He only can the cause reveal,
Why, at the same fond bosom fed;
Taught in the self-same lap to kneel,
Till the same prayer were duly said.
Brothers in blood, and nurture too,
Aliens in heart so oft should prove,
One lose, the other keep, Heaven's clue;
One dwell in wrath, and one in love.
CHRISTIAN YEAR.
Mrs. Lesly found Mabel waiting for her in her room. A book was lying
open by her side, but she appeared to have been rather thinking, than
reading.
"Mabel, my love," she said, "it is past twelve o'clock. I am so sorry
you sat up for me."
"I am only waiting to undress you, mamma," said Mabel, "you are so much
later to-night, that I thought you would be tired. I have been lying on
your sofa, half asleep, for more than an hour. Have you been talking of
me?" she added, lowering her voice.
"Yes, a little," replied Mrs. Lesly; "but why do you ask, what can any
one say ill of you."
Mabel sighed.
"I talked of you, dear, not merely to satisfy my sister's curiosity;
but, because there is in the world a very strong prejudice against
single ladies, old maids, as they are termed, in contempt, when there is
no good reason given for their not marrying. It is a foolish prejudice,
but still a strong one; and, therefore, I would rather that people knew
why you are not married; at least, that all those who have any right to
criticise your conduct, should know that it has been by your own
choice."
"Ah, mamma," said Mabel, "you are thinking of my feelings as they would
once have been."
"And as they may be again," said the mother; "but not as they ought to
be, I allow. But you bear your trial so well, love, that I would not
have it increased by one unkind, or worldly remark. You have done right,
and can, therefore, afford to suffer; yet there is no harm in sparing
yourself any needless pain. Go to sleep, now, my child, I do not wish to
see you tired, to-morrow."
Mabel retired to her own room, with feelings stirred up, she scarce knew
why, by the arrival of their new guests, and she would willingly have
thought awhile in silence, but Amy was awake, and restless.
"What time is it, Mabel, dear," for by that affectionate title, she
usually addressed her.
"Past one o'clock, dear," said Mabel; "are you awake, still."
"I have been to sleep, once," said Amy; "but I was dreaming all the
time, first of Lucy, and then about Captain Clair, and the
blackberries. You said she would not like me quite at first, but she
seems to love you in one evening--how is that?"
"I really do not know; Lucy puzzles me, rather, but she says she likes,
or dislikes, quickly."
"But that is what you tell me not to do," said Amy, sitting up in her
bed, as if prepared for a regular discussion of the subject.
"Yes," said Mabel, "because I am afraid you will not choose your friends
well, and may be mistaken if you judge too quickly."
"Well," said Amy, gravely; "I suppose Lucy is clever to find you out so
soon, but it puzzles me to think how she could tell you were good, in
one evening."
"I do not think she does know much about me, yet," said Mabel; "but do
not let us think of her just now, for if we never think of ourselves at
any other time, I think we should before we go to sleep. So, now you
must not talk any more."
Mabel then turned her pillow, smoothed the hair back from her heated
cheeks, and made her comfortable, so that Amy, having no further excuse
for keeping awake, soon fell asleep.
The next morning Mrs. Lesly was up earlier than usual, that she might
enjoy as much of her sister's society as her short visit permitted.
After breakfast, Mrs. Villars said, that if they could have a chat by
themselves, she should be glad.
To this Mrs. Lesly willingly agreed, and after some little conversation
on the arrangements of the day, led her to her sunny dressing-room,
where her own mornings were most frequently spent.
"I hope," said Mrs. Lesly, taking up her work, "that nothing unpleasant
has occurred, to make you wish to speak to me; but, perhaps you have
been thinking over our last night's conversation."
Mrs. Villars coloured slightly with the consciousness that the feelings
awakened by her sister's conversation, had been of very short duration.
"No, dear," said she; "last night I listened to your trials and
troubles, this morning you must hear mine."
"Oh," said Mrs. Lesly, "I would never have taken up your time last
night, had I known that you were thinking of any thing that pained you."
"You are always too kind to me," said Mrs. Villars, "and I am sure I
would much rather hear you talk than talk myself, for it does me good to
be with you, but really, now we are sitting down, I have hardly the
courage to speak of what I wanted to say."
"No one is ever afraid of me," said Mrs. Lesly, "and you know, if you
are in any trouble, I never can find fault."
"Well then," said Mrs. Villars, "I will tell you exactly how I am
situated. You must know that Mr. Villars has had, or pretends to have,
had a great many losses this year, which have really quite soured his
temper. He does nothing now but grumble, saying, I am not half so
economical as I ought to be, and I do not know what peevish stuff. He
says I dress the children too expensively, and then he tells me they
would look better in white muslin than in all the laces I put on them."
"Well, there I think he is right," interposed Mrs. Lesly, "nothing makes
a girl look so nice as a simple white dress."
"I cannot agree with that," said Mrs. Villars. "Caroline has just the
figure--just the majestic style of beauty that does not do for white
muslin and simplicity, and in her black velvet and pearls, I do assure
you, she looks fit to be a duchess. Selina, too, has just that fairy
beauty which requires the lightest and most delicate of colors, and how
very soon they soil, particularly with polking--and, besides, they
cannot always be wearing the same dresses in a place like Bath. I cannot
help wishing to see them respectably dressed, when I hear every one
speak so highly of their beauty. You must forgive a mother's pride, but
I cannot help it."
"But, my dear," said Mrs. Lesly, "if your object is to marry them well,
you ought not to dress them so expensively. Few men intending to marry,
like the prospect of furnishing an extravagant wardrobe. The idea of
having to pay for their dress should gently insinuate itself, not glare
upon their attention in velvet and satin."
"Now, Annie," said Mrs. Villars, "how unkind it is of you to talk in
this way. You see, I had reason to be afraid of speaking to you."
"I meant it most kindly, I do assure you," said Mrs. Lesly.
"That may be," said Mrs. Villars, poutingly; "but that cutting way of
speaking hurts the feelings, and you are very fond of it, sometimes."
"Well, dear," said Mrs. Lesly, "I only meant a little good advice, but
as you do not like it, I will say no more."
"Besides," continued Mrs. Villars, "I expect girls with such pretensions
and advantages as mine have, to marry men of wealth and station, who
will only be too proud to see them dress well. You ought to see them
enter a ball-room, and how immediately they are surrounded."
"Ah, yes, I dare say," said Mrs. Lesly, who was always too indolent for
any long argument, and generally gave up a point, even with Amy, when
persisted in beyond her patience.
"But now then, to return to my little difficulty," said Mrs. Villars,
recovering her good-temper. "You know Mr. Villars is so horribly cross
now, I do not dare to bring anything before him."
"I am sorry to hear that," said Mrs. Lesly; "my William never said a
cross word to me, that I remember."
"Ah," sighed Mrs. Villars, "it is very different with me, I assure
you--Villars is always finding fault now, since the girls are come out."
"Well," repeated Mrs. Lesly, "I certainly never remember being afraid of
my poor husband."
"No; but then he was a soldier, that makes a man very different," said
Mrs. Villars, "so kind and open-hearted. Now Villars, though he has left
his business in the city, and is only a sleeping partner, yet he seems
to take as much interest in it as ever; and if anything goes wrong, then
he is off to London to give his advice, he says, and comes home so
cross, there is no speaking a word to him, and if he finds us going out,
as we do, of course, nearly every night, then he goes off sulky to his
study. Married life with such a man, is no joke, I can tell you. When we
first married, he had such an easy temper; he says I spoilt it, but the
fault lies at his own door, of that I am certain. But I would not say
this to every one."
"I hope not, indeed," said Mrs. Lesly, much pained; "it is better to
keep these things from everybody; and you cannot blame him without
finding fault with yourself at the same time."
"And that I am not disposed to do," interrupted Mrs. Villars; "no, I
assure you, before company, I make him appear the very pattern of
perfection. I would not lower myself by showing the world how very
little influence I have over him. But now to the point--I must tell you,
that last winter, I was foolish enough to run up some bills with my
jeweller, milliner, and others, a little higher than ordinary, and now
every day they become more importunate, and I have made excuses till
they will listen no longer. I do not know where to turn for money, till
this business pressure is over and Villars has recovered his temper. Now
could you, I know you could if you would, just lend me a hundred pounds
for a few months?"
"Ah, Caroline, but ought I?" said Mrs. Lesly; "think of my poor
children, and my health such as it is."
"But what possible harm could that do them?" said Mrs. Villars, as if
surprised; "do you think I could be so barbarous as to think of hurting
them. It is perfectly safe with me; and I will pay you in six months."
"But, my dear Caroline," said Mrs. Lesly, "why not tell Mr. Villars? it
will be but the anger of an hour--contrast that with the pain of
deceiving him."
"I do not mind telling him everything, when his present difficulties
are over--now it would be unkind to ask me."
"But," answered her sister, timidly, "do you think I am right in
suffering more of my money to be in private hands, even in yours?"
"Oh," said Mrs. Villars, coloring slightly, "you are speaking of the
five hundred I owe you already; but you know I promised to pay that back
with five per cent interest when my aunt Clara dies, and leaves me the
legacy she promised, and which Villars always said I should do just as I
liked with. I gave you a memorandum of the promise, in case of any
mistake."
"Yes, I know," said Mrs. Lesly; "but I really do not know what I have
done with it--I am afraid it is mislaid."
"I dare say," said Mrs. Villars, again coloring, and looking down upon
the spill she was twisting from the pieces of an old letter; "but
surely, if it be lost, you could not think your own sister would--"
"Oh, no, no," said Mrs. Lesly; "I think nothing but that you are
imprudent; and oh, Caroline, however I may disguise the truth from
Mabel--I am not ignorant that a few weeks may, and a few years certainly
will, bring me to my grave. Now am I right to trust so much even to
you?"
A mother's courage was strong, even in her timid and indolent mind, and
she spoke with tears in her eyes.
"Now then," said Mrs. Villars, "I promise, if you will be generous this
once, that your children shall never want a home while I have one, and
every comfort which my own possess shall be theirs; only rescue me this
once from my husband's anger."
"I have done it so often," said Mrs. Lesly, "I am afraid it is unkind to
both of you to do it again."
"Oh, do not say so," cried Mrs. Villars, "oh, think again, do not say
that, and you so kind and good. You know I have given you a written
promise, to pay it out of the legacy aunt Clara is to leave me, and that
is as binding to my mind, beloved sister, as a legally executed deed; as
Villars promises positively, I shall do what I like with the money, when
I get it. Have I not promised to continue to pay five per cent interest
to your children as well as yourself, should you not live, as I hope
and trust you may, many, many years. I can do that easily, as I have
done before; at least I could have done so had we not agreed to let the
interest accumulate, that I might pay you in the lump. Where is my
promise? you have lost it you say, but I remember it all well enough.
Oh, good, kind Annie, think again."
"But that paper is lost," said Mrs. Lesly, with a vacant look, and she
passed her hand over her forehead, as if trying to remember something of
it.
"I would offer to write another promise," said Mrs. Villars, "only I do
not like to bind myself to two sums; for every one may not be so
honourable as yourself, and you must have it somewhere, but you need not
doubt me if it is lost, need you?"
"I wish you would not talk of doubting," said Mrs. Lesly, "it makes me
feel so uncomfortable; but once again, my dear sister, let me entreat
you to have no concealments from your husband, they never lead to good.
If you will tell him everything, I promise to lend you the money."
"That is as good as refusing altogether," replied Mrs. Villars, sulkily,
"why not say you will not at once, that would be plain and open, but as
it is," she added, bursting into tears, "I see you do not care for me."
"Well, dear," said Mrs. Lesly, much pained, "you know I can never bear
to see you cry--dry your tears and listen to me. How are we to get the
money?"
Mrs. Villars brightened up in an instant.
"Why," said she, "you bank at Coutts's--write me a draft, and I will get
it changed in Bath, some how; I can manage it as I did before."
"My money," said Mrs. Lesly, with unusual gravity, "has been reduced for
your sake, to a very few hundreds, a mere trifle, but my children!"
exclaimed she, suddenly dropping her pen, and clasping her hands
convulsively.
"I have promised to be their mother," said Mrs. Villars, "but nonsense,
you will live many years yet."
"Do not think of it, do not think of it, my doctor knows my constitution
too well to flatter me with such vain hopes. I have been better since
you have been here, but that is excitement, and now my head aches so."
She placed her hand upon her forehead, and sank into deep thought.
Mrs. Villars grew impatient; for there was a struggle going on within
her, in which her better self was busily engaged; and the worldly woman
almost feared the world would lose the victory, while she trembled at
the feelings she was exciting.
The whole truth indeed being, that the money she so earnestly solicited,
was intended, not to discharge debts already incurred, but to furnish
additional display both in dress and housekeeping, during the
approaching visit of Colonel Hargrave to Bath, which the worldly mother
hoped, till she believed, would end in a marriage between him and her
eldest daughter, whose temper was becoming soured, by the failure of
repeated matrimonial speculations.
Mr. Villars had found it necessary to lay down a plan of economy for the
following year; limiting its proposed expenditure in a manner which
little suited the taste or the tactics of his family, and it, therefore,
occurred to his imprudent wife, that there would be no harm in
forestalling the legacy of a thousand pounds, promised by an invalid
aunt, by adding another hundred to the five she had already borrowed
upon it, under the impression that any present expenditure would be
amply compensated if she succeeded in placing her daughter in possession
of Aston, with whose broad lands she was well acquainted, though of the
character, disposition, or principles of its owner, she was quite
ignorant.
She well knew how to work upon her sister's feelings, already enervated
by grief and ill-health, and the narrow views of a selfish woman had
often led her to do so; but now, as she regarded the weakness that
seemed to implore protection, she felt her powers of dissimulation fast
failing before these new thoughts of compunction. After all, she thought
she might do without the money, the girls' old dresses were new to
Hargrave, and he might be a man of simple habits, and, perhaps, would
really be more attracted by white muslin, than crimson velvet--if so,
she was perhaps sinning for no purpose--might she not do without the
money--she might, but she had never learnt the principle of self-denial,
where right and wrong is concerned; and then come second thoughts--why
did she wait for them? When temptation is present, the first quick
generous impulse is the safest. There is a voice in our hearts which
never directs us wrong, let us listen to its least whisper. Why, like
the avaricious prophet of old, are we dissatisfied with its first
answer--why will we ask, and ask again, till the reply suits, not our
conscience, but our desires.
In this case as in many others, Mrs. Villars's second thoughts
triumphed. Why should she submit to her husband's pitiful economy--was
it not his fault if she were forced to borrow; and she paid, or meant to
pay, her sister good interest, which would atone for every thing; and,
at the end of the season, no doubt the longed-for marriage would take
place; and, even supposing her grateful daughter forgot to share her pin
money with her, Mr. Villars could not but applaud her conduct and settle
her debt; and, even if not--but she was in no humour for ifs--and a
glance from the window at the rich woods which skirted the Aston estate,
and a glimpse through the trees at the mansion itself, quite settled the
question, and she continued twisting her spills with perfect
satisfaction.
Not so Mrs. Lesly, she had seated herself at her desk, indeed, and taken
up her pen with a trembling hand; but her eyes were vacantly following
her sister's occupation.
"This will never do," thought the worldly woman; yet she was afraid to
hurry her.
"I was thinking," said Mrs. Lesly, at length, after continuing in the
same attitude of observation, "I was thinking how very strange it was
that I never remember our talking about money, but you were making
spills all the time."
"Why, you see," said Mrs. Villars, carelessly, "I never thought it worth
while to bring my work for the short time I generally stay, and I never
like to sit quite idle."
"Yes; but when you stayed with me for a month, it happened then as
well," said Mrs. Lesly, in a musing kind of tone.
"It was rather strange, certainly--but more strange that you should
remember such trifles," said Mrs. Villars, her face turning rather
disagreeably pale.
Poor Mrs. Lesly, fearing she had offended her, took up her pen, and
wrote like a frightened child, then quickly handed her the draft.
Mrs. Villars hastily rose and kissed her, and then, taking her pen from
her hand, wrote a memorandum of the loan, which Mrs. Lesly placed in her
work-basket.
At that moment, Amy ran into the room, crying out--
"Mamma, mamma, I have cut my finger--do please give me a piece of rag,
or I shall spoil my dress."
Mrs. Lesly, easily frightened, hurried to her assistance, and, though
Amy kept exclaiming that she was only anxious about her dress, hurried
her off to a receptacle of old linen, which she kept in preparation for
every accident.
Mrs. Villars glanced at the paper she had just written.
"How careless Annie is," thought she. "Yet she seemed suspicious just
now about the spills--could she have guessed I tore up the other papers
I wrote? No--impossible! It is so awkward to be pressed for money, at
all sorts of times, and poor Annie is not long for this world, I see.
That Mabel has a sharp eye, and would not be easily deceived. Well, it
does not alter the obligation one bit, and what does it signify between
sisters. I only do not wish to be hurried."
A clue to these thoughts might be given by her putting out her hand, and
drawing the paper to her, amongst the pieces she was tearing up. Where
was the voice of conscience then? Alas! for a time, it slept, for she
had slighted its first warning.
She tore the paper in two, and then said to herself, "Well, it is done
now," rather as if somebody else had done it, and it was no act of her
own. Then she slowly twisted bit after bit into spills, laying each with
those she had already done, and the last piece had just assumed its
taper appearance, when Mrs. Lesly entered the room.
"What did I do with that paper?" said she, after looking on all sides
for it, "how careless I am."
"I think," said Mrs. Villars, "you put it in your secretary--you had it
open while you were writing."
"Ah, so I must, I suppose," said Mrs. Lesly; but she looked
suspiciously at the secretary, she had no remembrance of going there;
yet, she had had it open that morning, she knew. Her sister must
remember better than she did. She would look presently, she had not
quite the resolution to look now; and suffering her characteristic
indolence to overcome her prudence, she sank into an arm-chair, and took
up her knitting.
At this moment, the chaise, which had been ordered, slowly drove up to
the door, and Mabel entered to tell them that luncheon waited them in
the sitting-room.
Mrs. Villars started up, full of business and bustle, which she felt to
be a welcome relief after the morning's _tête-à-tête_, and hurried down
stairs. Mabel regarded her mother's pale looks with affectionate
anxiety; but there was little time for thought, as Mrs. Villars and her
maid kept the house in a perfect ferment for the next five minutes.
Amy stood looking aghast at a very bright carpet-bag, with a kind of
travelling scent about it, which she thought grander and newer than
anything of the kind she had before seen; and she quite shrank within
herself when her aunt kissed her, and blessed her in a tone which made
her feel cold; nor was she sorry when she saw her get into the carriage,
attended by the bright carpet-bag--and when box after box was moved to
the top of the creaking vehicle--and when the vehicle itself moved down
the walk, she drew a long breath, as if relieved from some heavy
pressure, feeling the place once more quite their own.
Lucy ran to the gate, to open it to let her mamma pass, kissing her hand
to her, and stopping to watch till the carriage turned the corner, and
was only visible down Amy's point of observation on the wall. She then
came back with her cheeks crimson, and putting her arm round Mabel's
waist, she whispered--
"Who do you think passed while I was holding the gate?"
"Who?" said Mabel, a little surprised at anything like an apparition in
their quiet village, and not yet quite aware of their Bath cousin's
usual train of thought. "I cannot guess."
Lucy's cheeks were of a deeper tint, as she whispered--
"Captain Clair."