"I regret it exceedingly, Miss Goodwin. I had something to mention to you respecting that unfortunate brother of mine; but you are not now in a condition to hear anything unpleasant and distressing; and, indeed, it is better, I think, now that I observe your state of health, that you should not even wish to hear it."

"I never do wish to hear it, sir; but have the goodness to leave me."

"I trust my next visit will find you better. Good-by, Miss Goodwin! I shall send your mother up."

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 697-- One long, dark, inexplicable gaze]

He withdrew very much after the etiquette of a subject leaving a crowned head--that is, nearly backwards; but when he came to the door he paused a moment, turning upon her one long, dark, inexplicable gaze, whilst the muscles of his hard, stony mouth were drawn back with a smile that contained in its expression a spirit that might be considered complacent, but which Alice interpreted as derisive and diabolical.

"Mamma," said she, when her mother joined her, "I am ill, and I know not what to do."

"I know you are not well, my love," replied her mother, "but I hope you're not worse; how do you feel?"

"Quite feeble, utterly without strength, and dreadfully depressed and alarmed."

"Alarmed, Alley! Why, what could alarm you? Does not Mr. Woodward always conduct himself as a gentleman?"

"He does, ma'am; but, nevertheless, I never wish to see him again."

"Why, dear me! Alice, is it reasonable that you should give way to such a prejudice against that gentleman? Indeed I believe you absolutely hate him."

"It is not personal hatred, mother; it is fear and terror. I do not, as I said, hate the man personally, because I must say that he never deserved such a feeling at my hands, but, in the meantime, the sight of him sickens me almost to death. I am not aware that he is or ever was immoral, or guilty of any act that ought to expose him to hatred; but, notwithstanding that, my impression, when conversing with him, is, that I am in the presence of an evil spirit, or of a man who is possessed of one. Mamma, he must be excluded the house, and forbidden to visit here again, otherwise my health will be destroyed, and my very life placed in danger."

"My dear Alice, that is all very strange," replied her mother, now considerably alarmed at her language, but still more so at her appearance; "why, G.o.d bless me, child! now that I look at you, you certainly do seem to be in an extraordinary state. You are the color of death, and then you are all trembling! Why is this, I ask again?"

"The presence of that man," she replied, in a faint voice; "his presence simply and solely. That is what has left me as you see me."

"Well, Alice, it is very odd and very strange, and it seems as if there was some mystery in it. I will, however, talk to your father about it, and we will hear what he shall say. In the meantime, raise your spirits, and don't be so easily alarmed. You are naturally nervous and timid, and this is merely a poor, cowardly conceit that has got into your head; but your own good sense will soon show you the folly of yielding to a mere fancy. Amuse yourself on the spinet, and play some brisk music that will cheer your spirits; it is nothing but the spleen."

Woodward, in the meantime, having effected his object, and satisfied himself of his power over Alice, pursued his way home in high spirits.

To his utter astonishment, however, he found the family in an uproar, the cause of which we will explain. His mother, whose temper neither she herself nor any other human being, unless her husband, when provoked too far, could keep under anything like decent restraint, had got into a pa.s.sion, while he, Woodward, was making his visit; and while in a blaze of resentment against the Goodwins she disclosed the secret of his rejection by Alice, and dwelt with bitter indignation upon the attachment she had avowed for Charles--a secret which Henry had most dishonorably intrusted to her, but which, as the reader sees, she had neither temper nor principle to keep.

On entering the house he found his; mother and step-father at high feud.

The I brows of the latter were knit, as was always the case when he found himself bent upon mischief. He was calm, however, which was another bad sign, for in him the old adage was completely reversed, "After a storm comes a calm," whilst in his case it uniformly preceded it.

Woodward looked about him with amazement; his step-father was standing with his back to the parlor fire, holding the skirts of his coat divided behind, whilst his wife stood opposite to him, her naturally red face still naming more deeply with a tornado of indignation.

"And you dare to tell me that you'll consent to Charles's marriage with her?"

"Yes, my dear, I dare to tell you so. You have no objection that she should marry your son Harry there. You forgot or dissembled your scorn and resentment against her, when you thought you could make a catch of her property: a very candid and disinterested proceeding on your part, Well, what's the consequence? That's all knocked up; the girl won't have him, because she is attached to his brother, and because his brother is attached to her. Now that is just as it ought to be, and, please G.o.d, we'll have them married. And I now I take the liberty of asking you both to the wedding."

"Lindsay, you're an offensive old dog, sir."

"I might retort the compliment by changing the s.e.x, my dear," he replied, laughing! and nodding at her, with a face, from the nose down, rather benevolent than otherwise, but still the knit was between the brows.

"Lindsay, you're an unmanly villain, and a coward to boot, or you wouldn't use such language to a woman."

"Not to a woman; but I'm sometimes forced to do so to a termagant."

"What's the cause of all this?" inquired Woodward; "upon my honor, the language I hear is very surprising, as coming from a justice of quorum and his lady. Fie! fie! I am ashamed of you both. In what did it originate?"

"Why, the fact is, Harry, she has told us that Alice Goodwin, in the most decided manner, has rejected your addresses, and confided to you an avowal of her attachment to Charles here. Now, when I heard this, I felt highly delighted at it, and said we should have them married, and so we shall. Then your mother, in flaming indignation at this, enacted Vesuvius in a blaze, and there she stands ready for another eruption."

"I wish you were in the bottom of Vesuvius, Lindsay; but you shall not have your way, notwithstanding."

"So I am, my dear, every day in my life. I have a little volcano of my own here, under the very roof with me; and I tell that volcano that I will have my own way in this matter, and that this marriage must take place if Alice is willing; and I'm sure she is, the dear girl."

"Sir," said Woodward, addressing his step-father calmly, "I feel a good deal surprised that a thinking man, of a naturalise late temper as you are,--"

"Yes, Harry, I am so."

"Of such a sedate temper as you are, should not recollect the possibility of my mother, who sometimes takes up impressions hastily, if not erroneously--as the calmest of us too frequently do--of my mother, I say, considerably mistaking and unconsciously misrepresenting the circ.u.mstances I mentioned to her."

"But why did you mention them exclusively to her?" asked Charles; "I cannot see your object in concealing them from the rest of the family, especially from those who were most interested in the knowledge of them."

"Simply because I had nothing actually decisive to mention. I princ.i.p.ally confined myself to my own inferences, which unfortunately my mother, with her eager habit of s.n.a.t.c.hing at conclusions, in this instance, mistook for facts. I shall satisfy you, Charles, of this, and of other matters besides; but we will require time."

"I a.s.sure you, Harry, that if your mother does not keep her temper within some reasonable bounds, either she or I shall leave the house--and I am not likely to be the man to do so."

"This house is mine, Lindsay, and the property is mine--both in my own right; and you and your family may leave it as soon as you like."

"But you forget that I have property enough to support myself and them independently of you."

"Wherever you go, my dear papa," said Maria, bursting into tears, "I will accompany you. I admit it is a painful determination for a daughter to be forced to make against her own mother; but it is one I should have died sooner than come to if she had ever treated me as a daughter."

Her good-natured and affectionate father took her in his arms and kissed her.

"My own darling Maria," said he, "I could forgive your mother all her domestic violence and outrage had she acted with the affection of a mother towards you. She has a heart only for one individual, and that is her son Harry, there."

"As for me," said Charles, "wherever my father goes, I, too, my dear Maria, will accompany him."

"You hear that, Harry," said Mrs. Lindsay; "you see now they are in a league--in a conspiracy against your happiness and mine;--but think of their selfishness and cunning--it is the girl's property they want."

"Perish the property," exclaimed Charles indignantly. "I will now mention a fact which I have hitherto never breathed--Alice Goodwin and I were, I may say, betrothed before ever she dreamed of possessing it; and if I held back since that time, I did so from the principles of a man of honor, lest she might imagine that I renewed our intimacy, after the alienation of the families, from mercenary motives."

"You're a fine fellow, Charley," said his father; "you're a fine fellow, and you deserve her and her property, if it was ten times what it is."

"Don't you be disheartened, Harry," said his mother; "I have a better wife in my eye for you--a wife that will bring you connection, and that is Lord Bilberry's niece."

"Yes," said her husband, ironically, "a man with fifty thousand acres of mountain. Faith, Harry, you will be a happy man, and may feed on bilberries all your life; but upon little else, unless you can pick the spare bones of an old maid who has run herself into an asthma in the unsuccessful sport of husband-hunting."

"She will inherit her uncle's property, Lindsay."

"Yes, she will inherit the heather and the bilberries. But go in G.o.d's name; work out that project; there is n.o.body here disposed to hinder you. Only I hope you will ask us to the wedding."

"Mother," said Woodward, affectionately taking her hand and giving it a significant squeeze; "mother, you must excuse me for what I am about to say"--another squeeze, and a glance which was very well understood--"upon my honor, mother, I must give my verdict for the present"--another squeeze--"against you. You--must be kinder to Charles and Maria, and you must not treat my father with such disrespect and harshness. I wish to become a mediator and pacificator in the family. As for myself, I care not about property; I wish to marry the girl I love.

I am not, I trust, a selfish man--G.o.d forbid I should; but for the present"--another squeeze--"let me entreat you all to forget this little breeze; urge nothing, precipitate nothing; a little time, perhaps, if we have patience to wait, may restore us all, and everything else we are quarrelling about, to peace and happiness. Charles, I wish to have some conversation with you."

"Harry," said Lindsay, "I am glad you have spoken as you did; your words do you credit, and your conduct is manly and honorable."