"They were in sooth a most enchanting train; . . skilful to unite With evil good, and strew with pleasure pain."
Castle of Indolence.
IN writing to her maternal friend Mary did not follow the mode usually adopted by young ladies of the heroic cast, viz. that of giving a minute and circumstantial detail of their own complete wretchedness, and abusing, in terms highly sentimental, every member of the family with whom they are associated. Mary knew that to breathe a hint of her own unhappiness would be to embitter the peace of those she loved; and she therefore strove to conceal from their observation the disappointment she had experienced. Many a sigh was heaved, however, and many a tear was wiped away ere a letter could be composed that would carry pleasure to the dear group at Glenfern. She could say nothing of her mother's tenderness or her sister's affection, but she dwelt upon the elegance of the one and the beauty of the other. She could not boast of the warmth of her uncle's reception, but she praised his good-humour, and enlarged upon Lady Emily's kindness and attention. Even Dr. Redgill's admiration of Scotch breakfasts was given as abonne bouchefor her good old aunts.
"I declare," said Miss Grizzy, as she ended her fifth perusal of the letter, "Mary must be a happy creature, everybody must allow; indeed I never heard it disputed that Lady Juliana is a most elegant being; and I daresay she is greatly improved since we saw her, for you know that is a long time ago."
"The mind may improve after a certain age," replied Jacky, with one of her wisest looks, "but I doubt very much if the person does."
"If the inside had been like the out, there would have been no need for improvement," observed Nicky.
"I'm sure you are both perfectly right," resumed the sapient Grizzy, "and I have not the least doubt but that our dear niece is a great deal wiser than when we knew her; nobody can deny but she is a great deal older; and you know people always grow wiser as they grow older, of course."
"Theyoughtto do it," said Jacky, with emphasis.
"But there's no fool like an old fool," quoth Nicky.
"What a delightful creature our charming niece Adelaide must be, from Mary's account," said Grizzy; "only I can't conceive how her eyes come to be black. I'm sure there's not a black eye amongst us. The Kilnacroish family are black, to be sure; and Kilnacroish's great-grandmother was first cousin, once removed, to our grandfather's aunt, by our mother's side. It's wonderful the length that resemblances run in some old families; and I really can't account for our niece Adelaide's black eyes naturally any other way than just through the Kilnacroish family; for I'm quite convinced it's from us she takes them,—children always take their eyes from their father's side; everybody knows that Becky's, and Bella's, and Baby's are all as like their poor father's as they can stare."
"There's no accounting for the varieties of the human species," saidJacky.
"And like's an ill mark," observed Nicky.
"And only think of her being so much taller than Mary, and twins! I declare it's wonderful—I should have thought, indeed I never doubted, that they would have been exactly the same size. And such a beautiful colour too, when we used to think Mary rather pale; it's very unaccountable!"
"You forget," said Jacky, who had not forgot the insult offered to her nursing system eighteen years before; "you forget that I always predicted what would happen."
"I never knew any good come of change," said Nicky.
"I'm sure that's very true," rejoined Grizzy; "and we have great reason to thank our stars that Mary is not a perfect dwarf; which I really thought she would have been for long, till she took a shooting,—summer was a year."
"But she'll shoot no more," said Jacky, with a shake of the head that might have vied with Jove's imperial nod; "England's not the place for shooting."
"The Englishwomen are all poor droichs," said Nicky, who had seen three in the course of her life.
"It's a great matter to us all, however, and to herself too, poor thing, that Mary should be so happy," resumed Grizzy. "I'm sure I don't know what she would have done if Lord Courtland had been an ill-tempered harsh man, which, you know, he might just as easily have been; and it would really have been very hard upon poor Mary—and Lady Emily such a sweet creature too! I'm sure we must all allow we have the greatest reason to be thankful."
"I don't know," said Jacky; "Mary was petted enough before, I wish she may have a head to stand any more."
"She'll be ten times nicer than ever," quoth Nicky.
"There is some reason, to be sure, that can't be denied, to be afraid of that; at the same time, Mary has a great deal of sense of her own when she chooses; and it's a great matter for her, and indeed for all of us, that she is under the eye of such a sensible worthy man as that Dr. Redgill. Of course we may be sure Lord Courtland will keep a most elegant table, and have a great variety of sweet things, which are certainly very tempting for young people; but I have no doubt but Dr. Redgill will look after Mary, and see that she doesn't eat too many of them."
"Dr. Redgill must be a very superior man," pronounced Jacky, in her most magisterial manner.
"If I could hear of a private opportunity," exclaimed Nicky, in a transport of generosity, "I would send him one of our hams, and a nice little pig [1] of butter—the English are all great people for butter."
The proposal was hailed with rapture by both sisters in a breath; and it was finally settled that to those tender pledges of Nicky's, Grizzy should add a box of Lady Maclaughlan's latest invented pills, while Miss Jacky was to compose the epistle that was to accompany them.
The younger set of aunts were astonished that Mary had said nothing about lovers and offers of marriage, as they had always considered going to England as synonymous with going to be married.
To Mrs. Douglas's more discerning eye, Mary's happiness did not appear in so dazzling a light as to the weaker optics of her aunts.
"It is not like my Mary," thought she, "to rest so much on mere external advantages; surely her warm affectionate heart cannot be satisfied with thegraceof a mother and thebeautyof a sister. These she might admire in a stranger; but where we seek for happiness we better prize more homely attributes. Yet Mary is so open and confiding, I think she could not have concealed from me had she experienced a disappointment."
Mrs. Douglas was not aware of the effect of her own practical lessons; and that, while she was almost unconsciously practising the quiet virtues of patience, and fortitude, and self-denial, and unostentatiously sacrificing her own wishes to promote the comfort of others, her example, like a kindly dew, was shedding its silent influence on the embryo blossoms of her pupil's heart.
[1] Jar.
". . . So the devil prevails often;opponit nubem,he claps cloud between; some little objection; a stranger is come; or my head aches; or the church is too cold; or I have letters to write; or I am not disposed; or it is not yet time; or the time is past; these, and such as these, are the clouds the devil claps between heaven and us; but these are such impotent objections, that they were as soon confuted, as pretended, by all men that are not fools, or professed enemies of religion." —JEREMY TAYLOR.
LADY Juliana had in vain endeavoured to obtain a sick certificate for her daughter, that would have authorised her consigning her to the oblivion of her own apartment. The physicians whom she consulted all agreed, for once, in recommending a totally different system to be pursued; and her displeasure, in consequence, was violently excited against the medical tribe in general, and Dr. Redgill in particular. For that worthy she had indeed always entertained a most thorough contempt and aversion; for he was poor, ugly, and vulgar, and these were the three most deadly sins in her calendar. The object of her detestation was, however, completely insensible to its effects. The Doctor, like Achilles, was vulnerable but in one part, and over that she could exercise no control. She had nothing to do with theménage—possessed no influence over Lord Courtland, nor authority over Monsieur Grillade. She differed from himself as to the dressing of certain dishes; and, in short, he summed up her character in one emphatic sentence, that in his idea conveyed severer censure than all that Pope or Young ever wrote—" I don't think she has the taste of her mouth!"
Thus thwarted in her scheme, Lady Juliana's dislike to her daughter rather increased than diminished; and it was well for Mary that lessons of forbearance had been early infused into her mind; for her spirit was naturally high, and would have revolted from the tyranny and injustice with which she was treated had she not been taught the practical duties of Christianity, and that "patience, with all its appendages, is the sum total of all our duty that is proper to the day of sorrow."
Not that Mary sought, by a blind compliance with all her mother's follies and caprices, to ingratiate herself into her favour—even the motive she would have deemed insufficient to have sanctified the deed; and the only arts she employed to win a place in her parent's heart were ready obedience, unvarying sweetness, and uncomplaining submission.
Although Mary possessed none of the sour bigotry of a narrow mind, she was yet punctual in the discharge of her religious duties; and the Sunday following her arrival, as they sat at breakfast, she inquired of her cousin at what time the church service began.
"I really am not certain—I believe it is late," replied her cousin carelessly. "But why do you ask?'
"Because I wish to be there in proper time."
"But we scarcely ever go—never, indeed, to the parish church—and we are rather distant from any other; so you must say your prayers at home."
"I would certainly prefer going to church," said Mary.
"Going to church!" exclaimed Dr. Redgill in amazement. "I wonder what makes people so keen of going to church! I'm sure there's little good to be got there. For my part, I declare I would just as soon think of going into my grave. Take my word for it, churches and churchyards are rather too nearly related."
"In such a day as this," said Mary, "so dry and sunny, I am sure there can be no danger."
"Take your own way, Miss Mary," said the Doctor; "but I think it my duty to let you know my opinion of churches. I look upon them as extremely prejudicial to the health. They are invariably either too hot or too cold; you are either stewed or starved in them; and, till some improvement takes place, I assure you my foot shall never enter one of them. In fact, they are perfect receptacles of human infirmities. I can tell you one of your church-going ladies at a glance; they have all rheumatisms in their shoulders, and colds in their heads, and swelled faces. Besides it's a poor country church—there's nothing to be seen after you do go."
"I assure you Lady Juliana will be excessively annoyed if you go," saidLady Emily, as Mary rose to leave the room.
"Surely my mother cannot be displeased at my attending church!" saidMary in astonishment.
"Yes, she can, and most certainly will. She never goes herself now, since she had a quarrel with Dr. Barlow, the clergyman; and she can't bear any of the family to attend him."
"And you have my sanction for staying away, Miss Mary," added theDoctor.
"Is he a man of bad character?" asked Mary, as she stood irresolute whether to proceed.
"Quite the reverse. He is a very good man; but he was scandalised at Lady Juliana's bringing her dogs to church one day, and wrote her what she conceived a most insolent letter about it. But here come your lady-mamma and the culprits in question."
"Your Ladyship is just come in time to settle a dispute here," said the Doctor, anxious to turn her attention from a hot muffin, which had just been brought in, and which he meditated appropriating to himself: "I have said all I can—(Was you looking at the toast, Lady Emily?)—I must now leave it to your Ladyship to convince this young lady of the folly of going to church."
The Doctor gained his point. The muffin was upon his own plate, whileLady Juliana directed her angry look towards her daughter.
"Who talks of going to church?" demanded she.
Mary gently expressed her wish to be permitted to attend divine service.
"I won't permit it. I don't approve of girls going about by themselves.It is vastly improper, and I won't hear of it."
"It is the only place I shall ask to go to," said Mary timidly; "but I have always been accustomed to attend church, and—-"
"That is a sufficient reason for my choosing that you should not attend it here. I won't suffer a Methodist in the house."
"I assure you the Methodists are gaining ground very fast," said theDoctor, with his mouth full. 'Pon my soul, I think it's very alarming!"
"Pray, what is so alarming in the apprehension? asked Lady Emily.
"What is so alarming! 'Pon my honour, Lady Emily, I'm astonished to hear you ask such a question!"—muttering to himself, "zealots—fanatics— enthusiasts—bedlamites! I'm sure everybody knows what Methodists are!"
"There has been quite enough said upon the subject," said Lady Juliana.
"There are plenty of sermons in the house, Miss Mary," continued the Doctor, who, like many other people, thought he was always doing a meritorious action when he could dissuade anybody from going to church. "I saw a volume somewhere not long ago; and at any rate there's the Spectator, if you want Sunday's reading—some of the papers there are as good as any sermon you'll get from Dr. Barlow."
Mary, with fear and hesitation, made another attempt to overcome her mother's prejudice, but in vain.
"I desire I may hear no more about it!" cried she, raising her voice. "The clergyman is a most improper person. I won't suffer any of my family to attend his church; and therefore, once for all, I won't hear another syllable on the subject."
This was said in a tone and manner not to be disputed, and Mary felt her resolution give way before the displeasure of her mother. A contest of duties was new to her, and she could not all at once resolve upon fulfilling one duty at the expense of another. "Besides," thought she, "my mother thinks she is in the right. Perhaps, by degrees, I may bring her to think otherwise; and it is surely safer to try to conciliate than to determine to oppose."
But another Sabbath came, and Mary found she had made no progress in obtaining the desired permission. She therefore began seriously to commune with her own heart as to the course she ought to pursue.
The commandment of "Honour thy father and thy mother" had been deeply imprinted on her mind, and few possessed higher notions of filial reverence; but there was another precept which also came to her recollection. "Whosoever loveth father and mother more than me cannot be my disciple." "But I may honour and obey my parent without loving her more than my Saviour," argued she with herself, in hopes of lulling her conscience by this reflection. "But again," thought she, "the Scripture saith, 'He that keepeth my commandments, he it is that loveth me.'" Then she felt the necessity of owning that if she obeyed the commands of her mother, when in opposition to the will of her God, she gave one of the Scripture proofs of either loving or fearing her parent upon earth more than her Father which is in heaven. But Mary, eager to reconcile impossibilities—viz. the will of an ungodly parent with the holy commands of her Maker—thought now of another argument to calm her conscience. "The Scripture," said she, "says nothing positive about attending public worship; and, as Lady Emily says, I may say my prayers just as well at home." But the passages of Scripture were too deeply imprinted on her mind to admit of this subterfuge. "Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together." "Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there will I be in the midst of them," etc. etc. But alas! two or three never were gathered together at Beech Park, except upon parties of pleasure, games of hazard, or purposes of conviviality.
The result of Mary's deliberations was a firm determination to do what she deemed her duty, however painful. And she went in search of Lady Emily, hoping to prevail upon her to use her influence with Lady Juliana to grant the desired permission; or, should she fail in obtaining it, she trusted her resolution would continue strong enough to enable her have her mother's displeasure in this act of conscientious disobedience. She met her cousin, with her bonnet on, prepared to go out.
"Dear Lady Emily," said she, "let me entreat of you to use your influence with my mother to persuade her to allow me to go to church."
"In the first place," answered her cousin, "you may know that I have no influence;—in the second, that Lady Juliana is never to be persuaded into any thing;—in the third, I really can't suppose you are serious in thinking it a matter of such vast moment whether or not you go to church."
"Indeed I do," answered Mary earnestly. "I have been taught to consider it as such; and——"
"Pshaw! nonsense! these are some of your stiff-necked Presbyterian notions. I shall really begin to suspect you are a Methodist and yet you are not at all like one."
"Pray, tell me," said Mary, with a smile, "what are your ideas of a Methodist?"
"Oh! thank heaven, I know little about them!—almost as little as Dr. Redgill, who, I verily believe, could scarcely tell the difference betwixt a Catholic and a Methodist, except that the one dances and t'other prays. But I am rather inclined to believe it is a sort of a scowling, black-browed, hard-favoured creature, with its greasy hair combed straight upon its flat forehead, and that twirls its thumbs, and turns up its eyes, and speaks through its nose and, in short, is everything that you are not, except in this matter—of going to church. So, to avert all these evil signs from falling upon you, I shall make a point of your keeping company with me for the rest of the day."
Again Mary became serious, as she renewed her entreaties to her cousin to intercede with Lady Juliana that she might be allowed to attendanychurch.
"Not for kingdoms!" exclaimed she. "Her Ladyship is in one of her most detestable humours to-day; not that I should mind that, if it was anything of real consequence that I had to compass for you. A ball, for instance—I should certainly stand by you there but I am really not so fond of mischief as to enrage her for nothing!"
"Then I fear I must go to church without it," said Mary in a melancholy tone.
"If you are to go at all, it must certainly be without it. And here is the carriage—get your bonnet, and come along with me. You shall at least have a sight of the church."
Mary went to put on her pelisse; and, descending to join her cousin in the drawing-room, she found her engaged in an argument with Dr. Redgill. How it had commenced did not appear; but the Doctor's voice was raised as if to bring it to a decided termination.
"The French, madam, in spite of your prejudices, are a very superior nation to us. Their skill and knowledge are both infinitely higher. Every man in France is a first-rate cook—in fact, they are a nation of cooks; and one of our late travellers assures us that they have discovered three hundred methods of dressing eggs, for one thing."
"That is just two hundred and ninety-nine ways more than enough," said Lady Emily "give me a plain boiled egg, and I desire no other variety of the produce of a hen till it takes the form of a chicken."
Dr. Redgill lowered his eyebrows and drew up his chin, but disdained to waste more arguments upon so tasteless a being. "To talk sense to a woman is like feeding chickens upon turtle soup," thought he to himself.
As for Lady Juliana, she exulted in the wise and judicious manner in which she had exercised her authority, and felt her consequence greatly increased by a public display of it—power being an attributes he was very seldom invested with now. Indeed, to do her Ladyship justice, she was most feelingly alive to the duty due to parents, though that such a commandment existed seemed quite unknown to her till she became a mother. But she made ample amends for former deficiencies now; as to hear her expatiate on the subject, one would have deemed it the only duty necessary to be practised, either by Christian or heathen, and that, like charity, it comprehended every virtue, and was a covering for every sin. But there are many more sensible people than her Ladyship who entertain the same sentiments, and, by way of variety, reverse the time and place of their duties. When they are children, they make many judicious reflections on the duties of parents; when they become parents, they then acquire a wonderful insight into the duties of children. In the same manner husbands and wives are completely alive to the duties incumbent upon each other, and the most ignorant servant is fully instructed in the duty of a master. But we shall leave Lady Juliana to pass over the duties of parents, and ponder upon those of children, while we follow Lady Emily and Mary in their airing.
The road lay by the side of a river; and though Mary's taste had been formed upon the wild romantic scenery of the Highlands, she yet looked with pleasure on the tamer beauties of an English landscape. And though accustomed to admire even "rocks where the snowflake reposes;" she had also taste, though of a less enthusiastic kind, for the "gay landscapes and gardens of roses," which, in this more genial clime, bloomed even under winter's sway. The carriage drove smoothly along, and the sound of the church bell fell at intervals on the ear, "in cadence sweet, now dying all away;" and, at the holy sound, Mary's heart flew back to the peaceful vale and primitive kirk of Lochmarlie, where all her happy Sabbath had been spent. The view now opened upon the village church, beautifully situated on the slope of a green hill. Parties of straggling villagers in their holiday suits were descried in all directions, some already assembled in the churchyard, others traversing the neat footpaths that led through the meadows. But to Mary's eyes the well-dressed English rustic, trudging along the smooth path, was a far less picturesque object than the barefooted Highland girl, bounding over trackless heath-covered hills; and the well-preserved glossy blue coat seemed a poor substitute for the varied drapery of the graceful plaid.
So much do early associations tincture all our future ideas.
They had now reached the church, and as Mary adhered to her resolution of attending divine worship, Lady Emily declared her intention of accompanying her, that she might come in for her share of Lady Juliana's displeasure; but in spite of her levity, the reverend aspect, and meek, yet fervent piety of Dr. Barlow, impressed her with better feelings; and she joined in the service with outward decorum if not with inward devotion. The music consisted of an organ, simply but well played; and to Mary, unaccustomed to any sacred sounds save those twanged through the nose of a Highlandprecentor,it seemed the music of the spheres.
Far different sounds than those of peace and praise awaited her return. Lady Juliana, apprised of this open act of rebellion, was in all the paroxysms incident to a little mind on discovering the impotence of its power. She rejected all attempts at reconciliation; raved about ingratitude and disobedience; declared her determination of sending Mary back to her vulgar Scotch relations one moment—the next protested she should never see those odious Methodists again; then she was to take her to France, and shut her up in a convent, etc., till, after uttering all the incoherences usual with ladies in a passion, she at last succeeded in raving herself into a fit of hysterics.
Poor Mary was deeply affected at this (to her) tremendous display of passion. She who had always been used to the mild placidity of Mrs. Douglas, and who had seen her face sometimes clouded with sorrow, but never deformed by anger-what a spectacle! To behold a parent subject to the degrading influence of an ungovernable temper! Her very soul sickened at the sight; and while she wept over her mother's weakness, she prayed that the Power which stayed the ocean's wave would mercifully vouchsafe to still the wilder tempests of human passion.
"Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain."
IN addition to her mother's implacable wrath and unceasing animadversion Mary found she was looked upon as a sort of alarming character by the whole family. Lord Courtland seemed afraid of being drawn into a religious controversy every time he addressed her. Dr. Redgill retreated at her approach and eyed her askance, as much as to say, "'Pon my honour, a young lady that can fly in her mother's face about such a trifle as going to church is not very safe company." And Adelaide shunned her more than ever, as if afraid of coming in contact with a professed Methodist. Lady Emily, however, remained staunch to her; and though she had her own private misgivings as to her cousin's creed, she yet stoutly defended her from the charge of Methodism, and maintained that, in many respects, Mary was no better than her neighbours.
"Well, Mary," cried she, as she entered her room one day with an air of exultation, "here is an opportunity for you to redeem your character. There," throwing down a card, "is an invitation for you to a fancy ball."
Mary's heart bounded at the mention of a ball. She had never been at one, and it was pictured in her imagination in all the glowing colours with which youth and inexperience deck untried pleasures.
"Oh, how charming!" exclaimed she, with sparkling eyes, "how my aunts Becky and Bella will love to hear an account of a ball! And a fancy ball!—what is that?"
Lady Emily explained to her the nature of the entertainment, and Mary was in still greater raptures.
"It will be a perfect scene of enchantment, I have no doubt," continued her cousin, "for Lady M. understands giving balls, which is what every one does not; for there are dull balls as well as dull every things else in the world. But come, I have left Lady Juliana and Adelaide in grand debate as to their dresses. We must also hold a cabinet council upon ours. Shall I summon the inimitable Slash to preside?"
"The mention of her mother recalled Mary's thoughts from the festive scene to which they had already flown.
"But are youquitesure," said she, "that I shall have my mother's consent to go?"
"Quite the contrary," answered her cousin coolly. "She won't hear of your going. But what signifies that? You could go to church in spite of her, and surely you can't think her consent of much consequence to a ball?"
Poor Mary's countenance fell, as the bright vision of her imagination melted into air.
"Without my mother's permission," said she, "I shall certainly not think of, or even wish—" with a sigh—"to go to the ball, and if she has already refused it that is enough."
Lady Emily regarded her with astonishment. "Pray, is it only on Sundays you make a point of disobeying your mother?"
"It is only when I conceive a higher duty is required of me," answeredMary.
"Why, I confess I used to think that to honour one's father and mother _was _a duty, till you showed me the contrary. I have to thank you for ridding me of that vulgar prejudice. And now, after setting me such a noble example of independence, you seem to have got a new light on the subject yourself."
"My obedience and disobedience both proceed from the same source," answered Mary. "My first duty, I have been taught, is to worship my Maker—my next to obey my mother. My own gratification never can come in competition with either."
"Well, I really can't enter into a religious controversy with you; but it seems to me the sin, if it is one, is precisely the same, whether you play the naughty girl in going to one place or another. I can see no difference."
"To me it appears very different," said Mary; "and therefore I should be inexcusable were I to choose the evil, believing it to be such."
"Say what you will," cried her cousin pettishly, "you never will convince me there can be any harm in disobeying such a mother as yours—so unreasonable—so—"
"The Bible makes no exceptions," interrupted Mary gently; "it is not because of the reasonableness of our parents' commands that we are required to obey them, but because it is the will of God."
"You certainly are a Methodist—there's no denying it. I have fought some hard battles for you, but I see I must give you up. The thing won't conceal." This was said with such an air of vexation that Mary burst into a fit of laughter.
"And yet you are the oddest compound," continued her cousin, "so gay and comical, and so little given to be shocked and scandalised at the wicked ways of others; or to find fault and lecture; or, in short, to do any of the insufferable things that your good people are so addicted to. I really don't know what to think of you."
"Think of me as a creature with too many faults of her own to presume to meddle with those of others," replied Mary, smiling at her cousin's perplexity.
"Well, if all good people were like you, I do believe I should become a saint myself. If you are right, I must be wrong; but fifty years hence we shall settle that matter with spectacles on nose over our family Bibles. In the meantime the business of the ball-room is much more pressing. We really must decide upon something. Will you choose your own style, or shall I leave it to Madame Trieur to do us up exactly alike?"
"You have only to choose for yourself, my dear cousin," answered Mary. "You know I have no interest in it—at least not till I have received my mother's permission."
"I have told you already there is no chance of obtaining it. I had abrouilleriewith her on the subject before I came to you."
"Then I entreat you will not say another word. It is a thing of so little consequence, that I am quite vexed to think that my mother should have been disturbed about it. Dear Lady Emily, if you love me, promise that you will not say another syllable on the subject."
"And this is all the thanks I get for my trouble and vexation," exclaimed Lady Emily, angrily; "but the truth is, I believe you think it would be a sin to go to a ball; and as for dancing—oh, shocking! That would be absolute —-. I really can't say the bad word you good people are so fond of using."
"I understand your meaning," answered Mary, laughing; "but, indeed, I have no such apprehensions. On the contrary, I am very fond of dancing; so fond, that I have often taken Aunt Nicky for my partner in a Strathspey rather than sit still—and, to confess my weakness, I should like very much to go to a ball."
"Then you must and shall go to this one. It is really a pity that you should have enraged Lady Juliana so much by that unfortunate church-going; but for that, I think she might have been managed; and even now, I should not despair, if you would, like a good girl, beg pardon for what is past, and promise never to do so any more."
"Impossible!" replied Mary. "You surely cannot be serious in supposing I would barter a positive duty for a trifling amusement?"
"Oh, hang duties! they are odious things. And as for your amiable, dutiful, virtuous Goody Two-Shoes characters, I detest them. They never would go down with me, even in the nursery, with all he attractions of a gold watch and coach and six. They were ever my abhorrence, as every species of canting and hypocrisy still is—-"
Then struck with a sense of her own violence and impetuosity, contrasted with her cousin's meek unreproving manner, Lady Emily threw her arms round her, begging pardon, and assuring her she did not mean her.
"If you had," said Mary, returning her embrace, "you would only have told me what I am in some respects. Dull and childish, I know I am; for I am not the same creature I was at Lochmarlie"—and a tear trembled in her eye as she spoke—"and troublesome, I am sure, you have found me."
"No, no!" eagerly interrupted Lady Emily; "you are the reverse of all that. You are the picture of my Edward, and everything that is excellent and engaging; and I see by that smile you will go to the ball—there's a darling!"
Mary shook her head.
"I'll tell you what we can do," cried her persevering patroness; "we can go as masks, and Lady Juliana shall know nothing about it. That will save the scandal of an open revolt or a tiresome dispute. Half the company will be masked; so, if you keep your own secret, nobody will find it out. Come, what characters shall we choose?"
"That of Janus, I think, would be the most suitable for me," said Mary. Then, in a serious tone, she added, "I can neither disobey nor deceive my mother. Therefore, once for all, my dear cousin, let me entreat of you to be silent on a subject on which my mind is made up. I am perfectly sensible of your kindness, but any further discussion will be very painful to me."
Lady Emily was now too indignant to stoop to remonstrance. She quitted her cousin in great anger, and poor Mary felt as if she had lost her only friend.
"Alas!" sighed she, "how difficult it is to do right, when even the virtues of others throw obstacles in our way! And how easy our duties would be could we kindly aid one another in the performance of them!"
But such is human nature. The real evils of life, of which we so loudly complain, are few in number, compared to the daily, hourly pangs we inflict on one another.
Lady Emily's resentment, though violent, was short-lived; and in the certainty that either the mother would relent or the daughter rebel, she ordered a dress for Mary; but the night of the ball arrived, and both remained unshaken in their resolution. With a few words Adelaide might have obtained the desired permission for her sister; but she chose to remain neuter, coldly declaring she never interfered in quarrels.
Mary beheld the splendid dresses and gay countenances of the party for the ball with feelings free from envy, though perhaps not wholly unmixed with regret. She gazed with the purest admiration on the extreme beauty of her sister, heightened as it was by the fantastic elegance of her dress, and contrasted with her own pale visage and mourning habiliments.
"Indeed," thought she, as she turned from the mirror, with rather a mournful smile, "my Aunt Nicky was in the right: I certainly am a poorshilpitthing."
As she looked again at her sister she observed that her earrings were not so handsome as those she had received from Mrs. Macshake; and she instantly brought them, and requested Adelaide would wear them for that night.
Adelaide took them with her usual coolness—remarked how very magnificent they were—wished some old woman would take it into her head to make her such a present; and, as she clasped them in her ears, regarded herself with increased complacency. The hour of departure arrived; Lord Courtland and Lady Juliana were at length ready, and Mary found herself left to atete-à-tetewith Dr. Redgill; and, strange as it may seem, neither in a sullen nor melancholy mood. But after a single sigh, as the carriage drove off, she sat down with a cheerful countenance to play backgammon with the Doctor.
The following day she heard of nothing but the ball and its delights; for both her mother and her cousin sought (though from different motives) to heighten her regret at not having been there. But Mary listened to the details of all she had missed with perfect fortitude, and only rejoiced to hear they had all been so happy.
"Day follows night. The clouds return againAfter the falling of the latter rain;But to the aged blind shall ne'er returnGrateful vicissitude: She still must mournThe sun, and moon, and every starry light,Eclipsed to her, and lost in everlasting night."
AMONGST the numerous letters and parcels with which Mary had been entrusted by the whole county of——-, there was one she had received from the hands of Lady Maclaughlan, with a strict injunction to be the bearer of it herself; and, as even Lady Maclaughlan's wishes now wore an almost sacred character in Mary's estimation, she was very desirous of fulfilling this her parting charge. But, in the thraldom in which she was kept, she knew not how that was to be accomplished. She could not venture to wait upon the lady to whom it was addressed without her mother's permission; and she was aware that to ask was upon every occasion only to be refused. In his dilemma she had recourse to Lady Emily; and, showing her the letter, craved her advice and assistance.
"Mrs. Lennox, Rose Hall," said her cousin, reading the superscription. "Oh! I don't think Lady Juliana will care a straw about your going there. She is merely an unfortunate blind old lady, whom everybody thinks it a bore to visit—myself, I'm afraid, amongst the number. We ought all to have called upon her ages ago, so I shall go with you now."
Permission for Mary to accompany her was easily obtained; for Lady Juliana considered a visit to Mrs. Lennox as an act of penance rather than of pleasure; and Adelaide protested the very mention of her name gave her the vapours. There certainly was nothing that promised much gratification in what Mary had heard; and yet she already felt interested in this unfortunate blind lady whom everybody thought it a bore to visit, and she sought to gain some more information respecting her. But Lady Emily, though possessed of warm feelings and kindly affections, was little given to frequent the house of mourning, or sympathise with the wounded spirit; and she yawned as she declared she was very sorry for poor Mrs. Lennox, and would have made a point of seeing her oftener, could she have done her any good.
"But what can I possibly say to her," continued she, "after losing her husband, and having I don't know how many sons killed in battle, and her only daughter dying of a consumption, and herself going blind in consequence of her grief for all these misfortunes—what can I possibly do for her, or say to her? Were I in her situation, I'm sure I should hate the sight and sound of any human being, and should give myself up entirely to despair."
"That would be but a pagan sacrifice," said Mary.
"What would you do in such desperate circumstances?" demanded LadyEmily.
"I would hope," answered Mary, meekly.
"But in poor Mrs. Lennox's case that would be to hope though hope were lost; for what can she hope for now? She has still something to fear, however, as I believe she has still one son remaining, who is in the brunt of every battle; of course she has nothing to expect but accounts of his death."
"But she may hope that heaven will preserve him, and—"
"That you will marry him. That would do excellently well, for he is as brave as a real Highlander, though he has the misfortune to be only half a one. His father, General Lennox, was a true Scot to the very tip of his tongue, and as proud and fiery as any chieftain need be.Hisdeath, certainly was an improvement in the family. But there is Rose Hall, with its pretty shrubberies and nice parterres, what do you say to becoming its mistress?"
"If I am to lay snares," answered Mary, laughing, "it must be for nobler objects than hedgerow elms and hillocks green."
"Oh, it must be for black crags and naked hills! Your country really does vastly well to rave about! Lofty mountains and deep glens, and blue lakes and roaring rivers, are mighty fine-sounding things; but I suspect cornfields and barnyards are quit as comfortable neighbours; so take my advice and marry Charles Lennox."
Mary only answered by singing, "My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here," etc., as the carriage drew up.
"This is the property of Mrs. Lennox," said Lady Emily, in answer to some remark of her companion's; "she is the last of some ancient stock; and you see the family taste has been treated with all due respect."
Rose Hall was indeed perfectly English: it was a description of place of which there are none in Scotland; for it wore the appearance of antiquity, without the too usual accompaniments of devastation or decay; neither did any incongruities betray vicissitude of fortune or change of owner; but the taste of the primitive possessor seemed to have been respected through ages by his descendants; and the ponds remained as round, and the hedges as square, and the grass walks as straight, as the day they had been planned. The same old-fashioned respectability was also apparent in the interior of the mansion. The broad heavy oaken staircase shone in all the lustre of bees' wax; and the spacious sitting-room into which they were ushered had its due allowance of Vandyke portraits, massive chairs, and china jars, standing much in the same positions they had been placed in a hundred years before.
To the delicate mind the unfortunate are always objects of respect. As the ancients held sacred those places which had been blasted by lightning, so the feeling heart considers the afflicted as having been touched by the hand of God Himself. Such were the sensations with which Mary found herself in the presence of the venerable Mrs. Lennox—venerable rather through affliction than age; for sorrow, more than time, had dimmed the beauty of former days, though enough still remained to excite interest and engage affection in the mournful yet gentle expression of her countenance, and the speaking silence of her darkened eyes. On hearing the names of her visitors, she arose, and, guided by a little girl, who had been sitting at her feet, advanced to meet them, and welcomed them with a kindness and simplicity of manner that reminded Mary of the home she had left and the maternal tenderness of her beloved aunt. She delivered her credentials, which Mrs. Lennox received with visible surprise; but laid the letter aside without any comments.
Lady Emily began some self-accusing apologies for the length of time that had intervened since her last visit, but Mrs Lennox gently interrupted her.
"Do not blame yourself, my dear Lady Emily," said she; "for what is so natural at your age. And do not suppose I am so unreasonable as to expect that the young and the gay should seek for pleasure in the company of an old blind Woman. At your time of life I would not have courted distress anymore than you."
"At every time of life," said Lady Emily, "I am sure you must have been a very different being from what I am, or ever shall be."
"Ah! you little know what changes adversity makes in the character," said Mrs. Lennox mournfully; "and may you never know—unless it is for your good."
"I doubt much if I shall ever be good on any terms," answered Lady Emily in a half melancholy tone; "I don't think I have the elements of goodness in my composition, but here is my cousin, who is fit to stand proxy for all the virtues."
Mrs. Lennox involuntarily turned her mild but sightless eyes towards Mary, then heaved a sigh and shook her head, as she was reminded of her deprivation. Mary was too much affected to speak; but the hand that was extended to her she pressed with fervour to her lips, while her eyes overflowed with tears. The language of sympathy is soon understood. Mrs. Lennox seemed to feel the tribute of pity and respect that flowed from Mary's warm heart, and from that moment they felt towards each other that indefinite attraction which, however it may be ridiculed, certainly does sometimes influence our affections.
"That is a picture of your son, Colonel Lennox, is it not?" asked Lady Emily, "I mean the one that hangs below the lady in the satin gown with the bird on her hand."
Mrs. Lennox answered in the affirmative; then added, with a sigh, "And when Icouldlook on that face, I forgot all I had lost; but I was too fond, too proud a mother. Look at it, my dear," taking Mary's hand, and leading her to the well-known spot, while her features brightened with an expression which showed maternal vanity was not yet extinct in the mourner's heart. "He was only eighteen," continued she, "when that was done; and many a hot sun has burned on that fair brow; and many a fearful sight has met these sweet eyes since then; and sadly that face may be changed; but I shall never see it more!"
"Indeed," said Lady Emily, affecting to be gay, while a tear stood in her eye, "it is a very dangerous face to look on; and I should be afraid to trust myself with it, were not my heart already pledged. As for my cousin there, there is no fear of her falling a sacrifice to hazel eyes and chestnut hair, her imagination is all on the side of sandy locks and frosty gray eyes; and I should doubt if Cupid himself would have any chance with her, unless he appeared in tartan plaid and Highland bonnet."
"Then my Charles would have some," said Mrs. Lennox, with a faint smile; "for he has lately been promoted to the command of a Highland regiment."
"Indeed!" said Lady Emily, "that is very gratifying, and you have reason to be proud of Colonel Lennox; he has distinguished himself upon every occasion."
"Ah! the days of my pride are now past," replied Mrs. Lennox, with a sigh; "'tis only the more honour, the greater danger, and I am weary of such bloody honours. See there!" pointing to another part of the room, where hung a group of five lovely children, "three of these cherub heads were laid low in battle; the fourth, my Louisa, died of a broken heart for the loss of her brothers. Oh! what can human power or earthly honours do to cheer the mother who has wept o'er her children's graves? But thereisa Power," raising her darkened eyes to heaven, "that can sustain even a mother's heart; and here," laying her hand upon an open Bible, "is the balm He has graciously vouchsafed to pour into the wounded spirit. My comfort is not that my boys died nobly, but that they died Christians."
Lady Emily and Mary were both silent from different causes. The former was at a loss what to say—the latter felt too much affected to trust her voice with the words of sympathy that hovered on her lips.
"I ought to beg your pardon, my dears," said Mrs. Lennox, after a pause, for talking in this serious manner to you who cannot be supposed to enter into sorrows to which you are strangers. But you must excuse me, though my heart does sometimes run over."
"Oh, do not suppose," said Mary, making an effort to conquer her feelings, "that we are so heartless as to refuse to take a part in the afflictions of others; surely none can be so selfish; and might I be allowed to come often—very often—" She stopped and blushed; for she felt that her feelings were carrying her farther than she was warranted to go.
Mrs. Lennox kindly pressed her hand. "Ah! God hath, indeed, sent some into the world, whose province it is to refresh the afflicted, and lighten the eyes of the disconsolate. Such, I am sure, you would be to me; for I feel my heart revive at the sound of your voice; it reminds me of my heart's darling, my Louisa! and the remembrance of her, though sad, is still sweet. Come to me, then, when you will, and God's blessing, and the blessing of the blind and desolate, will reward you."
Lady Emily turned away, and it was not till they had been some time in the carriage that Mary was able to express the interest this visit had excited, and her anxious desire to be permitted to renew it.
"It is really an extraordinary kind of delight, Mary, that you take in being made miserable," said her cousin, wiping her eyes; "for my part, it makes me quite wretched to witness suffering that I can't relieve; and how can you or I possibly do poor Mrs. Lennox any good? We can't bring back her sons."
"No; but we can bestow our sympathy, and that, I have been taught, is always a consolation to the afflicted."
"I don't quite understand the nature of that mysterious feeling called sympathy. When I go to visit Mrs. Lennox, she always sets me a-crying, and I try to set her a-laughing. Is that what you call sympathy?"
Mary smiled, and shook her head.
"Then I suppose it is sympathy to blow one's nose—and—and read theBible. Is that it? or what is it?"
Mary declared she could not define it; and Lady Emily insisted she could not comprehend it.
"You will some day or other," said Mary; "for none, I believe, have ever passed through life without feeling, or at least requiring its support; and it is well, perhaps, that we should know betimes how to receive as well as how to bestow it."
"I don't see the necessity at all. I know I should hate mortally to be what you call sympathised with; indeed, it appears to me the height of selfishness in anybody to like it. If I am wretched, it would be no comfort to me to make everybody else wretched; and were I in Mrs. Lennox's place, I would have more spirit than to speak about my misfortunes."
"But Mrs. Lennox does not appear to be what you call a spirited creature. She seems all sweetness, and—"
"Oh, sweet enough, certainly!—But hers is a sort of Eolian harp, that lulls me to sleep. I tire to death of people who have only two or three notes in their character. By-the-bye, Mary, you have a tolerable compass yourself, when you choose, though I don't think you have science enough for abravura; thereI certainly have the advantage of you, as I flatter myself my mind is a full band in itself. My kettledrums and trumpets I keep for Lady Juliana, and I am quite in the humour for giving her a flourish today. I really require something of an exhilarating nature after Mrs. Lennox's dead march."
An unusual bustle seemed to pervade Beech Park as the carriage stopped, and augured well for its mistress's intention of being more than usually vivacious. It was found to be occasioned by the arrival of her brother Lord Lindore's servants and horses, with the interesting intelligence that his Lordship would immediately follow; and Lady Emily, wild with delight, forgot everything in the prospect of embracing her brother.
"How does it happen," said Mary, when her cousin's transports had a little subsided, "that you, who are in such ecstasies at the idea of seeing your brother, have scarcely mentioned his name to me?"
"Why, to tell you the truth, I fear I was beginning to forget there was such a person in the world. I have not seen him since I was ten years old. At that time he went to college, and from thence to the Continent. So all I remember of him is that he was very handsome and very good-humoured; and all that have heard of him is, that wherever he goes he is the 'glass of fashion and the mould of form'—not that he is much of a Hamlet, I've a notion, in other respects. So pray put off that Ophelia phiz, and don't look as if you were of ladies most deject and wretched, when everybody else is gay and happy. Come, give your last sigh to the Lennox, and your first smile toLindore."
"That is sympathy," said Mary.
"Quelle fureur, dit-il, quei aveugle capriceQuand Ie dîner est prêt."BOILEAU.
"I HOPE your Lordship has no thoughts of waiting dinner for Lord Lindore?" asked Dr. Redgill, with a face of alarm, as seven o'clock struck, and neither dinner nor Lord Lindore appeared.
"I have no thoughts upon the subject," answered Lord Courtland, as he turned over some new caricatures with as muchnonchalanceas if it had been mid-day.
"That's enough, my Lord; but I suspect Mr. Marshall, in his officiousness, takes the liberty of thinking for you, and that we shall have no dinner without orders," rising to pull the bell.
"We ought undoubtedly to wait for Frederick," said Lady Juliana; "it is of no consequence when we sit down to table."
A violent yell from the sleeping Beauty on the rug sounded like a summary judgment on her mistress.
"What is the meaning of this?" cried her Ladyship, flying to the offended fair one, in all the transports of pity and indignation; "how can you, Dr. Redgill, presume to treat my dog in such a manner?"
"Me treat your Ladyship's dog!" exclaimed the Doctor in well-feigned astonishment—"Pon my honour!—I'm quite at a loss!—I'm absolutely confounded!"
"Yes! I saw you plainly give her a kick, and—"
"Me kick Beauty!—after that!—'Pon my soul, I should just as soon have thought of kicking my own grandmother. I did give her aleettle—a veryleettleshove, just with the point of my toe, as I was going to pull the bell; but it couldn't have hurt a fly. I assure you it would be one of the last action of my life to treat Beauty ill—Beauty!—poor Beauty!"—affecting to pat and soothe, by way of covering his transgression. But neither Beauty nor her mistress were to be taken in by the Doctor's cajolerie. The one felt, and the other saw the indignity he had committed; and his caresses and protestations were all in vain. The fact was, the Doctor's indignation was so raised by Lady Juliana's remark, made in all the plenitude of a late luncheon, that, had it been herself instead of her favourite, he could scarcely have refrained from this testimony of his detestation and contempt. But much as he despised her, he felt the necessity of propitiating her at this moment, when dinner itself depended upon her decision; for Lord Courtland was perfectly neutral, Lady Emily as not present, and a servant waited to receive orders.
"I really believe it's hunger that's vexing her poor brute!" continued he, with an air of us feigned sympathy; "she knows the dinner hour as well as any of us. Indeed, the instinct of dogs in that respect is wonderful. Providence has really—ahem!—indeed it's no joke to tamper with dogs, when they've got the notion of dinner in their heads. A friend of mine had a very fine animal—just such another as poor Beauty there—she had always been accustomed, like Beauty, to attend the family to dinner at a particular hour; but one day, by some accident, instead of sitting down at five, she was kept waiting till half-past six; the consequence was, the disappointment, operating upon an empty stomach, brought on an attack of the hydrophobia, and the poor thing was obliged to be shot the following morning. I think your Lordship said—Dinner," in a loud voice to the servant; and Lady Juliana, though still sullen, did not dissent.
For an hour the Doctor's soul was in a paradise still more substantial than a Turk's; for it was lapt in the richest of soups andragoûts, and, secure of their existence, it smiled at ladies of quality, and deified their lap-dogs.
Dinner passed away, and supper succeeded, and breakfast; dinner and supper revolved, and still no Lord Lindore appeared. But this excited no alarm in the family. It was Lord Courtland's way, and it was Lady Juliana's way, and it was all their ways, not to keep to their appointed time, and they therefore experienced none of the vulgar consternation incident to common minds when the expected guest fails to appear. Lady Emily indeed wondered, and was provoked, and impatient; but she was not alarmed; and Mary amused herself with contrasting in her own mind the difference of her aunts' feelings in similar circumstances.
"Dear Aunt Grizzy would certainly have been in tears these two days, fancying the thousand deaths Lord Lindore must have died; and Aunt Jacky would have been inveighing from morning till night against the irregularities of young men. And Aunt Nicky would have been lamenting that the black cock had been roasted yesterday, or that there would be no fish for to-morrow." And the result of Mary's comparison was, that her aunts' feelings, however troublesome, were better than no feelings at all. "They are, to be sure, something like brambles," thought she; "they fasten upon one in every possible way, but still they are better than the faded exotics of fashionable life."
At last, on the third day, when dinner was nearly over, and Dr. Redgill was about to remark for the third time, "I think it's as well we didn't wait for Lord Lindore," the door opened, and, without warning or bustle, Lord Lindore walked calmly into the room.
Lady Emily, uttering an exclamation of joy, threw herself into his arms. Lord Courtland was roused to something like animation, as he cordially shook hands with his son; Lady Juliana flew into raptures at the beauty of his Italian greyhound; Adelaide, at the first glance, decided that her cousin was worthy of falling in love with her; Mary thought on the happiness of the family reunion; and Dr. Redgill offered up a silent thanksgiving that thisfracashad not happened ten minutes sooner, otherwise the woodcocks would have been as cold as death. Chairs were placed by the officious attendants in every possible direction; and the discarded first course was threatening to displace the third. But Lord Lindore seemed quite insensible to all these attentions; he stood surveying the company with anonchalancethat had nothing of rudeness in it, but seemed merely the result of high-bred ease. His eye, for a moment, rested upon Adelaide. He then slightly bowed and smiled, as in recognition of their juvenile acquaintance.
"I really can't recommend either the turtle soup or the venison to your Lordship to-day," said Dr. Redgill, who experienced certain uneasy sensations at the idea of beholding them resume their stations, something resembling those which Macbeth testified at sight of Banquo's ghost, or Hamlet on contemplating Yorick's skull—"after travelling, there is nothing like a light dinner; allow me to recommend thisprretty, leettle cuisse de poulet en papillote;and here are some fascinatingbeignets d'abricots—quite foreign."
"If there is any roast beef or boiled mutton to be had, pray let me have it," said Lord Lindore, waving off the zealousmaître d'hotel,as he kept placing dish after dish before him.
"Roast beef, or boiled mutton!" ejaculated the Doctor, with a sort of internal convulsion; "he is certainly mad."
"How did you contrive to arrive without being heard by me, Frederick?" asked Lady Emily; "my ears have been wide open these two days and three nights watching your approach?"
"I walked from Newberry House," answered he, carelessly. "I met Lord Newberry two days ago, as I was coming here, and he persuaded me to alter my course and accompany him home."
"Vastly flattering to your friends here," said Lady Emily in a tone of pique.
"What! you walked all the way from Newberry," exclaimed the Earl, "and the ground covered with snow. How could you do so foolish a thing?"
"Simply because, as the children say, I liked it," replied Lord Lindore, with a smile.
"That's just of a piece with his liking to eat boiled mutton," muttered the Doctor to Mary; "and yet, to look at him, one would really not expect such gross stupidity."
There certainly was nothing in Lord Lindore's appearance that denoted either coarseness of taste or imbecility of mind. On the contrary, he was an elegant-looking young man, rather slightly formed, and of the middle size, possessing that ease and grace in all his movements which a perfect proportion alone can bestow. There was nothing foreign orrecherchéeither in his dress or deportment; both were plain, even to simplicity; yet an almost imperceptible air ofhauteurwas mingled with the good-humoured indifference of his manner. He spoke little, and seemed rather to endure than to be gratified by attentions; his own were chiefly directed to his dog, as he was more intent on feeding it than on answering the questions that were put to him. There never was anything to be called conversation at the dinner-table at Beech Park; and the general practice was in no danger of being departed from on the present occasion. The Earl hated to converse—it was a bore; and he now merely exchanged a few desultory sentences with his son, as he ate his olives and drank his claret. Lady Juliana, indeed, spoke even more than her usual quantity of nonsense, but nobody listened to it. Lady Emily was somewhat perplexed in her notions about her brother. He was handsome and elegant, and appeared good-humoured and gentle; yet something was wanting to fill up the measure of her expectations, and a latent feeling of disappointment lurked in her heart. Adelaide was indignant that he had not instantly paid her the most marked attention, and revenged herself by her silence. In short, Lord Lindore's arrival seemed to have added little or nothing to the general stock of pleasure; and the effervescence of joy—the rapture ofsensation, like some subtle essence, had escaped almost as soon as it was perceived.
"How stupid everybody always is at a dinner table!" exclaimed Lady Emily, rising abruptly with an air of chagrin. "I believe it is the fumes of the meat that dulls one's senses, and renders them so detestable. I long to see you in the drawing-room Frederick. I've a notion you are more of a carpet knight than a knight of the round table; so pray," in a whisper as she passed, "leave papa to be snored asleep by Dr. Redgill, and do you follow us—here is metal more attractive," pointing to the sisters, as they quitted the room; and she followed without waiting for her brother's reply.