatch a messenger for medical assistance. Vivian sent his own servant, who had his horse ready at the door, and he bid the man go as fast as he could.

"Then you don't leave Glistonbury to-day, sir?" said the servant.

"Do as I order you—Where's Lord Glistonbury?"

His lordship, with the newspapers and letters open in his hand, came up—but they dropped on hearing the intelligence that Vivian communicated. His lordship was naturally humane and good-natured; and the shock was greater, perhaps, to him, from the sort of enmity in which he lived with Lady Glistonbury.

"I dread to go up stairs," said he. "For God's sake, Vivian, don't leave me in this distress!—do order your carriage away!——Put up Mr. Vivian's carriage."

Lady Sarah's maid came to tell them that Lady Glistonbury had recovered her speech, and that she had asked, "if Mr. Vivian was gone?"

"Do come up with me," cried Lord Glistonbury, "and she will see you are not gone."

"Here's my lord and Mr. Vivian, my lady," said the girl.

Then, turning to Lady Glistonbury's woman, she added, in a loud whisper, "Mr. Vivian won't go to-day."

Lady Sarah gave her maid some commission, which took her out of the room. Lady Sarah, no longer the formal, cold, slow personage whom Vivian detested, now seemed to him, and not only seemed but was, quite a different being, inspired with energy, and quickness, and presence of mind: she forgot herself, and her illness, and her prudery, and her love, and every other consideration, in the sense of her mother's danger. Lady Glistonbury had but imperfectly recovered her recollection. At one moment she smiled on Vivian, and tried to stretch out her hand to him, as she saw him standing beside Lady Sarah. But when he approached Lady Glistonbury, and spoke to her, she seemed to have some painful recollection, and, looking round the room, expressed surprise and uneasiness at his being there. Vivian retired; and Lord Glistonbury, who was crying like a child, followed, saying, "Take me out with you— Dr. G—— ought to be here before now—I'll send for another physician!—Very shocking—very shocking—at Lady Glistonbury's time of life, too—for she is not an old woman by any means. Lady Glistonbury is eighteen months younger than I am!—Nobody knows how soon it may be their turn!—It's very shocking!—If I had known she was ill, I would have had advice for her sooner. She is very patient—too patient—a great deal too patient. She never will complain—never tells what she feels, body or mind—at least never tells me; but that may be my fault in some measure. Should be very sorry Lady Glistonbury went out of the world with things as they are now between us. Hope to God she will get over this attack!—Hey! Mr. Vivian?"

Vivian said whatever he could to fortify this hope, and was glad to see Lord Glistonbury show feelings of this sort. The physician arrived, and confirmed these hopes by his favourable prognostics. In the course of the day and night her face, which had been contracted, resumed its natural appearance; she recovered the use of her arm: a certain difficulty of articulation, and thickness of speech, with what the physician called hallucination of mind, and a general feebleness of body, were all the apparent consequences of this stroke. She was not herself sensible of the nature of the attack, or clear in her ideas of any thing that had passed immediately previous to it. She had only an imperfect recollection of her daughter's illness, and of some hurry about Mr. Vivian's going away. She was, however, well enough to go into her dressing-room, where Vivian went to pay his respects to her, with Lord Glistonbury. By unremitting exertions, and unusual cheerfulness, Lady Sarah succeeded in quieting her mother's confused apprehensions on her account. When out of Lady Glistonbury's hearing, all the attendants and the physicians repeatedly expressed fear that Lady Sarah would over-fatigue and injure herself by this extraordinary energy; but her powers of body and mind seemed to rise with the necessity for exertion; and, on this great occasion, she suddenly discovered a warmth and strength of character, of which few had ever before discerned even the slightest symptoms.

"Who would have expected this from Sarah?" whispered Lord Glistonbury to Vivian. "Why, her sister did not do more for me when I was ill! I always knew she loved her mother, but I thought it was in a quiet, commonplace way—Who knows but she loves me too?—or might—" She came into the room at this moment—"Sarah, my dear," said his lordship, "where are my letters and yesterday's papers, which I never read?—I'll see if there be any thing in them that can interest your mother."

Lord Glistonbury opened the papers, and the first article of public news was, "a dissolution of parliament confidently expected to take place immediately." This must put an end to Vivian's scheme of going to town to attend his duty in parliament. "But, may be, it is only newspaper information." It was confirmed by all Lord Glistonbury and Vivian's private letters. A letter from his mother, which Vivian now for the first moment had time to peruse, mentioned the dissolution of parliament as certain; she named her authority, which could not be doubted; and, in consequence, she had sent down supplies of wine for an election; and she said that she would "be immediately at Castle Vivian, to keep open house and open heart for her son. Though not furnished," she observed, "the castle would suit the better all the purposes of an election; and she should not feel any inconvenience, for her own part, let the accommodations be what they might."

Lord Glistonbury directly proposed and insisted upon Lady Mary Vivian's making Glistonbury her head-quarters. Vivian objected: Lady Glistonbury's illness was an ostensible and, he hoped, would be a sufficient excuse for declining the invitation. But Lord Glistonbury persisted: "Lady Glistonbury, he was sure, would wish it—nothing would be more agreeable to her." His lordship's looks appealed to Lady Sarah, but Lady Sarah was silent; and, when her father positively required her opinion, by adding, "Hey! Sarah?" she rather discouraged than pressed the invitation. She said, that though she was persuaded her mother would, if she were well, be happy to have the pleasure of seeing Lady Mary Vivian; yet she could not, in her mother's present situation, venture to decide how far her health might be able to stand any election bustle.

Lady Sarah said this with a very calm voice, but blushed extremely as she spoke; and, for the first time, Vivian thought her not absolutely plain; and, for the first time, he thought even the formality and deliberate coolness of her manner were not disagreeable. He liked her more, at this moment, than he had ever imagined it possible he could like Lady Sarah Lidhurst; but he liked her chiefly because she did not press him into her service, but rather forwarded his earnest wish to get away from Glistonbury.

Lord Glistonbury appealed to the physician, and asked whether company and amusement were not "the best things possible for his patient? Lady Glistonbury should not be left alone, surely! Her mind should be interested and amused; and an election would be a fortunate circumstance just at present!"

The physician qualified the assent which his lordship's peremptory tone seemed to demand, by saying, "that certainly moderate amusement, and whatever interested without agitating her ladyship, would be salutary." His lordship then declared that he would leave it to Lady Glistonbury herself to decide: quitting the end of the room where they were holding their consultation, he approached her ladyship to explain the matter. But Lady Sarah stopped him, beseeching so earnestly that no appeal might be made to her mother, that Vivian was quite moved; and he settled the business at once to general satisfaction, by declaring that, though neither he nor Lady Mary Vivian could think of intruding as inmates at present, yet that they should, as soon as Lady Glistonbury's health would permit, be as much at Glistonbury Castle as possible; and that the short distance from his house would make it, he hoped, not inconvenient to his lordship for all election business. Lord Glistonbury acceded, and Lady Sarah appeared gratefully satisfied. His lordship, who always took the task of explanation upon himself, now read the paragraph about the dissolution aloud to Lady Glistonbury; informed her, that Lady Mary Vivian was coming immediately to the country; and that they should hope to see Lady Mary and Mr. Vivian almost every day, though he could not prevail upon them to take up their abode during the election at Glistonbury. Lady Glistonbury listened, and tried, and seemed to understand—bowed to Mr. Vivian and smiled, and said she remembered he was often at Glistonbury during the last election—that she was happy to hear she should have the pleasure to see Lady Mary Vivian—that some people disliked election times, but for her part she did not, when she was strong. Indeed, the last election she recollected with particular pleasure—she was happy that Lord Glistonbury's interest was of service to Mr. Vivian. Then "she hoped his canvass to-day had been successful?"—and asked some questions that showed her mind had become confused, and that she was confounding the past with the present. Lady Sarah and Mr. Vivian said a few words to set her right—she looked first at one, and then at the other, listening, and then said—"I understand—God bless you both." Vivian took up his hat, and looked out of the window, to see if his carriage was at the door.

"Mr. Vivian wishes you a good morning, madam," said Lady Sarah: "he is going to Castle Vivian, to get things ready for Lady Mary's arrival."

"I wish you health and happiness, sir," said Lady Glistonbury, attempting to rise, whilst some painful reminiscence altered her countenance.

"Pray do not stir, don't disturb yourself, Lady Glistonbury. I shall pay my respects to your ladyship again as soon as possible."

"And pray bring me good news of the election, and how the poll stands to-morrow, Mr. Vivian," added her ladyship, as he left the room.



CHAPTER XII.

Vivian, who had felt oppressed and almost enslaved by his compassion, breathed more freely when he at last found himself in his carriage, driving away from Glistonbury. His own castle, and the preparations for his mother's arrival, and for the expected canvass, occupied him so much for the ensuing days, that he had scarcely time to think of Lady Julia or of Lady Sarah, of Russell or Selina: he could neither reflect on the past, nor anticipate the future; the present, the vulgar present, full of upholsterers, and paper-hangers, and butlers, and grooms, and tenants, and freeholders, and parasites, pressed upon his attention with importunate claims. The dissolution of parliament took place. Lady Mary Vivian arrived almost as soon as the newspaper that brought this intelligence: with her came a new set of thoughts, all centering in the notion of her son's consequence in the world, and of his happiness—ideas which were too firmly associated in her mind ever to be separated. She said that she had regretted his having made such a long stay in the country during the last session, because he had missed opportunities of distinguishing himself farther in parliament. The preceding session her ladyship had received gratifying compliments on her son's talents, and on the figure he had already made in public life; she felt her self-love as well as her affection interested in his continuing his political career with spirit and success. "As to the present election," she observed, "there could be little doubt that he would be re-elected with the assistance of the Glistonbury interest; and," added her ladyship, smiling significantly, "I fancy your interest is pretty strong in that quarter. The world has given you by turns to Lady Julia and Lady Sarah Lidhurst; and I am asked continually which of the Lady Lidhursts you are in love with. One of these ladies certainly must be my daughter-in-law; pray, if you know, empower me to say which." Lady Mary Vivian spoke but half in earnest, till the extraordinary commotion her words created in her son, convinced her that the report had not, now at least, been mistaken.

"Next to Miss Selina Sidney," continued Lady Mary, "who, after her positive and long persisted-in refusal, is quite out of the question, I have, my dear son, always wished to see you married to one of the Lady Lidhursts; and, of course, Lady Julia's talents, and beauty, and youth——"

Vivian interrupted and hastily told his mother that Lady Julia Lidhurst was as much out of the question as Miss Sidney could be; for that he had offered himself, and had been refused; and that he had every reason to believe that the determination of his second mistress against him would be at least as absolute and unconquerable as that of his first. His mother was in amazement. That her son could be refused by Lady Julia Lidhurst appeared a moral and political impossibility, especially when the desire for a connexion between the families had been so obvious on the side of the Glistonburys. What could be the meaning of this? Lady Julia was perhaps under an error, and fancied he was some way engaged to Miss Sidney; "or, perhaps," said Lady Mary, who had a ready wit for the invention of delicate distresses, "perhaps there is some difficulty about the eldest sister, Lady Sarah; for you know the first winter you were given to her.—Ay, that must be the case. I will go to Glistonbury to-morrow, and I will have Lady Julia to myself for five minutes: I think I have some penetration, and I will know the truth."

Lady Mary was again surprised, by hearing from her son that Lady Julia was not at Glistonbury—that she was gone with her brother into Devonshire. So there was a dead silence for some minutes, succeeded by an exclamation from Lady Mary, "There is some grand secret here—I must know it!" Her ladyship forthwith commenced a close and able cross-examination, which Vivian stopped at last by declaring that he was not at liberty to speak upon the subject: he knew, he said, that his mother was of too honourable and generous a temper to press him farther. His mother was perfectly honourable, but at the same time extremely curious; and though she continually repeated, "I will not ask you another question—I would not upon any account lead you to say a syllable that could betray any confidence reposed in you, my dear son;" yet she indulged herself in a variety of ingenious conjectures: "I know it is so;" or, "I am sure that I have guessed now, but I don't ask you to tell me.—You do right to deny it."—Amongst the variety of her conjectures, Lady Mary did not find out the truth; she was prepossessed by the idea that Russell was attached to Selina Sidney—a secret which her own penetration had discovered whilst her son was abroad with Mrs. Wharton, and which she thought no mortal living knew but herself. Pre-occupied with this notion, Russell was now omitted in all her combinations. His having quitted Glistonbury did not create any suspicion of the real cause of his sudden departure, because there was a sufficient reason for his going to the north to see his sick relation; and Lady Mary was too good a philosopher to assign two causes for the same event, when she had found one that was adequate to the production of the effect. She therefore quietly settled it in her imagination, that Lady Julia Lidhurst was going to be married immediately to a certain young nobleman, who had been lately at Glistonbury whilst they were acting plays. The next day she went with Vivian to Glistonbury Castle; for, waiving all the ceremonials of visiting, she was anxious to see poor Lady Glistonbury, of whose illness she had been apprised, in general terms, by her son. An impulse of curiosity, mixed perhaps with motives of regard for her good friend Lady Glistonbury, hastened this visit. They found Lady Glistonbury much better; she looked nearly as well as she had done before this stroke; and she had now recovered her memory, and the full use of her understanding. Vivian observed, that she and Lady Sarah were both convinced, by Lady Mary Vivian's curiosity, that he had given no hint of any thing which they did not wish to be known: and the pleasurable consciousness of his integrity disposed him to be pleased with them. Lord Glistonbury, on his side, was convinced that Vivian had behaved honourably with respect to his daughter Julia; so all parties were well satisfied with each other. His lordship answered Lady Mary Vivian's inquiries after his son and his daughter Julia by saying, that Miss Strictland had just returned to Glistonbury with rather more favourable accounts of Lord Lidhurst's health, and that Julia and he were now at his brother the Bishop of ——'s. Between this brother and my Lord Glistonbury there had never been any great intimacy, their characters and their politics being very different. The moment Lady Mary Vivian heard Lord Glistonbury pronounce, with such unusual cordiality, the words, "my brother the bishop," she recollected that the bishop had a very amiable, accomplished, and remarkably handsome son; so she arranged directly in her imagination that this was the person to whom Lady Julia was engaged. Being now thoroughly convinced that this last conjecture was just, she thought no more about Lady Julia's affairs; but turned her attention to Lady Sarah, whose cold and guarded manners, however, resisted her utmost penetration. Disappointed in all her attempts to lead to sentiment or love, the conversation at last ran wholly upon the approaching election, upon the canvass, and the strength of the various interests of the county; on all which subjects Lady Sarah showed surprisingly exact information. Presently Lord Glistonbury took Vivian with him to his study to examine some poll-book, and then put into his hands a letter from Lady Julia Lidhurst, which had been enclosed in one to himself.

"I told you that I intended to rusticate Julia," said his lordship, "with a poor parson and his wife—relations, distant relations of ours in Devonshire; but this plan has been defeated by my foolish good brother the bishop. On their journey they passed close by his palace; I charged Miss Strictland to be incog.; but they stayed to rest in the town, for Lidhurst was fatigued; and some of the bishop's people found them out, and the bishop sent for them, and at last came himself. He was so sorry for Lidhurst's illness, and, as Miss Strictland says, so much charmed with Julia, whom he had not seen since she was a child, that he absolutely took possession of them; and Julia has made her party good with him, for he writes me word he cannot part with her; that I must allow her to remain with him; and that they will take all possible care of Lyndhurst's health. I believe I must yield this point to the bishop; for altogether it looks better that Julia should be at the palace than at the parsonage; and, though my poor brother has not the knowledge of the world one could wish, or that is necessary to bring this romantic girl back to reason, yet—But I keep you from reading your letter, and I see you are impatient—Hey?—very natural!—but, I am afraid, all in vain—I'll leave you in peace. At any rate," added Lord Glistonbury, "you know I have always stood your firm friend in this business; and you know I'm discreet."

Vivian never felt so grateful for any instance of his lordship's friendship and discretion as for that which he gave at this moment, by quitting the room, and leaving him in peace to read his letter.



CHAPTER XIII.

"Before you open this letter, you will have heard, probably, that my uncle, the Bishop of ——, has taken me under his protection. I cannot sufficiently regret that I was not a few years, a few months, sooner, blessed with such a Mentor. I never, till now, knew how much power kindness has to touch the mind in the moment of distress; nor did I ever, till now, feel how deeply the eloquence of true piety sinks into the heart. This excellent friend will, I hope, in time restore me to my better self. From the abstraction, the selfishness of passion, I think I am already somewhat recovered. After being wholly absorbed by one sentiment, I begin to feel again the influence of other motives, and to waken to the returning sense of social duty. Among the first objects to which, in recovering from this trance, or this fever of the soul, I have power to turn my attention, your happiness, sir, next to that of my own nearest relations, I find interests me most. After giving you this assurance, I trust you will believe that, to insure the felicity, or even to restore the health and preserve the life of any relation or friend I have upon earth, I should not think myself justified in attempting to influence your mind to any thing which I did not sincerely and firmly believe would be for your permanent advantage as well as for theirs. Under the solemn faith of this declaration, I hope that you will listen to me with patience and confidence. From all that I have myself seen, and from all that I have heard of your character, I am convinced that your wife should be a woman of a disposition precisely opposite, in many respects, to mine. Your character is liable to vary, according to the situations in which you are placed; and is subject to sudden but transient impressions from external circumstances. You have hitherto had a friend who has regulated the fluctuations of your passions; now that he is separated from you, how much will you feel the loss of his cool and steady judgment! Should you not, therefore, in that bosom friend, a wife, look for a certain firmness and stability of character, capable of resisting, rather than disposed to yield, to sudden impulse; a character, not of enthusiasm, but of duty; a mind, which, instead of increasing, by example and sympathy, any defects of your own—pardon the expression—should correct or compensate these by opposite qualities? And supposing that, with such sobriety and strength of character as I have described, there should be connected a certain slowness, formality, and coldness of manner, which might not at first be attractive to a man of your vivacity, let not this repel you: when once you have learned to consider this manner as the concomitant and indication of qualities essential to your happiness, it would, I am persuaded, become agreeable to you; especially as, on nearer observation, you would soon discover that, beneath that external coldness, under all that snow and ice, there is an accumulated and concentrated warmth of affection.

"Of this, sir, you must lately have seen an example in my own family. At the moment when my poor mother was struck with palsy, you saw my sister's energy; and her character, probably, then appeared to you in a new point of view. From this burst of latent affection for a parent, you may form some idea what the power of the passion of love would be in her soul; some idea, I say; for I am persuaded that none but those who know her as well as I do can form an adequate notion of the strength of attachment of which she is capable.

"You will be surprised, perhaps, sir, to hear me reason so coolly for others on a subject where I have acted so rashly for myself; and you may feel no inclination to listen to the advice of one who has shown so little prudence in her own affairs: therefore, having stated my reasons, and suggested my conclusions, I leave you to apply them as you think proper; and I shall only add, that the accomplishment of my wishes, on this subject, would give me peculiar satisfaction. It would relieve my mind from part of a weight of self-reproach. I have made both my parents unhappy. I have reason to fear that the shock my mother received, by my means, contributed much to her late illness. An event that would restore my whole family to happiness must, therefore, be to me the most desirable upon earth. I should feel immediate relief and delight, even in the hope of contributing to it by any influence I can have over your mind. And, independently of the pleasure and pride I should feel in securing my sister's happiness and yours, I should enjoy true satisfaction, sir, in that intimate friendship with you, which only the ties of such near relationship could permit or justify. You will accept of this assurance, instead of the trite and insulting, because unmeaning or unsafe, offer of friendship, which ladies sometimes make to those who have been their lovers.

"JULIA LIDHURST.

"—— Palace:"

At the first reading of this letter, Vivian felt nothing but a renewal of regret for having lost all chance of obtaining the affections of the person by whom it was written: on a second perusal, he was moved by the earnest expression of her wishes for his happiness; and the desire to gratify her, on a point on which she was so anxious, influenced him much more than any of her arguments. Whatever good sense the letter contained was lost upon him; but all the sentiment operated with full force, yet not with sufficient power to conquer the repugnance he still felt to Lady Sarah's person and manners. Lord Glistonbury made no inquiries concerning the contents of his daughter Julia's letter; but, as far as politeness would permit, he examined Vivian's countenance when he returned to the drawing-room. Lady Glistonbury's manner was as calm as usual; but the slight shake of her head was a sufficient indication of her internal feelings. Lady Sarah looked pale, but so perfectly composed, that Vivian was convinced she, at least, knew nothing of her sister's letter. So great indeed was the outward composure, and so immoveable was Lady Sarah, that it provoked Lady Mary past endurance; and as they drove home in the evening, she exclaimed, "I never saw such a young woman as Lady Sarah Lidhurst! She is a stick, a stone, a statue—she has completely satisfied my mind on one point. I own that when I found Lady Julia was out of the question, I did begin to think and wish that Lady Sarah might be my daughter-in-law, because she has really been so carefully brought up, and the connexion with the Glistonbury family is so desirable: then I had a notion, before I saw her this morning, that the girl liked you, and might be really capable of attachment; but now, indeed, I am convinced of the folly of that notion. She has no feeling—none upon earth—scarcely common sense! She thinks of nothing but how she holds her elbows. The formality and importance with which she went on cutting off ends of worsted from that frightful tapestry work, whilst I talked of you, quite put me out of all manner of patience. She has no feeling—none upon earth!"

"Oh, ma'am," said Vivian, "you do her injustice: she certainly has feeling—for her mother."

"Ay, for her mother, may be! a kind of mechanical affection!"

"But, ma'am, if you had seen her at the time that her mother was struck with palsy!"

Much to his own surprise, Vivian found himself engaged in a defence, and almost in an eulogium upon Lady Sarah; but the injustice of his mother's attack, on this point, was, he knew, so great, that he could not join in Lady Mary's invective.

"Why, my dear Charles!" said she, "do you recollect, on this very road, as we were returning from Glistonbury Castle, this time two years, you called Lady Sarah a petrifaction?"

"Yes, ma'am; because I did not know her then."

"Well, my dear, I must have time to analyze her more carefully, and I suppose I shall discover, as you have done, that she is not a petrifaction. So, then, Lady Sarah really is to be the woman after all. I am content, but I absolutely cannot pretend to like her—I like the connexion, however; and the rest is your affair.—You haven't proposed yet?"

"Bless me! no, ma'am! God forbid! How fast your imagination goes, my dear mother!—Is there no difference between saying, that a woman is not a petrifaction, and being in love with her?"

"In love! I never said a word about being in love—I know that's impossible—I asked only if you had proposed for her?"

"Dear ma'am, no!"

Lady Mary expressed her satisfaction; and, perhaps, the injustice with which she continued, for some days, to asperse Lady Sarah Lidhurst, as being unfeeling, served her more, in Vivian's opinion, than any other mode in which she could have spoken of her ladyship. Still he felt glad that he had not yet proposed. He had not courage either to recede or advance; circumstances went on, and carried him along with them, without bringing him to any decision. The business of the election proceeded; every day Lord Glistonbury was with him, or he was at Glistonbury Castle; every hour he saw more plainly the expectations that were formed: sometimes he felt that he was inevitably doomed to fulfil these, and at other times he cherished the hope that Lady Julia would soon return home, and that, by some fortunate revolution, she might yet be his. He had not now the advantage of Russell's firmness to support him in this emergency. Russell's answer to his letter was so coolly determined, and he so absolutely declined interfering farther in his affairs, that Vivian saw no hopes of regaining his friendship, or of benefiting by his counsels. Thus was Vivian in all the helplessness and all the horrors of indecision, when an event took place, which materially changed the face of affairs in the Glistonbury family. Just at the time when the accounts of his health were the most favourable, and when his friends were deceived by the most sanguine hopes of his recovery, Lord Lidhurst died. His mother was the only person in the family who was prepared for this catastrophe: they dreaded to communicate the intelligence to her, lest it should bring on another attack of her dreadful malady; but to their astonishment, she heard it with calm resignation,—said she had long foreseen this calamity, and that she submitted to the will of Heaven. After pity for the parents who lost this amiable and promising young man, heir to this large fortune and to this splendid title, people began to consider what change would be made in the condition of the rest of the family. The Lady Lidhursts, from being very small fortunes, became heiresses to a large estate. The earldom of Glistonbury was to devolve to a nephew of Lord Glistonbury, in case the Lady Lidhursts should not marry, or should not have heirs male; but, in case they should marry, the title was to go to the first son. All these circumstances were of course soon known and talked of in the neighbourhood; and many congratulated Vivian upon the great accession of fortune, and upon the high expectations of the lady to whom they supposed him engaged.