CHAPTER VI.

O, envy! hide thy bosom, hide it deep:A thousand snakes, with black envenomed mouths,Rest there, and hiss, and feed through all thy heart!

Pollok.

Caroline had no sooner returned from the ride, which had been to her full of disappointment, than she went to her mother, and begged her to find a remedy for, what she termed, their dependent's insolence. Mrs. Villars attempted, but in vain, to parry herangry threats—for Caroline was a stranger to the early discipline, which makes a person submit to what is right, for right's sake—and her mother's doctrine of expediency was too deeply engrafted in her disposition, to allow of her adopting any other rule of conduct. Why she imagined that her cousin stood in her way, she scarcely knew herself, except that she felt by instinct, that there was a superiority about her, which placed herself in a lower position. She had never, either, forgiven her resistance of her first attempts to humble her to what she deemed her fit position in the family—and though she had since abstained from any such open attack, her anger had not been the less strong, because it smouldered in silence.

She was conscious that she appeared to less advantage in contrast to Mabel, and she now resolved to remove her. This she boldly declared to her mother, in violent terms, refusing to listen to any excuses, for, what she termed, her bold behaviour—and the latter saw, with horror, that she had raised, in her own family, by careful culture, a power of evil, which was urging her still further in the path of sin and fraud.

To do her justice, she never began with the intention of doing wrong—she always believed herself led on by circumstances, and compelled by expediency. The remembrance of purer thoughts, shared with her more romantic sister, rose to check her at every step, though seldom strong enough to restrain her altogether.

But it was not so with her daughter—she had no such hallowed nursery recollections—she had often heard her mother's praises of her beauty, but never her prayers for her purity—and, with strong, unrelenting terms, she demanded, what her mother wished, but feared to do?

Mrs. Villars was afraid to refuse, and yet did not know how to gratify her—for how could she send Mabel away without repaying her money? She felt she could not dare to tell her husband, that she had spent such a sum in trifles, which she had now forgotten, or, in the purchase of fashions, which had long grown old; she did not even dare to tell Caroline, that she had been guilty of such meanness. It was impossible to decide; and anxious to gain time, she dismissed her daughter with promises and caresses, hoping to discover some method of evading the annoyances which menaced her.

But as time passed on, they only thickened round her—while Caroline became daily more impatient of delay.

From the first day of his introduction to Mabel, Mr. Stokes never appeared to lose sight of her—the slightest chance of meeting was sufficient to bring him to the most unlikely places; and Maria was too shrewd to be ignorant of the nature of his attentions—for there was too much seriousness about them to be easily mistaken, and she watched his movements with bitterness.

Caroline no sooner perceived this, than she hastened to sympathise with her, with more warmth than she had ever before displayed; while she still further fired her jealousy, by artful remarks upon Mabel's beauty and prudery, two qualities which Maria had never possessed, and led her, with little difficulty, to join in begging their mother to get rid of her as soon as possible.

Indeed, with some shew of reason, for spite of every drawback, furnished by circumstances, they, little knowing the one sorrow of her heart, imagined her at the height of her triumph, and secretly rejoicing over them.

Clair still continued to seek her society—and she, perceiving, at once, from the frankness of his manner, that they met on different terms, rather encouraged his visits—for, in her close attendance upon Lucy, she believed that she perceived a secret regard for him, mingling with all her actions and feelings, forming a part even of her very errors. Much then as she had lately learnt to esteem Clair, she could not help cherishing the hope, that the altered girl might find in him a supporter in her new ideas of life, while she, with all the grace which had charmed his laughing hours, might, in his graver moments, become now a fit companion.

With these thoughts, though she felt the indelicacy of forwarding such a scheme by any direct means, she encouraged his intimacy with the family, that he might have an opportunity of judging for himself of the alteration which had taken place in Lucy's character.

This required but very little coloring, to beset down as coquetry; but when accused of it, she only laughed, and told them to wait, and see.

Nor was this all. Mr. Morley, who seemed to haunt his nephew, like his shadow, sometimes condescended to bestow some marks of high favor on Mabel, and as Mrs. Villars seldom acted herself without some covert motive, she easily believed that the pleasure with which Mabel received those transitory attentions, was rather caused by her hopes of eventual advantage; for as Hargrave had said, that a large landed property still remained, and as he had no children, the question of what was to become of it at his death, might be one which she was answering to her own satisfaction.

Still the money difficulty remained strong as ever, and made her evade all the schemes of her two daughters, till she perceived that her niece was gaining ground in the favor of allaround her; and, though unaware of it herself, was becoming the great attraction of the house. This was an evil which must be checked, and she thought again and again, till, at length, an idea occurred to her, which, though she, at first, rejected, she finally adopted, reasoning with herself, that the interests of her dear children required every sacrifice.

One other difficulty also remained in the affection of Mr. Villars, which rendered him deaf to every insinuation against her—indeed, on the contrary, he remarked, with pleasure, her returning animation of spirits, and took every opportunity of introducing her—thus helping her popularity, to his wife's great annoyance.

To gain her husband, therefore, became a point of importance, as she wished to remove Mabel, at least, with an appearance of kindness; and after many a struggle with her better-self, she resolved to make a bolderattempt, and,choosingone wet afternoon, she went down to the library, to settle some money matters. Mr Villars, too glad to bring his wife to anything so steady as accounts, which she generally avoided, willingly gave her his attention, though to do so, he had to lay down a page of his book, and forget a brilliant idea.

She did not, however, give very much time to figures, and soon managed to enter upon her real business; and when she closed the book, over which they had been looking, she said, with one of her sweetest looks, and she really did look well when she liked—

"My dear, I wish to talk to you about something which is very much on my mind."

"Well, my dear, say anything you like, I have plenty of time."

"You know, then, how kind and good you have been to me in allowing me to bring my niece here—I do assure you I have felt itdeeply, though I have never said anything about it before, it was so like you. Well, now I think it is time to carry out my original intention, and relieve you of the burden, by providing for her in some way. Now, I was thinking if I could get her a place as companion or governess, what an excellent thing it would be for her."

"My love," said her husband, "make yourself perfectly easy; your niece is no burden to me; she is perfectly welcome here, as long as she needs a home—and with regard to her pocket-money, let her fare as the other girls do."

Here, thinking he had settled the matter to the perfect satisfaction of all parties, he took up his book.

"But, my dear," began his wife, and he laid it down again, "consider how unjustly this would be acting; to lead her on with false hopes, when, eventually, she must be unprovided for. How much better to inure her to work when she is young. Indeed, her dear mother entreated me to see to it, and how can I neglect her wishes?"

"Depend upon it, Caroline, your sister would, when thinking of her orphan child, gladly have exchanged a life of hardships, for one of comfort and repose. Why did you not assure her that I would take care of her?—you know I am neither parsimonious nor poor."

"Ah! but, indeed, I should be more satisfied if I did as I promised."

"You would wrong yourself and me—do not think of it."

"But you must see what a drawback she is to our daughters settling; and, really, for their sakes, poor things, it is to be thought of. I am getting quite anxious about them, having all four out together, and she makes a fifth. Not that I mean, for an instant, to say that she is more beautiful, or has a better figure, ordoes anything better than they do; for her voice wants a good dealoftuition—but she has an artful way of doing things, which makes her get on, and persuades every one to like her; why, the very servants would rather do anything for her, than any one else. And, only think of her mock modesty, pretending not to care how she looked, and attracting more attention all the time, when she went out riding with that old hat, which hung so long in the passage. Really, her airs require a little pulling down."

"Caroline," said Mr. Villars, much vexed at the altered tone of her argument. "I never approved of the plan of depreciating others when they stand in our way, and I once hoped that our daughters—possessing every natural endowment—would not need such a false elevation. Surely they can be admired on their own account, and not simply because there is no one else to admire. Johnson says,'Every man ought to aim at eminence, not by pulling others down, but by raising himself; and enjoy the pleasure of superiority, whether imaginary or real, without interrupting others in the same felicity.'"

"I am afraid," replied Mrs. Villars, who had listened with some impatience to this quotation, "such moralizing will not get us on in life—the world requires management, at least, I have always found so, and, therefore, I do think that we are not doing our duty by our children, in letting this girl always outshine them. I am sure no parent would be further from such a wish than yourself."

"But I do not see how doing a wrong thing can serve them. You spoke, just now, of the necessity of Mabel's supporting herself, eventually, but if she is admired, as you say, and as I think she deserves to be, why not give her the chance of being married; she can have but one husband after all."

"Only one husband!" repeated Mrs. Villars, "why she acts as if she wanted twenty. How can you tell what is going on, shut up here with your books? First, there is Clair, who paid such attentions to Lucy at Aston; see how she treats him now she has got him on her books—why just on, and just off, ready for any emergency."

"I never saw anything improper in her conduct, indeed, I was pleased with therespecthe paid her, seemingly apart from love or pique."

"Why one would think that you sat down here and invented people's conduct as you wished it to be; but surely, love, you must have seen the very pointed attentions Henry paid Caroline, before that insinuating girl came to the house?"

"No, indeed, I never knew anything more than you told me, and, for my own part, I never saw anything like attentions even."

"You never see anything, I declare, but I tell you he did, though you do seem to doubt it—you should see how she manœuvres to appear angelic in his eyes. More artfulness I never met with; so cheerful, so forgiving, and so everything, when she likes, that really it is quite provoking. Poor Caroline says she cannot bear it."

"Why does she not imitate the rival she cannot outshine, for she has sufficient natural grace and talent to make her fascinating. Oh! Caroline, I fear there was something wanting in our children's education."

Perhaps she agreed with him, for she did not stop to argue the point, but continued in the same tone.

"I do declare this is not all, and you shall know what she is; of that I am determined. There is Mr. Stokes, whom I expected to come forward for Maria, has taken to dangle after her, and she has found the art of pleasing himtoo, poor silly man, by always pretending to avoid his attentions, and, as if this was not enough, she puts another iron in the fire, for safety, and tries to make a fool of Mr. Morley, poor old man. Why, if this goes on, we shall be the laughing-stock of the place."

"There can be nothing ridiculous," replied Mr. Villars, "in protecting an orphan niece, without home or friends. I cannot believe that Mabel tries at anything of the kind, nor do I believe, that if my daughters act properly, she could hurt them if she did try."

"But," said she, entreatingly, "you will consent, won't you, dear, to let her take a governess's place, for a time at least, only till Caroline is married?"

"I will not, indeed, consent to anything unjust. There is a certain prejudice existing in society against the position held by a governess, and I should think it most injurious to her interests if I allowed her to assume it,unless I meant to neglect her altogether. Do not, I entreat you, let a mistaken love for your children, make you neglect what you owe to yourself. Remember, that, as the sister of Mrs. Lesly, you owe something to poor Mabel; and you cannot offer, as an excuse for refusing her a refuge, that I am unable or unwilling to allow you to go to the lengths of even romantic generosity. We owe her much for the good she has done our Lucy."

"What! In making her a prude and a saint; there is an end of her chance of settling, I see clearly—"

"I do not see why, for there is nothing exaggerated about her tone of feeling—but I know we always differed in the management of our children; I have grieved enough over it, but it is now too late to remedy our mistakes, we can only trust to circumstances; they, with Mabel's assistance, have worked a striking change in Lucy. There, let us say no moreabout it, you would be sorry to do an unkind thing, I know."

Saying this in a tone of more than usual decision, he left the room, thinking sadly over the selfishness of his wife and family, which this conversation had laid so openly before him.

No sooner had he left the house, than Caroline and Maria went to the library, anxious to hear the success of the interview. Poor Mrs. Villars stood like a culprit before them, when obliged to confess that their papa had gone, with the understanding that the matter was ended, and Mabel was to remain. The mother and children seemed to have changed places.

"Well, I did think you would have managed better than that," said Maria.

"I do not think you half tried," said Caroline.

"Try yourself, then," retorted her mother.

"That, indeed, I will not; you brought theevil into the house, and it is but fair that you should have the pain ofremovingit."

"Well, well, my dears, I will do my best, only do not be so angry with me—go and get ready for dinner, there's dear children, I will try again."

"Soon then, if you do at all," said Caroline.

"Yes, very soon, dear, impetuous girl."

Satisfied with this promise, they went to prepare for dinner.

Unfortunately, as it happened, Mr. Villars was met, not far from his own door, by Mr. Stokes, who skilfully managed to get him to ask him in to dinner. That he had but one object in doing so, was evident, by the pointed attentions he paid to Mabel; and, in the evening, having managed to get her to play a game of chess—he kept her over it for an hour or two, refusing to see any of her mistakes, or to take any of the pieces she carefully threw inhis way. She grew more and more impatient, when she saw that he was bent upon keeping her; and when she had been nearly three hours over the game, she begged him to allow her to give it him.

"On one condition," he replied, "that you will allow me to give you any thing I like in return; this, for instance," he continued in the same low key, glancing down significantly at the large strong hand which rested carelessly on the chess-board.

"No no," said Mabel, blushing from her neck to her forehead; "I gave you the game, but I will never take any thing in return."

The last few words were said with decision, and point, though covered by the appearance of jest, as she rose and left the table. Maria saw every thing, and marked well the expression of Mr. Stokes's face, so serious, so unlike his usual jocular tone.

"It will be too late," she said to herselfagain and again, "if I do not take care, but I will trust to my wits still." Mr. Stokes soon afterwards took his leave.

Before they went to rest, the mother and sisters found an opportunity of talking over Mabel's coquetry—and so far strengthened themselves in the idea of the necessity of removing her, that Mrs. Villars determined to do so, whatever came of it.

Mourn not the perishing of each fair toy,Ye were ordained to do, not to enjoy,To suffer, which is nobler than to dare;A sacred burthen is this life ye bear,Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly,Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly;Fall not for sorrow, falter not for sin,But onward, upward, till the goal ye win.

F. Butler.

The next day was unusually warm. Heavy clouds had been slowly rising up from behind the hills all the morning, till they covered thewhole sky, and frowned darkly down upon the gay city—and the air was hushed with heavy silence. Mrs. Villars and her daughters were sitting in the drawing-room, at work; and Colonel Hargrave sat at a side table, near the window, touching up a sketch, which he had that morning finished, of the venerable abbey. Mr. Villars, too, walked into the room, for people love to be together when a storm is coming. He took up the paper, and sat down. Lucy looked fondly at him from her work—and then walked to the window to look at Hargrave's drawing, and to whisper him to come away, in case it lightened—for, between them, a friendship had sprung newly up—she had thanked him for all that had before offended her, and he was always ready with some little act, which shewed he felt a kindness for her.

He told her he was finishing his sketch for her album—and she thanked him frankly, andnot with the blush, as formerly, which is as often the tell-tale of a sinful, as of an innocent heart, and reminded him that he had promised her some lines for her album, as well, and she would go and fetch it.

"Well," said he, when she returned with it; "bring me a pen, for I have just made an impromptu."

She brought him a large goose quill, and, after carefully mending it, he wrote as the sky grew blacker and blacker, the following lines:—

"As the sun-light on the fountain,As the ivy on the tree,As the snow upon the mountain,Or the moonlight on the sea."As the zephyr gently blowing,As the dew-drop on the rose,As the rippling water flowing,As the sun at evening's close."So is woman in the beauty,Of a heart unstained by sin;When bright eyes beam with purity,Which they borrow from within."

"There," he said, passing her back the book, "now I will finish the sketch; but," he added, under his breath, "do go and look for Mabel, the storm is coming up so fast—I hope she is not out."

"No, she is in her room I dare say, but I will go and find her if I can."

So saying, Lucy left the room, bearing the album with her, to read the lines to Mabel.

As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Villars looked up from her work and said to Hargrave—

"I want your advice, Henry, on a little matter."

"I shall be most happy to give it," he said, gaily, still intent upon his drawing.

"Well, then, do you not think the most prudent thing we could do for Mabel would be to get her a nice place as a governess?"

"Really," replied he, shrugging his shoulders, "really, that is a matter which must so very much depend upon yourself, that I must be excused giving an opinion."

Caroline remarked, with pleasure, that he did not seem surprised.

"But Henry," continued Mrs. Villars, "as a friend of our family, do you not think that, the kindest and best thing that can be done for her?"

"It shall not be," said Mr. Villars, laying down his paper, "with my consent."

"Yes, but Henry," she said, still speaking to him, "do you not see what an artful flirt she is, and how injurious she is likely to prove to my daughters."

Hargrave only gave another doubtful shrug.

"And see," she continued, "how useful she has contrived to make herself to Mr. Villars."

"No, no," said Mr. Villars, speaking entirely to his wife, "she has been so disinterested thatfar from trying to ingratiate herself, only, she has made Lucy my constant companion, and so quietly has she withdrawn from my notice, that I could now very probably part with her, without any loss of comfort; but Caroline, you cannot imagine the misery and horror from which she has saved me."

He stopped, and then continued in a more agitated tone of voice—

"I have studied the history of the human mind too deeply, to be mistaken in myself, and I am convinced that, e'er this, mine would have sunk into that ruin which has wrecked many a better and wiser man than myself. There was inertness in my ideas, sameness in my thoughts, a sense of causeless misery and perpetual fear; all fatal signs of that derangement, which the worst and the best shrink from with terror, as something too dreadfully vague for contemplation. What I might have been now, had I not received, as it were, a fresh impetus from that angelicgirl, I tremble to think; for what I am, I feel grateful to her as the second cause." Here he bowed reverently, as if a holier name mingled with his silent aspirations, and as he did so, the first flash of the thunder storm played round his head, and gave almost majesty to his words—at the same time that the side door, behind him, leading from the best drawing-room, opened, and Mabel glided in and stood by his side. Her manner was perfectly collected, but there was a deep red spot upon each cheek, and her eye glistened, as she cast it round the room.

"You have been listening," said Caroline, when she had recovered from the sudden effect of her entrance.

Mabel turned directly to her, and replied—

"I went into the drawing-room to read and watch the storm—a few minutes since I heard my own name mentioned, and, while I hesitated whether I should come here at once, I haveheard what has deeply gratified me. To you, dear sir," she said, turning to her uncle, "I owe very much—very much kindness and support I have received from you; I will not repay it by being the cause of discord in your family, for one moment longer than I can help—nay," she said, placing her hand fondly in his, "do not say any thing; you can offer me a home I know, but not a welcome—that you cannot command." Then, looking to her aunt, she continued, "it was at your express desire, ma'am, that I came here—not only your desire, but your entreaty—but do not think I meant always to encroach upon your kindness. This will convince you, that I did not." Here she handed her an open letter. "And now I must solicit the favor of a few moments alone with you."

Mrs. Villars turned pale, but immediately rose, and Mabel, gently pressing her uncle's hand, followed her from the room.

As she had stood there, her indignant face turned upon them all, the lightning had flashed about her unquailing form, and when she was gone they were all silent, as if her presence had awed them still.

"What do you want with me?" said her aunt, when she had closed the door of the breakfast room, behind them.

"Will you have the kindness first to read that letter?"

"Well, I see from it that your friend—let me see where does she live?—Oh, yes, I see, at Stratford—romantic place certainly, Shakespeare and all that—well, she says she will be happy to receive you—eh?"

"Yes," replied Mabel; "she was an old friend of mine, and not being well off, or in good health, I have offered to educate her children for nothing."

Mrs. Villars opened her eyes.

"Thus you see, aunt, I shall be able to dovery well; for my little fortune, small as it is, will keep me in dress."

Mrs. Villars smiled kindly, saying, that though Mabel had not been perfectly candid, still she rejoiced to hear that she had not been left without resources, as she had imagined.

This speech was spoken so smoothly, that Mabel was puzzled.

"Surely aunt there was nothing left for me to tell—the only money I have, is in your hands, and when you can conveniently let me have it, or part of it, I shall carry my plan into execution."

"There must be some mistake in this, my dear. I have no money of yours, except the half sovereign you kindly lent me the other morning. What do you mean?"

She was astonished; but she answered quickly, though respectfully—

"I am speaking of the six hundred pounds my mamma lent you, from time to time;and which you promised to keep safely for me."

"I promised, my dear," said Mrs. Villars, with well feigned astonishment. "I never said or thought of such a thing; but I will tell you how this mistake arose. I did borrow the sums you mention, from time to time, as you say, and you may remember, when your poor dear mother and I met last." The lightning flashed in her eyes, and she covered them with her hands; but the rain had begun to patter against the window, and the thunder rolled, at longer intervals; as the storm abated, she became bolder, and continued—"Well, at that time, we were very long alone, as, perhaps, you remember. Then she said to me—I remember the very words, and where she was sitting, poor thing—'Caroline,' she said, 'I never had the courage to tell you, that I have often vexed so deeply, to think that, when I married, I accepted a larger portion from ourfather's generosity than he gave you; and I shall never die happy till I have made it up to you—in order to do that, I shall cancel all your obligations to me, and give you a hundred more to-day.' I begged her to think of her children, and the answer she made was remarkable. 'I would rather leave them honesty than money.' It was so like her, poor thing."

Here she put her handkerchief to her eyes, while Mabel watched her with mingled pity, contempt, and indignation.

"Well, my dear, she went to her old secretary—you remember it, I am sure."—Of course she did, a thousand remembrances clung to every old-fashioned article of that dear home; but duplicity and cunning were before her, and she was too shocked to think of them now—"From that secretary," continued her aunt, "she took a bundle of papers. I saw my own writing, at once, and knew them to be thesecurities, that is, the written promises I had given her for the money. I stretched out my hand to take them, but she put it back, while she threw the papers in the fire."

"There was no fire," said Mabel, as if thinking aloud.

"No, you are right," said Mrs. Villars, colouring violently, for, from that moment, she saw she was suspected. "I meant to say she burnt them at the taper I had lighted to seal a letter. And now, you see, there has been a little mistake, which I am sorry for; had you spoken before, it might have been avoided; but, perhaps, you divined what is really the case, that if I wished to give you the money, I have not got it by me; and, therefore, I must take advantage of my poor dear sister's generosity."

Mabel did not, for an instant, doubt her aunt's falsehood; but, immediately remembered that she had nothing to plead but herown assertion of her mother's words, unsupported by any evidence. On such proofs, to obtain her money, appeared at once, to be impossible, and no other reason would have led her to expose a relation, to the charge of the meanest subterfuge and falsehood; but, though she said nothing, her whole soul was in her face, and Mrs. Villars writhed under its expression. Hoping to arrange a compromise on good terms, she handed her five sovereigns, saying—

"There, my dear, ask me for more when you want it."

"Thank you," said Mabel, pushing back the money, "I have sufficient for my present wants; but, as I shall be obliged to find a different situation from this," she added, taking up the letter, "I shall be glad if you will allow me to remain here a little while longer."

"Certainly, my dear, certainly; and I shouldbe glad if you could remain here altogether—that is, if you would not make yourself obnoxious to Caroline—that is, if you would not be quite so independent."

"I have done nothing to offend either of my cousins," said Mabel, her bosom heaving with emotion. "I have not deserved the treatment I have received, either at their hands, or yours, and you know I have not."

"If this is all the return your sainted pretensions can make," said her aunt, chafing herself into a passion, "for all my kindness to you—if you have not one word of thanks to offer me, you are but a poor companion for my daughters. I must make an example of you, and, therefore, I leave you to yourself. I care not what becomes of you. Go," she screamed, with shrill violence, as she herself advanced to the door, and, as if either satisfied or ashamed, burst from the room, as if it were contaminated.

Mabel covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears; indignation and a sense of desolation, struggled within her, and sob after sob burst from her, with a violence which, though natural to her temper, was usually suppressed entirely.

Suddenly she heard a step, and, before she could recover herself, Mr. Morley stood before her, coming as he did, in his customary shadowy manner.

"Why do you weep," he said, in a tone of severity.

"I have quarrelled with my aunt."

"Well?"

"And I wish to leave this house as soon as I can."

"Have you done wrong?"

"No."

"Then what have you to fear?"

"Myself, for I am deeply agitated."

"What, you fear that you cannot forgive. Rise, Mabel, and face the storm, not of worldlytrouble, but of your own passions, drive them back; do not sit down and weep over them as one who has chosen no other trust than her own, weak, defenceless heart. There are more eyes upon you than you imagine—the weak to find confidence, and the fool and the scoffer, to find jest and scorn. And, besides, what are you called upon to do—to leave a house where dependence would grind your spirit, or envy calumniate, and make you seem vile in the eyes of others.

"And what have you to endure? A few years of honest labour, re-paid by the wide spreading opportunity of sowing the seeds of virtue in the hearts of many, who, in years to come, may bless you for the happiness which the stability of their first principles has cast upon their households—which may again send forth fresh seeds of virtue to new generations, disseminating to children's children the thoughts and principles which were first inculcated by you.Is not this influence enough for you, though you yourself may live and die unheeded, and soon forgotten—your better part will live in others. I do not speak to you," continued Mr. Morley, as with one hand extended, he seemed rather to address an assembly, "as valuing such paltry things as wealth, or praise, or idle ease, but because you are, for a moment, forgetting what you do value—for these are times when temptations take us unawares, and, in a weak moment, have the power to surprise us, and I tell you again, Mabel Lesly, that the wicked and the wavering watch your movements for derision or guidance."

Strong medicines should be given to strong minds. Mabel's fears, and sorrow, and indignation, vanished, before he had ceased speaking.

"Thank you," said she, ardently, "the staff that can prop up the falling indeed deserves thanks, and I am grateful that you have comebetween me and weak and wicked thoughts. But do go further, and give me some advice—I will go any where, happily, only I cannot remain here."

"Well," said he, slightly relaxing his exalted tone, to one more suited to common life, "we will see what can be done."

Here he drew the last edition of theTimesfrom his pocket, and glanced down the advertisements, with rapid attention.

"There is nothing here," he said, at length, "nothing wanted, but a companion for an old lady, any one else will do for that, and you might stagnate in such a position. I will go out amongst my friends, and enquire for you."

"Something immediate," said she, earnestly.

Mr. Morley frowned.

"You are impatient of enduring a few days of discomfort, how can you meet a life of labour?"

"That would be ease to my present position."

"Pride, pride, will that ever be uppermost? But do not fear me, I always finish one thing at a time, so that I shall not be long about my business. Let me see; what is the list of your acquirements—sound English education, music, singing, French, a little German, a little Italian, and a little Latin. Umph! I think that will do—good-bye."

So saying, he glided from the room, with noiseless tread.

Mabel retired soon after to her own room, where she employed herself till dinner time, in writing letters to many of her friends, and particularly to her old school-fellow, expressing her regret at not being able to go to her, as she had hoped, without a salary—finding it necessary to maintain herself entirely.

This occupation did much to restore her self-possession, by the time when it was necessary for her to appear at dinner. But there was so much restraintthrown over the little party, by the remembrance of the scene of the afternoon, that the usually social meal passed in dulness and silence; when, however, they all went to the drawing-room, to amuse themselves for the evening, the spirits of the sisters rose, even to more oppressive gaiety—though Lucy sat apart from them in silence, perplexed and troubled.

Caroline had seated herself near the window, in order that she might display, with greater advantage, a portfolio of her own drawings, to Hargrave. They were very neatly executed, and the copy was as like the original as might be, yet Mabel could scarcely think them worth the high encomiums which he bestowed upon them, while Caroline blushed and evaded his compliments, though evidently gratified all the while, and willing to receive as many more as he chose to cater for her.

"I wish," thought Mabel, "that they wouldnot laugh quite so loud, my spirits are out of tune to-night."

Just then she heard Caroline whisper something to Hargrave, as sheleantforward, over the little table which parted them, so far, that a curl of her silken hair touched his cheek. Her sensitive ear caught the word, "governess," slightingly spoken, while Hargrave only replied by a shrug, and a slight elevation of his eyebrows; and when Caroline whispered something, with a still more provoking expression, he actually laughed aloud.

Mabel was conscious that she was turning giddy, and she rose with the intention of leaving theroom, when the door opened, and Mr. Morley beckoned her to come to him.

"Have you thought it over," he said, when she came to him, in the passage.

"Oh, yes," she replied eagerly; "and I have written to several friends."

"Right, never depend on any but yourself.As it happens, however, I have heard of something. Put on your bonnet, and come out with me."

Without remaining to ask any questions, she did as he desired, and was soon walking by his side, along the lighted streets.

"Not very pleasant, there, eh?" he enquired, elevating his eyebrows, to designate the house they had left.

"Not very," she answered, in a low, half choked voice, and they said nothing more till they reached the White Lion Hotel. Then, when they heard the hum of its business within, Mr. Morley suddenly stopped, and enquired if she were frightened.

"I might have been, yesterday," was the reply; "but, to-night, I feel nothing so much as the anxiety to be free."

"Free," muttered he; "free; that is a word for men; the more our intellectual range isunfettered, the freer we are to pursue unbeaten tracts of usefulness the better; but free is a dangerous word on the lips of a woman."

"You mistake me, sir," she said, blushing; "I did not mean free from constraint, for that I must meet with in the situation I am trying to obtain; but, indeed, it is very hard to stay where I am, neither useful nor welcome. If this be wrong, excuse me, to-night, for my feelings have been sadly tried."

"Excuse," he said, severely; "that is a word which has been fertile in wrong. Excuse—excuse," he continued to mutter till they had entered the hotel, where he enquired, rather fiercely, for Mrs. Noble, and they were soon ushered into the apartment, where the lady, he enquired for was sitting. She was a stout, heavy, weighty looking person, with a sallow complexion, a pair of small, dead black eyes, and hair of the same dull, heavy hue, shading aforehead of no ordinary expanse; and her countenance gave an idea of cumbrous intellect. She was seated in an easy attitude, from which she did not care to move, by the dinner-table, on which lay some early strawberries.

"This is Miss Lesly," said Mr. Morley, whose manner was still ruffled.

Mrs. Noble acknowledged the introduction by a heavy bend—and a still heavier stare, while she slowly begged them to be seated.

"Mr. Morley has, no doubt, been kind enough," she observed, at length, turning to Mabel, "to explain the nature of the situation I have to offer, and I conclude you feel inclined, and able to undertake it."

"No, indeed," said Mr. Morley; "I have done nothing of the kind."

"Then I must explain that I have eight children under fourteen, whom you would have to instruct. You can, I believe, undertakeFrench, Latin, German, and the ordinary branches of a sound English education, together with music?"

"I think I could, with children of that age, and if you would let me try, as I have no other interest now, I could devote myself entirely to them."

"I do not offer more than thirtypoundsa year."

"It will be quite sufficient for me," replied Mabel.

"The weather is warm," returned Mrs. Noble, after a long silence, which she suffered without the slightest appearance of impatience; "You had better take off your bonnet and shawl."

Mabel hesitated, but Mr. Morley interposed.

"Take them off; she wants to see what you look like."

"You are quick," said Mrs. Noble, laughing, drowsily.

Mabel instantly laid aside her heavy crape wrappings, with a blush and half a smile, as she stood as gracefully erect, as if for the artist's hand to sketch.

Mrs. Noble fixed her small gimlet eyes upon her face, as if she would have read every sign which might be found there. Beauty rested in every line of her fair features—yet, few would stop to call her beautiful, even when asleep. Candid, intellectual, gentle, affectionate, high-minded, pure—any thing but beautiful. And nothing gained more upon the confidence of others, than the confiding way she seemed to have, as if she could not help believing that all were as truthful and true hearted as she was herself.

"Good," said Mrs. Noble, "good, if I read that book right—I care not how soon my children learn it by heart."

Mabel looked up, and light played in her eyes, and danced about her countenance. It isso pleasant to be trusted when we mean to be trustworthy.

"One thing I have forgotten to mention," observed the lady, after another long pause, which she sustained with as much composure as before. "One of my little girls is a great invalid—indeed, is unable to walk, and I must stipulate for something more than common kindness to her."

"I had a little sister, who could not rise in her bed," was the affectionate reply, and while her eyes moistened, the mother's filled with tears.

"And when may I come to you?" enquired Mabel, a little eagerly.

"I must make some little arrangements for you," replied Mrs. Noble, "otherwise I would take you with me; but you may come to me this day week, and you will then join me at Weymouth. You must come by the coach, and a servant shall be waiting to meet you, andbring you to me. Did Mr. Morley tell you that I wished you to accompany me, in a few weeks, to the south of France?"

"No, ma'am; but I shall be most ready to go there."

Perceiving that there was no more to be said, Mabel put on her bonnet, and, with Mr. Morley, wished her good evening.

"Well," said her companion, when they were again in the street, "you have to fight the battle of life under new circumstances, that is all."

"Yes, that is all," said Mabel, cheerfully, "and with many thanks for the helping hand you have given me."

"I fear you will not be sufficiently tried to bring out the whole strength of your moral character, which I wish, for your sake, to see developed. She half loves you already."

"I wish that were true," said Mabel, laughing. "I am not sufficiently heroic to object toanything so pleasant as that. I should be quite miserable if I could get no one to love me."

"For shame!" said Mr. Morley, turning sternly upon her. "Is it not sufficient pleasure to feel that you are doing your duty."

"Sufficient to make me do it, perhaps; but still, there is something so pleasant in being loved by those about us, that I would not willingly place myself in a position where it was impossible, unless called upon by some imperative duty."

"Earth—earth—earth," said Mr. Morley, stopping at the door in Sydney Place, "clinging every where—mixing with every thing."

"Oh, do not be angry with me," said Mabel, "for such a little fault."

"Oh, earth, earth," he repeated, even when the door opened, "your spirit is every where."And turning away, spite of everything she said, he went off down the street, repeating still between his teeth—"Earth—earth—earth."

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