"That is no news to you, Gertrude. You have known Mr. Melcomb's position here from the first."

"I knew he was idling about Mildred, as he has done about fifty other girls. But I did not know that she was to be sacrificed without her consent."

"Sacrificed, indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Pendarrel. "Why, she has encouraged him!"

"No, mother," said Mrs. Winston; "never. She may lately have seemed to do so, owing to my advice. And she shall not suffer for taking it."

"Shall!" Esther repeated. "Upon my word, Gertrude, I could fancy you were practising the settlement of a daughter of your own."

"My dear mamma!" Mrs. Winston answered, in a tone which fully returned the sarcasm. "And you think Mr. Melcomb calculated to make Mildred happy?"

"Surely," replied the mother. "Is he not a highly agreeable and honourable man?"

"Agreeable, because he is a roue: honourable, because he does not cheat at cards. Is it not so, dear mamma?"

Mrs. Pendarrel smiled.

"You have been studying philosophy, my dear," she said; "taking a lesson from your own good husband. You know that scandal calls every handsome fellow a rake, and every generous one a gambler."

"I know nothing of the sort, but I know that Melcomb is both," said Mrs. Winston, very bitterly. "And I will do everything in my power to save my sister from the misery of such a union."

"You are a dutiful and grateful daughter, in good truth," cried Mrs.

Pendarrel, with suppressed rage. "And, pray, what will you do?"

"I will at least offer Mildred a shelter in my house."

"'T will avail her nothing; the law is against you," the mother exclaimed furiously. "And for this I toiled and toiled, and placed my child in a position envied of a hundred rivals! For this I plotted, and manoeuvred, and wasted hours and hours on that obdurate simpleton; and mined and countermined, and contended with dissension at home, and ill-dissembled malice abroad!"

"You might at least be respectful to your dupe, dear mamma, in my presence."

"Ungrateful! But why do I argue with you?"

Gertrude rose, and leant upon the back of her mother's chair.

"Because," she said, "you know that I am right. Mother, I have no reason to thank you for my marriage. You know it very well. It is true I have no such wretchedness to encounter as would befall Mildred in a match like this. The world thinks me a happy woman. I do not complain.

I wear my chains as lightly and gracefully as I can. But they are chains, nevertheless. And you know it, mother. Yet I would fain think you meant me kindly, and it is therefore I remonstrate in poor Mildred's behalf. May we not discuss the affair as friends?"

"It is too late," said Mrs. Pendarrel.

"Too late!" Gertrude exclaimed.

"My word is absolutely pledged to Mr. Melcomb. It is impossible to recede."

"And Mildred only asked yesterday!" said Mrs. Winston, quitting her position, and walking away. "Sold, positively sold, for the contiguity of a few acres!"

But little more pa.s.sed, before the mother and daughter parted with a very ceremonious salute.

Did Mrs. Pendarrel flinch under the remonstrances of her child? Did she waver a moment in her course? Reproached as the cause of Gertrude's unhappiness, did she hesitate to consummate the sacrifice of Mildred? If she had, she would not have been Esther Pendarrel. She had a quarrel with the world of five-and-thirty years' standing. Love!

Folly! What had love been to her? Reason! She had married against it.

Convenience! Ay, she wedded the heir presumptive of Trevethlan. So let her children. Had not Gertrude a house in Cavendish-square, and Winston Park, and a philosophical fool not ten years older than herself? Companionship--Ridiculous: there was plenty in the world.

Home--Rococo: one lived abroad. With some soliloquy of this nature, did a withered heart excuse itself for spreading desolation like its own, conscious all the while that its pretences were false, saying, not thinking, the thing that was not.

Gertrude sought her sister on leaving Mrs. Pendarrel, and found her in a humour very different from what she had expected.

"So, Mildred, dear," she said, "we part. They take you to the enchanted castle, and where is the knight to wind the magic horn?

Seriously, my poor sister, what will you do at Pendarrel?"

"Do, Gertrude!" exclaimed the younger sister, who might have been dreaming of the knight. "My despondency is gone. I am ready for the worst."

"And prepared...."

"Not to marry Mr. Melcomb, I a.s.sure you. You may lead a horse to the water, but who shall make him drink? All the vixen rises in my bosom, Gertrude. Mamma said something about my daring. I believe she has put me fairly upon my mettle, and will find I inherit it from her. So!

Mildred!"

She flourished an imaginary whip. Her sister was perplexed, and a little troubled at her manner. She changed it suddenly.

"Oh, Gertrude!" she said, "do not think this levity comes from a light heart. I do know how hard a part I have to play. I do contemplate with sorrow this visit to Pendarrel,--so different from those in the old time, when we loved the country so much. With sorrow, but without fear."

"Ah, my sister!" said Mrs. Winston, "you are braver than I. See, you will be alone. Even Mr. Melcomb will not be there. You will be led on, and on, till you are completely entangled."

"No, no," answered Mildred. "And for him, I shall rejoice if he is away. He has had one chance of being generous, he will never have another. Who is so base as the man who would take a young girl's hand against her will?"

The sisters continued for some time in consultation, and parted with an oft-repeated embrace, and many promises of correspondence.

When Mrs. Pendarrel desired Mildred, on learning her attempted refusal of her suitor, to prepare for an immediate journey to Pendarrel, the one idea which arose in the young lady's mind was, that she should be near Trevethlan Castle. Many a train of thought developed itself from that suggestion, all ending in some vision of Randolph. And it was probably from such antic.i.p.ations that she derived the seeming animation which perplexed her sister at this parting interview.

CHAPTER XVI.

_Don John._ Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.

_Borachio_. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me.

SHAKSPEARE.

Already the engagement of Squire Melcomb and Miss Mildred had been a subject of discussion among the underlings of the establishment in May Fair, and Michael Sinson, at least, had watched the signs of its progress with no little interest. The announcement of Mrs. Pendarrel's immediate departure for Cornwall, and the rumours which circulated that there the marriage would be hurried forward as fast as possible, struck him with new apprehension, as he feared that the great prize for which he was playing might slip through his hands, merely from want of time to develop his game. At all events, the move prevented him from indulging in the finesse which at once advanced his object and gratified his vanity. Forward play was his only chance, and he determined not to be defeated for want of boldness.

Sinson had fastened his clutches firmly upon the spendthrift, Everope.

It is so sadly easy to seduce, where the victim is prepared by need and unfortified by principle. It was in vain that Everope, as often as the tempter forced a new obligation upon him, vowed that he would only use it to support himself until he could obtain some employment, and would then, by extreme parsimony, save enough to repay his insidious creditor. The idea always came, and was always chased away by the superior fascinations of the light pack and rattling main. He could not be unlucky for ever. The first time fortune favoured him, he would satisfy Sinson's claim, break off the acquaintance, and abjure gaming for once and for all.

Fortune, however, frowned upon her votary with great perseverance. One morning, after a turn of ill luck, when, in desponding apathy, wringing his hands and calling upon Hercules, he was thinking of breaking with Sinson, cost what it might, that individual crossed his path, and accosted him.

"What! is the G.o.ddess always blind, Everope? Nothing to be done at the Rooms?"

"I shall go there no more," said the spendthrift sullenly. "I have done with them, and play, and the world, and everything."