"You are very severe on the poor worsted-work."

"But am I not in the right?"

"Decidedly not. Lavater, and my head and face, have misled you."

"Nonsense, f.a.n.n.y. Do you mean to tell me that you have no aspiration for a kind of life different from this you are leading?--If so, I am much disappointed in you; much, very much astray in my judgment of your character." Then he walked on a few yards, looking on the ground, and said, "Come, f.a.n.n.y, I am talking very earnestly to you, and you answer me only in joke. You don't think me impertinent, do you, to talk about yourself?"

"Impertinent, Adolphus--of course I don't."

"Why won't you talk to me then, in the spirit in which I am talking to you? If you knew, f.a.n.n.y, how interested I am about you, how anxious that you should be happy, how confidently I look forward to the distinguished position I expect you to fill--if you could guess how proud I mean to be of you, when you are the cynosure of all eyes--the admired of all admirers--admired not more for your beauty than your talent--if I could make you believe, f.a.n.n.y, how much I expect from you, and how fully I trust that my expectations will be realised, you would not, at any rate, answer me lightly."

"Adolphus," said f.a.n.n.y, "I thought there was to be no flattering between us?"

"And do you think I would flatter you? Do you think I would stoop to flatter you? Oh! f.a.n.n.y, you don't understand me yet; you don't at all understand, how thoroughly from the heart I'm speaking--how much in earnest I am; and, so far from flattering you, I am quite as anxious to find fault with you as I am to praise you, could I feel that I had liberty to do so."

"Pray do," said f.a.n.n.y: "anything but flattery; for a friend never flatters."

But Kilcullen had intended to flatter his fair cousin, and he had been successful. She was gratified and pleased by his warmth of affection.

"Pray do," repeated f.a.n.n.y; "I have more faults than virtues to be told of, and so I'm afraid you'll find out, when you know me better."

"To begin, then," said Kilcullen, "are you not wrong--but no, f.a.n.n.y, I will not torment you now with a catalogue of faults. I did not ask you to come out with me for that object. You are now in grief for the death of poor Harry"--f.a.n.n.y blushed as she reflected how much more poignant a sorrow weighed upon her heart--"and are therefore unable to exert yourself; but, as soon as you are able--when you have recovered from this severe blow, I trust you will not be content to loiter and dawdle away your existence at Grey Abbey."

"Not the whole of it," said f.a.n.n.y.

"None of it," replied her cousin. "Every month, every day, should have its purpose. My father has got into a dull, heartless, apathetic mode of life, which suits my mother and Selina, but which will never suit you. Grey Abbey is like the Dead Sea, of which the waters are always bitter as well as stagnant. It makes me miserable, dearest f.a.n.n.y, to see you stifled in such a pool. Your beauty, talents, and energies--your disposition to enjoy life, and power of making it enjoyable for others, are all thrown away. Oh, f.a.n.n.y, if I could rescue you from this!"

"You are inventing imaginary evils," said she; "at any rate they are not palpable to my eyes."

"That's it; that's just what I fear," said the other, "that time, habit, and endurance may teach you to think that nothing further is to be looked for in this world than vegetation at Grey Abbey, or some other place of the kind, to which you may be transplanted. I want to wake you from such a torpor; to save you from such ignominy. I wish to restore you to the world."

"There's time enough, Adolphus; you'll see me yet the gayest of the gay at Almack's."

"Ah! but to please me, f.a.n.n.y, it must be as one of the leaders, not one of the led."

"Oh, that'll be in years to come: in twenty years' time; when I come forth glorious in a jewelled turban, and yards upon yards of yellow satin--fat, fair, and forty. I've certainly no ambition to be one of the leaders yet."

Lord Kilcullen walked on silent for a considerable time, during which f.a.n.n.y went on talking about London, Almack's, and the miserable life of lady patronesses, till at last she also became silent, and began thinking of Lord Ballindine. She had, some little time since, fully made up her mind to open her heart to Lord Kilcullen about him, and she had as fully determined not to do so after what Selina had said upon the subject; but now she again wavered. His manner was so kind and affectionate, his interest in her future happiness appeared to be so true and unaffected: at any rate he would not speak harshly or cruelly to her, if she convinced him how completely her happiness depended on her being reconciled to Lord Ballindine. She had all but brought herself to the point; she had almost determined to tell him everything, when he stopped rather abruptly, and said,

"I also am leaving Grey Abbey again, f.a.n.n.y."

"Leaving Grey Abbey?" said f.a.n.n.y. "You told me the other day you were going to live here,"

"So I intended; so I do intend; but still I must leave it for a while.

I'm going about business, and I don't know how long I may be away. I go on Sat.u.r.day."

"I hope, Adolphus, you haven't quarrelled with your father," said she.

"Oh, no," said he: "it is on his advice that I am going. I believe there is no fear of our quarrelling now. I should rather say I trust there is none. He not only approves of my going, but approves of what I am about to do before I go."

"And what is that?"

"I had not intended, f.a.n.n.y, to say what I have to say to you for some time, for I feel that different circ.u.mstances make it premature. But I cannot bring myself to leave you without doing so;" and again he paused and walked on a little way in silence--"and yet," he continued, "I hardly know how to utter what I wish to say; or rather what I would wish to have said, were it not that I dread so much the answer you may make me. Stop, f.a.n.n.y, stop a moment; the seat is quite dry; sit down one moment."

f.a.n.n.y sat down in a little alcove which they had reached, considerably embarra.s.sed and surprised. She had not, however, the most remote idea of what he was about to say to her. Had any other man in the world, almost, spoken to her in the same language, she would have expected an offer; but from the way in which she had always regarded her cousin, both heretofore, when she hardly knew him, and now, when she was on such affectionate terms with him, she would as soon have thought of receiving an offer from Lord Cashel as from his son.

"f.a.n.n.y," he said, "I told you before that I have my father's warmest and most entire approval for what I am now going to do. Should I be successful in what I ask, he will be delighted; but I have no words to tell you what my own feelings will be. f.a.n.n.y, dearest f.a.n.n.y," and he sat down close beside her--"I love you better--ah! how much better, than all the world holds beside. Dearest, dearest f.a.n.n.y, will you, can you, return my love?"

"Adolphus," said f.a.n.n.y, rising suddenly from her seat, more for the sake of turning round so as to look at him, than with the object of getting from him, "Adolphus, you are joking with me."

"No, by heavens then," said he, following her, and catching her hand; "no man in Ireland is this moment more in earnest: no man more anxiously, painfully in earnest. Oh, f.a.n.n.y! why should you suppose that I am not so? How can you think I would joke on such a subject? No: hear me," he said, interrupting her, as she prepared to answer him, "hear me out, and then you will know how truly I am in earnest."

"No, not a word further!" almost shrieked f.a.n.n.y--"Not a word more, Adolphus--not a syllable; at any rate till you have heard me. Oh, you have made me so miserable!" and f.a.n.n.y burst into tears.

"I have spoken too suddenly to you, f.a.n.n.y; I should have given you more time--I should have waited till--"

"No, no, no," said f.a.n.n.y, "it is not that--but yes; what you say is true: had you waited but one hour--but ten minutes--I should have told you that which would for ever have prevented all this. I should have told you, Adolphus, how dearly, how unutterably I love another." And f.a.n.n.y again sat down, hid her face in her handkerchief against the corner of the summer-house, and sobbed and cried as though she were broken-hearted: during which time Kilcullen stood by, rather perplexed as to what he was to say next, and beginning to be very doubtful as to his ultimate success.

"Dear f.a.n.n.y!" he said, "for both our sakes, pray try to be collected: all my future happiness is at this moment at stake. I did not bring you here to listen to what I have told you, without having become too painfully sure that your hand, your heart, your love, are necessary to my happiness. All my hopes are now at stake; but I would not, if I could, secure my own happiness at the expense of yours. Pray believe me, f.a.n.n.y, when I say that I love you completely, unalterably, devotedly: it is necessary now for my own sake that I should say as much as that. Having told you so much of my own heart, let me hear what you wish to tell me of yours. Oh, that I might have the most distant gleam of hope, that it would ever return the love which fills my own!"

"It cannot, Adolphus--it never can," said she, still trying to hide her tears. "Oh, why should this bitter misery have been added!" She then rose quickly from her seat, wiped her eyes, and, pushing back her hair, continued, "I will no longer continue to live such a life as I have done--miserable to myself, and the cause of misery to others.

Adolphus,--I love Lord Ballindine. I love him with, I believe, as true and devoted a love as woman ever felt for a man. I valued, appreciated, gloried in your friendship; but I can never return your, love. My heart is wholly, utterly, given away; and I would not for worlds receive it back, till I learn from his own mouth that he has ceased to love me."

"Oh, f.a.n.n.y! my poor f.a.n.n.y!" said Kilcullen; "if such is the case, you are really to be pitied. If this be true, your condition is nearly as unhappy as my own."

"I am unhappy, very unhappy in your love," said f.a.n.n.y, drawing herself up proudly; "but not unhappy in my own. My misery is that I should be the cause of trouble and unhappiness to others. I have nothing to regret in my own choice."

"You are harsh, f.a.n.n.y. It may be well that you should be decided, but it cannot become you also to be unfeeling. I have offered to you all that a man can offer; my name, my fortune, my life, my heart; though you may refuse me, you have no right to be offended with me."

"Oh, Adolphus!" said she, now in her turn offering him her hand: "pray forgive me: pray do not be angry. Heaven knows I feel no offence: and how strongly, how sincerely, I feel the compliment you have offered me.

But I want you to see how vain it would be in me to leave you--leave you in any doubt. I only spoke as I did to show you I could not think twice, when my heart was given to one whom I so entirely love, respect--and--and approve."

Lord Kilcullen's face became thoughtful, and his brow grew black: he stood for some time irresolute what to say or do.

"Let us walk on, f.a.n.n.y, for this is cold and damp," he said, at last.

"Let us go back to the house, then."

"As you like, f.a.n.n.y. Oh, how painful all this is! how doubly painful to know that ray own love is hopeless, and that yours is no less so. Did you not refuse Lord Ballindine?"

"If I did, is it not sufficient that I tell you I love him? If he were gone past all redemption, you would not have me encourage you while I love another?"

"I never dreamed of this! What, f.a.n.n.y, what are your hopes? what is it you wish or intend? Supposing me, as I wish I were, fathoms deep below the earth, what would you do? You cannot marry Lord Ballindine."

"Then I will marry no one," said f.a.n.n.y, striving hard to suppress her tears, and barely succeeding.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Kilcullen; "what an infatuation is this!"--and then again he walked on silent a little way. "Have you told any one of this, f.a.n.n.y?--do they know of it at Grey Abbey? Come, f.a.n.n.y, speak to me: forget, if you will, that I would be your lover: remember me only as your cousin and your friend, and speak to me openly. Do they know that you have repented of the refusal you gave Lord Ballindine?"

"They all know that I love him: your father, your mother, and Selina."