CHAPTER CXLII.

THE DRESS-MAKER: A LOVE STORY.

“It was between nine and ten o’clock on a dark and rainy night, in the

month of November, 1834, that a young female, plainly but decently

attired, was wending her way along Oxford Street. She had a large

parcel beneath her cloak;--and this parcel she protected against the

rain with the most jealous care,--thinking more, in fact, of the object

of her solicitude than of picking her path with sufficient nicety to

enable her to avoid the puddles of water that were ankle-deep in some

parts of the pavement--but more especially at the crossings. For, in

sooth, it was a bitter--bitter night:--the windows of heaven appeared

to be indeed opened, and the rain fell in torrents. The streets seemed

to be positively covered in with an arcade of umbrellas, on which the

quick drops rattled down with the violence of hail. The young female

whom I have mentioned, had an umbrella;--but she found it rather a

difficult task to hold it comfortably with one hand, while her left arm

encircled as it were the precious parcel beneath her cloak. For the

passengers in the streets of London are never over remarkable for their

civility to each other--still less so on such a night as the one I am

describing. The consequence was that there was an incessant struggle

amongst the strong to push their umbrellas safely through the mass, and

amongst the weak to prevent their own umbrellas from being dragged out

of their hands;--but it naturally happened that the latter fared the

worst.

“The young female was meek, timid, and unobtrusive. She only sought to

be permitted to pursue her way in peace, without being molested;--for,

heaven knows! she had not the least desire on her part to inconvenience

a soul. But first some rude, hulking fellow would thrust her against

the houses--almost through the shop windows; then, if she moved over

to the kerb-stone of the pavement, she found herself speedily pushed

into the mud. To pursue a middle course was impossible; because the two

streams of persons carrying umbrellas were the monopolists there;--and

so the young female began to lament the necessity which had sent her

forth into the streets on such a night as this. At length she reached

the iron gates leading into Hanover Square; and she rejoiced--for she

thought within herself that she had now got clear of the crowd, and

need entertain no farther apprehension of having the precious parcel

knocked out of her hands. But just as she entered the Square, a rude,

coarse fellow rushed against her as he was running hastily round the

corner; and such was the violence of the concussion, that the parcel

was knocked from beneath her arm. The ruffian who had caused the

accident, burst into a ferocious laugh, as if he had just performed a

most humorous or clever feat, and darted away. But the young female

was disconsolate at what had occurred; and tears started into her

eyes. Though bruised and hurt by the man’s violence, she thought not

of herself--she felt no pain:--it was on account of the parcel that

she was so deeply grieved. Hastily picking it up, she hurried to the

nearest lamp; and the moment she examined the packet beneath the

gas-light, she found her worst apprehensions confirmed. For the parcel

contained a costly silk dress, well wrapped up in brown paper;--but the

side on which it had fallen was dripping wet and covered with mud!

“‘O heavens! no food _again_ to-night!’ exclaimed the young female

aloud--for in her despair she paused not to notice whether she were

noticed or overheard. And she _was_ both noticed and overheard,--and by

a tall, handsome individual, of gentlemanly appearance, and muffled in

a capacious cloak. He had issued from the nearest house at the moment

the accident occurred; and, perceiving the brutality of the encounter,

though too late to prevent it or to chastise the perpetrator, he stood

still to observe the young female, whose countenance, as the rays of

the lamp fell upon it, struck him as being remarkably beautiful. In

that rapid survey, partial as it was by the flickering light, which

was moreover dimmed by the mist of the falling rain, the stranger

fancied that he perceived--independently of the despair which that

countenance now wore--a certain settled melancholy expression, that

at once rivetted his interest and excited his sympathies. But when

those words--so terrible in their meaning,--‘O heavens! no food

_again_ to-night!’ fell upon his ears, he accosted the young female,

and said, in a tone of respectful though somewhat condescending pity,

‘My poor girl, it appears that a sad accident has befallen you.’--The

young woman, or rather girl--for she was not more than eighteen years

of age--looked up into the face of the individual who thus addressed

her; and, perceiving that it was no insolent coxcomb who spoke, she

replied in a tone of deep melancholy, ‘Yes, sir: it is to _me_ a

great misfortune!’--The stranger read, or fancied he read, an entire

history in those few and plaintively uttered words,--how, perhaps, a

young dress-maker had toiled to finish a particular piece of work in

the hope of receiving instantaneous payment on taking it home,--how

the article had been thrown down, soiled, and rendered at least

unfit to be delivered that night to its owner, even if it were not

spoilt altogether,--and how the poor girl had lost her only chance of

obtaining the wherewith to procure a meal. Upon more closely, though

still with great delicacy, questioning the young female, the stranger

found all his surmises to be correct; but she could not tell whether

the silk dress were injured beyond redemption or not. ‘In any case,’

she added, still weeping bitterly, ‘I shall tell the lady the truth

when I take home the dress to-morrow.’--These words, uttered with

the most unquestionable sincerity, made a deep impression upon the

gentleman who was addressing her; for they denoted an unsophisticated

uprightness of character which augmented the interest he already

felt in the poor young creature.--‘And who is the lady you speak

of?’ he enquired.--‘The Dowager Marchioness of Wilmington,’ was the

reply.--‘Ah!’ ejaculated the stranger: then, after a moment’s pause, he

said, ‘Pardon me, young woman, for having asked you so many questions:

but it has not been through motives of idle curiosity. Here is a small

sum that will procure you immediate necessaries;’--and thrusting a coin

into her hand, he hurried away. The deed took the poor girl completely

by surprise;--for although it has occupied me some time to relate all

that passed between her and the generous stranger, yet in reality

their dialogue was of scarcely more than two minutes’ duration; and

the dress-maker had not yet recovered from the grief into which the

accident to her parcel had plunged her. When, therefore, the light

of the lamp flashed upon a bright yellow coin, she could scarcely

believe her eyes:--she fancied that her benefactor had made a mistake,

and intended to give her a shilling,--and then, in spite of the cold

night, the warm blood rushed to her cheeks, at the idea of any one

treating her as a mendicant--for she had her little feelings of pride,

poor though she were! But her next thought was that the stranger might

really have intended to present her with a sovereign; and--so strange

a sentiment is human pride, even in the most virtuous bosoms--her

soul revolted not from receiving that amount. And now, lest this

circumstance should induce you to form an evil opinion of my heroine,

I must inform you that it was no selfish nor avaricious feeling that

made her draw a distinction between the gift of a shilling and that of

a sovereign:--but she had been tenderly and genteelly brought up--and

the comparison which her mind drew, was simply as between the alms that

one would toss to a mendicant, and the pecuniary aid which a delicate

benevolence would administer to a person in temporary embarrassment.

“Of all these things she thought as she retraced her way along Oxford

Street,--holding her umbrella with her right hand, and with her left

arm encircling the parcel more carefully than before. She came to

the conclusion that the sovereign was not given by mistake; and she

resolved to avail herself of the bounty which Providence itself had

appeared to bestow upon her in the hour of her bitterest need. She

thought of the little brother who was anxiously expecting her return,

and who had fared so scantily for the last few days,--that little

brother of only eight years old, whom the sudden, premature, and almost

simultaneous death of their parents, about two years previously, had

left so completely dependant upon her! As she drew near the street in

which she lived, she stopped at the baker’s where she was accustomed

to deal, and purchased some nice buns;--and then she hurried on until

she reached the house wherein she rented a small back room on the third

floor. On entering the little chamber, which, though poorly furnished,

was very clean and neat, a beautiful boy, with light brown curly hair

and fine blue eyes, but with cheeks somewhat pale, sprang towards her,

exclaiming ‘Oh! dear sister Julia, I am so glad you have come back: for

I cannot bear to be left alone so long!’--‘I have brought you something

nice, Harry,’ said the kind girl, smiling sweetly upon him; and, she

placed the bag containing the buns in his hand. Joy sparkled in his

eyes;--but in another moment he observed that his sister had brought

back the parcel, which she had opened, and was carefully examining the

silk-dress to ascertain the amount of injury done to it. Throwing the

cakes upon the table, the boy hastened to question her; but poor Julia

could not answer him--scalding tears were trickling down her cheeks--a

suffocating grief filled her bosom,--for she found, to her dismay, that

the dress was completely spoilt!

“She sate down, and gave full vent to her anguish;--and then little

Harry threw his arms round her neck, and endeavoured to console her.

The flood of tears which she shed, and the affectionate conduct of

her little brother at length considerably soothed her;--and the poor

girl made up her mind to meet her misfortune with resignation. ‘You

are dripping wet, dear Julia,’ said Harry: ‘and there is not a morsel

of coal left,’ he added, looking at the miserable remnant of a fire

which was fast extinguishing in the grate.--‘Poor boy! you have been

cold,’ exclaimed the dress-maker, not thinking of herself.--‘No, dear

Julia,’ he answered; ‘for I have been walking up and down the room, to

keep myself awake till you came back. I was only afraid that the candle

would not last.’--‘Nor will it many minutes longer, Harry!’ cried

Julia, starting from her seat. ‘But do not be afraid, my dear little

fellow; for I have plenty of money to buy all we want for the moment. A

good kind gentleman took compassion upon me, and--and----’; she did not

choose to say, ‘_and gave me some money_;’--for, somehow or another,

her pure soul revolted from the idea that she had been the object of

eleemosynary benevolence on the part of a stranger:--so, cutting the

matter short, she kissed her little brother tenderly, bade him eat his

cakes, and, promising to return in a few minutes, hurried away. She

ordered up coals and wood from the nearest shed,--thence she repaired

to the grocer’s, where she purchased a few articles,--and lastly, she

sped to the baker’s, to buy bread. But the moment she entered this

shop, the master rushed from behind the counter, seized her rudely,

called her by many opprobrious names, and, raising an alarm, attracted

the attention of a policeman who was passing by. The constable entered

the shop, and enquired the cause of the disturbance; but poor Julia

had fainted;--and she, therefore, heard not the charge that was made

against her. When she came to her senses, she gazed wildly around,

thinking that she had just awoke from a horrid dream;--but, alas!

it was all too true! She was seated in a chair in the middle of the

shop--a policeman standing near her--and a gaping, curious crowd

collected at the door. ‘Now, young woman,’ said the officer, ‘come

along with me!’--Julia cast upon him a look so full of horror and

amazement, that the man’s heart was for an instant touched;--but, being

accustomed to endless varieties of imposture on the part of offenders,

he speedily recovered the cold indifference so characteristic of his

class, and said sternly, if not brutally, ‘None of this nonsense: you

must tramp off to the station-house!’--‘But what have I done? what

offence have I committed?’ asked Julia, in a tone of the most pathetic

entreaty. ‘Oh! there must be some dreadful mistake in all this!’--‘No

mistake at all,’ said the officer; ‘and you’ll know all about it in

the morning, when you go before the magistrate!’--‘The magistrate!’

repeated the girl, with the emphasis of despair. ‘But my poor little

brother, what will become of him?’--‘That’s no business of mine,’

returned the constable: ’come along!’--and he dragged the half-fainting

Julia from the shop.

“Away to the nearest station-house was the unhappy young woman rather

borne than conducted;--and so stunned--so stupefied was she by this

sudden, unaccountable, and overwhelming misfortune, that her tongue

refused to give utterance to the questions which her suspense prompted

her lips to frame. The station was close by; and thus was it that

before she had leisure to recover from her bewilderment and terror,

she found herself thrust into a dark cell--all dripping wet from head

to foot as she was. When full consciousness returned, and she was

enabled to look her misfortune in the face, she found that all the

articles she had purchased at the grocer’s and all the remainder of her

money were gone. Yet she could not possibly conceive on what charge

she had been thus rudely treated;--and her conscience inspired her

with the hope that her complete innocence must become apparent in the

morning. But the thought of her little brother excited the most painful

sensations in her bosom:--her heart was rent with pangs that seemed to

threaten her very existence! The poor little fellow!--she fancied she

saw him sitting in the cold, lonely chamber, crying bitterly at his

sister’s prolonged absence:--and then a thousand fears haunted her--all

distracting in the extreme. Might he not take it into his head to go

out to look after her?--he, who was so ignorant of London!--and then

might he not be lost in the mazes of the mighty metropolis, and on a

night when it would be almost death to him to wander about the flooded

streets? Oh! all these fears--these thoughts were terrible;--for

she dearly loved her little brother--loved him, perhaps, the more

affectionately, the more tenderly, because their orphan condition

rendered him so completely dependant upon her,--and because he was so

much attached to her, and his ways were so winning--his disposition so

cheerful!

“In the midst of these harrowing meditations a policeman opened the

trap in the door of the cell, and called her by name--‘_Julia Murray!_’

She answered in a faint and feeble tone; and the officer was about

to close the trap, satisfied that his prisoner was not ill nor had

attempted suicide,--when the young woman suddenly exclaimed, ‘Stop

one moment!’--‘Well, what is it?’ demanded the constable.--In a few

hurried words Julia explained to him how she had a little brother

expecting her return, how he would be overwhelmed with grief at her

unaccountable absence, and how grateful she should feel if any one

could be sent to inform the child that his sister would be certain

to return in the morning. The constable, who was a kind-hearted

man, promised that her request should be complied with; and he was

about to depart when, a thought striking him, he said, ‘But are you

so sure, young woman, of getting off so easy as you imagine. The

charge is a serious one, mind!’--‘The charge!’ she repeated: ‘I do

not even yet know what it is!’--‘Oh! that’s all gammon,’ cried the

constable, closing the trap abruptly; and now, his opinion of the

prisoner being that she was a hardened impostor, and had some sinister

motive in view in sending a message to her lodgings, determined to

trouble himself no more concerning the matter. It was, however, some

consolation to the poor girl to believe that her commission would be

duly executed;--for, though she had heard the officer’s unfeeling,

cutting observation relative to her ignorance of the accusation against

her, she could not for an instant suppose that he would neglect to

fulfil his promise regarding her little brother. But wearily--wearily

passed away that night--not once did the poor dress-maker close

her eyes--and she counted every hour that was proclaimed from the

neighbouring church-clock--often saying to herself that never, never

had time travelled with such leaden pace before! She had not tasted

food for many hours--and yet she was not hungry; but she experienced a

terrible faintness at the chest, and an oppressiveness on the brain,

that at intervals made her mind wander. Her cloak was dripping wet

when she had been locked up, and her shoes, stockings, and the lower

part of her dress were saturated;--but she had thrown her cloak aside,

and her garments had dried upon her;--and now she felt not positively

cold--only a numbness in her limbs, which gave her however no pain.

“At length the dull, misty, wintry morning dawned upon the

metropolis--though all was still dark in her gloomy cell. Presently

an officer entered, and gave her a cup of hot coffee and a piece of

bread. She asked him if the message had been sent to her brother;--but

he was not the same constable who had made the round of the cells at

midnight, and therefore knew nothing about the matter. Moreover, he

was a stern, sulky man; and she dared not speak farther to him--much

as she longed to ascertain the real nature of the charge against her.

She drank the coffee, which seemed to do her good;--but she could

not force a single mouthful of the bread down her throat--though the

cravings of hunger now began to oppress her cruelly. But, to use a

common phrase, her heart heaved against food. A couple of hours more

passed away, and then the same policeman who had arrested her on the

preceding evening came to conduct her to the police-office. While

they were proceeding thither, Julia enquired the nature of the charge

against her; and she now learnt for the first time that the coin which

she had changed at the bakers, and which she had believed to be a

sovereign, was only a gilt counter, of the kind used at card tables

in genteel society. She was cruelly shocked at this information, and

frankly and candidly explained to the officer the manner in which she

had become possessed of it; but he only shook his head, and seemed

to put but little faith in her story. Julia was, however, too much

absorbed in the vexation and ignominy she had thus been subjected to,

and was still enduring, to notice the man’s incredulity;--but she clung

to the hope that her tale would be believed by the magistrate before

whom she was about to appear. It happened that the usual charges of

drunkenness were just disposed of, at the moment when the young female

entered the court; and she was accordingly at once placed at the

bar--the baker being already in attendance to prefer his charge against

her. This he did in a plain and straight-forward manner,--showing no

ill-feeling against the prisoner--but, on the contrary, alleging that

he had always believed her to be a highly respectable, industrious, and

praise-worthy young woman until the present transaction took place. He

added that he had given her into custody in a moment of irritation,

believing himself to have been duped; and that he should be truly

delighted if she could make her innocence apparent. Julia’s courage

was somewhat restored by the forbearing conduct of the baker--for her

own good sense told her that the case was really one involving much

unpleasant suspicion;--and she now told her tale with an artlessness

and sincerity that produced no inconsiderable effect upon the bench.

Nevertheless, as the magistrate observed, it certainly appeared strange

that a gentleman should have given her a gilt counter in mistake for a

sovereign,--strange also that a mere stranger should have intended to

bestow upon her a sovereign at all. The magistrate proceeded to state

that the prisoner must be remanded, in order that the gentleman of whom

she spoke--if her story were true--might come forward, upon seeing

the report of the case in the newspapers, and tender his evidence.

Julia burst out into an agony of weeping, when she heard that she

must go to prison for a week; and the baker requested the magistrate

to re-consider his decision. This appeal was, however, made in vain;

but it was intimated that bail would be received for the prisoner’s

re-appearance. The baker gave a whispered assurance to the unhappy

girl that he would get two of his friends to become security for her;

and this promise consoled her. When she was removed from the office,

on her way to a cell in the rear of the establishment, the baker told

her that his wife had taken care of her brother, who had passed the

night at their house: and he expressed his deep regret that he should

have proceeded against her, as he had learnt from her landlady that she

was a young woman of most exemplary character. To be brief, the baker

performed his promise of procuring bail for the prisoner; and at about

two o’clock in the afternoon she was enabled to return home.

“Little Harry was speedily brought back to her by the baker’s wife,

who, it appeared, had bitterly reproached her husband on the preceding

evening for his conduct towards Miss Murray, and, with considerate

kindness, had at once sent for her brother, whom the good woman

consoled with some plausible tale accounting for his sister’s absence.

Julia was not however happy, even though restored to liberty; for the

charge still hung over her--and so much depended on the chance of the

appearance of her unknown benefactor, who, she still firmly believed,

had accidentally and most unintentionally given her the gilt counter

which had led to so much wretchedness and serious embarrassment.

Her first care was now, however, to proceed to the house of the old

Marchioness of Wilmington, with the silk-dress, which was completely

spoiled; and Julia’s heart was heavy as she hurried along Oxford

Street. The weather was dull and gloomy; but the rain had ceased,

and the two streams of people flowed on, in different directions,

without the hurry, bustle, and struggling that had prevailed on the

preceding evening. Julia’s bosom palpitated nervously when she reached

the spot where the accident had occurred--that accident to which

her present sorrows might be traced. On reaching the house of that

marchioness in Hanover Square, the poor girl was conducted into the

presence of the dowager--a proud, stately dame whose age exceeded

fifty, but who endeavoured by means of rouge, false hair, false teeth,

and the appliances of the toilette, to appear at least twenty years

younger. Her ladyship was seated in a small, but elegantly furnished

parlour, and was occupied in reading--no, in skimming--the last new

novel, which, according to the usual fashion, had been carefully spun

out into three volumes, though all the incidents it contained might

with advantage have been condensed into one. At a beautiful little

work-table, sate a lovely creature of two-and-twenty, with hair as

dark as jet, fine large black eyes, and a tall symmetrical, but rather

robust figure. On this fair young lady’s countenance there was a slight

shade of melancholy; and her cheeks were somewhat pale--but apparently

through a secret care, and not ill-health. This was Lady Caroline

Jerningham, the only daughter of the marchioness, and consequently

sister to the Marquis of Wilmington, her ladyship’s only son.

“On entering the presence of these ladies, Julia, who had previously

arranged in her own imagination the precise terms in which she proposed

to tell her tale,--with a strict adherence to truth,--forgot all her

studied task, and became overwhelmed with confusion. The marchioness

looked so stately--so prim--so queen-like in her deportment, not to

say positively austere, that the poor girl was seized with vague

apprehensions and unknown terrors, as if she had committed a great

and grievous fault. Lady Caroline, however, cast upon her a look

of such kind encouragement, and also of such significance, that it

almost struck Julia at the moment that the young patrician lady had a

fore-knowledge of the disaster which had occurred to the dress. Yet how

was that possible?--and as the absurdity of such an idea forced itself

upon the girl’s mind the instant after the idea itself was entertained,

her confusion and embarrassment were increased, and she burst into

tears. The dowager uttered an ejaculation of surprise; and Julia,

hastily wiping her eyes, cast an appealing glance on Lady Caroline,

who, to her relief and amazement, she beheld gazing upon her with an

expression of reassurance and deep--almost tender interest. Encouraged

by the evident graciousness of the young lady, Julia proceeded to

open the parcel; and, while so doing, she began an explanation of

the accident which had occurred to the dress. The countenance of the

marchioness, to whom she glanced timidly, lowered and contracted;--but

Lady Caroline hastened to observe, in a kind and condescending manner,

‘Whatever has happened to the dress, Miss Murray, I am confident my

mother will attribute to a misfortune, and to no blameable neglect

on your part.’--‘Permit me to answer for myself, Lady Caroline,’

said the dowager, in a tone of haughty remonstrance to her daughter,

and with an austere look at the trembling Julia. ‘Young woman,’ she

continued, now addressing herself direct to the poor girl, ‘you were

recommended to me by Lady Lumley, as an efficient, honest, careful,

and deserving person,--one, who, having been brought up tenderly and

by parents moving in a genteel sphere until the time of their decease,

was suddenly compelled to have recourse to the needle to earn a

subsistence. Under such circumstances, and with this recommendation,

I sent for you--I agreed to give you a trial--and, as I perceive, you

have spoilt for me a dress that will cost me ten guineas to replace

it.’--‘I admit, my lady,’ said Julia, ‘that you have great cause to be

dissatisfied. But heaven is my witness that it was an accident; and if

your ladyship will permit me, I will toil day and night until I shall

have obtained the wherewith to make good the loss.’--‘No, young woman,’

observed the marchioness, somewhat mollified by the artlessness and

respectful demeanour of Julia Murray; ‘I cannot, being rich, oppress

you, who are poor. All that I can do in the case is to decline giving

you any farther employment. You may retire:’ and, having thus spoken

with a sententious pomposity that would have become a statesman, the

noble lady waved her hand authoritatively.

“Julia’s eyes filled with tears, which nearly blinded her--so that she

observed not how peculiar was the interest with which Lady Caroline

Jerningham was surveying her:--but, having vainly endeavoured to

stammer forth a few words imploring a continuance of the patronage of

the marchioness, she hurried from the room. On the landing outside she

paused for a few moments to wipe away the traces of tears from her

countenance and somewhat compose herself; for she shrank from the idea

of attracting unpleasant notice on the part of the lacqueys lounging in

the hall through which she must pass to reach the street-door. Suddenly

she felt a gentle touch upon the shoulder; for she had seated herself

in a chair on the landing, being overcome with grief and physical

exhaustion;--and starting up, she beheld Lady Caroline standing by her

side. ‘Hush!’ said the fair patrician, placing her finger upon her

lip, and glancing towards the parlour-door, as much as to imply that

she had stolen away from her mother’s presence and would not have her

motive suspected: ‘here, my poor girl, take this--and, when you require

a friend, fear not to apply to me--but by letter, remember, in the

first instance!’--Thus speaking, Lady Caroline thrust five sovereigns

into Julia’s hand, and instantly returned to the parlour, not waiting a

moment to receive the thanks of the astonished and delighted girl.

“Julia Murray now hurried home, and found little Harry anxiously

expecting her return;--for, although he was too young to comprehend the

nature of the alarms which she had experienced, when sallying forth, on

account of the spoilt dress, yet he was fearful lest she might remain

away from him for several hours again. He had no cares--that poor

little fellow--when his sister was with him; and he now asked her, in

so sweet yet earnest a manner, not to leave him any more during a whole

night, that she felt as if she would go through fire and water for that

darling boy. But she had no work in hand; and though she possessed five

sovereigns,--real sovereigns, and no gilt counters this time,--yet she

could not bear the idea of being idle. She however promised to remain

at home all that day; and she prepared a nice little dinner, which

made Harry so happy that she wished--Oh! how sincerely she wished--she

could always provide for him in the same manner. She endeavoured to

appear as cheerful as she could;--but there was a weight upon her

spirits--for the accusation still hung over her head, and she was in

suspense whether the unknown would see her case in the papers, and

appear to justify her. Besides, would not the publicity given to the

affair injure her with those kind patronesses who had hitherto taken

such an interest in the orphan girl? and, should the stranger-gentleman

not be forthcoming, would not a stigma be affixed upon her character,

even though the magistrate (as the baker assured her must be the

alternative) should dismiss the case? Of all these things she

thought;--and when Harry noticed her not, a pearly tear would trickle

down her pale but beauteous face. For Julia _was_ very beautiful. Her

hair was of a rich dark brown--her eyes of melting blue--her teeth of

pearly whiteness--and her shape elegant, graceful, and sylph-like.

“On the ensuing morning, after breakfast, Julia had just put on her

bonnet and shawl to go out for the purpose of calling upon her various

patronesses and enquiring whether they needed her services, when the

landlady of the house in which she lodged, entered the room and said,

‘Miss Murray, a gentleman wishes to speak to you: he will not walk

up to your apartment, as he does not know whether you may choose to

receive him here; and he is accordingly waiting in my parlour.’--A

ray of hope flashed to the mind of the young woman: what if it were

the unknown who had given her the gilt counter? The suspicion was

strengthened by the delicacy of his behaviour in not ascending to her

chamber; for, during the brief discourse which she had with him on

the night so fatal to her, he had manifested a disposition quite in

accordance with the propriety of conduct and considerate proceeding

adopted by the individual who now waited to see her. Telling Harry that

she should not be long, Julia hurried down stairs; and in a few moments

she found herself in the presence of the individual who was uppermost

in her thoughts. Yes:--it was indeed he--the unknown,--the same tall,

handsome man,--and enveloped, too, in a cloak richly lined with sables.

He was about eight-and-twenty years of age; and there was something

noble and commanding, though gracious and encouraging, in his air and

demeanour. The moment Julia made her appearance, he rose from the chair

in which he had been seated, and taking her hand, said in a tone of

the most earnest sincerity, ‘Miss Murray, I know not in what terms to

express the shame and grief which I experience at the misfortune that

has overtaken you. It was not until I saw this mornings newspaper,

that I even dreamt of the mistake--the dreadful mistake I had made: and

the instant the case met my eyes, I hurried hither. The explanation

which I have to give, you can of course anticipate:--I had purchased

some gilt counters only half-an-hour before I met you in Hanover

Square, and I put them loose into the same pocket which contained my

money.’--‘I never for an instant imagined, sir,’ said Julia, ‘that

you had purposely trifled with my feelings.’--‘Generous young woman,

to put such a construction upon a matter which has caused you so much

suffering!’ exclaimed the unknown. ‘But it is now my duty to accompany

you at once to the police-court, and place your character in the same

honourable light in which it originally stood.’--Julia was overjoyed

at this announcement; and the gentleman, giving her his arm, escorted

her to the police-court, calling however on the baker in their way to

desire him to attend immediately before the magistrate. During the

walk, the stranger asked the young woman a great many questions--not

of an impertinent nature, nor denoting an idle curiosity,--but rather

evincing an interest in the orphan girl. It however struck Julia as

somewhat singular that he did not put a single query to her relative to

the spoilt dress: it seemed as if he had quite forgotten that incident!

“On their arrival at the police-office, the gentleman immediately

handed his card to the magistrate, to whom he whispered a few words at

the same time; and his worship became all civility and politeness. The

case was called on without a moment’s delay: the gentleman concisely

but effectually explained the affair of the gilt counter; and the

magistrate, on declaring Julia to be discharged, assured her that she

would leave the court without the slightest stain on her character.

The stranger placed ten pounds in the magistrate’s hands for the

use of the poor-box, and then departed in company with Julia, whom

he escorted back to the house in which she dwelt. On reaching the

door, he paused, and taking her hand, said, ‘Miss Murray, I shall not

insult you by offering a pecuniary recompense for the mortification,

annoyance, and distress you have undergone through that gilt counter.

But I shall endeavour to serve you in another way. Farewell for

the present: you will shortly see me again; for, be assured,’ he

added, gazing earnestly upon her for a moment, ‘I shall never forget

you.’--Thus speaking, he pressed her hand and hurried away;--and it

was not until he had disappeared from her view that she remembered she

was still in profound ignorance of who or what he was. It, however,

struck her that the case would be again reported in the newspapers;

and she therefore hoped that the morrow would clear up the mystery.

But it was with some degree of anxiety and painful suspense that she

thus awaited the publication of the journals of the ensuing day;--and

she could not account to herself for the feelings that thus agitated

her. Although her character had been completely cleared from the

imputation thrown upon it, and her innocence was made unquestionably

apparent,--although she had ample funds, through the generosity of Lady

Caroline Jerningham, to provide for all present wants,--and although

a secret voice seemed to whisper in her soul that she possessed a

good friend in the stranger-gentleman,--yet, somehow or another, poor

Julia was not entirely contented. Was it that the handsome countenance

of her unknown benefactor had made any impression on her heart?--was

it that his kind and sympathising conduct had touched a tender chord

in her pure and innocent bosom? It is impossible to answer these

questions at present: but it is very certain that Julia experienced a

disappointment almost amounting to a positive shock, when she found

that the morning papers seemed to be in as much ignorance as herself

relative to her unknown benefactor. The report merely alluded to him

as ‘_a gentleman whose name did not transpire_;’--and this mystery in

which her friend evidently wrapped himself, became a source of secret

trouble to the young dress-maker. Wherefore had he not revealed his

name to her? Disreputable that name could not be; else how could it

have produced so magical an effect upon the magistrate? Was it, then,

a great--a famous--or a noble name? Julia sighed--and dared not hazard

any conjectures: but in her heart there suddenly appeared to arise a

hope--a secret wish, that the stranger was _not_ so very highly exalted

above her own social sphere!

“Again was Julia preparing to sally forth and visit the various ladies

for whom she was accustomed to work, when her landlady brought her up a

note. It was from Lady Caroline Jerningham, requesting Miss Murray to

call upon her in the evening at a stated hour, as her ladyship had a

quantity of work to place in her hands. The young maiden was overjoyed

at the receipt of this missive, which not only promised her employment,

but likewise seemed to be an assurance of the tender interest which

the charming Lady Caroline had taken in her. She did not therefore

stir out until the evening;--and little Harry was delighted that his

sister remained at home with him. But when the appointed hour drew

near, she tranquillised her brother with a promise of a speedy return;

and away she sped, with a heart full of hope, towards Hanover Square.

On reaching the splendid mansion occupied by the Dowager-Marchioness,

Julia was received by Lady Caroline’s own maid, and was forthwith

conducted to the chamber of her fair patroness, who treated her in

the most kind and condescending manner. ‘I regret, Miss Murray,’ she

said, ‘that I am forced to admit you thus stealthily into the house;

but my mother is of a peculiar temper, although in reality possessed

of a good heart.’--‘I understand your ladyship,’ returned Julia: ‘the

Marchioness cannot forgive me for what she considers neglect. I am

however deeply grateful to your ladyship for thinking otherwise, and

for giving me such substantial proofs that you entertain so favourable

an opinion.’--‘My dear Miss Murray,’ observed Lady Caroline, ‘I will

do any thing I can to serve you; for I can well imagine how grateful

must be the sympathy of a friend to one who is acquainted with

sorrow!’--These words were uttered with almost a mournful emphasis, as

if the fair speaker craved that sympathy and friendship for herself

which she proffered to another;--and Julia could not help regarding her

with mingled surprise, gratitude, and tender interest. They were alone

together--that elegant patrician lady and that beautiful milliner,--the

maid having retired; and it appeared as if a species of sisterly

feeling suddenly sprang up between them, inspiring them with mutual

confidence, and for the time annihilating the barrier that social

distinctions had raised up between them in the eyes of the world.

Thus was it that when Lady Caroline saw Julia’s looks fixed upon her

in so earnest and plaintive a manner, she felt herself irresistibly

urged to respond to that tacit yet eloquent proffer of sympathy and

affection. ‘Ah! my dear Miss Murray,’ she said, ‘you must not imagine

that unhappiness exists only with those who have to toil for their

daily bread. Perhaps, indeed, their lot is preferable to that of the

rich who have causes of grief;--for _you_ have a constant occupation

which allows little leisure for disagreeable reflection; whereas _I_

have so much time----’.--Lady Caroline checked herself, turned away,

and hastily passed a handkerchief across her face. She had perhaps

said more than she intended: for, from speaking of the richer and

poorer classes in general terms, she had been carried into personal

illustration of the truth of her remarks by pointedly placing herself

and Julia in juxta-position. Miss Murray, though totally devoid of

artfulness, was yet endowed with an intellect keen enough to perceive

this fact: and she now learnt, then--as indeed she had previously

suspected--that Lady Caroline was unhappy. But it was not for her

to invite a revelation of the fair patrician’s cause of sorrow: she

therefore remained silent.

[Illustration]

“‘Julia,’ said her ladyship, suddenly turning towards her again, and

taking her hand as she thus spoke,--‘Julia,’ she repeated, in an

earnest, appealing tone, ‘I will be a friend to you; but it may happen

that I also shall require the aid and sympathy of a friend----’; and,

once more checking herself, she sighed profoundly.--‘I would serve

you night and day, dear lady!’ exclaimed the young milliner, pressing

to her lips the hand which still grasped her own.--‘I have not read

your disposition inaccurately, dearest girl,’ responded Lady Caroline:

then, assuming a more cheerful tone, she said, ‘Be it understood, we

are friends! And now you must leave me, as my mother will be enquiring

after me.’--Julia received a parcel containing a variety of costly

stuffs, which she was to make up into dresses for her fair patroness,

and which would furnish her with work for at least a month; and,

as she was leaving the room, Lady Caroline said, ‘My own maid will

call upon you every Saturday evening and bring away whatever you may

have finished, until the whole be complete.’--They then separated,

Lady Caroline pressing Julia’s hand warmly at parting; and the young

dressmaker hurried homeward, her heart beating with joy at the kindness

which she had experienced and the friendship she had formed. ‘After

all,’ she murmured to herself, as she ascended the stair-case to her

chamber, where little Harry was sitting up to await her return.--‘after

all, the adventure of the spoilt dress has proved a service, rather

than an injury, to me: and perhaps,’ she added,--but it was her heart,

and not her lips, that now spoke,--‘the affair of the gilt counter may

likewise bring me good luck!’

“Julia now addressed herself to the work of which she had such

profusion; and while she sate plying her needle, with little Harry

playing about the room, she often thought of the handsome unknown.

Every day, after the frugal dinner, she took her brother out to walk

for an hour, that a little exercise and fresh air might benefit them

both; and, of an evening, when she laid aside her work, she gave him

instruction in many useful branches of education. During the day,

too, he learnt his lessons; and never did she suffer him to go out

alone into the streets--no, not even on the slightest errand. In fact,

this excellent young woman took as much care of her little orphan

brother as if she had been his parent, instead of his sister; and it

was a charming as well as touching sight to behold them repairing to

the parish church on a Sabbath-morning,--each attired with so much

neatness, and yet in a plain and unobtrusive manner. Well, three

weeks had passed since the interview between Julia and Lady Caroline;

and on each Saturday evening her ladyship’s maid called to receive

and pay for the work that was finished. The domestic was sure to

have some pretty present from her mistress for Julia, and a handsome

toy--such as a transparent slate, or puzzle, or a miniature carpenter’s

tool-box--for Harry; and the grateful milliner sent back her kindest

but most respectful regards to her good patroness. But during those

three weeks she had neither seen nor heard any thing of the handsome

stranger;--and yet, had he not promised that he would shortly call

again? Wherefore should he call? Julia never paused to ask herself that

question;--but she did sometimes admit, within the secret recesses of

her own heart, that she thought it somewhat unkind he did not fulfil

his promise, after the distress she had endured in consequence of the

mistake he had made respecting the gilt counter. One day the landlady

tapped at Julia’s door; and, on being desired to enter, the good woman

informed her that ‘_the gentleman in the cloak_,’ was waiting in the

parlour below. A blush instantly spread itself over Julia’s cheeks;

whereupon the landlady said in a low but impressive tone, ‘you need

not be ashamed of an honest attachment, Miss; and I know you are too

good a girl to form any other. In fact, I told the gentleman what an

excellent creature you were, and how well you behaved to your little

brother.’--‘You told him all _that_?’ exclaimed Julia, looking up in

a surprise mingled with secret pleasure, while the blush upon her

beauteous countenance deepened.--‘Certainly I did, Miss,’ replied the

landlady: ‘but not to-day. It was when he called on account of that

unpleasant little affair, you know; and before he sent me up to fetch

you down, he asked no end of questions about you; and he seemed so

pleased when I told him that you were such a good, industrious young

person, and so kind to your orphan brother; and how you kept yourself

so quiet and respectable, having no acquaintances scarcely, and

certainly no visitors except your lady-customers or their maids.’--‘But

the gentleman did not ask all those questions?’ said Julia, in

a hesitating manner and with a tremulous voice, while her heart

palpitated with emotions of unknown pleasure.--‘Indeed he did, Miss,’

returned the landlady. ‘But, dear me! now I think of it, he charged me

not to tell you that he had asked any thing at all concerning you: and

by the same token, he gave me a sovereign to hold my tongue in this

respect; and therefore, Miss, you must not even _look_ as if you knew

a syllable of what occurred on that occasion. I am sure he is some

great person in disguise; and I am also certain that he has fallen in

love with you.’--Julia’s countenance now became scarlet; and she was

about to make a remonstrative reply, when little Harry, who began to

grow impatient of so much mysterious whispering between his sister and

the landlady, approached them, saying, ‘Is any thing the matter, dear

Julia?’--‘Nothing, my darling boy,’ was the cheerful reply: ‘I shall

return in a few minutes;’--and Julia hastened down stairs, the landlady

remaining with Harry.

“Though the young maiden endeavoured to compose herself as much as

possible, yet all that the landlady had told her rushed to her mind

with renewed force and stronger significancy just as she crossed the

threshold of the parlour and appeared in the presence of _the gentleman

in the cloak_. He observed her confusion--noticed the blush that

mantled on her cheeks--and, mistaking the cause said, as he took her

hand, ‘I am afraid, Miss Murray, that you consider it indiscreet for

me thus to pay my respects to you; and indeed, that fear has prevented

me from calling sooner.’--Julia started, cast down her eyes, and made

no reply; for in her artless innocence, it had never before struck

her that, an evil construction might be placed upon the visits of the

gentleman: but now the conviction that such was indeed the result to

be apprehended, was forced--yes, painfully forced--upon her sensitive

mind. The stranger read what was passing in her imagination; and if

he were delighted to observe that the danger which he had specified

was previously unsuspected by her ingenuous soul, he was not the

less gratified to acquire the certainty that her pure thoughts were

shocked by the idea of compromising her reputation.--‘Fear not, Miss

Murray,’ he continued, again taking her hand; ‘I should be the last

person on the face of the earth to do you a wilful injury in any way.

I have merely called, as in duty bound, to assure myself that you have

perfectly recovered from the effects of the distressing ordeal through

which you were compelled to pass in consequence of my carelessness.

But innocence, Miss Murray,’ he added, emphatically, ‘will invariably

triumph in the long run; and virtue will not ever languish unrewarded.

Your exemplary conduct, Miss Murray, must sooner or later be adequately

recompensed: your tenderness towards your orphan brother must ensure

for you the esteem and respect of all liberal and honest persons. May

I request, as a particular favour, that you will presently call on Mr.

Richardson, the solicitor, in Berners Street, close by; as I know that

he has some tidings, of rather an agreeable character, to impart to

you.’--With these words, the stranger pressed the young maiden’s hand,

and respectfully took his leave of her.

“Julia hastened back to her own chamber, and related to the worthy,

well-meaning, but garrulous landlady, every thing that _the gentleman

in the cloak_ had said to her. ‘Ah! Miss,’ cried the woman, ‘I seemed

to have a fore-knowledge that something good was to happen to you;

and now I am sure of it. But pray make haste and see what the lawyer

wants with you.’--Julia did not require to be pressed upon this point:

she herself was too anxious to solve this new mystery to permit any

unnecessary delay to take place; and, having dressed little Harry in

his Sunday apparel, she put on her best bonnet and shawl, and away

the sister went with her little brother to the lawyer’s. They entered

an office in which there were a great many clerks, who all left off

writing to turn round and have a look at the pretty young lady--for a

lady did Julia really seem, as she actually was by birth, education,

and manners;--but when she timidly mentioned her name, she found

herself the object of the most respectful attention. The head clerk

ushered her and her brother into a handsome apartment, where an elderly

gentleman, with a benevolent countenance, was seated at a desk covered

with papers; and the reception which he gave Julia Murray was more

than courteous--it was cordial and, as it were, paternally kind. ‘Sit

down, young lady,’ he said, handing her to a chair: ‘and you, my little

fellow, place yourself near your sister. And now, Miss Murray,’ he

continued, raising his large silver spectacles from his eyes to his

forehead, ‘I have some good news to communicate to you; and I am sure,

after all I have heard of you, I am proud and happy to be the medium

of conveying any thing agreeable to your ears.’--‘You are very kind,

sir,’ murmured the young maiden, still in the deepest suspense.--‘Did

you ever hear your late father speak of any one who owed him a sum of

money?’ enquired the lawyer.--Julia reflected for a few moments, and

then replied in the negative.--‘Well, perhaps he did not mention his

private affairs before you,’ observed the lawyer; ‘it is nevertheless

a fact, that many years ago he advanced a certain sum to a friend who

was in difficulties; but these embarrassments continued, ending in

bankruptcy or something of the sort; and so your poor father lost the

whole amount thus advanced. The friend went abroad; and he has latterly

returned to England, a rich man--having retrieved his fortunes in a

foreign clime. He made enquiries after your parents, and to his sorrow

learnt that they were no more; but he could not succeed in tracing you

out. At length he saw a report of a certain case in the newspaper, and

ascertained that you were the young lady therein mentioned. His sorrow

at the first appearance of the affair was only equalled by his joy when

he beheld the result; for he has your interest deeply at heart. He has,

however, been compelled to leave London in a great hurry;--but before

he went away, he gave me certain instructions, which I have fulfilled

with all possible despatch. The sum which he borrowed of your father,

with compound interest, amounts to six hundred pounds; and this money

I have laid out for you in the purchase of a neat little house, with

good, serviceable furniture, in Camden Town. There is an excellent

young gentlemen’s school close by; and my client has paid a year in

advance for Master Harry’s tuition. He also intends that you shall be

at no expense for the boy’s education. Over and above all this, I am

instructed to place these fifty pounds in your hands; and if my client

has thus done more than his actual liability to your father required,

it is simply as a recompense for the long delay which has occurred

in refunding a loan so generously advanced and so vitally necessary

to him at the time. Now, my dear young lady, I have no more to say,

farther than that this card furnishes the address of your house, of

which I likewise present you the key; and may this little gleam of good

fortune encourage you to pursue the course which has hitherto won for

you so much esteem, and which may yet lead you to the highest pinnacle

of happiness and prosperity.’--With these words, the kind-hearted man

shook Julia warmly by the hand; the young maiden endeavoured to express

her heart-felt gratitude for the unexpected benefits thus showered upon

her: but tears--tears of happiness flowed down her cheeks--and her

bosom was so full of strange and conflicting emotions, that her powers

of utterance were suspended. Even as she took up the bank notes, the

key, and the card, and thrust them all together into her little silk

bag, her hands trembled so that she could scarcely perform those simple

acts; and when in a few minutes she found herself walking along the

street, with little Harry by her side, she could not remember leaving

the lawyer’s office. She fancied that she had been giving way to some

wild hallucination--some absurd delusion of the brain: but when she

felt in her bag, _there_ were the proofs of the reality!

“It was no easy task to make little Harry comprehend the altered

nature of their circumstances. He could not conceive how his sister

had possibly obtained a house of her own, and fancied that she was

joking with him; for he had not been able to understand very much of

what the lawyer had said to Julia. However, all doubts on the boy’s

part vanished, when he heard his sister explain to their landlady

every thing that had taken place at Mr. Richardson’s, and conclude by

requesting that good woman to accompany her forthwith to Camden Town.

This desire was complied with; and away they all three went in a cab to

the address designated upon the card. In due time the vehicle drew up

opposite a neat house forming one of a terrace recently built; and the

little party entered the dwelling with the least possible delay. It was

all new from top to bottom,--the furniture, which was substantial and

good, was new likewise;--the hangings to the windows and the carpets

had been selected with admirable taste in reference to the colour and

pattern of the paper on the walls:--in fact, the abode was fitted up

in the most comfortable manner! ‘I congratulate you, my dear Miss

Murray,’ exclaimed her companion; ‘and I am sure I am as delighted

as yourself, although I shall lose you as a lodger. But you do not,

then, think that it was _the gentleman in the cloak_ who has done all

this?’--‘No,’ answered Julia; ‘that cannot be, because I am sure the

gentleman you speak of never knew my father; and moreover the kind

friend who has thus handsomely repaid the money my father lent him,

has gone out of town.’--‘Then how came _the gentleman in the cloak_

to call and tell you, Miss, that the lawyer wished to see you?’--‘Ah!

I never thought of _that_!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘And yet,’ she added,

after a few moments’ serious reflection, ‘Mr. Richardson said that my

father’s debtor had found me out through the medium of the newspaper

report; and this circumstance may have brought him and _the gentleman

in the cloak_ together.’--‘True!’ ejaculated the garrulous woman. ‘Oh!

what a sweet place this is, to be sure!’--‘It is too good for me,’ said

Julia, in a mournful tone, the first feelings of delight now yielding

to sober reflection: ‘the occupant of such a house as this requires a

servant, and should possess a certain income; whereas I cannot afford

the former, not possessing the latter.’--‘Oh! Miss, are you blind to

all the advantages now spread before your eyes?’ demanded the woman.

‘Here you are in your own house, rent free, and with fifty pounds

in your pocket--Harry’s schooling to be paid into the bargain! All

your kind patronesses will give you as much work as you can possibly

manage, now that they will see how you are getting on in the world;

and the number of your customers must increase. Then you can have the

assistance of one or two respectable young girls; and you will not

only obtain a good living, but be able to save money.’--Julia saw the

truth of these observations; and her heart was relieved from a heavy

load.--‘Besides,’ said the talkative but well-meaning woman, ’it would

seem like flying in the face of Providence not to be thankful for

such bounties.’--‘Yes,’ ejaculated Julia, touched more profoundly by

this remark than by the worldly reasoning previously advanced by her

companion: ‘I _do_ sincerely and firmly believe that HE, who watches

all our ways and knows all our steps, has taken compassion upon me and

my darling brother; and I receive in thankfulness the blessings thus

showered upon me!’--Thus speaking, the young maiden turned aside for

a few moments; and heart-felt though short was the prayer which she

breathed in silence to the Almighty Ruler of the Universe!

“On the following day Julia and her little brother removed to their

new house. It would be vain to attempt to describe the joy and delight

experienced by little Harry at this change, the more so inasmuch as

there was a large piece of ground attached to the back part of the

dwelling, where he could play when the weather was fine. Through the

agency of her late landlady, a poor widow-woman, of middle age, steady

habits, and great respectability, was recommended to Julia as servant

or housekeeper; and thus commenced the economy of the little household.

Julia’s first care was to address a note to all her kind patronesses

to acquaint them with her removal; and Lady Caroline Jerningham was

not forgotten. Harry commenced his attendance at the neighbouring

school, the master of which called upon Miss Murray and informed her

that he had received from Mr. Richardson a year’s payment in advance

for the boy’s tuition; and the preceptor being a kind, worthy man,

Harry soon became a great favourite with him. Several weeks passed

away; and it was astonishing how Julia’s business increased. Carriages

were constantly stopping at her door, the number of her patronesses

rapidly augmenting; and, on enquiry, she usually found that the

new recommendations emanated from Lady Caroline, who appeared, by

these results, to be constantly thinking of her friend, the young

milliner. In fact, Julia had so much work upon her hands that she was

compelled to give a great portion out to respectable needle-women

in the neighbourhood; for she preferred this mode of fulfilling her

engagements, rather than by taking assistants into the house.

“Four months had thus passed away; and during this interval Julia had

never once seen _the gentleman in the cloak_; nor had she received a

visit from her father’s debtor, to whose honesty and generosity she

owed so much. She called once upon Mr. Richardson to express a hope

that the individual thus alluded to would give her an opportunity

of thanking him personally; but the lawyer assured her, and, as she

thought, somewhat abruptly, that he had left the country on a long

voyage; and she returned home, much vexed at the tidings she had

received. One evening--it was a Saturday evening, and at about nine

o’clock--a cab stopped at the door, and a double-knock immediately

announced some visitor. It happened that the housekeeper was absent on

a visit of two or three days to some relations in the country--the girl

who had been temporarily hired to do her work, and who did not sleep

in the house, had gone for the night--and Harry was in bed in his own

little room adjoining his sister’s bed-chamber up-stairs. Julia was

accordingly compelled to answer the door herself; and her surprise was

only equalled by her delight, when she found that her visitress was

Lady Caroline Jerningham, who had arrived thus mysteriously in a common

street-cab, which she had dismissed on alighting at her young friend’s

house. Miss Murray received her with the most sincere manifestations

of joy, and conducted her into the parlour, where a cheerful fire

was burning in the grate; for though it was now the month of April,

yet the evenings had not entirely lost the chill of winter. You must

remember that Julia had not seen Lady Caroline since that evening when

the latter sent for her to the mansion in Hanover Square, and on which

occasion they had exchanged vows of friendship. Nearly five months

had passed since that date; and it struck Julia, as the light of the

candles flashed upon the fair patrician’s countenance, that she was

much altered. Her face was pale and care-worn; and her eyes beamed

not with their wonted fires. ‘My dear Julia,’ she said, seating her

self near the fire, ‘I had intended to call upon you long ago; but I

have been ill and suffering, in mind and body. However,’ she added,

hastily, ‘I have never once forgotten you; and I am delighted to find

that your business has prospered so well.’--‘I am under obligations

to your ladyship which I can never repay,’ exclaimed Julia, taking

the patrician’s hand, and conveying it to her lips.--‘Do not address

me in that formal style, Julia,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘My God!’ she

cried, bitterly, ‘would that I were _not_ of noble birth: would that

I were a daughter of toil; for _then_ I should not have the thousand

Argus-eyes of _the world_ upon me!’--and she clasped her hands in a

manner indicative of deep mental anguish.--‘Dearest Lady Caroline,’

exclaimed Julia, ‘what ails you? Oh! tell me, and show me how I may

minister to you in your sufferings!’--‘You once assured me, Julia,

_that you would serve me by day and by night_,’ said Lady Caroline,

speaking in a low and almost hollow tone, and casting anxious glances

around as if she were afraid of being overheard.--‘Yes, dearest lady,’

returned Julia, emphatically; ‘and I renew that pledge! By day and by

night can you command me.’--‘Are we in danger of intrusion?’ demanded

Lady Caroline anxiously.--‘Not in the least, dear lady: excepting my

little brother, who is asleep in his own chamber, we are alone in the

house.’--‘Heaven be thanked!’ ejaculated Caroline Jerningham, speaking

as if at least some portion of the heavy weight that lay upon her

heart, were removed by this assurance.--‘My generous friend,’ said

Julia, ‘I see that you have a terrible but secret cause of grief; make

me your confidant, I implore you! If I can aid you, I shall rejoice

indeed to have the opportunity of proving my gratitude for all the

kindness I have received at your hands; and if I cannot assist, I may

at least be able to console you!’--‘Dearest Julia, I do indeed require

a friend at this moment; for surely never was wretched woman in such

dreadful embarrassment as myself! For the last few weeks I have lived

only like one distracted--keeping my chamber, and affecting an illness,

though steadily refusing to receive the advice of the family physician!

And now, fortunately my mother has gone on a visit for a few days to

some friends in the country; and my own maid is in my confidence and

is trustworthy. Thus my absence from home will not be suspected; and

in this is now my only hope! O Julia, Julia--can you not understand my

meaning?’--then, casting herself at the feet of the young milliner, the

almost heart-broken Lady Caroline exclaimed, in the wildest paroxysm

of bitter, bitter grief, as she joined her hands imploringly, ‘Save my

honour, Julia--save my reputation,--and by so doing you save my life:

for I would perish by my own hand rather than endure exposure!’--‘My

God! dearest lady, what do you mean?’ demanded Julia, fearful lest her

friend’s senses were leaving her, and that she was uttering meaningless

phrases in the incipient aberration of the intellect: ‘tell me, how can

I save you in any way? for you know that you may depend upon me to the

utmost!’--‘How can you save me!’ repeated the agonising young lady, in

a voice of the most plaintive appeal: ‘Oh! do you not comprehend my

condition, Julia? And yet I am about to become a mother!’

“These words fell with stupefying, astounding effect upon the ears of

Julia Murray: indeed, she could scarcely believe that she had rightly

interpreted their meaning. The unhappy Caroline mistook the cause

of the young milliner’s silence and amazement; and, rising from her

suppliant posture, she exclaimed, while the proud patrician blood

rushed to her cheeks, ‘I understand you, Miss: you are shocked at the

announcement I have made, and you are indignant that I should apply to

you to screen me. I will drag myself away from your house, therefore;

imploring you only to keep the secret which I have been so foolish,

so inconsiderate to reveal to you.’--‘Just heaven! what do I hear?

reproaches from your lips!’ cried Julia; and embracing the unhappy

lady with sisterly warmth, she said, ‘No, no: you have misunderstood

me! Grief and surprise for a moment sealed my lips: but you find

me ready to succour you, dearest benefactress, to the utmost of my

power!’--‘Thank you, kind friend,’ murmured Lady Caroline, falling

back exhausted into her seat; for the agitated state of her feelings,

and the harrowing emotions which the dread of Julia’s coldness had

just caused her to experience, produced effects of a most perilous

nature. The young milliner knew not how to act: she was bewildered;

and, wringing her hands, exclaimed, ‘Oh! what shall I do? how can I aid

her?’--Lady Caroline partially recovered her presence of mind as these

words fell upon her ears; and giving a few hasty instructions, these

were instantly obeyed. Julia conducted, or rather supported her to her

own bed-chamber; and then, throwing on her bonnet and shawl, hurried

away to fetch the nearest surgeon. The medical man whom she sought

was at home; and he accompanied the milliner to the house, where he

arrived just at the moment that his services were required. In a word,

Lady Caroline Jerningham that night became the mother of a fine boy,

although the birth was premature by nearly a month, and she had risked

much by the necessity of adopting the indispensable means in regard to

dress to conceal her situation for many weeks past.

“The surgeon, who had every reason to be satisfied with the liberality

of Julia on behalf of her unhappy friend, and who was moreover a

discreet man, perceived that his patient was a young lady of superior

grade in society, and therefore volunteered his aid in ensuring the

concealment of the affair. In fact, he stated that he was acquainted

with a poor woman in the neighbourhood, who, having just lost her own

infant, would be delighted to take charge of the newly-born babe.

Lady Caroline was so far recovered as to be able to take part in this

conference; and, without suffering the slightest hint to transpire as

to who she was, she nevertheless intimated her readiness and ability to

remunerate in the most liberal manner those who might be instrumental

in completing the arrangement suggested. The surgeon accordingly

undertook the settlement of the business; and, after an hour’s absence,

he returned, accompanied by a young, good-looking, healthy woman, who

was willing to embrace the proposal that had been made to her. She was

married to a labouring man; her name was Porter; and she lived at the

distance of about half a mile from Julia’s house. Lady Caroline had

a well-filled purse; but even if the contrary had been the case, her

friend the milliner could have supplied the funds required. As it was,

the young mother gave Mrs. Porter twenty pounds in advance; and having

mentioned a feigned name and address, when questioned on that point,

Lady Caroline parted with her babe--though not without many a bitter

pang and a torrent of heart-wrung tears!

“That was a wretched night for poor Julia Murray. In the warmth of her

gratitude and friendship, she had become an accomplice in what she

fancied, when she had leisure for sober reflection, to be something

bordering upon the nature of a crime. Her pure soul shrank from the

idea of the unnatural abandonment by a mother of her child to the mercy

of a stranger, rendered necessary even though the proceeding were by

the peculiar circumstances in which that mother was placed. Moreover,

the readiness with which Lady Caroline had given a false name and

address had somewhat shocked the truth-loving Julia;--and then she

feared lest the whole matter should by any possibility become known,

and compromise her own reputation. All these thoughts and apprehensions

swept across her mind, after the surgeon and Mrs. Porter had taken

their departure, and while Lady Caroline slept. But the generous girl

strove to banish from her mind reflections which tended to diminish

her respect for the patrician lady who had manifested so much kindness

towards her: moreover, the natural feelings of a woman towards one

of her own sex placed in such interesting though embarrassing, not

to say _alarming_ circumstances,--the sentiments of commiseration,

deep sympathy, and tender friendship, soon triumphed over all other

considerations;--and when Caroline awoke, just as the grey dawn of

morning was breaking into the chamber, she found the young milliner

watching by her bedside. The suffering lady was considerably refreshed

and strengthened by the long sleep she had enjoyed: her mind was

moreover relieved from the most excruciating anxieties:--and she poured

forth her gratitude to Julia Murray in the most sincere and heartfelt

manner. Then, in the fulness of the tender confidence which had arisen

between them, Caroline told her friend how she had loved her cousin,

a young lieutenant in the Navy,--how their union was forbidden by her

proud mother though assented to by her generous brother, the Marquis

of Wilmington,--how her mother had used her interest privately to get

the young man appointed to a ship and sent to sea with only a few days’

warning,--and how, in the anguish of parting, she--Lady Caroline--had

fallen a victim to her fatal passion! This narrative moved Julia to

tears;--for the young milliner now comprehended what love was--and

she felt that she also loved,--and that when she sorrowed in secret

at the protracted absence of the stranger who had given her the gilt

counter, it was in consequence of the impression which he had made upon

her heart! Thus did Julia Murray at length obtain the reading of the

mysterious sensations that stirred within her own soul.

“Fortunately there was a means of egress from little Harry’s room,

without the necessity of the boy’s passing through his sister’s

chamber; and thus was the presence of Lady Caroline retained a

profound secret from him. You must also recollect that the incidents

just related occurred on the Saturday night; and Harry had by chance

received an invitation to pass the Sunday with his schoolmaster’s

family. Every circumstance thus appeared to favour the complete

concealment of Lady Caroline’s confinement. But it was now necessary

that Julia should repair to the mansion in Hanover Square, and

acquaint the young lady’s confidential maid with the event which had

taken place, as well as to arrange for Caroline’s unobserved return

home on the Monday evening;--for though at the risk of her life,

she was resolved to remain away no longer than the time specified.

This commission Julia faithfully performed; and after an absence

of upwards of two hours, she reached her own abode once more. The

patient was improving rapidly; and when the surgeon called a second

time on that Sunday, he was astonished to find her so strong and in

the possession of so much physical and moral energy. To be brief,

on the Monday evening, according to agreement, Lady Caroline, well

wrapped up, disguised in the attire of a daughter of the middle class,

and with a dark green veil drawn carefully over her countenance,

accompanied Julia in a hackney-coach to Hanover Square; and the two

were admitted into the mansion, the hall-porter believing his young

mistress to be a friend and equal of the milliner. In this manner

they reached Caroline’s own chamber without the truth being for an

instant suspected; and the confidential maid was in readiness to

receive her lady. Julia remained there until the maid had ascertained

that the hall-porter had been relieved by another domestic during the

supper-hour; and then the milliner took her departure, accompanied by

the fervent gratitude and blessings of the fair patrician whom she had

thus extricated from a maze of the most frightful difficulties.

“The very next morning, while Julia was seated at work in her parlour,

reflecting upon the incidents of the three preceding days, she heard

the iron gate in front of the house groan upon its hinges; and,

looking up, she beheld from the window the tall, handsome gentleman

approaching the door. The day was fine; and he no longer wore his

cloak;--and his garb was plain, unpretending, and perfectly genteel.

The housekeeper having returned home that same morning, Julia awaited

with a beating heart in the parlour the presence of her visitor; and

when he entered, she felt so confused--for a variety of reasons--that

she could not utter a word. In the first place she knew that she loved

him;--secondly she remembered all the enquiries he had put to her

late landlady concerning her;--and thirdly, she recalled to mind the

gentle, good, and almost paternal way in which he had addressed her

when last they met; and she fancied that in her conduct respecting

Lady Caroline she had deviated somewhat from the strict line of

integrity, truth, and virtue for pursuing which he had so emphatically

commended her, and in which he had with equal earnestness enjoined

her to persevere. Taking her hand, he said, ‘Miss Murray, have you

completely forgotten me?’--‘Oh! no, sir,’ she cried, with a start as

if at an imputation of ingratitude: ‘that were impossible!’--‘And

yet why should you remember me?’ he asked, gazing intently upon her:

’have I ever done you any service that deserves a thought? The only

incident which is likely to dwell in your mind respecting me, is the

wretchedness and embarrassment to which my thoughtless conduct exposed

you. But for all that you then endured, have I ever made you the

slightest recompense?’--‘Oh! sir,’ cried Julia, the blood rushing to

her cheeks, ‘do you think for a moment that I ever sought or looked

for a pecuniary indemnification? Heavens, how have you mistaken my

character!’--and she burst into tears. The stranger gazed upon her,

and even smiled as if in satisfaction: but he said nothing.--‘No,

sir,’ resumed the young milliner, hastily passing her handkerchief

across her countenance and wiping away the traces of her grief; ‘I

am not a mercenary person, such as you appear to suppose me. I _did_

remember you _with gratitude_,’ she continued, her voice becoming

mournful and plaintive in spite of herself; ‘because you spoke

kindly to me on that evening when the accident occurred to the silk

dress--because you proffered me assistance at a moment when I and my

little brother really needed it--because I always believed and still

believe that it was on your part entirely an error which led me into

such a serious difficulty--because you _then_ told me that you would

not insult me by offering me any pecuniary recompense--and because,

when you called again, you spoke kindly to me as before, gave me

good advice, and also brought me intelligence from Mr. Richardson,

which has led to my present prosperity. For all these reasons, sir,’

she added emphatically, ‘I have thought of you often and often; and

I considered myself to be deeply your debtor.’--‘Excellent girl!’

exclaimed the gentleman, surveying her with mingled admiration and

interest: ‘not for worlds would I insult your feelings, nor wound

your generous heart! And it was precisely through delicacy in those

respects, that I never did openly proffer you any pecuniary assistance,

since that one unfortunate occasion in Hanover Square. Again, let me

observe, that if I have not visited you for four long months, I have

not been unmindful of your welfare. I have, as it were, watched over

you from a distance; and I have learnt with supreme satisfaction,

that your conduct _has_ continued most exemplary. Miss Murray, I am

perhaps singular and eccentric in my notions; and, though highly

placed in the social sphere, yet I have determined to consult only my

own happiness, at least for the future, in the most important step

which a man can adopt in life. I allude to marriage.’--Julia started,

blushed, and cast down her eyes; and this confusion on her part seemed

to encourage her visitor to proceed.--‘I must candidly inform you,’ he

resumed, ’that I have been a husband already, and that the alliance

which I formed almost in my boyhood, and in obedience to the dictates

of an imperious mother, was an unhappy one. My wife was a heartless

coquette--vain--frivolous--and possessing no _mind_. I sought by

gentleness and kindness to render her attached to her home, although

I never really loved her; but all was useless. At last she caught a

severe cold when returning from a rout, early on a winter’s morning;

and a rapid decline soon carried her to the tomb. This occurred two

years ago. I then vowed that if I should ever contract a second

union, it must be where the heart alone was interested. This resolve

I declared to my mother; and it has in a measure, I regret to say it,

incensed her against me. The very first time I ever saw you, I felt

myself suddenly and mysteriously attracted towards you. All that I

have since heard or seen of you has tended to confirm that favourable

impression; and I am come this morning to offer you my hand, as you

already possess my heart.’

“A faintness--an indescribable sensation of mingled joy and

apprehension came over Julia, as these last words met her ears,--joy

in the hope that she had heard aright, apprehension lest she were the

prey of a delightful vision which was too soon to be dissipated. But

when she felt her hand pressed to the lips of that handsome suitor who

now knelt at her feet, and listened to the tender assurances of an

honourable and lasting affection which he breathed with manly sincerity

in her ears, she exclaimed, under the sudden impulse of her heart’s

emotions, ‘Is it possible that so much happiness can be in store for

me?’--Her suitor received those words as an assent to his proposal;

and, pressing the young maiden to his bosom, he said, ‘Then without

knowing my name you have loved me, dearest Julia?’--She murmured

an affirmative; and a rapid interchange of questions and replies

convinced him that the young maiden had all along remembered him not

_with gratitude_, but _with affection_! Thereupon, seating himself

by her side, and retaining her pretty hand in his, he said, ‘Then

henceforth, Julia, there need exist no mystery on my part. I am the

pretended debtor to your deceased father; and Mr. Richardson, my own

attorney, followed my secret instructions in providing for yourself and

your brother. My object was to place you in comfort, yet still leave

you in a condition that rendered you to a certain degree dependant

on your own honest industry; and I have been overjoyed to find that

prosperity has not induced you to relax your energies, nor led you into

extravagances, nor in any way proved injurious to your fair fame, your

amiable disposition, and your steady perseverance. With delight, then,

shall I accompany so worthy a woman to the altar; and with pride shall

I present you to the world as the Marchioness of Wilmington!’--‘Oh! my

lord,’ murmured Julia, a greater faintness than before now coming over

her, as the lofty rank of her suitor was thus announced to her, ‘is it

possible that you can be the brother of that young lady to whom I owe

so much?’--and then she blushed deeply, and a cold shudder passed over

her frame as she remembered what a tremendous secret she had retained

in her bosom, and must retain inviolably concerning the sister of him

who offered to make her the partner of his rank and fortune.--‘Yes,’

said the marquis, attributing her emotions to the happiness as well

as the maidenly confusion which it was natural for her to experience

under existing circumstances; ‘that Lady Caroline whom you know, is

my sister. You may judge my surprise when, on the night that I first

encountered you in Hanover Square, you informed me that the spoilt

dress was my mother’s. The very next morning I called at her residence

and privately acquainted Caroline with the little adventure, casually

saying that I had been a witness of the accident which was occasioned

through no neglect nor carelessness on your part, and desiring her

when you presented yourself to mitigate as much as possible my

mother’s certain resentment against you. Since that period my sister

has frequently spoken to me concerning you, and has recommended you

extensively to her numerous fashionable acquaintances. But, much as

I love and would trust Lady Caroline, I have never informed her of

the attachment I experienced for you, nor of the fact that I was your

father’s pretended debtor. This reserve originated merely in the

determination to watch your conduct,--I may tell you all this now, dear

girl,--from a distance; so that time might decide whether I should lay

my coronet at your feet, or renounce all farther idea of an alliance

with you. Thank, heaven! the former is the happy destiny; and now I

have explained all that may have seemed strange or mysterious in your

estimation.’

“Julia could scarcely find words to express her gratitude for all

the delicate attentions and generous acts of which the nobleman had

thus been the hitherto unknown author: but he sealed her lips with

a fond kiss, and then proceeded to address her in the following

manner:--‘I propose, dearest girl, that our union shall take place

in six months from the present time. The reason that I suggest so

long a delay is that I may visit you occasionally, in company with

my sister, be it understood, so that you may learn to know me better

than you now do; and as I shall at once make a confidant of Caroline,

and am well acquainted with the generosity of her disposition, you

need not apprehend any coolness or hostility on her part. Quite the

contrary: she will love you as a sister. Ah! I observe that you sigh

and experience an agitation of feeling, my Julia; but you have no

cause to dread any exhibition of foolish pride with Caroline. Relative

to my mother, I say nothing--promise nothing: at the same time I

cannot permit her will to rule my happiness. And now I shall take my

leave of you for the present, Julia; and I shall at once hasten to

Hanover Square, to confide all that has occurred between us to my

sister, who, I regret to state, has been confined for some days past

to her own chamber. Alas! she, poor girl, has suffered in her best

and holiest affections through her mother’s pride; but I rejoice to

say that happiness awaits her yet. By the sudden death of a young

cousin, Lieutenant Quentin has become Lord Hartley, and his ship will

return in a few months to England. This most unexpected succession

to title and wealth, will smooth down all the difficulties which my

mother has hitherto interposed in the way of her daughter’s happiness;

and who knows, Julia,’ added the marquis, smiling, ‘but that the two

marriages may be celebrated at the same time?’--‘God grant that they

may!’ exclaimed the young milliner, with a strange emphasis; then,

immediately afterwards she observed, ‘For, believe me, I have your

sister’s happiness most sincerely at heart.’--‘I shall not fail to tell

Caroline all you say,’ returned the marquis; ‘and she will be prepared

to love you the more tenderly. And now, dear Julia,’ he added, rising

to depart, ‘I must bid you farewell for the present. The next time

I call I shall give you due notice beforehand, so that you may have

little Harry here to see me. But permit me, before I depart, to request

you to divest yourself by degrees of the business and occupations which

have accumulated upon you. To speak plainly, you need receive no more

work from any person; and you will permit my solicitor, Mr. Richardson,

to supply you monthly with such sums as you may require for your

expenditure.’--All this was said by Lord Wilmington in so delicate yet

tender a manner, that it increased Julia’s attachment to him, as well

as her high esteem of his character; and they parted, more than ever

pleased with each other.

“In the afternoon, Julia was sitting at her work, pondering upon all

that had occurred, and scarcely able yet to convince herself that

she was not a prey to some delusive vision, when Lady Caroline’s

maid called with a note from her mistress. In this _billet_ the fair

patrician said, ‘_My brother has told me all, dearest Julia; and

believe me when I assure you, that it will afford me unfeigned delight

to hail you as a sister. Never, never can I forget all your goodness

towards me in the hour of my bitter extremity. But, for heaven’s sake!

guard well my secret! This injunction, however, I need scarcely give

you. And yet, there is one thing which now affects me; this is----shall

you not blush to acknowledge_ ME _as your sister-in-law, since you are

acquainted with my disgrace? My heart tells me that you commiserate and

sympathise: but my fears--Oh! until I receive from you an assurance

that may calm them--those fears are truly painful!_’--The generous

Julia hastened to pen a reply, conveying in the tenderest terms the

assurance solicited; and, having ascertained that the young lady was

progressing rapidly towards complete convalescence, she dismissed the

maid with the letter entrusted to her. Three weeks, however, elapsed

before Lady Caroline was sufficiently recovered to call upon her friend

Julia; and then she came alone--for her mother’s heart yearned to visit

her child. Under the influence of this feeling, she was moved to tears

when she learnt that every alternate day Miss Murray had made it a

point to call at Mrs. Porter’s residence and assure herself that the

poor babe was duly cared for. ‘This is another proof of your goodness,

Julia!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline, falling upon her friend’s neck and

weeping with mingled gratitude and joy. They presently proceeded

together to the good woman’s abode; and the young mother was charmed

to find her child thriving to her heart’s best satisfaction. On the

following day Lady Caroline revisited Julia; but this time it was in

company with her brother the Marquis;--and little Harry was at home

to see them. You may suppose that the party was a happy one; and it

gave the nobleman ineffable delight to observe that his sister and his

intended wife were on the best possible terms with each other. But he

little suspected the tremendous secret that had thus cemented their

friendship;--and it cost poor Julia many a pang when she reflected that

she was compelled to retain any secret at all from the knowledge of the

generous man who reposed such confidence in her! There was however no

help for it;--and yet Julia felt as if she were acting with blameable

duplicity in veiling a circumstance which for her friend’s sake, she

would nevertheless rather die than reveal: and after her noble visitors

had taken their departure, she did not experience that amount of

happiness which, with her present brilliant prospects, she knew she

ought to enjoy.

“I must not dwell upon this portion of my narrative. Let us suppose

five months to have passed away; during which period the marquis had

been constant in his visits to Julia, but always in the company of his

sister. So delicate was his behaviour in respect to the reputation of

his intended bride, that he avoided every chance of compromising her;

and although the neighbours saw a gentleman, whose name they did not

know, call three times a-week upon the beautiful milliner, they never

beheld him repair thither alone. Thus there was no scope for scandal;

and Julia’s conduct was always so circumspect as to prove a complete

antidote to calumny. I should observe that during the five months

mentioned, the attachment subsisting between the pair increased, and

warmed into the most ardent love; and I must not forget to state that

Lady Caroline visited her child at Mrs. Porter’s house as frequently

as she was able. But Julia seldom failed to call there every alternate

day; and thus the rearing of the poor infant was strictly watched by

its mother, and that mother’s bosom friend. Sometimes Harry accompanied

his sister in her walk to Mrs. Porter’s cottage; but the little fellow

was always made to wait in one room while Julia was shown the baby in

another--and thus the real motive of her visits there was unsuspected

by him. Not that she feared he would reveal any thing which he was

enjoined to keep secret; but Julia believed--and rightly believed--that

it was alike more prudent and delicate to leave him in total ignorance

of the object which took her to the cottage. Thus time wore on, as I

have already mentioned; and now I must remark that in compliance with

the wishes of Lord Wilmington, Julia had by this time altogether ceased

to receive work; but instead of drawing on the funds placed at her

disposal in the hands of Mr. Richardson, she subsisted upon the savings

which she had been enabled to accumulate. I mention all these little

circumstances, to afford you as good an idea as I can convey of the

excellence of her disposition, and the total absence of selfishness

from her character. In fact, the more the marquis saw of her, the more

enamoured of her did he become, and the greater grew his admiration of

her amiable qualities. It was therefore with joy the most unfeigned

that he at length considered himself justified in fixing the day for

the bridal; and this ceremony was settled to take place precisely on

the completion of the six months from the hour in which he had offered

her his hand.

“While Julia was occupied in preparing her own wedding-dress, the

Marquis busied himself in rendering his splendid mansion in Belgrave

Square as suitable as possible for the reception of his bride. In the

meantime he had communicated to the Dowager-Marchioness his intended

marriage; but, as he had feared, his design experienced the most

decided disapproval on her part. Vainly did he reason with her on the

subject--uselessly did he represent that his happiness was seriously

involved: his mother refused to listen to him;--and he had the

mortification to incur her most serious displeasure. The bitterness of

her hostility to the match he however concealed from Julia; and, much

as he deplored the breach which now existed between himself and his

only surviving parent, not for a moment did he entertain the thought of

yielding to her tyranny. Thus the time passed on; and it was now within

three days of the one fixed for the bridal ceremony, when an incident

occurred which produced a terrible change in the aspect of affairs.

[Illustration]

“It was a fine summer morning, and the clock was striking eight just

as Julia and little Harry were sitting down to breakfast, when the old

housekeeper entered to inform her mistress that a woman by the name of

Porter desired to speak to her without delay;--for you most remember

that the housekeeper was entirely ignorant of the transaction which so

nearly concerned Lady Caroline Jerningham, and to some extent involved

Miss Murray, at least as an accessory, in the mysterious business.

Mrs. Porter was instantly admitted into the parlour; and when she

appeared, and the housekeeper had retired, Julia approached her in an

agitated manner and with an enquiring look,--for it struck her that

this visit--the first which the woman had ever paid to the house since

that night when the infant was entrusted to her--augured something

unpleasant. In her excitement she forgot the presence of her brother

Harry--whom the woman herself likewise overlooked; and, to the anxious

glance darted upon her, Mrs. Porter verbally replied by exclaiming,

‘Oh! Miss, the dear child has been suddenly taken dangerously

ill!’--‘The child dangerously ill!’ repeated Julia, who had learnt to

love the infant almost as much as if it were her own: ‘I will accompany

you directly;’ and, hurrying from the room, she presently reappeared

with her bonnet and shawl. Then, noticing Harry, it flashed to her mind

that he had overheard what had been said: but a second thought told

her that more harm would be done by attempting to explain away any

impression that might have been made upon his mind, than by leaving the

matter as it then stood;--and, having merely observed to him that she

should return shortly, Julia hastened away in company with Mrs. Porter.

Harry finished his breakfast, not thinking much of the few words which

had caught his ears, but which he could not rightly understand; and,

as it was holiday-time, he was about to repair to play in the garden

at the back of the house, when a double knock at the front door made

him hasten to the window. Perceiving that the visitor was the Marquis,

he ran to give him admittance; and the nobleman entered the parlour.

‘Where is your sister, Harry?’ he asked, caressing the boy in a kind

manner.--‘She is gone out, my lord,’ was the reply.--‘This early!’

exclaimed the Marquis; ‘and I had promised myself the pleasure of

breakfasting with you both. The morning was so fine, and as I am a very

early riser, I rode out as far as the turnpike, and have sent my horse

back with the groom.’--The nobleman spoke this rather in a musing tone,

than actually addressing himself to the boy; and, after a pause, he

observed, ‘I suppose your sister will not be long?’--‘I do not know,

my lord,’ answered Harry. ‘A woman came just as we were sitting down

to breakfast, and Julia seemed much vexed at what she told her.’--‘I

hope that nothing disagreeable has occurred?’ cried the Marquis, in a

tone of alarm.--‘The woman, whose name is Porter, informed Julia that

the child was dangerously ill,’ responded Harry; ‘and then they went

away together.’--‘Oh! I understand,’ said the Marquis: ‘the child of

some poor woman named Porter is unwell, and your sister has gone to see

it.’--‘No, my lord, I don’t think the child is Mrs. Porter’s,’ returned

Harry, ingenuously, and with boyish communicativeness; ’for I have

often called at her cottage with Julia, and I have heard Mr. Porter

say that his wife’s own baby died last winter.’--‘And Julia has often

called there?’ exclaimed the Marquis, a horrible suspicion suddenly

arising in his mind.--‘Very often indeed,’ answered Harry, totally

unconscious of the tremendous amount of mischief he was occasioning.

‘When we have been out walking together, we have come round that way,

and stopped at the cottage; and then I have waited in the kitchen with

Mr. Porter, who used to give me cakes or marbles, while Julia went up

stairs with Mrs. Porter.’--‘And did you ever see the child?’ asked the

nobleman, assuming as much composure as he could possibly call to his

aid.--‘No; Julia never told me a word about it.’--‘And how did you

first hear of it?’--‘Just now, when Mrs. Porter rushed in and said that

the child was ill’--‘And was Julia very, very sorry?’ demanded the

Marquis.--‘Oh! yes, indeed!’ cried the boy, who saw nothing strange nor

unusual in the nobleman’s tone or manner, and regarded this dialogue

as mere chit-chat.--‘And whereabout is Mrs. Porter’s cottage?’ asked

Wilmington, in whose bosom a perfect hell was now raging.--‘Shall I

show your lordship the way?’ said Harry. The nobleman nodded his head

affirmatively; and the little fellow hastened to fetch his cap. They

then proceeded in silence until they came within sight of the cottage,

which Harry pointed out.--‘You may now go home again,’ said the

Marquis; and Harry obeyed the hint, still totally unsuspicious of the

harm which his candid garrulity had accomplished.

“The nobleman, when thus left alone, could no longer restrain the

emotions which agitated within him. Turning aside from the path

leading towards the cottage, he rushed into the fields, exclaiming

aloud, ‘Just heavens! on what an abyss was I hovering! But can such

diabolical perfidy exist on the part of one so young? Oh! yes--it is

too apparent; and my mother was right when she counselled me never to

bestow my hand on a woman moving in a sphere beneath my own!’--Having

thus given vent to his excited feelings, Wilmington grew more composed;

and he now approached the cottage. The door stood open; and, entering

without any ceremony, he saw a woman at the same instant descend from

a staircase. ‘Is your name Porter?’ he enquired, speaking in as mild

a tone as possible.--‘Yes, sir,’ she answered.--‘And it is here that

a child who has been, as it were, abandoned by its unnatural mother,

is lying dangerously ill?’ he said, fixing his eyes keenly upon the

woman’s countenance.--‘Thank God, the dear innocent is better!’

exclaimed Mrs. Porter, taken completely off her guard, and even

entertaining a suspicion that the gentleman himself might be the father

of her nursling.--‘Now, confess every thing,’ cried the Marquis, ’or

it will be the worse for you! Was it not Miss Murray who engaged your

services----’.--‘No, sir: it was the surgeon who attended the lady in

her confinement,’ interrupted Mrs. Porter, terrified by the stern tone

which her querist had suddenly adopted; ’but it was at Miss Murray’s

house----’.--‘Enough! enough!’ ejaculated. Wilmington; and he hurried

away from the cottage.

“In the meantime Julia had returned home, having assured herself that

the child was out of danger; and as she retraced her way by means of

a bye-path, it happened that she did not encounter her brother and

the marquis. But little Harry was light of foot; and he, having been

dismissed by the nobleman in the way above stated, reached the front

door at the same instant as his sister. She was surprised to find that

he had been out--still more so when she learnt that Lord Wilmington

had called so early. But a frightful sensation seized upon her, when

Harry ingenuously observed that the nobleman had taken him to lead

the way to the cottage. Subduing her emotions, however, as well as

she could, she proceeded to question her brother; and in a short time

she ascertained all that had passed between him and the Marquis. Each

answer that he gave--each detail that he mentioned, increased the

horrible fears which now oppressed her; and, at last--comprehending the

full extent of her misfortune,--perceiving the nature of the suspicions

which were sure to have seized upon her intended husband,--she uttered

a piercing cry, pressed her hands in anguish to her throbbing brow,

and exclaimed in a piercing tone, ‘Oh! Harry, Harry, you know not what

you have done!’--The boy was frightened; and, darting towards his

sister, he threw his arms around her neck, imploring her to forgive him

if he had acted improperly. Even in the midst of her bitter, bitter

anguish, she could not find it in her heart to continue angry with

her little brother, who had not wantonly nor wickedly inflicted this

appalling injury upon her; and, assuming an appearance of calmness,

she became the consoler. In the depth of misery there is a crisis that

makes even despair the immediate precursor of hope; and Julia began to

reason to herself that all might not be so dark as she had feared. But

while she was thus endeavouring to persuade her inmost soul to render

itself accessible to consolation, a note was put into her hand by the

housekeeper. She glanced at the address which was hurriedly--almost

illegibly written, and the ink of which was scarcely dry,--so that

she knew it had been penned somewhere in the neighbourhood. With

trembling hands she tore it open; and her strength and mental energy

sustained her sufficiently to permit the entire perusal of the letter.

Its contents ran thus:--‘_I have discovered your frailty, your guilt,

your hypocrisy, just in time to save myself from an alliance which

would have brought dishonour on my name, and heaped endless miseries

on my head. I shall not attempt to reproach you at any length for your

conduct towards me: my generous confidence has been met by the blackest

duplicity--the most diabolical ingratitude; and your conscience will

punish you more--oh! far more severely than any words that I may

address to you. Neither shall I adopt the mean and petty revenge of

exposing you: but if you ever dare to boast that you were once engaged

to be married to the Marquis of Wilmington, then shall I consider that

it would be a sin to spare you._’

“The letter dropped from Julia’s hand; and, with a wild shriek, she

fell senseless on the floor. The housekeeper administered restoratives,

while little Harry, who was himself a prey to the liveliest grief he

had ever yet known, hurried to fetch the surgeon. It was the same

medical man who had attended upon Lady Caroline Jerningham; and he was

prompt in repairing to a house where his former services had been so

liberally rewarded. Julia had somewhat recovered in the meantime; but

he pronounced her to be in a dangerous state--and, indeed, she seemed

quite unconscious of every thing that was passing around her. She was

conveyed to her chamber,--medicine was prescribed,--and the surgeon

recommended the housekeeper not to leave her mistress alone more than

was absolutely necessary, inasmuch as he feared that her brain was

affected. Little Harry was inconsolable at his sister’s illness--the

more especially that he reproached himself with having been the cause

of it all; though how he had done the harm he could not by any means

understand. Seated by Julia’s bed-side, he fixed his tearful eyes on

her pale countenance, as she slumbered uneasily; and when hours had

passed, and evening came, and still she awoke not, he was afraid that

she was dead. The housekeeper, however, assured him to the contrary;

and then he bent softly over his sister, to whom the surgeon had

administered an opiate, and gently kissed her lips. She murmured a

name--it was his own name--and opened her eyes. Complete consciousness

returned in a few minutes; and as she rapidly surveyed her misfortune

and calculated its extent, she shuddered at the idea of even attempting

to meet it with resignation. But for that little brother’s sake--the

sake of him whom she had found bending over her, and whose name was

the first that her lips breathed on her waking,--for _his_ sake she

nerved herself to wage war with the world once more. Though a word

of explanation--the mere revelation of Lady Caroline’s secret would

at once restore her to that position so full of hope which she had

occupied in the morning,--still her generous heart would not allow her

to betray her friend. No: she would sooner pine away and go down to

an early grave, heart-broken and spirit-crushed, than proclaim to the

Marquis the secret of his noble sister’s dishonour!

“It was about seven o’clock in the evening of this dreadful day that

a hasty and impatient double-knock at the front door was heard; and a

few moments afterwards Lady Caroline Jerningham was ushered into the

chamber where Julia was lying. The moment she entered, the patient made

a signal for the housekeeper and little Harry to withdraw; and when the

two friends were alone together, a most affecting scene took place.

It appeared that the marquis had that afternoon written a letter to

his sister, of which the following were the enigmatical contents:--‘_I

am almost heart-broken, my dearest Caroline, and cannot see you at

present. I shall retire into the country for a few weeks--perhaps

months--to hide my grief from every eye, and endeavour to regain

somewhat of that mental composure which has been almost completely

wrecked this day. Julia is unworthy of my love and of your friendship:

what the proof of this may be, ask not--seek not to learn;--but I

charge you to visit her no more. Your afflicted brother_,’ &c.--On the

receipt of this note, Lady Caroline, who could not help suspecting that

this suddenly wrought change in the sentiments of the Marquis arose

from some fearful misunderstanding or some partial discovery respecting

the child, had hastened, almost distracted and a prey to intolerable

suspense, to Julia’s abode; and there she was shocked to find her

generous-hearted friend stretched upon a bed of sickness. Embracing

each other affectionately, they gave mutual explanations; and Lady

Caroline perceived that her worst fears were confirmed. The Marquis had

indeed made a discovery relative to the infant; but he was deceived

with regard to its maternity. And now who can describe the admiration

which Lady Caroline experienced for the character of her friend,

when she learnt that the poor girl would rather lie under the dread

suspicion of the Marquis--rather resign all her brilliant prospects,

and see her heart’s fondest affections blighted,--rather, in fact,

resign herself to immolation than betray her whose secret she deemed so

sacred!

“‘No--no!’ exclaimed the fair patrician, throwing herself upon Julia’s

bosom, and weeping plenteously; ’this may not be! Never can I permit

you, noble-hearted girl, to endure infamy, reproach, and wretchedness

for my sake! I will at once follow my brother into the country, throw

myself at his feet, confess all, and bring him back to you!’--‘And then

what will become of _you_, Caroline?’ asked Julia, mingling her tears

with those of her friend.’--‘Oh! I shall retire from the world, and

bury myself, with my innocent babe, in some solitude--in some far-off

village, perhaps, where, under a feigned name, I may escape the world’s

scorn for this fatal weakness which has caused so much misery!’--and,

as she spoke, Lady Caroline’s voice indicated the most acute anguish

of heart. ‘Unless,’ she added, her tone suddenly becoming hoarse and

hollow, and her manner unnaturally subdued,--‘unless, indeed, my

brother, in the first ebullition of his rage should stretch me dead

at his feet; and that is the most probable result!’--‘Then, dearest

Caroline,’ exclaimed Julia, speaking in a tone of mingled alarm and

earnest entreaty, ‘for heaven’s sake renounce this mad project! Do not

think of seeking your brother and thus exposing yourself to his rage.

I owe you a deep, deep debt of gratitude; and now let me pay it by

enduring that weight of suspicion against which I may haply bear up,

but which would crush and overwhelm you. For never, never can I forget

that when I appeared, full of terror and trembling, with the spoilt

dress in your mother’s presence, your looks gave me encouragement, and

your kind words reassured me. Then, when I was leaving your dwelling

without the means of even procuring a loaf for my dear little brother

and myself, you put gold into my hand. Oh! dear lady, these are

manifestations of generosity which never can be forgotten; and, noble

as you are by name, you are nobler in heart. It will be my joy--my

pride to screen _you_, who have proved so kind a friend to me; and

there is no sacrifice that I am unprepared to make in order to save you

from unhappiness and shame!’--‘It is an angel that speaks!’ murmured

Lady Caroline, overpowered by this generosity on the part of Julia

Murray. ‘But nothing, nothing,’ she continued, with reviving energy,

and after a few moments’ pause, ‘shall induce me to yield to your

desire. I recognise all that is great and noble in your conduct; and

so long as I remain possessed of intellect and memory, I shall pray

night and morning for the Almighty to bless you, my dearest Julia. I

have been frail, and I must bear the consequences. Seek not to wean

me from this intention: I should never know a happy moment, were I

to permit _you_ to become the victim of _my_ shame!’[9]--‘One word!’

exclaimed Miss Murray, after a minute’s profound reflection: ‘I will no

longer urge you to act contrary to your heart’s dictates; but promise

me that you will not take a single step towards revealing every thing

to your brother and exculpating me, until four-and-twenty hours shall

have elapsed. During that interval we shall both have time for serious

and calm meditation; and no advantage will result from precipitate

haste.’--‘Yes; I make you this promise, Julia,’ returned Lady Caroline;

‘on the condition that when we meet again to-morrow evening, it shall

not be to argue whether I am to confess or not, but in what manner the

confession can be most suitably and safely made.’--‘Agreed!’ cried Miss

Murray: ‘and to-morrow evening, at seven o’clock, you will visit me

again?’--‘I will,’ answered Lady Caroline Jerningham; and she then took

her leave of her friend, whom she embraced with the warmth of the most

sincere affection.

“On the following day, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, a

letter, addressed to Lady Caroline Jerningham, was delivered at the

mansion in Hanover Square by a porter, who hurried away the moment he

had placed it in the servant’s hands. The contents of this note ran

as follow:--‘_Dearest Caroline, it is useless for you to call this

evening at the house which I have occupied for so many months, and

which was purchased by your excellent brother’s money. I shall no

longer be the occupant of that house, when this note reaches you. My

mind is made up to endure every thing for your sake; and I therefore

this day withdraw myself, in company with Harry, into a retirement

and an obscurity whither you cannot follow me. It will therefore be

unnecessary and ridiculous--I may almost say_ wicked--_for you to make

any revelations to your brother. By sacrificing yourself, you would

confer no benefit upon me; as nothing shall induce me to alter the

plans I have formed respecting the future. Retain profoundly secret

all those circumstances the confession of which can have no useful

result; and think sometimes of me--for I shall often, often think

of you, my well-beloved friend,--although we may never, never meet

again!_’--This letter, on which were the traces of weeping, produced

a stupefying sensation on the part of Lady Caroline. Was it possible

that Julia, in the zeal of her ardent friendship, had outwitted the

fair patrician, and had won the generous game at which they were

playing? No wonder that Miss Murray had requested Caroline to suspend

all proceedings for twenty-four hours: in that time, the noble-hearted

girl had consummated the sacrifice of herself! And now nothing could

exceed the sincerity and the depth of that grief which seized upon

the lady: for an hour after she received the note, she was as one

demented; and her confidential maid experienced the utmost difficulty

in restraining her from manifestations of feeling which would have

excited the strangest suspicions in the household. At length, when she

had grown comparatively calm, Lady Caroline, attended by her maid,

repaired to Camden Town; but there they only beheld those appearances

which corroborated the statements contained in Julia’s letter. For

the house was shut up; and, on enquiry being made of a neighbour, it

was ascertained that Miss Murray, her servant, and her little brother

had taken their departure soon after mid-day, although, according to

the same authority, the young milliner was evidently suffering from

indisposition. The fair patrician’s last hope of seeing her friend and

weaning her from her intention, was thus destroyed; and the poignancy

of her grief was renewed. She proceeded to Mrs. Porter’s cottage, where

she learnt that Julia had called in the morning to assure herself of

the child’s convalescence and imprint upon its little countenance a

farewell kiss. This touching instance of Julia’s goodness of heart

moved Lady Caroline to tears; and she reproached herself bitterly for

having been the cause of all her friend’s present sorrows.

“There, however, appeared to be a remedy which might yet be adopted;

and to this measure did the lady make up her mind. She resolved, in

fact, to write to her brother without delay, inform him of every

thing, and urge him to lose no time in discovering the retreat of

Julia, that justice--full and ample justice--might be done to her.

Accordingly, on the following morning she penned a long letter to the

Marquis of Wilmington, imploring him to forgive her for the dishonour

she had brought upon the family, and drawing such a picture of Julia’s

generosity in sacrificing herself for a friend, that she wept long and

plentifully over the pages as she perused them. When this epistle had

been despatched to the post, Caroline’s heart felt easier; and she said

to herself, ‘Even if my brother should wreak the bitterest vengeance

upon me, I can endure his resentment with resignation; for I now

have the consciousness of performing a sacred and solemn duty.’--The

Dowager-Marchioness, in the meantime, had been suffering through

indisposition which confined her much to her chamber; and she did not

therefore perceive any particular variations in the manner and aspect

of her daughter.