Everard laughed. "You stupid fellow, won't you be quiet and hear what I have to say."

"Oh certainly."

"I wish to remind you, that you need not go goodness knows how many hundred miles to find people to convert, as there are plenty nearer home."

"No doubt, and also, others near home anxious to convert them."

"And do you think, that no one but yourself would go to that outlandish place."

"Very few, comparatively; of course there are some."

"Mighty few I expect."

"Then you see an additional reason, why I should."

"I have not seen any yet, so of course cant't see additional ones" she answered saucily. "I tell you what you had better do, stay and convert me, and that will take you a precious long time I promise you."

"Lucy!"

"Oh, how grave you are, I wish you could see your face."

"You forget what you are talking about, Lucy, or you would not speak so"

he said gravely, "I cannot believe that you are in earnest."

"Of course I don't mean half I say, I never do, I did not think you would take it so seriously."

"It is a bad way to get into, Lucy."

"Don't be alarmed" cried Lucy laughing, "I'm not so awfully wicked as you imagine. I know, that I am very wild, and thoughtless, and that that school did not do me any good, but for all that, I'm not quite a heathen."

"Be merry and wise," he said kindly but gravely."

"That is not so easy" returned Lucy with a gulp, "you may think so, you are so mild tempered; but with one, so impulsive, and high spirited as I am, it is very hard, almost impossible; that's always the way with you quiet, easy going people, you have no sympathy with us."

"Oh, Lucy, how apt we are to form wrong opinions, you think me quiet, easy, gentle, I may be so, but I am also pa.s.sionate, determined, and you say selfish; be that as it may, I cannot give up without a very hard struggle, not even then usually. I am unyielding. Persevering and firm, Emily would say, self-willed and obstinate, Grace would call me."

"I can't believe you."

"It is true."

"But to resume our discussion; it is really too provoking to take Isabel off to that outlandish place."

"It is settled, all the talking in the world can't make any difference,"

he said with the quiet smile, and languid manner, that made it so hard to believe that he was indeed what he had described.

In the evening Susan brought a note to Isabel, as she and Everard were walking on the terrace. Isabel turned deadly pale on observing the handwriting, "it is from Dr. Tachereau" she exclaimed.

"Let me open it" said Everard seeing her agitation.

"A poisoned letter perhaps."

"Oh Everard, such things only happen in story books, but if you really think so, it had better go at the back of the fire."

"The fire is the right place for it no doubt, but I have a curiosity to see the inside first, some impertinence you may be sure."

"Perhaps to inform us, that he will bring his pistols to the church, if we dare to venture there, said Isabel breaking the seal. She opened it, but a sickening faintness overpowered her, and she was unable to read.

He had now succeeded in making her fear him, while his vindictiveness had been solely against herself, she had defied him, but now, that another was menaced she trembled for his safety.

"Let me see this madman's effusion" said Everard soothingly, "Why I declare you are quite ill, take this seat and I will read for our mutual edification."

Casting an anxious glance towards Isabel occasionally to ascertain if she was recovering from her agitation, he read a follow's:

DEAR ISABEL,--(cool muttered Everard). What a fool I was the other night, can you, will you, forgive me. Could you know the remorse and misery I have suffered since, or the feeling of thankfulness with which I heard that I had not seriously injured either of you; I think you would. What a reward for your kindness to my poor Natalie; what a return for your sympathy in my trouble. When had you rejoiced at my misfortune, I could scarcely have been surprised. But I loved myself, and my own way, and you thwarted me twice; but enough of the past. I dare not contemplate it. Let me however say a few words in extenuation of my folly. You can never know what I endured that evening, to see the regard once bestowed on me, transferred to another, to see that I was nothing,--that I was entirely, unmistakeably forgotten,--perhaps detested; for you treated me with unnecessary coldness. All this so worked upon my unhappy temperament until nearly mad with anger and jealousy, I did that, for which I now beseech you to forgive me. I shall never see you again, as the thought of your marrying another is so hateful to me that I dare not trust myself in your presence after the dark glimpse I have had of my evil nature. I did not think I could be so wicked. Farewell, I still remain your loving, though now unloved--LOUIS.

Everard deliberately tore the note into fragments, with the same expression that Dr. Heathfield had remarked, while an angry flush suffused his countenance. But there was more of pity, than of anger, in Isabel's mind, and she did not notice his displeasure. And as Rose at this moment came to call them in, to see Mrs. Arnold, of course no comment was pa.s.sed on the letter; though Everard's unusual gloominess that evening, proved that he had not forgotten it.

Mrs. Arnold was very fussy as usual, and told many amusing anecdotes regarding her journey, and also gave an immense amount of good advice to both Everard and Isabel, for which of course they were duly grateful.

"Really my dear Mabel" said Mrs. Arnold, "I never was more glad in my life, than when I heard of this match, I was positively delighted. But you must not suppose for a moment, that I had any such idea; when I got her the situation."

Isabel looked annoyed, "naughty girl" said Mrs. Arlington, and then it came out, how foolishly sensitive, (as Mrs. Arlington termed it,) Isabel had always been, regarding her position. "Never mind, dear," said Mrs.

Arnold kindly, "It is all over now, but still I should have thought that you had been a governess long enough to get used to it."

"Please don't pleaded Isabel, resolutely forcing back the tears which invariably came, at any allusion to the distasteful subject. And Everard, who until now had been unaware of her extreme dislike of being a governess admired her the more, that while hating her position so much, she had so determinately refused him, as long as she felt, that she did not return his affection.

"How is it my dear" inquired Mrs. Arnold, who seemed destined to-night to hit upon the wrong topic, "that you have never been to visit any of your old friends, Mrs. Price, Mrs. Vernon, Miss Carding, and hosts of others, told me repeatedly, that time after time, they have sent you the most pressing invitations, all to no purpose."

Isabel reddened painfully, Emily and Lucy laughed.

"That is another of Isabel's 'weaknesses'." Everard looked annoyed.

"Sing some of your comic songs, Harry," he said, wishing to change the subject. And Harry sung, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the party generally, and of Mrs. Arnold in particular.

Before they separated, a moonlight excursion to the romantic dell, the scene of the memorable picnic four years ago, was arranged for the next evening, and met with universal approbation. All agreeing that the water-fall could only be seen to perfection by moonlight.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

It had been a dull day, this last day, so that all were glad that the evening was not spent quietly at home, giving time for sad thoughts of to-morrow's parting. Thanks to Harry and Lucy, the excursion pa.s.sed off more cheerfully than might have been expected, all appearing to enjoy themselves. On their return, Isabel did not join the others in the drawing-room, but went out and lingered by the fountain, in the moonlight, musing on all that had happened since she first came there, now nearly five years ago, and wondering how long it might be, and what might happen, ere she would again be there--or if, indeed, she would be there again. Ah! seek not to look into futurity, Isabel. It is well for you that you know not all that shall be ere you again sit there. Enjoy your happiness while you may, and leave the future to unfold itself. She remained there a long time thinking of many things, and was still lost in meditation when Everard joined her.

"A penny for your thoughts," he said.

"Oh, Everard, I want you to do something," she returned, laying her hand on his arm.

"What is it, dearest?" he inquired.