Mrs. Adair now turned to Miss Arden: "my dear, have you been amusing yourself with your companion's book?"

"No, ma'am."

"The mystery, I think, will soon be explained: and I fear I shall find that there has been more artifice than truth in a young lady's a.s.sertion. Come hither, Isabella, I wish to speak to you."

Little Isabella's features betrayed confusion and terror: and as she slowly walked up the room, she burst into tears. "Do not be afraid,"

said Mrs. Adair, in a soothing tone of voice, "I am not angry with you.

Tell me plainly how it was. What did your sister say to you?"

"O, ma'am, she said--O dear, I wish I were at home--"

"Come, speak the truth, my dear. You know you are one of my best little girls. Tell me how you were led into this error. Speak openly, and do not be afraid."

"I have not done it--I mean, I have--O dear, where is mamma?"

"Happy at home, I make no doubt. But were papa and mamma here, it would make no difference, for I must have the truth. Did you mark this book?"

"O dear, yes, ma'am! but I would not have done it, but I must do it. O, sister, you know--you do know--and you will pinch me so! Do, dear, good Mrs. Adair, tell her not to pinch me, for I know I shall scream!"

"This is a strange account! We must have a little conversation, my dear, in the evening. Correction, or advice, will have no effect with you, Miss Vincent. You are not aware that your conduct will be deeply impressed upon the mind of every young lady present: it will be remembered when you have forgotten the circ.u.mstance yourself. I shall expect to see you with your sister."

Mrs. Adair looked round upon her pupils with a countenance of affection and concern. "Young ladies," she added, "it behoves you to conduct yourselves in this house in a manner, that you may go forth into the world with modest confidence, arising from the pleasing reflection that you have fulfilled your duty in all things. Then, in future life, when you unexpectedly meet a school-companion and friend, how pleasant will be the greeting! And when I am old and infirm, should you recollect me, and call upon me as the friend of your youth, how gratifying will it be to my heart to think that I have been one means, in the hands of Providence, of giving to society discreet and amiable women."

CHAPTER VIII.

The vacation now commenced. The physician had ordered change of air for Jane, or rather change of scene: she therefore accompanied Miss Cotton to spend a month with her parents. Elizabeth, however, would not accept any invitation. Mrs. Adair was surprised at the circ.u.mstance, knowing that young people are fond of novelty, particularly after the confinement of a school.

"It is strange that you have refused all our friends," she said to her daughter, "especially your old favourite!"

Elizabeth coloured highly. "My dear mother, teaching has given me the wisdom to value a comfortable home. How quiet we are this evening! and what a cheerful, blazing fire! and as for this tea, I think I never tasted any thing so fragrant."

"And are these your reasons for remaining at home?"

"O no! but only think how pleasant it is to be free from monotonous voices buzzing in one's ears! To-night I shall go to rest without the fear of being disturbed 'with the sound of the school-going bell,' and shall rise to-morrow an independent being."

"Ah, Elizabeth! is there no vexation, or lurking regret, dwelling upon your mind? your countenance will betray you. Believe me, there are many obstacles to the fulfilment of our wishes in this world. In all things it may be said, 'we look through a gla.s.s darkly.' But no more on this head: you have reason, and you must exert it. Be a.s.sured of one thing, we are often wisely disappointed in our plans of happiness; if we attain our wishes, we must not expect to be wholly free from care."

"I have promised to spend a few days with Colonel Vincent's family. You shall go with me to town on Thursday."

"But, my dear mother, you know--"

"I understand you," said Mrs. Adair. "I do not mean that you shall be their visitor; I have another plan in view. I know that Miss Damer is very uncomfortably situated at home, therefore you can call for her, to spend the time here whilst I am absent."

The morning Mrs. Adair and her daughter arrived in London, Elizabeth sat a few minutes with Mrs. Vincent, and then proceeded to B---- Square, where Mr. Damer resided. As she entered the house she beheld all things in confusion; men were employed in packing up china and chandeliers; straw and cord were strewed over the hall floor; and people were running in every direction, carrying trunks, chairs and sofas. Elizabeth inquired for Miss Damer: and was answered by a footman in a very surly tone, that "he knew nothing of her." An elderly, respectable looking female now stepped forward, and begged Elizabeth would follow her. They pa.s.sed through two empty apartments, and she then gently opened a door into a room which was little more than a closet, the light issuing from a small cas.e.m.e.nt. A band-box, a bookshelf, and a trunk, upon which Miss Damer was seated, close to a grate, containing the dying embers of a fire, were all that Elizabeth could discern. Her pupil started from her seat, with eyes red with weeping, and in a confused tone exclaimed, "Miss Adair here!"

"I am here, indeed," said Elizabeth; "and I hope I am come to a good purpose. But what has caused this strange confusion? But I beg your pardon," perceiving the distress of her pupil, "I was not aware of what I was saying. You must come with me; I came hither on purpose for you."

"Then you have heard of our troubles, ma'am?"

"I see them all. But we have not a moment to spare." Guided by the impulse of the moment, Elizabeth dropped upon one knee, opened the band-box, took out a bonnet, and then searched the trunk for a pelisse.

Miss Damer looked down upon her dress--

"Never mind your morning dress, my dear: this will cover all," said she, as she a.s.sisted Miss Damer with her pelisse; and as she tied the strings of her bonnet, exclaimed, "Now we shall do; but we must go immediately, for the days are short." As they were leaving the room, the elderly female came up to them: "Where are you going, my dear young lady?"

"Ah, my good nurse, I had forgotten you in my surprise! This is Miss Adair: but I am so confused, I scarcely know what I am doing--only that I am going where I have been most happy! But you will write to me, or see me, or something."

"If you wish to see Miss Damer, come in one of the morning coaches,"

said Elizabeth.

"I thank you, ma'am, kindly," said the nurse. "You are now in good hands, my dear young lady, so do not fret; Providence, I have often told you, would never desert so dutiful a daughter; and you find an old woman's words may be true. We shall be happy yet, never fear. People cannot forget their own. Never mind if they do: there is an eye over you in all your ways. And there is a death-bed, too," said she in a low voice; "then conscience will be heard--there is no saying, I won't hear; no creeping into corners, and running away. When the arms drop, and the head is weary with anguish, coaxing and paint will not give one jot of comfort; no, nor the sight of the most beautiful face upon earth. Be good, then, my dear young lady, for the evil day will come to us; and what a blessing it will be, if we can say with sincerity, 'the Lord's will be done.'"

CHAPTER IX.

As Elizabeth was stepping into the chaise she suddenly recollected the trunk; and turning to the nurse, desired it might be instantly corded, and given to the driver. A man who was standing at the hall door exclaimed, "but we must first search it."

"Search it, then," cried Elizabeth, haughtily, "but do not detain us in the cold."

"Cold, forsooth!" said the man; "I wonder what people would be at, with their fine carriages! I shall take my own time, I can a.s.sure you, ma'am, though your feathers are so high!"

"There is no arguing with vulgar, obstinate people," said Elizabeth, as she drew up the chaise window; she did not consider, that civility is due to every person; it is, however, too much the case with young ladies that they think they have a right to command with authority, and, however unreasonable, that their command must be obeyed.

Elizabeth saw that her pupil was too deeply affected to answer any questions, therefore during the ride remained silent. In the evening, however, Miss Damer mentioned that her father had left the kingdom, and with a trembling voice added, "there are circ.u.mstances, ma'am, which it would not become me to reveal; when Mrs. Adair returns home, as far as I am at liberty, I will explain the cause of our distress."

"Not another word upon the subject," cried Elizabeth; "I was not attending to you, for this teasing kitten has ruffled all my silks."

Elizabeth turned the kitten out of the room, and began to put her netting b.a.l.l.s in order, saying at the time, "what have I to do with your father's affairs, my dear? I will not hear any family secrets; for I do not love secrets of any kind. You are in the house of friends: therefore try to be happy. My mother and sister never make professions: by their actions you must judge them. For my part, I would rather have one act of kindness than a thousand promises, or words of praise and comfort.

But come and a.s.sist me with my silk, for I can do no good with it."

Elizabeth wrote the particulars to Mrs. Adair, and finished her letter with the hope that the promise she had given to their pupil, of having a home with them, would not be disapproved.

Mrs. Adair received this letter with some degree of displeasure. She was not one who was generous for worldly fame; she justly considered that her pupil's friends were the most proper persons to provide for her, and lost no time in calling at her late residence. On her arrival at the house, she found all the shutters closed; an elderly female, however, at the moment stopped and unlocked the door, who proved to be the nurse Elizabeth had seen.

Mrs. Adair followed her into the house, which was quite desolate: not a piece of furniture was remaining. She inquired if Miss Damer had any relations or friends to take care of her. "No, indeed, madam," said the nurse; "her mother's sister is the only near relation, and she has married somebody. It was a sad day for my poor young lady! she was stupified with grief! Her father fled--and the sheriff's officers in the house! All things were in confusion! chairs in one place, carpets upon dining-room tables, satin curtains upon the floor, nothing in its place; and then to see the nice things my good mistress had once so highly prized, handled so roughly! Ah, madam, ladies little think, when they are so delicate in handling their finery, into what brutish hands it may fall at last! But a happy thing it was, that my mistress did not live to see the confusion."

"The young lady!" said Mrs. Adair; "other affairs I have not any thing to do with."

"My young lady, madam! Ah, from a child she knew the right from wrong; but sorrowful was her life, after her mamma's death. She was no squanderer of her father's money--she knew the value of every thing; no waste, no scantiness was her mode. But it was a sad day when she ceased to rule in her father's house. O, Madam, I have seen her so treated! But it will come home at last to those who have triumphed in their wickedness; justice overtakes sinners in the long-run."

Mrs. Adair now inquired if Miss Damer had heard from her father.

"No, Madam; nor dare he return to England; he is too profligate to think of any person but himself, and the painted, gaudy creature and her children who are gone with him. But I hope my young lady will find a friend with you, Madam, for I am sure you are Mrs. Adair."