Every word which he uttered with the tone of unquestioned authority, went, like a poisoned sting, to Caroline's heart. She bent over her work, with affected contempt, but she would have given much, if, at that moment, she could have struck him as the Asiatic would a slave. Greatly, too, to her mortification, she saw the side door, which connected the room in which they were sitting, with the drawing-room beyond, open, and Hargrave entered.

"Pardon me, my dear sir," he said, hurrying to Mr. Morley, and taking his hand; "but as I came to meet you, the sound of your voice overpowered me--and, waiting to recover myself, I overheard part of the conversation in which you were engaged."

As he said this, he turned his eyes towards Mabel, perhaps expecting, to see something in her countenance, of the animation expressed by her words; but her face was suffused, as with the brightness of the rose, shrouded by evening dew--her eyes were bent on the ground--and, as if, like that lovely flower, her head were too heavy for her slender neck to support, she bent it also beneath his glance. Could this be the tranquil, self-commanding Mabel, blushing, perhaps, because she perceived, that, while seeking to draw a timid stranger into conversation, she had been insensibly gratifying the same wish, on his part, and had been, unconsciously, displaying her own powers to his observation.

Mr. Morley gently touched the arm of the younger man, who turned round, as if to introduce him to Miss Villars--but, as he did so, the hall-bell again announced a visitor.

"Come, my dear sir," he then said, changing his purpose, "come to my room, before we are inveigled into fashionable talk--I must have you all to myself."

And he dragged rather than led him from the room, just as Mr. Stokes, a sporting gentleman from Gloucestershire, was announced.

Maria started from her lazy position, flung aside her book, and darting to Mabel, s.n.a.t.c.hed the pocket-handkerchief she was hemming from her hand, almost disordering her hair by the violence of the action, and then hurriedly seated herself, as if she had been working. This little diversion, in her favor, was covered by the retreat of the two gentlemen, and the necessary pause at the door, as the one party retreated, and Mr. Stokes entered, whip in hand, with splashed boots, and the dress which most became him, his red hunting coat, which gave point to his blunt, off-hand manners.

Mabel pitied, and struggled, with her accustomed gentleness, to excuse her cousin's rudeness, as she listened to Mr. Stokes's blunt compliment on Maria's needle-work, and his animated account of the chace, from which he had just ridden home.

Some accidental allusion to Gloucestershire soon told him that Mabel was from his native country--and being a great lover of everything that seemed like home, he began talking to her so fast, that she had little need to say anything to help forward the conversation. Maria was evidently annoyed--and Mabel did her best to be silent; but it was an unfortunate afternoon, and seemed destined to make her worse enemies than she had before. Her silence could not be imputed to stupidity by the dullest, who looked in her face; and the squire, charmed with the idea of having made her shy, which he deemed the effect of something in himself, and, at the same time, feeling the charm of retreating beauty, pursued what he deemed an amusing advantage, addressed all his jokes and stories to her, and called for her approval of his quotations from their county dialect, which were so inimitable and so familiar, that she could no longer suppress her smiles. Maria bit her lips to conceal her vexation. True, he laughed just as immoderately over the use she made of the whimsical slang of the day--called her a "funny fellow," and taught her pretty oaths, which, after all, are but a kind of paper currency for sin. Yet, when he spoke to Mabel, he insensibly a.s.sumed more respect for himself and her; for few men are so quick at discovering where respect is really due, as those who are the most ready to lay it aside, when in their power to do so.

Maria was shrewd and penetrating. Her self-love had received too many rebuffs in the gay world in which she lived, to blind her to the truth--and she had not listened more than one tedious hour--for the Squire paid long visits--before she discovered that she had made a fatal mistake in his character. She soon perceived that neither the roughness of his manners, nor the random style of his conversation, had left him insensible to the purity of a deep, blue eye, or the magic influence of feminine delicacy and refinement.

And was it to win the heart of such a man that she had so studiously dropped the little she had possessed of feminine reserve, to adopt the coa.r.s.er and freer manners which she had imagined a sportsman would most admire. She felt the ground was lost, which she had no power to retrieve, and her spirit chafed, with all the bitterness and mortification which those must feel, who have in any way debased themselves to obtain any worldly object, and are conscious of it only when they find themselves disappointed. She would have been still more chagrined could she have divined that nothing but her having so rudely s.n.a.t.c.hed the handkerchief had given a turn to Mabel's thoughts, and prevented her leaving the room, since by doing so, she would have appeared either snubbed or affronted.

Poor Maria! she had never believed herself so near marriage before.

Scarcely had they reached this height of discomfort, when another morning visitor was introduced--Miss Lovelace, with a mult.i.tudinous number of light ringlets and narrow flounces. With a nod to Maria, which meant--"I see you are better engaged," she took her seat near the two elder girls, and was soon deep in an account of a charming ball, which she had attended the night before, with which she mixed many hints of her own conquests, together, with her indignation at all the spiteful things people said of her, and the Misses Villars.

After talking, with the utmost rapidity, for half-an-hour, she suddenly changed her tone to one of commiseration, as she enquired--

"And how is poor Lucy?"

"Thank you, she is down stairs to-day," replied Caroline.

"Oh, I am so glad--for I heard such dismal accounts of her, last night, I could not help coming to see how she was. I won't ask to see her--but I do so pity her."

"I suppose her story is half over the town," said Caroline; "silly girl--of course, mamma knew nothing about it, or she would have seen into it before."

"Did not she though?" said Miss Lovelace, with great interest, gathering materials, as she was, for the next visit. "Why, every one saw it long ago, and said she was dying for him--the wretch."

"And what do people say now?" lisped Selina, as if she were talking of the reputation of a hair pin instead of that of a sister.

"Why, you know, now, the truth is in every one's mouth--quite the talk of the day. How it was known that he was married, I cannot tell--but my maid told me--and all my partners were talking of it last night. I told young Philips I would never waltz with him again, if he did not find some innocent way of murdering Mrs. Beauclerc, and bringing Lucy's love affair to a happy conclusion. And the best of it is, young Philips himself has been as bad, for he has been wandering up and down the Circus like a mad thing, for this month past, trying to catch a sight of Miss Foster, and contented if he only saw her shadow pa.s.s the window."

Here they all laughed, and Mr. Stokes chimed in.

"What is that story about Miss Lucy Villars and Mr. Beauclerc? I heard something of it at the hunt, from young farmer Sykes--but I thought it might be delicate ground."

Mabel did not wait to hear the answer to this last remark--for when the sisters so coolly deserted the standard of delicacy, she felt she had no right to interfere; and blushing, more for them than for Lucy, she left the room, rather too precipitately--for Mr. Stokes, having, the minute before, whispered a compliment, which she had been too occupied even to hear, he attributed her flight to the sudden admiration she was conscious she was exciting. As the door closed upon her, he remembered how often he had joined Caroline and Maria, in laughing over the eccentricities of their country cousin, whom he had never before seen--and, fearing a repet.i.tion of the same remarks, or their ridicule, if he refused to join in them, he took up his hat, and rapidly apologising for having made such a complete "visitation," he wished them good morning, and departed, without waiting to hear more than he could help of Miss Lovelace's answer to his question.

Mabel had no sooner escaped from the drawing-room, than she hurried to the study. Her first glance told her that Lucy had been exerting herself beyond her strength to appear cheerful and happy, for she looked pale and wearied; and no sooner did she see her enter, than she went to her, folded her arms round her, and laid her head upon her shoulder--then, raising it again, that she might look her in the face, and thank her for all her kindness to her, she burst into hysteric sobs.

Mabel drew her away, led her to her own room, and caressed and soothed her again into tranquillity, when she made her go to bed, and then stopped and praised her first day's effort so warmly, that Lucy almost smiled her thanks.

She then returned to the study, where Mr. Villars was waiting, in some alarm. Taking her hand, he enquired, anxiously--

"How is my child?"

"She is much better, dear uncle--but she is very weak, you know, yet--and her spirits are uncertain--though she tried to exert them, lest you might think her dull. I shall give her entirely to you to take care of now."

"My good girl," he replied, with the thick, husky voice of suppressed emotion, "when I worked, for so many long years, at a business that I hated--I dreamed of such a time as this. The last few hours have been the happiest I have spent since my retirement. And is not this your doing? How true it is, that we often entertain angels unawares."

She tried to speak, while tears of hallowed pleasure dimmed the sparkle of her deep azure eyes, her lips trembled, and her cheek flushed; then stooping over the hand that held hers, she kissed it, drew herself away, and fled from the room.

She might have said to herself--"What! have I devoted so many weeks to his service, and yet a few hours from the truant Lucy give him more pleasure than all those of my unwearied service!"

But no such thought, even by its most transitory influence, sullied the heart of the self-devoted girl.

CHAPTER III.

Merrily, merrily, Welcome and sweet, Ready hearts, waiting them, Sabbath chimes greet.

Mournfully, mournfully, Yet do they fall On the dull, worldly ear.

Deaf to their call.

CULVER ALLEN.

"Who is your fat friend?" enquired Caroline of Hargrave, when they met at dinner.

"The gentleman who called this morning," he replied, drawing himself up with much hauteur, "is my uncle."

Mrs. Villars cast a look upon her daughter, which seemed to say, half in entreaty, and half in reproof.

"Oh, your unfortunate tongue."

At the same time, Hargrave, perhaps, perceiving that Mabel's quick glance was upon him, suddenly changed his manner, and seemed, by the gentleness of his tone, anxious to apologise for the short feeling of anger Caroline's query had occasioned.

"I had not time to introduce him this morning," he said, "before the entrance of Mr. Stokes; but I was otherwise going to ask my aunt to give him the _entree_ of the house, as he is a perfect stranger here, and his only object is to see me."

"Oh, certainly," said Mrs. Villars, with one of her blandest smiles--"any friend of yours is welcome here, as a matter of course; I shall be delighted to know him."

"He is a singular being," returned Hargrave, smiling his thanks; "and those only who are familiar with his peculiarities, can see through them, the greatness and goodness of his heart. There is no man to whom I owe so much--and few whom I esteem so highly."

"Indeed," said Caroline, "one ought not to judge so hastily of strangers. I am sure, I beg your pardon, for speaking of him disrespectfully."

Hargrave's timely change of tone had thus prevented the display of temper which Mabel had foreseen and dreaded.

"Pray do not mention it," he rejoined, quickly; "I ought to have forestalled observation, by introducing him to you--and you said nothing, after all--I only thought you looked contemptuous--so I was too hasty, and it was my fault. You may, probably, never have heard of him, for he has not been in England for many years. He is my maternal uncle, the son of my grandmother, by her first husband--my own mother being a Lesly. I have heard that, when a very young man, he was of such enthusiastic temperament, that he entered the church mission, which took him abroad, for a long time, where, amongst heathen and savage life, he devoted himself to the work he had undertaken with great success, enduring, cheerfully, every kind of privation, being separated from the society of his equals, and without reserving to himself a single solace, but the one feeling that he was performing his duty. One cannot help admiring such a character," he added, hastily, as if excusing his energy, and concluding the last words in a tone of cold considerative philosophy.