"Indeed she has been most kind," replied he politely. "She would not allow me to persuade her to retire to rest, when I had once announced my intention of remaining up to introduce myself. I will, however, no longer tax your patience; but will go to my own room, if you will allow me."

They accordingly separated, the Colonel lingering to say a few words to his host, and the ladies retiring to a kind of mutual dressing-room.

"Well, my love," said Mrs. Villars to her eldest daughter, "I will never blame you again, for I see you know how to manage without my interference. Nothing could have turned out better."

She felt, indeed, half inclined to idolise her, for the very ill-temper, which, in the early part of the evening, she had more justly blamed.

Caroline, in her turn, looked upon them all with an air of superiority, as if the accident had been the result of her prudence.

"Indeed," she said, "he is a most sensible and entertaining man, and, I dare say, if the truth were known, my evening was the most pleasant after all."

"Not quite," replied Lucy, "for I also met with a most sensible and entertaining man."

"Yes," echoed Maria, "such a handsome man too--Hargrave is nothing to him. Every one was wondering who he was, and remarking on his attentions to Lucy."

"What, is Lucy taken in again?" said Caroline, with jealous bitterness.

"I thought once in a season was sufficient."

Lucy coloured deeply and angrily, for it was not the first wound she had received.

"Well," said she to herself, "I will be closer this time--I will have no one to abuse my confidence by taunting speeches."

"Come, come," interposed Mrs. Villars, "do not let us quarrel with fortune; for my part, I feel inclined to be on good terms with all the world. Nothing could have been more propitious than your meeting in such a romantic manner. What were you doing when he came in?--at your harp, I hope. Well, how do you like him?"

"Why, Mamma, I think you believe in love at first sight. I am not so easily won."

"Nor the Colonel either, I dare say," said Maria.

"I will thank you, Miss Maria, to remember what you say, and to whom you say it."

"That I very seldom forget," retorted Maria, as she laid down her Swiss hat and ribbons, with a sigh, to think that she might not display them again.

"Come, come," again urged Mrs. Villars, "surely, Caroline, you can give us your opinion of him. You are so quick at reading character."

"That may be," replied Caroline, "but I scarcely think the right advantage to take of discrimination is to retail a private conversation, for the sake of subjecting a friend to everybody's quizzing observations."

Here she glanced angrily at Maria.

"Well," returned the latter, perfectly undisturbed, "is it come to friend and private, already, that, at least, sounds like something, and if you will conquer the good nabob in your own way, I suppose we must excuse being kept in the dark, as the cat politely observed to the mouse, when he was introduced to him in the cupboard."

"I think he is very handsome," said Selina.

"Yes," said Maria, "well enough since he possesses good eyes, good teeth, good forehead, nose and eyes--all tolerably well put together.

Yes, I suppose he might be called handsome. I will ask Miss Foster, she is such a judge of masculine beauty."

"I beg you will do no such thing," said Caroline; "he must be considered as one of our own family, and I do not see what right Miss Foster has to pa.s.s her observations on us."

"I am afraid you are not quite so rigid with regard to Miss Lovelace,"

retorted Maria.

Mrs. Villars saw that much bitter remark was rising, and knowing that nothing could be obtained from Caroline, dismissed the conclave, which had a.s.sembled at so late an hour, only in consequence of the importance of affairs under deliberation; and she retired to rest satisfied with the course events had taken, and fully impressed with respect for Caroline's judgment. She, meanwhile, in the retirement of her own room, condescended to give Selina an account of the evening's conversation, by which means Mrs. Villars heard the whole the next day from Selina, whose more gentle temper rendered her the general recipient of her mother's schemes.

CHAPTER VI.

He walked he knew not whither; Doubt was on his daily path; and duties shewed not certain.

TUPPER.

Colonel Hargrave was a little past the age when hearts are easily won--and the ready courtesy with which he had performed his part of the evening _tete-a-tete_, might have shown a less prejudiced judge, that he was too accustomed to beauty, grace, and all the endless charms so bewitching to a younger man, to make him very easily fall into the snare which had been laid for him.

However, he had but very lately landed in England, after some years spent in the East; and though like most English travellers, he had been, at first, delighted with the marvels and records of ancient days, which that quarter of the globe so lavishly affords, as well as with the customs and habits of a people with whom he had delighted to mingle, he was not sorry to find himself once again in merry, busy England--one of a people whose interests are more of the present than of the past, where the rapid march of improvement and discovery, form a striking contrast to the splendid dreams of past Eastern glory. Then the comfort of social society--home with all its thousand a.s.sociations of comfort and tranquillity were not indifferent to him, and he was not sorry to find a gayer welcome than the lonely halls of his own beautiful Aston might have offered him. His sleeping apartment had been arranged with a care that made it seem luxurious after the cabin fare to which he had lately been accustomed, and he paid more attention to the trifles which surrounded him than he had ever before done, for of such trifles he, for the first time, perceived the importance, since all combined gave a feeling of homely comfort which he felt he had scarcely missed till now, when once more in the enjoyment of it. Opening from this room was another, arranged with the most studious attention to ease and appearance. A fire blazed a warm welcome, after his day's journey, and everything conspired to make his little sitting-room one suited to a gentleman's fancy--and by affording him a place of retreat, he perceived that he would be allowed to enjoy the company of his cousins only when he was inclined. In all this there was such an evident desire to please, that he could not help feeling a little flattered, though, perhaps, as representative of the family credit and opulence, he might, at the same time, have felt it to be his due, and a necessary appendage to the invitation.

Tempted by the blazing fire, he threw himself upon the horse-hair sofa, which was near it, and fixed his eyes upon its flickering and varying light, but as he did so, his countenance soon lost the air of courteous pleasantry, which had a short while before possessed it, and he appeared lost in deep and even bitter thought.

The grave accusations of old Giles, and the lighter description of Clair, were both true; and yet a few words more of his mental history is needed fully to unravel his character.

During the life of his mother, he had been the pride of her existence, and keenly sensible of the quicksands which await the young man on his entrance into life--she had watched his opening manhood with the most tender solicitude. Her death, however, left him entirely to the care of his father--and he, thinking the hot-house system of preservation no longer befitting a youth of talent and ability, sent him abroad, first with a tutor, and afterwards alone, in order that he might acquire a knowledge of the world, and the ease, conversation, and polish, which foreign travel is calculated to give. In this he was fully successful. A short residence in the gayest city in Europe, so called forth young Hargrave's natural refinement of taste, that few could find fault with the manners of the finished gentleman whom Paris sent back from its school. But in Paris he had been thrown with those of professed Infidel principles--and amongst them he found men of superior talent and great intellect, who, while they extorted his own secret admiration, rendered him a homage to his youthful talent of the most flattering kind. By them he was rashly led to argue on the tenets of natural and revealed religion, and to discuss points, which are rather matter for faith than comprehension--and he entered on these questions with a spirit of which older men have not been innocent, rather seeking to display his own powers in the argument, than to do honor to the truth. The contest was eagerly courted by those who only kept their hearts at ease by engaging in the excitement of perpetual warfare. They were subtle reasoners, and Hargrave found himself coping with them, only with the greatest difficulty.

But, who can unlock the secret mysteries of the human mind, or give a clue to its strange inconsistencies? Even while he argued, the dreadful doubt pa.s.sed into his own mind, and, wondering and amazed, he found himself an unbeliever in the faith he had so warmly defended! Too often have those who have become the most devoted christians at an after period of their life, had to mourn such infidelity, though, for a time only; and had Hargrave resorted to the simple means used by his old tenant, whom his thoughtless words had led astray, he, like old Giles, might have been restored to comfort--but he only rushed deeper and deeper into argument, and the more confirmed in error--he, at length, ended by declaring himself vanquished, and thanking his new friends for having opened his eyes to his own superst.i.tion. Thus eagerly received by a brilliant _coterie_, adorned by wit, genius, and learning, he learnt to boast of the sentiments he at first deplored, and to wonder that he should have been weak enough to recognise any other.

Where then was the reward for a mother's untiring self-devoted love to her son, through the years of infancy and youth? Despair not, fond mothers--"cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days"--after _many_ days, remember, and be patient.

One result, was, however, evident in this wild fit of recklessness--under the pretence of keeping his intellect pure and unclouded, he preserved the same rigid principles she had recommended, and in this he was firm, spite of the ribaldry of his companions. "No one," he said, proudly, "should be able to affirm that he had abandoned his religion because too weak to obey its laws." His friends, therefore, left off their jests and boasted that no professor of revealed religion could be a better moralist, or a more virtuous man. But such virtue must ever be but an unsteady light, which is founded on no firmer basis than self-opinion, and Hargrave might have started when in foreign lands, he had lavished the most profuse charity on those around him, had he remembered how blind he was to the wants and sufferings of those who at home called him master.

Too late his father's death summoned him to Aston, to take possession of the immense wealth which he thus inherited. After but a brief stay, events induced him to leave his native country, and entering the Indian army, he sought employment for his restless energies on the banks of the Indus. There his military career had not been without honor, and why he had returned to England, scarcely himself could tell.

There he sat, an older, if not a wiser and better man. Dark thoughts, like heavy clouds, seemed to pa.s.s over his mind, as with his hand supporting his head, he gazed fixedly, but vacantly on the fire.

Perhaps he was thinking of his early days, and of the mother who had taught him to hallow them. Perhaps he was remembering how unable he had been to build the fabric even of human and short lived earthly happiness, on so weak and failing a foundation as his own una.s.sisted virtue. For, to his heart, common joys had been tainted. The sabbath chaunt had brought no melody to his ear, reminding him of the rest which its Maker had hallowed. "The gentle flowers that stooping o'er the wilderness--speak of joy, and faith, and love," had seemed to him only a difficult clause in the argument of an adversary. Such might have been the dark remembrances of the hour, for he swayed himself to and fro, as if in an agony of spirit, nor did he retire to rest till the grey dawn warned him of the necessity of seeking repose.

CHAPTER VII.

Wisdom revenges, said The world; is quick and deadly of resentment; Thrusts at the very shadow of affront, And hastes by death to wipe its honor clean.

POLLOCK.

The next morning Lucy was down stairs by eight o'clock, appearing scarcely to feel any fatigue from the gaieties of the last evening. The servants, taking advantage of their mistress's slumbers, had not been very careful to rouse themselves early; and as Lucy wandered about the house, she found nothing but rooms half closed, and maids with sweeping brushes, dusters, and open windows, forming no tempting welcome on a cold morning. Yet, chill as was prospect both within and without, she felt nothing cheerless that morning, and, putting on her bonnet and cloak, she went out, saying she would be back by breakfast time. She found the atmosphere thick and humid, and cold drops quickly gathered on her veil. The streets, under the influence of a slight thaw, were wet with black mud; but she quickly threaded her way through them, till reaching Milsom Street, she took her way towards the higher parts of the town. Few people were stirring, shops were only just open, and the occupiers engaged in filling their empty windows with a display for the day. The light-hearted girl scarcely giving a thought to any thing around her, soon reached the Circus, a fine but gloomy part of the town.

Time and the weather have cast a black shade over its formerly clean white stone, which gives it an appearance of sadness, which is shared by the sombre hue of the evergreens, which ornament its garden. To one of its houses Lucy hurried, and after a short pause, was ushered into it by an old man, apparently butler in the establishment. The room into which she was shown, was upon the ground floor, and shared in no very slight degree, the appearance of the outside of the buildings. Its furniture was dark green, and the curtains, with their many heavy folds had been suffered to trespa.s.s too much upon the windows. There was an oak wainscoting round the room, and here and there some old portrait frowned down from the walls. The room was rather long than wide, and lighted by windows only on the one side, looking on the street; this often made it appear dark, but, in contrast to every thing about the place, a bright fire blazed upon the hearth, and a small table, with a snowy cloth, supported the hissing urn, and a frugal but snug breakfast. Seated beside it was rather a young looking lady. There was a certain air of unmistakeable dignity over her whole appearance; her features, though irregular, were intellectual and commanding, and the sparkling eye wandered with restless energy. Her hair was black as an Indian's, and she might have been called beautiful, but for the melancholy, which, as a veil, seemed thrown round her, stilling every quicker impulse into chill composure. She held the _Times_ in her hand, folded at the leading article, but she laid it down and rose, on Lucy's entrance, with a look of surprise and pleasure.

"Why love," said she, "I thought you would be sleeping for an hour or two yet, after the fatigues of last night. I am sure no common event would bring you out this foggy morning, but sit down and I will give you some breakfast, for I am sure you have had none; let me take off your shawl, and then you shall have some of your favorite chocolate, and tell me your news as you drink it."

"I could not sleep," said Lucy, "and as no one was up I thought I would come and see why you were not at the ball as you promised last night."