"The blood crimsoned my face as a sudden turning in the woodland path, brought me within a few paces of one whom at that moment I would gladly have shunned. To retreat was impossible. I raised my hat, and with, her usual frankness, Margaret held out her hand.

"I pressed it respectfully between my own without venturing to raise my eyes to her face. She perceived my confusion, and doubtless defined the cause.

"'You have been a sad truant, Philip. But you are welcome home. I, for one, rejoice to see my dear foster-brother again.'

"'Is that possible?' I stammered out—'Dear Miss Moncton, I am only too happy to be allowed to plead for myself—I feel that I have sinned against my good and generous benefactor; that this kindness on your part, is wholly undeserved. What shall I do to regain your good opinion.'

"'Say nothing at all about it, Geoffrey. It was a boyish fault, and my father has often repented that he treated it so seriously. For my own part, I do not blame you for thrashing Theophilus; had I been provoked in the same manner, and a lad of your age, I would have done it myself. My quarrel with you, is for leaving the Park, and deserting us all, before a reconciliation could take place. You knew that my father's anger was like dew upon the grass, evaporated by the first sunbeam, and that we loved you dearly—so that your conduct appears inexcusable and heartless.'

"'Oh, do not say that, Miss Moncton. What I did was perfectly impulsive, without thought or premeditation. I could not imagine that I was in the wrong, and Sir Alexander's conduct appeared to me cruel and unjust.'

"'Come with me to the Hall, Mr. Mornington, and I will plead your case to this cruel tyrant. My eloquence with papa is quite irresistible; and he, poor dear, is more ready to forgive, than you are to ask forgiveness.'

"This was said, with one of her bewitching smiles, which lighted up like a passing sunbeam her calm, pale face.

"'You are too good, Miss Moncton. I would gladly avail myself of your invitation, but I must proceed on my journey to York immediately. I hope, however, soon to visit Moncton again; when I will, with Sir Alexander's permission, explain my conduct, and ask his pardon.'

"'I hate procrastination in these matters, which pertain to the heart and conscience,' said Margaret. 'My motto, when prompted by either, to perform an act of duty, is—now; when we seek forgiveness from God, or from a friend, we should never defer it to the future, for the opportunity once neglected may never again be ours.'

"This was said with some severity. A sort of mental cowardice kept me back and hindered me effectually from profiting by her advice. Just then, I felt it was out of my power to meet Sir Alexander. I had not courage to enter his presence in my present mood.

"'Alice,' said Margaret, turning from me with a disappointed air, 'what has kept you so long away from the Hall?'

"'I grow too proud to visit my rich friends,' returned Alice, in a tone between sarcasm and raillery.

"'There is only one species of pride, that I tolerate,' said Margaret, calmly—'the pride of worth. That pride which enables a good man to struggle successfully against the arrogance of the world.'

"I turned to the speaker with admiration. Had she been born a peasant, Margaret Moncton would have possessed the dignity of a lady, and the little lecture she thought fit to bestow upon my beautiful wayward sister, was dictated by the same noble spirit.

"'We should never be proud, Alice, of the gifts of nature, or fortune, which depend upon no merit of our own. Beauty and wealth have their due influence in the world, where their value is greatly overrated; but they add little in reality to the possessor. Deprived of both, persons of little moral worth, would relapse into their original insignificance; while those, who improve the talents entrusted to their care by Providence, possess qualities which defy the power of change. Such persons can alone afford to be proud, yet these of all others make the least display and think most humbly of themselves.'

"This was said playfully, but Alice did not at all relish the reproof; which, though, disregarded by her, made a deep impression upon me."



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MEETING.

"The next morning I arrived in York, and hastened to the house of Mr. Mornington. I found the dear old gentleman ill in bed, but in his usual excellent spirits.

"On expressing my concern for his illness, he laughed at my long face; told me it was a trifle, and he should soon be well again. Alas, he was not a true prophet! In a few weeks I followed my worthy friend to his grave; and found myself at the age of one-and-twenty, my own master, and sole heir to his large property.

"The joy felt at this unexpected good fortune was more than counterbalanced by the loss of the generous donor. Gladly would I have resigned the wealth he so nobly bequeathed me, if by so doing I could have recalled the dear old man to life. I was detained for several months in York, settling my affairs. I lost no time, however, in acquainting Cornelius, by letter, of my good fortune. I took this opportunity of mentioning my attachment to his sister, and urged him, if he valued my happiness, to plead with her in my behalf. His answer, though kind, was far from satisfactory to a young and ardent lover.

"He informed me that Charlotte was not insensible to my passion; and that he knew that she entertained from me a sincere esteem; but it was entirely out of her power to accept any offer of marriage without the consent of her guardian; or she would lose the property bequeathed to her by her father; who had left this stringent clause in his will.

"For himself, he continued, nothing would give him greater pleasure, than to see his beloved sister united to a man whom he loved, and whom he considered worthy of her regard; particularly, as he found his own health daily declining, and was about to take a journey to the south of France, in the hope of deriving some benefit from change of climate and scene.

"He urged me to return immediately to London; to plead my own cause with Charlotte, and to spend a few days with him, before he left England; as he felt, that it was more than probable, that we might never meet again.

"The last mournful sentence decided me, and the next morning found me on the road to London; and I determined to take Moncton Park in my route, and seek a reconciliation with Sir Alexander. After what had passed between me and Miss Moncton, I flattered myself that this would be an easy matter.

"I was no longer a poor orphan boy, dependent upon his bounty; but a well-educated, wealthy man, whose fortune was equal, if not greater than his own. There was no favour I could ask, or that he could bestow, beyond the renewal of that friendship which formed the delight of my boyhood, and of which I had been so suddenly deprived.

"As I rode up the noble avenue of oaks which led to the Hall, I felt so confident of success, so vain of my altered fortunes, so proud of the noble horse I rode, that my spirits grew buoyant, and my cheeks glowed with anticipated pleasure.

"'Is Sir Alexander at home?' I eagerly demanded of the liveried servant that opened the door.

"'He is, sir. What name shall I send up?' I gave him my card, and was shown into the library, while he carried it up to his master.

"Years had fled away, since I last stood within that room, a happy thoughtless boy. How vividly did every book and picture recall the blessed hours I had passed there, with Margaret and Alice, when the weather was wet, and we could not play abroad! It was in this apartment, with its carved oak wainscoting and antique windows of stained glass, in which we generally held our revels, turning over the huge folios in search of pictures.

"There was the Book of Martyrs, with all its revolting details of human bigotry; and its dreadful exhibitions of human endurance amidst scorn and agony. On these we gazed in mysterious awe; and as we turned over the horrible pages, we said to one another, 'that we were glad we were not Christians in those days.'

"Then, there was Descartes' ancient philosophy. A huge tome, full of quaint pictures of gods and goddesses, and angels and devils, on which we were never tired or gazing; infinitely preferring the latter, with their curious tails and horns, to the former; whom we called, 'Fat lazy-looking children with wings.' 'Goldsmith's World,' 'Buffon's Natural History,' and the whole family of Encyclopedias, with their numerous prints, were among our chief favourites, and helped to beguile the long wet day. Sir Alexander often assisted himself at these exhibitions, and seemed as much pleased with showing us the pictures as we were in looking at them.

"From the cherished memories of former years, I was recalled by the entrance of the servant, who, with an air of rude familiarity, told me—'that Sir Alexander Moncton would never be at home to Mister Philip Mornington.'

"Thunder-struck with this unexpected blow, and writhing under a bitter sense of humiliation, I affected an air of contemptuous indifference and turned to depart; when a light grasp was laid upon my arm, and I encountered the dark soul-lighted eyes of Margaret Moncton, moistened with tears, and fixed upon me with a gaze of mournful interest,

"'Stay, Mr. Mornington. Dear, Philip! stay, I beseech you, for one little moment.'

"'Let me go, Miss Moncton. You deceived me into the belief that my reception would have been very different—I feel that I have no business here.'

"'That was your own fault, in deferring the now of to-day, to the future of the unknown to-morrow,' said Margaret, sadly. 'But you must stay; I insist upon your hearing me speak a few words before you leave this house.'

"I remained silent and passive, and she continued—'There was a time, Philip, when your sister Margaret would not have asked anything of you in vain.' The tears flowed fast down her pale cheeks, and I felt the small hand which lay on mine tremble violently.

"'Dear Miss Moncton,' said I, gently leading her to a seat, and taking one beside her, 'you must make some allowance for mortified pride and wounded feelings. Time has not in the least diminished the affection and respect I have ever felt for you, and which your present kindness is not at all likely to lessen. I should, however, be deeply concerned, if your condescension should draw down upon you the displeasure of your father.'

"'Philip, I never do aught which I should be ashamed of my father witnessing. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, than to see him enter this room; and it is to lead you to him, that brought me here.'

"'He has once forbidden me his presence,' cried I, rising from my seat; 'I shall seek an interview with him no more.'

"'Let me seek it for you.'

"'What good would it answer?'

"Can you ask that question, Mr. Mornington? Remember all you owe to my father's kindness. I do not want to reproach you with benefits which he felt pleasure in conferring. But surely some feeling of gratitude is due from one whom he loved for so many years as a son; whom I am certain he still loves; whom, if he could once see, would be as dear to him as ever.'

"'Could I feel that his anger was just, there is no concession, however great, Miss Moncton, that I would hesitate to make: I love and revere Sir Alexander, but he has taken up idle prejudices against me, and I am too proud—obstinate, if you will—to ask his forgiveness for what I never can look upon as a fault.'

"'One would think, Philip, that you were a Moncton, so hard and obdurate are their hearts,' said Margaret, weeping afresh. 'How gladly would I be the peacemaker, and reconcile you to each other, but you love strife for its own sake—are too proud to acknowledge an error. Philip,' she cried, passionately, 'do you remember my mother?'

"She had struck a chord which always vibrated intensely in my heart. 'How can I ever forget her? And yet, Miss Moncton, dear Miss Moncton, I do not wonder at your asking the question.'

"As I said this tears rushed to my own eyes, as a thousand sad recollections crowded into my mind. The mournful chamber—the bed of death—the calm, sweet face of the expiring saint; and her last solemn injunction, for me to look upon her grave when I came to be a man, and remember her who had loved me as a son. Had I done this? Oh, no! The world had obliterated her pure and holy image from my mind, and all her tenderness and love had been forgotten.

"I stood there before her daughter, whose mind was a perfect transcript of her own, a stricken, self-condemned creature, overcome by emotions which I struggled in vain to repress.

"Margaret perceived the advantage she had gained, and taking my passive hand led me from the room.

"Slowly we paced, up the marble staircase into the drawing-room, where we found Sir Alexander reading at a table. He did not raise his head as we entered; and I could not help remarking the great change which a few years had effected in his appearance. His fine chestnut hair was nearly gray, his cheeks had lost the rich vermilion tint which had always given such lustre to his fine dark eyes, and clear olive complexion. He was much thinner, and his lofty figure had taken a decided stoop between the shoulders. The handsome, generous baronet was but the wreck of what he once had been.

"'Papa,' said Margaret, stepping forward, and laying her small white hand upon his shoulder, 'I have taken the liberty of introducing a very old friend.'

"The baronet raised his eyes. The blood rushed into his pale face, as he replied with great asperity of look and tone, 'Margaret, you have taken an unfair advantage, and abused the confidence I reposed in you; I did not expect this from you.'

"'Dearest father, you have suffered my cousin Theophilus to prejudice you against one whom you once loved—whom my dear mother loved: let him speak for himself.'

"'Well, sir,' said the Baronet, holding out his hand, 'what have you to say in extenuation of your past conduct? You found it convenient, no doubt, to forget an old friend.'

"'My excellent, kind benefactor,' I cried, pressing his hand warmly between my own, 'how can you imagine me guilty of such base ingratitude?'

"'I judge your feelings, young man, by deeds, not by words. It is not for a boyish act of indiscretion I blame you. You thrashed an insolent lad of your own age for insulting you; and in your place I would have done the same. To appease his wounded pride, I demanded of you an apology, as the lad was my guest and near kinsman—no very great sacrifice of pride, one would have thought, to a penniless pensioner on my bounty. This, you audaciously refused, and, without waiting for my anger to cool (for I was not acquainted at the time with the real circumstances of the case) you abandoned your home, and sought protection in the house of my enemy—a man who had thwarted me in every way which lay in his power. His favour you gained by traducing your benefactor and friend; and you now come to me, after the lapse of years, to make a boast of your wealth. Philip Mornington!' he cried, rising from his seat, and drawing himself up to his full height, 'I loved you as a spirited, independent boy: I despise you, as a wealthy, treacherous, vain-glorious man!'

"'Dear papa,' said Margaret, greatly agitated, 'you cannot mean what you say.'

"'I do mean what I say. My words are plain and straightforward; let him refute them if he can.'

"'To such accusations as you have brought against me, Sir Alexander, there can be but one answer: they are false! I will not, however, lessen myself by attempting to vindicate my conduct from such base calumnies, but leave it to time to convince you of your error, and prove my integrity.'

"Without waiting for his reply, I left the room, with a bearing as haughty and inflexible as his own, and flinging myself into the saddle, rode from the Hall. Disgusted with myself for having yielded to the entreaties of my amiable foster-sister, I could not master my indignation sufficiently to call at the Lodge, but pursued my journey to town with a heavy heart.

"From Cornelius and his sister I received the most cordial and affectionate welcome; but my pleasure was greatly damped by the bad state of my friend's health: he looked so thin and consumptive, that I apprehended the worst. This impression gradually wore off; but a few months confirmed my fears. He was to commence his journey to Dover early the next morning; and after passing a delightful evening in company with his aunt and Charlotte, I rose to take leave, as I well knew that my invalid friend retired at an early hour to bed.

"'Do not go to-night, Philip,' said he. 'It is the last we shall spend for a long time together. I wish to have a friendly chat with you in my dressing-room. Charlotte will make one of the party.'

"In a few minutes we were comfortably seated in the snug little room, before a cheerful fire. My friend in his easy-chair, wrapped in his dressing-gown, and my own beautiful Charlotte seated on a gaily-embroidered ottoman at his feet.

"'Here, I feel myself at home,' said Cornelius, taking a hand of each, pressing them warmly between his own. 'How much I dread this journey! how painful it is to part with all we love on earth!'

"'Dearest brother, you will return to us quite strong and well after breathing the warm air of the south,' said Charlotte, who could never be brought to consider her brother in any danger. 'When we meet in the spring, you win laugh at your present fears, and we shall be so happy together.'

"Cornelius smiled faintly. 'I hope it may be so, my sweet Charlotte; to that hope I cling, though I feel it daily becoming more feeble. Nor would I leave England, did I not consider it my duty to embrace every means which may tend to restore me to health and usefulness. But if I should never return, my little Lady Bird, the world will run on as merrily as heretofore. I should only be missed by a few faithful hearts.'

"Poor Charlotte did not answer. Her head sank upon his knee; and I thought I heard the tears, one by one, fall upon her rich silk dress.

"'Do not anticipate grief, my little sister,' said he, laying his hand caressingly upon her drooping head. 'Let us be happy to-night, for we know not what the morrow may bring forth. I wanted to speak to you and Philip upon a subject very near my heart.'

"After a short pause, he continued with a lively, cheerful voice—'You and Philip love one another; nay, do not turn away, Charlotte; there ought to be no shame in confessing a virtuous attachment to a worthy object.'

"Charlotte raised her eyes, moist with tears, and tried to smile; but her head sank back to its resting place, and her blushing face was hidden on his knee.

"'Now I am perfectly satisfied of the warmth and sincerity of your affections, and will do all in my power to bring them to a happy issue; but there are some difficulties in the way which must first be surmounted, before you can hope to realize your wishes. You have wealth, Philip, and moral worth; these ought to be sufficient to satisfy the objections of the most fastidious. But your birth is obscure, and your connexions not such as most old families would wish to incorporate with their own. You will ask me how I came by this knowledge. It does not matter; for these worldly objections have no weight with me. It was, however, told to me by one well acquainted with your history—who, as a guardian to Charlotte, will, I fear, never consent to your marriage.'

"'There are few persons with whom I am sufficiently intimate to obtain this knowledge,' I cried. 'His name—tell me his name.'

"'Robert Moncton—Sir Alexander's cousin and man of business.'

"I felt a cold shudder thrill through me. The hopes lately so gay and buoyant shrunk back faded and blackened to my heart. 'Yet why should I fear this man?' I argued; but I did fear him—like the ghost of the dead Caesar in the camp of Brutus: he was my evil genius. I turned very faint and asked for a glass of water.

"Charlotte gave it to me with a trembling hand. The brother and sister exchanged glances of surprise; suspicion was aroused by my emotion.

"'Strange!' said Charlotte, musingly: 'he was always kind to my brother and me. What have you to say against him?'

"'Not much; but I have a secret antipathy, a horror of this man, though I never saw him but once, and that when quite a boy. I had a quarrel with his son when a lad, which produced a rupture between Sir Alexander and me, and neither father nor son ever forgave the imagined injury.'

"Charlotte looked thoughtful. It was evident that she was fond of her guardian; while Cornelius continued the conversation, which was to me both painful and embarrassing.

"I know Mr. Moncton to be implacable when he takes a dislike, and considers himself ill-used, but we always have regarded him as a just and honest man. The circumstances at which you have hinted, and which I am rather surprised, that with all our brotherly intercourse, you never mentioned before, will not increase your chance of success in gaining him over to your wishes. But if I live, Philip, you will have little to fear from his opposition. Charlotte and myself are both above the common prejudices of the world, and prize you for your worth, which we consider more than places you on an equality with us, and my little sister here (and he fondly patted her head) has too high a sense of honour to encourage hopes which she never meant to realize.'

"I took Charlotte's hand—our eyes met. Her face was again hidden on her brother's knee; but my drooping heart began to revive, and I turned to listen to the long harangue of my good friend with more interest and attention, especially, as Charlotte's small white hand remained firmly clasped in mine, to repay me for its dullness and prolixity.

"Now, my advice to you both is, not to enter into any engagement, and to keep the matter of your affections known only to yourselves. Confidence reposed in a third party is always hazardous, and generally betrayed. This will lull Moncton's suspicions, for he can greatly annoy you, should you marry Charlotte without his consent, before her minority expires. Her property, which is considerable, would then go to a distant relation.'

"'I have enough to support us both handsomely—why should our union be delayed on that score?' I cried.

"'Softly, my dear friend. Lovers always talk in that strain—husbands think differently. Why should Charlotte lose her just inheritance to gratify the ardour of your passion? You are both young: Charlotte far too young to marry. Four years is not such a great while to wait. At the expiration of that time you can meet on equal terms, without making such an enormous sacrifice. Am I not right?'

"We said he was, and tried to think so; but I am certain that in the estimation of both his listeners, that that four years which seemed to him so short, with us spread over a period as long as the life of Methusalah. We tried to look forward, but shrunk back to the present. Everything in prospective looked cold, blank—nay, even ugly and old, at the end of the long vista of four years.

"We promised, however, to abide by his advice. I was sad and low-spirited; and Charlotte, pleading a bad head-ache, kissed her brother, received one from me, or, what in his estimation, only passed for one, and retired in tears, and I felt that the joy of my heart had vanished.

"'Do not look so grave, Philip,' said my worthy friend: 'you will overcome all these difficulties.'

"I shook my head, and sighed doubtfully.

"'I am sure you will. I have a presentiment to that effect. I saw you in a dream last night, surrounded by a thousand dangers. As fast as you got out of some trouble, you fell into a worse, and after I had given you up for lost, you were rescued from the fangs of a tiger by a mere lad, who led you back to Charlotte, and joined your hands.'

"He told this with such earnestness, that I, who was no believer in signs and omens, laughed outright.

"He looked serious—almost offended.

"'You forget,' he said, 'that when man draws near his end, God often opens the eyes of the soul, and reveals not only what is, but what shall be. Oh, Philip, you who are so eager to win the affections of a timid girl, how can you be so indifferent to the love of God?'

"'Nervous debility has rendered you superstitious, Cornelius. I have no faith in the religious cant of the present day, in priests or priestcraft.'

"This was my case two years ago. I was young and strong then. In the possession of wealth and all those temporal blessings, for which wiser and better men have to toil through a long life, and seldom obtain. The world was before me, and death far distant, in my thoughts. But now, the world is receding, and death is very near. You start! Have not you discovered that truth before? Soon, very soon, nothing will remain for me, but that blessed hope which I now prize as the only true riches. I am happy in the prospect which I know awaits me, and consider those only miserable to whom God is a stranger, and the love of the Saviour unknown.'

"His words affected me strangely, and yet I felt that they were distasteful. Sorrow had not taught me the knowledge of self. I had yet to learn that religion alone can do that. My soul was grovelling in the dust; my thoughts wholly engrossed by the world. Religion was to me a well-invented fable, skillfully constructed, and admirably told, being beautiful and artistic in a literary point of view, but altogether too shallow to satisfy the reason of a clever fellow like me. Oh! how repugnant are its pure precepts to those whose hearts are blinded by vanity; who live but for the pleasures of the day, and never heed the to-morrow in the skies.

"I sat down at a table near my friend, and began hastily to turn over the pages of a volume which lay before me. It contained the admirable writings of the Rev. Robert Hall. I pettishly closed the book, and pushed it from me.

"As I raised my head, our eyes met. He evidently read my thoughts.

"'I do not wish to lecture you, Philip, nor do I condemn you. Your mind, in its present unawakened state, cannot understand the sublime truths you affect to despise. The blind see not; they cannot comprehend the light, and we are not surprised that they stumble and fall. But I love you too well, Philip, to wish you to remain in this state of mental darkness. Read the Bible with the eyes of faith; think and pray, and the true light will dawn upon your soul, as it has on mine. Let not the ravings of fanaticism, nor the vulgarity of low cant, frighten you from the enjoyment of the highest and noblest privilege granted to man—the capacity of holding converse with his God. And, now, farewell, my dear friend. I shall see you again in the morning; think over twice what I have said to you before you go to sleep.'

"I retired to my chamber, but not to rest. I sat before the fire, musing over, and trying to feel an interest in, the advice of my friend; I knew it was good; I felt it was right and very natural, for Cornelius, in his diseased state, to regard it as a subject of vital importance, to cherish it as the last hope which could beguile his mind, and reconcile him, to the awful and mysterious change which awaited him. 'Poor Cornelius,' said I, 'dying men catch at straws! Will your straw float you safely across the waves of the dark river? I fear not.' And in this mood I went to bed, dreamt of Charlotte, and awoke in the morning to regret the long years which must intervene before she could be mine."

END OF VOL. I.

LONDON: Printed by Shulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.