On the last evening of her stay at Ashton Park, Isabel was admiring the beautiful sunset from her window, and as she stood lost in reverie, someone entered hastily and fastened the door. Turning to see who the intruder might be, she beheld a very beautiful girl, apparently about fourteen years of age, her large eyes flashing with anger, while her short, quick breathing, told of excitement and disquietude. "I have had such a dance to get here without observation," she panted forth. "Please let me stay a little while." And before Isabel could recover from her momentary surprise, Louisa had thrown herself into her arms, exclaiming, "I knew that you were kind and good, or I would not have come, and I felt sure that you would pity me." All anger was now gone from the eager, earnest face, raised imploringly, and Isabel's sympathy was aroused by the weary, sad expression of her countenance.

"Who are you; what makes you unhappy; and why do you seek my sympathy?"

asked Isabel.

"I am Lady Ashton's grand-daughter, Louisa Aubray," she replied. "You don't know what a life I lead, boxed up with old Grumps, and strictly forbidden all other parts of the house. I have been here two years, and during all that time I have not had any pleasure or liberty, except once or twice when I took French leave, when I was sure of not being found out. Ah, you don't know how miserable I am! no one cares for poor Louisa;" and burying her face in her hands, she cried bitterly.

"I sometimes watch the company going to dinner, and that was how I came to see you; and I liked you the best of them all, and I wished so much to speak to you. So I managed to find out which was your room; but it was only to-day that I could get here, unknown to Miss Crosse. Won't you please tell me which of those young ladies Uncle Charles is going to marry. I want so much to know; because Uncle Charles is nice, and I like him. He is the only one here that ever was the least bit kind to me. As for grandpapa and grandmamma, I know they hate me; and Eliza says, that the reason grandpapa can't bear the sight of me, is because I am like papa. Oh, I know that dear mamma would not have been so glad when they promised to take care of me, if she had known how unkind they would be."

"But how can I help you, dear?" inquired Isabel.

"Why, I thought if I told you, you would be sorry for me, and persuade grandmamma to send me to school; for then, at least, I should have someone to speak to. I don't mind study,--only old Miss Crosse is so unkind. I think perhaps she might, if you were to coax her very much--do please," said Louisa, warmly.

Isabel smiled at the idea that she should be thought to have any influence with Lady Ashton. "You err greatly, dear child, in thinking that I have any power to help you. I can only advise you to try and bear your present trials, and wait patiently for better times," she said.

"Ah, it's all very well for you to tell me this. You have all you can wish, and everything nice, so it is easy to give advice; but you wouldn't like it, I can tell you."

"I don't expect you to like it, Louisa. I only want you to make the best of what can't be helped."

"Oh, but it might be helped, if you would only try," urged Louisa.

"It is getting late," returned Isabel, "and I must now dress for dinner; but if you like you may remain here while I do so, and I will tell you about a young lady that I know, and then perhaps you will not be so annoyed with me for giving you the advice I have."

"Thanks," returned Louisa, "I should like it very much."

"This young lady's parents were very rich, and indulged her in every way. Her mother died when she was only eight years old. Her father had her taught every accomplishment, and instructed in almost every branch of learning. And she lived in a beautiful house, surrounded by every luxury, until the age of nineteen, when her father died; and as he lost all his property shortly before, she was forced to gain her living as a governess. Think what she must have suffered, who never in her life had had a harsh or unkind word, and scarcely ever had a wish ungratified; but had been spoilt and petted at home, and courted and flattered abroad. Think what it must have been to go alone and friendless among strangers; to earn, by the irksome task of teaching, no more a year than she had been accustomed to receive in a birthday present or Xmas gift.

She was fortunate enough to meet with very kind people, who made her as comfortable as it was possible for her to be under the circ.u.mstances.

But still she found her position a very trying one, and was often placed in very unpleasant circ.u.mstances, and sometimes met with great mortifications. And that young lady, Louisa,--is myself."

"Oh! I'm sorry, so sorry," exclaimed Louisa. "And I thought you so happy, and so much to be envied. And I'm sorry also for what I said about it being so easy to give advice. But why don't you marry some rich gentleman? and then, you know, you needn't be a governess any more.

I would."

"I didn't say that I was unhappy, Louisa, and I try not to let these things trouble me so much, for I know it is wrong to care so much about them, but I can't help it. I have not told you this to excite your pity; but that you may know that others have their daily trials as well as yourself. Do not think, dear child, that I do not compa.s.sionate your sad lot; only try to remember the comforts which you do enjoy, notwithstanding the ills you are called upon to endure. Think how much worse your fate might have been, if your grandparents had refused to provide for you; and be sure if you have patience, and do what is right, in due time you will have your reward."

Louisa was now weeping violently. "Ah, you don't, you can't know, what it is to live as I do. And I felt so sure that--you--could help me; but you can't, I know now, for grandmamma wouldn't listen to 'a governess.'

She is so bitter against anyone that teaches, because of papa. But I can't, and won't, stand this miserable life much longer--I will not!"

she continued pa.s.sionately, as with compressed lips and clenched hands she started to her feet, while the angry flashing eyes and determined countenance told of strong will and firm resolution. "If I was a boy,"

she said, "I would run away and go to sea; but I am only a girl, and there is so little that a girl can do. But I will find some way to escape before long, if things continue like this--that I will!" and she stamped her foot impatiently upon the ground. Isabel could scarcely believe that the pa.s.sionate girl before her was indeed the same child who had sat at her side so meekly not a moment before. She no longer paid any attention to Louisa's complaints. Her thoughts were far away with the only one in whom she had ever seen this sudden transition from persuasive gentleness to stormy anger; for the proud, pa.s.sionate girl brought him vividly to her mind, though the wide ocean rolled between them. She saw again the proud curling lip, and the dark expressive eyes, which one moment would beam on her in love, and the next flash with angry light and stern displeasure; the haughty mien and proud defiance, blended with a strange fascinating gentleness, that had won her heart.

The time was present to her imagination, when with pa.s.sionate entreaty he had urged upon her the necessity for a secret marriage, and in fondest accents implored her not to refuse, as he was positive that her father would never consent to their union; and his fearful burst of pa.s.sion when she most entirely, though tearfully, refused to accede to his request. Even now she trembled as she recalled the angry terms in which he reproached her, and the indignant manner in which he had expressed his conviction that she did not love him; and that all henceforth was at an end between them. How he left her in great wrath; but soon after returned, and in the most humble manner deplored his cruelty and hateful temper, and in gentlest strains implored her forgiveness. But her musings were rather abruptly terminated by Louisa exclaiming: "Oh! tell me what is the matter. Your hand is quite cold, and you are trembling all over. What have I done? what shall I do?" she continued, wringing her hands in despair.

"I cannot talk to you any more now, Louisa dear," replied Isabel, "but I will tell Ada about you, and perhaps she may be able to help you; but you really must not get into such dreadful pa.s.sions. I can't have you stay any longer, as I wish to be alone."

"But why do you tremble and look so pale?" asked Louisa, mournfully. "Is it so dreadful to be a governess?"

"I was not thinking of that dear," answered Isabel, kissing her "good-night. Mind you try to be a good girl."

So Louisa was dismissed, fully persuaded in her own mind that she had nearly frightened Isabel to death by her pa.s.sionate behaviour.

After waiting a moderate time to recover herself, Isabel joined the others in the drawing-room. Fortunately, they went to dinner almost immediately, as she felt anything but inclined to make herself agreeable; and as Lady Ashton, as usual, was kind enough to furnish her with a companion who appeared to be a quiet, inoffensive individual, she treated him with polite indifference. She was deceived, however, in her opinion regarding Mr. Lascelles. The man was an 'a.s.s,' and a 'magpie,'

and appeared to like nothing better than to hear his own voice. However, this suited Isabel tolerably on this occasion, as an 'indeed,' or 'really,' was all that was needed by way of reply; and he was forced sometimes to stop to enable him to eat, and this kept him from being oppressive. But as he found her so good a listener, there was no getting rid of him; for when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room, he devoted himself entirely to Miss Leicester--to Lucy's intense amus.e.m.e.nt. At last Ada grew compa.s.sionate, and got Charles to ask Isabel to sing, and to introduce Mr. Lascelles to Miss Cleaver. It was a tedious evening, and Isabel was heartily glad that they were to return to Elm Grove. Life there was at all events endurable, which the life she had spent for the last week was certainly not. She was sick and tired of hearing the oft-repeated question and answer, "Who is that young lady?"--"Oh, the governess at Elm Grove;" and most emphatically determined that she would never stay at the Park again, let who might be offended.

Neither could she help drawing comparisons between this and her former life, nor deny that she felt it severely. But the warm welcome she received from the children on her return to the Grove, went far towards dispersing these gloomy thoughts.

CHAPTER V.

A pic-nic was decided upon for Emily's birthday--the fourth of August.

It was a lovely day, and every thing seemed propitious. And a merrier party seldom started on a pleasure excursion, than the one which now was a.s.sembled under the trees at Elm Grove. The guests were Sir John and Lady Ashton, Charles, and the Morningtons, Lilly and Peter Rosecrain, May Arlington (a cousin), the Harringtons and the Hon. Arthur Barrington, the latter had not arrived, but had promised to meet them at their destination. Emily was in ecstasy, and the children quite wild with delight. All Isabel's endeavors to keep them in order were useless, and Lucy announced, that every one must be allowed to do just as he or she pleased, or there would be no fun. Lucy volunteered to go with the children if they could procure a driver. "Any one would do, excepting Mr. Everard Arlington, as of course the children would be too much in awe of him, as he could be awefully grave."

Peter immediately offered his services, unless he was too stern and sedate. This caused a laugh, as Peter was renowned for fun.

The place chosen for the pic-nic was a delightful spot, (quite romantic Emily declared) situated at the bottom of a beautiful ravine, within a short distance of a splendid water fall yclept the "old roar," the dashing spray of its gurgling waters making quite refreshing music.

"Now Emily, you are queen to-day, and all that you say is law," cried the laughing Lucy, when they arrived at their destination. "Now master Bob, be on your P's and Q's, and find a nice place to spread the royal feast."

"I think that you are making yourself queen on this occasion and no mistake," returned the saucy Bob.

"Well, I am prime minister you know, so make haste and obey my commands."

"Self const.i.tuted I fancy," returned Bob with a shrug.

"May I ask what important office is to be a.s.signed me on this festive occasion," asked Peter.

"That of queen's jester, of course," replied Lucy gravely.

"You do me too much honor Miss Lucy," he said, bowing with mock humility.

"I'm quite aware of that," answered Lucy demurely.

A desirable place was soon found in a shady nook, and the repast was spread, to which it is almost needless to add they all did ample justice.

Just as they sat down, Arthur made his appearance, bringing Louisa Aubray with him. If a look could have done it Lady Ashton would have annihilated him, so fearfully angry was she at his daring to bring her grand daughter in this manner, upon his own responsibility.

"I found Louisa very disconsolate and unhappy, and I thought a little recreation would be good for her, Aunty. I feel sure that Mrs. Arlington will excuse the liberty I have taken," he added with a smile and bow.

"Pray don't mention it, replied Mrs. Arlington thus appealed to, I am only too happy to have Miss Aubray join us. Alice my dear, make room for Miss Aubray."

Louisa sat with her large mournful eyes cast down, tho' occasionally she threw furtive glances at her grandmother's darkened countenance, and seemed to be doing anything but enjoying herself. And no wonder poor child, for she was sure of a terrible scolding sooner or later. Arthur paid attention to the ladies generally, with whom he was a great favorite.

Louisa ate her dinner almost in silence, tho' Alice did her best to draw her out. But poor girl, she was calculating the chances of being left alone with her angry grandmother when they dispersed after dinner, and almost wished she had not yielded to Arthur's persuasions, as he had apparently deserted her. But he was much too considerate and kind hearted for that, he had brought her there to enjoy herself, and it would not be his fault if she didn't. They began dispersing by twos and threes to explore the beauties of the place, and Louisa's heart sank within her, as she saw their numbers diminishing fast, and that Arthur too had disappeared.

The children asked Isabel to come and see Rose's bower, and after a short consultation, Alice invited Louisa to join them, but Lady Ashton interposed.

"I had much rather you remained with me my dear," she said curtly. And Louisa reseated herself with a great sigh as the others started on their ramble. For the children had much too great an awe of Lady Ashton, to attempt to intercede on Louisa's behalf, and if the truth must be told, they didn't much care for her company. So Louisa was left alone with the elders, who were not in such haste to move after their repast as the young people.

"Come Louisa, let us follow the example of the rest," said Arthur reappearing.