"Scarcely four months have pa.s.sed," returned Mabel, "since you spoke that thought before. You have not used events rightly, if you can say it sincerely now. Oh, why have you been so sorely tried," said she, placing her hand fondly on her head--"Why have you been wounded so severely, if not to purify you from the errors of the past? Might not those sad events be made fit answers to the excuse you then made for yourself?"

Lucy was going to reply, when a double knock at the hall door made her start and blush, and then she jumped up, her face all radiance, and hastily kissing Mabel's cheek, ran off to the drawing-room.

Once more alone, Mabel tried to occupy herself with the silk she held in her hand, but her heart was full, and tears silently stole down her cheeks, and fell upon her busy fingers.

Just then, Caroline returned, something had gone wrong in the singing lesson, and her face wore its natural frown, and her cheek its angry flush--she glanced impatiently at Mabel, and then stopping to warm herself by the fire, looked angrily from it to her.

"What! are you crying again?" she said, peevishly, for her temper had become almost insane from indulgence.

Mabel made no reply.

"I hope," continued her cousin, "you are not going to be always miserable; for poor mamma's sake, you should command your feelings."

Mabel raised her eyes and looked firmly at her, as she said, slowly--

"I was alone."

"And is that what you call resignation?" said Caroline, in a tone of reproof. "I hope you will not give way to your poor mother's disposition."

"We mistake each other," said Mabel, rising, while her pale cheek kindled, her head was proudly and firmly erect, and her eyes almost flashed fire.

Caroline quailed; an uneasy sensation of something like fear stole upon her.

"Perhaps," said she, her voice trembling with suppressed pa.s.sion, "we mistake our respective positions."

"We do," said Mabel.

Caroline would have been glad to relieve herself by some bitter speech, but she felt powerless, and, endeavouring to hide her own discomfiture, she swept indignantly from the room, saying that she had never believed in perfect tempers, and she would have nothing to do with people who tried to appear better than they were.

Mabel continued standing, her bosom heaving with emotion.

"I could have borne any thing but that--any reflection on myself," she exclaimed, half aloud, "but to speak so of my poor mother, I cannot bear. Ha--" she added, slightly startling on perceiving Hargrave, who had entered by another door, and who was standing by her.

Their eyes met for an instant and then hers sought the ground.

"Miss Lesly," said he, coldly and peculiarly, "we have never met before."

She looked up to read his meaning. His countenance was impenetrable, except that he seemed impatient for reply. There had been a time when her lightest word could move him, and when, to her, his smile was happiness, and his frown brought misery. Yet neither testified now the least emotion. After a pause she replied.

"You need not fear me, but I cannot, if I would, utter a falsehood. What does it signify that we have met."

"The past is forgotten, then?" he enquired.

"It shall be as if it had never been," replied Mabel; "but as you were candid then, be candid now."

"Why?"

"Because you cannot be happy without perfect confidence."

A fleeting smile pa.s.sed over his lips, but she saw it not.

"You need not fear--no one shall take me under false pretences--I am fallen indeed in your estimation, since you believe that possible."

"No," replied Mabel, "I reverence and admire the beauty of the structure, but I do distrust the foundation on which it is built."

"Ah, some people do not think so deeply," he returned, gaily.

"I fear not," said she, sadly.

"Well, you have had trials sufficient," he added, "without adding mine to them--do not fear for me, I hope some day to hear you congratulate me on my happiness."

Without waiting for a reply he took up a book, which he had made the nominal reason for his visit to the morning room, and disappeared.

She hurried quickly to her own little chamber, to think over this strange conversation, which she believed conclusive of his attachment to Caroline. But was she worthy of him, would she influence him rightly--she tried to believe that the character drawn by her own quick judgment was only wrought by jealousy. Not a little did she feel pained at their quarrel, for she thought how easily might she prejudice her in his opinion.

"I can bear to lose his love," she thought, "but not his esteem--and yet I must, if necessary, do both, perhaps, if she speaks ill of me, and he will surely believe her."

Those who have experienced many trials will remember, that sometimes, by their quick succession, the mind becomes braced to endurance. It was so with Mabel; besides, she had certain fixed principles, and though she often erred from them, her mind almost invariably recovered its strength; and she now endeavoured to school it to the endurance of those small trials, which in her happy home at Aston, she had almost entirely escaped.

CHAPTER XIII.

The hope of fame may in his heart have place, But he has dread and horror of disgrace, Nor has he that confiding easy way, That might his learning and himself display; But to his work, he from the world retreats, And frets and glories o'er the favorite sheets.

CRABBE.

When Caroline quitted Mabel she hurried to her mother, with all the petulance of a wayward child, and, with her, vented on Mabel the spleen which she had not had the courage fully to express. Great was her surprise when she found, that, instead of joining in her opinion, Mrs.

Villars only endeavoured to extenuate and defend Mabel's conduct, though with that weakness which Caroline always had the hope of overcoming; but, for once she was mistaken, and, more than ever chagrined, the bitterness with which she regarded her cousin, only increased. This Mabel had soon an opportunity of learning, and her situation in the house became more and more uncomfortable, influenced as it was, by those secret prejudices and envious feelings, which there is no possibility of openly opposing.

Lucy, too, though still an object of solicitude to her, seemed shy of her company, and, indeed, held herself much aloof from every one but Beauclerc, whose attentions were now very generally remarked.

Still there was one room in the house where her presence was welcomed as a real blessing, and this consciousness atoned to her for much that was elsewhere almost unbearable.

At first, with the shyness which often attends the student, Mr. Villars frequently locked his door, but gradually the habit ceased altogether.

One afternoon, he was sitting alone, his manner was restless, and his eye absent in its expression.

The atmosphere without was unusually humid; small rain, which, in the distance, looked almost like fog, hid the prospect, and made the room dark, giving nothing of the inspiriting feeling produced by a hearty shower. Within, the room seemed heavy and sombre. But within Mr.

Villars' own thoughts there was something darker still, something cold and numbing--something that said the world was a dark and gloomy world--something that said he lived alone and uncared-for in it. He rose and walked up and down the room--that dark feeling haunted him still. He turned to the window--on its ledge lay his pen-knife--he looked at it uneasily--then walked away--then returned--and again regarded it as if it had the power to injure him. He returned to the table, on it lay a bundle of closely written papers--he turned from them, and again found himself at the window.

That knife again.

His thoughts grew darker--that something again stole over him, till the sweat stood in drops upon his brow, and his eyes glared feverishly.

Hark! He listens. The sound of a light footfall is in the pa.s.sage--a quick hand is on the lock, the door is opened, and Mabel is by his side, looking uneasily and affectionately at him, with that expression of light and beauty so peculiar to her.