I did so; and from that day until I quitted Lady R—

I applied myself so assiduously to the art, that, with the unreserved communications of Madame Gironac, I became a proficient, and could equal her own performances—Madame Gironac declared that I excelled her, because I had more taste—but to return.

After I had parted with Madame Gironac, I went upstairs, and found Lady R—sitting at the table, looking at the purchases she had made.

"My dear Valerie," cried she, "you don't know how you have obliged me by introducing that little woman and her flowers. What a delightful and elegant employment for a heroine to undertake—so lady-like! I have determined that mine shall support herself by imitating flowers in wax. I am just at the point of placing her in embarrassed circumstances, and did not well know how she was to gain her livelihood, but, thanks to you, that is selected, and in a most charming and satisfactory manner. It is so hard to associate poverty with clean hands."

About a fortnight afterwards, after some other conversation, Lady R— said, "My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for you. The season is nearly over, and, what is more important, my third volume will be complete in a fortnight. Last night as I was wooing Somnus in vain, an idea came into my head. I proposed going to pass the autumn at Brighton, as you know, but last night I made up my mind that we would go over the water; but whether it is to be Havre, or Dieppe, or Paris, or anywhere else I cannot say, but certainly La Belle France. How do you like the idea? I think of making a sort of sentimental journey. We will seek adventures. Shall we go like Rosamond and Celia? I with 'gallant curtal axe,' dressed as a youth. Shall we be mad, Valerie? What say you?"

I hardly knew what to say. Lady R—appeared to have a most unusual freak in her head, and to be a little more odd than usual. Now I had no wish to go to France, as I might fall in with people whom I did not wish to see; and moreover, from what I had heard of her ladyship's adventures in Italy, I was convinced that she was one of many, I may say, who fancy that they may do as they please out of their own country, and I certainly did not wish to figure in her train; I therefore replied, "I know my own country well, Lady R—, and there cannot be a less eligible one for a masquerade. We should meet with too many desagremens, if unprotected by male society, and our journey would be anything but sentimental. But if you do go to France, does Lionel accompany you?"

"Well, I do not know, but I should like him to learn the language. I think I shall take him. He is a clever boy."

"Very," replied I; "where did you pick him up?"

"He is a son of my late father's"—('a son of—' exclaimed I)—"tenant, or something I was going to say," continued Lady R—, colouring; "but I could not recollect exactly what the man was. Bailiff, I think. I know nothing about his father, but he was recommended to me by Sir Richard before he died."

"Recommended as a servant?" replied I; "he appears to me to be too good for so menial a position."

"I have made him above his position, Valerie; not that he was recommended as a servant, but recommended to my care. Perhaps some day I may be able to do more for him. You know that we are to go to Lady G—'s ball to-night. It will be a very brilliant affair. She gives but one during the season, and she always does the thing in good style. Bless me, how late it is! The carriage will be round in two minutes; I've a round of visits to pay."

"Will you excuse me? I have promised to take a lesson of Madame Gironac."

"Very true; then I must enter upon my melancholy task alone. What can be so absurd as a rational and immortal soul going about distributing pasteboard!"

We went to Lady G—'s ball, which was very splendid. I had been dancing, for although I was not considered probably good enough among the young aristocrats to be made a partner for life, as a partner in a waltz or quadrille I was rather in request, for the odium of governess had not yet been attached to my name, having never figured in that capacity in the metropolis, where I was unknown. I had but a short time taken my seat by Lady R—, when the latter sprang off in a great hurry, after what I could not tell, and her place was immediately occupied by a lady, who I immediately recognised as a Lady M—, who had, with her daughters, composed a portion of the company at Madame Bathurst's country seat.

"Have you forgotten me, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?" said Lady M—, extending her hand.

"No, my lady, I am glad to see you looking so well. I hope your daughters are also quite well?"

"Thank you; they look very well in the evening, but rather pale in the morning. It is a terrible thing a London season, very trying to the constitution, but what can we do? We must be out and be seen everywhere, or we lose caste—so many balls and parties every night. The fact is, that if girls are not married during the three first seasons after they come out, their chance is almost hopeless, for all the freshness and charm of youth, which are so appetising to the other sex, are almost gone. No constitution can withstand the fatigue. I've often compared our young ladies to the carriage horses—they are both worked to death during the season, and then turned out to grass in the country to recover themselves, and come up fresh for the next winter. It really is a horrible life, but girls must be got off. I wish mine were, for what with fatigue and anxiety I'm worn to a shadow. Come, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, let us go into the next room. It is cooler, and we shall be more quiet; take my arm: perhaps we shall meet the girls."

I accepted her ladyship's invitation, and we went into the next room, and took a seat upon a sofa in a recess.

"Here we can talk without being overheard," said Lady M—; "and now, my dear young lady, I know that you have left Madame Bathurst, but why I do not know. Is it a secret?"

"No, my lady; when Caroline went away I was of no further use, and therefore I did not wish to remain. You may perhaps know that I went to Madame Bathurst's on a visit, and that an unforeseen change of circumstances induced me to remain for some time as instructress to her niece."

"I heard something of that sort, a kind of friendly arrangement, at which Madame Bathurst had good cause to be content. I'm sure I should have been, had I been so fortunate; and now you are residing with Lady R—, may I inquire, without presuming too much, in what capacity you are with Lady R—."

"I went there as an amanuensis, but I have never written a line. Lady R—is pleased to consider me as a companion, and I must say that she has behaved to me with great kindness and consideration."

"I have no doubt of it," replied Lady M—; "but still it appears to me (excuse the liberty I take, or ascribe it to a feeling of good-will), that your position with Lady R—is not quite what those who have an interest in you would wish. Everyone knows how odd she is, to say the least of it, and you may not be perhaps aware, that occasionally her tongue outruns her discretion. In your presence she of course is on her guard, for she is really good-natured, and would not willingly offend anyone or hurt their feelings, but when led away by her desire to shine in company, she is very indiscreet. I have been told that at Mrs W—'s dinner-party the other day, to which you were not invited, on your name being brought up, she called you her charming model, I think was the phrase; and on an explanation being demanded of the term, she said you stood for her heroines, putting yourself in postures and positions while she drew from nature, as she termed it; and that, moreover, on being complimented on the idea, and some of the young men offering, or rather intimating, that they would be delighted to stand or kneel at your feet, as the hero of the tale, she replied that she had no occasion for their services, as she had a page or footman, I forget which, who did that portion of the work. Surely this cannot be true, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?"

Oh! how my blood boiled when I heard this.

How far it was true, the reader already knows; but the manner in which it was conveyed by Lady M—, quite horrified me. I coloured up to the temples, and replied, "Lady M—, that Lady R—has very often, when I have been sitting, and she has been writing, told me that she was taking me as a model for her heroine, is very true, but I have considered it as a mere whim of hers, knowing how very eccentric she is. I little thought from my having good-naturedly yielded to her caprice, that I should have been so mortified as I have been by what you have communicated to me. That she must have been indiscreet, is certain, for it was known only to herself and me."

"And the footman."

"Footman, my lady? There is a boy—a sort of page there."

"Exactly; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a precocious, pert boy, who is much indulged by Lady R—, and, if report says true, is nearer related to her than she is willing to acknowledge. Did you never observe that there is a strong likeness?"

"Good heavens, my lady, you surprise me."

"And, I fear, have also annoyed you; but," continued Lady M—, laying her hand on mine, "I thought it kinder to let you know your peculiar position than to sneer and ridicule, as others do, behind your back. This is a sad world in one respect; if there is any scandal or false report spread against us, it is known to everyone but ourselves. We cannot find, but rarely, a friend who is so really our friend as to tell us of it. The poison is allowed to circulate without the power being given to us of applying an antidote—so hollow is friendship in this world. My dear mademoiselle, I have done otherwise; whether you thank me for it or not, I cannot tell; perhaps not, for those who communicate unpleasant intelligence, are seldom looked kindly upon."

"Lady M—," replied I, "I do thank you most heartily. I do consider that you have acted a friendly part. That I have been dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit," continued I, wiping away the tears that forced their passage; "but I shall not give an opportunity for future unjust insinuations or remarks, as I have made up my mind that I shall leave Lady R—as soon as possible."

"My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you acquainted with what I knew would, to a person of your sensitive mind, be the cause of your quitting the protection of Lady R—without having considered whether an equivalent could not be offered to you; and I am happy to say that I can offer you a home, and I trust comfort and consideration, if you will accept of them. The fact is, that had I known that you had any idea of quitting Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then—now I do so with all sincerity;—but at present you are agitated and annoyed, and I will say no more. If I send the carriage for you to-morrow at two o'clock, will you do me the favour to come and see me? I would call upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R—would be a check to our free converse. Say, my dear, will you come?"

I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M—then rose, and giving me her arm, we walked back to the bench which I had left, where I found Lady R—in a hot dispute with a member of Parliament. I sat down by her unnoticed, and Lady M—having smiled an adieu, I was left to my own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. My head ached dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R—'s warm antagonist perceived it, and pointed it out to her, saying, "Your protegee is not well, I fear, Lady R—."

I replied to Lady R—, "that I had a violent headache, and wished to get home if it were possible."

She immediately consented, and showed great concern. As soon as we were home, I need hardly say, that I hastened to my room.

I sat down and pressed my forehead with my hands: my knowledge of the world was increasing too fast. I began to hate it—hate men, and women even more than men. What lessons had I learnt within the last year. First Madame d'Albret, then Madame Bathurst, and now Lady R—. Was there no such thing as friendship in the world—no such thing as generosity? In my excited state it appeared to me that there was not. All was false and hollow. Self was the idol of mankind, and all worshipped at its altar. After a time I became more composed, I thought of little Madame Gironac, and the recollection of her disinterested kindness put me in a better frame of mind. Mortified as I was, I could not help feeling that it was only the vanity of Lady R—and her desire to shine, to which I had been made a sacrifice, and that she had no intention of wounding my feelings. Still, to remain with her after what had been told to me by Lady M—was impossible.

And then I reflected upon what steps I should take. I did not like to tell Lady R—the real grounds of my leaving her. I thought it would be prudent to make some excuse and part good friends. At last it occurred to me that her intention of going to France would be a good excuse. I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting my relatives.

Having decided upon this point, I then canvassed the words of Lady M—. What could she offer me in her house? She had three daughters, but they were all out, as the phrase is, and their education supposed to be completed. This was a mystery I could not solve, and I was obliged to give up thinking about it, and at last I fell asleep. The next moment I woke up, jaded in mind, and with a bad headache, but I dressed and went down to breakfast. Lady R—asked after my health, and then said, "I observed you talking very confidentially with Lady M—. I was not aware that you knew her. Between ourselves, Valerie, she is one of my models."

"Indeed," replied I, "I do not think that her ladyship is aware of the honour conferred upon her."

"Very likely not, but in the last work she was portrayed to the life. Lady M—is a schemer, always plotting; her great object now is to get her three daughters well married."

"I believe that most mothers wish that, Lady R—."

"I grant it, and perhaps manoeuvre as much, but with more skill than she does, for every one sees the game that she is playing, and the consequence is, that the young men shy off, which they probably would not if she were quiet, for they are really clever, unaffected, and natural girls, very obliging, and without any pride; but how came you to be so intimate with Lady M—?"

"Lady M—and her eldest daughter were staying for some time with Madame Bathurst in the country when I was there."

"Oh, I understand, that accounts for it."

"I am going to call upon Lady M—, if she sends her carriage for me," replied I. "She told me that she would, if she could, at two o'clock. She has proposed my paying her a visit; I presume it will be after she leaves town."

"But that you will not be able to do, Valerie; you forget our trip to France."

"I did not think that you were serious," replied I; "you mentioned it as the resolution of a night, and I did not know that you might not think differently upon further consideration."

"Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed, but not often given up. Go to Paris we certainly shall."

"If you are determined upon going, Lady R—, I am afraid that I cannot accompany you."

"Indeed!" exclaimed her ladyship, in surprise. "May I ask why not?"

"Simply because I might meet those I am most anxious to avoid; there is a portion of my history that you are not acquainted with, Lady R—, which I will now make known to you."

I then told her as much as I thought necessary relative to my parents, and stated my determination not to run the risk of meeting them. Lady R—argued, persuaded, coaxed, and scolded, but it was all in vain; at last she became seriously angry, and left the room. Lionel soon afterwards made his appearance, and said to me, in his usual familiar way, "What's the matter, Miss Valerie? The governess is in a rage about something; she gave me a box on the ear."

"I suppose you deserved it, Lionel," replied I.

"Well, there may be differences of opinion about that," replied the boy. "She went on scolding me at such a rate that I was quite astonished, and all about nothing. She blew up cook—didn't she—blew her half up the chimney—and then she was at me again. At last I could bear it no longer, and I said, 'Don't flare up, my lady.'"

"'Don't my lady me,' cried she, 'or I'll box your ears.'"

"Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my lady, I thought she was angry with me for the same reason, so I said, 'Sempronia, keep your temper,'—and didn't I get a box on the ear."

I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool impudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air of injured innocence.

"Indeed, Lionel," said I at last, "you well deserved the box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R—, you will find that you must behave with proper respect to those above you; if not, you will not remain an hour in any other house. Lady R—is very odd and very good-tempered, and permits more liberties than any other person would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R—is displeased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with her and I have refused."

"Then you are going to leave us?" inquired Lionel, mournfully.

"I suppose so," replied I.

"Then I shall go, too," said the boy. "I'm tired of it."

"But why should you go, Lionel? You may not find another situation half so comfortable."

"I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the hope that I may find out from her ladyship who and what my parents were, and she will not tell me. I shall live by my wits, never fear; 'the world's my oyster,' as Shakespeare says, and I think I've wit enough to open it."

I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M—relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me surmise that there was some mystery, and, on examination of his countenance, there was a family likeness to Lady R—. I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter upon the subject when I brought it up.

"But, Lionel," said I, after a pause, "what is it that makes you suppose that Lady R—conceals who were your parents—when we last talked on the subject, you said you had found out something—she told me that your father was a bailiff, or steward to Sir Richard."

"Which I have proved to be false. She told me that my father was Sir Richard's butler; that I have also discovered to be false, for one day the old housekeeper, who called upon me at school, came here, and was closeted with Lady R—for half-an-hour. When she went away, I called a hackney-coach for her, and getting behind it, went home with her to her lodgings. When I found out where she lived, I hastened back immediately that I might not be missed, intending to have made a call upon her. The next day Lady R—gave me a letter to put in the twopenny-post; it was directed to a Mrs Green, to the very house where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for the old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it myself.

"'Mrs Green,' said I, for I found her at home with another old woman, sitting over their tea, 'I have brought you a letter from Lady R—.' This is about a year ago, Miss Valerie.

"'Mercy on me,' said she, 'how strange that Lady R—should send you here.'

"'Not strange that she should send a letter by a servant,' said I, 'only strange that I should be a servant.'

"I said this, Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to see what answer she would make.

"'Why, who has been telling you anything?' said she, looking at me through her spectacles.

"'Ah,' replied I, 'that's what I must keep to myself, for I'm under a promise of secrecy.'

"'Mercy on me, it couldn't be—no, that's impossible,' muttered the old woman, as she opened the letter and took out a bank-note, which she crumpled up in her hand. She then commenced reading the letter; I walked a little way from her, and stood between her and the window. Every now and then she held the letter up to the candle, and when the light was strong upon it, I could read a line from where I stood, for I have been used to her ladyship's writing, as you know. One line I read was, 'remains still at Culverwood Hall;' another was, 'the only person now left in Essex.' I also saw the words 'secrecy' and 'ignorant' at the bottom of the page. The old woman finished the letter at last, but it took her a good while to get through it.

"'Well,' says she, 'have you anything more to say?'

"'No,' says I; 'you are well paid for your secrecy, Mrs Green.'

"'What do you mean?' said she.

"'Oh, I'm not quite so ignorant as you suppose,' replied I.

"'Ignorant,' said she, confused, 'ignorant of what?'

"'When were you last in Essex?' said I.

"'When, why? what's that to you, you impudent boy?'

"'Nay, then, I'll put another question to you. How long is it since you were at Culverwood Hall?'

"'Culverwood Hall! What do you know about Culverwood Hall? the boy's mad, I believe; go away, you've done your message; if you don't, I'll tell her ladyship.'

"'Certainly, Mrs Green,' said I. 'I wish you a good-night.'

"I left the room, slamming the door, but not allowing the catch to fall in, so that I held it a little ajar, and then I heard Mrs Green say to the other woman,

"'Somebody's been with that boy; I wonder who it can be? He's put me in such a flurry. Well, these things will out.'

"'Yes, yes, it's like murder,' replied the other; 'not that I know what it's all about, only I see there's a secret—perhaps you'll tell me, Mrs Green?'

"'All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,' replied Mrs Green, 'and the boy has got an inkling of it somehow or another. I must see my lady—no, I had better not,' added she; 'for she is so queer that she'll swear that I've told him. Now there's only one besides myself and her ladyship who knows anything, and I'll swear that he could not have been with the boy, for he's bedridden. I'm all of a puzzle, and that's the truth. What a wind there is; why the boy has left the door open. Boys never shut doors.'

"Mrs Green got up and slammed the door to, and I walked off; and now, Miss Valerie, that's all that I know of the matter; but why I should be sent to a good school and wear pepper and salt, and to be taken away to be made first a page, and now a footman, I can't tell; but you must acknowledge that there is some mystery, after what I have told you."

"It certainly is strange, Lionel," replied I, "but my advice is that you remain patiently till you can find it out, which by leaving Lady R—you are not likely to do."

"I don't know that, Miss Valerie; let me get down to Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out something, or my wits were given me to no purpose. But I hear her ladyship coming upstairs: so good-bye, Miss Valerie."

And Lionel made a hasty retreat.

Lady R—slowly ascended the stairs, and came into the room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she looked sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognise her; for I must do her the justice to say, that I had never before seen her out of temper. She sat down in her chair, and I asked her whether I should bring her her writing materials.

"A pretty state I am in to write," replied she, leaning her elbows on the table, and pressing her hands to her eyes. "You don't know what a rage I have been in, and how I have been venting it upon innocent people. I struck that poor boy—shame on me! Alas! I was born with violent passions, and they have been my curse through life. I had hoped that years had somewhat subdued them, but they will occasionally master me. What would I not give to have had your placid temper, Valerie! How much unhappiness I should have been spared! How much error should I have avoided! I was going to say, how much crime."

Lady R—was evidently more talking to herself than to me when she said the last words, and I therefore made no reply. A silence of more than a quarter of an hour followed, which was broken by Lionel coming in, and announcing the carriage of Lady M—.

"That woman is the cause of all this," said Lady R—; "I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait, Valerie. Go and see her. I shall be better company when you come back."

I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on my bonnet, was driven to Lady M—'s. She received me with great cordiality, and so did her daughters, who were in the room; but they were dismissed by their mother, who then said, "I told you last night, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that I wished you to reside with me. You may say in what capacity, and I acknowledge that I hardly know what answer to give. Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it an odious position, and one that I could not offer you; indeed, my girls do not require teaching, as they have finished their studies; in only one thing you could be of advantage to them in that respect, which is in music and singing. But I wish you to come as their companion, as I am convinced that they will gain much by your so doing. I wish you, therefore, to be considered by others as a visitor at the house, but at the same time I must insist that from the advantages my girls will derive from your assisting them in music and singing, you will accept the same salary per annum which you have from Lady R—. Do you understand me: I wish you to remain with me, not as a model after the idea of Lady R—, but as a model for my girls to take pattern by. I shall leave it to yourself to act as you please. I am sure my girls like you already, and will like you better. I do not think that I can say more, except that I trust you will not refuse my offer."

There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal on the part of Lady M—which I felt gratefully; but it appeared to me that after all it was only an excuse to offer me an asylum without any remuneration on my part, and I stated my feeling on that point.

"Do not think so," replied Lady M—. "I avoided saying so, because I would not have you styled a music-mistress; but on that one point alone you will more than earn your salary, as I will prove to you by showing you the annual payments to professors for lessons; but you will be of great value to me in other points, I have no doubt. May I, therefore, consider it as an affaire arrangee?" After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and having agreed that I would come as soon as Lady R—went to the continent, or at all events in three weeks, when Lady M—quitted London, I took my leave, and was conveyed back to Lady R—, in the carriage which had been sent for me.

On my return, I found Lady R—seated where I had left her.

"Well," said she, "so you have had your audience; and I have no doubt but that you were most graciously received. Oh! I know the woman; and I have been reflecting upon it during your absence, and I have discovered what she wants you for; but this she has not mentioned, not even hinted at. She knows better; but when once in her house, you will submit to it, rather than be again in search of a home."

"I really do not know what you mean, Lady R—," said I.

"Has not Lady M—asked you to come as a visitor, without specifying any particular employment?"

"No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in the house to give lessons to her daughters in music, and to be their companion; but there is nothing stated as to a fixed residence with her."

"Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd; but you will soon find out whether you have gained by the change."

"Lady R—, I really do not consider you should be so sarcastic or unkind towards me. I do not like to go to France with you for reasons which I have fully explained, at the expense of disclosing family affairs, which I had much rather not have mentioned. You leave me by myself, and I must seek protection somewhere. It is kindly offered by Lady M—, and in my unfortunate position I have not to choose. Be just and be generous."

"Well, well, I will," said Lady R—, the tears starting in her eyes; "but you do not know how much I am annoyed at your leaving me. I had hoped, with all my faults, that I had created in you a feeling of attachment to me—God knows, that I have tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie, you would not be surprised at my being strange. That occurred when I was of your age which would have driven some people to despair or suicide. As it is, it has alienated me from all my relations, not that I have many. My brother, I never see or hear from, and have not for years. I have refused all his invitations to go down to see him, and he is now offended with me; but there are causes for it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of what did occur."

"I assure you, Lady R—, I have been very sensible of your kindness to me," replied I, "and shall always remember it with gratitude; and if you think I have no regard for you, you are mistaken; but the subject has become painful—pray let us say no more."

"Well, Valerie, be it so; perhaps it is the wisest plan—"

To change the conversation, I said—"Is not your brother the present baronet?"

"Yes," replied Lady R—

"And where does he reside?"

"In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat of all my misfortunes."

I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was the one which the reader may remember was spoken of by Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other matters, and by dinner-time Lady R—had recovered herself, and was as amiable as ever.

From that day until Lady R—set off for Paris, there was not a word said relative to Lady M—. She was kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as she had been before, and in her subdued bearing towards me was more agreeable. Her time was now employed in making preparations for her tour. Lionel was the only one who was to accompany her except her own maid. At last she fixed the day of her departure, and I wrote to Lady M—, who returned an answer that it suited her exactly, as she would go to the country the day after. The evening before Lady R—was to start was passed very gloomily.

I felt great sorrow at our separation, more than I could have imagined; but when you have been associated with a person who is good-tempered and kind, you soon feel more for them than you would suppose until you are about to quit them.

Lady R—was very much dispirited, and said to me, "Valerie, I have a presentiment that we never shall meet again, and yet I am anything but superstitious. I can truly say that you are the only person to whom I have felt real attachment since my youth, and I feel more than I can describe. Something whispers to me, 'Do not go to France,' and yet something impels me to go. Valerie, if I do come back I trust that you will consider my house your home, if at any time you cannot place yourself more to your satisfaction; I will not say more, as I know that I am not exactly a lovable person, and my ways are odd; but do pray look upon me as your sincere friend, who will always be ready to serve you. I have to thank you for a few happy months, and that is saying much. God bless you, my dear Valerie."

I was moved to tears by what Lady R—said, and I thanked her with a faltering voice.

"Come now," said she, "I shall be off too early in the morning to see you: let us take our farewell."

Lady R—put a small packet into my hand, kissed me on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own room.

That people love change is certain, but still there is a mournfulness connected with it; even in a change of residence, the packing up, the litter attending it, the corded trunks and packages, give a forlorn appearance to the house itself. To me it was peculiarly distressing; I had changed so often within the last year, and had such a precarious footing wherever I went, I felt myself to be the sport of fortune, and a football to the whims and caprices of others. I was sitting in my bedroom, my trunks packed but not yet closed down, thinking of Lady R—'s last conversation, and very triste. The packet was lying on the table before me, unopened, when I was roused by a knock at the door. I thought it was Lady R—'s maid, and I said, "Come in."

The door opened, and Lionel made his appearance.

"Is it you, Lionel? What do you want?"

"I knew that you were up, and I recollected as we leave before you do, to-morrow, that you would have no one to cord your luggage, so I thought I would come up and do it for you to-night, Miss Valerie, if it is ready."

"Thank you, Lionel, it is very considerate of you. I will lock the trunks up, and you can cord them outside."

Lionel took out the trunks and corded them in the passage. When he had finished he said to me, "Good bye, Miss Valerie. You will see me again very soon."

"See you very soon, Lionel! I am afraid there is no chance of that, for Lady R—intends to stay abroad for six months."

"I do not," replied he.

"Why, Lionel, it would be very foolish for you to give up such a good situation. You have such unusual wages: twenty pounds a year, is it not?"

"Yes, Miss Valerie. I should not get half that in another situation, but that is one reason why I am going to leave. Why should she give me twenty pounds a year. I must find out why, and find out I will, as I said to you before. She don't give me twenty pounds for my beauty, although she might give you a great deal more, and yet not pay you half enough."

"Well, Lionel, I think you have been here long enough. It is too late to sit up to pay compliments. Fare you well."

I shut my door upon him gently, and then went to bed. As usual after excitement, I slept long and soundly. When I awoke the next morning, I found it was broad day, and nearly ten o'clock. I rang the bell, and it was answered by the cook, who told me that she and I were the only people in the house. I rose, and as I passed by my table, I perceived another package lying by the side of the one which Lady R—had given me. It was addressed to me and I opened it. It contained a miniature of Lady R—when she was about my age, and very beautiful she must have been. It was labelled "Sempronia at eighteen. Keep it for my sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the paper accompanying it until you have my permission, or you hear of my being no more."

I laid the miniature down and opened the first packet given me by Lady R—. It contained bank-notes to the amount of one hundred pounds, nearly double the salary due to me. The contents of both these packets only made me feel more melancholy, and I sighed heavily as I put them in my dressing-case; but time ran on, and I had agreed to be at Lady M—'s at one o'clock, when the carriage would be sent for me. I therefore hastened my toilet, closed the remainder of my luggage, and went down to the breakfast which the cook had prepared for me. While I was at breakfast a letter was brought by the post. It had been directed to Madame Bathurst, and was redirected to Lady R—'s address. It was from Madame Paon, and as follows:—

"My dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf,—

"As I take it for granted that you do not see the French papers, I write to tell you that your predictions relative to Monsieur G—, have all proved correct. A month after the marriage, he neglected madame, and spent his whole time at the gaming-table, only returning home to obtain fresh supplies from her. These were at last refused, and in his rage he struck her. A suit for separation of person and property was brought into court last week, and terminated in favour of Madame d'Albret, who retains all her fortune, and is rid of a monster. She came to me yesterday morning, and showed me the letter which you had written to her, asking me whether I did not correspond with you, and whether I thought, that after her conduct you could be prevailed upon to return to her. Of course I could not give any opinion, but I am convinced that if you only say that you forgive her, that she will write to you and make the request. I really do not well see how you can do otherwise, after the letter which you wrote to her, but of course you will decide for yourself. I trust, mademoiselle, you will favour me with a speedy answer, as Madame d'Albret is here every day, and is evidently very impatient,—I am, my dear mademoiselle, yours,

"Emile Paon.

"Nee Merce."

To this letter I sent the following reply by that day's post:—

"My dear Madame Paon,

"That I sincerely forgive Madame d'Albret is true; I do so from my heart; but although I forgive her, I cannot listen to any proposal to resume the position I once held. Recollect that she has driven all over Paris, and accused me among all her friends of ingratitude and slander. How then, after having been discarded for such conduct, could I again make my appearance in her company. Either I have done as she has stated, and if so, am unworthy of her patronage, or I have not done so, and therefore have been cruelly used: made to feel my dependence in the bitterest way, having been dismissed and thrown upon the world with loss of character. Could I ever feel secure or comfortable with her after such injustice? or could she feel at her ease on again presenting one as her protegee, whom she had so ill-treated? would she not have to blush every time that she met with any of our former mutual friends and acquaintances? It would be a series of humiliations to us both. Assure her of my forgiveness and good-will, and my wishes for her happiness; but to return to her is impossible. I would rather starve. If she knew what I have suffered in consequence of her hasty conduct towards me, she would pity me more than she may do now; but what is done is done. There is no remedy for it. Adieu, Madame Paon. Many thanks for your kindness to one so fallen as I am.

"Yours truly and sincerely,

"Valerie."

I wrote the above under great depression of spirits, and it was with a heavy heart that I afterwards alighted at Lady M—'s residence in St James's Square. If smiles, however, and cordial congratulations, and shakes of the hand could have consoled me, they were not wanting on the part of Lady M—and her daughters. I was shown all the rooms below, then Lady M—'s room, the young ladies' rooms, and lastly my own, and was truly glad when I was at last left alone to unpack and arrange my things.

The room allotted to me was very comfortable, and better furnished than those in which the young ladies slept, and as far as appearances went, I was in all respects treated as a visitor and not as a governess. The maid who attended me was very civil, and as she assisted and laid my dresses in the wardrobe, made no attempt to be familiar. I ought to have informed the reader that Lady M—was a widow, Lord M—having died about two years before. Her eldest son, the present Lord M—, was on the continent. Dinner was announced; there were only two visitors, and I was treated as one of the company. In fact, nothing could be more gratifying than the manner in which I was treated. In the evening, I played and sang. The young ladies did the same; their voices were good, but they wanted expression in their singing, and I perceived that I could be useful.

Lady M—asked me, when we were not overheard, "what I thought of her daughters' singing?"

I told her frankly.

"It is impossible to doubt the truth of what you say, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, after having heard your performance. I knew that you were considered a good performer, but I had no idea of the perfection which you have arrived at."

"If your daughters are really fond of music, they would soon do as well, my lady," replied I.

"Impossible," exclaimed her ladyship; "but still they must gain something from listening to you. You look fatigued. Do you wish to go to bed? Augusta will go up with you."

"I have a nervous headache," replied I, "and I will accept your ladyship's considerate proposal."

Augusta, the eldest daughter, lighted a chamber-candle, and went up with me into my room. After a little conversation, she wished me good-night, and thus passed the first day in St James's Square.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

As arranged by Lady M—, the next day we went to Harking Castle, the family seat, in Dorsetshire, and I was not sorry to be again quiet, after the noise and bustle of a London season. As Lady M—had observed, the young ladies were sadly jaded with continual late hours and hot rooms, but they had not been a week in the country before they were improved in appearance and complexion. They certainly were amiable, nice girls; clever, and without pride, and I soon became attached to them. I attended to their music, and they made great progress. I also taught them the art of making flowers in wax, which I had so lately learned myself. This was all I could do, except mildly remonstrating with them when I saw what did not appear to me to be quite correct, in their conduct and deportment. Lady M—appeared quite satisfied, and treated me with great consideration, and I was in a short time very happy in my new position.

For the first month, there were no visitors in the house; after that, invitations were sent out. Lady M—had said that she would have a month's quiet to recover herself from the fatigues of the season, and I had no doubt but that she also thought her daughters would be much benefited, as they really were, by a similar retirement. It was on the Monday that company was expected, and on Friday Lady M—desired Augusta, the eldest daughter, to put on a new dress which had just been made by the two lady's-maids, and come down in it that she might see it on. When Augusta made her appearance, and her mother had surveyed the dress, she said, "I do not quite like it, Augusta, and yet I do not exactly know where it's wrong; but something requires to be altered: it does not hang gracefully."

As she said this, I was reading a book, and I naturally looked up, and immediately perceived the alteration which the dress required. I pointed it out, and with a few pins made the dress sit well.

"Why this is a new talent, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, one that I had no idea that you possessed; although I admit that no one dresses more elegantly than you do," said Lady M—. "How much I am obliged to you for taking so much trouble."

"I am most happy to be of any service, Lady M—, and you may always command me," replied I. "I have the credit of being a very good milliner."

"I believe you can do anything," replied Lady M—.

"Augusta, go up to Benson and show her the alterations that are required, and tell her to make them directly.

"After all," continued Lady M—, to me, "it is bad economy making dresses at home, but I really cannot afford to pay the extravagant prices charged by Madame Desbelli. My bills are monstrous, and my poverty, but not my will, consents. Still it does make such a difference in the appearance, being well-dressed, that if I could, I never would have a dress made at home; but the saving is astonishing— nearly two-thirds, I assure you."

"If you will allow me to interfere a little, my lady," replied I, "I think you can have them as well made at home as by Madame Desbelli. I think I can be useful."

"You are very kind, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, but it will be taxing you too much."

"Not at all, Lady M—, if I have your sanction."

"You shall do just as you please, my dear," replied Lady M—; "I give you full authority over the whole household, if you wish it; but indeed I think Benson will be much obliged to you for any slight hint that you may give her, and I am sure that I shall; but the carriage is at the door—do you drive to-day?"

"Not to-day, I thank you, Lady M—," replied I.

"Well, then, I will take Hortense and Amy with me, and leave Augusta with you."

After Lady M—'s departure, I went up to the room where the maids were at work. I altered the arrangement of Augusta's dress so as to suit her figure, and cut out the two others for Hortense and Amy. Wishing to please Lady M—, I worked myself at Augusta's dress, and had it completed before Lady M—had returned from her drive. It certainly was now a very different affair, and Augusta looked remarkably well in it. She was delighted herself, and hastened down to her mother to show it to her. When I came down to dinner, Lady M—was profuse in her acknowledgments; the two other dresses, when finished, gave equal satisfaction, and from that time till the period of my quitting Lady M—, all the dresses, not only of the young ladies, but those of Lady M—, were made at home, and my taste and judgment invariably appealed to and most cheerfully given. I felt it my duty to be of all the use that I could be, and perhaps was not a little gratified by the compliments I received upon my exquisite taste. Time passed on; during the shooting season, Augusta, the eldest daughter, received a very good offer, which was accepted; and at the Christmas festivities, Hortense, the second girl, accepted another proposal, which was also very favourable. Lady M—was delighted at such success.

"Is it not strange, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that I have been fagging two seasons, night and day, to get husbands for those girls, and now alone here, in solitude and retirement almost, they have both obtained excellent establishments. I do really declare that I believe it is all owing to you, and the delightful manner in which you have dressed them."

"I should rather think that it is owing, in the first place, to their having so much improved in personal appearance since they have been down in the country," replied I; "and further, to the gentlemen having now an opportunity of discovering their truly estimable qualities, which they were not likely to do at Almack's or other parties during a London season."

"You may think so," replied Lady M—, "but it is my conviction that all is owing to their being so tastefully-dressed. Why every one admires the elegance of their costume, and requests patterns. Well, now I have only Amy on my hands, and I think that her sister's high connections will assist in getting her off."

"She is a sweet girl, Amy," replied I, "and were I you Lady M—, I should be in no hurry to part with her."

"Indeed, but I am," replied Lady M—, "you don't know the expense of girls, and my jointure is not so very large; however, I must not complain. Don't you think Amy looks better in lilac than any other colour?"

"She looks well in almost any colour," replied I.

"Yes, with your taste, I grant," replied Lady M—. "Are you aware that we go to town in a fortnight? We must look after the trousseaux. It was arranged last night that both marriages shall take place in February. Amy will, of course be one of the brides'-maids, and I trust to you, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, to invent something very distingue for her on that occasion. Who knows but that it may get her off? but it's late, so good-night."

I could not admire Lady M—'s apparent hurry to get rid of her daughters, but it certainly was the one thing needful which had occupied all her thoughts and attention during the time that I had been with her. That it was natural she should wish that her children were well established, I granted, but all that she appeared to consider was good connection, and the means of living in good style, every other point as to the character of the husbands being totally overlooked.

A fortnight after Christmas we all went to London, and were, as Lady M— had observed, very busy with the trousseaux, when one day the butler came to say that a young gentleman wished to see me, and was waiting in the breakfast parlour below. I went down, wondering who it could be, when to my surprise, I found Lionel, the page of Lady R—, dressed in plain clothes, and certainly looking very much like a gentleman. He bowed very respectfully to me when he entered, much more so than he had ever done when he was a page with Lady R—, and said, "Miss Valerie, I have ventured to call upon you, as I thought when we parted, that you did me the honour to feel some little interest about me, and I thought you would like to know what has taken place. I have been in England now four months, and have not been idle during that time."

"I am certainly glad to see you, Lionel, although I am sorry you have left Lady R—, and I hope you have been satisfied with the result of your inquiries."

"It is rather a long story, Miss Valerie, and, if you wish to hear it, you will oblige me by sitting down while I narrate it to you."

"I hope it will not be too long, Lionel, as I shall be wanted in an hour or so, to go out with Lady M—, but I am ready to hear you," continued I, sitting down as he requested.

Lionel stood by me, and then commenced—"We arrived at Dover the evening of the day that we left, Miss Valerie; and Lady R—, who had been in a state of great agitation during the journey, was so unwell, that she remained there four or five days. As soon as she was better, I thought it was advisable that she should settle my book, and pay me my wages before we left England, and I brought it to her, stating my wish, as the sum was then very large.

"'And what do you want money for?' said she, rather angrily.

"'I want to place it in safety, my lady,' replied I.

"'That's as much as to say that it is not safe with me.'

"'No, my lady,' replied I. 'But suppose any accident were to happen to you abroad, would your executors ever believe that you owed more than 25 pounds, besides a year's wages to a page like me; they would say that it could not be, and would not pay me my money; neither would they believe that you gave me such wages.'

"'Well,' she replied, 'there is some truth in that, and it will, perhaps, be better that I do pay you at once, but where will you put the money, Lionel?'

"'I will keep the check, my lady, if you please.'

"'Then I will write it to order and not to bearer,' replied she, 'and then if you lose it, it will not be paid, for it will require your own signature.'

"'Thank you, my lady,' replied I.

"Having examined my accounts and my wages due, she gave me a check for the full amount. The next morning, the packet was to sail at nine o'clock. We were in good time, and as soon as Lady R—was on board she went down into the cabin. Her maid asked me for the bottle of salts which I had purposely left under the sofa pillow at the Ship Hotel. I told her that I had left it, and as there was plenty of time would run and fetch it. I did so, but contrived not to be back until the steamer had moved away from the pier, and her paddles were in motion. I called out 'Stop, stop,' knowing of course that they would not, although they were not twenty yards away. I saw Lady R—'s maid run to the captain and speak to him, but it was of no use, and thus I was left behind, without Lady R—having any suspicion that it was intentional on my part.

"I waited at the pier till the packet was about two miles off, and then walked away from the crowd of people who were bothering me with advice how to proceed, so that I might join my mistress at Calais. I returned to the hotel for a portion of my clothes which I had not sent on board of the packet, but had left in charge of the boots, and then sat down in the tap to reflect upon what I should do. My first object was to get rid of my sugar-loaf buttons, for I hated livery, Miss Valerie; perhaps it was pride, but I could not help it. I walked out till I came to a slop-seller's, as they call them at seaports, and went in; there was nothing hanging up but seamen's clothes, and on reflection, I thought I could not do better than to dress as a sailor; so I told the man that I wanted a suit of sailor's clothes.

"'You want to go to sea, I suppose,' said the man, not guessing exactly right, considering that I just refused to embark.

"However, I bargained first for a complete suit, and then sold him my liveries, exchanging my dress in the back parlour. I then returned to the tap, obtained my other clothes, and as soon as the coach started, got outside and arrived in London. I called upon you at this house, and found that you were in the country, and then I resolved that I would go down to Culverwood Hall."

"And now you must leave off, Lionel, for the present," said I, "for I must go out with Lady M—. Come to-morrow, early, and I shall have leisure to hear the rest of your story."

The following morning Lionel returned and resumed his history.

"Miss Valerie, little things often give you more trouble than greater; and I had more difficulty to find out where Culverwood Hall was than you may imagine. I asked many at the inn where I put up, but no one could tell me, and at such places I was not likely to find any book which I could refer to. I went to the coach offices and asked what coaches started for Essex, and the reply was, 'Where did I want to go?' and, when I said Culverwood Hall, no one could tell me by which coach I was to go, or which town it was near. At last, I did find out from the porter of the Saracen's Head, who had taken in parcels with that address, and who went to the coachman, who said that his coach passed within a mile of Sir Alexander Moystyn's, who lived there. I never knew her ladyship's maiden name before. I took my place by the coach, for I had gone to the banker's in Fleet Street, and received the money for my check, and started the next morning at three o'clock.

"I was put down at a village called Westgate, at an inn called the Moystyn Arms. I kept to the dress of a sailor, and when the people spoke to me on the coach, kept up the character as well as I could, which is very easy to do when you have to do with people who know nothing about it. I shivered my timbers, and all that sort of thing, and hitched up my trousers, as they do at the theatres. The coachman told me that the inn was the nearest place I could stop at, if I wanted to go to the hall, and taking my bundle, I got down and he drove off. A sailor-boy is a sort of curiosity in a country village, Miss Valerie, and I had many questions put to me, but I answered them by putting others. I said that my friends were formerly living at the hall in the old baronet's time, but that I knew little about them, as it was a long while ago; and I asked if there were any of the old servants still living at the place. The woman who kept the inn told me that there was one, Old Roberts, who still lived in the village, and been bedridden for some years. This of course was the person I wanted, and I inquired what had become of his family. The reply was, that his daughter, who had married Green, was somewhere in London, and his son, who had married Kitty Wilson of the village, had gone to reside as gamekeeper somewhere near Portsmouth, and had a large family of children.

"'You're right enough,' replied I, laughing, 'we are a large family.'

"'What, are you old Roberts' grandson?' exclaimed the woman. 'Well, we did hear that one of them, Harry, I think, did go to sea.'

"'Well, now, perhaps you'll tell me where I am to find the old gentleman?' replied I.

"'Come with me,' said she, 'he lives hard-by, and glad enough he'll be, poor man, to have any one to talk with him a bit, for it's a lonesome life he leads in bed there.'

"I followed the woman, and when about a hundred yards from the inn, she stopped at the door of a small house, and called to Mrs Meshin, to 'go up and tell old Roberts that one of his grandsons is here.' A snuffy old woman made her appearance, peered at me through her spectacles, and then stumped up a pair of stairs which faced the door. Shortly afterwards I was desired to come up, and did so. I found an old man with silver hair lying in bed, and the said Mrs Meshin, with her spectacles, smoothing down the bed-clothes, and making the place tidy.

"'What cheer, old boy?' said I, after T.P. Cooke's style.

"'What do you say? I'm hard of hearing, rather,' replied the old man.

"'How do you find yourself, sir?' said I.

"'Oh, pretty well for an old man; and so you're my grandson, Harry; glad to see you.—You may go, Mrs Meshin, and shut the door, and do you hear, don't listen at the key-hole.'

"The stately lady, Mrs Meshin, growled, and then left the room, slamming the door.

"'She is very cross, grandson,' said the old man, 'and I see nobody but her. It's a sad thing to be bedridden this way, and not to get out in the fresh air, and sadder still to be tended by a cross old woman, who won't talk when I want her, and won't hold her tongue when I want her. I'm glad to see you, boy. I hope you won't go away directly, as your brother Tom did. I want somebody to talk to me, sadly; and how do you like being at sea?'

"'I like the shore, better, sir.'

"'Ay, so all sailors say, I believe; and yet I would rather go to sea than lie here all day long. It's all owing to my being out as I used to do, night after night, watching for poachers. I had too little bed then, and now I've too much of it. But the sea must be grand. As the Bible says, "They who go upon the great waters, they see the wonders of the deep."'

"I was glad to find that the old man was so perfect in all his mental faculties, and after having listened to, rather than replied to, observations about his son and my supposed brothers and sisters, by which I obtained a pretty accurate knowledge of them, I wished him good-bye, and promised to call and have a long talk in the morning.

"On my return to the inn, I was able to reply to all the interrogatories which were put to me relative to my supposed relations, thanks to the garrulity of old Roberts, and put many questions relative to the family residing at the hall, which were freely answered. As the evening advanced, many people came in, and the noise and smoking were so disagreeable to me, that I asked for a bed, and retired. The next morning I repaired to old Roberts, who appeared delighted to see me.

"'You are a good boy,' said he, 'to come and see a poor bedridden old man, who has not a soul that comes near him perhaps in a week. And now tell me what took place during your last voyage.'

"'The last vessel I was on board of,' replied I, 'was a packet from Dover to Calais.'

"'Well, that must be pleasant; so many passengers.'

"'Yes, sir; and who do you think I saw on board of the packet the other day—somebody that you know.'

"'Ay, who?'

"'Why Lady R—,' replied I, 'and that young gentleman who, I heard say, once lived with her as her servant.'

"'Ay!' said the old man, 'indeed! then she has done justice at last. I'm glad on it, Harry, glad on it, for it's a relief to my mind. I was bound to the secret, and have kept it; but when a man is on the brink of the grave, he does not like to have a secret like that upon his mind, and I've more than once talked to my daughter about—'

"'What, aunt Green?'

"'Yes, your aunt Green; but she would never listen to me. We both took our oath, and she said it was binding; besides, we were paid for it. Well, well, I thank God, for it's a great load off my mind.'

"'Yes, sir,' replied I, 'you need not keep the secret any longer now.'

"'And how has he grown up?' said the old man; 'is he good-looking?'

"'Very much so, sir,' replied I, 'and looks very much like a gentleman.'"

I could not help laughing at this part of Lionel's story, although I could not but admit the truth. Lionel observed it, and said, "You cannot be surprised at my giving myself a good character, Miss Valerie, for, as they say in the kitchen, it's all that a poor servant has to depend upon."

"Go on," replied I.

"'He was a very fine child while he lived with us; but he was taken away at six years old, and I have never seen him since.'

"'Some people say that he is very like Lady R—.'

"'Well, why should he not be? ay, she was once a very beautiful young person.'

"'Well, grandfather, I have never heard the rights of that story,' said I, 'and now that you are at liberty to tell it, perhaps you will let me have the whole history.'

"'Well,' said the old man, 'as there is no longer a secret, I do not know but that I may. Your aunt Green, you know, was nurse to Lady R—, and remained in the family for years afterwards; for old Sir Alexander Moystyn was confined to his room for years with gout and other complaints, and your aunt Green attended him. It was just as Sir Alexander had recovered from a very bad fit, that Miss Ellen, who was Lady R—'s sister, and years younger than she was, made her runaway match with Colonel Dempster, a very fashionable, gay young man, who had come down here to shoot with the present baronet. Everyone was much surprised at this, for all the talk was that the match would be with the eldest sister, Lady R—, and not the youngest. They went off somewhere abroad. Old Sir Alexander was in a terrible huff about it, and was taken ill again; and Lady R—, who was then Miss Barbara, appeared also much distressed at her sister's conduct. Well, a year or more passed away, when, one day, Miss Barbara told your aunt Green that she wished her to go with her on a journey, and she set off in the evening with four post-horses, and travelled all night till she arrived at Southampton. There she stopped at a lodging, and got out, spoke to the landlady, and calling my daughter out of the chaise, desired her to remain below while she went upstairs. My daughter was tired of staying so long, for she remained there for five hours, and Miss Barbara did not make her appearance, but they appeared to be very busy in the house, running up and downstairs. At last a grave person, who appeared to be a doctor, came into the parlour, followed by the landlady—in the parlour in which my daughter was sitting.'

"'It's all over, Mrs Wilson,' said he, 'nothing could save her; but the child will do well, I have no doubt.'

"'What's to be done, sir?'

"'Oh,' replied the doctor, 'the lady above stairs told me that she was her sister, so of course we must look to her for all future arrangements.'

"After giving a few directions about the infant, the doctor left the house, and soon after that Miss Barbara came downstairs.

"'I'm quite worn out, Martha,' said she, 'let us go to the hotel as fast as we can. You sent away the carriage, of course. I would it had remained, for I shall hardly be able to walk so far.'

"She took her arm, and as the landlady opened the door, she said, 'I will call to-morrow, and give directions about the infant, and everything which is necessary.'—'I never went through such a trying scene,' said Miss Barbara; 'she was an old school-fellow of mine, who entreated me to come to her in her distress. She died giving birth to her infant, and it was, I presume, with that presentiment, that she sent for me and entreated me, on her death-bed, to protect the unfortunate child, for she has been cast away by her relations in consequence of her misconduct. You have never had the small-pox, Martha, have you?'

"'No, miss,' she replied, 'you know I never have.'

"'Well, it was having the small-pox at the same time that she was confined, that has caused her death, and that was the reason why I did not send for you to come up and assist.'

"'My daughter made no answer, for Miss Barbara was of a haughty temper, and she was afraid of her; but she did not forget that the doctor had told the landlady that Miss Barbara had stated the lady to be her sister. My daughter had thought it very odd that Miss Barbara had not told her, during their journey, where she was going, and who she was going to see, for Miss Barbara had wrapped herself up in her cloak, and pretended to be asleep during the whole time, only waking up to pay the post-boys; but Miss Barbara was of a very violent temper, and had, since her sister's marriage, been much worse than before; indeed, some said that she was a little mad, and used to walk at moonlights.

"'When they arrived at the hotel, Miss Barbara went to bed, and insisted upon my daughter sleeping in the same room, as she was afraid of being alone in an hotel. My daughter thought over the business as she lay in bed, and at last resolved to ascertain the truth; so she got up early the next morning, and walked to the lodging-house, and when the door was opened by the landlady, pretended to come from her mistress to inquire how the infant was. The reply was that it was doing well; and then a conversation took place, in which my daughter found out that the lady did not die of the small-pox, as Miss Barbara had stated. The landlady asked my daughter if she would not like to come up and look at the corpse. My daughter consented, as it was what she was about to request, and when she went up, sure enough it was poor Mrs Dempster, Miss Ellen that was, who had run away with the colonel.

"'An't it a pity, ma'am,' said the landlady, 'her husband died only two months ago, and they say he was so handsome a man; indeed, he must have been, for here's his picture, which the poor lady wore round her neck.'

"'When your aunt had satisfied herself, and cried a little over the body, for she was very fond of Miss Ellen, she went back to the hotel as fast as she could, and getting a jug of warm water from the kitchen, she went into Miss Barbara's room, and had just time to throw off her bonnet and shawl, when Miss Barbara woke up and asked who was there.

"'It's me, miss,' replied my daughter, 'I've just gone down for some warm water for you, for it's past nine o'clock, and I thought you would like to be up early.'

"'Yes, I must get up, Martha, for I intend to return home to-day. It's no use waiting here. I will have breakfast, and then walk to the lodgings and give directions. You may pack up in the meantime, for I suppose you do not wish to go with me.'

"'Oh, no, miss,' replied your aunt, 'I am frightened out of my wits at having been in the house already, now that I know that the lady died of the small-pox.'

"Well, Miss Barbara went away after breakfast and remained for two or three hours, when she returned, a servant bringing the baby with her. My daughter had packed up everything, and in half-an-hour they were on the road back, the baby with them in my daughter's arms. Now, you see, if it had not been for the accidental remark of the doctor's in your aunt's presence, she would have been completely deceived by Miss Barbara, and never would have known whose child it was; but your aunt kept her own counsel; indeed, she was afraid to do otherwise.

"'As they went home, Miss Barbara talked a great deal to your aunt, telling her that this Mrs Bedingfield was a great friend of hers, with whom she had corresponded for years after they had left school; that her husband had been killed in a duel a short time before, that he was a gambler, and a man of very bad character, nevertheless she had promised Mrs Bedingfield before she died, that she would take care of the child, and that she would do so. She then said, "Martha, I should like your mother to take charge of it, do you think that she would? but it must be a secret, for my father would be very angry with me, and besides, there might be unpleasant reports." Your aunt replied, "that she thought that her mother would," and then Miss Barbara proposed that your aunt should get out of the chaise when they stopped to change horses at the last stage, when it was dark, and no one could perceive it, and walk with the infant until she could find some conveyance to my house.

"'This was done, the child was brought to your grandmother, who is now in heaven, and then your aunt made known to us what she had discovered, and whose child it was. I was very angry, and if I had not been laid up at the time with the rheumatism, would have gone right into Sir Alexander's room, and told him who the infant was, but I was over-ruled by your grandmother and your aunt, who then went away and walked to the hall. So we agreed that we would say exactly what Miss Barbara said to us when she came over to us on the next day.'"

"Well, then, Lionel, I have to congratulate you on being the son of a gentleman, and the nephew of Lady R—. I wish you joy with all my heart," said I, extending my hand.

"Thank you, Miss Valerie. It is true that I am so, but proofs are still to be given; but of that hereafter."

"Lionel, you have been standing all this while. I think it would be most uncourteous if I did not request you to take a chair." Lionel did so, and then proceeded with the old man's narrative.

"'About a month after this, Sir Richard R—came down, and after three weeks was accepted by Miss Barbara. It was a hasty match everyone thought, especially as the news of Mrs Dempster's death had, as it was reported, been received by letter, and all the family had gone into mourning. Poor old Sir Alexander never held up his head afterwards, and in two months more he was carried to the family vault. Your aunt then came home to us, and as you have heard, married poor Green, who was killed in a poaching business about three months after his marriage. Then came your poor grandmother's death of a quinsy, and so I was left alone with your aunt Green, who then took charge of the child, who had been christened by the name of Lionel Bedingfield. There was some talk about the child, and some wonders whose it could be; but after the death of Sir Alexander, and Miss Barbara had gone away with her husband, nothing more was thought or said about it. And now, boy, I've talked enough for to-day, to-morrow I'll tell you the rest of the history.

"Perhaps, Miss Valerie, you think the same of me, and are tired with listening," observed Lionel.

"Not at all; and I have leisure now which I may not have another time; besides your visits, if so frequent, may cause inquiries, and I shall not know what to say."

"Well, then, I'll finish my story this morning, Miss Valerie. The next day, old Roberts continued: 'It was about three months after Sir Alexander's death, when her brother, the new baronet, came down to Culverwood Hall, that Miss Barbara made her appearance again as Lady R—. Your grandmother was just buried, and poor Green had not been dead more than a month. Your aunt, who was much afflicted at the loss of her husband, and was of course very grave and serious, began to agree with me that it would be very wicked of us, knowing whose child it was, to keep the secret. Moreover, you aunt had become very fond of the infant, for it in a manner consoled her for the loss of her husband. Lady R— came to the cottage to see us, and we then both told her that we did not like to keep secret the child's parentage, as it was doing a great injustice, if injustice had not been done already. Lady R—was very much frightened at what we said, and begged very hard that we would not expose her. She would be ruined, she said, in the opinion of her husband, and also of her own relations. She begged and prayed so hard, and made a solemn promise to us, that she would do justice to the child as soon as she could with prudence, that she overcame our scruples, and we agreed to say nothing at present. She also put a bank-note for 50 pounds into my daughter's hands to defray expenses and pay for trouble, and told her that the same amount would be paid every year until the child was taken away.

"'I believe this did more to satisfy our scruples than anything else. It ought not to have done so, but we were poor, and money is a great temptation. At all events, we were satisfied with Lady R—'s promise, and with her liberality; and from that time till the child was seven years old we received the money, and had charge of the boy. He was then taken away and sent to school, but where we did not know for some time. Lady R—was still very liberal to us, always stating her intention of acknowledging the child to be her nephew. At last my daughter was summoned to London, and sent to the school for the boy; Lady R—stating it to be her intention of keeping him at her own house, now that her husband was dead. This rejoiced us very much; but we had no idea that it was as a servant that he was to be employed, as your aunt afterwards found out, when she went up to London and called unexpectedly upon Lady R—. However, Lady R—said that what she was doing was for the best, and was more liberal than usual; and that stopped our tongues.

"'Three years back your aunt left this place to find employment in London, and has resided there ever since as a clear-starcher and getter-up of lace; but she often sends me down money, quite sufficient to pay for all the few comforts and expenses required by a bedridden old man. There, Harry, now I've told you the whole story; and I am glad that I am able to do so, and that at last she has done justice to the lad, and there is no further a load upon my conscience, which often caused me to lay down my Bible, when I was reading, and sigh.'

"'But,' said I, 'are you sure that she has acknowledged him as her nephew?'

"'Am I sure! Why, did not you say so?'

"'No; I only said that he was with her, travelling in her company.'

"'Well, but—I understood you that it was all right.'

"'It may be all right,' replied I, 'but how can I tell? I only saw them together. Lady R—may still keep her secret, for all I can say to the contrary. I don't wonder at its being a load on your mind. I shouldn't be able to sleep at nights; and, as for my reading my Bible, I should think it wicked to do so, with the recollection always before me, that I had been a party in defrauding a poor boy of his name, and, perhaps fortune.'

"'Dear me! dear me! I've often thought as much, Harry.'

"'Yes, grandfather, and, as you say, on the brink of the grave. Who knows but you may be called away this very night?'

"'Yes, yes, who knows, boy,' replied the old man, looking rather terrified; 'but what shall I do?'

"'I know what I would do,' replied I. 'I'd make a clean breast of it at once. I'd send for the minister and a magistrate, and state the whole story upon affidavit. Then you will feel happy again, and ease your mind, and not before.'

"'Well, boy, I believe you are right, I'll think about it. Leave me now.'

"'Think about your own soul, sir—think of your own danger, and do not mind Lady R—. There can be but a bad reason for doing such an act of injustice. I will come again in an hour, sir, and then you will let me know your decision. Think about what the Bible says about those who defraud the widow and orphan. Good-bye for the present.'

"'No, stop, boy, I've made up my mind. You may go to Mr Sewell, the clergyman, he often calls to see me, and I can speak to him. I'll tell him.'

"I did not wait for the old man to alter his mind, but hastened as fast as I could to the parsonage-house, which was not four hundred yards distant. I went to the door and asked for Mr Sewell, who came out to me. I told him that old Roberts wanted to see him immediately, as he had an important confession to make.

"'Is the old man going, then? I did not hear that he was any way dangerously ill?'

"'No, sir, he is in his usual health, but he has something very heavy on his conscience, and he begs your presence immediately that he may reveal an important secret.'

"'Well, my lad, go back to him and say that I will be there in two hours. You are his grandson, I believe?'

"'I will go and tell him, sir,' replied I, evading the last question.

"I returned to old Roberts, and informed him that the clergyman would be with him in an hour or two, but I found the old man already hesitating and doubting again:—

"'You didn't tell him what it was for, did you? for perhaps—'

"'Yes, I did. I told him you had an important secret to communicate that lay heavy on your conscience.'

"'I'm sadly puzzled,' said the old man, musing.

"'Well,' replied I, 'I'm not puzzled; and if you don't confess, I must. I won't have my conscience loaded, poor fellow that I am; and if you choose to die with the sin upon you of depriving the orphan, I will not.'

"'I'll tell—tell it all—it's the best way,' replied old Roberts, after a pause.

"'There now,' said I, 'the best thing to be done is for me to get paper and pen, and write it all down for Mr Sewell to read when he comes; then you need not have to repeat it all again.'

"'Yes, that will be best, for I couldn't face the clergyman.'

"'Then how can you expect to face the Almighty?' replied I.

"'True—very true: get the paper,' said he.

"I went to the inn and procured writing materials, and then returned and took down his confession of what I have now told you, Miss Valerie. When Mr Sewell came, I had just finished it, and I then told him that I had written it down, and handed it to him to read. Mr Sewell was much surprised and shocked, and said to Roberts, 'You have done right to make this confession, Roberts, for it may be most important; but you must now swear to it in the presence of a magistrate and me. Of course, you have no objection?'

"'No, sir; I'm ready to swear to the truth of every word.'

"'Well, then, let me see. Why, there is no magistrate near us just now but Sir Thomas Moystyn; and as it concerns his own nephew, there cannot be a more proper person. I will go up to the Hall immediately, and ask him to come with me to-morrow morning.'

"Mr Sewell did so; and the next day, he and Sir Thomas Moystyn came down in a phaeton, and went up to old Roberts. I rather turned away, that my uncle, as he now proves to be, might not, when I was regularly introduced to him, as I hope to be, as his nephew, recognise me as the sailor lad who passed off as the grandson of old Roberts."

"Then, you admit that you have been playing a very deceitful game?"

"Yes, Miss Valerie. I have a conscience; and I admit that I have been playing what may be called an unworthy game; but when it is considered how much I have at stake, and how long I have been defrauded of my rights by the duplicity of others, I think I may be excused if I have beat them at their own weapons."

"I admit that there is great truth in your observations, Lionel; and that is all the answer I shall give."

"I remained outside the door while old Roberts signed the paper, and the oath was administered. Sir Thomas put many questions afterwards. He inquired the residence of his daughter, Mrs Green, and then they both went away. As soon as they were gone, I went in to old Roberts, and said, 'Well now, sir, do you not feel happier that you have made the confession?'

"'Yes,' replied he, 'I do, boy; but still I am scared when I think of Lady R—and your aunt Green; they'll be so angry.'

"'I've been thinking that I had better go up to Mrs Green,' I said, 'and prepare her for it. I can pacify her, I'm sure, when I explain matters. I must have gone away the day after to-morrow, and I'll go up to London to-morrow.'

"'Well, perhaps it will be as well,' replied old Roberts, 'and yet I wish you could stay and talk to me—I've no one to talk to me now.'

"Thinks I, I have made you talk to some purpose, and have no inclination to sit by your bed-side any longer; however, I kept up the appearance to the last, and the next morning set off for London. I arrived three days before I saw you first, which gave me time to change my sailor's dress for the suit I now wear. I have not yet been to Mrs Green, for I thought I would just see you, and ask your advice. And now, Miss Valerie, you have my whole history."

"I once more congratulate you, with all my heart," replied I, offering my hand to Lionel. He kissed it respectfully, and as he was in the act, one of the maids opened the door, and told me that Lady M—had been some time waiting to see me. I believe I coloured up, although I had no cause for blushing; and wishing Lionel good-bye, I desired him to call on Sunday afternoon, and I would remain at home to see him.

It was on Thursday that this interview took place with Lionel, and on the Saturday I received a letter from Lady R—'s solicitor, by which I was shocked by the information of her ladyship having died at Caudebec, a small town on the river Seine; and begging to know whether I could receive him that afternoon, as he was anxious to communicate with me. I answered by the person who brought the letter, that I would receive him at three o'clock; and he made his appearance at the hour appointed.

He informed me that Lady R—had left Havre in a fishing boat, with the resolution of going up to Paris by that strange conveyance; and having no protection from the weather, she had been wet for a whole day, without changing her clothes; and, on her arrival at Caudebec, had been taken with a fever, which, from the ignorance of the faculty in that sequestered place, had proved fatal. Her maid had just written the intelligence, enclosing the documents from the authorities substantiating the fact.

"You are not, perhaps, aware, miss, that you are left her executrix."

"I her executrix!" exclaimed I, with astonishment.

"Yes," replied Mr Selwyn. "Before she left town, she made an alteration in her will; and stated to me that you would be able to find the party most interested in it, and that you had a document in your hands which would explain everything."

"I have a sealed paper which she enclosed to me, desiring I would not open it, unless I heard of her death, or had her permission."

"It must be that to which she refers, I presume," replied he. "I have the will in my pocket: it will be as well to read it to you, as you are her executrix."

Mr Selwyn then produced the will, by which Lionel Dempster, her nephew, was left her sole heir; and by a codicil, she had, for the love she bore me, as she stated in her own handwriting, left me 500 pounds as her executrix, and all her jewels and wearing apparel.

"I congratulate you on your legacy, Miss de Chatenoeuf," said he; "and now, perhaps, you can tell me where I can find this nephew; for I must say it is the first that I ever heard of him."

"I believe that I can point him out, sir," replied I; "but the most important proofs, I suspect, are to be found in the paper which I have not yet read."

"I will then, if you please, no longer trespass on you," said Mr Selwyn, "when you wish me to call again, you will oblige me by sending word, or writing by post."

The departure of Mr Selwyn was quite a relief to me. I longed to be alone, that I might be left to my own reflections, and also that I might peruse the document which had been confided to me by poor Lady R—. I could not help feeling much shocked at her death—more so, when I considered her liberality towards me, and the confidence she reposed in one with whom she had but a short acquaintance. It was like her, nevertheless; who but Lady R—would ever have thought of making a young person so unprotected and so unacquainted as I was with business—a foreigner to boot—the executrix of her will; and her death occasioned by such a mad freak—and Lionel now restored to his position and his fortune—altogether it was overwhelming, and after a time I relieved myself with tears. I was still with my handkerchief to my eyes when Lady M—came into the room.

"Crying, Miss Chatenoeuf," said her ladyship, "it is at the departure of a very dear friend."

There was a sort of sneer on her face as she said this; and I replied—

"Yes, my lady, it is for the departure of a dear friend, for Lady R—is dead."

"Mercy, you don't say so; and what are these gentlemen who have been calling upon you?"

"One is her solicitor, madam," replied I, "and the other is a relative of hers."

"A relation; but what has the solicitor called upon you for? if it is not an intrusive question."

"No, my lady; Lady R—has appointed me her executrix."

"Executrix! well, I now do believe that Lady R—was mad!" exclaimed Lady M—. "I wanted you to come up to my boudoir to consult you about the pink satin dress, but I fear your important avocation will not allow you at present, so I will leave you till you are a little recovered."

"I thank you, my lady," said I, "I will be more myself to-morrow, and will then be at your disposal."

Her ladyship then left the room. I was not pleased at her manner, which was very different from her usual courtesy towards me, but I was not in a state of mind to weigh well all that she said, or how she said it. I hastened to my room to look for the paper which Lady R—had enclosed to me previous to her departure. I will give the whole contents to my readers.

"My dear Valerie,

"I will not attempt to account for the extreme predilection which I, an old woman in comparison, immediately imbibed for you before we had been an hour in company. Some feelings are unaccountable and inexplicable, but I felt a sympathy, a mesmeric attraction, if I may use the term, which was uncontrollable at our first meeting, and which increased every day during our residence together. It was not the feeling of a mother towards a child—at least I think not, for it was mingled with a certain degree of awe and presentiment of evil if ever we parted again. I felt as if you were my fate, and never has this feeling departed from me. On the contrary, now that we separate, it has become stronger than ever. How little do we know of the mysteries of the mind as well as of the body! We know that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and that is all. That there are influences and attractions uncontrollable and unexplained I feel certain. Often have I reflected and wondered on this as I have lain in bed and meditated 'even to madness,' but have been unable to remove the veil. (Alas, poor Lady R—, thought I, I doubt it not, you were madder than I thought you were.) Imagine, then, my grief and horror when I found that you were determined to leave me, dear Valerie. It was to me as the sentence of death; but I felt that I could not resist; it was my fate, and who can oppose its decrees? It would indeed have pained your young and generous heart if you knew how I suffered, and still suffer from your desertion; but I considered it as a judgment on me—a visitation upon me for the crimes of my early years, and which I am now about to confide to you, as the only person in whom I feel confidence, and that justice may be done to one whom I have greatly injured. I would not die without reparation, and that reparation I entrust to you, as from my own pen I can explain that without which, with all my good intentions towards the party, reparation might be difficult. But I must first make you acquainted with the cause of crime, and to do this you must hear the events of my early life.

"My father, Sir Alexander Moystyn, had four children, two sons and two daughters. I was the first-born, then my two brothers, and afterwards, at an interval, my sister, so that there was a difference of eight years between me and my sister, Ellen. Our mother died in giving birth to Ellen; we grew up, my brothers went to Eton and college. I remained the sole mistress of my father's establishment. Haughty by nature, and my position, the power it gave me, the respect I received—and if you will look at the miniature I enclose with this, I may, without vanity, add, my beauty, made me imperious and tyrannical. I had many advantageous offers, which I rejected, before I was twenty years of age. My power with my father was unbounded, his infirmities kept him for a long time a prisoner in his room, and my word was law to him, as well as to the whole household. My sister Ellen, still a child, I treated with harshness—first, I believe, because she promised to rival me in good looks; and secondly, because my father showed greater affection towards her than I liked. She was meek in temper, and never complained. Time past—I refused many offers of marriage. I did not like to resign my position for the authority of a husband, and I had reached my twenty-fifth year, and my sister, Ellen, was a lovely girl of seventeen, when it was fated that all should be changed.

"A Colonel Dempster came down with my eldest brother, who was a captain in the same regiment of guards—a more prepossessing person I never beheld, and for the first time I felt that I would with pleasure give up being at the head of my father's establishment to follow the fortunes of another man. If my predilection was so strong, I had no reason to complain of want of attention on his part. He courted me in the most obsequious manner, the style more suited to my haughty disposition, and I at once gave way to the feelings with which he had inspired me. I became fervently in love with him, and valued one of his smiles more than an earthly crown. Two months passed, his original invitation had been for one week, and he still remained. The affair was considered as arranged, not only by myself, but by everybody else. My father, satisfied that he was a gentleman by birth, and being able to support himself by his own means in so expensive a regiment, made no inquiries, leaving the matter to take its own course. But, although two months had passed away, and his attentions to me were unremitting, Colonel Dempster had made no proposal, which I ascribed to his awe of me, and his diffidence as to his success. This rather pleased me than otherwise; but my own feelings now made me wish for the affair to be decided, and I gave him every opportunity that modesty and discretion would permit. I saw little of him during the mornings, as he went out with his gun with the other gentlemen, but in the evenings he was my constant and devoted attendant. I received many congratulations from female acquaintances (friends I had none) upon my having conquered one who was supposed to be invulnerable to the charms of our sex, and made no disclaimer when spoken to on the subject. Every hour I expected the declaration to be made, when, imagine my indignation and astonishment, at being informed one morning when I arose, that Colonel Dempster and my sister Ellen had disappeared, and it was reported that they had been seen in a carriage driving at furious speed.