THE PARTY AT THE GRANGE.
Catherine's Christmas party called forth all Redborough. It was an
assembly to which the best people in the place considered themselves
bound to go, notwithstanding that many of the small people were there
also. Everybody indeed was supposed to come, and all classes were
represented. The respectable old clerks, who had spent their lives in
the bank, talked upon equal terms, according to the fiction of society,
with the magnates of the town, and Edward and Harry Vernon, and others
of the golden youth, asked their daughters to dance. The great ladies in
their jewels sat about upon the sofas, and so did Mrs. Halifax, the
cashier's wife, and Mrs. Brown, the head clerk's, in their ribbons. All
was supposed to be equality and happiness; if it were not so, then the
fault was upon the shoulders of the guests, and not of the hostess, who
walked about from one to another, and was so civil to Mrs. Brown--so
very civil--that Lady Freemantle could not help whispering to Mrs.
Merridew that, after all, when a woman had once been engaged in
business, it always left a mark upon her.
"She is more at home with those sort of persons than she is with the
county," Lady Freemantle said.
Mrs. Merridew was deeply flattered with the confidence, and gave a most
cordial assent. "It does give a sort of an unfeminine turn of mind,
though dear Miss Vernon is so universally respected," she said.
This little dialogue would have given Catherine sincere enjoyment if she
had heard it. She divined it from the conjunction of Lady Freemantle's
diamonds with Mrs. Merridew's lace, as they leant towards each other,
and from the expression and direction of their eyes.
On her side Mrs. Brown drew conclusions quite as fallacious. "Miss
Vernon is well aware how much the young gentlemen owe to Brown," that
lady said afterwards, "and how devoted he is. She knows his value to the
business, and I am sure she sees that a share in the bank is what he has
a right to look to."
This delusion, however, Catherine did not divine.
It was with a reluctance and repugnance indescribable that Hester had
come: but she was there, by the side of her mother, who, a little
alarmed by the crowd, did not know what to do with herself, until Harry
Vernon interposed and led her to the corner of a sofa, in the very midst
of the fine people, which poor Mrs. John, divided between the pride
which was too proud to take a chief place and the consciousness that
this place was her right, hesitated greatly upon.
"I think I should like to be farther off," she said, faltering; "down
there somewhere," and she pointed in the direction of the Mrs.
Browns--"or anywhere," she added, getting confused.
"This is your proper place," said Harry out of his moustache, with
persistence.
The poor lady sat down in a nervous flutter in her black silk gown,
which looked very nice, but had lasted a long time, and though it had
been kept, so to speak, within sight of the fashion by frequent
alterations, was very different from the elegant mixture of velvet and
satin, fresh from the hands of a court milliner, which swept over the
greater part of the space. Mrs. John had a little cap made of a piece of
fine Mechlin upon her hair, which was still very pretty, and of the dark
brown satin kind. Her ornaments were of the most modest description,
whereas the other lady had a set of emeralds which were the admiration
of the county. Hester stood behind her mother very erect and proud, in
her white muslin, with her pearls, looking like a maid of honour to a
mild, discrowned queen. A maid of honour in such circumstances would
stand a great deal more upon her dignity than her mistress would be
likely to do. This was the aspect they presented to the lookers-on who
saw them in that unusual eminence. When Catherine perceived where her
poor pensioners were placed, she gave way to a momentary impatience.
"Who put Mrs. John there?" she said to Edward, almost with anger. "Don't
you see how thoroughly out of place she looks? You may think it shows a
fine regard for the fallen, but she would have been much more
comfortable at the other end among the people she knows."
"I had nothing to do with it. I have not spoken to them," said Edward
with a certain sullenness. He was glad to be able to exculpate himself,
and yet he despised himself all the more fiercely.
Catherine was vexed in a way which she herself felt to be unworthy, but
which she said to herself was entirely justified by the awkwardness of
the situation.
"I suppose it is Harry that has done it," she said, her voice softened
by the discovery that Edward at least was not to blame. "It must be said
for him, at least, that he is very faithful to his family."
Did she mean that _he_ was not faithful? Edward asked himself. Did even
she despise him? But he could not now change his course, or stoop to
follow Harry's example, that oaf who was inaccessible to the
fluctuations of sentiment around him, and could do nothing but cling to
his one idea. It cannot be said, however, that either Mrs. John or
Hester were at their ease in their present position. It was true, as
Catherine had said, that with the curate's wife Mrs. John would have
been much more comfortable, and this consciousness wounded the poor
lady, who felt now she was out of place among the people to whom she was
allied by nature. She was accustomed to the slight of being put in a
lower place, but to feel herself so completely out of her old position,
went to her heart. She looked timidly, poor soul, at the great lady with
the emeralds, remembering when she, too, used to be in the order of
great ladies, and wondering if in those days she had ever despised the
lowly. But when she thus raised her eyes she found that the lady of the
emeralds was looking very fixedly at her.
"Surely," she said, after a little hesitation, "this must be Lucy
Westwood."
"Yes," said Mrs. John wistfully, investigating the stranger with her
timid eyes.
"Then have you forgotten 'Bridget--Fidget'?" said the other.
It was a school name, and it brought a glow upon Mrs. John's pale face.
An old school-fellow! She forgot all the painful past and her present
embarrassment, and even her daughter. Hester stood for some time in her
maid-of-honour attitude and contemplated the conversation. She heard her
mother say, "This is my girl--the only one I have," and felt herself
crimsoning and curtseying vaguely to some one she scarcely saw; then the
stranger added--
"I have three here; but I think they are all dancing."
Yes, no doubt there was dancing going on, but Hester had no part in it.
She became tired, after a while, of her post of maid of honour. Her
wonderful indignant carriage, the poise of her young head, the proud air
of independence which was evident in her, called forth the admiration of
many of the spectators. "Who is that girl?" said the elder people, who
only came once a year, and were unacquainted with the gossip of
Redborough. "John Vernon's daughter? Oh, that was the man who ought to
have married Catherine--he who nearly ruined the bank. And that is her
mother? How good of Catherine to have them here." If Hester had heard
these remarks she would have had few questions to ask about her father.
But she was unaware of the notice she was attracting, placed thus at the
head of the great drawing-room. The folding doors had been removed and
the two rooms made into one. The girl was in the most conspicuous
position without knowing; her white figure stood out against the wall,
with her little mother in the foreground. She stood for a long time
looking out with large eyes, full of light, upon the crowd, her varying
emotions very legible in her face. When a creature so young and full of
life feels herself neglected and disdained, and sees others about her
whom her keen eyes cannot help but see are inferior to herself, promoted
far above her, enjoying what is forbidden to her, finding pleasure where
she has none--yet is bound to the spot and cannot escape, it is natural
that indignation should light fires in her eyes, and that her breast
should swell and her young countenance glow with a visionary scorn of
all who seem to scorn her. This sentiment is neither amiable nor
desirable, but it gave a sort of inspiration to Hester--her head so
erect, slightly thrown back, her nostrils a little dilated, her mouth
shut close, her eyes large and open, regarding in full face the world of
enemies against whom, wholly or singly, she felt herself ready to stand.
All this gave a character and individuality to her such as nothing in
the room could equal. But by and by she tired of standing, shut out from
everybody, holding up her banner. She stole away from her mother's side,
behind the chairs, to get to somebody she knew and could talk to. Flesh
and blood cannot bear this sort of martyrdom of pride for ever.
An old man was standing in her way, who made a little movement to stop
Hester as she passed. "You will excuse an old friend, Miss Hester," he
said; "but I must tell you how glad I am to see you and your mother. I
have been looking at you both ever since you came. She is very much
changed since I used to see her, but her sweet expression is the same.
That is a thing that will never change."
"I think I know you," said Hester, with the shy frankness which was so
unlike her hostile attitude. "Did not I see you at Captain Morgan's? and
you said something to me about my mother?"
"I had not much time to tell you then. I should just like to describe it
to you," said the old clerk. "I have never forgotten that day. I was in
a dreadful state of anxiety, fearing that everything was coming to an
end; and the only place I could think of going to was the White House.
That was where your parents were staying at the time. No, no, they were
not your parents then; I think there was a little baby that died----"
"I was born abroad," said Hester, eager to catch every word.
"Yes, yes, to be sure; and she was quite young, not much older than you
are now. It was in that long room at the White House, with a window at
each end, which is the dining-room now. You will excuse me for being a
little long-winded, Miss Hester. It was beautifully furnished, as we
thought then; and there was a harp and a piano. Does your mamma ever
play the harp now? No, no, I ought to remember, that has quite gone out
of fashion. She had her hair high up on her head like this," said Mr.
Rule, trying to give a pantomimic description on the top of his own grey
head of the high bows which had once adorned Mrs. John's. "She had a
white dress on, far shorter than you wear them now; and little slippers
with crossed bands, sandals they used to call them. Oh, I remember
everything like a picture! Ladies used to wear little short sleeves in
those days, and low dresses. She had a little scarf round her over one
shoulder. What a pretty creature she was, to be sure! I had been so
wretched and anxious that the sight of her as I came rushing in, had the
strangest effect upon me. All bank business and our troubles about
money, and the terror of a run, which was what I was frightened for,
seemed nothing but ugly dreams, without any reality in them. I dare say
you don't know, Miss Hester, what I mean by a run?"
"No, indeed," said Hester, a little impatient; "but I should like to
know what happened after."
"A run on the bank," said the old clerk, "is the most terrible thing in
all creation. A battle is nothing to it--for in a battle you can at
least fight for your life. It happens when the partners or the company,
or whatever they may be, have had losses, or are reported to have had
losses, and a rumour gets up against the bank. Sometimes it may be a
long time threatening, sometimes it may get up in a single day--but as
soon as the rumour gets the length of a panic, everybody that has money
deposited comes to draw it out, and everybody that has a note of the
bank comes for his money. In those days Vernon's issued notes, like all
the other great country banks. I was in mortal terror for a run: I never
was in such a state in my life. And it was then, as I told you, Miss
Hester, that I went to your mother. Of course we had not money enough to
meet it--the most solvent could scarcely hope to have that at a moment's
notice. Next day was the market day, and I knew that, as sure as
life----! I have passed through many a troublesome moment, but never one
like that."
And, as if even the thinking of it was more than he could bear, the old
clerk took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Hester had
listened with great interest, but still with a little impatience: for
though the run upon the bank would have interested her at another time,
it was more than her attention was equal to now.
"But was not my father here as well as my mother?" said Hester, in her
clear voice, unconscious of any need to subdue it.
Mr. Rule looked at her with a startled air and a half-involuntary
"Hush!"
"Your father!" he said, with a tone of consternation. "Oh; the fact was
that your father--did not happen to be there at the time."
Hester waved her hand slightly as a token for him to go on. She had a
feeling that these words were of more importance than they seemed to be,
but they confused her, and she did not as yet see what this importance
was. She remembered that she had thought so when he told her this
incident before.
"Where was I?" said Mr. Rule. "Oh, yes, I remember; just going into the
White House with my mind full of trouble, not knowing what to do. Well,
Miss Hester, when I found that your--I mean when I discovered that
your--mother was alone, I told her the dreadful condition I was
in--Nobody to say what to do, no chief authority to direct, and
market-day to-morrow, and a run as sure as fate. Now, you know, we could
have telegraphed all over the country, but there was no such thing as a
telegraph then. I had to explain it to her just as I have to you, and I
feel sure she didn't understand me in the very least. She only knew
there was money wanted. She stepped across the room in her pretty
sandals, with her scarf hanging from her shoulders, as if she had been
going to play her harp, and opened a little bit of a desk, one of those
gimcrack things, all rosewood and velvet, which were the fashion then,
and took out all her money and brought it to me. It was in our own
notes, poor dear," said old Rule, with a little laugh; "and it came to
just twenty pounds. She would have made me take it--forced it upon me.
She did not understand a bit. She was full of trouble and sympathy, and
ready to give up everything. Ah, I have often told Miss Vernon since. It
was not want of will; it was only that she did not understand."
"I am sure you mean to speak kindly of mamma," said Hester, with a quick
blush of alarmed pride; "but I don't think it is so difficult to make
her understand. And what did you do after that? Was there a run--and how
did you provide--?"
She did not know what to say, the questions seemed to get into her
throat and choke her. There was something else which she could not
understand which must soon be made clear. She gave furtive glances at
the old clerk, but did not look him in the face.
"Ah, I went to Miss Vernon. She was but a young lady then. Oh, I don't
mean to say young like you. It is thirty years ago. She was older than
your pretty young mamma, and though she had a great share in the
business she never had taken any part in it. But she was come of a
family that have all had fine heads for business. Look at Mr. Edward
now: what a clear understanding he has, and sees exactly the right thing
to do, whatever happens. She was a little shocked and startled just at
first, but she took it up in a moment, no man could have done it better.
She signed away all her money in the twinkling of an eye, and saved the
bank. When all the crowd of the country folk came rushing to draw out
their money, she stepped in--well, like a kind of goddess to us, Miss
Hester--and paid in almost her whole fortune, all her mother's money,
every penny she had out of the business, and pulled us through. I can
remember her too, as if it had been yesterday, the way she stepped
in--with her head held high, and a kind of a triumph about her;
something like what I have seen in yourself, my dear young lady."
"Seen in me! You have never seen me with any triumph about me," cried
Hester, bitterly. "And where have you seen me? I scarcely know you. Ah,
that was because of the money she had. My mother, with her twenty
pounds, what could she do? But Catherine was rich. It was because of her
money."
"Her money was a great deal: but it was not the money alone. It was the
heart and the courage she had. We had nobody to tell us what to do--but
after she came, all went well. She had such a head for business."
Hester could not stand and listen to Catherine's praises; but she was
entirely absorbed in the narrative. It seemed terrible to her that she
had not been there to be able to step in as Catherine had done. But
there was another question pressing upon her which she had asked
already, and to which she had got no reply. She shrank from repeating it
yet felt a force upon her to do so. She fixed her large widely-opened
eyes upon the speaker, so as to lose none of the indications of his
face.
"Will you tell me," she said, "how it was that you had, as you say,
nobody to tell you anything--no one at the head--nobody to say what was
to be done?"
Old Mr. Rule did not immediately reply. He made a little pause, and
shuffled with his feet, looking down at them, not meeting her eyes.
"Hester," said Ellen Merridew, who was passing, and paused on her
partner's arm to interfere, "why don't you dance? What do you mean by
not dancing? What are you doing here behind backs? I have been looking
for you everywhere."
"I prefer to be here," Hester answered, shortly; "never mind me, please.
Mr. Rule, will you answer me? I want to know."
"You asked how it was that we---- What was it you asked, Miss Hester? I
am very glad to see you so interested: but you ought to be dancing, not
talking to an old man, as Mrs. Merridew says."
"I think you are all in a plot against me," said Hester, impatiently;
"why was it you were left without a head? What had happened? Mr. Rule,"
cried the girl, "you know what I asked, and you know why I am so
anxious. You are trying to put me off. What does it all mean?"
"It is an old story," he said; "I cannot tell what tempted me to begin
about it. It was seeing you and your mother for the first time. You were
not at Miss Vernon's party last year?"
"What has that to do with it?" cried Hester. "If you will not tell me,
say so. I shall find out some other way."
"My dear young lady, ask me anything. Don't find out any other way. I
will come and see you, if your mamma will permit me, and tell you
everything about the old days. But I can't keep you longer now. And,
besides, it would need a great deal of explanation. I was foolish to
begin about it here, keeping you out of your natural amusement. But I'll
come and tell you, Miss Hester, with pleasure," said the old man,
putting on a show of easy cordiality, "any day you will name."
"Hester," said another voice over her head, "Ellen says I am not to let
you stay here. Come and see the supper-room. And the hall is very
pretty. I am not to go without you, Ellen says."
"Oh, what do I care for Ellen!" cried Hester, exasperated. "Go away,
Harry; go and dance and amuse yourself. I don't want you or any one. Mr.
Rule----"
But the old clerk had seized his opportunity. He had made a dart at some
one else on the other side while Hester turned to reply to Harry's
demand. The girl found herself abandoned when she turned to him again.
There had been a gradual shifting in the groups about while she stood
absorbed listening to his story. She was standing now among people who
were strange to her, and who looked at her curiously, knowing her to be
"one of the family." As she met their curious eyes, Hester, though she
had a high courage, felt her heart fail her. She was glad to fall back
upon her cousin's support.
"I think you are all in a conspiracy against me," she said; but she took
Harry's arm. He never abandoned her in any circumstances. Edward had not
spoken to her, nor noticed her presence; but Harry never failed. In her
excitement and disappointment she turned to him with a sense that here
she could not go wrong. As for Harry, to whom she was seldom so
complacent, he drew her arm within his own with a flush of pleasure.
"I know you don't think much of me," he said, "but surely I am as good
as that old fellow!" a speech at which Hester could not but laugh. "I
should like to know what he was saying to you," Harry said.
"He was telling me about the run on the bank and how Catherine saved it.
Do you know--I wonder---- Had my father never anything to do with it?"
Hester said.
They were making their way through the crowd at the end of the room. And
Harry's countenance was not expressive. Hester thought the stare in his
eyes was directed to somebody behind who had pushed against her. She was
not suspicious that Harry could hide from her any knowledge he
possessed.
"That was ages before my time," he said very steadily. "You might as
well ask me about the flood;" and so led her on through the many groups
about the door, entirely unsuspicious that he, too, for whom she had an
affectionate contempt, had baulked her. She allowed him to take her over
all the lighted rooms which opened into each other: the hall, the
library, the room blazing with lights and decorations, which was
prepared for supper. Hester had never been before at one of these great
assemblies. And she could not keep herself entirely unmoved by the
dazzling of the lights, the warmth and largeness of the entertainment. A
sort of pride came upon her, surprising her in spite of herself: though
she was so humble a member of the family, and subject under this roof to
slights and scorns, yet she was a Vernon, and could not escape some
reflection of the family glory which centred in Catherine. And as she
went into the hall a still more strange sensation suddenly came over
Hester. She caught sight, in a large mirror, of herself stepping
forward, her head held high in its habitual poise of half indignant
energy, and a certain swiftness in her air and movement, a sentiment of
forward motion and progress, very familiar to everybody who knew her,
but which brought suddenly to her mind old Rule's description, "stepping
in with a kind of triumph about her, as I have seen yourself."
"Triumph!" Hester said secretly within herself, and coloured high, with
a sensation of mingled pain and pleasure, which no words could have
described. She did not know what it meant; but it stirred her strangely.
If she had been in these circumstances she would have acted like
Catherine. The story of her mother in her gentle ignorance, which the
old clerk thought so much of, did not affect the high-spirited girl as
did the picture of the other putting herself in the breach, taking upon
her own shoulders the weight of the falling house. Hester felt that she,
too, could have done this. Her breast swelled, her breath came short
with an impulse of impatience and longing to have such an opportunity,
to show the mettle that was in her. But how could she do it? Catherine
was rich, but Hester was poor. In this way she was diverted for the
moment from her anxiety. The question as to how the bank came into that
peril, the suspicion that her father must have been somehow connected
with it, the heat of her research after the key of the mystery, faded
away for the moment in a vague, general excitement and eager yet vain
desire to have it in her power to do something, she also----a desire which
many a young mind has felt as well as Hester; to have that golden
opportunity--the occasion to do a heroic deed, to save some one, to
venture your own life, to escape the bonds of every day, and once have a
chance of showing what was in you! This was not the "chance" which Emma
Ashton desired, but it appealed to every sentiment in Hester. The strong
longing for it seemed almost to promise a possibility, as she walked
along in a dream, without noticing Harry by her side. And he did not
disturb her by conversation. It was enough for Harry to feel her hand on
his arm. He had never very much to say, and he did not insist upon
saying it. He was content to lead her about, to show her everything; and
the sensation of taking care of her was pleasant to his heart.
When they reached the hall, however, they became aware of a late
arrival, which had a certain effect upon both. Standing near the great
door, which had been opened a minute before to admit him, sending a
thrill of cold night air through the whole warm succession of rooms,
stood Roland Ashton. Hester was aware that he was expected, but not that
he was coming here. A servant was helping him off with his coat, and
Edward stood beside him in eager conversation. Edward's countenance,
generally toned down to the air of decorum and self-command which he
thought necessary, was excited and glowing. And Harry, too, lighted up
when he saw the new comer. "Ah, there's Ashton!" he said; while from one
of the other doors Catherine Vernon herself, with a white shawl over her
shoulders, came out from amidst her other guests to welcome her kinsman.
It was a wonderful reception for a young man who was not distinguished
either by rank or wealth. Hester had to hang back, keeping persistently
in the shade, to prevent her companion from hurrying forward into the
circle of welcoming faces.
"I felt the cold air from the door at the very end of the drawing-room,"
Catherine said; "but though it made me shiver it was not unwelcome,
Roland. I knew that it meant that you had come."
"I wish my coming had not cost you a shiver," Roland cried.
"One moment; I must say how d'ye do to him," said Harry in Hester's ear;
and even he, the faithfulest one, left her for a moment to hold out his
hand to the new comer.
The girl stood apart, sheltering herself under the shade of the plants
with which the hall was filled, and looked on at this scene. There was
in the whole group a curious connection with herself. Even to Catherine
she, perhaps, poor girl as she was, was the guest among all the others
who roused the keenest feeling. Edward, who did not venture to look at
her here, had given her every reason to believe that his mind was full
of her. Harry had put his life at her disposal. Roland--Roland had taken
possession of her mind and thoughts for a few weeks with a completeness
of influence which probably he never intended, which, perhaps, was
nothing at all to him, which it made Hester blush to remember. They all
stood together, their faces lighted up with interest while she looked
on. Hester stood under a great myrtle bush, which shaded her face, and
looked at them in the thrill of the excitement which the previous events
of the evening had called forth. A sort of prophetic sense that the
lives of all were linked with her own, a presentiment that between them
and among them it would be hers to work either for weal or woe, came
over her like a sudden revelation. It was altogether fanciful and absurd
she felt; but the impression was so strong that she turned and fled,
with a sudden impulse to avoid the fate that seemed almost to overshadow
her as she stood and looked at them. She, who a moment before had been
longing for the heroic opportunity, the power of interposing as
Catherine had interposed, felt all the panic of a child come over her as
she stood and gazed at the four people, not one of whom was indifferent
to her. She hurried out of the comparative quiet of the hall into the
crowd, and made her way with a trembling of nervous excitement to where
her mother sat. Mrs. John was still seated serenely on her sofa talking
of old school-days and comrades with the lady of the emeralds. She was
serene, yet there was a little gentle excitement about her too, a little
additional colour upon her soft cheek. Hester, with her heart beating
loudly and a strange tumult in her veins, took refuge behind her mother
with a sense of protection which she had never felt before. The soft
nature which was ready to be touched by any gentle emotion, which
understood none of life's problems, yet, by patience and simplicity,
sailed over them all, is often a shield to those that see more and feel
more. Behind her unconscious mother Hester seemed to herself to take
refuge from her fate.
It was a great elevation to Mrs. John to sit there at the upper part of
the room, among the great ladies, out of the crowd of less distinguished
persons. Her feeling of embarrassed shyness and sense of being out of
place had all vanished when she discovered her old friend; and from that
time she had begun to enjoy herself with a soothing consciousness that
all proper respect was paid to her, and that at last, without any doing
of hers, all, as she said to herself, had come right. She assented with
gentle cordiality to all that was said to her about the beauty of the
house, and the perfection of the arrangements.
"Catherine is wonderful," she said; "she has such a head; she
understands everything," and not a feeling in her heart contradicted her
words.
That evening was, in its way, a gentle triumph to the gentle little
woman. Hester had disappeared from her for a time, and had been, she had
no doubt, enjoying herself; and then she had come back and stood
dutifully by her mother, such a maid of honour as any queen might have
been proud of. She had a thousand things to say of the assembly; of dear
Bridget Wilton, who recollected her so well, and who was now quite a
great person; of the prettiness of the party, and the girls' dresses,
and all the light and brilliancy of the scene--when at last it was all
over and they had reached home.
"Now I am sure you are glad you went," she said, with innocent
confidence. "It is a long, long time since I have spent so pleasant an
evening. You see Catherine would not allow me to be overlooked when it
was really a great party. She knows very well what is due. She did not
mind at those little evenings, which are of no importance; but to-night
you could see how different it was. Bridget insisted that Sir John
himself should take me to supper. No, dear, it was nothing more than was
right, but it shows, what I always thought, that no neglect was ever
intended. And Catherine was very kind. I am sure now you are glad you
went."
Was she glad she had gone? Hester could not tell. She closed the door
between her and her mother as if she were afraid that Mrs. John in her
unusual exhilaration might read her thoughts. These thoughts were almost
too great to be confined within her own spirit. As she lay down in the
dark she seemed to see the light shining all about her, the groups in
the ball-room--the old man garrulous, deep in the revelations of the
past, and the cluster of figures all standing together under the light
of the lamps, exchanging questions which meant, though she could
scarcely tell how, the future to Hester. Perhaps, on the whole, it was
true, and she was glad she had gone.
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON
R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR,
BREAD STREET HILL.
* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Obvious errors and inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation and
hyphenation have been corrected.
Archaic spellings have been retained.
End of Project Gutenberg's Hester, Volume 2 (of 3), by Margaret Oliphant